He paused, and regained his composure. ’Fulsamee clicked his lower mandibles – the equivalent of a shrug – and mentally recited one of the True Sayings. Such is the Prophets’ decree, he thought. One didn’t question such things, even when one was a Ship Master. The Prophets had assigned names to the enemy craft, and he would honor their decrees. Any less was a disgraceful dereliction of duty.

Like all of his kind, the Covenant officer appeared to be larger than he actually was, due to the armor that he wore. It gave him an angular, somewhat hunched appearance which, when combined with a heavy, pugnacious jaw, caused him to look like what he was: a very dangerous warrior. His voice was calm and well modulated as he assessed the situation. “They must have followed one of our ships. The culprit will be found and put to death at once, Exalted.”

The being who floated next to ’Fulsamee bobbed slightly as a gust of air nudged his heavily swathed body. He wore a tall, ornate headpiece made of metal and set with amber panels. The Prophet had a serpentine neck, a triangular skull, and two bright green eyes which glittered with malevolent intelligence. He wore a red overrobe, a gold underrobe, and somewhere, hidden beneath all the fabric, an antigrav belt which served to keep his body suspended one full unit off the deck. Though only a Minor Prophet, he still outranked ’Fulsamee, as his bearing made clear.

True Sayings aside, the Ship Master couldn’t help but be reminded of the tiny, squealing rodents he had hunted in his childhood. He immediately banished the memory of blood on his claws and returned his attention to the Prophet, and his tiresome assistant.

The assistant, a lower-rank Elite named Bako ’Ikaporamee, stepped forward to speak on the Prophet’s behalf. He had an annoying tendency to use the royal “we,” a habit that angered ’Fulsamee.

“That is very unlikely, Ship Master. We doubt the humans have the means to follow one of our vessels through a jump. Even if they do, why would they send only a single cruiser? Is it not their way to drown us in their own blood? No, we think it’s safe to surmise that this ship arrived in the system by accident.”

The words dripped with condescension, a fact which made the Ship Master angry, but couldn’t be addressed. Not directly, and certainly not with the Prophet present, although ’Fulsamee wasn’t willing to cave in completely. “So,” ’Fulsamee said, careful to direct his comment to ’Ikaporamee alone, “you would have me believe that the interlopers arrived here entirely by chance?”

“No, of course not,” ’Ikaporamee replied loftily. “Though primitive by our standards, the creaturesare sentient, and like all sentient beings, they are unconsciously drawn to the glory of the ancients’ truth and knowledge.”

Like all the members of his caste, ’Fulsamee knew that the Prophets had evolved on a planet which the mysterious truth-givers had previously inhabited, and then, for reasons known only to the ancients themselves, subsequently abandoned. This ring world was an excellent example of the ancients’ power... and inscrutability.

’Fulsamee found it hard to believe that mere humans would be drawn here, the ancients’ wisdom notwithstanding, but ’Ikaporamee spoke for the Prophet, so it must be true. ’Fulsamee touched the light panel in front of him. A symbol glowed red. “Prepare to fire plasma torpedoes. Launch on my command.”

’Ikaporamee raised both hands in alarm. “No! We forbid it. The human vessel is much too close to the construct! What if your weapons were to damage the holy relic? Pursue the ship, board it, and seize control. Anything else is far too dangerous.”

Angered by what he saw as ’Ikaporamee’s interference, ’Fulsamee spoke through gritted teeth. “The course of action that the holy one recommends is likely to result in a high number of casualties. Is this acceptable?”

“The opportunity to transcend the physical is a gift to be sought after,” the other responded. “The humans are willing to spend their lives – can we do less?”

No, ’Fulsamee thought, but we should aspire to more. He again clicked his lower mandibles, and touched the light panel. “Cancel the previous order. Load four transports with troops, and launch another flight of fighters. Neutralize the interloper’s weaponry before the boarding craft reach their target.”

A hundred units aft, sealed within the destroyer’s fire control center, a half-commander acknowledged the order and issued instructions of his own. Lights began to strobe, the decks transmitted a low frequency vibration, and more than three hundred battle-ready Covenant warriors – a mix of what the humans called Elites, Jackals, and Grunts – rushed to board their assigned transports. There were humans to kill.

None of them wanted to miss the fun.

0127 Hours (Ship’s Time), September 19, 2552 (Military Calendar)

UNSC CruiserPillar of Autumn, location unknown

The Pillar of Autumn shuddered as her Titanium-A armor took a direct hit.

Just another item in the Covenant’s bottomless arsenal, Captain Jacob Keyes thought. Not a plasma torpedo, or we’d already be free-floating molecules.

The warship had taken a beating from Covenant forces off Reach and it was a miracle that the hull remained intact and even more remarkable that they’d been able to make a jump into Slipspace at all.

“Status!” Keyes barked. “What just hit us?”

“Covenant fighter, sir. Seraph-class,” the tactical officer, Lieutenant Hikowa, replied. Her porcelain features darkened. “Tricky bastard must have powered down and slipped past our sentry ships.”

A humorless grin tugged at Keyes’ mouth. Hikowa was a first-rate tactical officer, utterly ruthless in a fight. She seemed to take the Covenant fighter pilot’s actions as a personal insult. “Teach him a lesson, Lieutenant,” he said.

She nodded and tapped a series of orders into her panel – new orders for the Autumn’s fighter squadron.

A moment later, there was radio chatter as one of the Autumn’s C709 Longsword fighters went after the Seraph, followed by a cheer as the tiny alien ship transformed into a momentary sun, complete with its own system of co-orbiting debris.

Keyes wiped a trickle of sweat from his forehead. He checked his display – they’d reverted back into real space twenty minutes ago. Twenty minutes, and the Covenant picket patrols had already found them and started shooting.

He turned to the bridge’s main viewport, a large transparent bubble slung beneath the Autumn’s bow superstructure. A massive purple gas giant – Threshold – dominated the spectacular view. One of the Longsword fighters glided past as it continued its patrol.

When Keyes had been given command of the Pillar of Autumn, he’d been skeptical of the large, domed viewport. “The Covenant are tough enough,” he had argued to Admiral Stanforth. “Why give them an easy shot into my bridge?”

He’d lost the argument – captains don’t win debates with admirals, and in any case there simply hadn’t been time to armor the viewport. He had to admit, though, the view was almost worth the risk. Almost.

He absently toyed with the pipe he habitually carried, lost in thought. It ran completely counter to his nature to slink around in the shadow of a gas giant. He respected the Covenant as a dangerous, deadly enemy, and hated them for their savage butchery of human colonists and fellow soldiers alike. He had never feared them, however. Soldiers didn’t hide from the enemy – they met the enemy head-on.

He moved back to the command station and activated his navigation suite. He plotted a course deeper in-system, and fed the data to Ensign Lovell, the navigator.