Sangheili were almost always more ... direct.

Thel punched the console in front of him in frustration, shattering the screen and denting the metal.

Chapter FIFTY-ONE

METISETTE, 23 LIBRAE

Peter Bonifacio unstrapped himself from the pilot's seat of the escape capsule. The long-burn engine had run out; he'd kept the thing maxed to get well clear of the damn Spartans that had hunted down

Distancia.

Now he coasted toward Metisette.

What was that damn Kig-Yar's code? Bonifacio hunted through scraps of paper in his pockets until he found the tiny card.

He plugged the frequency into the escape pod's controls and transmitted the emergency.

Then he waited nervously until the speaker crackled with the sound of Kig-Yar voices. "Peter Bonifacio. Proceed."

"I need help," Bonifacio blurted out. "I'm in a capsule, headed toward Metisette. I need to be picked up!"

"And do you have our navigation data with you?"

"Is this Reth?" Bonifacio asked.

A moment as the question was transmitted, and then translated. "This is Reth," came the response. "Our data?"

Bonifacio swallowed nervously. This was indeed Reth, he told himself. He'd done a lot of business with the Kig-Yar. This was about business. And a partner like Reth would understand a setback. He was dealing with a trade-oriented species, just like himself. Reth would understand. "The data was stolen from me," Bonifacio finally admitted.

"Stolen? What use is this to us? Why did you bother even calling to admit this?" Bonifacio couldn't tell because of the delay and monotone of the translation device, but it felt to him that Reth sounded angry.

"I know where they will be taking the data," Bonifacio said quickly. "