The journey was cold. The abyss outside the cockpits small windows itself a window into Traks mind. His soul.
He knew where he was going, all he had to do was get there. Setting the autopilot he squeezed out of the seat and made his way into the rear compartment. Looking around he saw no surprises, no hitch hikers, no Cain, he though solemnly. Sitting on the cold metal floor Trak began to meditate, something he had not done since leaving his fathers ship. His father.
A torrent of memories came crashing down on Trak. What would his father think. He had hated Trak before the humans, but now, after spending two years with them, what would he do to his son. Trak knew death was not an unreasonable punishment. He hung his head.
A new thought came into his mind though, his fathers voice. Deep and commanding. “The humans have made you weak,” it said, over and over again. Trak carefully unsheathed his small blade, twirling it between his fingers. The light danced of the reflective surface, a lone ray of hope. Gripping the hilt in his right hand Trak looked straight up, “Forgive me mighty Forerunner,” he whispered before drawing the blade across his skin. The metal cut deeply, his purple blood running from the wound. It would heal, but the scar would remind Trak what he had done.
“I slayed two units of the best elites you had Father,” Trak spoke menacingly to the walls of the craft, “And now I will return to you. I will make you proud of me. No matter what I have to do to prove it.”
The cockpit emitted a small beep, rising slowly Trak bowed his head and moved to the cramped seat. A radar scan showed a large vessel bearing down on the tiny pelican. FoF tags identified it as a Covenant battle cruiser. “Excellent,” sneered Trak.
Powering up the engines Trak raced his craft towards his brethren. Seraph fighters glinted in the glow of the main vessel and Trak knew he must speak quickly. Opening up a communications channel he began to speak to whoever would listen.
“This is Trak Basamme, third son of Ruis Basamme, and survivor of the human infidels.” Trak could almost hear the astonishment on the other end of the channel, they would surely be wondering who this elite was, but Trak continued on.
“Grant me safe passage to the Prophets, I have much to say.”
“Where do you come from?” a deep voice finally questioned.
“The planet of the Sangheili. I was taken during a raid on a human world. Let me come aboard, this craft reviles me.”
Trak waited nervously, it seemed like an entire unit before the voice spoke once more, “Follow the seraphs.”
One of the small fighters flew in front of the pelican and slowly led the way to a docking bay. Trak set the pelican down and let out a deep sigh. He was home, nearly. As he opened the cockpit door a hundred rifles locked on him.
“Step down slowly. Traitor,” a voice called out, the same one of the com channel.
“What is the meaning of this!” Trak shouted, the nervousness evident in his voice and manner.
“We know of you Basamme. We know what you did. You will see the prophets, but not before you have been punished for your crimes.” An evil grin swept over the face of the white elite.
“Very well,” Trak answered simply, before three elites rushed forwards and tackled him to the ground. As they dragged him away Trak spoke softly to the comforting purple walls, “Home sweet home.”
Usjo’ Lhuew looked down over the traitorous bastard assigned to him. He knew the stories as well as any other elite. This weakling had turned in battle slaughtering many fine warriors and then, to compact the wound, had gone to the humans to live. He spat on the body. Then kicked it, the moan issuing from within it a pleasing sound to Usjo’s ears.
“Get up you piece of Looy!” he roared, kicking again, “You have not even begun to feel the pain!”
The elite rolled over onto his back and looked Lhuew straight in the eyes, “No matter what pain you bring to me, it will never amount to what I have done to myself.”
Lhuew screamed in anger and kicked the fool clear across the chamber. Trak smashed against the wall and fell hard. He raised his left arm, “Look! I did this to myself, I repent my sins, but ask that you continue!” Lhuew stalled glancing at the bloody marks across the skin, he had not caused those.
“You draw your own blood?” he finally asked, “Why?”
Trak hung his head, letting the blood flow freely from his mandibles. “The humans made me weak. I fought two battles and the humans cheered for my victory, my stupidity.” Lhuew snorted in disgust, but before he could continue his assault Trak continued.
“But, when I spilled their blood they turn on me. They have no honour. No brotherhood. They are weak and I see now why the Gods wanted them cleansed. They should not be allowed to live. Any of them.” Trak looked up at the elite, he had meant every last word he had said.
Lhuew slowly came forwards and crouched beside Traks fallen form. His emotions were undistinguishable, but he gazed deeply into Traks face. Finally he raised his arm and smashed Trak across the face.
“Bastard,” he roared before dragging Trak back to his solitary cell.
Trak remained motionless on the cold metal floor of his room, his prison. It had been almost two weeks now and the assaults had been relentless. His arms and legs were fractured, but still they kept on at him.
Rolling onto his side Trak grimaced in pain, the most recent beating still fresh in his mind and on his skin. A small bowl of dirty water had been placed in a corner, gulping deeply Trak tried to imagine himself somewhere else. Sangheili. The beautiful planet surface came to mind instantly. The rolling hills and tall forests. Trak sighed deeply, a fire erupting in his chest. He would never see it again.
The plasma screen for his cell popped and vanished, permitting Lhuew to enter. He looked down at his work, the smirk evident.
“Ready for more?” he asked, indifferent to the answer.
“Leave me or kill me,” Trak replied dryly. The grin on Lhuew’s face vanished instantly.
“I thought you should know you have a visitor. Normally we don’t allow vermin like you to socialise with others, but he, insisted,” said Lhuew. Stepping back another elite walked into the small cell, looking down at his brother.
“Trak?” he asked cautiously.
Coughing Trak slowly righted himself and leaned against the far wall. Opening his swollen eye lids he looked at his second oldest brother.
“It is good to see you again Omabi, although I wish it could have been in better circumstances.” Lhuew snorted, but Omabi spun and told him to leave them be, grumbling deeply the guard left.
“What happened to you,” questioned Omabi, kneeling down beside his blood brother. “Why did you do what you did?”
Trak coughed again, but replied slowly. “In my moment of weakness the Gods decided to test me. And I failed them,” he cried out. Omabi put his arm around Trak and looked at him.
“The prophets wish to speak to you brother,” he said slowly, Traks head perking up at the news, “And father. You are free.”
Trak coughed once more, purple blood frothing at the side of his mandibles. “I am not worthy of seeing either,” he slowly sighed.
“Not yet, but you will be. You’re coming home with me, J’halass says she does not mind you staying.”
Trak smiled, his first smile in a long time, “So, you finally mated with her?”
Omabi smiled as well, “A cycle after you left we made our vows. She is bearing our first child at the moment.”
“I am happy for you brother,” Trak said deeply.
“And I am happy for you. Now you have a chance to repent your sins against the Forerunner.”
“And I will do so with vigour,” Trak replied.
Omabi helped Trak up and the two of them left the dingy cell to return to Omabi’s vessel. Trak lay on the soft mattress and rested as he returned home. Finally.