"You won't," Ahkrin warned, taking a step forward. Sorran had already anticipated this response, and had drawn out his rifle. It froze Ahkrin in his tracks. "Don't you even... just don't, Ahkrin," Sorran whispered, his voice choked. "You can't hope to understand." "You think I've never loved?" Ahkrin demanded angrily. Sorran shook his head. "I do not think you have the capacity," he retorted. "To love is to trust, and that is one thing you can never do. You always have the strings within reach, never pass them to anyone else; you don't know what love is, and you never will." Ahkrin was dumbstruck; those words had felt like a knife carving his skin, because he knew there was truth in them no matter how much he told himself otherwise. Regret flashed across Sorran's face for a second, but it was quickly replaced again with determination. He brought out a gleaming object of purple from his pocket, and threw it at Ahkrin's feet; his startled reflection mirrored within its spider-web a thousand times. "If you want to go with Jeann'ee and try to speak with the Oracle, then be my guest. That crystal holds everything Restraint knew about the journey and all the rest; you're welcome to its responsibilities. It is not my concern anymore, all I want is Savara." With that, Sorran backed away a few steps and then broke into a sprint, heading in the opposite direction towards the Janjur Qom district, to his certain death. [i]I will not follow him to it,[/i] Ahkrin vowed bitterly, scraping up the violet crystal from the ground and stalking away back towards Jeann'ee's den. [i]There is far more at stake here.[/i] * Pel was taken unawares, to his chagrin. So wrapped had he been in his obsessive trawling of field reports and security footage across High Charity that he'd not even noticed his door-guards been taken out. Now he paid the price, neck held at the point of a hungry knife. He looked down at it, trying to keep his throat as steady as possible as he spoke. "Thierr'ee," he guessed. Even in the position he was, he could not help but smirk slightly at his accuracy when he heard an impressed grunt from the wielder of the knife. "Would that your ears were so sharp as your logic," the fleetmaster said, moving into Pel's view as he circled around, the knife he held carving a razor-thin burning thread in his neck; he did not flinch, only continued to stare Thierr'ee in the eyes; stones reflected in the marble. "You should not have spread your web so thin." "Ah, but so many routes that can be taken to the prey," Pel threw the metaphor back at him, slowly drawing back from the knife and sitting down at his desk, arms sat in his lap amicably. He saw in the corner of the room another Sangheili, helmed in oblique and silent as could be, watching; his body language suggested he was uncomfortable in the situation, almost reluctant. Pel made note of it. "I care not for this bandying of words," Thierr'ee suddenly growled, a muscular arm shooting out and catching Pel by the neck, throwing him back onto the desk; the hard-light chair morphed around his falling body, catching him in its soft embrace. "You put a death warrant on me. Why?" "You were shrewd enough to make it this far; you tell me, pretend-fleetmaster." He saw eyes narrow, and for a moment almost expected another display of force. Pel did not consider himself in any serious danger though; he'd read Thierr'ee's psychological report. The man was a craven, reluctant to kill and constantly fearing he'd make mistakes or errors without Descol'ee by him. The analysis proved true as Thierr'ee drew back, pacing the small room Pel had made his home for the past few days, shooting glances every so often at the other Sangheili in the room; he was not trusted. Another mental note. "The hierarchs are doing something. A cover up, or murder. They spun a fake story about an infection and then again about human infiltration to mask whatever it is they are doing... or rather, what you do on their behalf. I'm guessing the hierarchs merely chose the closest fleet to High Charity to blockade the city, but for some reason I'm a problem and they realised it too late. How close am I?" [i]More than just a sword, then,[/i] Pel observed, surprised; in examinations, Thierr'ee had never displayed any keen aptitude for thought or reasoning, and had always been one to allow his hearts free reign with his brain having little input. It seemed that had changed. "None too far off the mark, but you fail to grasp the magnitude of what is happening here. Leave now, fleetmaster. Run back to your ship, leave this system and go back to playing war. If you do this I swear you will be left alone." "Playing war? You casually blaspheme without considering your words; I have seen horrors untold in our 'playing' with the humans -- a coward Ossoona would never understand--" "Yes, yes," Pel murmured tiredly, dismissing the fleetmaster's anger with a wave of his hand. "The holy war with the humans is paramount, you're all heroes, blah blah blah. I may not understand war as you do, but right now you are in [i]my[/i] element and I am offering you a rope; it would be wise to grasp it before you sink any further." "And what of Ahkrin?" Thierr'ee pressed. The honey that Pel had been pouring out of his mouth soured a little, leaving behind a bitter taste. He adopted a look of bewilderment for a few moments, then laughed. "That petty assassin? He's nothing to us, I believe he left for Sanghelios some time ago. No doubt drinking and whoring." Thierr'ee's brow furrowed, and the man looked around the room slowly, mulling over what Pel had told him. The other Sangheili whom Thierr'ee had brought with him stood still sullenly in the corner, arms folded and foot tapping the floor impatiently. Again Pel wondered who he was. "Sanghelios, truly?" Pel smiled. He had him. "I am many things, fleetmaster, but I do not lie. I stake it on my house's honour." That was the finisher. Thierr'ee was a noble, honourable man; he would not for a second think that anyone would dare risk the reputation of their birth-house, not even in the face of death. Pel tensed his body, ready to pounce on the fleetmaster as soon as he let his guard down. "Then I pity your house for lending its name to such a craven wretch," Zharn suddenly breathed, striding forward and striking Pel across the jaw hard with the blunt edge of his rifle. The world exploded in a flurry of pain, stars and comets shooting before his eyes as a dull throbbing battered away at his cheek. When the tears had fled and the agony faded, he found himself launched against the wall of his office, a scalding-hot tip of the charged rifle jammed into his bare neck. Pel screamed without restraint. After a few moments the rifle's tip was moved away a few inches; the unbearable heat remained, but it was manageable. Pel forced himself to look up at Zharn, who suddenly seemed about ten feet tall. He wasn't built for field work, prophets be damned. "Why?" he demanded, very aware of how much he sounded like a petulant child. He struggled for composure, and eventually found it. "You just burned your last bridge, Thierr'ee. See how the logs fall into the rapids below." "Ahkrin loathes Sanghelios!" Zharn shouted, the words taking a few seconds to register. "His entire family was executed on its soil. He'd never go there to drink and whore, just as I would never go to the place of my father's murder again. Now, tell me what you've done with him before I rip your lying tongue out." To illustrate his point, he brought up his knife and held it in the air. It snatched the light and warped it into something immeasurably dark. Pel stared at it for a few seconds, before finally finding his voice and painfully conscious of how his tongue composed the words he spoke. "I don't know where he is, Thierr'ee. If I did, he'd be dead already. Why, you are about to ask? Because he involved himself in matters he shouldn't be involved with, just like you. Now the hierarchs want his head, and if I don't deliver it they'll have mine instead." Pel had been telling himself otherwise for the past few days, but he knew it was true. He left out the fact that Sorran was alive; Thierr'ee couldn't know everything, after all. "Tell your men to stand down," Thierr'ee commanded, authority vested in the sharp edge of his blade. Pel spread his hands helplessly, shifting uncomfortably under the weight of the fleetmaster. "It would make no difference. The hierarchs have their Jiralhanae out in force, against my recommendation," he explained, unable to keep the sully out of his voice. "I have failed in my task, and I will pay the price. I first thought you my replacement, sent to arrest or kill me." "My hearts bleed," Thierr'ee droned sarcastically, throwing Pel down to his knees aggressively. "I will save your replacement the trouble."