[b]Part 34[/b] - The tower came crashing down With grace the impulse drives slowed to a halt, deftly weaving a path out of the void like fine scissors cutting open a patch of cloth. As the ship emerged through the hole, the rift behind them sewed itself back together as if nothing had been there. Before the rest of the fleet had even followed suit, the battle began. "Report," Zharn barked to his bridge crew as the [i]March of Righteousness[/i] shuddered dangerously. All around the room instruments were flashing lights and spitting out noise, holograms flickering to display the status of the ship and its surroundings. "Multiple Halcyon-class ships targeting our position, fleetmaster!" a pilot told him, the hue of fear colouring his voice. Zharn frowned as he grabbed a railing to steady his position. "We were supposed to exit the void outside their kill-zone," he swore. "Where is the rest of the fleet?" "Navigation places them several thousand kilometres behind us, leader," the same pilot reported with confusion. ".. outside the kill-zone." Zharn's eyes widened as he looked at the rest of the UNSC fleet soaring to meet them, only a few thousands kilometres outside targeting range; the [i]Righteousness'[/i] shields would not hold for too long against that. He felt a sickening drop in his stomach. "Treachery," he breathed out angrily, assessing the situation before them. After scouring through the banks of the data they'd secured from Eridanus II carefully, Zharn had found a lead to a collective of human trade ships. It was there they'd ambushed a small transport-frigate, taking its captain on board. The man had held his tongue for some time, but in the end everyone talks. And so he did, revealing the location of this planet; Baron VII. Seemingly it wasn't a terribly important colony as shown by only a dozen or so ships protecting the planet, but with luck it would lead to greater colonies the humans held or, Forerunners willing, their home world. But of course, they'd first have to survive this battle. Which wasn't looking likely. "Fleetmaster?" an Unggoy asked him uncertainly, waiting for his orders. Zharn looked out the lone viewing window at the very front of the ship, at the twelve or so ships converging upon their position like iron filings drawn to a magnet. "Open me a channel to our fellow ships," Zharn commanded, hearts pounding with fear; not for himself, but the crew and fleet that he was supposed to watch over. The Unggoy nodded, and a few moments later such a channel arose. "[i]Fleetmaster, there has been a terrible mistake,[/i]" he heard the oily voice belong to the shipmaster of the [i]Deluge of Diffidence[/i] break across the channel. The same Sangheili he had thrown the knife at the day before. Zharn regretted missing. "Do not waste your breath on your lies, shipmaster," he swore angrily down the line, nearly being bowled off his feet as he unconsciously took his hands off the rail to clench them into fists. "I understand you and the other shipmasters take issue with my command, but you would really condemn this entire ship to death purely to be rid of me?" "[i]Of course not, leader,[/i]" the [i]Parade of Asperity[/i]'s shipmaster uttered with pretend-shock. "[i]This was a horrible accident; I suggest you replace your navigation Huragoks. We are heading towards you posthaste, just keep your shields up to maximum and you will be safe enough.[/i] "When this is over--" Zharn threatened angrily, or at least tried to before being cut off by another arrogant shipmaster. "[i]Leader, if we keep this channel open any longer the humans may hack into it. We will be with you in a few short minutes,[/i]" he was told abruptly, before the channel was suddenly shut. For a few seconds Zharn stood there, stunned by their insolence towards a superior. Obviously the former fleetmaster before Xatan'ee had not ran a tight ship. [i]So they mean merely to scare me, not kill me... for now,[/i] Zharn thought as he saw in the holographic representation of the naval battle the other ships in the fleet move to come alongside his own vessel. [i]I cannot legally replace them without hard evidence. Something else must be done.[/i] Perhaps he was thinking about this in the wrong way. Maybe he did not need to replace them. They obviously did not respect him; a lowly ultra who had managed to claw his way to fleetmaster through an antiquated tradition. But if he earned their respect, even if it was through fear... perhaps he could make this fleet into something truly great. Nothing to do now though but play their little games. "Fleetmaster?" the Unggoy in command of logistics asked, that same uncertain note tinting his voice. He saw it reflected in the faces of all his crew; they did not trust him at all. Zharn sighed, knowing what he said next would not change those sentiments any more. "Divert all power sans life support and engines to shielding," he ordered reluctantly. "We must wait for the rest of the fleet to join us before we can wage battle on the enemy." He heard a few exasperated sighs around the room then, and almost felt like echoing them himself. There was a noticeable increase in the humming of the shielding as more power was pushed into it until eventually the [i]March of Righteousness[/i] was engulfed in an almost-opaque violet cocoon, repelling the ordnance the human ships catapulted at his flagship; the shield wouldn't last forever, but would hold long enough for the rest of the fleet to enter the field of battle. Of course, by then his ship would then be nearly drained of power, leaving the other shipmasters to take their vessels and eliminate the enemy without their fleetmaster at the head of battle as was standard. What the serpents had planned all along, no doubt. It would not look good for Zharn in the report. [i]Bastards![/i] * * * He walked along the dark streets of High Charity, clothes as rags and a hood drawn over his head. All he limped past gave him a wide berth, not dignifying him with a glance. Why would they? To even look at such a wretched beggar would tarnish their social standings. Exactly why Ahkrin had chosen to don such a costume. Not even the guards between districts looked at him as he moved through the holy city. As such, they didn't notice the various weapons strapped beneath the rags, even when many of them were poking out ever so slightly. Hiding in plain sight. Beneath those rags, Ahkrin wore the instruments of death. A tight fitting light armour to protect him from any fire, bolstered by a compact person energy shield. Affixed to his belt were a dozen or so knives, perfect for silently taking any targets out. On his back, a whisper-carbine, as silent and fatal as the Sangheili who carried it. In his left eye he had placed an optical display, which even now displayed a motion tracker in the bottom left corner; an oval which was currently almost completely filled with small dots representing people moving past aside from a tiny little strip around Ahkrin where people were avoiding him. Lesser assassins would need artificial assistance to see in the almost pitch black he would be operating in, but Ahkrin had long since trained himself to see nearly as well in night as he did during day. He was all prepared to kill the High Councillor of Restraint. Thinking that seemed... wrong. Restraint had been a popular hierarch during his term before the 9th Age of Reclamation, if not a little unconcerned with responsibility. Yet even that had apparently changed since being deposed, Ahkrin had heard. Now the High Councillor carried himself as if the weight of the worlds were pressing upon his shoulders. It made sense, the Sangheili supposed; a man committing such heresies would not walk around with a light conscience. To head directly for Restraint's manor and think he could bludgeon his way in would be suicide, though. The guard had been almost doubled recently, although according to prelimiary intelligence Ahkrin had gathered a few were protecting some Sangheili female on the station... probably just the daughter of a friend or acquaintance. Before leaving, Ahkrin had gone over technical schematics of the entire council district. Normally such documents were off-limits to even the highest of personnel in the military, but Ahkrin was getting assistance from the very top. Procuring the blue-prints and the weapons he wore had been easy. The foundations of the district were solid metal, unfortunately. In some places upon High Charity, you could find sections underground where all that held the surface up was rock which remained from the San 'Shyuum's shattered homeworld; easily tunnelled through. But in this case, an underground assault would be impossible. He had, however, found a spire merely a kilometre from Restraint's manor. Comprised almost entirely out of Forerunner hard-light, it wasn't usually active aside from during festivals of religion and culture. However, at Ahkrin's request the hierarchs had rendered it so the spire was active, citing technical issues to the public. Ahkrin did not expect he would be able to take the High Councillor out from up there via a sniper; even with the barrier down he was likely too careful to let something like that happen and probably had active personal shielding to protect from such high velocity projectiles. But at the very least he would be able to observe the manor from up high, note down blind spots and plan an attack. It was the gate leading to this spire he reached now; it reached up into the air like a giant blue stalagmite, emanating a soft blue glow. Before moving to greet the guards at the gate, he cast off his beggars'-rags and instead threw a heavy coat over himself, obscuring his weapons from their sight.