Chapter 14 – Perditio
(6th Cycle, 27 Units - Covenant Battle Calendar), 9th Age of Reclamation
Epsilon Eridani System, In Orbit over human world of Reach
Aboard SDV-class Corvette Ardent Prayer
:********:
Shipmaster Moretumee kept one eye on his personal station and another on Ardent Prayer's bridge crew. He was careful to observe their actions of late. From the comms officer on the other side of the perimeter platform to the navigations officer just beyond it, he watched how they went about their duties. The daily functions of the corvette were carried out under the quiet scrutiny of its shipmaster, searching every perfunctory action for signs of deceit.
After the events of the last few days, he was left wary of everyone and everything. The only person he felt he could trust had gone down with his ship. He had at least lived long enough to learn that their combined report was sent to friendly lines. During all that time Moretumee prayed that it reached the eyes of the Hierarchs. And he was still praying.
Word had reached Valiant Prudence regarding his message. It had come to none other than the supreme commander himself who made it known to the rest of the fleet. He commanded them to maintain their positions until another fleet, one sent from the Ministry of Resolution, arrived to aid them.
Two troubling realities presented themselves right away.
The first was the most blatant, that Barutamee was now aware that he'd been betrayed. His wish to have no one speak of their operations on the human world was cast aside by one of his own. Though he did not seem to be on the hunt just yet, Moretumee suspected he was doing the same as him. They were both looking over their shoulders, except only one of them knew who to be on the lookout for.
If Barutamee was convinced it was him then he would certainly have taken some action against him by now. So far, he hadn't. Moretumee was still on the Ardent Prayer, still issuing commands to his bridge officers and his crew. And that was exactly why he was worried.
What if the commander didn't know it for a fact but still held a strong suspicion towards him? It wasn't unheard of for those of his rank to have disobedient shipmasters assassinated, even on the grounds of their own intuition. Sometimes the deed was carried out by the guilty party's own crew. Sometimes it was by those they trusted most.
Moretumee didn't trust anyone. Hence, he kept an eye on everyone. He would need to if he hoped to ride out the new waiting period. And that was his next dilemma.
It was never disclosed how long it would take before their reinforcements arrived. There was no telling what could happen in the indeterminate amount of time between now and then. The humans held a strong grip over this world, stronger than anything he'd seen in his limited naval career. Hushed rumors from a few of the more veteran crew members suggested that the level of resistance the fleet was encountering on this planet was unusual. If the humans held such great strength in reserve, as he knew they did, then there was nothing stopping them from attacking Valiant Prudence. Whether they would succeed against them or not was debatable. What could not be disputed was that the two sides were almost evenly matched. Both were waiting for the other to strike. No matter who tried their luck first, the casualties would be severe. For the time being, the advantage of a first strike was, by Resolution's holiest of orders, given to the enemy.
To Moretumee, the humans weren't the only threat and were, for him, far from the biggest. The Prayer could handle a skirmish with a heavy frigate. What it could not handle was a single salvo from the guns of the Solace.
He doubted the commander would actually fire on him. The fleet was in too tight of a spot for him to chance getting rid of anyone. But after? What was to stop him from tempting the fates after the enemy was overcome? Would he turn his torpedoes on the corvette? Would there ever be a better time for it? Barutamee was facing the possibility of retribution from the Gods for disobeying their holy ones. Soon he would have nothing left. So why not take revenge while it was still within his power to do so?
That was of course if he could identify the traitor in time.
Moretumee chose to ease his besieged mind by taking a walk around the perimeter platform. His stroll brought him to the other side of the projection area. His attention turned to the forward viewing glass.
Beyond it lay the depths of space. The upper atmosphere of the planet spanned before him like a celestial carpet of dark brown earth and turquoise clouds. The part of the hemisphere towards which the Prayer faced was submerged in the shadows of night.
Far ahead of them, poised above the gentle curve of the planet was a great shadow.
The silhouette of the Long Night of Solace was living up to the name with which it was ordained. It sat alone and with no visible lights active along its hull. It was a looming giant transfigured into a fearful image by the deceptions of evening. Despite all appearances, it was indeed active and a far greater danger than any demon Moretumee's religious fervor could conjure.
The Solace remained unmoving like a monster in hibernation, ready to claw asunder both friend and foe if awakened. The shipmaster of the Ardent Prayer wasn't sure on which side he fell. Its size alone made him feel miniscule regardless of the distance. Briefly he wondered what damage the carrier could wreak at such range. The question subsequently crossed his mind of what the corvette could do under the same conditions. It was not even close.
"Shipmaster."
Moretumee rounded on the speaker. It was his comms officer who called to him from his console on the perimeter platform.
"We've received a priority hail from the Solace."
The shipmaster felt every muscle in his body tense. He fought to maintain an even tone as he replied. "Send it to my personal station."
The officer nodded and typed away at the flurry of glyphs above his console. Moretumee drew in a breath and strode back towards the projection area.
The display of the human world vanished. A new projection took its place, that of another Sangheili. The visage of Supreme Commander Barutamee towered over him, and he hated it.
In spite of his personal distaste, he stood at attention whilst the commander addressed him.
"Let there be reverence for the blood of those slain before us."
Moretumee bowed his head. "And let there be grace for the blood of those yet to be slain behind us."
Upon finishing the officer's tradition, the kind of greeting the shipmaster knew was only used when a mission of grave importance was afoot, Barutamee spoke candidly.
"There is work to be done, Moretumee, and there are no hands more capable for this task than those of you and your crew. I've come to inform you of your role in our counterattack against the humans."
Moretumee's restrained guise slipped. "A counterattack? Does that mean we're-"
"Indeed. The wait is almost at an end, the fleet is soon to arrive. We must prepare the way for them."
A secondary projection appeared off to the side of the commander. It showed a smaller view of the planet that quickly zoomed in on a section of its upper atmosphere. There, framed against the darkness was what to Moretumee looked like a cluster of space debris. Human space debris.
But it wasn't debris. He slowly recognized that what looked like miscellaneous pieces of wreckage were in truth structural components of enemy ships. The human vessels weren't torn apart. Quite the opposite: they were being put together. Over half a dozen pairs of hulking maneuver drives floated in a stable orbit around a greater structure. At the heart of the orbital shipyard was a creation that reminded Moretumee of three gray-metal pylons joined at the middle. They were like a set of pearls strung together or a kabob of fish.
"This is one of our foe's refit stations." Barutamee said. "It is the nearest threat to the perimeter of our formation and you, by reason of that, are the closest to it. To leave it so close to our lines as to be a source of replenishment for our enemy would be unwise, especially given that we will be receiving our reinforcements soon. We will deny the humans this forward post against us. I need you to send out a raiding party. They must be capable of overrunning its defenses in order to carry out its destruction."
The shipmaster pondered his proposal. "But commander, wouldn't it be easier to send the Prayer? I see a human ship docked with that station. Would it not be better to have the force at hand needed to counter it should it enter the fight?"
"The whole crew will not be needed. I do not wish to compromise the fleet's perimeter and grant the humans an open door into our formation. To avoid a possible flanking maneuver, I will need the Prayer to remain in its current patrol pattern. Entrust to the assault what forces you believe are best, but not your ship. We can't afford to lose any more corvettes."
The final sentence caused Moretumee to reminisce on his last meeting with Rizanamee.
"I will do what I can."
"Know this, shipmaster, at the end of the day I want that station to resemble the debris after which it seems to have been inspired."
"Be it as you say, commander. We will 'inspire' them into oblivion."
Barutamee nodded. "Good. See to it then. However, there is one more thing I wish to discuss with you."
Caught off guard by the request, Moretumee wondered what else there was left to talk about. There was only one thing he could think of which made him prepare an arsenal of half-truths and misdirection.
The commander took his silence as a sign to proceed. "Do you still possess the conviction of this fleet?"
"Commander?"
"The charge to which Valiant Prudence was dedicated, to which I dedicated it, do you still believe in its validity?
Moretumee hesitated. "...I do not understand."
"What I wish to know, shipmaster, is are you still of the belief that the Gods will reward our faith with the discovery of Maethrillian?"
Now Moretumee understood what he was going for. It was hard not to when the topic was the subject of nearly all of the commander's inter-fleet communications. From the day he joined Valiant Prudence, he had known Barutamee to be a warrior of faith but also a Sangheili who believed he controlled his own fate. The two were intermingled in his view where the Gods would accompany his hard work with a predestinated reward. The notions of will and destiny became one. Therefore, in his perspective, his creation was purposed for the very task of searching out the glory of the Forerunners, specifically their capital. He considered every one of his shipmasters 'a friend' of his destiny and called them such if they reflected this faith as well. Everyone, even Moretumee had knuckled under to him in this regard. The shipmaster had done so well at this that he had even gotten the commander to refer to him as one of his 'close friends' during one of the fleet's briefings. But there lay the predicament. To oppose the guiding vision of the fleet was to oppose the fleet, and to oppose the fleet was to oppose Barutamee himself.
It was a loyalty test.
"I do believe in it." Moretumee replied after a noticeable hesitance. "And I do believe we will attain our reward soon."
At this, Barutamee leaned back in his command chair, easing his penetrating glare somewhat. Thinking he must have passed the test, Moretumee reconsidered the commander's intentions. Was he asking him all this to see if he was the traitor or to see if he would support some action of his against the powers that be? He wagered on the likelihood of both.
"However," The shipmaster continued, "I also believe that we will need help in doing so. Resolution will certainly make this possible."
Barutamee's gaze shot back to him. "What?"
"The Gods have seen fit to give us the aid we need so that we might take hold of their prize, commander. I do not see it as possible for us to accomplish our aims outside of their succor."
Behind the cloud of religious zeal, Moretumee hoped to get his point across. To act without the ministry's assistance would be catastrophic. Perhaps his spiritual promptings would keep the commander from wrecking the rest of Prudence. After all, the shipmaster reasoned, how could he take command of a fleet left in ruin?
Barutamee sized him up with a scrutinizing glare as though he had found something he was searching for. "Truer words have never been spoken, or wiser. Do not worry yourself, shipmaster. We will receive what provisions are needed for our purpose. Should it be as holy as we supposed, and it certainly is, then we will prevail here against our enemy."
Unless he was mistaken, Moretumee felt there was something in his last sentence that was left out, as though Prudence would prevail 'despite' the restriction placed upon it. The shipmaster couldn't tell if he had succeeded in dissuading his superior from some rash action or if he had just outed himself as the traitor.
"I will leave you to it now." Barutamee said. "Go and make swift work of the scum on that station."
Moretumee nodded. "Until we are deemed worthy to undertake the final journey."
"And walk the path of transcendence."
Barutamee's form dissipated, and the overall projection of the world returned, albeit with a focus on the orbital station.
Not sure what to make of his commander's aims, he kept one eye on the distant supercarrier and another on the projection as he declared the details of their new mission over the Prayer's communications.
:********:
Where had they come from?
Why had no one warned him of them?
The two questions cycled interchangeably through the shipmaster's thoughts as he beheld the destruction of his squadrons. Spaceborne Banshees were blown to pieces by trailing missiles that chased after them like carnivorous comets. Scores of Seraphs had their shields battered away by machinegun fire before suffering the same fate. Pursuing rockets got close enough to taste the rear of their fuselages, instantly consuming their hulls in ravenous flames. The squadron of Phantom Gunboats he sent fared no better. Their shields were likewise destroyed, suffering under the newly activated defense systems of the orbital station and the dogged relentlessness of this new weapon.
Moretumee had never seen the likes of them before. Unlike the dark, arrow-shaped fighters the humans usually used in ship-to-ship engagements, the craft that defended the station were sleek and narrow in design. They were also unnaturally maneuverable. Banshees and Seraphs that were accustomed to outmaneuvering their less wieldy opponents suddenly found themselves on the receiving end. Every move, every roll, spiral and controlled turn was shadowed and outperformed by the new experiments, for experiments they had to be. There was no other plausible explanation.
Several of the attack craft engaged dozens of his fighters. Each took it upon itself to tackle a whole squadron whenever a new wave arrived. Every Covenant pilot they slew proved their individual lethality, yet one of them possessed a level of skill that easily surpassed its allies. Moretumee hated to admit it but there was an ace among the group. The 'ace' eliminated the majority of those he had dispatched. The human pilot outmaneuvered and outgunned everything that came after it. Even when it was pursued by determined warriors, it always found a way to reverse the situation. The hunters quickly became the hunted in seconds-long dogfights.
The fleet of attacking starcraft tried to fulfill their duty all the same. From the recordings Moretumee had seen, there were mixed results. Banshees were easy pickings for the new craft. The Seraphs tended to last longer. Even then, 'lasting longer' translated in real time to four or five more seconds.
Few survived long enough to hear his order to withdraw. Some managed to do so, only to find themselves in a new plight shortly thereafter.
They suddenly had their hands full fending off the human fighters as they now swarmed around the Ardent Prayer. Missiles and plasma cannon fire streaked across the many displays of the corvette's bridge, tracking the dogfights that arose between the Seraphs and the new craft. This too was quickly turning into a one-sided slaughter. Moretumee witnessed many of his starfighters have their shields and hulls pummeled into a fiery nothingness. At one point he didn't even have to look at the displays as one of the human craft soared directly past the bridge's viewing glass. The ease and precision with which they maneuvered themselves was almost unreal. His staggering mind failed to grasp how the humans, most accursed of all species, had possessed the intelligence to create them. His confusion at this built into a burning fury that was fanned by each Covenant fighter that succumbed to their power.
To amplify the accursedness of his situation was the presence of the human ship. One of their heavy frigates had accompanied the hostile squadron on their assault. Its commander proved quite capable and aggravatingly so, jamming the Prayer's communications as well as its long-range sensors. How they accomplished the latter was beyond anything he had seen of a ship of its class. A sneaking suspicion, however, told him that it wasn't the ship itself. Rather, it might've been the small contacts that the bridge crew had reported appearing and disappearing on their scanners just prior to the blackout. They were too miniscule to be a problem for the corvette but also too constant a presence to ignore. The idea that they were artificial satellites and nothing more was tossed aside in the wake of the recent incursion.
All the same, knowing what they were would not help the crew survive the current onslaught. The frigate's refusal to get within range of the Prayer's heavy cannons was infuriating. It kept a contemptuous distance, remaining sternward of the corvette while its defense guns offered fire support for the enemy squadron.
Moretumee gave what fire support he could for his own forces. However, he was conservative when it came to volleys from the heavy plasma cannons. Though powerful, they tended to have an overlapping effect that could readily obliterate friendly fighters if they got too close. The potential for it was made reality given that there were a greater number of Covenant fighters than those of the humans. Despite his attempts to score damage on their foes, his weapons officer found himself of little use to the skirmish.
Then the ace appeared.
The human fighter that killed so many of his pilots now made itself known once more. It purged a noticeably higher number of Seraphs than its comrades before setting its sights on the worst target imaginable: the Prayer's engines.
Moretumee refused to retreat. He refused to move his ship to escape, to flee in the face of human aggression. He was intent on standing and fighting, on preventing a single infidel from gaining ground on his ship or his honor. For that reason, he had imperiled both as the ace unleashed volleys of machinegun fire and missiles into the repulsor drives.
One drive after another went offline in quick succession, too quick for the shipmaster to accept what was happening. His stubbornness soon cooled enough for him to face the matter at hand. But by then it was already too late. In similar fashion to the first three, the ship trembled as the last drive went offline.
On a few of his displays he saw the humans' demonic ace bank away after finishing its last attack run, leaving behind a battered mess on the corvette's stern. A raging inferno of purple-pink flames and crackling electricity trailed from the vessel's rear, engulfing the entirety of the drives.
Moretumee cursed the Demon. That was precisely what it had to be. Surely no ordinary human could accomplish what this one had. He cursed its existence and the abominable race that spawned it. And it seemed his curse was answered.
As if in reply to his calls for the damnation of the unholy, a slew of Seraphs flashed into being around the corvette. In his rage, Moretumee had nearly forgotten about the patrol that he'd sent out mere hours ahead of the assault.
The squadron leader hailed the bridge. He swore an impromptu oath to Moretumee that they would massacre the humans as his Seraphs began chasing after them. The shipmaster was so pleased by the arrival of the reinforcements that he dispatched more fighters from the hangar. He hoped that their combined might would put an end to the nuisance. A few seconds would see the squadron leader's oath fulfilled, albeit in reverse.
Every single Covenant fighter was destroyed without exception.
Moretumee watched the fiery wreck of the last Seraph dissipate into the void as its killer soared through its shattered remains. The one-sided destruction was disheartening. Even so, as furious as he was, he felt slightly relieved that the enemy never went after the drop pods.
There was yet another reason that he couldn't move the ship, besides his honor and the paralysis wrought by the loss of the drives. Before the commander's order to attack the refit station, Moretumee had been doing a personal favor for a Sangheili general on the surface. The general, in a strange sense of irony, was among the forces deployed by the Holy Dispersion just days prior to its destruction. The officer himself was part of an abandoned contingent believed too heavily surrounded to salvage. While the rest of the fleet ignored his calls for reinforcements, Moretumee hadn't. He felt a strong obligation to help him for the sake of his late friend. He had ordered the Prayer into a stationary orbit to allow for drop pods of supplies and reinforcements to be sent to the surface. He was still awaiting word on whether the general had received the provisions when the humans came. Yet even now, if his drives worked, he would still have remained where he was. He wouldn't abandon the last of Rizanamee's remnants. It was the least he could do for the Sangheili that stood alongside him against the prince of fools, Barutamee. That said, the decision left his shields inactive in order to allow the pods free passage to the surface. And that in turn left him vulnerable.
The frigate didn't seem to care for the drop pods. Neither did the human fighters who, after defeating the last Seraphs, made for the corvette's landing pad.
Again, there was little he could do to stop them. His communications were down, his sensors out of commission, his fighter escorts destroyed and his ship's personal defenses not even able to track them. As they descended onto the pad, he did what he could. He dispatched the onboard detachment of Sangheili Rangers to apprehend them at the communications center. Their exoatmospheric equipment made them ideal for stopping the new arrivals in their tracks. While they dealt with the boarding party, he resettled his malice on the next target.
The frigate no longer remained at a distance and began making a broadside maneuver off the portside of the corvette. Trying its hand at distracting the ship, it began taking lucky shots from the corvette's cannons. Moretumee sought to change that. He laid down several solid firing solutions for his weapons officer. With the on-site assistance at the battery of one of the ship's disciplinary officers, a Sangheili Ultra, they concentrated fire on the enemy ship. It in turn fired back. However, it did so with its defense guns alone.
He noticed that it refused to use its magnetic accelerator cannon and deduced that its restraint was for a single purpose: to aid the boarding party.
They wanted to capture the Ardent Prayer.
The idea in itself was so outrageous that Moretumee considered going out from the bridge to meet the boarding party head-on. He invariably cast the thought aside for the sake of the bigger picture. The frigate was handicapped. It could not implore its full arsenal whereas he was unbeholden to any such restriction. If it was destroyed, the humans onboard would have no means of retreat. They would be routed and slaughtered without issue.
Or so he thought.
His first clue that something was amiss came when the commanding officer of the Rangers refused to respond to his hails. Reports quickly reached the bridge that the communications center had fallen. Something was on its way to the hangar. The frantic comm-chatter of wary Sangheili and panicked Unggoy confirmed his suspicions as well as his fears.
The human he suspected of being the ace pilot was indeed a Demon, and that Demon was now aboard his ship.
It was running amuck through the corridors, gunning down everything that stood between it and the hangar. Moretumee acted swiftly and warned those inside to prepare themselves.
The Demon's arrival there was met with suppression fire from those he sent to secure the bay. Among them were a second squad of Rangers and an attached team of Unggoy Ultras. Additional Unggoy from the cargo crew were present in support along with their secret weapon: a Huragok. Not just any kind of Huragok either, one with a shield generating harness mounted upon its air sacs. It covered the defenders with reinforced energy shields that glowed about them as they gave the intruder a warrior's welcome. However, as Moretumee was to learn through individual feeds of the firefight, the Demon had a hellish welcome of its own.
Nothing could withstand it.
It made short work of the Unggoy and cut through the Rangers one after another. The Huragok was not spared either. As its gooey remains rained upon the floor of the hangar, its demise heralded that of the survivors.
In no time at all the bay was taken. On the bridge, Moretumee burned with rage upon seeing the Demon ascend to one of the platforms and access one of the door interfaces. The act neutralized the resistive nature of the shields.
Uncertain of what it was after, he shifted his attention to the unfolding battle between the Prayer and the frigate. Yellow-hot tracers and searing blue plasma continued to slash at the space between them. The anti-armor ordnance of the frigate peppered the hull of his corvette, denting it in places and piercing it in others so that it bled atmosphere. For all the damage it inflicted, it was a minor annoyance compared to that exacted by his plasma cannons. He was pleased with every bolt of magnetized energy that struck its target. The frigate's gray hull was beginning to glow hot in some places, burning away in others. Sprays of self-sealing coolant put out many of the flames but could not fully heal the wounds left behind.
Amidst the fighting, a single human dropship soared above the crisscrossing chaos. To his disgust, it flew straight into the ship's portside door like a parasite worming its way into an open wound. It settled itself down upon the outer edge of the bay. Its rear entrance fell open and more soldiers poured out. And so did another Demon.
It was considerably bigger than the one that battered the crew. It carried a bigger gun too. He witnessed the pair of armored abominations walk up to each other. He couldn't hear what was said between them but was sure it was an important conversation. Despite his confidence that he would be the victor in this fight, he felt a nervousness set his stomach alight. The feeling was worsened by the sight of the 'thing' mounted to the back of their dropship.
He wasn't sure what it was. It had the unorthodoxly bulbous shape of a missile. But it wasn't a missile. It had the metal ribbed exterior of a small ship. But it wasn't a ship. The various azure lights that glowed along its frame made what it was even less obvious.
As Moretumee studied it on one of his displays, the comms officer called to him from his station.
"Shipmaster, I have intercepted some of the communications from the Demons."
Moretumee turned to him. "What did you find?"
The officer wavered. "I...do not know. The larger one said they brought a 'powder keg' aboard."
Powder keg?
If he was confused before, Moretumee was bewildered now. He had no idea what a 'powder keg' was or what it could mean. He considered having his comms officer run the statement through a lexicographic scan of known human phraseology. He would have done so were it not for more pressing matters.
The humans were once again on the move. On another display he could see the first Demon making its way to the bay's exit along with a band of soldiers. They were leaving behind the larger Demon who seemed content to guard the mysterious powder keg.
Moretumee didn't have a chance to so much as warn the last defenders between them and their next objective. The corvette's battery was a short stroll away. It wouldn't be long before his access to the cannons was undone.
"There is not time, tear apart that frigate!" Moretumee bellowed to the weapons officer. "Focus on its fore and aft sections! Concentrate your fire on those breaches in the hull!"
The weapons officer responded in kind by typing new firing solutions into his console. On his display, the shipmaster watched the heavy cannons momentarily cease fire. Their targeting sequences recalibrated and they recommenced their barrage, concentrating their broadside salvo on two spots along the fore and aft sections. Explosions flared out from the frigate with greater force than before. Succinct impacts along its hull caused its interior atmosphere to vent in geysers of pressurized air, eventually giving way to plumes of fire that spewed from ruptured compartments. The enemy's guns fell silent.
Moretumee stepped away from his station to see out the viewing glass. Doing so made him aware of just how far the Ardent Prayer had drifted. It was much closer to the Long Night of Solace than he had realized and was coming in towards the carrier at a low angle. It struck him as odd that it was so close, that reinforcements were so near and yet no support was being given. Didn't Barutamee see that his subordinate needed aid? He certainly couldn't because if he did then he would surely have-
No, he did see. He just didn't care...
A rush of anger made the shipmaster bare his fanged mandibles at the titan of a vessel. Out of both a desire for revenge and a need for victory, he redirected his thirst for blood to the neighboring frigate.
Accompanied by multiple angles from the displays floating around him, he witnessed the slaughter of his opponent.
It began after a final plasma barrage. The salvo pounded the ship and caused numerous secondary explosions to tear through its hull. Then as if grabbed by invisible hands, its starboard maneuver drive was ripped free and sent spiraling away in a spray of debris. The ship's support systems went dark. It drifted sternward as its last drive died.
Within the hail of smaller explosions, a larger one blew out through the stern, followed immediately by an eruption that dwarfed all others. The blast consumed its bridge and sent out a shockwave that shook the Prayer. Moretumee felt everything vibrate around him. Despite the jarring destruction, he felt nothing but glee. He glowed with satisfaction as he watched the frigate's sundered remains fall away behind the corvette.
A victorious cry rang out across the bridge.
"Well done." Moretumee declared before switching his armor's communications unit to address every surviving crew member. "All hands, prepare to withstand the enemy. Any crew that are left are ordered to engage the human presence in the hangar and reinforce our defenses at the battery. Secure them both. Cleanse the ship."
He briefly glanced at the Prayer's three portside cannons that lay further down the hull. They had stopped firing after reducing their foe to ashes. Nevertheless, he couldn't help feeling that something was wrong. He turned to his comms officer across the way.
"How is the battery? Are our forces there holding?"
The officer turned to him hesitantly. "I'm trying to get a situation update but I'm not receiving a response to my hails."
"What?"
"Shipmaster, no one is answering."
Moretumee's thoughts shifted to the ship's disciplinary officer, the Ultra he had left in charge of the battery. He turned to a trio of his personal displays that were connected to the compartment. They all showed the same thing. That same Ultra now lay in a pool of his own blood before the controls of one of the cannons.
There was no sign of the humans.
No sign of the Demon.
Alarmed, Moretumee deactivated the manifold displays with a swipe of his hand as he reached for his back. He grabbed the handle of his personal weapon, a concussion rifle, and ripped it off of his magnetic harness.
He was about to shout a general call to arms when a sound stole his voice out of his throat: the mechanical whir of locks disengaging.
One of the doors to the bridge cycled open. A pang of fear stopped him from turning around as he heard footsteps emerge from the entrance. At first his frantic mind consoled him that it was probably just a Sangheili coming onto the bridge. But their footsteps were too light to be those of a Sangheili...and too fast...
He realized his mistake too late as the sound of human gunfire arose alongside cries of pain from his crew. He reeled about as his other officers did the same, discharging their weapons in a chaotic tradeoff of bullets and plasma.
Moretumee finished wheeling around, leveled his concussion rifle and spotted the greatest threat he had ever faced. The Demon was on the bridge, his bridge. It was in his sights and he in its. He opened fire.
:********:
Barutamee observed the destruction of the human frigate with muted delight. 'Muted' because he would rather have seen both ships destroyed. At least that way he could cost the humans one of their ships for the price of a traitorous one. That and it would have spared him the need for the plan that he intended to carry out. Then again, perhaps it would be easier to pull off now thanks to the humans.
From the beginning, his aim was to weaken Moretumee. The refit station on the edge of Valiant Prudence's perimeter was a problem, yes, but not one they needed to address. Fleets sent by the Ministry of Resolution were never small. They were the part of the Covenant that held the greatest responsibility for the crusade against humanity. It stood to reason that any force they dispatched would be capable of fending for itself. Thankfully, Moretumee had been too dense to pick up on that line of reasoning.
The station was just a distraction, an excuse to get him to expend a high quantity of his starfighters on a non-immediate threat. How high said quantity turned out to be was surprising even to the commander, however. He hadn't counted on the humans fighting off so many attack craft. Still, they had achieved his purpose of limiting the shipmaster's airpower.
Barutamee planned to offer starfighter squadrons of his own to replenish the depleted ranks of Ardent Prayer's. Then their pilots could come aboard. Once on the ship, they would reveal themselves to be what they truly were: a strike team of over several dozen Special Operations Sangheili. They would seize control of the ship and especially of its shipmaster. They would dock the Prayer to the Solace and bring Moretumee into his custody. With that done, the commander could take his time torturing the information he needed out of him. He wanted to hear from his own mouth that he was the traitor. He wanted to be there when he confessed.
In a way, he had already heard his confession. Earlier he had purposefully asked him if he still believed in Prudence's mission. He wanted to hear his answer. And answer Moretumee did.
'The Gods have seen fit to give us the aid we need so that we might take hold of their prize, commander. I do not see it as possible for us to accomplish our aims outside of their succor.'
He had come close to escaping the commander's suspicions before he said that. What to him must have sounded like safe wisdom was in truth a word in favor of his execution. No shipmaster in his right mind would give unasked-for counsel to their commander as if they were equals...unless he wanted to be more than a shipmaster.
By his own words, Moretumee was ensnared. It was clear from them that his sole wish was to keep Prudence from acting without Resolution. Their impending arrival was his means of controlling the fleet, his advice an attempt to keep their rightful commander from walking out of the trap he himself had set. Now it was the shipmaster's turn to be trapped.
Or so Barutamee had thought.
He never got the chance to offer his starfighters to the conniving shipmaster. The humans beat him to it. From his command chair on the bridge of the Solace, he had watched them rip away what little remained of Moretumee's Seraphs. It appeared a few humans had boarded his ship as well, much to the commander's scorn. As much as he loathed the infidels, he loathed Moretumee more. How could he call himself a shipmaster, no, how could he aspire to usurp Barutamee's place as supreme commander when he was hardly capable of defending his own ship?
Pitiful.
Nevertheless, he was still a warrior. He proved himself by eliminating the hostile frigate. Barutamee watched the destruction play out over several of the displays that hovered about his command chair.
It was a fair sight to see given those playing out on a score of other displays around him.
The assault on the Ardent Prayer was not a one-off event. Far from it. At present, the whole of Valiant Prudence was stretched thin. Its formation was a mess, scattered about into over a dozen individual engagements. A human fleet had arrived on the outskirts of their perimeter and attacked at different sectors, drawing most of his ships out of place. He beheld everything that occurred via his multitudinous displays. His corvettes exchanged fire with their cruisers. His battlecruisers gave chase to their fleeing frigates. The shields of his heavy cruisers tanked the magnetic rounds of their destroyers. Some ships drew so close together that they collided, or in more desperate cases, rammed into each other on purpose. Compromised hulls, compartment depressurizations, reactor failures and explosions were a common sight. Human warships were the usual victims. However, there was the occasional exception that chipped away at Prudence's numbers. He saw some of his cruisers impaled by multiple magnetic rounds or a corvette swallowed whole by a combined missile barrage. Their losses were hard on his heart but tolerable all the same.
He could have especially tolerated the loss of one ship above any other, more precisely its shipmaster. Sadly, the Gods were not so gracious on that front. For the time being, Ardent Prayer and the Long Night of Solace were effectively alone, alone at the center of a far-flung formation. With the haggard status of the former, Barutamee no longer saw the need for subtlety or pretense.
He righted himself in his seat as he prepared to issue the order for the special operations team to deploy. The command was on the tip of his tongue when Senior Officer Pretumee spoke up from the comms section.
"Commander, the Ardent Prayer has contacted us. Her automatic systems just put her along a refueling track for the Solace. They will be docking with us soon."
Barutamee winced at the sudden news. He arose from his chair and strode to the edge of the platform to speak with him directly. "Did her shipmaster log a formal request to do so?"
"No, commander."
That was strange, almost too strange for his liking. He knew the Prayer had taken serious damage during its scuffle with the frigate. However, that only went so far as to explain why it shouldn't be trying to refuel. Its repulsor drives had suffered the most. The chances that they were hemorrhaging from internal fuel leaks was high. So why risk wasting fuel? Why not request repairs first?
Unless Moretumee was just that desperate and as equally wary of his superior. Barutamee accounted for the possibility that the shipmaster was merely of a mind to get more fuel then get his distance. Perhaps he was cannier than he looked.
Whether that was the case or not, the commander didn't care. What he saw before him was a rare chance to resolve his feud without risking the escape of his quarry. The Prayer would have no way to run while it was connected to his ship.
He pushed aside the bulk of his displays, confident that Prudence had the wider battle under control. He instead got on the move while those few displays that showed the Prayer followed by his side. He took contemplative strides around the defense platform, watching and waiting.
The feeds captured the solitary corvette on its approach. It was coming up from beneath the carrier, rising slowly towards one of the fuel receptacles on the ship's underbelly. Soon it stopped moving altogether. Its inertia died out, leaving only a few kilometers left between it and the carrier.
Then a sixth sense overtook all the others. Barutamee felt something about the whole situation was wrong. It seemed like the prey was willfully stepping into the mouth of the predator. Why would it do so, why would Moretumee do so? Was he really that unaware that there were well-founded suspicions against him? Was he wrong about him being canny? Certainly, it should have been a more troublesome task than this.
"Commander," Another of his officers called, "Our scans just detected two human biosignatures on the Prayer."
Barutamee clenched his jaws. "Where onboard?"
"One is in the hangar bay. The other just emerged out of the portside door. It's-..."
"What is it?"
The officer stared at his console in stunned confusion. "It's... falling through the atmosphere."
The commander reached for one of his displays and zoomed in on the Prayer. Doing so gave him a top-down view of the ship and allowed him to notice a strange sight. A dark dot was rapidly falling away from the corvette, growing smaller and smaller with each passing second.
Though odd, he dismissed it out of hand as the crew going out of their way to torture their human prisoners. Some of them had made it aboard after all, and it wasn't uncommon for Sangheili to enjoy the suffering of captured foes.
In any event, capturing Moretumee was of the greater concern.
Barutamee seized the moment. He strode off the command platform and moved in the direction of the doors. The displays of Ardent prayer pursued him.
"Have the special operations team prepare to deploy." He ordered, hardly noticing as a wash of electrical energy began to pulse from the heart of the corvette. "Have them meet me in the hangar, and tell them to-"
Perditio - Destruction
