Chapter Text
You know that everyone is supposed to be geared up at all times. But no one can see when you're tucked away in the back of your pelican, making repairs to the cargo-bay turret. The shoulder pieces don't fit quite right, anyway, and would have made the angle you're in impossible. You grumble as something in your knee tweaks. Having to squat, bend down, and lean up all at the same time- who the hell designed these things? You hear metal screeching and a clank, and can feel it through your boots.
"Did that do it?" You can hear your co-pilot from outside. You groan in relief as you stand, brace your hands on the barrels of the turret, and give it a vigorous, full-body shake. It still wouldn't budge.
"No!" You try not to sound mad at your co-pilot. It's not like the damn thing really needs to work; you never got assignments in dangerous places. Your next shipment was literally a galaxy away, a carrier would be doing all the hard legwork. But standards are standards, and this ship is your responsibility. You bend back down, and begin pulling at the ammo belt again. You're sure a bullet must have gotten lose and is what's jamming the rotating base, but even with the floor panel pulled off the gaps are too small to really see through, much less to get your fingers into and dig it out. You hear a snap and suddenly the entire plate that the gun is mounted on tilts. You pulled your fingers out of the way in time, but the handguard of the turret hits you in the head. You fall back and catch yourself on the seat of the bench. "Fucking hell! What did you just do?" you yelled.
"Uh-oh." You curse to yourself, though you're pretty sure you can be heard. "What did that do? Because, from here, it looks like this thing is entirely busted."
"Yeah," you pause for a second to take a deep breath, "It's entirely busted." You check the time; there's only twenty minutes left until the cargo gets here. You're stuck with a panel removed from the hull and the cargo bay, and a turret that won't rotate, but WILL wiggle side to side like a fucking joystick. There is a reason why you unofficially named the ship Shining Bastard II. You don't think the ship is even fit for spaceflight now, which is an actual problem. "Can you put the hull back together with the way it is?" For a moment, there's no response. You hear the whir of a power drill and then the groaning of armor plating refusing to bend.
"...No. Damn it!"
An alarm blaring is the only thing that keeps you from wasting your energy kicking the stupid thing. A thrill of anxiety churns your gut. That is anything but good.
"I see people running to the hangar, we should go!" You shout a frantic "yeah, go on without me" as you scramble to put your upper-body armor back on. Your T-shirt gets caught between the shoulder and chest parts, and you have to redo it.
"Stupid- fucking-" The clip keeps slipping between your fingers, "COOPERATE." You feel a wave of dizziness and fall back in shocked silence. You land on the closed bay door, and you suddenly realize from the buzzing running from the metal to your arms that the engines are on, warming up, and that you aren't dizzy. The Pelican is moving. "Uh!" you shout, unable to tell who is in your seat. "What's going on?" You put your helmet on, and unfortunately happen to block yourself from seeing anything other than a shadow lean back into the seat. Whoever it is, they know you're th- "Oh, fuck!" The bay door lurches in the direction that is now down. The pelican is no longer on the ground, and someone is opening the bay door WITH YOU ON TOP OF IT? You launch yourself off of it and slide on the floor to the base of the turret. It jolts down, and you swear you almost piss yourself from the fear of it completely breaking lose. "Oh shit, oh shit, ohshitohshitohshit!" You manage to wrap your arms around the turret, head down, elbows locked around the stalk with the gun acting like a cap to keep you there. It hurts, and black grease is covering you, but you're also not falling out of a plane with no parachute, so that's nice.
"What the hell are you doing, close the bay door! You're going to kill me!" Whoever is piloting the pelican probably couldn't hear, but if they did they were being an absolute psychopath! You kept yelling, until you realized the air was getting really thin. You are definitely scared now. "Stop! Wait, the hull is broken! This ship isn't fit for space! We won't have any air! Please, at least close the door!" You were going to die. Even if you held on, even with your basic armor, you'd only last half a minute. At most. You were numb to everything until the ferocious wind stopped pulling at you, and the door closed. You dropped to the floor, but didn't move. It got a lot warmer very quickly. You could hear and feel rattling in the panel under you. Was there enough of a seal to keep the air in if you left the atmosphere? The rattling calmed to silence, the turbulence died, and you heard the hissing of reserve oxygen being pumped in. There wasn't hissing under you. You nearly cried with thankfulness- somehow, Shining Bastard II pulled through and saved your ass. You tried to stand, but realized too late that you were shaking like a leaf. You sat down, and closed your eyes. Don't be sick, don't be sick, think about ice cubes-
You had no idea how long you sat there, but you took enough time to calm down and work some shit out. Someone had broken into the shipyard. They must have created a diversion in the hangar, or the warehouse, and hijacked your pelican. You could also tell you were in space, and that whoever was in the pilot seat knew what they were doing. They hadn't said anything, and they were fine with dripping you like an egg out of the fucking sky, but they changed their mind. Probably so they wouldn't suffocate from having the door open, but the cockpit could be sealed off with the push of a couple buttons. If they knew what they were doing, it made more sense that they decided to spare you. You didn't have any cargo to save, either... You stood, and decided it was time to ask this bitch a couple questions. You pulled your pistol from its holster.
"What happened to my copilot?" you demanded and you marched up to the cockpit. You didn't get an answer until you made it up to the front.
"Didn't see one." Not a deep voice... You took the last step, and leveled your pistol to their head in one fluid motion. You take a second to register what you're looking at.
"Holy shit. You're a-"
"Above your paygrade, now get out of my face," they cut you off. Shining Bastard II was hijacked by a real-ass goddamn Spartan.
"With all due respect, Sir-"
"Ma'am."
"With all due respect, Ma'am, it seems like you stole my fucking ship." You kept your pistol to her head, but she didn't seem to care. She looked at you, her expression hidden behind the orange visor. She turned back to watch where they were going and adjusted their course.
"It's not stealing if you're still here." You were flabbergasted.
"Yes? Yes, it is? I am the pilot, but this pelican technically still belongs to-" The Spartan raised her hand, and you instinctively shut your mouth.
"Look, kid, you should have let go. Falling was the easy way out of this. Go sit over there and be quiet, any maybe, MAYBE I'll give you your ship back when I'm done." This absolutely was above your paygrade. You've spent your entire deployment delivering food and medical supplies to other parts of an endless relay that never gives a sense of accomplishment. You don't even know where the supplies end up. The only thing you do know is that there are plenty of other pilots that do the exact same thing as you, and the only problem this situation poses to your employer is a missing ship. You suddenly feel very expendable, so you lower your gun and go sit down.
You sit in silence for a long time. Your body starts to think it's time to sleep, but you force yourself to stay awake. You tell yourself you're not tired, that it's just the calm after stress. Eventually, you remember that you have a clock. Shit. You really should have been keeping track of the time... Whatever. It's 10:37 now. The ship hits turbulence, you hear a shout from the cockpit, and any joy, happiness, or comfort you may have ever felt just jumped ship. You bolt up, but hesitate a few steps away from the Spartan. You have to assess the situation. It seemed like you were landing at first, but- Oh boy, this is not the kind of angle you enter atmosphere at! You turn to the Spartan, about to yell and demand an explanation, but UH-OH.
"You've been BLEEDING this whole time?" She didn't say anything to you, but was clearly struggling to regain control of the Pelican. "Did you pass out? What the hell?" You kept talking, but you were rambling and already running to the nearest health pack that was hanging over the jumpseats. "What kind of fucking- Is this an emergency landing?"
"Yes!" You bolt back to the cockpit and slam the door closed, sealing it off. You brace yourself as best you can between the back wall of the cockpit and the dashboard, and lean over the Spartan. The turbulence makes opening the damn health pack difficult with one hand, and the Spartan snatches it away from you. She gives a shout of pain as she brings her knees up to the yoke to keep it steadier with her hands gone. She opens it and throws its contents at you. She brings her arms back up to steer the pelican, but extends her leg out to give you more access to her gut. Thank goodness the wound was on her right, otherwise this would be a lot harder. You were no medic, but by feeling around you could tell the wound was just below her ribs. Infection, possibly. Lungs full of fluid, probably not. One of those things you could work with. You pressed around the wound and saw the bullet.
"Holy shit" you accidentally say out loud. Stuck there in her side was the back end of a 40mm bullet from a chain gun. There were too many things about that to be astounded over. How did she only get hit ONCE? How did it not take a chunk of her with it? You were no medic, but surely the damage should be worse than a hole that doesn't even go clean through! You pull yourself together and grab the forceps with your teeth. You reach up with one hand to quickly take it out of its packaging and slowly begin to pull the bullet out. It was shattered, but... "Your armor... melted this bullet."
"Buckle up, NOW!" Her hand sideswiped you so hard it threw you onto the co-pilot seat. You got strapped in and noticed just how close the ground-
"Oh my god-" you remembered to bite down on the mouth piece in your helmet just seconds before your seats ejected. You were BARELY two-hundred feet off the ground, if the parachute stuck for even a second, if it didn't open right, if there was a downdraft, if gravity on this planet was stronger- the parachute opened with a whoosh, and as soon as the jolt was over you spit out the mouthpiece. You might throw up.
"Over there, there's a clearing." Even she was breathing hard. Shining Bastard II crashed into the soil, sending thin waves of it out either side. The ship fishtailed and rolled, tumbling until it wedged itself in an abrupt stop against something in the distance. It was blocked by dense trees, of some kind.
"Yeah. Yeah." How did she synch her coms to your helmet? WHEN did she? You followed her long spiral down to the clearing. When you landed, you fell flat on your face. Your legs were shaking so much you were completely unprepared to stand, much less run when you hit the ground. This time, you did not have the foresight to bite the mouthpiece. Your eyes watered and you tasted blood. Your nose was fucked, probably. You rolled over, covered in chords, and saw the Spartan standing over you.
"If you're going to slow me down, stay here." You immediately stick your hand out, but she scoffs and begins walking towards the crash. You decide to lay there a bit longer. Okay, this is so far above your paygrade.