* [i]I'm far too old to be waking up like this.[/i] Imperial Admiral Grymar'ee pushed himself up onto his knees, tried to fight his heaving stomach, and failed. Yesterday's dinner pooled out onto the ground, mixing in with a sticky crimson-blue blood - the resulting odour was appalling, enough to make him gag again. He crawled away from it, and found himself staring into the dead eyes of a Jiralhanae. Fledgling Yan'me buzzed around the open wounds in its gashed throat, dispersing when they saw Grymar'ee approached - even as young and underdeveloped as they were, the larvae knew an Imperial Admiral when they saw one. He staggered to his feet, head still reeling from what he gathered had been a raw jump. Void leaps never sat with him under the best of circumstances; to do so without the protection of an impulse-shield was an ugly thought indeed. All around him, Jiralhanae lay dead - each one of them with their throats slashed. It didn't take him long to figure out what had happened. "That damn Ossoona," he muttered aloud, checking his vocal chords were still working. Miraculously, everything seemed to be in place - a relief; once you reached his age, broken bones stopped mending so quickly. He looked about wildly, and saw no trace of Pel. The coward had fled the Janjur Qom district, and with him any hope of finding his daughter. Not that she'd want him to find her. [i]What have I become?[/i] he despaired, thinking back to all he had done. [i]Killing civilians to galvanise an ailing public, shooting promising young fleetmasters... I was once an honourable man.[/i] Grymar'ee looked up to the skies, and felt his blood run cold when he saw a planet he'd commanded glassed years ago. It glared down at him with hatred, an array of vengeful harpies assembled around its dying husk. Harvest, and a human fleet. He should have been shocked, but after all that had transpired in the last few days he couldn't even find a gasp within him. All that remained was a numbing sensation and a tight constriction in his throat. He'd once been hailed as the best tactician in the Covenant armadas - he'd defeated enemies of greater number, greater strength and, his crowning glory, he'd tamed the fierce Hunters. He still remembered the surreal awe that had coursed through him when the Domilekgolo, hundreds of feet tall, had sank to its knees before him and begged for mercy. But the humans... they were unlike any enemy he'd faced before. He won against them more often than not, true. That was down to sheer technological superiority, though. And whatever he did, never could he divine the location of their homeworld. [i]The longer this war wages, the more difficult it will become. They're more intelligent than we are, and I'm not too proud to admit that. Eventually they'll crack our technology, and then we'll be the ones on the run.[/i] The thought of a demon wielding tech greater than a Sangheili's was enough to send a chill coursing down his spine. They were terrifying enough with their stones and clubs. If they forged swords, they'd be unstoppable. It scared him. He'd looked into the maw of humanity like few others, and for the first time in his life realised the empire he cherished beyond all else wasn't invincible. Grymar'ee knew the humans had their Cole Protocol to prevent seizure of their ships, and nothing displayed the arrogance of the sanctum more than the lack of such a protocol for their own fleets - if the humans ever stole one of their ships and put one of their ingenious AIs in there... they'd know everything. [i]That is why I did what I did. Because of fear. Fear that we will not only fail to win this war, but that we may actually lose it.[/i] That self-epiphany hit him hard, and he'd never felt more mortal than he did then. He fell back down to the ground and sat for a few minutes, silently contemplating as he stared up at - or simply [i]at[/i], seeing as how space was without dimensions - the UNSC ships. They didn't move, and neither did he. A sudden spluttering of coughing snapped him out of his trance, and he reached for a rifle that wasn't there. He saw it a second later some metres away, half-buried in rubble. Even ten years ago, he would have never made such a schoolboy error. Age was dulling his wits. He scrambled towards the rifle, dusted it off and levied it at the source of the wheezing. Another Jiralhanae, the one who'd come to his and Pel's rescue earlier. What had his name been? Orpium? Ophius? [i]Orpheus.[/i] Taking caution, he slowly advanced towards the awakening Jiralhanae - he'd found out earlier just how freakishly powerful their kind were. "Slow, Jiralhanae," he commanded in the deep, resonant tones that he found so often instilled obedience in people. "Reach for a weapon and I will shoot you down." Orpheus' eyes opened with a flicker, a startling amount of intelligence held within their vermilion depths. Contrary to the stereotyping of his species, the 'brute' didn't rise roaring and snarling. Instead, Orpheus slowly sat up, turned to face him and eyed the plasma rifle with a weary stare. "A fine way to greet your saviour," Orpheus ground out in a level cadence, running a trimmed paw through his greying hair. Grymar'ee had always found hair a curious thing of little purpose - the San 'Shyuum had their gobbets of tattered whiskers, the Jiralhanae their hulking coats and even the humans had their hats. Some wore rings of it around their mouths, and he'd seen their males covered in an utterly useless coating of thin, fine wisps. An unhygienic mess, all of it. "That, I remain doubtful of," Grymar'ee shot back, allowing Orpheus to rise to his feet but keeping sure the man was several metres away; the Jiralhanae looked slow, but they could move faster than any Sangheili. Recognition suddenly struck him. "You were with Thierr'ee, before." "Just so," Orpheus replied, looking hard at Grymar'ee. "Where is he?" A flashback played through his mind, the smell of burning flesh as Grymar'ee plasma rifle had fired rounds into Thierr'ee's chest. There was no way he'd survive that, not without medical assistance. "Killed, by Pel's hand," Grymar'ee answered. Not strictly a lie - it had been Pel who'd blackmailed him into shooting the young fleetmaster. The skin around Orpheus' heavy face pulled tight, and and what looked like grief softened the hard red rubies that were his eyes. It was always hard to read body language with their kind, though. "What happened?" "The Ossoona was waiting, and ambushed us. Thierr'ee had no chance; he was dead before he knew it." Orpheus looked down to the ground, and stared at his feet for a long time. Finally, his eyes rose and stared at Grymar'ee accusingly. "You didn't do anything," the Jiralhanae growled, and Grymar'ee shrugged, already easing back into the role of helpless craven. "I am an old man," he defended weakly. "You may kill your leaders when they grow feeble, but in our society elders are treated with respect--" "I don't believe you," Orpheus stared sharply. "You might have fooled Zharn, but I didn't think you a helpless old man for a single moment. I saw you fighting my kind before, and you fought well. You could have saved him. Why not?" Grymar'ee swallowed hard for a second, the hand holding his rifle itching at the possibility of looming combat. "Thierr'ee served as ample distraction," Grymar'ee stated curtly, wondering if he was weaving his fable too deep here. "I took Pel prisoner when his attentions were elsewhere. He was taking me to my daughter when these Jiralhanae beset upon us. There were too many, even for me. A good thing you came." [i]Believable enough. He can't blame me for putting my child's well-fare over that of a man I hardly knew.[/i] Orpheus looked around, and raised a brow when he saw the dead corpses of Jiralhanae, with their slit throats. "You shouldn't have killed them in this way," he chastised like a father would a child. "They deserved a noble death." "It wasn't me," Grymar'ee argued. "Pel must have awoken first and done the deed. Where he is now, I know not. Long gone, I imagine." Orpheus just stared in a deceptively vacant way, before nodding curtly. "Very well. I know you to be a dangerous man, and you know me to be one too. I'm sure we could tear each other to pieces here, and it would be a duel the bards would sing of for years. However, I'm more inclined to live." "A sentiment I can agree with," Grymar'ee responded in kind, admiring the Jiralhanae's sensibility. "What do you plan?" "If Zharn is dead, then I should find Ahkrin - his friend. Deliver him safely from this place. After that debt is paid, I know not. Yourself?" "I plan still to find my daughter," Grymar'ee vowed, and suddenly remembered something. [i]Pel spoke of this 'Ahkrin' as if he were in his employ. Perhaps [/i]he[i] knows where Savara is.[/i] "I have a hunch your Ahkrin may know something of her; I will help you find him, if you'll have me. Any leads?" "Ahkrin's a slippery character at the best of times," Orpheus lamented, and Grymar'ee sensed some tension there. "If he's gone dark, he'll stay dark until he wants to come out." "Has he any contacts on this station? Family, or friends?" "As far as I know, his family's dead. He's of the house Descol'ee. [i]Oh. The poor man.[/i]