第3页
The differences did not end there. Rather than surround themselves with all manner of control interfaces, plus the lesser beings required to staff them, the Elites preferred to command from the center of an ascetically barren platform held in place by a latticework of opposing gravity beams.
However, none of these things were at the forefront of Ship Master Orna ’Fulsamee’s mind as he stood at the center of his destroyer’s control room and stared at the data projections which appeared to float in front of him. One showed the ring world, Halo. Near that, a tiny arrow tracked the interloper’s course. The second projection displayed a schematic titledHUMAN ATTACK SHIP, TYPE C -11. A third scrolled a constant flow of targeting data and sensor readouts.
He fought a moment of revulsion. That these filthy primates somehow merited an actual name—let alone names for their inferior constructs—galled him to his core. It was perverse. Names implied legitimacy, and the vermin deserved only extermination.
The humans had “names” for his own kind—“Elites”—as well as the lesser races of the Covenant: “Jackals,” “Grunts,” “Hunters.” The appalling temerity of the filthy creatures, that they would darename his people with their harsh, barbaric tongue, was beyond the pale.
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.