* Pel had never seen a hangar bay so busy. Barely a square metre was unoccupied by people, every one of them straining to find a ship loaded with impulse drives. He recognised the crests of noble Sangheili houses emblazoned on the chests of many; councillors, most of them. A few San 'Shyuum shuffled about the place, those ministers too lowly to be granted a place on the grandiose evacuation ship of the hierarchs. By now, the triumvirate had most likely left this system, and High Charity behind it. If the station fell, the only ones who would perish would be the common folk - those not high enough up the political food chain to be granted passage. Fortunately, the sanctum had neglected the revoke Pel's authorisation. He'd passed several checkpoints unchallenged, and only one pair of Truth's Jiralhanae had been unlucky enough to stumble upon him. "Pel," he heard from behind him. His body tensed, and he readied a knife concealed up his sleeve as he turned. When he saw who it was, he relaxed and let a smile flash across his face. "Ahm," he greeted, grabbing the Light of Helios' extended arm. "I am surprised to see you here; I'd have thought you'd be with Regret." "In a manner of speaking," Ahm replied, motioning to his waist. Pel peered down and saw a small San 'shyuum child staring up shyly, eyes wide. "This is Regret's son, Chywm. I'm taking him to safety, just in case the worst comes to worst." The true-names of the prophets couldn't be properly pronounced by any tongues but their own, and Ahm's throat wrestled with the sounds of the boy's name - theirs was a beautiful and innately complex language, understood by few outside their people and used only in religious sermons. This was the main reason the prophets adopted titles as their names once they were of age. [i]Ah. So this is Restraint's ill-begotten bastard,[/i] Pel mused to himself, and upon close inspection he could certainly see traces of the former hierarch's face in the boy's. "Well met," Pel spoke formally, as was proper. "I look forward to one day serving you as I serve your sire, the noble Regret." "You work for my father?" Chywm asked, the curiosity of a young child overcoming his shyness. Pel nodded. "Yes, although usually indirectly. I report directly to his brother-hierarch, Truth." [i]Or at least, I did.[/i] "You are leaving High Charity too, then?" Ahm queried, and after a moment's hesitation Pel nodded his affirmation. Ahm sighed. "A precautionary measure, I'm sure. Then the Light leaned in closer, and in conspiratorial tones, whispered: "Regret has managed to convince the council to authorise the keyship's re-activation; it's weapons are being brought online as we speak. They will make short work of the human fleet." Pel stiffened. The dreadnought had been dormant for millennia; one of the primary articles in the Writ of Union decreed that its weapons be laid to rest for all time. And ever since their accession, access to the dreadnought had been limited to the philologist and the lekgolo who trowelled its bowels for secrets left behind by the Forerunners. There was something in there the hierarchs didn't want anyone to see; Truth had all but admitted this to him when Pel had dared to ask about the matter a couple of years ago. "I am surprised the Sangheili councillors agreed to this," Pel worded carefully. "Especially with the hierarchs fled - to allow such power to be unleashed without a firm hand--" "Not all the hierarchs have... evacuated," Ahm countered, and it seemed as though he wished to use a far less flattering word. "Regret has remained upon the station, to oversee the keyship's weaponisation." [i]Always did fancy himself a warrior, that one, with his bravery and daring. Still, no matter how much a San 'shyuum may train, he will never be stronger than even the weakest Sangheili. And therein lies a crucial flaw in our Covenant - difficult to maintain a creed of equality when some are born better and stronger than others.[/i] "May he find success," was all Pel said to that, looking about the hangar in search of an impulse-drive carrying vessel he could appropriate. Ahm noticed his roaming eyes. "You are welcome to share our ship," the Light invited with a warm smile. "Honour guard or no, we are all servants of the hierarchs. I would not have you packed in with a cluster of piss-stained deacons." Pel looked over to the group of shuffling prophets boarding a rickety old vessel, not so much sitting in their chairs as sprawling on them. Many had unggoy attending them; deacons served for life, even after age made them infirm. He looked back to Ahm with an icy glare. "You may be a Light of Helios, but don't think yourself better than me, Ahm. I've done far more for the hierarchs than you ever will," he snapped, not appreciating the implication behind the other Sangheili's words. "As it happens, I am on a mission for the hierarchs at this very moment - one that involves more than being a handsomely dressed baby-sitter." "My friend, I meant no offence--" Ahm started to object, but Pel waved his hand dismissively. "I know, I'm sorry for lashing out. You're one of the good ones, Ahm. I hope your journey is a safe one," he bid farewell formally, nodding respectfully down at Chywm. "May our paths cross again, your highness." Like as not, Restraint's bastard would be hierarch one day. If the stars were kind, a hierarch Pel could serve once the current leaders were retired. But that day was not today. He had more pressing matters on his mind; the preservation of his own skin. He whisked himself away from a confused Ahm, soon losing himself in the masses as he pushed his way towards a seraph he'd spied in the distance. He heard cries of protest as he shoved people aside, cutting to the front of the queue that he formed. "Move aside," he commanded to the two kig-yar who had evidently been charged with admitting evacuees on board. Their ugly bulbous eyes gleamed up at him suspiciously, and he saw their talons playing about the plasma pistols strapped to their sides. One of them squawked at him harshly, and it took a few moments for his translator to convert the guttural language. Their vocal chords were unable to properly replicate the main tongue used throughout the empire, and so relied on automated translators to speak for them. "You will join the line and wait," one of them dictated; the creature was plumed in rows of crimson spines, and Pel noticed them rise a little - a primal display of authority. "After seven jumps, it will be your turn to board the seraph." [i]Seven jumps? High Charity could well be cinders by then, or shaken to pieces by the firing of the dreadnought. There are too many people here and not enough ships... I almost feel guilty for what I am about to do.[/i] "I'm seizing this vessel in the name of the most blessed hierarchs Truth, Mercy and Regret," he announced formally, to both the kig-yar chaperones and the queue of Sangheili and the few lesser races amongst them. He produced identification and beamed it before the kig-yars' incredulous faces, and could almost hear them swallow with fear when they saw who he was. "You should all seek other passage from the station or better yet, grow a spine and defend your home!" That didn't go down so well with the people, but he didn't care. Amidst a sea of crude expletives and threats, he shoved the kig-yar aside and bounded up the stairs into the seraph. He paused when he saw a few passengers already on board - an old Sangheili staring up at him with lost eyes, and two children who he drew close. "You need to find other transport, sir," Pel told the grandfather apologetically, and saw the old man's brow furrow. "Now." The older Sangheili muttered a few reassuring words to the children, and rose to his feet, drawing a cane from his person and letting his weight fall on it - it looked as though every step was one of pain, judging by the winces he saw. Shooting Pel looks of confusion, he shuffled towards the exit with his grandchildren in tow. "Wait," Pel stopped them, unable to let his conscience be burdened any further. He drew out his ID card from his pocket, and pressed it into the old man's hand. It wasn't as though he'd be needing it any longer. "Show this to the guards of another transport and they'll let you all on, no questions asked. Now leave." The grandfather thanked him earnestly, as if Pel hadn't just kicked him and his grandchildren off an evacuation ship. Pel took another look at the crowd outside, slowly dispersing, and felt a knot twist in his stomach. [i]Am I really worth all these people?[/i] he wondered, and found it was a quandary he didn't want to explore too deeply. When he'd been working for the hierarchs, he'd been able to shield against every act of questionable morality with their authority and presence. But now... [i]Best not to think too much on this one.[/i] "Pilot!" he barked sharply, and saw the door to the seraph's cockpit slide open to reveal a confused kig-yar. "Pel, Ossoona of the prime echelon. I'm commandeering this vessel and your services are not required. Surrender control to me, and then leave." It looked as though the kig-yar pilot was going to be contentious, but then its bulbous eyes glinted with fear when it saw the weapons strapped to Pel's person, and the creature left with little protest. The hatch hissed shut behind it, and the seraph fell into a blissful score of silence. Pel clambered his way to the front of the seraph, and as he eased himself into the pilot's seat noticed that its architecture was not designed for a Sangheili's bone structure; ridges pressed into his back uncomfortably, and there was nowhere to rest his head. An unpleasant stench from the lesser races clung to the material of the chair; he brought up his visor, and engaged air filtering.