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Concurrence Chapter 3-3
🕑 Added 2023-06-28 05:45:16 +0000 UTC2557 words
The Major
Kikowani Station
6 Hours After Rupture
“Think that’s all of em’,” the Major said, replacing his spent shells. “You can come out now. That you, Holiday?”
Holiday always had an affinity with Covenant weapons, but she wasn’t one to stay quiet when he called her, the Major frowning behind his visor as he examined the train. This whole side of it had been rendered black with plasma fire, the steel melting into chrome puddles that dripped to pool over the tracks.
There was blood everywhere, too, the Jackals and Grunts by the foot of the steps forming piles two or three aliens tall. It reminded him of the time he’d walked through a captured Covenant cruiser, where a Spartan had singlehandedly slaughtered his way from the cargo bay to the bridge, leaving none of the aliens alive, and a hell of a mess for everyone else to clean up.
“Joker? Come on, this isn’t funny.”
His only answer was his own echo: “Funny… unny… ny…” There was no movement from the train, the Major pumping his shotgun as the silence made him wary. He stepped over the corpse of the Brute, bracing his weapon as he made his way to the train. Had he been too late?
He exaggerated his step as he crossed the gap, the air on board thick with stillness. The ionising energy in the air warmed his skin through his armour. He flicked on his visor as he glanced at the carriage on his right, the systems fighting back the darkness. There was a dead Brute in the aisle, the giant alien plugging the whole path like a cork in a bottle, his dropped weapon laying on the seat by his slumped head.
Looking over his shoulder at the opposite carriage, his visor outlined the seats leading up to the driver’s hatch, but nothing more. He made his way up the train, the Major kicking aside a couple of spent carbine canisters littering the ground like bullet casings.
The aisle narrowed where the carriage’s joined, and he turned his body sideways so he could squeeze through, his bulky armour not designed with civilian trains in mind. There was blood in here, too, his head locking to a splotch of it on one of the seats in front of him.
The blood was purple.
The gears were still turning in his head when he emerged into the aisle, when all of a sudden a giant arm swiped down on his shotgun with a whoosh of air, the weapon clattering to his feet.
He turned to see an Elite had been standing just to the side of the threshold, the most obvious hiding place in the book. Instincts kicking into action, he drew his sidearm from its holster, firing from the hip like a gunslinger out of a Western movie. He got off four shots, the Elite’s shields flickering as they absorbed the rounds, when the alien snatched the gun out of his hand.
It chucked his sidearm out of the train window, its arm clad in the white power armour of an Ultra. Parts of its plating were burnt, and there was drying blood seeping out of a wound on its shoulder. It was obvious this was the one who’d been fighting off those Brutes, but how was that possible? The Covenant were a united faction who purged humanity, not each other.
It didn’t seem to react after disarming him, but the Major took the opening as his chance, producing the combat knife from his chest and driving it towards its chest. The Elite seized his wrist, its mandibles flexing as it growled down at him, the thing hunching so it could fit inside the train.
It leaned down until its face practically touched his visor, its pair of eyes filling his vision. Its sclera was a deep yellow that bordered on gold, and the iris’ were a striking purple, vertical like a reptile’s. Its breath misted over his visor as it held him there.
After these few moments of examination, he socked it in the mouth, or maybe snout was a more accurate word, since it didn’t possess a mouth in the traditional sense. His fist bounced off its mandible guards, the Major snarling through his teeth as white-hot pain pulsed through his fist. It felt like he’d just punched a brick wall.
At least he wasn’t alone in his pain, the Elite’s face wrinkling as though about to sneeze, the alien voicing an “Oof!” –as it recoiled, its grip on his knife-hand weakening. He pulled his arm free, reversing the blade so it pointed at the ground, driving it home at a different angle.
The tip of the knife slipped between the plates on its chest armour, sinking in a few inches before the Elite grabbed him by the arm once more. It was two or three heads taller than him easy, and more than twice as heavy, the alien easily overpowering him as it shoved him back, pushing him against the opposite wall of the carriage.
It slammed his arm holding the knife against the side of the train, his grip on the handle buckling, but he didn’t let it go. The Elite examined his blade with its amber eyes, as if confused by his strength.
It lifted his arm again, its whole hand completely blocking the Major’s limb from his sight, crushing it on the wall much harder this time. The knife slipped from the Major’s fingers, but he was already throwing another punch with his free hand before the weapon hit the floor.
The Elite was ready for it this time, engulfing his hand with its own and squeezing. He grunted as it thrust him up against the wall, his toes leaving the ground as it lifted him up by the arms, suspending him there.
“For one so small, you fight like a Mgalekgolo,” it said, the Major stopping his struggling to look it in the eyes. He had heard Elites and Brutes speak English before, but only ever to taunt their enemies. “I can admire one who struggles in the face of defeat, but you’d do well to calm yourself, or I shall rip off your arms.”
It was applying just enough pressure to keep him pinned, but not enough to crush him, the Major trying to get his breathing under control as he glared at it.
“Good,” it said, the deep contralto of its voice catching his attention. Its tone was husky, as it would be on such a massive creature, but there was some sort of quality to it he couldn’t quite place. “I do not need to see your eyes to know you wonder why I’m speaking to you. I’ll give you a reason,” it added, pausing as it waited for him to respond, and when he didn’t, the Elite continued. “You have spared me from a death at the hands of these Jiralhanae. Although part of me is frustrated by this development, honour demands that repayment is due, so I shall not take your life for the moment. You are welcome.”
“So what to do with you?” it continued, tilting its head at him. “I could tell by your marked armour that you have battled the Covenant before. We share a common interest.” It nodded towards the fallen Brutes behind it. “The Covenant are no longer my allies, the Prophets have betrayed me and my kin, and although I may not get revenge on the San’shyuum themselves, killing the traitorous Jiralhanae will be more than enough to please me. Since I no longer have my companions, and you have proved you can handle the Jiralhanae, we may yet wipe out more of their packs by working together.”
The Major was more than shocked, this thing had been ready to kill him, but now it was offering to work with him? It was a proposal that didn’t need a lot of considering. His squad was out there with no way of contacting him, the city maps weren’t working, and his pod had landed him right in the middle of the Covenant forces, this Elite was his one chance to maybe make it out of here alive. Of course, if he did say no, it would probably go through with its threat and rip his arms from his shoulders, so there was obviously only one answer.
“Why do you not talk?” it asked him, its mandibles flexing in what might have been impatience. “I know you can speak, Imp, you talked of some… holiday a moment ago.”
“Fine,” he replied. Its eyes widened, locking onto his own even though his visor was opaque. “You wanna kill Brutes, we’ll go kill Brutes.”
“Brutes?” it asked, tasting the word. “You mean the Jiralhanae? Mm, a fitting name. You may pick up your tiny knife if you think it will help you.”
It lowered him to the ground, slowly pulling its arms away as it waited to see what he’d do. He bent over to pick up his discarded knife, slotting it into its sheath with a quiet scrape of leather on metal.
“Your weapon,” the Elite added, leveraging his shotgun off the ground using only its hooves. The gun flipped into the air, the Major snatching it by the stock. The Elite’s eyes trained on the muzzle as he lowered it to the ground.
“I must collect more ammo before we proceed. Do not shoot me in the back, I’ve had enough of that this day.”
He would have done just that when the Elite turned around, exiting the train and moving to the closest dead Brute, but something about this alien came off as different, and not just because it had spared his life a second ago. Elites were aliens that thrived on combat, practically lived on it, yet this one had chosen to talk to him after disarming him, that alone was enough reason for the Major to stay his hand.
He took a few moments to examine it a little more closely. The Elite carried itself much differently to others he’d seen in the past, its gait more balanced and graceful, the hips rolling in time with each of its long strides, the curve of its waist more exaggerated as it bent over to pluck a carbine from the hands of a dead Brute, a pair of toned buttcheeks drawing the Major’s gaze, each one bigger than his helmet.
It snapped the receiver open, ejecting the cartridge and slotting it onto its belt, taking two more from the Brute’s corpse. It reloaded the carbine holstered on its back, turning to the Major once it was rearmed. Seeing an alien looking at him with a weapon drawn compelled him to aim and fire, the Major resisting the urges all the years of training had instilled in him.
“Do not just stand there,” the Elite said, gesturing with a four-fingered hand. “You know this city better than I do, lead on.”
Giving it a sideways glance, he moved past it, making his way up the stairwell, moving between the dead aliens. He could feel the Elite’s presence just behind him, the Major confident that if it wished to kill him, it would have done so already, so there was little point in worrying about it betraying him. Still, it was difficult to shake the feeling of having an alien at his back.
When he reached the top, turning towards the next flight of steps on the side, the Elite spoke up.
“I came in from that way,” it said, pointing towards an entrance leading up onto the street, the rain falling down on the ornate threshold in sheets. “Why head in another direction?”
“That way leads north,” he said. “I need to go east.”
“Why?”
He didn’t answer, and the Elite followed him anyway as he trudged up the stairwell, the alien grumbling as it struggled to keep its footing, as its hooves were more than twice the size of each step.
When the ground levelled out, the Major was greeted with a view onto another street, but the way was blocked. A safety barrier had activated just inside the awning, a crisscrossing pattern of metal bars closing off this exit from the station. The Major gave it a tug, finding it firmly stuck in place.
“Stand aside,” the Elite said, the Major moving out of its path as it stepped up to the barrier. It put its carbine on its back, the magnetic locks on the power armour holding it there as it dusted its hands. It bent down, wrapping its fingers over the lowest bars, its knuckles tensing as it started to pull.
Its muscles bulging beneath its armour, the security gate began to rise, a horrible grating sound echoing throughout the station as the gate grinded against its own locks. The barrier was designed to keep vehicles out, the Major both impressed and terrified by the Elite’s strength as it lifted the barrier inch after inch. He ducked through the gap when it had raised the grates high enough.
The Elite braced the barrier against its back as it followed him out, twisting its torso once it was clear, the grates smashing back into place with a loud bang. The alien turned to him, a more than pleased expression on its face.
“Good job,” he said, giving it a thumbs-up. “There was a security booth back there that could have raised the gate remotely, but that worked.”
“What are you doing with your finger?” it asked, looking at his hand.
“It’s a gesture, means good or yes.” He lifted his shotgun as he scanned the street, rain dripping off the lip of the station’s awning obscuring his vision. “By the way, what should I call you?”
“You have no reason to know my name,” it replied.
“What if I need to call out to you? Should I just say, ‘over here alien’?”
“You are the alien,” it said. “But, you have a point. My name is Seela.”
“Seela? Hold on.” He looked it over, the Elite turning away a little as he scrutinised it. “You a female?”
Its eyes narrowed, a subtle growl drawing from its throat. “Yes,” it said, looking away.
Now he knew what had caught his attention the first time it spoke, its tone was distinctly womanly, and its curves had come off as feminine. With access to UNSC databases not even veteran Marines were aware of, the Major was a well-informed individual, but even he hadn’t heard of female Elites serving in the Covenant before, they must be rare.
“Having second thoughts about me?” Seela asked, her tone of voice altering somewhat, as though she was unsure of something.
“Well, not if I ever need another gate opened.”
“Not exactly an answer to my question, but it matters little, you cannot get rid of me even if you tried.”
The Major had the feeling he wasn’t following along, electing to say nothing as he moved out into the rain, passing round the hood of a destroyed car. “Not gonna ask me my name?” he asked.
“As if a creature like you has one I could even pronounce,” she replied tersely.
It was the last time the Major spoke for a while, the two pressing on down the street.
