The two combatants lunged at each other, shrieking primal war calls as the Flood pounded at the door.
One brandished her now-useless MA5B Individual Combat Weapon System at her foe, the other held out a battered cricket-bat, streaked with various shades of blood.
Sergeant Zhao Heng Lopez knew this was pointless. Her assault rifle was out, there wasn't time to reload, and multiple injuries including one ironically inflicted by a crazy ONI officer, was slowing her down. She was a badass, but even she had limits.
The nuke was headed their way, and even if she could win this fight, it would be too late. Thirty seconds...Goddamn you, MacCraw!
They had trusted him! Sure, he was a complete idiot, but he had still been a marine, and still been one of her "kids".
The rat had gotten in the other pod, right when her back was turned. Trying to save his ungrateful ass.
Three survivors, out of an entire prison transport, and a squad of marines. God damn you, ONI!
She suspected "Henry", the nickname they had for the hinge-head, was having similar thoughts, cursing his own allies. And all humans, probably.
In the instant before Lopez could try and bash the hinge-head's skull in, Henry suddenly moved to the side. "Huh?"
He turned, and stepped behind her, grabbing the arm holding the rifle, and putting his other arm around her neck. Within seconds, the shark had her pinned.
The pounding at the door was growing more incessant as she fought the elite, trying to break free from his strong grip. Lopez had to get out fast; she had seen her first commanding officer decapitated in a similar situation.
He didn't even flinch. Dragging her backwards, he reached out and tapped the control to open the remaining pod.
She heard him doing something with one hand, something that involved creaking metal and tearing fabric. Handfuls of debris were thrown out, bouncing against her legs and spilling onto the deck.
"What the hell are you doing?" Lopez grunted, knowing that the elite didn't speak a word of english.
FInally, he seemed satisfied, and dragged her into the pod...nearly a meter deeper than they should have.
Just in time, the airlock inner hatch broke open. She looked on in horror as the remains of one of her kids stared back. Lopez averted her eyes from the name tag, and squeezed her eyes shut.
Any second now…Goddamn you, Smith! Goddamn you, Rebecca, goddamn you, Commander Foucault, goddamn you! Goddamn you all to hell!
There was the sound of air hissing, and a chuff. G-forces abruptly forced her against...a hatch?
"What the fuck…?"
The door was closed. The escape pod had launched. A very basic display showed their course vector. It was slightly obscured, as her face was pushed up against it. And the g-forces were kind of painful.
We're alive?
She remembered who else was in the pod. Adrenaline reserves, what little remained, kicked in, and she struggled against the arm restraining her.
There was a bark in an alien tongue, and her head slammed into the display. "You bastard, try and fight fair!"
There wasn't any room to get her rifle around, maybe her pistol…
Henry had the same thought. The sergeant felt the comforting weight of her sidearm disappear, a four-fingered hand clumsily removing it from the old-style holster on her side.
"Sonova-" her cursing was cut off when the pod decided to do a backflip.
XXXXX
The human wouldn't sit still. Sangheili Special Operations Officer 2nd Class Khutan 'Mdattinee cursed, and shoved the vermin's head forward again, hitting it against the viewport of the deathtrap the humans called an escape pod.
By the gods, who designed this abomination? They should be beheaded for their incompetence!
He had taken the human soldier hostage, knowing how much the vermin valued their allies. If Khutan had simply abandoned it aboard the prison transport, he would be gunned down by the other infidels when the pod was recovered.
With their ally in his hands, however, they would at least hesitate. It might give him a chance for survival.
Though given how little space there had been in the pod even after he cleared out the junk, Khutan questioned his judgement. His own head was on shoulder-level with the human's, and it still could kick and punch.
The human moaned in a high-pitched voice, and began to thrash again. he felt it reach down to its thigh. By the rings, he had forgotten to take the creature's sidearm!
Quickly, he snatched at it, tearing her holster slightly in his rush to remove it. The soldier grunted indignantly, and tried to elbow him again.
He grabbed the cretin by the neck, and was about to squeeze...when the pod shook, and began to shudder.
In fright, Khutan glanced around, fearing that the flimsy thing was falling apart before his eyes. To survive the parasite only to die in this deathtrap would be most dishonorable.
Again, as force pushed him against the uncomfortable frame of the seat, he cursed the designer of this abominable monstrosity. Khutan had known, had thought, that the chair was installed only for comfort, and ripped it out without a second thought.
Even a species so primitive as the humans would have stasis fields, to protect the inhabitants of the escape pod...Or so he had believed. They were as simple an invention as the wheel, or safety belts.
He grunted in pain. As it turned out, there had been a reason for the "excessive" padding after all. The pod's acceleration dampening systems were practically non-existent. Now he was being crushed against every angle of the vehicle, the human landing on him each time or vice versa, as the pod continued its confusing dance of chaos.
After several long moments of tumbling through concussive shockwaves, the vibrations ceased. The pod became silent again.
"What is happening?" He demanded, knowing that the human didn't speak a single phrase of the Sangheili language.
The human coughed out something just as inquisitive, and began to struggle again. When he tried to stop it, the soldier grunted in frustration, and grabbed his head.
Tugging him close over its shoulder, it pointed to a primitive physical keyboard system, laid out against the interior of the vehicle.
Maybe there is a brain cell in there after all...He thought with a roll of the eyes, as it began to type away with its paws.
There was a sense of acceleration, and a loud hissing noise, before the pod began to tilt. Maneuvering thrusters.
He peered over the human's shoulder, but was unable to make any sense of the controls. Oh, how he yearned for his combat rig! He could find out what in the name of the gods this primitive flying machine was saying, instead of having to rely on one of the vermin.
There was a sudden alarm, and Khutan noticed that there was a red indicator pointed at a planet on the display.
He saw the human's eyes go wide, and began to bark inquisitively, then curse in its own language. It slapped several controls, before it turned its head as best it could. It looked him in the eyes, and grunted, "bettabace yorself enry", before it curled up as tightly as it could.
More thrusters fired, and their momentum picked up. From the rear of the pod this time, squishing the sangheili against the human.
What are you afraid of? Khutan wondered...and saw the live feed in the corner of the display. The mist filling up and blocking the camera view. They were entering Threshold's atmosphere.
"You fool! What have you done?" He roared in the human's ear, making his own ring in the small space, "We're going to be crushed!"
A lucky shot from the human's elbow made his head snap back against the ceiling of the pod.
"Wer goin down ard! Dou wanna keelous both?"
The pod began to shudder in a different manner, much more intense. Distantly, but quickly growing louder, there was a sizzling sound, moisture from the pod boiling away as the heat of reentry began to burn the pod.
Desperate, Khutan tried to reach around the human, groping for the controls. Anything to send them out of the atmosphere. The human grabbed him in a headlock, and tugged painfully on one of his jaws.
He groaned in pain, and frantically signaled for a temporary cessation of hostilities. Khutan took a moment to poke at his fangs, checking to see if any were loose. Gods, this human has a grip!
The sound of air buffeting the pod filled his ears, and he glanced at the small viewports in confusion. The flames licking at the windows were beginning to fade, to be replaced with the stars. Stars that shimmered in a view only seen from inside an atmosphere. An atmosphere that did not belong to a gas giant.
By the prophets...What has happened?
They certainly weren't above Threshold anymore.
XXXXX
Lopez's jaw dropped along with Henry's, as both stared out of the viewports. The sensors had told her, but deep down she hadn't quite believed it.
The atmosphere wasn't Threshold's. It was a goldilocks-planet. Roughly 70% nitrogen, 20-25% oxygen, 0.9% argon, and a smattering of other gases. Some the computer couldn't even identify, and the oxygen was unusually high.
She didn't question the result, happy knowing there was somewhere to go, but it seemed all the more real and improbable now.
Oh shit! She scrunched herself up again, putting her hands over her head, just before her heart went out of her chest when the timer reached zero.
The thrusters engaged, slowing their momentum heavily, and she fought the urge to vomit. Henry wasn't doing too well either, his fists left several dents in the interior of the pod, and just about anything now was giving her bruises.
Lopez sucked in a breath, as nearly a minute after the thrusters fired, the parachute popped. She slammed against the front of the pod again, and Henry's weight knocked the wind ut of her.
Alarms were whining as the escape pod slowly descended, and Lopez saw that there was an altitude indicator.
"500 meters...250...100…" the computer voice spoke, as the sergeant's training engaged, and she awkwardly reached down to tap a few controls.
"Scanning…Please Wait…" scrolled across the display. After about a minute, four bars appeared, and increased or decreased according to the results. Just as it had seen before. She hadn't been hallucinating.
"Hey squid-head," she said with an insane laugh, leaning away from the elite breathing down her neck, "I don't think we're in Kansas anymore!"
Henry looked at her, and rolled his eyes. Must've been something he picked up from the guards on the Mona Lisa.
"10 meters." the pod politely reported, and Lopez cursed again. With a loud crunch and a thud, the pod made landfall.
The elite realized it too. Their temporary "alliance" forgotten, he smashed her face against the hatch, and began feeling for release catches.
Lopez, weakened by the horrors of the past eleven hours, the blood loss from her leg(despite the bandage), and this little adventure, still had a bit of fight in her. She rammed both elbows into the elite's sides, and slammed her head right back. Her combat helmet was an extremely strong but light advanced form of Kevlar, carbon nanotubes, and other space-age materials, it hit like a brick. While he was stunned, she quickly tapped commands into the display, and hammered on all four catches along the door.
With an explosive pop, the panel disappeared, soaring into the dark night sky above them as Lopez scrambled out.
"Yagh!" she landed on her injured leg, and fell to her knees, her helmet bouncing away. She rolled over, scrabbling with her rifle, and turned it against Henry, who was already clambering out to the other side.
The magazine indicator read "00". Right. Shit!
She patted down her vest for a clip, watching either side of the pod for the elite. He was hiding behind it, waiting to pounce.
"C'mon out, squid-lips! I won't bite!" Lopez shouted, finding a surviving clip. She hit the release switch on her rifle, and shoved the new one in.
Rookie mistake. The charging handle wouldn't move. "Motherfucker-" Sergeant Lopez cursed, and reached for her sidearm. Her missing sidearm.
Goddamn them all!
Henry appeared at that moment, around the corner. Holding her M6D.
It would be laughable if it weren't so deadly, the eight-foot tall elite holding a weapon designed for five-foot-six humans.
For a long moment, they stared at one another. Strange, Henry was on his knees, wheezing loudly, and his bat arm was barely holding him up. He looked as tired as she felt.
She winced when he pulled the trigger. Click.
Lopez's expression of fear turned to that of predatory amusement as she watched Henry stare in confusion at the weapon, "Forgot to...take the safety off...didja?" She asked, panting as she struggled to sit up, "Well. Here...we are...again."
He tossed the weapon aside, and leaned back on his legs. The alien looked exhausted, his jaws hung limply open, and his entire body was sagging.
Makes it a little easier on me...She struggled to her knees, but didn't have the strength to stand.
Against her will, the sergeant fell back onto her rear as well. Lopez growled in frustration, dropped her rifle, and pulled out her combat knife. Every movement was agonizing, and when she tried to pull herself forward, she fell flat on the cool snow under her.
From the sound, Henry had done the same thing. She felt a weak pair of large fingers manage to tug at her hair.
"Don't touch the hair, douchebag." she mumbled, and managed to move out of his reach.
Lopez heard him garble something back. Probably an insult.
Damn, she was tired. As the adrenaline faded away, more exhaustion came. Not that I'll get any rest, those damn things will haunt me till the day I die. Probably longer.
She hoped the nuke had gotten them all. The entire heavily armed squad had been lost fighting the unarmed ones, who knows what damage they could inflict if they could get ahold of actual weapons?
Lopez wondered what had happened in the days before the squad's arrival on the Mona Lisa, the terror the prisoner and Henry had felt…
She jumped back into combat mode. Tightening her grip on her knife, she lifted her tired head. He was nearly passed out. With the right timing, she could slit his throat before he could react.
Something made her hesitate, and it wasn't just the exhaustion. Lopez's head tilted forward, back into the soft fluffy snow.
What was the problem? He was an elite, a hinge head, the enemy! And yet...Despite her experience, despite everything she had been through, Sergeant Lopez hesitated.
"Henry can have my shore leave."
Lopez shook her head. They were at war. The bastard would do the same thing in an instant if given the chance.
"Don't shoot! Henry's okay! Don't shoot!"
She shook her head again. What was up with her? Barely half an hour ago she had tried to kill the shark, and now she was hesitating?
He carried Benti in one massive arm, shooting every zombie coming their way. He beat them off with that bat of his, She was like a doll in his arms, limp and pale.
Lopez angrily pushed herself up onto her elbows. What was wrong with her?
"Benti, you're hurt! Bad!" Blood dripped from the medic's armor, all the way down her flank to her boots. All over Henry's side. He had carried her here, all the way from the reactor.
Henry looked up at her weakly. He cocked his head slightly in surprise, staring at the knife in her hands.
"Sorry, there weren't supposed to be any survivors." Clarence's voice was shockingly average and calm, the tone out of place, stating it like he was talking about his day. Their ears still rang from the gunshot that ended Rimmer. Henry and Lopez raised their weapons, both at Clarence, "Put down your weapon, private. Two against one." The elite sided with the sergeant, and released Benti.
Henry began to pull himself further away, as Lopez looked from him to the knife.
They had been her kids, and with the exception of Mcgraw, they were all dead. Benti, Clarence, Burgundy...gone.
They had been her responsibility. Her kids! Her friends and comrades. And this shark had been able to protect Benti better than she could.
Benti had trusted him. Begged her not to shoot him. She had given him an assault rifle instead of to the prisoner. Benti may have been young and naive, but she wasn't stupid. She had trusted him. In return, Henry had done what the medic's own squad leader couldn't.
XXXXX
Khutan stared at the human. It seemed to be in some sort of internal debate, looking from him to the knife. What was it waiting for?
Even if he had the energy, he didn't know if he could have killed this human. He felt an odd sort of respect for it.
It was the enemy. It was vermin. An infidel.
The healer had trusted this one though. This one had been the healer's lance leader. The healer begged its superior not to kill Khutan, judging by the tone it had used when they met up.
His feet pounding on the deck as he turned the corner, Khutan was surprised to see two human warriors defending the pods. They leveled their weapons at the new arrival, and Khutan's package jabbered away in its own language, pleading with the lance leader.
For an instant, it seemed as though he would be gunned down. After a moment though, the lance leader jerked its head, and Khutan's companions moved forward.
Khutan knew dozens of fellow officers who would have abandoned their men in the same situation. Two pods, two humans. Even if they had waited, there wouldn't be enough space. Why not leave? Why had the lance leader not retreated?
As Khutan approached, he looked the two creatures up and down. The weaker of the two was frightened beyond belief, and by the smell, had soiled himself numerous times. The other showed no fear, only grim determination. He noticed that it was shaking, but not out of fear. A crimson liquid stained a bandage on its upper leg, and could not hold the vermin steady.
So that was why it remained! Khutan realized, they were dishonored, to withdraw would mean their entire family dishonored. If they could save their subordinates, in death, honor would be regained. The elite approved, and out of respect for a worthy opponent, raised the human from an "it" to a "they". Not that Khutan could tell what gender the human was, under all that armor.
But they are human! They are without honor!
His culture and teachers told him that sometimes they would try and surrender instead of finding an honorable death; evidence that they were a species without respect for their families, without honor.
But advanced military training told him not to underestimate them. There were very strange creatures, and could be quite unpredictable.
The healer, a member of the most wretched people in society, it had not given up either. Injured, what little honor it had to begin with gone, the insect-healer, had saved both Khutan and the lance leader. It sacrificed itself to eliminate the human soldier that had killed Khutan's companion.
In fact, among the human soldiers aboard the prison transport, he had seen only one dishonorable act.
The sound of servos whirring and clamps releasing their cargo brought their attention away from the hatch. The lance leader roared in anger with Henry; the most unworthy of their group had stolen one of the remaining pods from those who deserved it.
Not only had the lance leader disapproved of the act, but they had been even more enraged than Khutan!
Even without honor, the lance leader and the healer could not accept what either of those those cretins had done!
The human who had been Khutan's companion in the long days since the release of the parasite, he had been without honor as well. A prisoner. Without any other choice, Khutan had to vow to defend the "Rimmer" creature, and from what little Khutan had gathered of the human language, Rimmer had done the same.
Khutan would never break the vow until he regained contact with friendly forces, dishonored as he may be, but Rimmer was an animal, why would he respect such a thing? Khutan had been unwilling to sleep the first few days he had been so aware of this fact.
Yet they had protected one another, kept the parasite back for so long. Despite the righteous crusade against the humans, the "Rimmer" had not tried to kill him in all that time.
Perhaps the anarchists' lies held an ember of truth. Maybe there really were some honorable humans among the vermin.
He realized that the human had lowered the knife, and put it back in its sleeve. It seemed confused as well, scratching his head in the same manner Rimmer had.
The human got onto their knees, and crawled over to the escape pod. They tried to crawl onto it, but yelped in pain. Fool, it's still hot.
Khutan wondered why the human hadn't killed him. Judging by the various scars, they were a veteran of many battles with his own people. One of the soldier's eyes glinted in the light in an off-putting manner, they had lost the eye entirely long ago.
The lance leader managed to get to their feet again, and gingerly reached into the pod, withdrawing a crate. They opened it, revealing standard survival equipment for an escape pod. The human removed one device in particular, a small pod with four small circles symmetrically arranged around it. The device looked like a youngling's toy.
The human tapped a control on their arm, and let go of the device. There was a small whirring sound, and to Khutan's surprise, the device soared into the air. Some sort of reconnaissance drone he realized.
It flew straight up, out of sight into the darkness of the night sky. Khutan looked around, taking in the area for a moment. If the human was signaling reinforcements, he would have to use the environment against them. Outside of the tattered remnants of shorts he was issued after his combat harness had been confiscated, and the "crooked-bat" he retrieved from the guards aboard the human transport, he had no equipment.
The pod had come down in the middle of a snow-covered clearing, leaving a small crater. Four large orange sheets of cloth dangled from cables attached to the corners of the vehicle. The pod apparently relied upon braking thrusters and these sheets for deceleration. Considering how delicate they were, Khutan suspected that they were a means to dissuade human crews from abandoning ship. The sheets had served their purpose this time, getting them down in one piece.
Around them was a wide forest, much like those on Qikost, during Khutan's youth. Several memories came back, he fondly recalled hunting wild beasts with his uncle in clearings just like this one.
He noticed the human was now sitting near the pod, holding one of their electronic tablets. A hologram emerged from it, and seemed to show some sort of landscape.
It's a scanner, then, made to examine the surrounding terrain.
Khutan struggled to his knees, and froze at the sound of a weapon being drawn. The human wasn't even looking at him as it pointed a pistol at the sangheili.
The strips of fur above the human's eyes moved inwards at an angle, they seemed angry. They lightly smacked the side of the device, and tapped a few controls.
The human growled in frustration, and looked at Khutan. "Ges weiron arown, alligator." It said.
Khutan let out a breath in a hiss at the mention of the human word referring to him. How dare they brand a soldier of the Covenant with their own vile language!
"Henry" he didn't take much offense to, it had been the term Rimmer used for him. Though Khutan did assume that it was some sort of insult, applied in the same manner as "vermin" or "animal" by Covenant soldiers. Judging by the reactions of the other humans, it wasn't too offensive at least.
The human pulled himself to their feet, still leaning on the quickly-cooling pod for support. They looked at Khutan as he stood up as well, not so weak as to have to lean on anything. For a second, they stared at one in the eyes, daring the other to do something.
To his surprise, the human reached into a vest pocket, and pulled out a bar wrapped in foil. They tossed it to Khutan's feet, and removed another from the same pocket.
With exaggerated movements, the human ripped open the package, and bit off a piece of its contents.
With hesitation, Khutan picked up the bar. He experienced minor difficulty in opening the package, and sniffed it. Meat?
His stomach audibly growled, he hadn't had a good meal in months, and not even proper food in weeks. Khutan used his two lower jaws to bite off a chunk, and nearly dropped it. he forced it into his mouth with his hand, and glared at the human.
This is delicious! Rapidly he devoured all of it, and may have accidentally swallowed part of the wrapper in his haste to get the few remaining crumbs.
The human stared with an amused expression on their face, and the corner of their mouth turned upwards. "Betcha usedu eaten baybees, huh?" it asked, a harsh tone to its voice.
"Do not think that this will save you, vermin. However, once my brothers have rescued me, I will ensure that you are given a swift death."
The human abruptly crouched down in the dirt, and using one finger, drew a circle. Inside the circle they drew a very crude caricature of a human, nothing more than a few lines with a circle for the head. Beside the caricature, they drew an oval, with a square in it.
Khutan looked from the drawing to the pod, and realized that it was a crude depiction of the craft. On the other side of the pod, the human drew a similar caricature to him or herself, but with a different head. It was more triangular, and looked like...He nodded in realization. It was a drawing of a Sangheili combat helmet. It was meant to represent him.
Khutan gestured for the human to continue, "Do not waste my time, curr. Make your point."
The human rolled its eyes, and to either side of the circle drew several points. Stars...The circle is the planet.
They drew three more of the human figures, and three sangheili figures.
To the left, the human drew an odd-looking rectangular shape. When Khutan shrugged, the human drew another different shape. It was a rectangle, with a triangle on one end…
The special operations officer nodded enthusiastically, identifying it as a drawing of a human vessel. One of their strong small vessels. They were unofficially known as Carnifex ships around the fleet, appearing to be small and harmless, but in reality were extremely deadly. They were named after a bird found on a Covenant world over a century ago, small birds that inflicted heavy casualties upon the colonists. The world had been quarantined ever since.
On the other side, the human drew the silhouette of a CCS-class battlecruiser. When Khutan confirmed that he knew what it was, the human crossed out their own race's vessel, the other three human figures, and then the battlecruiser, along with the three sangheili.
The human drew and redrew a smaller circle around their own representations, and tapped it several times for emphasis. The human gestured to the dark landscape around them, and then tapped the drawing with their foot.
"Wer alon heer, split-lip," they said, and spoke rapidly, too fast for Khutan to track.
He looked at the drawing again. No humans, no imperial forces, in space or on the planet…"We are alone, then?"
Khutan's first instinct was to snap the creature's neck, and roast them over an open fire. However, he took a second look at the survival equipment next to the pod. He had no idea how to operate any of it. He couldn't even tell which of the shining packages contained food, and which held something that might kill him if he ate it.
Against his better judgement, he realized that they needed each other. The human was injured, and most likely would not survive an attack by wild animals. Khutan needed the survival equipment.
Reluctantly, he lowered his weapon. "We are allies, for now, cretin. But once we get off the wretched planet, I will take great pleasure in killing you."
XXXXX
Sergeant Lopez grunted as she lifted out the next piece of cargo from within the remains of the pod.
More rations it looked like. She threw it onto the small pile gathered next to the fire Henry was tending to.
Not for the first time, she noted how odd it was that a hinge-head was not only able to understand her insane waving, but was also willing to agree to an alliance.
Guess mister alligator figured humans weren't so bad...she thought, climbing off the pod for a bit of a rest.
Frustratingly, there had been only two more weapons inside the pod. An M6 sidearm, either an A or B model, and an old-style MA3 rifle, heavily modified to only allow for semi-automatic firing. Enough ammo to last a while, though. They hadn't skimped on that. Enough to equip a fireteam of soldiers if need be.
Been decades since this thing's seen service, let alone commissioning. Why am I not surprised this pod's full of junk?
Half the rations were rotten, and all were dated 2497. She didn't want to think about kept the rest from spoiling, though her own MREs weren't much better. They would have to go hunting, ASAP.
The electronics of the pod, and the survival kits were partly operational, though many of them were obsolete. They would still provide a good fallback though, and the drones would be helpful if Henry ever tried running off. Some of them were able to tell her things her own gear couldn't, such as why they landed on a different planet than the one they'd been orbiting.
Thanks to Benti, the Mona Lisa's slipspace drive started going nuts, sending out waves of something, generating small anomalies all over the place. Given how strangely those engines worked even when working properly, the effects were made much worse in a malfunctioning and heavily damaged state. It seemed one anomaly opened up right under their pod's hatch. When they went through, they ended up in the planet's upper atmosphere. Somehow.
Luckily, the medical kit had been constantly updated, even a neglected transport like the Mona Lisa had to follow some regulations.
Some of the stuff in the pod wasn't standard, especially not for a prison transport. Firearms, and plenty of ammo for instance. She assumed, given the pod's proximity to the bridge, some spooks wanted security in case the prisoners got out. But then the guys in charge didn't want any issues with the inmates getting ahold of the pods, so they split the difference. Half shit equipment, and half piss-poor.
Despite the age of the firearms, the ammo would work in what weapons Lopez and Henry had brought with them. The sergeant made sure they were all still there, an M6D, and a pair of MA5Bs. Hers and PFC Gersten's. 7.62mm wasn't the best for hunting with, but it worked in a pinch.
Gersten was one of the few veterans in the squad. How'd he buy it? Lopez wondered. All she had was his rifle, and Henry wasn't exactly forthcoming.
Somehow, a handful of grenades had survived the mad dash from the bridge to the escape pods. They might come in handy. Yeah, to shove in Henry's face hole when he attacks me, Lopez thought grimly.
She double checked that she could easily reach her weapon, before laying her tired head back against the now-cool pod for a moment.
Lopez realized what she was doing, and sat up. She couldn't go to sleep, not with Henry there. On instinct she was about to activate a stimulant injection, but stopped herself.
Her BDUs were far in advance of those used on pre-slipspace Earth, possessing automatic medical systems, smart fabrics, sensors, communications, and more; putting more resources on a single soldier than an entire squad of United States Marines combined had once possessed.
The expendables had been drained by the Mona Lisa, but she had replenished all of the stockpiles of medicine, food, and other consumable equipment from a surplus in the pod. Even so, she was unwilling to use anything, given her limited supplies. She had turned off the automatic injection systems for the same reason.
To keep herself awake, she focused on work. Reaching over, she picked up the tablet connected to the recon drone.
There weren't many energy readings in the valley around them. Unsurprisingly, it confirmed the sergeant's suspicions that they were alone.
However, before she could sink further into despair, the drone's feed began to beep incessantly.
Lopez deactivated the alert, and stared intently at the camera footage. There was a settlement, just over the ridge!
From what the sensors told her, it was fairly primitive, no electronic devices of any kind. There was what looked like a smithery, for simple metallurgy work. The buildings were made from wood and straw, and she could see horse-like creatures drawing wagons.
Did we just stumble onto someone's little Medieval period? Shit, just by landing we probably made a whole new religion.
On closer inspection, she found it to be closer to the pre-Renaissance era back on Earth. The only difference being a handful of energy spikes. There were no other signals of technology, however, maybe it was a result of the landscape. That, or her equipment was just worn out. The alien infestation-
A shiver went down her spine at the thought of the monsters aboard the Mona Lisa, the Flood. The creatures that had eaten the crew, and her kids. Instead of the breakdown she expected, the whining and tears she expected from such a loss, there was only a cold realization that she had lost all of them.
For the moment, she was thankful for whatever kept her apart from her emotions. She knew the floodgates would open eventually, seeing it in other veterans, and herself a few times, but was glad to not have to waste the effort crying. Marines didn't do that. Not in public, and sure as hell not next to a hinge-head.
Henry stopped tending the fire, and glanced up. Apparently noticing her shiver.
"The fuck you lookin' at?" She snapped.
He seemed to shrug, perhaps something he'd picked up from that prisoner, Rimmer, and went back to his work.
Lopez glared for a moment more, but curiosity soon overtook rage. She wondered how he was dealing with the loss, realizing that he had lost more than she. She still had a ship somewhere out there, probably trying to find her. A slipspace anomaly should've been noticeable even through a nuclear blast. At least she'd hoped it would be.
Unlike her however, Henry might have lost everything, judging by the debris field the Mona Lisa had been found in. His unit was gone, his ship assumed destroyed...She doubted his people even knew he was alive. The elite had watched his fellows being taken away one by one to be experimented upon by the zombies. He'd suffered through the long weeks surviving aboard the Mona Lisa, seeing who-knew what horrors. He'd even lost Rimmer, his only friend and ally through the long days surviving before Benti's team had found them.
Her eyes fluttered again, and she debated sleeping. She would have to, sometime, but he was still the enemy. Regardless of their little alliance, every fiber of her being told her to kill him.
Lopez was a veteran of over ten years in the war with the Covies, she'd lost a lot of friends to them. She'd lost her eye to an energy sword as a greenhorn, along with half her squad before a Scorpion tank happened along and cut the zealot to shreds.
They were the ones intent on wiping out all of humanity for bullshit reasons, who destroyed nearly everything the United Nations built as they clawed their way through the galaxy, and who wiped out god-knew how many people.
He'd made peace, yes, but could either of them trust the other-or themselves- not to kill each other in their sleep?
Benti had trusted him, said a nagging part of her mind, and he didn't kill Rimmer in all their time together.
Then there was what her own experience told her. The alligators and their sense of honor. The Covies had no mercy for humans, killing any they could find. But the elites...They were all about fair fights. Usually.
A brute or a grunt ran off of similar rules to humans, killing them in their sleep, unarmed, whatever. All's fair in warfare, after all. The only difference was that humans would accept an offered surrender. But ONI intelligence briefings, backed by video footage, showed several distinct cases of elites refusing to kill unarmed soldiers.
One clip that stood out to her was of a helmet cam from a marine in a barracks, his unit completely unprepared for battle. The elites broke down the doors, two minors and a gold motherfucker with two plasma rifles apiece. The marine's rifle too far away to reach, they should've gunned him down. But the golden one noticed the marine, and held back another from shooting the man. After a moment's hesitation, the marine dove for his rifle and barely managed to squeeze off half a burst before they shot him.
Civilians and most navy squids they didn't distinguish, killing them no matter what. But armed squids and grunts in general they held a strange respect for. If one lost their weapon, or were found unarmed, chances were it would allow time for the human to find a weapon, then kill them.
So...The million dollar question. Would he consider it dishonorable to kill her in her sleep? The briefings insisted that he wouldn't, but the elites considered capture dishonorable, and military intelligence was an oxymoron anyway. Would he try and maintain what little honor he had left, or just say "fuck it"?
She jumped when Henry moved into her field of vision. Raising her pistol at him, she inquired, "Yes, split-lip? "
He pointed at her chest, and she furrowed her brow, looking down. "Very funny, split-lip, there's nothing there." Wouldn't have figured a hinge-head would try something stupid like that...
Henry rolled his eyes, and drew a small line across the center of his chest. His finger made small little squiggling motions, then he pointed to her again.
"Um…"
He pointed to himself, and let out several syllables of gibberish. Back to her again.
"What the hell…?"
Henry picked up a pebble, and with surprising accuracy, flicked it at her chest plate.
"Are you trying to get yourself shot, you damn waste of life?"
Henry sighed, then with significant effort, mumbled, "Ri-e-er. 'En-ii. Clarence." and pointed to Lopez's side for some reason.
When that didn't work, he pointed to himself, and said something that sounded like vomiting in reverse while simultaneously singing "I'm a yankee doodle dandy". Or something to that effect equally unpronounceable.
When she didn't react, he rolled his eyes once more, and pointed to himself, "Enri. Enry. Henry."
She furrowed her brow, "Are you trying to…" Lopez pointed at him, "Henry."
He looked at her in a very drawn out manner, then with yet another eye-roll, nodded, and gestured to her.
Shrugging, she pointed to herself, and began, "Sergeant...Lopez..."
As she repeated herself, and Henry struggled with the words, she contemplated her introduction.
Had it been that long? Had she lost that many people? No one ever addressed her by first name, and she never gave it anymore. She only ever replied to "sergeant" or "Lopez" now. When was the last time she had even heard the word?
Realizing that Henry was unable to pronounce "Lopez" correctly(sounded like escaping air every time he said it), she licked her lips and pointed to herself again.
"Zhao."
Henry tilted his head, seemingly surprised, then with a surprising amount of ease, "Zhao."
The word sounded strange to her ears, stranger to say as she repeated it and nodded.
He pointed at her, "Sssagent Lofesh...Zhao?"
"No, wrong way, you idiot. Sergeant...Zhao...Lopez."
"Sargent Zhao Lofess."
Lopez facepalmed, "How about just 'Sargeant Zhao'. Get it, split-chin? Sa-r-ge-ant...Zhao!"
It took many, many tries. "Sergeant...Zhao."
"Sweet Christ...finally. Yes!" she nodded exaggeratedly.
He tried the name over and over, "Zhao?"
Henry pointed to himself, and let out that sound again, the weird puke-singing sound. That must have been his name.
She shook her head, "No way in hell...fine." she made very little effort to make it sound proper, not that it would make much difference.
"It's easier to say Henry. Can I call you Henry?" Or whatever slur she could think of.
She made the gargle imitation, shook her head, then pointed to him, "Henry," and nodded her head.
He hissed, but at Lopez's twitch toward her handgun, he relented. Striding over to the other side of the fire, he sat down heavily. He moved into a cross-legged position, and with his cricket back across his legs, stared back across the space at Lopez.
Lopez ignored his gaze and reached for a ration packet. She heard a light jingle, and froze as her hand brushed against several light items.
She inhaled sharply, then exhaled. Gently, she pulled out the three sets of dog tags.
Rabbit. Singh. Mahmoud. Infected then beaten to death. Crushed. Throat slit.
How did that split-lip bastard, the one who'd stomped Rabbit's head in, know it was incurable? If they had found Rabbit before it had found her, maybe they could have gotten through to her, or maybe even just knocked her into submission until they could get to the Red Horse's medical bay. The crew of the Mona Lisa had been infected for a while, maybe it took a while to take effect. Maybe it just affected covies the worst.
Those section III eggheads may have been trying to control the zombies, but surely someone with some fucking scruples had to be working on a cure.
Briefly, she regretted her decision to allow the destruction of the Mona Lisa, instead of trying to talk the Commander out of it, wondering if the info in the labs was irrecoverable. Kicking herself, she pointed out that she hadn't had any choice in the matter, and that gold-plated Greek bitch who didn't deserve to be anywhere near Chauncey's data core probably would've overridden the launch control anyway. And section III was nothing if not paranoid, tons of off site storage was likely. Without live test subjects though, their sick experiments would be over. She hoped. Even section III wasn't stupid enough to keep live zombie spores offsite. She desperately hoped.
The other two losses, her intellect told her it was unavoidable, she couldn't think of any way to save them. Smith had been an officer, and up to that point looked like a wimp. How could she have seen Singh's death coming? And Mahmoud, he'd just died of bad luck.
Was there a way of saving them that she hadn't seen, though? What if…
Roughly shoving the tags back in her pocket, Lopez buried all the emotions in a mental hole, and poured mental cement over it.
She rested her head back against the pod once more, laying her hand on her pistol. She closed her eyes for a second. Just to make them stop hurting…
XXXXX
Benti disappearing into the mass of zombies, pushing a screaming Clarence ahead of her. The Rimmer guy being shot, the single round clattering to the deck as his brains splattered across a bulkhead. Pouring rounds into one Flood zombie after another, some with the shattered mandibles of elites, others the screaming faces of humans. Singh's skull crushed as the zombie slams into him. Percy's neck twisting. The head of what once had been Ayad exploding. Mahmoud desperately trying to hold in his own blood from the foaming wound in his neck. Cranker's last radio transmission, screaming as he fired full-auto. Seeing that split-lip standing over Rabbit, mercilessly crushing every part of her. Her fault. She should have seen it coming. She should have known. They were her responsibility.
Suddenly, the scene seemed to stabilize. She was looking down into the eyes of a grinning elite zealot holding her feet off the ground up against the alleyway wall. Algolis. Three bodies were scattered around. One with his neck at the wrong angle. One slumped against the wall trying to hold in her insides as blood pooled. The final body was prone on her back, her weapon fusing her arm raised in defense to her chest wound. All wore UNSC marine green.
Instincts kicked in, and she tried to beat at the thing's hand, attempting to pull out her knife. But her hands wouldn't work right. They hit with the force of a terrified little snot-nosed rookie, rather than those of a hardened twenty-year combat veteran. Uncoordinated, they only made the thing laugh. Her knife clattered to the ground, only succeeding in making it laugh harder.
The elite raised a fist, and flexed its fingers. A field of energy in the shape of a small pointed dagger sprouted from its wrist, and she realized with horror that its fingers were covered in the blood of her comrades.
It didn't drive it into her gut.
Instead with precision and guidance, and with obvious glee it moved it over her right eye. She could feel the heat of the blade, and shrieked as it made a shallow yet extremely painful cut into her forehead.
She continued to scream as the energy dagger slid down, cutting through her eyelid as half her vision vanished in a wave of pain and shock.
Her shrieks of pain echoing through the alley mired with the raucous laughter of the zealot.
XXXXX
Lopez snapped awake, and saw a pair of yellow eyes staring down at her. As if she was running on automatic, not in control of her actions, she felt her fist collide with the face the eyes belonged to, then her other hand clasp her combat knife.
Swiftly jumping onto all fours and moving her knees under her chest, she launched herself under the zealot's arms and into his midsection, knocking him on his back.
When she raised her knife to stab the zealot's blood-covered hand to make him release his energy sword, he grabbed her by her backplate and pulled, throwing the sergeant to his side.
She felt the wind knocked out of her when he hit her in the stomach, allowing the zealot to yank her knife out of her hands and place his hoof on her chest.
As she struggled, and punched the leg, she realized that there was no golden alien combat boot. In fact, the only thing he wore was a pair of tattered black shorts. The energy sword was a battered cricket bat. It wasn't a zealot. It was Henry.
Lopez didn't care. "Well?! Go on! Take the other one! Be my guest! Go hang around with your buddy, you'll have matching pairs but oh wait we sent him straight to hell! Just like we're going to do to your whole fucking race!"
Henry looked at the knife in his hand. It was disproportionate just like the pistol, looking like a toy as he studied it.
"Well, what are you gonna do, hinge-head? What're you gonna do?" she roared.
"Zhao…" he croaked, then added the blargs and worts and growls his kind always spoke in.
"Oh, fer fuck's sake! Speak english you ugly bastard dino! Otherwise, do whatever it is you're gonna do, or leave me alone!"
The weight on her chest shifted, and he worted again.
"Fuck you, you bastard! Why'd you have to survive?! Why'd one stupid ugly fucking midget hinge-head survive?!" it was true, he was a bit shorter than other elites she'd met in the past, only about seven feet, "Why'd they have to die?! Why are we still alive?!"
Henry raised the knife...and threw it into the dirt next to her head.
He shifted his jaws slightly, pointed to her, and said, "Zhao. No…" then added a strange quiet howling noise.
"Speak. English. You. Dumb. Fuck."
He sighed and gave up with whatever he was trying to do. He got off her, and walked to the other side of the fire, sitting down again.
"What the hell…?" she mumbled, sitting up and snatching up her M6D, aiming it. Henry glared back at her, with the same amount of hatred in his eyes as she felt.
He hadn't slit her throat. He had the opportunity to kill her. She'd let her guard down, she'd fallen asleep, and he hadn't killed her?
XXXXX
Khutan's ears were still ringing from the human's shrill screaming, and his jaw still hurt from where he was hit. Why hadn't he killed them?
The thing…"Zhao", had finally fallen asleep, shutting up for five seconds...before it started making noise. It started moaning at first, rolling around and twitching. Then there were some words he could discern but not recognize, and it's moans turned to yells.
Then it let out a terrified scream, the one he'd heard on dozens of worlds and from hundreds of throats.
Of course, he had to make sure Zhao wasn't going to hurt him or herself, and moved to see what was happening. The human seemed to be dreaming, but woke up and suddenly attacked him without reason.
He'd heard of those types of night terrors. Who knew humans had enough brain cells for that? Then again, stupid races don't build spaceships.
As he glared at Zhao, he noted the other's eyes were mirrored with the same amount of hate he felt. Khutan also noted the scar across their eye once again. The pattern was quite similar to one of his own scars, left by a type-2 energy dagger. The course of the cut should have removed the eye. Why weren't they dead? Dishonored like that should've been a death sentence. Even if the healers hadn't killed them, and had done their heinous work, how were they still on the front lines?
So Zhao did have some personal reasons to hate. A Sangheili just like him had decided to have some fun before going in for the kill. Unsuccessful.
He glared back with equal hate.
The burn of the shock stick still hurt, but it was nothing compared to Tysze's screams. First he had been letting out challenges, damning all the infidels to the underworld. Distantly, he heard the clang of a metal door. Then, his lance-mate let out a curse, and began to scream, screaming words never thought possible to be uttered by Sangheili mandibles.
"Help! Let me out! Let me out, you thrice-gods-damned fools! Help! Don't let it get me! Help!"
Unconsciously, his hand went to a scar on his lower abdomen. A small perfectly round circle surrounded by brand-new skin.