Disclaimer: Red vs. Blue belongs to Rooster Teeth, not me. I make no profit from this, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Chapter Nine
The next morning, Sister stepped out onto the pho' shop's porch and stretched her knee gently. It was sore, but no lasting damage. The rain had gone in the night, leaving nothing but dripping rooftops and puddles. The glare from the sun on the glistening surfaces hurt Sister's eyes, but she didn't mind. It was refreshing after days in dark captivity. She tried to decided what she should do now. Her rescuer had said it wasn't safe to rejoin Brennan, and honestly, she wasn't sure that she wanted to. She would miss the ship though. The shopkeeper's son came out, maneuvering carefully in an antique wheelchair. He handed her a cup of tea.
"Thanks." Sister smiled at him.
"You are welcome." He spoke English, unlike his mother.
"How come you have that old thing? Most people have hover chairs these days."
He shrugged. "Unnecessary expense."
"I could build you one," Sister said. "Well, I think I could anyway. I saw the specs for one once."
"Hmm...I build things as well, but usually I cannot get parts, so people bring them to me. I think you could stay here if you brought me parts and helped me build. Perhaps we could pay you a little, and you could buy a ticket on a safe transport to continue your journey."
"Really? Oh wow, thank you, that would be amazing!" Sister bounced on her feet happily. The old woman called from inside – it was time to get started on today's pho'.
"I will get you a list of parts I need and a map of the city. You can search for them and the hover chair parts as well." Once the man had marked places in the city to avoid and the best places to scrounge for scrap parts, Sister set out.
It took her a while to orient herself, but she learned her way well enough to only have to consult her map occasionally by the afternoon. She found herself more skittish than usual – loud noises reminded her of gunshots, and occasionally a voice or silhouette of a person would cause her to flinch if they reminded her of her ordeal.
A young man flirted with her near a street vendor's stand, and she kept the conversation up long enough to get lunch out of it, but she didn't keep the boy's number. Her heart wasn't in it. She'd gotten off easy, all things considered, but the memory was too fresh to go near it. She kept an eye out for any sign of her mystery rescuer. The old woman either hadn't known or wouldn't say anything about him. Sister guessed it was the latter. Late in the day, she found herself near the port. She had intended to follow "Hero's" advice and avoid it for a while, but … since she was here.
She made her way to where Brennan's ship was docked. He was outside, and looked almost exactly like he had when she first encountered him – unshaven, drunk, and angrily throwing tools and muttering to himself. The only addition was a few bandages and bruises. Sister was thankful. She had been afraid they would kill him when they dragged her away.
Someone called to him from nearby. He looked at the part he was trying to install uncertainly, then set it down and walked over toward the person who had called to him. Sister went closer, ducking behind some crates in case any of the "Suit's" henchman were about.
What she saw nearly brought her out of hiding in an angry rage. Brennan sat down with a group of men and threw some cash into a pile. He was dealt some cards.
"That – that ass! He's still gambling after what happened! Why didn't he just pay those ass wipes with that money? I can still see his bruises for god sake! Did he even report me kidnapped or was he too much of a coward?" Sister clenched her fists and fumed. She turned around and walked away, back to the albatross. She stood looking at it angrily, examining the area Brennan had been working on.
"Idiot. He was trying to put the part in backwards." Sister looked around to make sure no one saw, then attached the part Brennan had been puzzled over correctly. She the made her way quietly to the engine room. It looked as though Brennan had finished her re-wiring project, but she double checked everything just in case. Then she made her way to the bridge. She crawled beneath the main console and disconnected it from the engine, stuffing a small connector piece in her pocket. She then re-routed a few wires for good measure.
"Don't worry girl, that idiot's not going anywhere without me." She pat the console tenderly as she got up. Sister left the ship, and the port, unnoticed.
When she returned to the pho' shop "Granny", as she referred to her, had her bus tables. She got to keep the tips. Counting the money before bed, Sister tried to calculate how many days it would be before she could buy a ticket to the planet Grif was supposed to be on. Probably a month, she decided. Then she tried to calculate how much she would need to get the albatross there. Math was not her strong suit though, and she fell asleep in the middle of her calculations.
%
It had been a week, and Sister had been diligently hunting parts and bussing tables. She hadn't gone back to the port again. She couldn't stand to see Brennan's face. She hadn't seen any sign of the slavers or her mysterious rescuer.
She was in an alley behind a block of machine and auto shops, digging through their scrap metal searching for the salvageable materials when she heard it – gunshots, getting nearer. She flinched and almost panicked until good sense took over.
"Breathe girl, They're not slavers. Or if they are they're not after you. That's two blocks away, at least." She told herself. However, the shots and shouting were getting closer, so she slipped into the shadows of one of the building's back doors.
She heard heavy booted footfall heading her way. They'd be here any moment. Curiosity got the best of her and she leaned out just far enough to see. Sister's eyes widened in surprise as her rescuer from the week before sprinted by, breathing heavily. He turned into a dead end alley, and Sister was about to point him in a better direction for fleeing when the others arrived. UNSC soldiers.
"Where'd he go?"
"Fuck, which way?"
"We have to hurry!"
Sister stepped out of the doorway cautiously, but tried to look casual.
"Umm … hey. What's all the ruckus?" She asked. She tried not to flinch when they spun to face her, guns ready.
"Miss, you need to get inside, right now. There's a terrorist nearby." He turned to the others. "All right, we'll have to split up."
"Are you looking for that guy with the big knife on his back that ran by a minute ago?" Sister asked innocently.
"You saw him? Which way did he go?" the soldier asked. He was young, and looked a little desperate. He was probably just desperate enough to be gullible, Sister decided.
"Give me twenty bucks and I'll point you the right way."
"Are you fucking kidding me?" another soldier asked, but the young leader was already pulling a crumbled bill out of his pocket and handing it to Sister. He stared expectantly.
"He headed back to the main street. He took a right, I think. Better hurry before you lose him in the crowds."
"Let's go men! Hurry!" the squad sprinted frantically away. Sister watched them go, stood silently, waited. She heard the crunch of boots on gravel again, waited. A shadow fell over her face.
"Why did you do that?" Sister looked up into his face and was almost surprised she found it just as intriguing today as she had before. She had often found it to be true that something she wanted turned out not to be nearly as good as she had thought. She'd half expected seeing him again would have proven him either an over-eager good Samaritan or a common criminal, but no. There was nothing common in his face. There was still something that seemed deep and mysterious about him. She wanted to know what it was. Sister blinked and realized that she hadn't answered him due to her pondering.
"I have a ship. I can help you get off planet."
"Why would you do that?" he asked again, surprised.
"I owe you, duh."
"No, you do not. I do not put debts on saving people from such fates."
"Well … maybe you would owe me then," Sister said.
"True. What do you want."
"A name would be nice."
He looked surprised again. "... Sven."
"I'm Kaikaina. Everyone calls me Sister."
"Kaikaina." The word rolled of his tongue slowly, and Sister decided she'd like him to say her name more.
"Why did they call you a terrorist?" she asked. "Are you an Insurrectionist?"
" Sort of … Not exactly," Sven said evasively. "They are young and stupid – idealistic, some people call it. I fight against a corruption they don't even realize exists."
"Corruption, huh? That's exactly what I need help with, so that can be what you'll owe me if I rescue you. My brother was sort of drafted in to the marines."
"The UNSC does not have a draft."
"Exactly."
%
They were in the market, blending into the crowd. Market street ran for miles, a straight thoroughfare from the government building to the shipyard. They were edging their way closer to the docks minute by minute.
"I still do not think you should come. I do not know of any way we can help you. I have no information on a draft. You are very young and we run the ship as a military vessel. And you should not endanger yourself by associating with … our organization."
"Right. The "not exactly insurrectionists." Are you done being reasonable, party pooper?" Sister glanced over at Sven. He was frowning deeply, looking at the communicator on his wrist.
"What's wrong?"
"I was hoping we would have more time. I have hacked a feed into UNSC communications. They have just sent back-up. Leaving the shipyards will likely be harder now."
"You mean we - wait, why?" Sven turned around and looked up at the government building. Sister followed his gaze. There was a pelican taking off, flying low, heading down market street.
"They are coming."
"Who?"
"Freelancers." Sven turned and started running – at least he tried; there were far too many people in the street to truly run. Sister hurried after him.
"Last chance to not be tied to me Kaikaina. Leave now."
"No, you saved me. We can help each other." The pelican was over them now. It was circling, and soldiers like sister had never seen before were jumping from it, surrounding them, training weapons at Sven.
"Civilians, please clear the area," came a voice from the intercom of the ship. Of course no one listened.
Sister could hear people around her whispering excitedly, "Are those Spartans?" There were four of them, one in brown armor, one in white, one in blue, and one in steel with yellow accents.
"Surrender peacefully and there's no need for violence," The blue armored soldier said cheerfully. Sister thought she heard the white armored one chuckle under his breath.
"Civilians, please clear the area. This is a military operation," the steel armored one said again. He had a rather large gun that he was waving around casually and people began to finally back away nervously. Sister didn't move. His voice sounded vaguely familiar. Sister was jolted out of this train of thought however, when Sven put an arm around her waist and pull her roughly up against him.
"Back away! Or do you shoot civilians now?" Sven was holding his pistol to sister's head. She didn't have to fake the surprise and fear she felt.
"Am I seriously this bad at picking friends?" she thought. Either Sven had just betrayed her, or she might be shot by these people trying to take him down – collateral damage.
"This is a shitty plan, Sven!" Se hissed under her breath.
"Shh … just relax," he breathed into her ear. "Let all the tension leave your body like a rag doll; it will not be as bad that way."
"What won't?"
"Just trust me," he said. The four Freelancers were closing in. She saw the white armored one raise his sniper rifle; he was certainly going to take a head shot. Sister closed her eyes, not wanting to see what would happen next – the man that saved her life would be gunned down. She'd be questioned, identified, sent back to the moon. It was over. At the last second Sister opened her eyes, determined to face what was coming. She liked up at Sven and thought she saw him nod, almost imperceptibly. She wanted to turn her head, to see where he was looking, but –
She felt the shot before she heard it. It tore through her right shoulder and she screamed. Sister wasn't sure if she actually passed out, but the next thing she remembered was the screams of the crowd, and she was confused for a moment when everyone seemed to be running in all directions, but they were upside down. She realized she was being bounced up and down and was nauseous, and then she realized that Sven was carrying her fireman style, over his shoulder, and sprinting through the quickly scattering crowd.
"God damn it Sven, put me down!"
"Ah good, she just grazed you. I was worried. The pain will kick in in a moment. You will not mind being carried then."
"Just grazed me? Fuck you! It's through my shoulder! I'm gonna bleed to death!"
"What did I tell you about relaxing? You'll bleed to death must faster if you keep your heart rate up." Sven slowed and hid behind a stack of crates. They were in the ship yard.
"What are we doing?"
"Finding that ship you mentioned."
"Go to bay 117. There's an albatross there," she said quickly. "And put me down! It's my arm that's shot, not my leg."
"No." Sven resumed running. "You could pass out any moment. Who will be manning the ship when we arrive?" He slowed at an intersection.
"Turn left here. He's just a drunk bum." A few moments later they arrived at the albatross. Sure enough, Brennan was snoring in a folding chair near the ship, smelling of liquor.
"Gross," Sister muttered as Sven finally put her down. Sister checked to make sure things were ship-shape and that Brennan hadn't tried to "fix" anything else as they made their way up to the bridge.
"Kaikaina, where is a med kit? We've got to stop your bleeding before you go into shock." She ignored him and made her way to the console, kneeling down and digging in her pockets as she did. She crawled beneath the control panel and began fixing the wiring she had changed.
"I was hoping for a fully functional ship," Sven said.
"Two minutes."
"Where is a med kit?" he asked again, and Sister finally pointed it out. Sven quickly grabbed it.
"Come here Kaikaina. We have to stop the bleeding."
"One minute," She said and kept working. Sven sighed. He was about to grab her foot and drag her out from under the console when she came out herself.
"Okay, let's punch it," she said as she plopped herself down in the pilot's chair and started the engine. Sven just shook his head at her and began applying medi-gel and bandages to her wound to stop the bleeding.
"Where to hero?" She asked after she'd radioed for permission to take off and gotten airborne.
"It does not matter. Just get us into the black. From there I will make sure we are not followed." Sven watched her maneuver the ship out of the atmosphere. "How are you still functioning?" he finally asked.
"High pain tolerance. Though if you could give me something that would be great. I'm definitely starting to feel it."
"You may be the most ridiculous person I have ever met." Sven injected her with a pain killer. "And you cannot fly on pain killers; it is the same as being drunk. Rest now."
"You'd be surprised how often people tell me that. About being ridiculous, I mean. Can you even fly?"
"Yes, I can, and I should because you are probably going to get drowsy right about – "
"Oh, wow, that's strong."
" – now." Sven switched her controls over to the co-pilot's station instead. He double checked that Sister's pulse and breathing were steady as she dozed off, and then set a course that would prevent them from being followed. He wondered how someone so young knew how to fly. He wondered how she knew the ship's call sign by heart to tell flight control when they were triple checking all ship's credentials, because he did not believe for a minute that the ship was actually hers, but either way he was thankful. The girl had saved him twice in one day. She was right; he owed her now.
%
Back on the planet they'd left, Brennan stood in front of the empty space that he could have sworn his ship had been in just hours before. He scratched his chin and frowned.
"God damn, I have got to stop drinking. I think forgetting where I parked my ship is a new low."
%
Grif sat on his bunk, staring morosely at the flight helmet in his hands. He was exhausted. The missions were grueling, and they were on call twenty four seven. Sometimes they would go days without sleep, and other times they would go days without a mission. Grif thought he would go mad from the boredom and anticipation on those days. The possibility of a Covenant ship attacking them was very real, and Grif couldn't sleep in the dark of space thinking that he might never see the lush, sunny beaches of home again.
Sitting there was almost worse, "No," he decided, "it is worse than being on an actual mission. At least then I can actually do something." he thought. Grif shuddered at the idea that he might die in his sleep if the Covenant caught them unaware. He couldn't bother with the charade of trying to get kicked out anymore. At this point all he was worried about was surviving. Grif looked up at the sound of boots in the doorway.
Sarge stood there holding two cups of steaming coffee. Sarge did this every night, without fail. Sometimes someone wold be awake, and Sarge would call them out to chat in quiet tones in the hallway. Other nights, if no one was up, Sarge would walk on down the hallway, sometimes humming old Blues tunes as he went.
For his part, Grif always pretended to be asleep. But he was sitting up tonight, and it was too late to fake otherwise. Grif watched as Sarge's eyes searched the room and finally settled on him.
"Private."
"Sir."
"Can't sleep?"
"No sir."
"Well, come here then. No use fighting it. There are better things to fight." Grif got up and made his way to the door, where he took one of the mugs from Sarge. "How do you like your first assignment, son?"
Grf sighed, "It sucks, sir. I don't want to be here and I'm scared shitless and too exhausted to even sleep. I can't take not knowing where we are or why we're here. We're just constantly on edge and never know what's going to happen next! How do you deal with it, Sarge?"
Sarge just nodded seriously toward Grif's coffee mug, so he sighed and took a sip. Grif's eyes widened in surprise. "Sarge, is there – " Grif checked up and down the hallway before he spoke quietly again, " – is there liquor in this?"
Sarge chuckled quietly. "Damn right private. The finest bourbon a sergeant's payroll can buy."
"How did you get it?"
"When you've been doing this as long as I have private, you end up with some good connections. I've got my own private stash, hidden at strategic points around the ship, along with extra shot-gun ammo."
Grif just stared, took another sip, stared some more.
"I see that look on your face soldier. Put it out of your mind. No one's ever found my stash. Not in almost twenty five years."
"You've been doing this for that long?"
"Yep. Joined up when I was twenty, after my own father retired. I was itching for battle! I come from a long line of soldiers."
"So you've been around for pretty much the whole war?"
"Yep. I joined up the year of First Contact."
"Wow, that's pretty impressive, sir. Why aren't you an officer by now?"
"Tried it, made it all the way to Captain, didn't much care for that level of responsibility. Busted back down to Staff Sergeant after that. I prefer to lead small squads, right into the thick of things, if you know what I mean."
"How do you deal with the anxiety sir? I mean, alcohol can really only do so much if we're still gonna be functional."
"By working harder, better, faster, stronger! By remembering what we fight for, private! I keep an image in my mind at all times. Do you want to know what that image is?"
"What is it sir?"
"A memory of my own sweet mother, singing Amazing Grace and setting an apple pie on the window sill to cool, as my father and I repaired the irrigation drones on our farm. I always remember what we fight for private. Justice! Freedom! Apple Pie!"
"So..."
"So you get an image of what you're fighting to protect in the front of your mind, and you won't have nearly as much trouble sleeping, or fighting, private Grif." The two men looked at one another for a long moment. Then Grif nodded.
"Thanks, sir."
"Anytime, son." Sarge took the mug form Grif's hand, and Grif turned and shuffled back to bed. Sarge retreated down the hallway, humming to himself, and Grif lay down and thought of the first day he took Sister to the beach to teach her how to surf. He drifted to sleep to the memory of waves crashing and Sister's laughter.