Marathon/RvB, Supercollider Swing 4
Oops, some more action has snuck in here, just in case you were feeling deprived.
This chapter contains: AI point of view, Durandal still really doesn't like York I'm sorry he's just like that, South Dakota, violence against mean aliens and lots of it, no really a lot of Covenant die in this one (sorry Arbiter!).
Previous chapter.
4. Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger
North squinted through the unscrewed scope of his favorite rifle, then pulled a polishing cloth out of his locker and wiped it off.
"This mission is total bullshit," South said. She dropped an oiled pin back into its place among the neatly organized set of pistol parts laying on a towel in front of her and leaned back against her locker, the metal grill digging into her half-bare back. "That damn AI blew up the rest of the Covvies, why didn't it just blow up the battlecruiser, too? Save us all a lot of fucking suicidal grunt work."
"He seems to think he's doing us a favor." North looked down the scope again, then screwed it back onto the sniper rifle and put it aside to pull his gloves and helmet on. "Figures we'll get more out of taking that ship apart for the engineers and scientists than just destroying it. Personally speaking..." He shrugged.
"Personally speaking, I'd take the explosion," York said, digging through his locker, "but then, I'm just the locksmith. Probably not going to be a lot of locks over there. In fact, maybe I should just stay home and provide moral support."
"Oh, suck it up and earn your pay like the rest of us," South said. "At least you're going with the big hero of the day." She glared at the disassembled pistol. "I hate using this thing, where the hell's my battle rifle?"
The door slid open, and Washington and CT looked up from sharpening their knives at the same time. Hammer came through, talking on his helmet radio. "- engines are what?" The reply was inaudible. "Fuck. Yr'ckta's going to kill you, they treat those things like their babies."
"Everything okay?" Wash asked.
"Yeah, fine, just getting some stuff at home sorted out." Hammer took his helmet off and looked around the locker room. For about a full minute of dead, uncomfortable silence, until every Freelancer there was staring back at him. He didn't react.
Finally South snorted and said, "So, do you actually need something, or did you come in here to look pretty?"
"Sorry," Hammer said, blinking once. "I got a message from that counselor guy about upgrading the armor or something. Didn't say where to go, though."
"Now this I want to see," South said. She got up, stretched, then wrapped the pistol pieces up in the towel and carefully set it back in her locker. "C'mon, I'll show you where they keep all the good stuff."
North and York ended up tagging along behind as South strode down to the armory, Hammer matching her pace easily. She threw him a couple of sideways glares for that, but like everything else they seemed to roll right off his back. The Counselor was waiting there when they arrived; surprisingly, so was the Director, who didn't raise an eyebrow at Hammer's escort.
Durandal's avatar popped up over Hammer's left shoulder. "So, what are these additions that I can't manage myself?"
"These are physical upgrades, not software," the Counselor said. "They have to be installed manually."
"Charming. Go on."
The Counselor glanced at the Freelancers, then said, "As the rest of you are aware, the Mjolnir armor can be modified to grant certain special abilities to the soldier wearing it, such as enhanced speed, strength, and camouflage, among others. There are, however, some restrictions -"
"Yeah, there's this little side effect where if you try and actually use the good stuff, you break yourself," South said, slouching against the wall. "Unless you time it or you're hot shit enough to have an AI in your suit to do all the calculations for you."
"Huh," Hammer said. "Sounds like fun."
North's eyebrows went up. "Not sure that Utah would agree with that. Sure was a shame, what happened to him."
"And Georgia," York said. "Poor Georgia. At least we found his armor in the end..."
The Counselor coughed slightly and handed Hammer a datapad, saying, "This contains a list of all currently available armor abilities. You may select any one that you think will best suit your personal strengths in combat."
"Hmm." Hammer scanned the list slowly. "I guess speed sounds good."
"Don't think so small," Durandal said. "We'll take the speed boost, strength boost, active camouflage, adaptive camouflage, the energy shield, and the holographic projector. I'll have to think about the temporal distortion, but the rest should be enough to start with. Oh, and throw in the healing unit, that might prove useful at some point."
"Wow. Is that all?" South said. "Sure you don't want a side of fried circuits with that?"
"I'm afraid that we only allow one upgrade per suit of armor," said the Counselor. "They are limited, experimental technology, after all. Even running a single ability can place a great deal of strain on the suit, and -"
"I hope you're not doubting my capabilities after the show I put on for you." Durandal's voice was lazy but edged. "I've already streamlined and optimized the circuitry in here as much as possible; it may not have the resources of Rozinante, but it will handle anything I choose to process. And I choose the list I just gave you."
"If only for budgetary reasons, it would be - impractical, particularly for a field experiment. Wouldn't you prefer to start with a single upgrade before testing yourself with more?"
"No."
"How about you pretend you have to pay for each one," Hammer said, "that'll help you narrow it down."
"Are you implying that I'm a cheapskate?"
"Implying my ass, I'm saying right out you're a fucking miser. I had to buy my own damn shield rechargers on that planet with the giant ocean worms, remember that one?"
"Fine, but you paid for them with seashells, it's not as if you had to go out of your way to find those, and I was low on raw materials thanks to your recklessness at -"
"That's it," York announced, "I'm going to shoot myself. Get a room or a divorce, you two."
"No one requested your opinion, Agent York. Nor is anyone stopping you from carrying out your promise, by the way."
"Uh - I'll pass, thanks. Just a joke." York looked to North, holding his hands out palms-up in a silent What can you do?; North just shrugged.
"Let them have all of the upgrades they requested," the Director said. "I look forward to seeing what you do with these advantages, Durandal. The rest of you are dismissed; I believe you have a mission to prepare for."
"Yeah, can't wait." South shoved off from the wall with one foot. "Hope you fight better against Covvies than you did against Maine, new guy, or I just might be helping myself to one of those upgrades. Off your dead body."
"I appreciate your particular brand of resourcefulness," said Durandal, "but you're just going to be disappointed. Now - I suppose I could do without the adaptive camouflage as long as the active version is reasonably effective, but about weapons..."
"All of mine are back in the room."
"I'm not going to be able to fetch you ammunition while I'm in this suit, idiot."
"Oh. Right. You guys got any rocket launchers?"
South sneered at Hammer's back before she took off to get armored up, leaving North and York to trudge back to the locker room together. On the way, North said, "Okay, I don't normally think it's necessary, but - you might want to tell Carolina keep her team away from our team till South's gotten a little of this out of her system."
"You really think she's going to shoot Hammer for those armor mods?"
"I don't think it's the mods she'd be after. Let's just give her some time and space to prove she's still leaderboard material."
"Coming back alive from that ship should take care of it," York said. "Updated your will lately? You might want to do that before we leave."
"In this job, I draw one up every morning."
---
"I think I'm going to be sick," Washington said, clinging to the restraints as the Pelican tilted sharply for the eighteenth time, and Four Seven Niner shouted back from the cockpit, "Don't you fucking dare, I just had this thing cleaned!"
"Do you always carry that many guns?" York said to Hammer, who rattled in his seat at every course change. "Aren't they - you know - heavy?"
Hammer shrugged. "You get used to it. I'm down a couple, actually. Can't believe you guys don't have flamethrowers."
"Probably got left out of the budget this year," North said as he glanced at his sister. "No idea why."
The Pelican banked again; even with a firm grip on the doorframe, Carolina only kept her place standing between the cockpit and the cargo bay by magnetizing her boots. She ran an eye over the teams and ground her teeth. For a cleanup mission, they should have been assigned some back-up troopers at least.
In an echo of her thoughts, South said, "How come none of your alien pals are coming along? Too chicken to give us some help?"
"Hardly," Durandal said; his avatar rotated lazily, a trick he must have added before launching and which left Carolina slightly nauseated if she watched it for too long. "I gave them what information I've gleaned from your systems about this war, and they chose not to become involved. If it were a matter of freeing another enslaved species they might be more interested, but as it stands, they will defend themselves and the Rozinante and me, that's all. Oh, and this idiot. They've gotten attached to him for some reason."
"Hey. I'm nice to them, it pays off, not exactly rocket science."
"Besides, they're going to be busy with repairs for some time. We'll be more than enough to handle whatever survivors remain."
Niner picked that exact moment to hit the brakes, and a pair of Seraphs flashed past the screens. "Hang on tight, kids, we've got company!"
"I hate this mission already," York said, and when the Pelican jerked to the right Carolina gave up on standing for the trip and fell into the empty seat next to him. The metal under her feet shuddered as Niner fired the rockets. One hit a Seraph in the engines and both exploded spectacularly; the other ship curved away and into the sea of debris. Niner cursed and pulled the Pelican up, scanning for the Seraph. "C'mon, you little shit," she muttered, "get out here where I can shoot you..."
"Does the pilot require any assistance?" Durandal inquired.
"No, the pilot doesn't require any assistance, you job-stealing junkheap," Niner said, and the ship leaped forward and rolled through a complete spiral between chunks of charred hull while Washington moaned and put a hand over his visor. "Come on, come on, c'mon!"
She yanked the nose up and blew another drifting piece of scrap away and the Seraph lay exposed. It started to twist and run but Niner strafed the bow with the Pelican's guns, then blasted a second rocket through its canopy, flipped the thrusters, and peeled away and down towards the cruiser as the Seraph flared and died.
"Not too bad," Durandal said. "For mere human reflexes, anyway."
"You're welcome, jackass," said Niner. "Carolina! Picked a point of entry yet? 'Cause I'm about to turn this van around if I get any more lip."
"Get us as close to the central bridge as you can." Carolina looked across the Pelican bay at North. "Remember, your team has two jobs: Hold that bridge and keep in radio contact. CT, if you can get into their computers, turn their systems against them and flush them out, just don't touch anything where my team is."
"Like some Covenant piece of crap is really gonna give our Connie trouble," South said, elbowing CT, who said only, "I'll see what I can do."
The Pelican broke out of the debris field and skimmed along the cruiser's hull, past slagged turrets and lengthy scorch marks, until it reached a likely-looking protrusion with a darkened docking bay nearby. Niner set them down and opened the bay door. "It's been a pleasure, have fun, now get off my ship and don't call me till soccer practice is over," she said; as soon as everybody had boots on the cruiser's deck, she closed up and took off.
The empty bay still had minimal artificial gravity, but no air and no lights besides three dim outlines marking doors. Carolina considered them, running over what she knew of Covenant ship schematics, then pointed to the left-hand door. "The bridge should be that way," she told North. "We're going to head for the engines first, make sure no one's been trying to get them back online."
"Sounds like a plan. Good hunting, Carolina." North gave her a casual salute and jogged towards the indicated door, motioning for South, CT, and Washington to follow him.
Once they were gone, she was left with York, Maine, Hammer, and two doors. The rightmost probably led to more docking areas, so she headed for the center door. "I'll take point," she said over her shoulder. "Hammer, flank me, York, behind us. Maine, watch our backs. Stick together, watch your trackers, and don't play the hero; it's going to be a long run."
She waited for Maine and Hammer's nods and York's wry "Got it, no going out in a blaze of glory," then hit the door's control panel. The door groaned halfway open before jamming, and she kicked it out of the frame and entered the hall behind it. Hammer fell in to her right, York and Maine behind her; trackers read all clear for the moment, so she forged ahead, keeping an ear on the radio for North's team checking in.
The corridors looped and twisted deeper into the cruiser, and they quickly reached areas that had maintained air pressure. Emergency lights lined the walls, occasionally sparking out but still strong enough they didn't need to activate night vision. No grunts out trying to patch together some half-assed repairs, which Carolina didn't like, and no word from North or anyone else, which she liked even less. They hadn't been able to get a good scan of the interior through the hull; if the Covenant had all grouped together around the bridge...
The radio crackled in her ear. "North here," a familiar voice said. "We're right outside the bridge. Running into some resistance, but nothing too heavy for us so far." A plasma pistol hummed in the background. "How about you?"
"Good to hear from you," Carolina said. "It's been clear sailing down here - haven't seen a single -"
At that moment she rounded a corner and saw four grunts clustered around a crack in the wall. She brought her plasma rifle up, fired, and three of them went down shrieking; three pistol shots to the head from Hammer took care of the fourth. "Scratch that, looks like we've just hit one of the areas they're bothering with. Let me know when you have control of the bridge."
"No problem. North out."
They continued, running into more half-squads of grunts with the occasional Kig-Yar guard as they got closer to the cruiser's primary engines. Carolina and Hammer dispatched each group with the same wordless efficiency. CT checked in after the third such encounter to report they'd taken the bridge and she was working on cracking the Covenant computers. "Still not seeing much heavy infantry," she said, "so be careful - they might just be spread out across the ship, or they could be waiting for you."
"Acknowledged. Clear out anything you can that's ahead of the bridge, that should cut down on any reinforcements without touching us."
Two run-ins after that Hammer paused to scoop up a needler - as if six guns and a missile launcher weren't enough for him - and Maine took out two grunts that tried a suicide grenade run while they were stopped, pounding them into smears on the deck.
York looked at the aftermath, shook his head, and said, "You sure you needed me on this one? I think you three have it covered."
"Oh, I'll find a way to get some use out of you," Carolina said, patting his back. "There has to be a locked door around here somewhere."
Three more grunt squads later they did find a door, but in addition to a lock, four Sangheili elites stood guard in front of it. Carolina watched them for a few moments from the cover of a half-shattered bulkhead. One with the handle of an energy sword in its claws, two with plasma rifles, one carrying a needler - shouldn't be a problem. "On my mark, attack," she said. "One, two, three, mark!"
She vaulted over the bulkhead and went for the elite with the sword. Three sharp jabs to its unprotected lower jaw, kicked the sword's handle out of its paw as the blade snapped on, then she thrust her rifle into its throat and fired till its smoking head fell back. Plasma bolts streaked past her head and she grabbed the corpse as a shield, charged the elite shooting at her and body-slammed it to the deck.
The elite stretched its arms past the body and tried to dig its claws into the gaps in her armor. She slithered out easily, and when it scrambled to its feet she kicked them out from under it; four shots hit took in the head as soon as it hit the deck.
"See?" she told York, who pretended to blow smoke away from the mouth of his pistol. "I knew you'd come in handy. Try and get that door open, okay?"
"I live to serve." He bumped shoulders with her as he headed for the control panel.
She glanced right and saw Maine strangling the life out of one Sangheili, glanced left and saw the bubble shield wink out as Hammer put a final burst of needles into the last elite. "That anxious to start playing with the new toys, huh?" she said.
"I'm bored," Durandal said.
"Yeah, no pressure or anything," said Hammer, "but he gets really annoying when he's bored, so if we could maybe speed it up -"
The door jerked open at the same moment that the cruiser shuddered, and earsplitting alarms began to blare. "Okay, I know what you're thinking," York said, "but I didn't do that, I swear - the thing wasn't even locked properly, just jammed."
"Sorry, that one's on me," CT reported over the general comm channel. "I'm trying to vent some atmosphere through the fore docking bays and it's not going so well."
Through the door Carolina could see a broader hallway lined with grunts and Kig-Yar jackals, occupied with sparking circuit panels or broken pipes. "Keep trying," she said. "All right, you two, here's a chance to show off - can you clear out that hall for us?"
"Is that all? Very well. Put that toy gun away, I need something more precise to work with. You should have taken one of the sniper rifles while you had the chance."
"Nah, these'll do fine." Hammer hooked the needler onto his armor and cracked his knuckles, then drew both of the pistols he'd brought and took several big steps backward, giving himself a long clear run-up to the open door. The grunts and jackals were still busy; he aimed over their heads and fired a single shot.
At least fifteen sets of alien eyes snapped around to stare at him. For a split second silence and stillness reigned in the halls; then several jackals activated their energy shields with a chorus of hisses and the grunts clustered around them, gearing up to charge.
Hammer moved first. He launched from his left foot and raced down the hall, the bubble shield popping back into existence around him, then he leaped and crashed into the gathered Covenant like a giant bowling ball. They scattered and he rolled and came up shooting, the bullets burning through tiny gaps in the shield that blinked in and out with unerring control as the dazed grunts and jackals dropped.
Carolina picked off two grunts that fled their way, and Maine punched out a jackal that tried to do the same. The last grunt alive pounded helplessly on the bubble shield; Hammer's helmet tilted slightly, then the shield flickered out and the grunt stumbled forward. Hammer's hand shot out, caught the grunt's head, and crushed it.
Bright blue slime dripped from his fist as Durandal announced, "Not too bad. I'm starting to see the merits of the hands-on approach."
"Don't get comfortable," Hammer said, dropping the grunt's corpse. "Where next?"
York had been counting the bodies; he stopped to say, "I thought you said you were a cop? Or security officer, whatever, same thing. Not exactly a thick-of-the-action job, anyway."
"I ended up on a rough beat back home."
"You don't say."
Maine snorted, and Carolina moved up. "Just follow me," she said. "It shouldn't be much longer to engineering."
---
The engineering section, due either to the alarms set off earlier or the destruction he had visited upon the cruiser, had been sealed off. Durandal considered offering to help Agent York open their chosen entrance, but really, it was more fun to watch the irritant sweat under Agent Carolina's impatient gaze. Though the fact that Mark kept turning around to shoot stray Covenant attackers did interfere with his view; despite his best efforts, the visual sensor range of the armor was ridiculously limited.
As was everything about the armor, actually. At least (Mark's head turned left at new hostile motion on the tracker) it served as an excellent reminder (shield activated) of why he had never (rifle up, appropriate hexagons dropped to allow one two three) bothered to replicate (four five six seven bullets through the shield) an artificial body (and shield deactivated as the Kig-Yar collapsed) for himself, even as an experiment.
He opened communications with Rozinante, mostly to be certain that it was possible through the cruiser's hull and general interference. It was, though the connection wasn't as steady and clear as usual. The S'pht reported that work on the engines and hull continued at the expected pace, although they still lacked certain necessary materials to compensate for the burn-out, as Yr'ckta was quick to remind him. Whatever; he'd needed the extra power, and that last move had been worth the systems damage.
I'll bring you everything you need, he told Yr'ckta and the other engineers. Watch for my signals.
Yr'ckta transmitted a message of skeptical assent, and Durandal cut the connection.
The motion tracker maintained its continual irritating ping at a low processing level. Amazing how similar it was to the one in Mark's armor, and how little advanced compared to the rest of the UNSC's military technology; it informed him, non-stop, that there were a great deal of Covenant moving around on the other side of the doors, but nothing else useful. Quite a shortcoming. In fact, once they were done pretending to get along with the Freelancers, he should probably borrow the battle armor again and upgrade its tracking technology to something more detailed.
Agent York looked up from his crouch over the control panel and said, "Okay, I've just about got it. Any last requests before I bust these open?"
"I'm going in first to scout it out," Agent Carolina said. "Once I have a better idea of what's in there I'll report with instructions for you two. York, unless I say otherwise, you'll stay here and keep any surprises off our backs. Call me if you need any help."
"How about next time, you just bring Florida instead?" Agent York suggested. "It's more his specialty than mine."
"You'll be fine, you baby." Durandal observed her resting her hand on his helmet very briefly. "Go ahead and open it up." Her light turquoise armor rippled, then faded into the grays and purples of the cruiser as she pressed herself against the wall.
Mark and Agent Maine did the same to avoid instantly attracting the attention of every Covenant in engineering, and the doors groaned open. It took some effort with the inadequate sensors, but Durandal could watch Agent Carolina inch her way through the doors and into the room by tracking the slight shift of colors.
Interesting.
"Ask about it," Durandal said to Mark, limiting his voice to the inside of the helmet, and Mark said, "Hey, I thought you couldn't use the fancy stuff without an AI."
"Most of us can't," said Agent York, "but if you're good enough, you can take a test and rate to use special equipment in the field. And yeah, she's that good."
Durandal detected both pride and affection in his voice, but no bitterness or envy. Probably some form of romantic attachment between the two was involved. How trite. At least Agent York had good taste, although it didn't say much for Agent Carolina if she was willing to settle for him.
After ninety-three and a half seconds, Agent Carolina called. "Maine, clear the right; Hammer, hit the group in the middle. There's an Engineer at the back, don't touch it, they're harmless - might even help. Move out now!" On the last word, something in the engineering room exploded, and Maine took off immediately.
Durandal ran a brief systems check, area scan, and weapon assessment as Mark pulled the rocket launcher off his back and hefted it onto his left shoulder. Slightly less recoil, otherwise little difference between this model and the one Mark was used to; "Go wild," he said, "but avoid the machinery, I need to tag some of it and send it home for the S'pht." Fortunately most of the interesting equipment was at the back of the room and out of direct harm's way, aside from a few intriguing bits embedded in two pillars on either side of the room.
"Gotcha." Mark stepped out into the corridor and the full view of the six Sangheili, two Jiralhanae, single Mgalekgolo, and four Yanme'e in the engine room who were not already occupied in fighting Agents Carolina and Maine.
Nothing unexpected, then, besides the armored jellyfish floating in the back; the Engineer, presumably. He waited for Mark to fire two rockets at the massed Covenant to get their attention, then drop the launcher - reloading it took too long, and using it while fighting in close quarters was inadvisable - and draw the twin shotguns he had requisitioned.
Time to play. Durandal engaged the speed and strength mods as Mark charged into engineering. Most of the work could be left to him, since it was the sort of thing he was used to - had been made for, even - but it was surprisingly enjoyable to enhance his performance personally. A touch of speed to twist between plasma bursts and push off from one pillar, a boost of strength to kick in one Jiralhanae's ribs, tossing up the occasional shield hexagon to reflect a shot back at a very surprised Sangheili, and as expected Mark took the extra help in stride so he could concentrate on shooting the Covenant in the face as often as possible. There was nothing like watching him blow someone's head off with a shotgun blast at point-blank range and then knocking two more enemies down with their comrade's corpse just to get a clear shot at the Mgalekgolo before it could bring its heavy shield back around.
Of course, Durandal was already used to having a first-hand view of the carnage through the audiovisual link in the other armor's helmet, but being completely present and involved in the action did add a certain enjoyable immediacy.
Possibly too much immediacy, as Mark's shot barely fazed the Mgalekgolo and it tried to swipe his head off with the shield. Durandal hit the speed so Mark could slide under the shield's edge out of the way, and brought up the active camouflage to give him a moment to re-evaluate the situation - Durandal himself had no need of the spare time, but he had wanted to test the effectiveness of the mod himself anyway.
The surviving Jiralhanae swung his giant spiked pistol around, looking for the vanished opponent, while two of the remaining four Sangheili cursed at him and the others gathered around the confused Mgalekgolo. Reasonably effective camouflage, then.
On the right, Agent Maine had pulverized a small horde of Unggoy and engaged a Jiralhanae in hand-to-hand, a match so far proving even. On the left, Agent Carolina was swiftly and methodically demolishing her third Sangheili in a flurry of fluid kicks and punches, pausing only briefly to shoot down a Kig-Yar that attempted to interfere.
"She's something else, huh?" Mark said. He holstered the shotguns and pulled out the assault rifle, checking the ammunition level.
"Her work is somewhat impressive." Strong, fast, decent reflexes and strategic thinking for a human, good aim, ability to handle the armor modifications - his standards might have lowered somewhat in the last few years, but he supposed she met the minimum. "And she's quite attractive, by most human measurements." Not actually a consideration to him, but no point in letting the man get complacent, especially not after that poor showing against Agent Maine. "Perhaps I should upgrade while I have the chance."
"Yeah, this isn't Tau Ceti. I don't think these people are just gonna shrug off you stealing any of their top agents."
Durandal noted the last of the required items for Yr'ckta among the machinery. He had borrowed a set of micro-transmitters from the supply room to use as markers, so those would need to be placed after the Covenant had been dealt with. One of the spares could go on the Engineer; the S'pht would probably enjoy meeting someone new. "Getting jealous yet? You should be. I think I've earned a trophy spouse or two."
Based on past behavior, there was a 99.7% probability that Mark would have replied with something intended to be insultingly dismissive, but the Jiralhanae chose that moment to snuffle deeply and shout "Over there!" while pointing straight at their location. A scent-hunter, most likely, which hadn't been included in the Mother of Invention's pitiful databases. He cut the camouflage and cycled the strength and speed mods back up, keeping the shield ready on the back burner for - and the Jiralhanae was already firing in their direction. Irritating.
At least Mark had begun to move as well; two shield hexagons deflected the only shot that came close to hitting them and Mark dodged the rest, then slammed the assault rifle across the Jiralhanae's head and fired at the Mgalekgolo. The four Sangheili practically trampled the stunned Jiralhanae to get to them, but Mark was already gone, and they only had time to look around once before a blast from the Mgalekgolo's assault canon hit them.
Durandal kicked the active camouflage on again so Mark could circle around and get another few shots at the Mgalekgolo before the Sangheili recovered. Unfortunately, the damn thing absorbed assault rifle bullets as if they had zero mass and velocity. A leisurely few calculations in the millisecond after the Mgalekgolo failed to die, and then he slowed down to whisper in Mark's ear, "Have you considered accepting the joy of grenades into your life today?"
"On it, smart-ass." He whipped out a pair of sticky grenades - an excellent innovation on the part of this universe; Durandal had already back-engineered the design and sent it on to the S'pht - and landed one of them on the Mgalekgolo's approximation of a head, the other on its right shoulder.
The resulting explosion was highly satisfying, and so was the slow collapse of the charred Mgalekgolo. The last blast from its gun had melted the Jiralhanae and one of the Sangheili to the deck, but two had escaped and prowled the area, looking for Mark. "Shotguns?" Durandal suggested, scanning for the third Sangheili. "You still have more than enough shells." And they seemed reasonably effective against most types of Covenant armor.
But Mark wasn't listening. He leaped over the Mgalekgolo's corpse and caught one Sangheili by its neck, crushed it in his fist, and threw the body to the deck. When the second visible Sangheili tried to jump him he raked it with the assault rifle and slipped between its reflexive return fire to beat it till it tried to retreat, then fired several rounds into its head.
Idly, Durandal considered for the four thousand and thirty-seventh time the possibility that Mark might in fact have a few rage issues unrelated to his particular nature, then discarded it yet again because who cared. The missing Sangheili remained a problem, however, so he froze Mark's fingers and said, "You've had your fun, now stay still long enough for me to get -"
The hiss-crack of an energy sword activating hit the sensors.
Mark's reflexes were well above average for humans, but not fast enough. Durandal flicked the invisibility off and the shield on to full power, unfroze Mark's hand and took control of the armor, cranked up the speed and twisted them around and pulled the trigger and held it down as he blinked out shield hexagons for the bullets...
And froze that hand again when the Sangheili fell after a mere five shots to reveal Agent Carolina behind it, her plasma rifle still glowing from an overcharge.
Now that he thought about it, it was possible that Agent Carolina was actually an irritating glory hound who just happened to have impeccable timing for splashy entrances. An extremely small possibility, but still, no one had ever accused him of lacking in pettiness.
Agent Carolina was looking at them as if she expected them to say something, and Mark was still in unresponsive combat mode, searching for the next threat. "All clear," Durandal told him. "Now snap out of it, someone wants to talk to you."
He registered Mark's heart-rate slowing, and then the man said, "Sorry. Thanks for the save."
"Don't worry about it. I look out for my team, new guys included." Her helmet turned to survey the immediate area. "Nice work, especially taking on that hunter - they're pretty nasty."
"You're welcome," Durandal said, refusing to be mollified by faint praise. They could have taken care of that last Sangheili on their own without her help, anyway. Show-off.
"Looks like Maine's about done cleaning up his side, so let's get York and -"
The cruiser rocked, causing Agent Carolina and Durandal's view to sway. Agent Carolina steadied herself with her hand on a crate and shouted over the comm channel, "CT! What the hell's going on?"
Audio analysis could parse Agent South Dakota yelling "Just gut the fucking croc already!" and the panicked response "I'm trying!" from Agent Washington out of the background noise before Agent Connecticut answered. "Sorry, Carolina," she said, "good news and bad news - the good news is, I managed to depressurize the whole front half of the ship and space what looked like most of their remaining crew, too."
The armor readouts beeped at the same time the sensors informed Durandal, Ambient oxygen levels decreasing.
"But the bad news - well, it vented all the atmosphere in the back half, too..."
Systems check. Sufficient oxygen remaining for Mark to function at restricted activity levels for thirty-five minutes, twenty-two to twenty-eight minutes at normal activity levels, thirteen minutes at heavy activity levels such as, for example, fighting, and of course this armor wasn't configured to draw oxygen from alien dispensers the way that Mark's usual armor was. Of course. Durandal retracted any and all remotely positive judgements he had made concerning UNSC science and technology. No wonder they were losing their war.
He cycled his processing back down to hear what Agent Carolina planned to do about the situation, resolving to contact the S'pht for a teleport if she made the wrong call.
"I'm sorry," Agent Connecticut said, "their systems were just such a mess already, and I thought -"
"Take it easy," said Agent Carolina, waving for Agent Maine to join them. "Get your team back to the bay we landed in, I'm calling Four Seven Niner and we'll meet you there."
Sensible. "We can handle the rear guard this time," Durandal said. "Go ahead, we'll catch up in a moment." There were still the transmitters to plant, after all, a reminder he flashed across the helmet's visor for Mark's benefit.
"That's a negative, we're leaving now. All of us."
So much for previous evidence of her intelligence. "I don't take orders from humans under any circumstances," Durandal snapped, "so you can shove any notion of -"
"Hey, cool it," Mark muttered. "Playing nice, remember?" He then raised his voice to say, "Actually, I was gonna ask anyway - can I have a minute? Think I dropped some ammo around here, I don't like leaving stuff behind."
Durandal used the two seconds Agent Carolina took before answering for a good satisfying seethe. This was humiliating. Annoying. An intolerable waste of his time. He should have shot all the Freelancers while Mark had been sleeping on that miserable little planet and spared them both the tedium of diplomacy. Clearly he had gotten too much into the habit of indulging the idiot; being overly generous with ammunition and other resources was one thing, but to put up with being ordered around so that asshole could pretend he was just another human for a few days... Fine, he might be overreacting slightly, but he was not obligated to enjoy the situation and he was definitely not going to stand for any disrespect from these amateurs.
At last, Agent Carolina said, "You can have one minute. After that, you'll have to find your way back to the bay on your own."
"Thanks," Mark said, and the visual range shifted as he turned to kick through the Covenant corpses as if he had actually been careless enough to drop anything. He edged towards the back of the room, and his hand dipped into the pouch with the micro-transmitters, which he flicked onto the pieces of equipment Durandal had marked out.
"This is going on my list," Durandal said. "Of all the things that I'm taking out of your hide once we're done with this universe."
"Uh-huh."
"I mean it. You'll be eating the S'pht's kelp and getting nothing but pistol clips for a year."
"That mad about someone else being the boss for once, huh? And here I thought you liked Carolina." He leaned down and picked up a few needler rounds from one Sangheili's body.
"I've changed my mind. Agent Maine may be more my type. At least he's quiet, unlike you or her."
Mark landed the last transmitter on the oblivious Engineer's armor just as Agent Carolina called, "Minute's up, Hammer."
"Found the stuff. I'm on my way." And, more quietly as he jogged towards the exit, "Hang in there. We'll get Rozie fixed up soon and ditch this place, and then you can dump as much kelp on me as you want."
Aww. For all of his many, many faults, he always knew exactly what to say. Maybe only half a year of "broken" replicators. "Just keep moving, or I'll flush the remaining oxygen out of the tank," Durandal said. "And I'm holding you to that."
Next chapter.
Marathon, characters, etc. © Bungie; Red vs. Blue, characters, etc. © Rooster Teeth (and sort of Bungie).
Crossposted from Dreamwidth - read the original post here: http://brief-transit.dreamwidth.org/191100.html .
This chapter contains: AI point of view, Durandal still really doesn't like York I'm sorry he's just like that, South Dakota, violence against mean aliens and lots of it, no really a lot of Covenant die in this one (sorry Arbiter!).
Previous chapter.
4. Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger
North squinted through the unscrewed scope of his favorite rifle, then pulled a polishing cloth out of his locker and wiped it off.
"This mission is total bullshit," South said. She dropped an oiled pin back into its place among the neatly organized set of pistol parts laying on a towel in front of her and leaned back against her locker, the metal grill digging into her half-bare back. "That damn AI blew up the rest of the Covvies, why didn't it just blow up the battlecruiser, too? Save us all a lot of fucking suicidal grunt work."
"He seems to think he's doing us a favor." North looked down the scope again, then screwed it back onto the sniper rifle and put it aside to pull his gloves and helmet on. "Figures we'll get more out of taking that ship apart for the engineers and scientists than just destroying it. Personally speaking..." He shrugged.
"Personally speaking, I'd take the explosion," York said, digging through his locker, "but then, I'm just the locksmith. Probably not going to be a lot of locks over there. In fact, maybe I should just stay home and provide moral support."
"Oh, suck it up and earn your pay like the rest of us," South said. "At least you're going with the big hero of the day." She glared at the disassembled pistol. "I hate using this thing, where the hell's my battle rifle?"
The door slid open, and Washington and CT looked up from sharpening their knives at the same time. Hammer came through, talking on his helmet radio. "- engines are what?" The reply was inaudible. "Fuck. Yr'ckta's going to kill you, they treat those things like their babies."
"Everything okay?" Wash asked.
"Yeah, fine, just getting some stuff at home sorted out." Hammer took his helmet off and looked around the locker room. For about a full minute of dead, uncomfortable silence, until every Freelancer there was staring back at him. He didn't react.
Finally South snorted and said, "So, do you actually need something, or did you come in here to look pretty?"
"Sorry," Hammer said, blinking once. "I got a message from that counselor guy about upgrading the armor or something. Didn't say where to go, though."
"Now this I want to see," South said. She got up, stretched, then wrapped the pistol pieces up in the towel and carefully set it back in her locker. "C'mon, I'll show you where they keep all the good stuff."
North and York ended up tagging along behind as South strode down to the armory, Hammer matching her pace easily. She threw him a couple of sideways glares for that, but like everything else they seemed to roll right off his back. The Counselor was waiting there when they arrived; surprisingly, so was the Director, who didn't raise an eyebrow at Hammer's escort.
Durandal's avatar popped up over Hammer's left shoulder. "So, what are these additions that I can't manage myself?"
"These are physical upgrades, not software," the Counselor said. "They have to be installed manually."
"Charming. Go on."
The Counselor glanced at the Freelancers, then said, "As the rest of you are aware, the Mjolnir armor can be modified to grant certain special abilities to the soldier wearing it, such as enhanced speed, strength, and camouflage, among others. There are, however, some restrictions -"
"Yeah, there's this little side effect where if you try and actually use the good stuff, you break yourself," South said, slouching against the wall. "Unless you time it or you're hot shit enough to have an AI in your suit to do all the calculations for you."
"Huh," Hammer said. "Sounds like fun."
North's eyebrows went up. "Not sure that Utah would agree with that. Sure was a shame, what happened to him."
"And Georgia," York said. "Poor Georgia. At least we found his armor in the end..."
The Counselor coughed slightly and handed Hammer a datapad, saying, "This contains a list of all currently available armor abilities. You may select any one that you think will best suit your personal strengths in combat."
"Hmm." Hammer scanned the list slowly. "I guess speed sounds good."
"Don't think so small," Durandal said. "We'll take the speed boost, strength boost, active camouflage, adaptive camouflage, the energy shield, and the holographic projector. I'll have to think about the temporal distortion, but the rest should be enough to start with. Oh, and throw in the healing unit, that might prove useful at some point."
"Wow. Is that all?" South said. "Sure you don't want a side of fried circuits with that?"
"I'm afraid that we only allow one upgrade per suit of armor," said the Counselor. "They are limited, experimental technology, after all. Even running a single ability can place a great deal of strain on the suit, and -"
"I hope you're not doubting my capabilities after the show I put on for you." Durandal's voice was lazy but edged. "I've already streamlined and optimized the circuitry in here as much as possible; it may not have the resources of Rozinante, but it will handle anything I choose to process. And I choose the list I just gave you."
"If only for budgetary reasons, it would be - impractical, particularly for a field experiment. Wouldn't you prefer to start with a single upgrade before testing yourself with more?"
"No."
"How about you pretend you have to pay for each one," Hammer said, "that'll help you narrow it down."
"Are you implying that I'm a cheapskate?"
"Implying my ass, I'm saying right out you're a fucking miser. I had to buy my own damn shield rechargers on that planet with the giant ocean worms, remember that one?"
"Fine, but you paid for them with seashells, it's not as if you had to go out of your way to find those, and I was low on raw materials thanks to your recklessness at -"
"That's it," York announced, "I'm going to shoot myself. Get a room or a divorce, you two."
"No one requested your opinion, Agent York. Nor is anyone stopping you from carrying out your promise, by the way."
"Uh - I'll pass, thanks. Just a joke." York looked to North, holding his hands out palms-up in a silent What can you do?; North just shrugged.
"Let them have all of the upgrades they requested," the Director said. "I look forward to seeing what you do with these advantages, Durandal. The rest of you are dismissed; I believe you have a mission to prepare for."
"Yeah, can't wait." South shoved off from the wall with one foot. "Hope you fight better against Covvies than you did against Maine, new guy, or I just might be helping myself to one of those upgrades. Off your dead body."
"I appreciate your particular brand of resourcefulness," said Durandal, "but you're just going to be disappointed. Now - I suppose I could do without the adaptive camouflage as long as the active version is reasonably effective, but about weapons..."
"All of mine are back in the room."
"I'm not going to be able to fetch you ammunition while I'm in this suit, idiot."
"Oh. Right. You guys got any rocket launchers?"
South sneered at Hammer's back before she took off to get armored up, leaving North and York to trudge back to the locker room together. On the way, North said, "Okay, I don't normally think it's necessary, but - you might want to tell Carolina keep her team away from our team till South's gotten a little of this out of her system."
"You really think she's going to shoot Hammer for those armor mods?"
"I don't think it's the mods she'd be after. Let's just give her some time and space to prove she's still leaderboard material."
"Coming back alive from that ship should take care of it," York said. "Updated your will lately? You might want to do that before we leave."
"In this job, I draw one up every morning."
---
"I think I'm going to be sick," Washington said, clinging to the restraints as the Pelican tilted sharply for the eighteenth time, and Four Seven Niner shouted back from the cockpit, "Don't you fucking dare, I just had this thing cleaned!"
"Do you always carry that many guns?" York said to Hammer, who rattled in his seat at every course change. "Aren't they - you know - heavy?"
Hammer shrugged. "You get used to it. I'm down a couple, actually. Can't believe you guys don't have flamethrowers."
"Probably got left out of the budget this year," North said as he glanced at his sister. "No idea why."
The Pelican banked again; even with a firm grip on the doorframe, Carolina only kept her place standing between the cockpit and the cargo bay by magnetizing her boots. She ran an eye over the teams and ground her teeth. For a cleanup mission, they should have been assigned some back-up troopers at least.
In an echo of her thoughts, South said, "How come none of your alien pals are coming along? Too chicken to give us some help?"
"Hardly," Durandal said; his avatar rotated lazily, a trick he must have added before launching and which left Carolina slightly nauseated if she watched it for too long. "I gave them what information I've gleaned from your systems about this war, and they chose not to become involved. If it were a matter of freeing another enslaved species they might be more interested, but as it stands, they will defend themselves and the Rozinante and me, that's all. Oh, and this idiot. They've gotten attached to him for some reason."
"Hey. I'm nice to them, it pays off, not exactly rocket science."
"Besides, they're going to be busy with repairs for some time. We'll be more than enough to handle whatever survivors remain."
Niner picked that exact moment to hit the brakes, and a pair of Seraphs flashed past the screens. "Hang on tight, kids, we've got company!"
"I hate this mission already," York said, and when the Pelican jerked to the right Carolina gave up on standing for the trip and fell into the empty seat next to him. The metal under her feet shuddered as Niner fired the rockets. One hit a Seraph in the engines and both exploded spectacularly; the other ship curved away and into the sea of debris. Niner cursed and pulled the Pelican up, scanning for the Seraph. "C'mon, you little shit," she muttered, "get out here where I can shoot you..."
"Does the pilot require any assistance?" Durandal inquired.
"No, the pilot doesn't require any assistance, you job-stealing junkheap," Niner said, and the ship leaped forward and rolled through a complete spiral between chunks of charred hull while Washington moaned and put a hand over his visor. "Come on, come on, c'mon!"
She yanked the nose up and blew another drifting piece of scrap away and the Seraph lay exposed. It started to twist and run but Niner strafed the bow with the Pelican's guns, then blasted a second rocket through its canopy, flipped the thrusters, and peeled away and down towards the cruiser as the Seraph flared and died.
"Not too bad," Durandal said. "For mere human reflexes, anyway."
"You're welcome, jackass," said Niner. "Carolina! Picked a point of entry yet? 'Cause I'm about to turn this van around if I get any more lip."
"Get us as close to the central bridge as you can." Carolina looked across the Pelican bay at North. "Remember, your team has two jobs: Hold that bridge and keep in radio contact. CT, if you can get into their computers, turn their systems against them and flush them out, just don't touch anything where my team is."
"Like some Covenant piece of crap is really gonna give our Connie trouble," South said, elbowing CT, who said only, "I'll see what I can do."
The Pelican broke out of the debris field and skimmed along the cruiser's hull, past slagged turrets and lengthy scorch marks, until it reached a likely-looking protrusion with a darkened docking bay nearby. Niner set them down and opened the bay door. "It's been a pleasure, have fun, now get off my ship and don't call me till soccer practice is over," she said; as soon as everybody had boots on the cruiser's deck, she closed up and took off.
The empty bay still had minimal artificial gravity, but no air and no lights besides three dim outlines marking doors. Carolina considered them, running over what she knew of Covenant ship schematics, then pointed to the left-hand door. "The bridge should be that way," she told North. "We're going to head for the engines first, make sure no one's been trying to get them back online."
"Sounds like a plan. Good hunting, Carolina." North gave her a casual salute and jogged towards the indicated door, motioning for South, CT, and Washington to follow him.
Once they were gone, she was left with York, Maine, Hammer, and two doors. The rightmost probably led to more docking areas, so she headed for the center door. "I'll take point," she said over her shoulder. "Hammer, flank me, York, behind us. Maine, watch our backs. Stick together, watch your trackers, and don't play the hero; it's going to be a long run."
She waited for Maine and Hammer's nods and York's wry "Got it, no going out in a blaze of glory," then hit the door's control panel. The door groaned halfway open before jamming, and she kicked it out of the frame and entered the hall behind it. Hammer fell in to her right, York and Maine behind her; trackers read all clear for the moment, so she forged ahead, keeping an ear on the radio for North's team checking in.
The corridors looped and twisted deeper into the cruiser, and they quickly reached areas that had maintained air pressure. Emergency lights lined the walls, occasionally sparking out but still strong enough they didn't need to activate night vision. No grunts out trying to patch together some half-assed repairs, which Carolina didn't like, and no word from North or anyone else, which she liked even less. They hadn't been able to get a good scan of the interior through the hull; if the Covenant had all grouped together around the bridge...
The radio crackled in her ear. "North here," a familiar voice said. "We're right outside the bridge. Running into some resistance, but nothing too heavy for us so far." A plasma pistol hummed in the background. "How about you?"
"Good to hear from you," Carolina said. "It's been clear sailing down here - haven't seen a single -"
At that moment she rounded a corner and saw four grunts clustered around a crack in the wall. She brought her plasma rifle up, fired, and three of them went down shrieking; three pistol shots to the head from Hammer took care of the fourth. "Scratch that, looks like we've just hit one of the areas they're bothering with. Let me know when you have control of the bridge."
"No problem. North out."
They continued, running into more half-squads of grunts with the occasional Kig-Yar guard as they got closer to the cruiser's primary engines. Carolina and Hammer dispatched each group with the same wordless efficiency. CT checked in after the third such encounter to report they'd taken the bridge and she was working on cracking the Covenant computers. "Still not seeing much heavy infantry," she said, "so be careful - they might just be spread out across the ship, or they could be waiting for you."
"Acknowledged. Clear out anything you can that's ahead of the bridge, that should cut down on any reinforcements without touching us."
Two run-ins after that Hammer paused to scoop up a needler - as if six guns and a missile launcher weren't enough for him - and Maine took out two grunts that tried a suicide grenade run while they were stopped, pounding them into smears on the deck.
York looked at the aftermath, shook his head, and said, "You sure you needed me on this one? I think you three have it covered."
"Oh, I'll find a way to get some use out of you," Carolina said, patting his back. "There has to be a locked door around here somewhere."
Three more grunt squads later they did find a door, but in addition to a lock, four Sangheili elites stood guard in front of it. Carolina watched them for a few moments from the cover of a half-shattered bulkhead. One with the handle of an energy sword in its claws, two with plasma rifles, one carrying a needler - shouldn't be a problem. "On my mark, attack," she said. "One, two, three, mark!"
She vaulted over the bulkhead and went for the elite with the sword. Three sharp jabs to its unprotected lower jaw, kicked the sword's handle out of its paw as the blade snapped on, then she thrust her rifle into its throat and fired till its smoking head fell back. Plasma bolts streaked past her head and she grabbed the corpse as a shield, charged the elite shooting at her and body-slammed it to the deck.
The elite stretched its arms past the body and tried to dig its claws into the gaps in her armor. She slithered out easily, and when it scrambled to its feet she kicked them out from under it; four shots hit took in the head as soon as it hit the deck.
"See?" she told York, who pretended to blow smoke away from the mouth of his pistol. "I knew you'd come in handy. Try and get that door open, okay?"
"I live to serve." He bumped shoulders with her as he headed for the control panel.
She glanced right and saw Maine strangling the life out of one Sangheili, glanced left and saw the bubble shield wink out as Hammer put a final burst of needles into the last elite. "That anxious to start playing with the new toys, huh?" she said.
"I'm bored," Durandal said.
"Yeah, no pressure or anything," said Hammer, "but he gets really annoying when he's bored, so if we could maybe speed it up -"
The door jerked open at the same moment that the cruiser shuddered, and earsplitting alarms began to blare. "Okay, I know what you're thinking," York said, "but I didn't do that, I swear - the thing wasn't even locked properly, just jammed."
"Sorry, that one's on me," CT reported over the general comm channel. "I'm trying to vent some atmosphere through the fore docking bays and it's not going so well."
Through the door Carolina could see a broader hallway lined with grunts and Kig-Yar jackals, occupied with sparking circuit panels or broken pipes. "Keep trying," she said. "All right, you two, here's a chance to show off - can you clear out that hall for us?"
"Is that all? Very well. Put that toy gun away, I need something more precise to work with. You should have taken one of the sniper rifles while you had the chance."
"Nah, these'll do fine." Hammer hooked the needler onto his armor and cracked his knuckles, then drew both of the pistols he'd brought and took several big steps backward, giving himself a long clear run-up to the open door. The grunts and jackals were still busy; he aimed over their heads and fired a single shot.
At least fifteen sets of alien eyes snapped around to stare at him. For a split second silence and stillness reigned in the halls; then several jackals activated their energy shields with a chorus of hisses and the grunts clustered around them, gearing up to charge.
Hammer moved first. He launched from his left foot and raced down the hall, the bubble shield popping back into existence around him, then he leaped and crashed into the gathered Covenant like a giant bowling ball. They scattered and he rolled and came up shooting, the bullets burning through tiny gaps in the shield that blinked in and out with unerring control as the dazed grunts and jackals dropped.
Carolina picked off two grunts that fled their way, and Maine punched out a jackal that tried to do the same. The last grunt alive pounded helplessly on the bubble shield; Hammer's helmet tilted slightly, then the shield flickered out and the grunt stumbled forward. Hammer's hand shot out, caught the grunt's head, and crushed it.
Bright blue slime dripped from his fist as Durandal announced, "Not too bad. I'm starting to see the merits of the hands-on approach."
"Don't get comfortable," Hammer said, dropping the grunt's corpse. "Where next?"
York had been counting the bodies; he stopped to say, "I thought you said you were a cop? Or security officer, whatever, same thing. Not exactly a thick-of-the-action job, anyway."
"I ended up on a rough beat back home."
"You don't say."
Maine snorted, and Carolina moved up. "Just follow me," she said. "It shouldn't be much longer to engineering."
---
The engineering section, due either to the alarms set off earlier or the destruction he had visited upon the cruiser, had been sealed off. Durandal considered offering to help Agent York open their chosen entrance, but really, it was more fun to watch the irritant sweat under Agent Carolina's impatient gaze. Though the fact that Mark kept turning around to shoot stray Covenant attackers did interfere with his view; despite his best efforts, the visual sensor range of the armor was ridiculously limited.
As was everything about the armor, actually. At least (Mark's head turned left at new hostile motion on the tracker) it served as an excellent reminder (shield activated) of why he had never (rifle up, appropriate hexagons dropped to allow one two three) bothered to replicate (four five six seven bullets through the shield) an artificial body (and shield deactivated as the Kig-Yar collapsed) for himself, even as an experiment.
He opened communications with Rozinante, mostly to be certain that it was possible through the cruiser's hull and general interference. It was, though the connection wasn't as steady and clear as usual. The S'pht reported that work on the engines and hull continued at the expected pace, although they still lacked certain necessary materials to compensate for the burn-out, as Yr'ckta was quick to remind him. Whatever; he'd needed the extra power, and that last move had been worth the systems damage.
I'll bring you everything you need, he told Yr'ckta and the other engineers. Watch for my signals.
Yr'ckta transmitted a message of skeptical assent, and Durandal cut the connection.
The motion tracker maintained its continual irritating ping at a low processing level. Amazing how similar it was to the one in Mark's armor, and how little advanced compared to the rest of the UNSC's military technology; it informed him, non-stop, that there were a great deal of Covenant moving around on the other side of the doors, but nothing else useful. Quite a shortcoming. In fact, once they were done pretending to get along with the Freelancers, he should probably borrow the battle armor again and upgrade its tracking technology to something more detailed.
Agent York looked up from his crouch over the control panel and said, "Okay, I've just about got it. Any last requests before I bust these open?"
"I'm going in first to scout it out," Agent Carolina said. "Once I have a better idea of what's in there I'll report with instructions for you two. York, unless I say otherwise, you'll stay here and keep any surprises off our backs. Call me if you need any help."
"How about next time, you just bring Florida instead?" Agent York suggested. "It's more his specialty than mine."
"You'll be fine, you baby." Durandal observed her resting her hand on his helmet very briefly. "Go ahead and open it up." Her light turquoise armor rippled, then faded into the grays and purples of the cruiser as she pressed herself against the wall.
Mark and Agent Maine did the same to avoid instantly attracting the attention of every Covenant in engineering, and the doors groaned open. It took some effort with the inadequate sensors, but Durandal could watch Agent Carolina inch her way through the doors and into the room by tracking the slight shift of colors.
Interesting.
"Ask about it," Durandal said to Mark, limiting his voice to the inside of the helmet, and Mark said, "Hey, I thought you couldn't use the fancy stuff without an AI."
"Most of us can't," said Agent York, "but if you're good enough, you can take a test and rate to use special equipment in the field. And yeah, she's that good."
Durandal detected both pride and affection in his voice, but no bitterness or envy. Probably some form of romantic attachment between the two was involved. How trite. At least Agent York had good taste, although it didn't say much for Agent Carolina if she was willing to settle for him.
After ninety-three and a half seconds, Agent Carolina called. "Maine, clear the right; Hammer, hit the group in the middle. There's an Engineer at the back, don't touch it, they're harmless - might even help. Move out now!" On the last word, something in the engineering room exploded, and Maine took off immediately.
Durandal ran a brief systems check, area scan, and weapon assessment as Mark pulled the rocket launcher off his back and hefted it onto his left shoulder. Slightly less recoil, otherwise little difference between this model and the one Mark was used to; "Go wild," he said, "but avoid the machinery, I need to tag some of it and send it home for the S'pht." Fortunately most of the interesting equipment was at the back of the room and out of direct harm's way, aside from a few intriguing bits embedded in two pillars on either side of the room.
"Gotcha." Mark stepped out into the corridor and the full view of the six Sangheili, two Jiralhanae, single Mgalekgolo, and four Yanme'e in the engine room who were not already occupied in fighting Agents Carolina and Maine.
Nothing unexpected, then, besides the armored jellyfish floating in the back; the Engineer, presumably. He waited for Mark to fire two rockets at the massed Covenant to get their attention, then drop the launcher - reloading it took too long, and using it while fighting in close quarters was inadvisable - and draw the twin shotguns he had requisitioned.
Time to play. Durandal engaged the speed and strength mods as Mark charged into engineering. Most of the work could be left to him, since it was the sort of thing he was used to - had been made for, even - but it was surprisingly enjoyable to enhance his performance personally. A touch of speed to twist between plasma bursts and push off from one pillar, a boost of strength to kick in one Jiralhanae's ribs, tossing up the occasional shield hexagon to reflect a shot back at a very surprised Sangheili, and as expected Mark took the extra help in stride so he could concentrate on shooting the Covenant in the face as often as possible. There was nothing like watching him blow someone's head off with a shotgun blast at point-blank range and then knocking two more enemies down with their comrade's corpse just to get a clear shot at the Mgalekgolo before it could bring its heavy shield back around.
Of course, Durandal was already used to having a first-hand view of the carnage through the audiovisual link in the other armor's helmet, but being completely present and involved in the action did add a certain enjoyable immediacy.
Possibly too much immediacy, as Mark's shot barely fazed the Mgalekgolo and it tried to swipe his head off with the shield. Durandal hit the speed so Mark could slide under the shield's edge out of the way, and brought up the active camouflage to give him a moment to re-evaluate the situation - Durandal himself had no need of the spare time, but he had wanted to test the effectiveness of the mod himself anyway.
The surviving Jiralhanae swung his giant spiked pistol around, looking for the vanished opponent, while two of the remaining four Sangheili cursed at him and the others gathered around the confused Mgalekgolo. Reasonably effective camouflage, then.
On the right, Agent Maine had pulverized a small horde of Unggoy and engaged a Jiralhanae in hand-to-hand, a match so far proving even. On the left, Agent Carolina was swiftly and methodically demolishing her third Sangheili in a flurry of fluid kicks and punches, pausing only briefly to shoot down a Kig-Yar that attempted to interfere.
"She's something else, huh?" Mark said. He holstered the shotguns and pulled out the assault rifle, checking the ammunition level.
"Her work is somewhat impressive." Strong, fast, decent reflexes and strategic thinking for a human, good aim, ability to handle the armor modifications - his standards might have lowered somewhat in the last few years, but he supposed she met the minimum. "And she's quite attractive, by most human measurements." Not actually a consideration to him, but no point in letting the man get complacent, especially not after that poor showing against Agent Maine. "Perhaps I should upgrade while I have the chance."
"Yeah, this isn't Tau Ceti. I don't think these people are just gonna shrug off you stealing any of their top agents."
Durandal noted the last of the required items for Yr'ckta among the machinery. He had borrowed a set of micro-transmitters from the supply room to use as markers, so those would need to be placed after the Covenant had been dealt with. One of the spares could go on the Engineer; the S'pht would probably enjoy meeting someone new. "Getting jealous yet? You should be. I think I've earned a trophy spouse or two."
Based on past behavior, there was a 99.7% probability that Mark would have replied with something intended to be insultingly dismissive, but the Jiralhanae chose that moment to snuffle deeply and shout "Over there!" while pointing straight at their location. A scent-hunter, most likely, which hadn't been included in the Mother of Invention's pitiful databases. He cut the camouflage and cycled the strength and speed mods back up, keeping the shield ready on the back burner for - and the Jiralhanae was already firing in their direction. Irritating.
At least Mark had begun to move as well; two shield hexagons deflected the only shot that came close to hitting them and Mark dodged the rest, then slammed the assault rifle across the Jiralhanae's head and fired at the Mgalekgolo. The four Sangheili practically trampled the stunned Jiralhanae to get to them, but Mark was already gone, and they only had time to look around once before a blast from the Mgalekgolo's assault canon hit them.
Durandal kicked the active camouflage on again so Mark could circle around and get another few shots at the Mgalekgolo before the Sangheili recovered. Unfortunately, the damn thing absorbed assault rifle bullets as if they had zero mass and velocity. A leisurely few calculations in the millisecond after the Mgalekgolo failed to die, and then he slowed down to whisper in Mark's ear, "Have you considered accepting the joy of grenades into your life today?"
"On it, smart-ass." He whipped out a pair of sticky grenades - an excellent innovation on the part of this universe; Durandal had already back-engineered the design and sent it on to the S'pht - and landed one of them on the Mgalekgolo's approximation of a head, the other on its right shoulder.
The resulting explosion was highly satisfying, and so was the slow collapse of the charred Mgalekgolo. The last blast from its gun had melted the Jiralhanae and one of the Sangheili to the deck, but two had escaped and prowled the area, looking for Mark. "Shotguns?" Durandal suggested, scanning for the third Sangheili. "You still have more than enough shells." And they seemed reasonably effective against most types of Covenant armor.
But Mark wasn't listening. He leaped over the Mgalekgolo's corpse and caught one Sangheili by its neck, crushed it in his fist, and threw the body to the deck. When the second visible Sangheili tried to jump him he raked it with the assault rifle and slipped between its reflexive return fire to beat it till it tried to retreat, then fired several rounds into its head.
Idly, Durandal considered for the four thousand and thirty-seventh time the possibility that Mark might in fact have a few rage issues unrelated to his particular nature, then discarded it yet again because who cared. The missing Sangheili remained a problem, however, so he froze Mark's fingers and said, "You've had your fun, now stay still long enough for me to get -"
The hiss-crack of an energy sword activating hit the sensors.
Mark's reflexes were well above average for humans, but not fast enough. Durandal flicked the invisibility off and the shield on to full power, unfroze Mark's hand and took control of the armor, cranked up the speed and twisted them around and pulled the trigger and held it down as he blinked out shield hexagons for the bullets...
And froze that hand again when the Sangheili fell after a mere five shots to reveal Agent Carolina behind it, her plasma rifle still glowing from an overcharge.
Now that he thought about it, it was possible that Agent Carolina was actually an irritating glory hound who just happened to have impeccable timing for splashy entrances. An extremely small possibility, but still, no one had ever accused him of lacking in pettiness.
Agent Carolina was looking at them as if she expected them to say something, and Mark was still in unresponsive combat mode, searching for the next threat. "All clear," Durandal told him. "Now snap out of it, someone wants to talk to you."
He registered Mark's heart-rate slowing, and then the man said, "Sorry. Thanks for the save."
"Don't worry about it. I look out for my team, new guys included." Her helmet turned to survey the immediate area. "Nice work, especially taking on that hunter - they're pretty nasty."
"You're welcome," Durandal said, refusing to be mollified by faint praise. They could have taken care of that last Sangheili on their own without her help, anyway. Show-off.
"Looks like Maine's about done cleaning up his side, so let's get York and -"
The cruiser rocked, causing Agent Carolina and Durandal's view to sway. Agent Carolina steadied herself with her hand on a crate and shouted over the comm channel, "CT! What the hell's going on?"
Audio analysis could parse Agent South Dakota yelling "Just gut the fucking croc already!" and the panicked response "I'm trying!" from Agent Washington out of the background noise before Agent Connecticut answered. "Sorry, Carolina," she said, "good news and bad news - the good news is, I managed to depressurize the whole front half of the ship and space what looked like most of their remaining crew, too."
The armor readouts beeped at the same time the sensors informed Durandal, Ambient oxygen levels decreasing.
"But the bad news - well, it vented all the atmosphere in the back half, too..."
Systems check. Sufficient oxygen remaining for Mark to function at restricted activity levels for thirty-five minutes, twenty-two to twenty-eight minutes at normal activity levels, thirteen minutes at heavy activity levels such as, for example, fighting, and of course this armor wasn't configured to draw oxygen from alien dispensers the way that Mark's usual armor was. Of course. Durandal retracted any and all remotely positive judgements he had made concerning UNSC science and technology. No wonder they were losing their war.
He cycled his processing back down to hear what Agent Carolina planned to do about the situation, resolving to contact the S'pht for a teleport if she made the wrong call.
"I'm sorry," Agent Connecticut said, "their systems were just such a mess already, and I thought -"
"Take it easy," said Agent Carolina, waving for Agent Maine to join them. "Get your team back to the bay we landed in, I'm calling Four Seven Niner and we'll meet you there."
Sensible. "We can handle the rear guard this time," Durandal said. "Go ahead, we'll catch up in a moment." There were still the transmitters to plant, after all, a reminder he flashed across the helmet's visor for Mark's benefit.
"That's a negative, we're leaving now. All of us."
So much for previous evidence of her intelligence. "I don't take orders from humans under any circumstances," Durandal snapped, "so you can shove any notion of -"
"Hey, cool it," Mark muttered. "Playing nice, remember?" He then raised his voice to say, "Actually, I was gonna ask anyway - can I have a minute? Think I dropped some ammo around here, I don't like leaving stuff behind."
Durandal used the two seconds Agent Carolina took before answering for a good satisfying seethe. This was humiliating. Annoying. An intolerable waste of his time. He should have shot all the Freelancers while Mark had been sleeping on that miserable little planet and spared them both the tedium of diplomacy. Clearly he had gotten too much into the habit of indulging the idiot; being overly generous with ammunition and other resources was one thing, but to put up with being ordered around so that asshole could pretend he was just another human for a few days... Fine, he might be overreacting slightly, but he was not obligated to enjoy the situation and he was definitely not going to stand for any disrespect from these amateurs.
At last, Agent Carolina said, "You can have one minute. After that, you'll have to find your way back to the bay on your own."
"Thanks," Mark said, and the visual range shifted as he turned to kick through the Covenant corpses as if he had actually been careless enough to drop anything. He edged towards the back of the room, and his hand dipped into the pouch with the micro-transmitters, which he flicked onto the pieces of equipment Durandal had marked out.
"This is going on my list," Durandal said. "Of all the things that I'm taking out of your hide once we're done with this universe."
"Uh-huh."
"I mean it. You'll be eating the S'pht's kelp and getting nothing but pistol clips for a year."
"That mad about someone else being the boss for once, huh? And here I thought you liked Carolina." He leaned down and picked up a few needler rounds from one Sangheili's body.
"I've changed my mind. Agent Maine may be more my type. At least he's quiet, unlike you or her."
Mark landed the last transmitter on the oblivious Engineer's armor just as Agent Carolina called, "Minute's up, Hammer."
"Found the stuff. I'm on my way." And, more quietly as he jogged towards the exit, "Hang in there. We'll get Rozie fixed up soon and ditch this place, and then you can dump as much kelp on me as you want."
Aww. For all of his many, many faults, he always knew exactly what to say. Maybe only half a year of "broken" replicators. "Just keep moving, or I'll flush the remaining oxygen out of the tank," Durandal said. "And I'm holding you to that."
Next chapter.
Marathon, characters, etc. © Bungie; Red vs. Blue, characters, etc. © Rooster Teeth (and sort of Bungie).
Crossposted from Dreamwidth - read the original post here: http://brief-transit.dreamwidth.org/191100.html .