"... what truly happened at first contact with the humans?" Ahkrin asked, unable to help himself. Throwing caution to the wind, he continued anyway. "Restraint intended to bring them into our Covenant. Then suddenly Truth topples him and declares war upon them. What was he trying to conceal? What [i]is[/i] he trying to conceal?" A look of surprise crossed Pel's face then, as if he hadn't expected Ahkrin to read such material. He stepped back, shadow obscuring half of his face. "I wish," he seemed to mumble almost to himself. "That you had not read that. You had much promise, Ahkrin. You performed your task here admirably. But you couldn't resist taking a bite of the forbidden fruit, could you?" Rather than wonder at the Ossoona's use of a human term, Ahkrin had already realised the meaning behind Pel's words and reached down to his side. When he moved to bring his pistol up though, he found it already met by one of Pel's. "What are you doing?" Ahkrin demanded, just as a crack of thunder from outside sounded. The light leapt through the window behind Pel, illuminating his face briefly for a moment. Ahkrin saw regret, anger and resolution in there. "They say knowledge is power," Pel waxed on, ignoring Ahkrin as his fingers drummed against the side of his pistol. "But it's also the surest way to get you killed. Perhaps you know more than you've said, perhaps not. I can't take that chance. I do this for the future of our Covenant. Know that before you die." "Better men than you have said those words. If you haven't noticed, I'm still here. They're not-- [i]Crack![/i] the thunder sounded once more. This time, it was drowned out by a far more deadly sound. * [i]Convalescence... he's really dead.[/i] He'd been the one constant in Savara's life. Someone she could always depend on, turn to for help without being expected to give something in return. He'd never had an ulterior motive, no greed, not a selfish bone in his frail body. A healer, as his title denoted. A teacher. That's all he'd ever been, all he'd ever wanted to be. And in return, he'd been given death and an unceremonious burning. Not a trace of him remained; ash floating in the breeze. Tears trickled down her face, a feeling that was become too frequent. The chilling warmth, the sweet taste of loss. "Chin up, princess," her guard's voice taunted from outside the cell. "Save the tears for later; you will need them." His words dragged her back into the present, and she quickly wiped away her weakness, shakily standing up and facing the guard's sneering face defiantly. She held his gaze, until finally he shook his head and looked away, tightening his grip on the carbine he held. She still didn't understand why she was being held; no one would tell her anything. When she'd woken up, she'd found herself inside a rotten, decrepit old cell, the condition of which telling her instantly she wasn't being held in official, or public, custody. Savara had also felt a searing pain in her right arm, and found a burn mark there. Someone had stubbed a cigarette on her arm. Her clothes had also been torn, ripped. She had no idea what had happened whilst she was unconscious, and it terrified her. "Where's that Ossoona?" she demanded with as much dignity as she could muster, hoping her voice didn't waver too much. "That cowardly leech." "House call," the guard answered curtly, not turning to face her. Savara clenched her fists with frustration, drawing blood. It seeped down her palm, mixing with the dirt and dried blood of Convalescence. She looked at the conglomeration, and felt sick. "My father will see you all hang for this," she threatened. "No blindfolds. You'll look into my eyes as the life is choked from your worthless bodies." "Grymar'ee?" the guard asked, before laughing softly. "He's just another puppet, playing with his toy soldiers." "He's Imperial Admiral of the Covenant fleet--" Savara protested indignantly, wondering why she was defending her father. It was something about the guard's tone. "We [i]are[/i] the Covenant. Considerably further down Truth's right arm than your father. You" Whatever tirade he had been about to preach was silenced by the opening of a door to the right of him. Footsteps marched along the stone floor, entering her field of vision. She'd expected Pel, but they belonged to yet another faceless Sangheili; one of many guards. A white band on his shoulder indicated rank over the guard she'd been talking with. "You have been speaking to the prisoner?" 'white band' demanded, the question unnecessary. He knew already. The other guard coughed nervously. "She initiated contact, sir. I--" "You've been given strict orders!" white band barked, and although she couldn't see it Savara heard the sharp crack as the talkative guard was struck. He staggered back, clutching his side and caught her gaze; his eyes shot malice. "It won't happen again, sir," the guard apologised ruefully, wincing. White band seemed to consider the apology, before nodding. "If it does, I will kill you myself. Prepare the prisoner for transfer. It's time we get some answers." * [i]"Fleetmaster, the hierarchs wish to see you,"[/i] the communications officer's voice echoed in his ear, the words flowing into his blood and turning it to ice. Memories of Truth sentencing his father and many years later Sorran rose through the cracks. "The hierarchs?" he repeated blankly, staring without seeing out the observation window as his assault carrier was swallowed by the great maw of High Charity. Usually a hub of spacial activity, the station was eerily dead; few ships swarmed its exterior. The lock-down was in effect. [i]"... Yes, leader. Truth, Regret and Mer--"[/i] "I know who they are!" Zharn snapped back. "Did they say why they wanted to see me?" [i]"Just that they required your presence immediately. They seemed to be familiar with you, sir."[/i] A grey cloud passed over his eyes as he gathered up his ceremonial cloak and turned to make for the air-lock. "Yes," he murmured back. "They would be." * With a combination of a yell of pain and startled cry, Pel collapsed to the floor. His face smashed into the ground; jaw snapped, blood spurted. Unconscious. Standing in his place was an honour guard. [i]­Blast,[/i] Ahkrin thought, hearts still racing. The plasma burst had missed his head by mere inches, embedding itself in the computer behind him. Already the plasma had begun to eat into the chassis of the machine, devouring the circuitry and complex wiring beneath. Dimly he heard the Huragok in the corner utter a keeling cry at the loss of all that data. Ahkrin had more on his mind now. Somehow an honour guard had batted away the sedative he administered and, furthermore, managed to escape his bindings. Or not, he realised, as he peered closer at the new arrival. His armour seemed far more ornate than that of the standard rank-and-file guards he'd dealt with earlier. All that could be seen behind the beautiful helmet were a pair of eyes. Those eyes... they were so old, seemed to hold so much pain, loss, despondency. What poor, wretched creature could be the owner of such eyes? "Who are you?" the newly arrived guard rasped out, in a voice as pained as his gaze. Ahkrin was silent for a few moment, still staring into those terrible portals to an abyss. Another crack of thunder emanated from the artificial storm, and he tore himself away from them, thinking fast. There was a way out of this. "Kal Yuran'ee," he lied deftly, already formulating in his mind a biography for his fictional character; hometown, family, favourite colour, academy, career. "What are you doing here?" the honour guard demanded shrewdly. Ahkrin continued with his lie. "Was on an errand when suddenly the 'casts said High Charity was in lock-down; something about a potentially dangerous viral-outbreak on the station, I know not the specifics. I would have returned home, but the master said not to come back without the books he needed. So I decided to cut through this district to avoid the patrols so I could reach the clerk, see--" "I didn't ask for your life-story," the guard spoke coldly, stepping over the unconscious body of Pel. "Speak quickly." "O-of course, sir," Ahkrin quaked, a little proud of the anxiety he threw into his voice. "I saw an honour guard like yourself, sir lying down outside this manor, and found him bound and unconscious. Despite my instincts screaming at me otherwise, I entered and found that soldier in this room. He noticed my presence, and aimed his gun at me. Thank the Forerunners you arrived when you did, sir." [Edited on 10.14.2011 4:01 PM PDT]