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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. Perhaps 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