Rommel blinked rapidly as the lights came on, trying to get his eyes to adjust again- In vain, a notion he kept forgetting- then shook his head rapidly as he felt a wave of something unidentifiable come over his being. It felt like a crawling sensation along his spine, and to the horror of his mind, maybe it was. He couldn't tell, all he knew was that he was having some serious arachnophobia at the moment.
When his eyes finally adjusted to the new bright light, which was not so bright after all, they settled in on the figure in front of him. It was clad in black armor, which was caked in grime. Rommel almost didn't recognize it as that of an Orbital Drop Shock Trooper, between the extensive damage and discoloration of it. Harder still was to identify the face of a person who was looking away from him for the most part, especially when there was a pistol barrel blocking his view.
The head turned slightly toward him. The cigar protruded from the corner of his mouth, the end a blazing ember from which the smoke emanated. While he got the idea that he ought to be looking at the pistol, rather than this man's face, there had been something familiar to the voice, to this one's appearance...
The eyes rolled in their sockets, an emerald-green that contrasted brightly with the short, dark hair atop this man's head. He still hid half his face from Rommel, but there was enough of a grin visible. "What's the matter, Lieutenant? You don't recognize your old buddy Dominic?"
Rommel's hope soared high into the air, and he felt his face curl into a shit-eating grin. He made a move to stand up and wrap his arms around the man, when suddenly he realized... His hands and feet were tied to the chair he was in. Something was wrong here. This whole situation reeked of wrong.
"First off, it's Senior, you cheeky bastard.I ain't been an El-Tee since '45," he said warily. He struggled against his restraints, and suddenly became very aware that he did not have his armor on. Everything from the waist down was intact, but everything from the waste up was very exposed. "Second off, what the fuck is this shit? Untie me."
Almec shook his head slowly. "I can't do that, Fullmetal. Not just yet. There's a Hell of a lot that we have to talk about."
"Then we'll talk. You'll get whatever damn answers you want, or whatever you need to say off your chest. Once you untieme. Why the fuck am I tied up in the first place? What the fuck is your problem?" he asked, struggling against his restraints again. He felt a sudden pain in his chest, and grunted loudly in response. What was that, anyway?
"The problem, Rommel, is that I saw you die. I saw you get swarmed by the entire damn horde of those things, I saw those little bastards crawling all over you. I saw them latch onto your chest. Hell, you ain't exactly looked in a mirror too many times recently, have you?" Almec said. He tapped the barrel against Rommel's chest. "Look down. I fucking dare you."
Rommel's brows furrowed, and his eyes narrowed with discontent. He stared long and hard at Dominic Almec, the man who was his best friend. This was not the man he knew, the man who he'd spent nearly eighty years of his life working alongside, from grade-school up until... How long he been out?
The truth was, Rommel didn't even want to know.
He also didn't want to look down.
He didn't know what he expected to find there. He half-expected that he'd discover his head was actually displaced from its proper position, and he was somehow still capable of speech. He half-expected to see bright red feathery feelers to be jutting out of his chest, waving wildly at the air. Hell, part of him thought he'd see that his body wasn't even there anymore.
He slowly looked down toward his chest, and immediately wished he hadn't.
All along his abdomen and pectoral area, there were lacerations, slashes, and- Especially near his chest- puncture marks that he suspected ran much, much deeper than he wanted to know. If he had to guess, he was probably damn lucky that organs were intact... Unless they weren't, in which case, his time was limited. In any event, it explained very clearly why he felt the amount of pain that he did.
"Some of those marks were the size of a fucking dime yesterday, Rommel," the man said, the gun still not lowered, but at the same time, not shoved in his face anymore. "And your arm. Look at your fucking arm. It was barely holding on when I found you, now it's totally intact. I can't tell you how deep they went, but I can damn sure tell you that I saw bone. Now, I don't. There's no way in Hell you healed that fast. No fucking way. Moreover, why is it that you didn't die when they latched onto you? Why?"
Rommel continued staring for a while. He wanted to try wrapping his head around that, in a way, but at the same time... He really didn't want to think about it. But somewhere in the back of his head, he knew there was something more to it. Deep down, he wanted the answer to why they didn't infect him. Did they not try infecting him? Did they just try killing him?
… Or am I immune...?
That still didn't answer why they'd healed so fast. Rommel was naturally resilient, and he did heal faster than the average Human... But he definitely didn't just shrug off getting ripped to pieces so easily. Let alone having what essentially amounted to a giant fucking spider tearing him up and trying to root itself into his chest or spine. That, he did not understand how he could heal from.
He didn't have an answer for Almec, even as he had the pistol aimed for his head, right between his eyes. "Now, I'm gonna assume you're not some kind of trick-zombie. You don't sound like them, you don't look like them. I don't know how the Hell you're alive, but-"
"I don't like it either, Dom." Rommel slowly looked up at his friend and captor. His voice was solid, and his expression suggested that he was, in a way, disappointed. "You think I like being alive when everyone else is dead? You think I wouldn't gladly trade places with any one of those people who died today?" He shook his head. "You'd be wrong. You'd be damn wrong. Why should I be alive when everyone else died?"
He tried to meet the man's gaze. He still had never turned his head fully toward Rommel.
Suddenly, all the dots connected.
"I thought you were dead, you know. I saw your fucking helmet. How come you're still alive, huh? You saw me get swarmed, you said. You saw it, huh? Why the fuck didn't you try helping me? Where the fuck were you?" he asked, slowly feeling the rage welling back up within him. "Why aren't you infected, huh? Huh, Dom?"
At the same moment, Rommel suddenly had the realization that Almec didn't smoke. He hated it, never had done any more than try it. That meant something was extremely wrong here... It also meant that Almec was smoking Rommel's cigars, which meant he'd been rifling through Rommel's belongings. The first fact bothered him more, clearly, though the second was clear evidence of the former.
Almec pulled the cigar from his mouth, and the corner of his mouth curled into a smirk. "Good question, Ed," he said as he set the cigar down on a table, beside the chair in which he sat. It occurred to Rommel that Almec's speech was still slightly garbled, which he'd previously attributed to the cigar.
It was also for the first time now that Rommel realized they were actually sitting in the barracks. In their shared quarters, to be more precise. The blood-stained bunk was where Rommel had been lying for... He didn't know how long, until Almec suspected he was waking up. Then he tied him up in this chair using rope and rappel cords from their rucksacks.
Crafty son of a bitch.
And for the first time, Almec turned to look at Rommel head-on, sit and face him directly. The end result made Rommel's jaw drop. "Why am I not infected?"
Half of Almec's face was pretty much gone. The entire right side of his face was heavily mutilated, especially where the only thing that really held Almec's jaw to his head was gauze, bandages, and duct tape. From his cheek bone down to the bottom of his jaw, it appeared to be held together only by what was there, and whatever flesh was visible looked necrotic. His teeth showed visibly through the flesh torn from the side of his face.
"It isn't from a lack of trying. That's for damn sure."
"Jesus, that ain't pretty. When I found that spike in your helmet..."
Almec nodded. "I know how bad it is, and I don't care anymore... They tried me, too, you know. I got those same damn marks as you do, and this thing here used to be worse. Just like you."
Rommel slowly nodded back in response. That was... Somewhat ominous, and he was beginning to see a connection forming, though it still wasn't clicking. And it didn't matter, because what he was really curious about was the next one. "Now, why the Hell didn't you help me when you had the chance?"
"Two reasons, Ed," the man stated, holding up his fingers in a "V." He lifted up the pistol in his hand, and pointed it toward the ceiling. Then he pointed at it. "There's a grand total of three rounds in this thing. Dodging those things, getting away from 'em... That burned through just as much ammo as you did. I didn't even have my rifle anymore, I'd dropped it in the water."
"That... Makes sense... And the second?"
"The fact that I was hoping I'd be on that Pelican, and you'd have died before the thing even took off. I was hoping you'd either have been killed by the swarm, since my hope that you'd died in the fall from the bridge was crushed," the man replied in a completely flat, deadpan tone... As much as he didn't want to believe it, he knew his friend was not his friend anymore.
The rage peaked, and it took a great deal of effort to keep himself from struggling against the restraints, or just plain getting up and kicking this thing's ass, tied up or not. He felt his blood boiling, and he knew his face was a bright, burning red. A hundred thousand thoughts surged through his head all at once, and it took some more calculation to pick out the one he wanted. When he found it, it was simple, but it got the point across: "Why?"
"2545. Reach. I know you're aware of the event I'm talking about, Ed."
"Yeah, the hostage situation. The one that got my sister killed in the end. She got shot, her hospital got glassed, and I slaughtered all the fuckers responsible. The Hell's that got to do with..." He stopped dead in his tracks. "No. Not all of them."
"That's right. You're looking at the guy who fed them information for years. For what it's worth, she wasn't meant to be there, it was just convenience. I didn't actively participate in the events, of course- I just fed them information, which came directly from you and ONI. You, ONI, and the moles that're higher up in the chain than I am."
"If what you say is true, you're lower than dog shit, there is no height on the chain," Rommel spat, shaking his head. "And if that's the case, you better fucking pray that this chair is stronger than I am. Because I feel like I could tear your head off with my fucking teeth right now, and I just woke up. You don't want to know what I'd do to you if-"
"I do know, Ed. I seem to remember a couple Insurrectionist leaders going missing and having been found several days later either burned, maimed, or impaled out in the middle of nowhere."
"And buddy, if I have a say in it, I'll make sure that there's a sharpened pole through your ass and out the top of your fucking skull!" he shouted. He rocked the chair back and forth, pushing outward on the ties that held him prisoner. "I will fucking murder you!"
"And that's why I'm sitting here, and you're sitting there. But none of this matters right now, because if we don't get off this planet? It won't matter if you live, or I live, or if your sister died, or your kids died, or your wife, or your parents, or mine, or Campbell's, Findish, Miller, whoever." There was a long pause after the statement, as though he intended to let it sit in.
For Rommel, it had simply fallen upon ears of stone. Though the same question came up in his head again: "Why? Why'd you do it?"
"Why do you think?"
If it was that simple a response, Rommel knew the answer. It wasn't because he believed in the Insurgent cause, or any other stupid things like that- It was because they offered to pay him more than the UNSC ever had. Greed was the ultimate cause for any one man to betray another. Rommel should've seen that hit coming from a mile away.
"But we still need to work together on this one. You've been out about a day and a half. The base's AI still works, and it still has control over a couple things. Including the city's Superintendent AI. There aren't anymore space-worthy ships here, Rommel. None. The only thing that's left is a couple of Falcons, and maybe somebody over the fucking sea that may or may not be alive, and may or may not have a space-worthy craft."
"Then why would I bother working with you if that just means the only thing that's left is to wait for the Goddamn world to burn?"
"Because there's still an intact Corvette attached to the Supercarrier. It landed at an angle, so the Corvette didn't get damaged. At least, not much. But it'll be total Hell to get to it..." Miller started, crossing his arms as he did so. "And things are a Helluva lot worse than they were when you were awake."
"So we're going in fucking circles now. Nice. We already established that the damn Falcons don't work, their engines get jammed up by that spore shit in the air."
"Only at high altitudes. Lower down, the spores just go right past it without touching it."
"So we get shot at, shot down, or some other shit. Big deal, fucked is fucked. Kill me or don't, but don't waste my time with..." He trailed off as the words finally sank in completely, and suddenly he knew exactly what was going on. He leaned back in his chair, let his head fall back, and let out a loud, bellowing laugh.
"You've just figured it out, haven't you?" Almec asked, picking up the cigar and stuffing it back into his mouth again.
"You won't kill me because you can't," Rommel said between breaths. "Because you can't fly a Covenant ship. You haven't killed me because you think I'll fly you off this graveyard of a planet, away from all the ghosties, ghoulies, and long-haired beasties."
"And you will," Almec said assuredly. "Because you've already thought about warning the UNSC about this place, having them fly in and destroy it. But you've already realized the other potential outcomes if you did tell them."
Rommel said nothing in response. He was waiting for the punch-line to the whole joke, because he would sooner die than fly the man who'd betrayed him out of the clutches of a fate far worse than death. No, this man needed to die. And there was hardly anything he could say or do to convince Rommel otherwise.
"Kovcheg's AI provided some other information, too. The boys on that Pelican weren't just coming here to escape. They planted a little something here before they left. A Fury tactical nuke, fresh from the lower levels of the base. When they planted it, Miller wasn't with them, either."
"Then where the Hell is it?"
Almec shifted in his chair, revealing two pairs of rucksacks. One of them was Almec's, presumably. The other one was... Well, he wasn't sure where it had come from. He parted them to reveal the somewhat large, almost egg-shaped object that might not have been too intimidating to look at... Until the observer came to realize that they were holding a 63-terajoule weapon of mass destruction.
"You disarmed it?"
"No. They never armed it, realized they didn't know if they even had a ride out of here. Maybe somebody was meant to stay behind and arm it then run for it, but I didn't see anyone living around." He gave the thing a hard slap, then turned the keypad toward Rommel. It glowed a dull, yellow-green. "It still works."
Rommel rolled his eyes, and let his head fall back toward the ceiling again. He slowly closed his eyes, and let out a melodramatic groan."Yeah... I can see that... So where the Hell's all this circular logic heading to? Quit trying to build suspense, I'm falling asleep here, man..."
"The base's AI said we needed to contain the situation. I'll paraphrase. The planet's not very big, only... I can't even remember the numbers. Between that, the current atmospheric conditions, between our atmospheric processors and them changing the composition, then under the right conditions, we could get into that Supercarrier and cause a wildcat destabilization of critical systems. The reactor core, Slipspace drive, and possibly engines would all go critical, and blow."
"Jesus. That'd be enough to pop the cork on this rock, if not vaporize half of it..."
"An asteroid field, basically, yeah. And between the shockwave, radiation, and just general destruction of the planet itself, any organic life and most structures would befall a similar fate."
"So there's a way to get off the planet and a way up to blow up the planet in the same location. And there's a catalyst to start the process sitting right there on that desk."
"Right. But neither of us would stand a chance going at it alone, and I wouldn't get off-world without your help," Almec said, slowly getting to his feet. In one hand, he held a combat knife- Which Rommel felt pretty certain was his- and in the other hand, the M6D. "So, what do you say, Rommel? We set our differences aside, get out of here for now, and end the charade once we don't have to worry about getting our asses torn apart- Deal?"
Rommel sat there silently for a moment, thinking long and hard about the whole ordeal. On one hand, every fiber of his being wanted to rip Almec apart. The fact that he'd been friends with him for seventy-something years meant nothing anymore- This man was responsible for a personal strike against Rommel, then spent almost five years playing it off.
Irreparable. Irredeemable. Incorrigible!
But to refuse the offer would be to possibly damn some other planet to the same fate. More innocent people dead, more lives ruined, another world lost- And then, what if it was a larger colony? The same options might not be available, and then these things would be on two worlds. Who knew what they were capable of when left to their own devices. Eventually, they might be able to get off-world- If they weren't already- without using the larger ships, or coming back with another fleet to ferry more of them off-world.
Edward Wolffe Rommel was a jackass, certainly. To some- Even to himself- he was a downright monster in some cases. To any man who was his enemy, to any alien that was his enemy, he was the thing that went bump in the night, the monster in the closet, the demon under the bed.
But when it came to those who had done no wrong, it was another matter entirely. He couldn't damn a species based on the actions of one man, no matter how badly it would pain him, make him wriggle and writhe, want to shoot the man in the back.
He sighed loudly, and didn't meet the man's eyes. He stared up at the ceiling, absolutely hating the fact that Almec was right. "Fine. 'Til we're on the ground far away from this place, you've got a deal."
"Good. As it was, I was hoping I wouldn't have to blow your brains out in front of her. She's been so quiet and helpful. I bet you didn't even notice her."
Rommel's eyes opened, and he looked up at Almec. "Her?"
