Leap of Faith

She kept him pinned, watching for any sign of life from his featureless visor. Had he even understood her? Should she try again?

"A'ight," he replied, shrugging his shoulders. Was that really his only response? He seemed to be agreeing to her proposal, and so she gradually lowered him to the floor, taking a few steps back and watching him cautiously. He had proven himself to be far more dangerous than his diminutive appearance would suggest.

He knelt to pick up his knife, returning it to his boot, craning his neck to peer up at her.

"If I arm you, you will not betray me, yes?"

The Imp nodded his head, an affirmative gesture, and so Alba thrust her carbine into his arms. She almost knocked him over, she sometimes had trouble gauging her strength in his low-gravity environment, and the alien turned the weapon over in his hands as he examined it. To her relief, he kept his finger off the trigger, aiming the barrel at the floor.

"Wait here," she said, "I must arm myself."

The Rookie - Tayari Plaza, nine hours after drop.

The Brute spoke. It opened its mouth, its breath misting his visor, its tusk-like teeth and its long tongue on display as he practically looked down its throat. Its voice was coarse and gravelly, but the deep contralto unmistakably feminine, the rumbling speech shaking his bones. There must be female Brutes, but he had never heard of such a thing. Its yellow eyes peered at him from beneath its blue, horned helmet, its features obscured by the gleaming material.

He had expected it to kill him, he was out of ammo, hopelessly outmatched against the hulking mass of armor and muscle. And yet he was still breathing. The thing was pinning him against the wall, but not applying enough pressure to crush him. It could have pulled his arms off like a child playing with a rag doll, but instead, it was bargaining with him.

"You will help Alba, Alba will help you. Both walk out of here, yes?"

Alba? Was that the Brute's name?

The Rookie had no idea where his squad was right now. He was deep behind enemy lines, completely out of contact with command, and he had no hope of rescue. He was going to have to walk out of here under his own power, and if this alien really did know the Covenant's patrol routes, then she might be his only ticket out of his mess. Besides, if he said no, she'd probably just crush him like a soda can.

"A'ight," he replied. Her yellow eyes seemed to widen beneath the brim of her helmet, and then she slowly lowered him to the floor. He paused to pick up his trusty knife, stowing it in his boot, then waited for her to make the next move.

"If I arm you, you will not betray me, yes?"

He nodded, he had no intention of shooting her in the back. On a normal day, he'd kill a Brute with a rusty spoon if that was what it took for him and his friends to make it home, but this one was...different somehow. Brutes were never reasonable, it wouldn't have surprised him in the least to learn that they were kept in cages on their carriers, and unleashed like attack dogs when the need arose. But this Alba was willing to have a conversation with him, and that alone was reason enough not to just plug her and move on.

She shoved the carbine that she was holding into his hands, knocking him off-balance, then vanished into a side room. Now that he was paying attention, her figure and her gait were different from that of a regular Brute, too. There was a flare to her hips that was visible even beneath her armor, and she carried her weight differently from the males, an ass the size of a beanbag chair swaying left and right as she walked. If she really was a female, then that was a whole lot of woman, even for a Brute to handle.

When she returned, she was carrying a needle rifle, and he had to resist the urge to aim his carbine at her. Every instinct in his body, all his years of training and combat experience screamed danger like an air raid siren going off in his head, but he suppressed it. This was an opportunity that he would not get a second time, not in a million years...

Her footsteps made the floor beneath his boots shake as she came to a stop in front of him, peering down at him as if she was waiting for something.

"Well?" she asked, gesturing down the corridor. "You lead."

The Rookie made his way past her, checking his map. If his squadmates had been here, then they weren't here now, and there was no indication that the Brute had killed them. The aliens tended to leave a rather conspicuous mess. It was time to continue along the exfil route that he had originally planned. If the Superintendent wanted to add any more waypoints, then he would deal with them as they came.

They made their way down the stairs, the Brute's weight making them creak worryingly, emerging onto the street again. The Rookie paused for a moment as he checked his map, his companion waiting impatiently.

The dead Grunts were nearby, their fluorescent blood was splattered all over the cars, and it was pooling on the asphalt like spilled motor oil. The rain didn't seem able to wash it away, it was oddly viscous. If the Brute was in any way angry with him for slaughtering her squad, then she didn't show it. What was it that she had said when she had been pinning him against the wall? That the Covenant were fighting each other. He had surmised as much from the pile of dead Elites that he had come across, but it was nice to have his theory confirmed. He didn't know anything about the political makeup of the Covenant save for the fact that the Prophets were the head honchos, and that the different races were arranged in a hierarchy from most dangerous to least. Were two of the member species having a spat, or were two of the Prophets fighting each other with their private fleets? Perhaps he should ask the Brute, but he wasn't in the mood for conversation right now.

The path on his map sent him down the East road that led away from the plaza, but as he turned in that direction, he felt the alien's hand on his shoulder. It was as large as a dinner plate, heavy, too. He bristled, resisting the urge to wheel around and shoot her.

"We must not go that way," she said, her low voice making the hairs on his arm stand on end. "Patrols are that way. We go that way," she added, pointing down the Western road.

"Alright," he mumbled, taking a moment to reconfigure his map marker. It wasn't much of a detour. They made their way down the street, sticking to the sidewalk this time, as the Brute was too large to fit between the cars. At least she was fulfilling her part of the bargain. What bargain was that, exactly? They were going to cooperate to make it out of the city, but for how long? What would the reaction be when he eventually linked up with UNSC forces? Perhaps she would claim asylum, or offer information in exchange for her safety. It wasn't a trick, he knew that for certain. She could have crushed the life out of him without so much as breaking a sweat if she had wanted to, and he didn't have any useful information to accidentally reveal to her, he was completely lost.

They arrived at one of the massive blast doors that had closed over the street, creating an impenetrable wall between two buildings. The Brute, or Alba as she had referred to herself, watched as he walked up to the small control panel that was built into the middle of the door. He accessed the files that he had downloaded from the city's Superintendent, cross-referencing the correct codes, then tapped in the sequence. There was a mechanical crunching sound as the two doors parted, sliding back into recesses in the buildings to either side of the road, their way clear.

Almost as soon as they were on the other side of the barrier, it began to close again of its own accord, no doubt the Superintendent's doing.

"So you can open doors, tiny man," Alba muttered. "They have been thorn in our side since we make landfall. Which way now?"

He pointed down the street, and they pressed on, the Brute lumbering along beside him. It was hard to keep his eyes off her, the only Brutes that he had ever seen up close like this before were either dead or viewed through a scope. They moved with such ease that it kind of downplayed their sheer mass. She must weigh at least a thousand pounds, and she had the figure to carry all of that weight. Her thighs were as thick around as his torso, packed with muscle, and sheathed in a layer of fat that shook with every step of her two-toed feet. Her hips were wider than the span of his shoulders, and her ass was similarly scaled up, her copious cheeks wobbling with the impact from within her skin-tight suit as she walked. Apparently, the Covenant was not too concerned about its soldiers being shot in the butt because there was minimal armor plating there.

Her skin was varying shades of grey, as was the rubbery jumpsuit that she wore beneath her blue armor, making it difficult to ascertain where one ended, and the other began. What he could be sure was exposed skin was leathery and thick, reminding him of a rhinoceros, and he noted that there wasn't a hair on her. Some of the Brutes looked like a Sasquatch, while others were shaved clean, save for their beards. If Alba had any fur, then it was out of view. Her facial features were obscured behind her helmet, and he wondered whether they would be any different from those of the male Brutes.

"You do not talk much, tiny man," Alba said as he peered up at her through his helmet's visor. He shrugged in response, eliciting a rumbling chuckle from her. "Most talk too much, I find it refreshing."

"What would we chat about?" he replied, "the weather?"

She chuckled at that, a huffing sound that shook his bones.

They walked for a little while longer, and then the Rookie led his unusual companion into the shelter of a bus stop, the alien waiting outside as he sat down on the bench beneath the awning. She was far too large to fit inside it without crouching. The rain pounded on the curved, transparent roof, an animated advertisement illuminating him as he began to remove one of his boots.

"What are you doing?" Alba asked, cocking her head at him as he rolled up the leg of his BDU. He retrieved the pack of MediGel from his pocket, opening the bag and smearing some of the green-tinted gel on his swollen ankle.

"Healing," he replied, the anesthetic soothing his growing discomfort. He had more injuries to deal with now that he had a moment of peace, and he examined his forearm where the Jackal had scratched him. Its bird-like talons had gone straight through the material, leaving him with a trio of nasty cuts. He rolled up his sleeve to expose his forearm as best he could, the material was padded and protected by Kevlar, then began to smear some of the goo on the wounds. This time it stung, but the pain-killing property of the mysterious gel soon put a stop to that.

Next was his shoulder, where the needle had embedded itself a good inch into his flesh. The bleeding had stopped by this point, but it was so sore that it hurt to lift his arm. It hadn't reached his bone, or it would hurt a hell of a lot more, but it was a deep wound that needed to be disinfected. He also needed to remove any fabric or debris that the projectile had carried into his body. Even a single strand of fabric from his BDU could cause a potentially lethal infection.

The Rookie exhaled, bracing himself as he smeared some of the green gel on his index finger. It was a good job that he was wearing fingerless gloves. Alba watched without comment as he pushed the digit into the open wound up to the first joint, stifling a groan of pain. It began to bleed again almost immediately, crimson blood oozing past his finger and soaking his clothes as he fought back a sudden wave of lightheadedness. Feeling something that wasn't wet meat, he tried to pull it out, succeeding in retrieving a small fragment of his BDU that the needle had dragged in with it.

Certain now that he had done all that he could to sanitize the wound, he squeezed more MediGel onto his finger like toothpaste onto a brush, pushing it into the hole. He sagged back into his seat as he took a moment to collect himself, willing his hands to stop shaking. What he wouldn't give for an actual UNSC trauma kit right now, he could stitch himself up and apply an adhesive pad. Optican's finest would have to do for the time being.

The Brute was looking at him strangely, peering at him with her yellow eyes from beneath the shadow of her helmet. He didn't know what she was thinking, he couldn't see her expression.

"We should move," she said. "If we linger too long, Phantoms will spot us. Come."

He rose to his feet unsteadily, wishing that he had some polypseudomorphine to take the edge off.

***

They walked for a while longer, passing through several more of the large gates. The Rookie was starting to see how much of hindrance they must have been to the Covenant, the aliens couldn't go a block without encountering one of them. The only way to get past them without the access codes would be to mount a dropship and play an endless game of leapfrog.

They came across a few more of the Phantoms, the ships scanning the streets with their searchlights from above, but he and Alba were able to stay out of sight beneath balconies and inside the foyers of public buildings.

They didn't talk much, there was nothing to talk about, really. One might have expected the Rookie to quiz the Brute at length about her culture, her home planet, or the day to day life of being a soldier in the Covenant. After all, how often did a Human get to have a conversation with an alien that wasn't being held down the barrel of a gun? But the situation was tense, and the Rookie didn't want to be distracted by small talk, not when he was miles behind enemy lines. Besides, she might be a turncoat, but she was still a Covvie. It wasn't exactly easy for him to brush off years of conflict. He had killed Brutes, and she had no doubt killed her share of Humans.

Eventually, his alien companion stopped, and he turned to look back at her.

"Wassup?" he asked.

She reached a four-fingered hand down to her stomach, and he heard a growl that didn't come from her mouth.

"Alba must eat," she replied, "I have been too long without food."

"What do Brutes eat?" he asked, "besides people."

She scowled at him from beneath her blue helmet, not taking kindly to his jibe.

"What you can eat, I can eat. Show me where there is food in this city."

He shrugged his shoulders, then waved for her to follow him. He was getting rather hungry himself, he hadn't eaten for about twelve hours, and he had been burning calories with all the fighting and walking. But where might they find food? Unfortunately, the Covenant would have driven off all of the street vendors, there would be no Nyama Choma or Mandazis for him today. The safest bet might be the vending machines, it was just a matter of finding one.

He brought up his map and checked the immediate area. There were no supermarkets in this part of the city, it was more geared towards finance and tourism. There were a few restaurants nearby, but that food would need to be prepared, and anything that needed to be refrigerated would be inedible after so many hours without power. Where might there be vending machines? Perhaps a sports center, or some kind of gym? They wouldn't have power either, but warm soda and shrink-wrapped sandwiches wouldn't do them any harm.

"This way," he said, marking a nearby gym on his map and setting off in that direction. It wasn't more than a block away, and the skies seemed clear of Phantoms for the moment. When they arrived at the building, the windows that lined the facade and overlooked the street beyond were dark, and the lights in the interior were all off. The streetlamps were on in most places, as were the electronic billboards, but it seemed that the private buildings were all cut off. Perhaps there was a municipal power grid that had a backup system, or perhaps only some areas had been affected by the fighting and the slip-space rupture. The Rookie stood in front of a pair of sliding glass doors at the entrance, but the sensor was offline, and they were jammed shut.

He pulled out his knife and pushed the blade between them, attempting to pry them open without much luck, Alba growing increasingly impatient as she waited behind him. After a minute, she uncrossed her arms and marched towards the doors, the Rookie dodging out of the way as she walked straight through the glass. It shattered into tiny shards, making a terrible racket, and he glanced around nervously before following her inside.

"What is this place?" Alba asked, pausing by a side door to examine a row of treadmills that faced out onto the street.

"A gym," the Rookie replied, searching the foyer.

"And what is a gym for?" she asked tersely, irritated by his curt reply.

"Exercise," he said, finally finding what he was looking for. There were three vending machines lined up against the far wall next to the entrance to the locker room. There was one for drinks, one for sandwiches, and another for snacks. He felt the floor shake beneath his feet as Alba sidled up beside him, leaning down to examine the contents through the transparent windows. Her eyes played over the rows of colorful, plastic packaging, the Rookie wondering what she must make of them.

"Do you have codes for this too?" she asked, noting the numeric keypads on the machines. The Rookie shook his head. "Then stand clear, tiny man."

He took a few steps back as Alba set down her needle rifle, then reached out and dragged one of the machines away from the wall, tearing the cord out of its power socket and throwing it violently to the floor. She must have expected the glass window to shatter like the doors had, but it was made from some kind of reinforced plastic, intended to be tamper-proof. It clearly wasn't Brute-proof, however. Alba flipped it over onto its back and dented the window with her fist, pounding on it until it bent enough that it came away from its metal frame. She tossed the glass aside, and gestured to the now windowless vending machine, the contents strewn all over the interior.

The Rookie knelt beside it and picked out a few choice items, tossing a shrink-wrapped sandwich to Alba. It was a spicy chicken burger, not exactly the most sophisticated cuisine that Earth had to offer, but it was better than going hungry. She snatched it out of the air, the packet so small in her giant hand that it fit snugly in her palm. She sniffed it experimentally, then cocked her head at him. He retrieved a similar packet and mimed opening it, Alba mimicking him with her oversized fingers. The Brute could be surprisingly delicate when she wanted to be. She tore the plastic wrapper open, then brought the sandwich to her mouth, lifting off her horned helmet in the process.

For the first time, the Rookie got a look at her face. Her features were indeed softer than those of a male Brute, with a less pronounced brow, and a smaller jaw with no beard. She had a dull snout, and her thick lips were tinted pink, the upper one split slightly in a way that reminded him of a cat. Her thick, dark hair was cropped short in what almost resembled a pixie cut, Alba shaking it out as though glad to be free of the stifling armor. Rather than the jutting, yellowed teeth of the males, the two tusks that protruded from her lower jaw were white and symmetrical. She had a couple of prominent, pink scars on her grey skin, but nothing disfiguring. Her eyelashes were just as thick and as dark as her hair, framing a pair of yellow eyes that almost seemed to glow in the low light, her sclera red instead of white.