Chapter Two

In Slipspace

Covenant Grand Cruiser Flame of Righteous Wrath

Human Date/Time: ERROR – Slipspace Transit In Progress

As Rala 'Kanthamee materialized and looked around, it was hard for him to believe that the box canyon around him, complete with chirping avian animals in the scattered trees and a graceful base structure towering above his head, was completely a fabrication of the Forerunners' holy simulation computers. He could see and feel everything just as it was in life – even the dirt under his hooves shifted as he altered his stance.

The simulation computers had been an incredible boon to the warriors of the Covenant when they were discovered. Not only did the sims provide a perfect means of training and preparation, they also ensured that the long slipspace transits between worlds would not grow dull and boring.

'Kanthamee's mandibles opened in a grin. Today would not be dull in the least.

Today's simulation pitted him against the SpecOps commander, Jara 'Lystramee. He had gotten the definite impression that 'Lystramee thought he should be in charge of ground operations, not some Ship Master. 'Kanthamee was determined to prove otherwise.

"Procure the sacred banner," a thunderous voice boomed from everywhere at once. Rala 'Kanthamee bowed his head in reverence to the spirit of the Forerunner, then opened comm channels to the rest of his team, dispersed throughout the base and surrounding area.

"Nameless One, procure the beam rifle and cover me," 'Kanthamee snapped briskly. "I will secure the Fuel Rod in the central area. 'Thalamee, crew the Wraith and cover the teleportation matrix. 'Lanthamee and 'Ilimee, crew the Specter and prepare for the first attempt on their sacred banner. 'Duramee, take the Banshee and defend our banner while discerning the movements of our enemies. Questions? No? Move! We will not allow those black-armored skulkers to embarrass us!"

The Sangheili under his command roared their approval in unison, then scurried to their tasks. 'Kanthamee dashed ten strides to the Ghost, hopping on the seat and activating the Ghost's booster system in one fluid move. Creature and machine sped away with only an afterimage of blue light to mark their passing.

A howl of exhilaration escaped from 'Kanthamee as his Ghost flew through the air on the downside of a hill, its hoverdrive losing contact with the ground for a single exhilarating moment before touching down again. Another hillock raced towards him, and 'Kanthamee leaned forward to keep the Ghost firmly on the ground. It crested the hill and raced down towards the fuel rod gun lying on the earth. This particular weapon was vital to control, for it could reliably counter enemy armor as well as any Sangheili foolish enough to wander into its sights.

'Kanthamee glanced up just in time to see another Ghost crest the hill, ridden by one of 'Lystramee's SpecOps soldiers. Twin streams of blue plasma burst from each Ghost as the two pilots circled each other, trying to draw a bead.

The SpecOps soldier might have been talented, but he was not experienced in vehicular combat. His plasma bursts all failed to lead the moving 'Kanthamee, who took a moment to calculate the speed of the SpecOps Ghost before opening up. A storm of ravenous blue plasma blasts stabbed into and through the carapace of the jetbike, causing sparking overloads and eruptions of superheated plasma. The black-armored Sangheili had only a moment to roar in frustration before the plasma bursts cut through his shields, burned through his flesh, and sent his smoking carcass tumbling to the ground.

'Kanthamee permitted himself a brief smirk before he sped back to the fuel rod, dropping his plasma rifle and securing the massive weapon to his harness. He was about to re-mount when the telltale scream of a boosting Ghost reached his ears. He's committing his second one already? 'Kanthamee wondered before he caught a glimpse of the vehicle – and its white-armored rider.

'Lystramee was coming right for him.

There was only time for a snap-shot, which 'Kanthamee took. The green ball blasted into the Ghost's carapace, flinging burning conduits and small pieces of scorched armor in all directions. He dropped to a knee as the vehicle flipped end-over-end right above his head. He turned to see 'Lystramee, above all odds, land the battered Ghost and turn to face him again. Plasma bursts scorched the air around him, one or two flaring at the edge of his shield.

A worthy challenge, 'Kanthamee thought with satisfaction, remounting his Ghost and boosting out to meet 'Lystramee.

"Nameless One," 'Kanthamee barked over the comm. "Cover 'Lystramee, but do not fire until I give the word. If he wants an honorable duel, I will oblige him."

"Acknowledged. Luck and skill, Excellency," the disgraced warrior rasped.

'Lystramee certainly knew his way around a Ghost, that was for certain. Plasma bursts splashed across 'Kanthamee's Ghost, burning neat holes in the carapace. A slugging match between them would be inconclusive – 'Kanthamee wanted to win in such a way that it was obvious who was more skilled. He tapped his boost control, coming right up alongside the SpecOp leader's vehicle, then turned to roast the Sangheili with plasma at point-blank range. With no vehicle between him and the weapons, 'Lystramee's shields drained rapidly and flickered. Two bursts penetrated, scorching armor and flesh before the SpecOps commander boosted away behind a rock to recharge. 'Kanthamee gnashed his mandibles in frustration – if it hadn't been for 'Lystramee's upgraded shields, he would have been dead. Temporarily, at least. He pursued at full speed, firing as he went.

The two Ghosts threaded their way between the jutting rocks, neither one able to corner the other long enough to inflict a telling blow. 'Kanthamee became increasingly frustrated, aware that as they fought, the sacred banner could be in danger. Finally, he saw his chance: 'Lystramee had high-centered his Ghost on a rock and blown out the grav suspension. With a satisfied grin and a bit of gloating laughter, 'Kanthamee opened up.

The entire world disappeared in an avalanche of blue-silver plasma with an accompanying roar that vibrated 'Kanthamee's entire body. He cried out involuntarily as he flew through the air, grav-restraints still holding him to the burned wreck of his Ghost. A series of sharp impacts drained the rest of his shield as he slid along the ground. Pain seared along his nerves. It was like taking a full magazine of needler ammunition at point-blank range.

As 'Kanthamee's vision cleared, he found himself lying out near where he had retrieved the fuel rod. Lumbering ominously towards him was the gigantic shape of a Wraith tank – and scooting ahead of that was 'Lystramee's Ghost.

Rage flared in 'Kanthamee, suppressing the pain as he came to his hooves. That… that coward! He feigned disability to bring me in for his tank to destroy! His fuel rod gun lay thirty feet away – it might have been a mile, for all the good that it did him. 'Lystramee would run him over before he could even think of firing it.

"Nameless One," 'Kanthamee growled, "I have lost my patience with 'Lystramee. Kill him."

The reply came in a pinkish-white beam of light that almost delicately impaled 'Lystramee's head. It held for a moment before the Sangheili's skull exploded in a violet mist. As the commander toppled off, the riderless Ghost drifted to a halt near 'Kanthamee.

Rala 'Kanthamee was already in motion. He snatched up the fuel rod gun from where it had fallen and shouldered it. "'Duramee, strafe the Wraith," he ordered. "Make it expose its rear."

"Gladly, Excellency," 'Duramee replied. A moment later, blue-white plasma from the Banshee's cannons began to melt into the Wraith's carapace. The Wraith's main gun fired, but 'Duramee sideslipped and the blast did nothing but explode a sapling into vapor. In a vain attempt to track the fast-moving flyer, the Wraith turned ponderously – exposing its weak rear armor to 'Kanthamee's fuel rod gun.

Three shots later, the tank burst apart in an eruption of plasma and blackened Sangheili flesh

'Kanthamee opened a channel to his forces. "Now is the time to capture their banner! They will not have time to arm themselves after reloading! Prepare to assault! Nameless One, move to a position to better cover their base."

A chorus of acknowledgements came through as 'Kanthamee remounted the Ghost. Already an enemy Specter was moving to counterattack, but it was caught between his Ghost, 'Duramee's Banshee and their Specter. It went down quickly.

The grav vehicles sped over the hillocks until the enemy base came into view. Two pink beams stabbed through the air and 'Ilimee cried out in frustration as the particle beams blew through his shields and threw his broken body from the pilot seat of the Specter. It drifted aimlessly now, a glorified gun turret. Two shots later and it was not even that.

The sniper, however, had given away his position. As he sprinted for the teleporter, a ball of blue-silver plasma from the Wraith's main cannon engulfed him. When the shot faded, he was no more.

"The rest will be inside the base," 'Kanthamee predicted, dismounting from the Ghost and shouldering the fuel rod cannon. "I will clean them up and move back to our base with the sacred banner."

"Good luck, Excellency!" 'Thalamee wished him. "I will endeavor to retrieve the banner should you fall."

'Kanthamee laughed and strode into the base. Four black-armored figures faced him, all holding glittering plasma swords in their grasp. One of them looked familiar – he had been the one in the first Ghost and had respawned.

This, 'Kanthamee thought, will be fun.

The first two SpecOp Sangheili were slain with two fuel rod rounds apiece as they attempted to rush 'Kanthamee. Another ducked behind a corner and started hosing 'Kanthamee with plasma fire. Not even bothering to take cover, 'Kanthamee hurled a plasma grenade around the corner. While it did not adhere to the black-armored Sangheili, it did spook him out of cover – right into the path of a waiting fuel rod blast.

The voice of the Ancient Ones boomed out, showering 'Kanthamee with accolades. "Two have fallen to your might at once! You coat the ground with the blood of your enemies! Three foes have you slain!"

'Kanthamee ducked around the corner and slapped his last clip into the fuel rod cannon right as the last SpecOps warrior emerged, spraying plasma fire in all directions. The Ship Master allowed himself a smirk before bringing the heavy weapon around to smash into the warrior's side. Off-balance and wounded, the black-armored warrior's shots hissed wide past 'Kanthamee. 'Kanthamee's fuel rod blast did not miss.

"You are an unstoppable instrument of destruction!" the Forerunner thundered in approval.

Discarding the all-but-empty fuel rod cannon, 'Kanthamee stormed into the base. With one last glance for lurking enemies, he swept up the banner in his grasp and sprinted towards the ramp that would lead to the roof of the base and the waiting teleporter. This was predictably accompanied by the announcement "Azure Unit possesses the holy banner!"

As 'Kanthamee's long strides carried him to the top of the ramp, he stopped in momentary shock. Standing squarely between him and the teleporter was Jara 'Lystramee. Almost casually, the SpecOps commander drew the handle of his plasma sword from his weapons harness and activated it.

"I knew you would try to capture it yourself, 'Kanthamee," 'Lystramee hissed. "Let us see how you fare in a clash of real weapons, not Ghosts and snipers." He lunged towards 'Kanthamee, sword blade flashing blue-white as it descended towards the Ship Master's torso. However, the gold-armored Sangheili had other plans. Planting his feet, he caught the sword blade on the unbreakable alloy staff holding the sacred banner and threw it off to the side. Abandoning the banner for now – which miraculously picked itself up and fluttered upright – he drew his own sword and swung at 'Lystramee.

The exchange continued for several more blows, each of which was countered in turn. 'Lystramee was immensely strong and devilishly fast, and he had a book of sword tricks volumes long. Time after time, 'Kanthamee came within a hairsbreadth of a gory death… at least, a simulated one.

At last, 'Kanthamee sensed an opening. He stuck out with the flat of his other hand, knocking 'Lystramee off-balance for a tiny moment. Seizing the opportunity, he lunged forward, bringing the sword up from underneath. 'Lystramee was a perfect target, still recovering from the shock and not ten feet away…

And with suddenness that cast doubt on the existence of inertia, 'Lystramee sidestepped the lunge, clotheslined 'Kanthamee and brought his own energy sword up. The blade burned through the shielding around 'Kanthamee's head and sliced through the Ship Master's helmet, skull and brain in an instant. The gold-armored Sangheili felt an instant of blinding pain, then he was soaring overhead to await respawning.

Curse it! 'Kanthamee thought in frustration as 'Lystramee indulged in a moment of gloating over his simulated corpse. I do not think I have ever seen one so skilled at hand-to-hand combat. Now, he will return the banner and make a run at ours!

As 'Lystramee laughed in triumph, a crimson armored figure trotted over from where it had been watching the duel and unceremoniously smashed its plasma rifle into the commander's spine. With a strangled roar of impotent frustration, 'Lystramee collapsed.

Calmly, Eka 'Thalamee retrieved the banner and clambered on top of 'Duramee's waiting Banshee. The heavily laden craft wobbled a little on takeoff, but then began to climb steadily upwards. 'Kanthamee fought the urge to cheer wildly.

Suddenly, a threat became apparent. The enemies' Specter had respawned, and now two black-armored Sangheili occupied the driver and gunner positions. They swiftly closed on the Banshee, which could not evade the stream of plasma projectiles from the turret – if 'Duramee made any evasive moves, the carrier of the banner would plunge to the ground! Instead, 'Duramee set the Banshee on a suicide plunge towards the center of the base.

The Specter's plasma cannon tore great chunks from the Banshee's fuselage, finally burning all the way through it to kill its pilot. However, despite trailing smoke and plasma the Banshee continued on its plummeting course towards the base. Even though he was currently incorporeal, 'Kanthamee held his breath as the aircraft smashed into the top of their teleporter. The plasma power plant overloaded and pieces of the aircraft flew in all directions. One of the wings whirled off on a random path, its engine still providing thrust. A screen of smoke prevented 'Kanthamee from seeing what happened next – but whatever happened, a voice thundered over the landscape a mere second later:

"Rejoice! Azure Unit has secured the holy banner!"

The world around him faded away.

'Kanthamee found himself back in the sim-pod, strapped into his seat and staring into the empty darkness. He took three deep breaths, then keyed the hatch release. Purple-hued light flooded into the interior of the pod as the restraints retracted and allowed him to stand.

Outside, Jara 'Lystramee was already waiting. "That was an excellent performance, Ship Commander," the SpecOps commander commented with little or no resentment in his rumbling voice. "You are quite possibly the finest Ghost pilot I have ever seen… and you have a fell hand with a heavy weapon as well."

Gratified by the praise, 'Kanthamee clasped 'Lystramee's forearm. "And your swordplay was superlative. You had me outmatched from the very beginning. That was amazing!"

"That may well be," 'Lystramee chuckled ruefully, returning the gesture of friendship, "but I would be wise to watch my back more closely. You and your Sangheili did a masterful job of controlling the battlefield from the very opening moments. I would do well to study you."

'Kanthamee grinned. "Then you have no reservations about where ground command is placed when we arrive in-system?"

"None whatsoever, Ship Master."

"Well," 'Kanthamee commented with an irritated click of his mandibles, "I have yet more tedious datapadding to do. I had best be on my way."

'Lystramee cocked his head. "Not time for a round of Control the Holy Skull?"

"Well…" 'Kanthamee made a show of consideration. "I suppose if you state it in that manner…"

'Kanthamee turned to the Sangheili warrior who stood ever at attention next to his desk. This warrior's armor was colored a dull grey, remarkable in no way, except that it was so unremarkable. A passerby might mistake the warrior for a life-sized replica – and not an especially good one at that. "This is highly irregular, Nameless One," 'Kanthamee mused. "You are certain."

"Certain, Excellency." The gray-armored Sangheili moved his mandibles no more than necessary. Improbably, no other part of its body made the slightest movement.

'Kanthamee shook his head at Nameless One's hoarse-voiced prediction and reviewed the manifest again. There was absolutely no mention of any Eyes of the Prophets or other observers on any vessel of his four-ship battlegroup. For a mission of this importance, the normal pattern was to deploy four or more, at least one per ship.

Still, 'Kanthamee trusted Nameless One's intel. The disgraced Sangheili had proven the equal of any Special Operations Infiltrator in getting ahold of sensitive intelligence and information before passing it on to 'Kanthamee.

'Kanthamee wasted a moment reminiscing about the strange way that Nameless One had come into his command. Rumor had it that Nameless One had once been placed highly in SpecOps; maybe an Eye of the Prophets, perhaps even a commander. However, there had been some incident where the Sangheili had faced the Demon – the one the humans called Master Chief – and instead of confronting it and facing an honorable death, Nameless One had fled to call in reinforcements. It had been sound tactical thinking, but there had been two problems. One, it hadn't worked and the Demon had escaped. Two, that behavior ran counter to everything that the Sangheili prided themselves upon – bravery, fearlessness, courage.

Nameless One had barely missed a painful and humiliating public execution. What the Council had done instead was strip him of all name, rank and status. In 'Kanthamee's way of thinking, this had been a far worse fate. He had ceased to be a person and instead had become a thing. An object to be trod upon and scorned.

'Kanthamee had recognized Nameless One's skill in many useful areas, and upon his ascension to the rank of Ship Master had taken the luckless Sangheili as his personal aide. Ostensibly, it had been as a reminder to himself of the price of cowardice. However, Nameless One had proven immensely useful over the years.

Banishing thoughts of the past, 'Kanthamee tapped the holopad next to his terminal. A humanoid figure that glowed with radiance, complete with two seraphic wings, sprung into existence above the pad. "Yes, Ship Master?" Azrael demanded with a little less courtesy than 'Kanthamee would have preferred.

"Construct, what is our projected arrival time at our target system?"

Azrael paused only a moment as he calculated the answer. "At present course and speed, Holy One, the battlegroup will reach its destination in four point five zero nine hours. I humbly recommend—"

"—preparing for battle," 'Kanthamee finished smoothly. "Of course, construct Azrael. Recheck all ship systems and report to me on their status in four hours."

Azrael glowered silently for a second before bowing. "As you command, Excellency." He shimmered out of existence.

'Kanthamee let out an exasperated sigh. "The computer constructs of the Great Ones may have their uses, but this one is growing tiresome. Perhaps I will have to implement a personality wipe on him."

"When do you wish this to be done?" Nameless One rasped.

"Do not concern yourself," 'Kanthamee chuckled. "I was merely thinking and wishing out loud. No, I have no idea how to bring about such an alteration. He shall have to remain an annoyance for the time being." Nameless One bowed and resumed his motionless vigil.

'Kanthamee returned his attention to the terminal again, checking and double-checking all loadouts. When they arrived in-system, he planned to hit the humans hard, immediately and without mercy. No sense in giving them time to prepare.

Somehow, though, he knew that they would be ready. They always were…