"Energy spikes detected," Y'gar said. "Frequencies shifting to resonate suites." He looked up. "They're combining fire, sir."
"Fleetwide channel," Voro shouted. "All Ship Masters make ready to fire. Link targeting control through the Incorruptible."
Uruo monitored his console as the ships in their fleet linked into a single spiderweb network of firepower. "Fleet fire control is now yours, sir," he told Voro.
"Target laser and energy projectors on these cluster formations," Voro said.
Uruo smoothed his hands over the network, double-checking the numbers, and then said, "Target solutions calculated, sir. On your order."
A thousand tiny eyes blazed within the alien formations. Energy beams collimated into lances of golden light that painted the hull of the Far Sight Lost.
The ship did not have its shields up. Beams sliced through armor and decks, piercing through and through, blasting cones of vaporized alloy into space.
Voro quenched his rage and studied the carnage. Some advantage had to be gleaned from this tragedy.
Individually the tiny craft could do no harm. Together, however, they were more than a match for the Far Sight Lost. Their octahedral structures shimmered with energy shields. Voro assumed their defensive strength multiplied when combined as well,
"Release weapons interlink safety locks," Voro ordered, and raised his hand.
He prayed for the soul of Ship Master Qunu, who had revealed for them a new enemy.
Penetrated by a dozen beams, the ventral decks of the Far Sight Lost exploded. The
ship rolled over like a great beast in its death throes. The weapons cut through the aft section. The plasma core breached, and three plumes of blue fire erupted from the hull— heating the aft quarter of the vessel red-, yellow-, and then white-hot—before the vessel detonated.
The crystalline geometry of the alien formations rippled and their shields flared.
"Now!" Voro commanded. "All laser and projectors fire."
All ships under his command launched a barrage, and the deep night of space lit with
crisscrossing lines of illumination. Hundreds of lasers painted the weakened alien shields and made them sputter with static. Ten microseconds later, energy-projector
capacitors discharged and blasts of holy white radiation impacted the formations, overloaded the distressed shields, and scattered their coherence.
Stripped of their protection, the tiny drone ships erupted into streams of superheated particles. Their central eyes blazed white-hot as if their fury alone could protect them.
Explosions chained through the octahedral assembly.
Lasers and projectors shut down and the space plunged again into dankness.
Voro blinked.
Within the holographic display the thousands of alien ships were scattered, most now cooling blobs of metal, tumbling disconnected rods and spheres. Those that had survived moved sluggishly as they attempted to realign for another attack.
"Eighty-three percent of the vessels destroyed," Y'gar said.
Over fleetwide COM Voro said, "All ships break and attack. Annihilate the survivors with plasma charges before they regroup."
The fleet accelerated to attack speed, burning all before them. The smaller alien craft were defenseless before this onslaught.
Ship Master Qunu had been a hero. He had demonstrated for them all that the old ways of devout placation had no place in this new Age. The Sangeili would forge their own way, with their own blood, if need be.
"Contact the Absolution," Voro told Y'gar. "Have them make ready for a Slipspace transition in atmosphere. They will scout the northern polar region where these drones came from and determine if there are high-value targets our sensors have overlooked."
"Absolution hailed, sir," Y'gar replied. "Orders relayed." He paused listening, then said,
"The Absolution is yours to command, Fleet Master."
Voro nodded, indicating they go.
The space surrounding the sleek destroyer shimmered as their Slipspace capacitors
discharged.
"Something on the planet surface, sir," Y'gar said, and he bent closer, concentrating. "Energy anomaly in the northern polar region."
He waved his hand over his controls and the central viewer split, half filling with a view of the planet's ice caps, zooming closer to reveal a wind-whipped landscape of snow dunes. A kilometer off the ground, the air shimmered in the exact same pattern as the Absolution's Slipspace transition matrix.
"That should not be happening," Uruo remarked, and took a step closer to the image, intrigued. "A Slipspace matrix only appears upon a ship's exit. The Absolution has yet to transition."
"Hail the Absolution," Voro said. "Abort the jump."
Y'gar shook his head. "Slipspace matrix interfering with our signal, sir."
"Move to intercept," Voro ordered.
The Incorruptible tilted and accelerated toward the destroyer as it edged toward its
Slipspace field. The view in the holographic display shifted. Above the north pole three new octahedral
formations of alien ships materialized in the glow of the Slipstream exit field.
"They can jump?" Voro whispered.
That made no sense. If they had such a capacity then why hadn't they jumped into
combat with the Far Sight Lost? Or for that matter jumped to avoid destruction from the rest of the battle group?
Voro turned to Y'gar, who understood Slipstream space better than any of his officers. "Explain," he demanded.
Y'gar straightened. "Sir, a Slipspace transition requires more power than ships that size can generate. I can only guess that they are somehow tapping into the Absolution's Slipspace field."
"Energy spikes," Uruo said. "Northern polar region."
The alien ships fired, hundreds of beams bounced within their
linked geometry, combining and focused though their energy shields—directed into the
center of the wrapping Slipspace.
The Absolution vanished from high orbit—
—reappeared in the center of the aliens' field of fire.
The hull of the destroyer superheated to white—flash vaporized, flowering into a ball of
ultraviolet fire.
The alien vessels comprising the octahedral formations deformed from the overpressure wave. They then flew away on random trajectories from the cloud of smoke, which was all that remained of the Absolution.
Voro watched stunned and then he regained his wits.
"Scan the surface of the planet," Voro told Y'gar. "And recheck the sensor log for anomalies just before those ships appeared." He opened the fleetwide channel. "No vessels to initiate a Slipspace transition without my explicit order."
His Ship Masters sent their acknowledgments, and twenty-one personal insignia lit his console.
"Energy signature detected," Y'gar said. "In our logs before the enemy ships appeared, scanners detected a burst of extremely low-frequency energy… a transmission from this location."
On the central viewer a ring of mountains snapped into focus. There was motion along the rim. Voro zoomed in and saw one rod-and-sphere drone dart back into the shadows.
Transmission? Coordinating orders perhaps? Or a central location where these drones had something worth protecting?
"That is our target," he said. Voro activated FLEETCOM. "All ships to OVERARCH attack pattern and prepare for orbital descent. Charge lateral lines to full capacity."
The Incorruptible took position on the starboard wing of the coalescing wing formation and led the battle group into the planet's atmosphere.
Beneath them, air heated and rolled off their hulls in waves of convective fire.
Voro watched as the clouds in the upper atmosphere parted
before their combined bow wake… and lamented over the holes in their formation. Two ships lost. The fault was his. How could any continue to follow his orders after such errors?
Yet Voro felt their confidence. Perh
aps that was delusion, but they had followed him unquestioningly into battle. They knew that what happened here could determine the fate of all Sangheili. They had to succeed, even if it cost their lives.
They swooped over the surface of the planet, over twilight-shrouded jungles, undulating plains of grass, and shadow-filled canyons. Flocks of birds and herd animals scattered before their ominous presence.
No more alien craft rose to challenge them. Where were the hundreds they had seen at the northern pole? In reserve? Lurking in ambush?
"Come to dead slow," Voro commanded over FLEETCOM. "Maintain battle conditions."
As the fleet crossed the crater summit, a collection of drones appeared on the inner rim spewing earth and stone into the air.
Three of his destroyers opened fire and left nothing but a surface of crackling glass.
As the greater body of the fleet crossed into the crater, the light from their heated lateral lines illuminated the dark interior, revealing giant arches and pillars, steps that circled faceted silver domes. It was a city of magnificent proportions. The shapes were instinctively recognized by Voro from Holy Scriptures. Every line and curve, every symbol had been burned into his soul.
This was a Forerunner city. Intact. Sacred. Untouched. It was what every member of the Covenant had dreamed of finding… if not in this life, then the next.
Would it be so easy to claim their prize? The technological and theological treasures were close enough to touch. Voro's joints weakened and he wanted to drop and bow before the glory of it all.
He stopped, ashamed. Such religious stupor would only blind him to the dangers.
Voro must not bow to the Forerunner ghosts. He must be the sole authority here.
He turned to the Lekgolo pair who ever remained at his back on the bridge.
"Prepare for battle," he told them.
Although the Lekgolo could not smile, Voro sensed their "faces" flex in pleasure, a dozen
eels squirmed and coiled over one another.
They growled their assent, rose, saluted, and thundered off the bridge.
Voro ran his hand over the command console. Ship Master Tano's blood still stained the
edges, tingeing the holographic emitters blue. He lamented that his old mentor had not survived to witness this moment.
"Alien vessels accelerating from the surface," Uruo announced. "Two dozen. Pair formation. On attack vectors."
"Destroy the craft," Voro said over FLEETCOM, "and only the craft. Use lasers, pinpoint targeting."
Tiny explosions lit the night as the drones were obliterated.
He activated the SHIPCOM. "Paruto, Waruna, during the ground assault take pains to minimize collateral damage."
There was a double-growl response, and then Paruto asked, "What target. Fleet Master?"
Voro surveyed the vast city. A complete search would take weeks.
"Pulse the Greeting of Ancients for a signal response," he told Y'gar.
"Aye, Fleet Master." He broadcast the Covenant's universal handshake sequence, and waited then for a response.
It was only a dream that any Forerunner were left to answer the call.
"Something…" Y'gar leaned closer to examine the wavering reply signal.
Voro moved to his station.
"It's one of ours," Voro declared. "Send it to the ship's Oracle for pattern match."
"Yes, sir," Y'gar replied. "Ship ID… DX class."
"A dropship? Identify the parent ship registry"
Y'gar summoned the reference and his jaws dropped open in shock. "Bloodied Spirit," he whispered.
Voro narrowed his eyes at the wavering response signals. This came from the ship stolen by the human demons. They had beaten them here? Survived the Forerunners' defenses and infiltrated holy grounds? Anger boiled within him and clouded his mind, but he collected his rage… saved it.
"Triangulate the signal," he ordered.
"Yes, sir. There."
The image shifted in the central viewer. A silver dome wavered into semisolidity. The
apex of the structure faceted into seven planes, and on each, an arch opened to the interior… arches large enough for dropships to pass through.
Voro returned to his command console. "Paruto, Waruna, we have a target. Muster the reserves from every ship in the fleet."
Paruto and Waruna replied simultaneously with a subsonic rumble of acknowledgment.
"You will, however, wait," Voro told him.
There was silence over the COM.
"Wait" was a word one dared not speak to a Lekgolo pair on the verge of battle.
"You shall wait for me to join you," Voro said. "For I shall lead this assault."
←
^
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CHAPTER
THIRTY-TWO
2040 HOURS, NOVEMBER 3, 2552 (MILITARY CALENDAR) SLIPSTREAM SPACE NEAR ZETA DORADUS SYSTEM ABOARD UNSC PROWLER DUSK
"Enable stealth protocols," Commander Richard Lash ordered. "Prepare for transition to normal space."
"Yes, sir." Lieutenant Commander Julian Waters turned to the Dusk's bridge officers. "External power sources off-line," he said. "Lock ablative baffles. Secure engine dampers."
Lieutenant Bethany Durruno at her NAV station crosschecked the calculations for the slipspace-to-normal transition. "We're almost there, sir. Thirty seconds."
At the OP-SENSOR station. Lieutenant Joe Yang said, "Rigged for dark and silent running, sir. Five points confirmed."
Lash personally rechecked everything on the display by the captain's chair. All shipshape. So why did he have a feeling everything was about to hit the fan? Answer: in his short tenure as commanding officer of the Dusk, imminent disaster had been the norm. He expected no less this time.
"Go to normal space," he ordered. "Start the clock."
Waters set the chronometer and said, "Time on mission: fifteen and counting."
Lash glanced at his old-fashioned spring-and-gear wrist-watch, a gift from his dad when he'd graduated from OSC. "Keep it wound, Son."
He checked: it was indeed wound tight.
The bridge lights dimmed to red as the ship's power shunted
to the Shaw-Fujikawa translight drive's particle accelerator, and it ripped a hole back into the normal three dimensions of interstellar space.
The trio of blackened viewscreens sparkled with stars. One point of light was unusually bright. The main screen centered on this star, and astronomical parameters streamed alongside Zeta Doradus. Elliptical orbits traced of the six innermost planets.
"Positive fix on stellar references," Lieutenant Durruno said. "We're slightly off target, sir. Three million kilometers."
"Move us in," Lash ordered, "one-third full ahead on intercept course for the fourth planet. Tell Lieutenant Commander Cho in Engineering to start recharging the Slipspace capacitors."
"Aye, sir," she said.
She bit her lower lip, and Commander Lash knew that meant she was nervous, too… sensing something amiss already on this mission.
The Dusk skimmed through space, black on black; only a telltale flickering of the background stars gave the slightest indication that anything was there.
Waters glanced at the chronometer and whispered, "Sir, thirteen minutes to go. Barely time to close on the target while running dark, let alone gather a detailed analysis."
Time was never on Commander Lash's side. Either there was too much time and his crew waited days or weeks stealthed or, as was now the case, they had to rush and balance gathering accurate data with remaining hidden. It was a hell of a choice: The fate of thousands' lives and eight other ships depended on this. On the other hand, if the Dusk were detected, no intel would get back. Not to mention, they'd all be dead.
Eighteen months of crew attrition and constant action were now taking their toll on Lash's officers. He watched Lieutenants Durruno and Yang and saw the combat fatigue mirrored in their glazed, dark-circled eyes. They had endured endless waiting— punctuated by salvos of Cov
enant plasma and laser fire. They'd
witnessed the fall of four colonies and the cremation of billions. They were close to the edge. For that matter, so was he.
"We have our orders," Lash told Waters. "Fifteen minutes in and then we transition back. We'll do our best with the time allotted."
They had limited time for two reasons. First, past fifteen minutes detection by Covenant sensors grew at a statistically geometric rate. Second, after fifteen minutes the Dusk's ability to find the rest of their battle group in Slipspace would exponentially decrease.
Lash sat back, and in the fine tradition of prowler commanders everywhere, he practiced exuding patience.
The Dusk's journey back to Earth had occurred in record time. They had caught a wake in slipstream space, one indeter-minably larger then the Covenant wake they had followed. Their NAV-AI reported: SOLITON-LIKE wave patterns detected near HALO CONSTRUCT. Lash had no idea what had caused it, only reported it to Lord Hood… who had considered his report of Shpspace wakes and then immediately ordered them to attempt the same trick and follow the Spartan strike team's vector until they reached remote station Tripoli. There they would rende-vous with a battle group under the command of Admiral Carl "Buster" Patterson, provide assistance to the Spartan team, and hopefully obtain new technologies that would turn the tide of this war.
Lash had heard rumors of the Spartans' audacious actions, boarding a Covenant ship, nuking its sister ship, destroying the Tallo Negro del Maiz orbital stalk in the process. The stuff legends were made of.
He was more than happy to stay in the shadows. No vid broadcasts about his glorious death, thank you.
The Dusk had had no chance at Earth to take on a full crew or resupply—instead they transitioned immediately to Slipstream space to catch the rapidly dissipating wake of the Spartan-captured Covenant ship.
"Maximum range for the X-ELF radar system," Lieutenant Yang announced. "Eight minutes on the clock, sir."
"Start a high-resolution series," Lash told him, "planet surface to the Lagrange points."
"Coming online now," Yang said. He straightened. "Two contacts in high planetary orbit! Covenant destroyers."
Silhouettes flashed on Lash's display, confirming Yang's analysis.
"Heavy destroyers," Lash murmured. Enough concentrated firepower to take out a dozen UNSC prowlers.
Halo: Ghosts of Onyx Page 24
