Part 21 - Personified Death
Sorran staggered into Restraint's manor, still a little shaken from his near death experience. His face had been scratched by the tapered claws of the barbaric Sangheili Honour Guard who had attempted to kill him, and purple blood wept from wounds open on his face. The Sangheili who he'd rescued followed him timidly, even more upset than Sorran was. The house was warm, lit, and welcoming.
"Sorran? Is that you? Thank the Forerunners you're back, the city is in an uproar!" the grandiose voice of Restraint reverberated through his home as he descended the stairs in his gravity defying chair. "Apparently, an Honour Guard was killed in the Religious district! The constabulary haven't been able to-"
The elderly Prophet broke off when he saw Sorran's beaten, pale, wet face. Then he noticed the cowering Sangheili behind him.
"Oh, Sorran. Please don't tell me you are the cause of this turmoil," Restraint groaned, hopping out from his Gravity Chair and shuffling slowly over to Sorran, who grimaced apologetically.
"Okay then, I won't tell you," he winced as Restraint touched one of the wounds on on his jaw gingerly.
"Sorran, you're supposed to be laying low! Killing an Honour Guard and rescuing a Heretic is not laying low!"
"I couldn't just let him die, Restraint," Sorran protested weakly, worn out. The Sangheili behind him begin to cough vehemently, pale faced and shivering. Restraint fumed silently for a moment, before closing the door with a touch of paranoia. The Prophet turned to face Sorran as if he were about to rebuke him, when suddenly his expression softened.
"I know, Sorran. There's no changing your nature, I suppose. Jajab!"
After a few moments, an elderly yet energetic Unggoy came into view, staring up at them with a slightly amused expression. As always, the ornate and expensive clothes the Unggoy was dressed in startled Sorran - he was used to seeing the diminutive servants run around in rags.
"Yes, Restraint? I suppose you wish me to clean up your new ruffian of an Honour Guard, yes?" Jajab's language skills were impeccable; most of his kind had only a faint grasp of the widely spoken language of the Covenant, and tended to mix up their speech with feral growls.
Restraint smiled kindly down at the intelligent Unggoy, face conveying pure respect.
"Perceptive as always, Jajab," the Minister laughed. "And try to find out exactly what happened for me."
"Of course, Minister," Jajab replied, before turning to face Sorran with a stern look. "Come along, young Sangheili!"
The Unggoy began to shuffle out of the room slowly, and Sorran looked at Restraint, who nodded.
"Go on. I'll make sure your. . . friend here is well looked after," Restraint told him sincerely. Sorran stared at the beaten, half-dead Sangheili whose name he didn't even know, before turning sharply and following Jajab. The old Unggoy was muttering to himself about troublesome, unruly young Sangheili.
"Your problem is that you think you are all heroes!" Jajab lectured him wisely as he shuffled along slowly, forcing Sorran to take tiny steps. "It's always been so, ever since I was young. Sangheili and their ludicrous system of honour. Too proud of run, surrender, give up, and do the sensible thing. In a way it's admirable, but it is very, very stupid."
Sorran felt his face grow warm. He put a hand to his forehead to wipe away what he thought was sweat, but it turned out to be the purple hue of blood.
"I'm not like that, I've run away plenty of-" Sorran began to protest, before being interrupted by the rambling Jajab, who probably wasn't even listening to him.
"Why I remember once, back during the Jiralhanae uprising! I was serving as a medic with the Fleet of Solemn Contemplation. The amount of Sangheili who refused medical treatment when I offered it to them was beyond belief. I actually had to render a few unconscious so that I could save them anyway. And there was another time when Fort Verity was overrun, and of course I fled with the Unggoy and Kig-Year. But the Sangheili! Even though they were outnumbered fifty to one, they still stayed behind to hold the Jiralhanae off."
"What happened?" Sorran asked, captured by this tale. The image of brave Sangheili facing a savage Jiralhanae army and coming out triumphant blazed in his mind. Jajab looked up at him with a contemptuous expression on his face.
"They were massacred, you idiot. And subsequently eaten."
"Oh." The image faded.
"The fact of the matter is that Sangheili can't let things go. It's like I said; you like to think of yourselves as heroes. The Sangheili who stood at Fort Verity; do you think anyone truly remembers them now? Of course not. I ran, and yet I am still here today, living in these interesting times."
Sorran paused, and thought upon the elderly Unggoy's words. He was right, in a way. Heroism was not always the most rewarding path.
"You served in the army during the Jiralhanae uprising, then?" Sorran asked of Jajab, who grunted through his gleaming methane mask.
"A long time ago, boy. I saw a great many die for a pointless cause. The Jiralhanae got what they wanted though. Needless to say, it was a little more successful than the Unggoy rebellion. Indeed, it saddens me to see my people oppressed so, but it had always been so."
"Forgive me Jajab, but my curiosity has gotten the better of me. How did you end up here?" Sorran asked wearily, and felt himself begin to sway slightly.
They arrived in the room where Jajab kept the medical supplies. It was fairly spacious, a soft violet colour, and devoid of furniture aside from a large table in the middle, which was held up by an anti-gravity system, some medical cabinets and some worn shelves housing old scrolls and books running along the right side of the room. The house of Restraint was not one which used digital texts. The Minister preferred physical scrolls and books.
"That is a very long, and personal tale Sorran. I don't think I know you quite well enough to share it with you just yet. Now, hop up onto the table. We'll go about cleaning these wounds." Sorran obeyed the Unggoy's command, and painfully clambered up onto the below-waist-high table. It stooped down a little as his weight exerted on the anti-gravity lift, and bounced up and down a little. His legs hung off the side, gently swaying along with the table.
Jajab moved over to one of the soft metallic medical cabinets, which was at contrast with much of the archaic wooden furniture in Restraint' house. The diminutive yet oddly imposing Unggoy opened the cabinet, and grabbed an armful of medical supplies, depositing them on the small counter adjacent to the table.
Sorran studied them curiously as Jajab picked up what seemed like bandages, although Forerunner technology seemed to be housed within them, if the glyphs running down the sides were anything to go by.
"What are these?" Sorran asked Jajab as the bandages were wrapped around his arms, which had gaping gashes on them wrought by the overly zealous Honour Guard. Immediately the dull throbbing ceased, replaced by a feeling of elation and contentment.
"Healing bandages," was all Jajab answered with, continuing with his work. Sorran frowned.
"Yes, I understand that much. But how do they work?"
Jajab gave what could be considered a shrug with his petit shoulders, adopting an expression of thought. After a few moments, he spoke.
"I don't know. What does it matter? They perform their intended function, thanks to the wisdom of the Forerunners."
Sorran pounded the table with frustration, perhaps a little pain-drunk. Jajab edged back a little, startled by this sudden outburst.
"It's always so, isn't it? We rely on the Forerunners far too much. What if one day their technology ceases to work, or if it turns against us? Say what you want about the humans, but you cannot fault their innovation. Where we simply found the secrets to slipspace travel, they invented their own! It may not be as efficient, but it is their own. What can we claim as our own, Jajab? Mathematics, science; all things that humans have but we do not. When we encounter a problem we do not set our minds to it, we simply turn to the Forerunners for help."
The Unggoy frowned, before placing a small hand on his chest, signalling for him to lie back.
"You're delirious Sorran; it's possible your wounds have become infected."
Sorran was about to reply angrily, when suddenly the world blurred slightly, and a feeling of intense pain shot through his head.
"Be that as it may," he replied sluggishly. "It doesn't make my point any less valid."
"The Forerunners chose us as their successors," Jajab began slowly.
"You still believe that, even knowing the truth about the 'sacred' rings?" Sorran asked bitterly, wincing once again as the deep welts in his skin had pressure applied to them. Jajab hesitated.
"I know that the Forerunners existed, and I believe that they had a plan for us all," the worn old Unggoy answered slowly. "Do you not?"
Do I? Sorran asked himself, realising that he had never really posed the question to himself before. But the answer came to him instantly.
"No."
"That's blasphemy," Jajab replied matter-of-factly. "Not even Restraint is so skeptical about the Forerunners. The sacred rings may not be the key to our salvation, but that does not mean-"
"You're entitled to your beliefs, Jajab. But after all I have learnt, and seen... the Forerunners were simply mortal beings like us. Advanced, certainly, but not gods."
"I fear that you may be the only Sangheili to hold that view," Jajab told him sadly, before applying a sedative patch to his arm.
"The day will come when all learn the truth," Sorran replied sleepily as the drug seeped through his skin and oozed into his blood stream. "And then we shall all be free."
Restraints bound his wrists and legs as he hung in the air, dishonoured before all. He had been stripped down of all clothing, and a burning mark of shame covered his beaten chest. A shadowy figure glided towards him, execution-sword held in hand.
Crack! a noise like thunder sounded.
"This is what happens when you sympathise with humans," the Prophet of Truth snarled, before bringing up the sword and sinking it into his-"
Zharn awoke with a shriek, and found himself nestled in rough foliage underneath a shoddy make-shift shelter. Rain poured through the gaps, trailing down his body and diluting the cold sweat he had broken out in. He was panting heavily, shaken.
"Zharn, you imbecile! Do you want to bring them down upon us?" Ahkrin's voice hissed as he stormed into the tent, eyes and sword ablaze. Zharn was still shaking.
"W-what?" he asked in an unsteady voice. Ahrkin tilted his head, peering down at Zharn curiously.
"Are you okay?"
Zharn forced himself to stop shaking, and prised himself away from the floor which was moist with rain and sweat, standing up. His loose garments, which he usually wore under his armour, were stuck to his clammy body.
"I'm fine. Just a bad dream. Bring who down upon us?"
Ahkrin glanced skyward up at the shelter's patched roof with a worried expression.
"The humans. Our fleet at this planet has been destroyed, my brother," Ahrkin told him sombrely. Zharn snapped out of his daze immediately.
"Their ships destroyed an Assault Carrier, two CCS-class Battlecruisers and four corvettes? They must have suffered grave losses as a result," Zharn answered, reaching for his armour, which lay in a heap on the ground covered by leaves. Dirt marred its unshielded surface The next words spoken by Ahrkin made him halt in his tracks.
"Eight human ships came. Only one was destroyed."
"Impossible!" Zharn exclaimed as soon as his friend had finished his sentence.
"Alas, the good special operator speaks the truth, noble Ultra," Orpheus' voice rumbled in a low crescendo as he stepped through the mouth of their shelter. "We watched, amazed as eight of their ships - not even the largest ones - managed to outmaneuver our own and turn what I thought would be a decisive victory for us into a tragic loss."
Ahkrin's jaw clenched as he heard the Jiralhanae speak, but managed to force himself to add to Orpheus' input. "They've sent down their Falcons and Pelicans to secure the surface. Without support from the skies, we cannot win. All the long-range transmission equipment was in the fleet. It's possible that they managed to send a message to High Charity before they were destroyed, but I doubt it. The humans know how to jam our communications for a short while, and the battle took them less than twenty minutes."
"Why did you not wake me up sooner?"
"The humans only achieved victory a few minutes ago. I'd seen the ships exit slipspace before that, but never did I think eight ships would be able to defeat our own. We must leave and find transport, and tell the rest of the Covenant that-"
Their words were drowned out by the sound of whirring blades high up in the air. The three rushed out of the shelter and looked up. A human Falcon hung high in the air above the trees of the expansive forest they were in, and it was soon joined by several others. Flood lights were spread out through the dark trees, threatening to reveal their camp.
"Every Covenant bastard cowering in those trees had better come out of hiding immediately and surrender themselves to my troops, or I swear to your hateful gods that I will nuke the entire province!" a chilling voice boomed out of one of the Falcons through a sound system mounted on the bottom. A voice that sent shivers down every member of the Covenant's spine. A voice that signalled crushing defeat, or incomprehensible loss. A voice belonging to a human who was a better tactician than even the Supreme Commander.
"Admiral Cole," Ahkrin stated unnecessarily, his voice carrying a despondent air. Zharn nodded, eyes downcast. When Cole commanded a fleet and won, there was no escape. Cole meant death. Except he was offering a surrender. It was very unlike him.
"What do we do?" Orpheus asked, knowing that there was only really one answer. Zharn sighed, thinking. He could hear human voices in the distance, shouting.
"There is only one thing that we can do. Find the nearest humans and surrender."