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Heller's day could have been described as a waking nightmare. He reckoned that at least his years as a Helljumper probably bought him some time. Like his ma and pa used to say, quitting just wasn't in their family tree. Try as he might, he couldn't see much light at the end of the tunnel through today.

He was alone now, drifting through endless and silent purple corridors of a shattered Covenant cruiser, dimly running on whatever emergency power it had left. He almost couldn’t tell which way was up, and the organic artisan curvature of Covenant tech did him no favors.

His day had started normally. Up before dawn by Earth time, rounds at the gym to wake up and keep in shape, firing range to keep his aim sharp, talk shit with squad mates, rinse and repeat until it was go time. Only problem being that go time had been green lit for a month now without any action.

Restlessness plagued him and the crew of the Triumphant. It was the waiting. They were on route to a distress call from the Outer Colonies. Everyone on board knew what that meant. They’d probably arrive to a charred and dead planet, ruined and silent Navy ships in orbit, and contacts rapidly approaching as they exited Slipspace.

It had been worse than that. They were caught with their pants downs during Slipspace travel. Covenant ships had the capability of operating weapons and other systems in the realm that broke traditional Newtonian physics. It was only ever a question if the ship had either an intelligent or ballsy Shipmaster aboard to try it.

By the time they emergency shifted back to real space, the Triumphant was redlining. Heller wasn’t anywhere near the bridge when it all went down, but he pieced it together. By the time the Triumphant was gutted, it was on a trajectory that couldn’t be stopped. The impact broke the cruiser’s shields, and a point blank MAC round gutted the midsection of the ship and split the beast in two.

Both ships went silent and drifted separate ways into the vacuum. Heller’s life was spared solely because he was part of a boarding party trying to buy some time. His Pelican had slipped through the failing shields and hangar defenses as he watched the Triumphant ram the cruiser. Plan A had hoped they could take over the bridge in a suicide blitz. It’s what Helljumpers did. There was no plan B, which was why he was alone now.

He had ninety minutes of oxygen left, only if he paced himself. His plan was to see if he could find salvageable craft. His problem was that Covenant ships were huge. Their pension for artistry and non-utilitarian nature didn’t help. No green traffic lights to tell him where to go. Not even stop signs written in alien gibberish.

He had more problems than just oxygen. Like the fact there were a few others on the ship who were still breathing it in their own cozy little spacesuits. Heller’s strong suit wasn’t zero gravity combat. That golden trophy went to the Covenant, as much as he despised to admit it. They’d always dominated the black void above worlds.

The few survivors he encountered, luckily were panicked Grunts. Nothing he couldn’t handle with a bit of patience and half a clip of lead to break through the carapace-like skin of the stocky little fuckers. They were still clever though, sometimes. Paranoia nagged at him as he drifted through the silent corridors, passing motionless bodies and floating pools of coagulated blood. They knew how to play dead.

He kept his breath slow even as panic and fear played tricks on him. Thinking he saw a corpse move to take aim, or hearing what he thought was a sound despite the uncomfortable vacuum around him. Just his labored breathing and the slow creep of fog on his visor.

He passed through corridor after corridor, flickering lights and jammed doors sliding open and closed as they blinked red lights on low power. Sections of the hull were blown apart by power conduits having overloaded, revealing the black void of space beyond. There was barely even starlight outside. He had to admit, it might’ve been hell to wake up to, human or alien.

As he came across another set of mangled corridors, it turned out to be a frustrating dead end. Crushed hallways and sealed doors. He was about to turn back when the door on his right flickered back to its usual blue hues for a moment. His rifle searched for a target as he clumsily worked his way towards the door. He was thankful that the vacuum concealed the sound of his mag-boots.

Hairs stood up on his neck and arms, and somewhere he said to himself that he should just leave it be. His motion tracker pinged thousands of dots, drifting scrap and bodies in the void. The lights flickered on the door before going dark. He kept his sights on the door as he backpedaled slowly before blue streaked the corners of his vision to burn white hot against the door in front of him.

He swore and rolled instinctively to the side, the motion awkward and uncontrolled, saved only by his mag-boots latching to the floor. His rifle bore on the target down the long halls as more plasma streaked past him by inches. Behind floating debris he caught the silhouette of a white armored Elite. Fuck.

Helljumper training and nearly a decade’s worth of drops had burned most of the fear away. But alone against one of those white clad Elites meant he was dealing with special ops. They didn’t fuck around, more than regular hinge-heads, and could take a whole squad of ODST’s with their bare hands most of the time. There still was a notion of fear that this might be it.

He unloaded down the hallway and the sizeable alien flattened itself behind a door frame as it retreated into another hallway behind it, its shields flaring blue. This was his chance. He pushed off the floor and turned his mag-boots off, hoping his trajectory was on point. If he could just get back to the junction before the dead end, he could run.

He wasn’t going to end up like everybody else on the Triumphant, or this ship. One hand scrambled to pull himself through the void along the hallway wall faster, the other keeping his rifle bared on that doorway, even if the Elite was now standing sideways on the floor due to his positioning.

Plasma seared past him ghostly silent as the alien leaned out of cover to fire. Another burst from his rifle flared its shields and pushed it back down. Half a clip or more to drain that thing’s shields down to half and one only shot close enough to him would rupture his suit and kill him.

Heller’s visor flashed as it defogged itself. His oxygen reading went down by an entire minute when he inhaled at the sight of the junction as he crashed violently into another corridor. Every doorway had gone dark with loss of power. The only way out was forwards, the one with the fucking Elite in it. He was trapped.

Vital monitors had spiked. Adrenaline and heart rate were uncontrollable now. His HUD showed twenty minutes of oxygen left. It wouldn’t be long before the Elite used its superior speed and strength to get in close and finish him. He muttered a silent prayer under his breath for ma and pa. Fuck that. Not without a fight.

Motion tracker didn’t ping the Elite moving down the corridor. His empty clip floated away as he slipped his last one into his AR. One grenade on him. Not much use unless he was close. Couldn’t risk bouncing the nade and missing it.

His mind was racing and he was freezing up. He needed to move. An old memory flashed buy in fragments. Naked and slick with sweat, she took a long drag on a contraband cigar. Blonde hair, beautiful greens for eyes.

“Be nice if people could just talk shit out, Heller. Bet we could solve a lot more problems if the Innies stopped blowing other people up.”

Dead on some battlefield a long time ago. What would she say now? Maybe he was crazy for thinking it. He had to try. You didn’t get to wear white armor in the Covenant by being a dumbass. Unless you were devout as hell, if Heller got that right. Devout and smart usually didn’t fit. He opened all frequencies on his comms. He peeked the corner, rifle ready to pop out. He tried to steady his voice.

“Hey you! Down by the door there! I know you’re pinging this. Just hear me out.”

Heller waited anxiously in silence. No reply, but then he wasn't expecting one in the form of words. The one he was expecting never showed up either. He spoke again.

“Just…listen to me. All this right here right now is pointless. There's no fight here. There's nothing left here!”

Static.

“I’ve got nothing left. But you do. What, family? A home somewhere? Just let me walk away and you’ll get to see them again.”

He nearly pushed his rifle forward to fire as the Elite’s domed helmet poked from behind the door frame. He felt it watching him from behind the visor.

“Great Journey, right? That’s what they call it? Is killing one human going to get you that ticket in? You’ve probably already killed enough to make the cut. Just let me go die somewhere else, not here.”

Heller readied his rifle, tensing on the trigger. The passing silence was unbearable, but he waited. The Elite broke from its cover and came barreling towards him down the hallway in quick strides. He screamed at it.

“Fuck you!”

He unloaded his clip, throwing the emptied rifle at it for good measure, its shield flaring as it brushed the rifle aside like a toy. Reaching for his grenade, he pulled the pin, holding it up towards the Elite. It stopped in mid stride, desperately scrambling to stop from colliding with him. Heller’s smile was manic.

“Come on you big fucker!”

The Elite stayed frozen, a semblance of its gaze piercing its shrouded helmet. Cold and intelligent eyes. A roughly meter long white hot blade had materialized from one of its gauntlets. The alien’s arm stayed raised, ready to strike. Heller let out a slow chuckle.

“Not so eager to go now, are you!? Get me to a hanger bay!”

Heller’s grip on the grenade loosened in the still that followed. That blade would cut his head clean off in less than a second. The Elite maybe even would have been fast enough to do it before the nerve impulses reached his hand. Plasma dissipated into mist as the blade deactivated, and with a nod, the Elite slowly turned its back to him.

He stayed close behind, tense on the grenade, keeping an eye on the left arm of the alien where that blade could still materialize at any moment. It walked silently forwards. The alien’s head tilted back at him as it walked.

It wasn't in a combat stance, but it was still intimidating as the creature towered over him. He could barely make out the ugly features of its face through the helmet. A sneering, angry, and distinctly feminine voice cut through his ears like a knife. The word was said with some effort, but clearly the Elite knew its way around English.

“Coward.”

Heller held the grenade closer to the Elite.

“Been a real bad day so far, try me. Walk faster.”

The Elite continued onward in silence, Heller staying close. In a tight situation with the Elite, he doubted he could pull the pin out in time if he slipped it back in, so he clutched it white knuckled. Were it any other day, the revelation of the Elite's sex would have disgustingly shocked him.

He might even be the first human to document a female of their species in a combat role, which would have prompted him to kill it as soon as possible with as much prejudice as possible. Not today. There was too much bloodshed, too much of everything, and all he wanted to do was just leave everything behind. He needed to make it home.

The two continued in silence, passing corpses and shattered hallways, devoid of the life that once lived in them. The silence was getting to Heller. Nervously, he checked his HUD. Twelve minutes of air left. If he didn't find a way out soon, the Elite could simply wait until he suffocated. Paranoia pricked him. Did she know? No. He wasn’t going to let it happen. He brushed the grenade against the Elite’s shoulder for emphasis.

“How far are we from a hangar bay?”

The Elite stalked on quietly, and after some delay she answered back. He could tell she was sneering under the helmet. She had a way of conveying such venom in her words.

“Eager to flee, like the rest of your cowardly species?”

Bad enough being in this wretched shithole of a graveyard, but having such a companion to accompany Heller through it was an insult.

“Tell you what lady, I'll let you in on a secret. I've got maybe ten minutes of air left. If I'm not in a ship and out of here by the time I'm out, I'm making sure you go to hell with me.”

He prodded the back of her for good measure. She snorted in response.

“Your filth of a species will never survive, even if you run all the way back to your lair, we will find you!”

Heller shoved her harder to get her moving. She continued forward, but kept up the verbal attack.

“You flee because you are not worthy! Your kind will never be worthy of the Great Journey!”

He kicked the Elite in the back awkwardly with a snarl, sending her sprawling forward. Before she could completely recover, he was on top of her, wrapping one hand over her neck while holding the grenade up to her faceplate. He spoke in a serene calm that boiled over to rage.

“You want to go on a journey, huh? How about I paste your insides all over this ship!?”

He could barely make out her eyes through the tinted faceplate, sharp greens. They were scanning, analyzing the situation, looking for a weakness to exploit. Snake eyes. He could tell she was choosing what came next carefully. And then, without venom or hate and barely audible through his comms,

“You do not wish to die. You would rather die in the company of your kin than here. You wish to run, never to look back.”

Despite being a head and a half taller than him, her voice struck a chord in him, like that of a lover speaking in the afterglow of sex. Had she been human, she’d have commanded attention and intrigue. The subtle delicateness to her voice threw him off guard, and in his moment of weakness, she caught him.

Her hand enveloped his, crushing it and keeping him from letting go of the trigger on the grenade. In zero-g she pried him off effortlessly, twisting his arm and spinning him into a bulkhead. A minute lost on his oxygen timer as he wheezed from being winded. Her other hand gripped his neck. The venom had returned to her words.

“You do not have much time left. I can hold you here and watch.”

Pinned and his one trump card out of the question. Six minutes left, maybe seven if he held his breath. He hoped the manic smile that crept across his features was visible through his helmet as he laughed. He pressed his boots to the chest of the Elite, hard. His free hand lashed out for that faceplate. Bone shattered in his hand as her energy shields flared with each strike. She snarled back something guttural.

Heller got the reaction he needed. Her left hand was her primary, the one with the energy blade in the gauntlet. In order to kill him painfully she’d need to let his grenade go. Another blow and her faceplate cracked, causing her to reel back. She retracted her grip to ignite that blade, and he pushed off and away as he left behind his ace in the hole to float alongside her.

He spun wildly through the hallway through another doorway as he could see the visible shockwaves rattle the damaged frame of the ship and feel a reverberating thump in his suit and bones. His momentum carried him into the ruins of a hangar bay, its ceiling open and spilled to the black beyond. He finally stopped when he hit a wall.

He spit blood when he felt his shoulder dislocate on the wall. Three minutes. Red icons flashed on his visor. Through the floating wreckage he made out a shape that could only mean ma and pa had his back. It looked like a Covenant bomber, a Seraph. Bulkier yet ornate. He didn’t give a shit what it was, other than salvation.

He pushed off the wall and nearly bounced off the hull of the craft, wincing as every little movement was like sticking a knife into his arm socket and scraping. His implanted IVs administered pain meds, but they wouldn’t kick in before he ran out of breathable air. He frantically searched for a port, and found a paneled hologram instead.

The hologram was an Elite’s hand. He smashed his down onto it, and if flashed red. He grit his teeth with tears. Fuck. One minute and forty five. He searched for where he'd come from. He pushed off the ship and back towards the hallway. He could feel the thinness of the air he breathed.

The Elite was floating as dead weight in the vacuum. Half her armor was blackened and scarred to the face that took the shrapnel. Little streams of air hissed silently through the cracked helmet. He took hold of her arm and clumsily tried to drag her with him, muttering as every movement was hampered by her uncontrolled motions and momentum.

“Get what you pay for, amen. Hope your journey was worth it.”

He was starting to wheeze now. He was light headed. Two bodies crashed off the hull of the ship. His oxygen feed slowed its output to try and make empty stretch a mile. He wasn’t particularly devout, but thanked god twice over as the hologram flashed blue to the Elite’s touch, and the rear of the craft opened like some purple flower to reveal the interior.

He’d still need to figure out how to power up the ship, seal it and let the pressure and atmosphere equalize. The raw math checked out, even if he didn’t bother looking at the timer that showed all zeroes. He gulped one last unsatisfyingly small breath, staring at the Elite as her body floated in the vacuum.

He stared longer than he should have. All he could think about was the softness to her tone when she had spoken without ire. Crazy fool. He was going crazy, that or oxygen starved. He reached out and pulled her into the craft. His motions were clumsy and distant as he tried to search the panels to start the ship.

A blinking panel caught his eyes from what seemed like miles. He reached and reached, lungs burning as they held the last in them, wanting to expel and take in more. But there wasn’t. That was enough, he thought. He’d done enough. A bed and sleep sounded good enough to him.

He’d dreamed of the last twenty four hours. Faces and people on replay. But the dream wasn’t smooth. It transitioned like a blur. He knew he was dreaming. And every time the dream shifted and he found himself in a new one, he tried to recall the previous one, to his dismay and difficulty.

Once or twice as he was talking to various crew, he realized they were dead. He called them out on it. They only laughed it off. Laughed at him when he tried to sip some coffee but dropped his cup from a shooting pain that went down his arm. The cup didn’t drop to the floor, but spun slowly suspended in the air. Coagulated purple and blue blood floated away from the cup.

He reached out to get the cup. Ahead of the cup, a blinking panel. It was so far away. He stretched to reach it, feeling his body contort like rubber to his astonishment, and he pressed the panel. The panel felt like skin. Warm. Soft but oddly bumpy and grooved. Like rough leather and scales, yet supple.

He opened his eyes slowly. He recognized the black furnished interior of the pod. Curves of stylized purple metal alloys of unknown composition. The craft hummed with life. Beside him sat the Elite, fit snugly into a pilot chair. She worked away at holographic controls. Heller lay still and watched.

Helmet gone, one side of her face was blackened and scarred deep purple. The side facing him had either lost an eye or it was swollen shut. He was strapped into a chair himself. He fumbled with the latch across his chest, wincing in pain when the broken fingers in his right hand reminded him that they were in fact broken.

It caught the Elite’s attention, the side of her head that wasn’t scarred showed itself. Green snake eye. It scanned him intently. He couldn’t read the expression across her split jaw. A purple sliver of metal floated above the corner of Heller’s vision.

A shank he could use, if he wanted. Her eye caught his tracing it, and her mandibles stiffened as she appeared to talk stiffly with some difficulty.

“Kill me and you won’t be able to fly this ship. If I had wanted you dead, it would be as such.”

She returned to working the holograms with nimble hands and gestures. Heller merely watched. He could barely even say if he was alive. Maybe that was the pain meds. She hardly looked it either. He smiled meekly at the thought, watching the Elite’s deft hands work blue and purple holograms, something pristine in her movements. Not really an afterlife he was expecting. But it could be worse. Much worse.

A long sigh parted the alien’s mandibles as her hands came to rest. There was a jolt of vertigo and brief pressure as Heller assumed the craft was moving. No windows to see, oddly. Her head turned to catch his gaze again.

“A slingshot around this system’s star will help us on our way. I may return to other tasks now.”

Heller simply watched.

“And those are?”

Heller had seen an Elite smile once. What counted as a smile on four mouthparts, at least. A war prisoner. Escaped confinement, killed half a deck’s worth of crew before being put down. It was the smile of one content in death and duty. The smile he observed now didn’t send shivers down his spine.

“Questioning you, and perhaps mending your injuries.”

Heller snorted.

“I didn't know you cared. Maybe your questions come with a bit of torture, huh?”

She was quick to reply, mandibles stiffening.

“I do not. There shall be no torture. A heretic you may be, but your words heralded a truth to them. Now so too am I a heretic, and one that owes her life to you.”

She bowed her snakelike head momentarily, eye closing as if in deep thought.

“I am shamed twice today. Failing in my duty on the battlefield, and in sparing your life. I must know why you spared mine. The soldiers of your rank are not known for such mercies.”

Half her armor was blackened from the grenade. Shrapnel punctured and embedded into it. He gulped air down and thought about it. Heller struggled with the thoughts. Deep down, he already knew there was some kind of answer, as insane as it might be.

“I don’t…..know.”

Her eye opened to study him again, head tilted inquisitively. He huffed in frustration.

“Look, I had the choice to leave you there. But in the hallway, you said something…. That’s it.”

She nodded impassively. Heller winced as he realized his hand was clenched. The pain meds wouldn’t last forever. He still had a dislocated shoulder. His good hand reached for the straps across his chest, fumbling with the latch.

He felt like a complete idiot trying to work the latch, doubled when the Elite reached for him. Never mind passing an IQ test to take off a fancy seatbelt, he was doing it in front of a seven foot tall genocidal alien. Out of instinct or irritation, he pushed her hand away gently.

“Let me do it.”

She relented, waiting. Few seconds longer and he popped the latch to freedom. He sighed out of embarrassment. Decades of planetary drops and this was the time to get stuck in his chair. He smiled at her meekly.

“Guess I know why you guys want my kind dead, huh?”

There it was again. Tightened mandibles. Tensing at the base upwards to mimic a smile.

“A Jiralhanae would have ripped the chair out by now. Unggoy would have wined for a Huragok.”

Heller chuckled.

“So you’ve got stupid ones too huh?”

He groaned as he pushed himself out of the chair to float further into the craft. His helmet unlatched and he discarded it to float aimlessly away. The Elite had turned back to the controls. He didn’t know if he could call it mutual trust or building bridges. The fact she turned her back on him spoke loudly. He was going to need a semblance of trust for what was coming.

“Hey…. I need help. I need my armor off. My shoulder’s dislocated.”

The auxiliary pieces came off easy enough. Popping the seals that kept him vacuum rated needed two hands. He needed the top gone, at minimum. She floated to him slowly. He motioned with his good hand.

“Here. There. At the back.”

She was quick about it, despite having hands nearly twice the size of his own. The top portions of his suit drifted away, leaving only the conforming protective undersuit and latch points. He felt exposed in her presence. He stared at her intently.

“I’ll need you to line it and pop it back in. You know how to do that?”

Her expression was that of sternness as she nodded. Even the touch of her hand to his shoulder sent fiery pins through his arm. He gritted his teeth together and nodded. He’d have struggled on his own to do this. An experienced medic might have made it look like a cakewalk. Her strength made his arm feel like a toy in her grip.

His good hand latched onto her chest plate as he winced and exhaled sharply with the resounding pop of bone. It was done. His eyes opened. The one eye he could stare at loomed above him. Green like after a rain. The hums of the ship snapped Heller back as the wounds across her face became apparent.

“Never mind me, how about I return the favor?”

Tilted head and puzzled expression before she realized what he meant.

“You’ve shamed me enough today.”

“If I don’t pull that shrapnel out of you it’ll poison you.”

Her mandibles tightened up, singular eye narrowed sharply. Her voice reverberated with disdain at pronouncing doctor.

“To have my enemy act as a wretched doctor….”

Heller chuckled.

“I’m not a doc, so it doesn’t count. Besides, we’ve both probably done enough to go to hell anyway. What’s one more sin against however many codes of honor you broke today?”

The Elite was silent for a time before she spoke again.

“If you insist.”

He’d not noticed his hand still clutching her armor until now. The parting was awkward and stiff as he let go. He was thankful she had more mobility than him at present. Her battered armor came off with ease without his aid. He floated aimlessly, taking notes on where he needed to check across her body.

Most of her undersuit was intact, save the side that took the blast. The suit had sealed itself with something above her hips to stop depressurizing. He found himself watching ever more intently as more was revealed. The torso armor unlatched, the unmistakable outline and heft of breasts. The undersuit was tight. Ripple lines in the middle of them.

It must have been some kind of joke. He was dead and this was hell. She had the body of a soldier. He could see the muscle in her arms, across her stomach. Tightened sinews, skin that clung close to her bones. Her figure was undeniable. And then she looked up.

His grim face with its dusty red hair and blue eyes grew flushed. He blinked, trying to refocus somewhere else, thankful that the bottom portion of his suit was still on. Her armor joined his in the floating mess. His rucksack pre-occupied him only briefly. Thread, needle, tweezers, disinfectant, biofoam.

He exhaled slowly, trying to get it together. Wouldn’t happen. It couldn’t. Three, four hours ago? She tried to decapitate him. Likely butchered other soldiers. Maybe even his squad mates. He retorted to himself however, he too was guilty of the same.

He floated over to the Elite slowly, coming to rest not far from her. A quick glance, marking what looked like the worst wounds. He wanted to make sure she was ready for this before he started.

“You sure about this? No take backs halfway through, we either do this, or don't.”

Her arms crossed loosely as she let herself float, nodding in what he could only assume was resignation and some form of indignity. It really meant a lot to her, he could see. He pointed to her mandibles and neck.

“I’ll start up there. Work down. Frags are lead based. You will die if I don’t get it all out. I know your people are big on death and glory. No glory in lead poisoning.”

She stayed silent and still as he began to work. It was difficult with one arm. Zero-g at least made it easier. It was a slow process, made all the more difficult by her skin. A unique light sandy shade he rarely saw on Elites. He wanted to say scales, but the texture didn’t feel right. It was thick for certain. But that dulled the pain. She barely even flinched. The trouble came as he worked downwards below her neck.

Those undersuits were bulletproof to a certain degree. A needle wouldn’t pierce. He tried thinking of ways to frame it to her, and that just raised more questions. Elites didn’t seem to give a shit if they were naked and waist deep in sewage. But all he’d ever known were soldiers. Males. Her mandibles twitched and she turned her head in order to see him. It was like she read his mind.

“I’ll need to remove more. There is more damage further down.”

Heller nodded. He tried to remain focused and impartial as the suit split down the middle of her back and she slid out of the top portion. Even predominantly facing her back his eyes stopped to admire. Shoulder plates. The arch of her spine. Her breasts were perfectly tantalizing at this angle as they hung freely. He shook his head. Eyes on the prize. He spoke as he began to work at her shoulder.

“You don’t take kindly to doctors, but you know what they are.”

She spoke with difficulty as he pulled a large sliver out of purple flesh.

“Lesser species use them…. Other Keeps may practice it, although shunned. A true warrior overcomes mortal wounds, or they do not.”

“Lesser species huh? You think that way about anything that’s not your kind?”

He knew she was looking at him as he worked.

“No. Honor is not about what you are, but whom. Your starship’s crew….”

“Died pointlessly.”

“Died with valor. It is….seemingly a staple of most of your kind.”

Bits of shrapnel floated away with rivulets of purple blood. Down to her ribcage. He tried to focus more on the work now, but the conversation was going places.

“Tell it to the dead. I gotta ask something. If I’m removing your honor by doing this, why let me?”

“You and I are the only witnesses, besides the Gods. You chose to save my life. I am indebted to you. Perhaps in that way, I can restore my honor. Perhaps that is how the Gods deign it.”

Her skin was a unique sensation. The warmth prompted him to brush against it from time to time as he worked. She didn’t react, except tense muscles when the needle pierced.

“I’m dying to ask here. You’re the first chick I’ve ever seen.”

“Chick?”

“Female. We know some Jackals are. Don’t even want to ask about some of the others.”

“In the Writ of Union it is expressed that Sangheili females are forbidden from combat, under very strict circumstances.”

“Guessing you’re an exception then.”

She spoke not with bile, but resignation.

“I would have been. My heresy now stains that legacy. So long as you travel with me, it shall mark me for death amongst The Covenant.”

“So, what does that mean? You don't know where we're going?”

She gasped as he poked the needle through to start closing another wound.

“Yes. I believe it would be best that we stay out of Covenant territory, as well as your territory. The universe is vast.”

He’d not thought about that. Home would be a difficult prospect. Suicide for her. Suicide for him if she brought him anywhere her kooky species called home. That begged the question then. How would this end?

“Guessing we’ll be stuck together a while. Got a name?”

“T'soona Dasumee.”

Heller finished sealing up the last wound with a line of biofoam, watching as small purple globules of blood floated away. Her eye caught his as he straightened up.

“Heller. Take a look at your eye?”

Her mandibles tightened up some.

“No, I will carry this scar of my failure with me, as the rest.”

Even with one eye he found himself staring into it. But he had more questions. He watched her closely as he asked.

“I need to know something. My ship was answering a distress call. The world we were headed to…”

Her expression was hard to read as she nodded it to him. There was no sugar coating it with her. He saw it in her eye. She was there.

“Gone, yes.”

Part of him wanted to lash out at her. She was, and maybe still was the enemy. The longer he locked his gaze though, the more it dissipated, replaced with something else. There was guilt on his part too.

“How many did you know aboard your ship? How many died today?”

She understood what he was trying, he could see it.

“More than I care to resign to the afterlife. Five thousand, or more.”

“And we’re the only two left.”

There was a gravity to that. He felt hot. Her eye drifted over to the control console briefly.

“We approach the star. Several hours to slingshot, then I can engage the impulse drive.”

Heller’s eyes stayed locked onto hers. The portion of her suit undone drifted lazily at the corners of his vision. He was freezing up. A knot in his gut. He was screaming inside. He wanted to. He knew it. T’soona broke the frozen still, motioning to his hand.

“It is damaged, is it not?”

Heller stammered briefly.

“Yeah. I can uh, fix it. I’ve got…stuff in my pack.”

He turned away but her voice followed him.

“For what it is worth, I hope the crew of your starship? That they too can partake in the Great Journey.”

Heller was caught off guard.

“Yeah. I am too.”

He picked a corner of the ship to settle in, collecting his things. He watched her quietly redress from the back. No armor, just the undersuit. She returned to the controls of the ship, leaving him alone.

Fractured bones, he thought. Biofoam coated his hand in a layer a few millimeters thick. It’d harden into a cast shortly. He’d be useless for a while. His rucksack had food in it. He busied himself with a protein bar for some time. That was another problem. How far were they traveling? How long? Was there enough supplies to make it?

To where, he thought. The Elite, T’soona had plotted the course, but hadn’t told him anything. She could be headed towards the heart of the Covenant for all he knew. He ran a hand through his hair, closing his eyes. The temperature was rising inside the ship. They must have been passing close to that star then.

He had to trust her. She could have left him to die as well. She was intelligent, cunning, but no liar. Beautiful as well. Heller recoiled at that intrusive thought. Or was it truly intrusive? She was a soldier. Disciplined. Clearly tough as nails. Intelligent but not as dogmatic as he’d expected.

If he didn’t apply genocide to the equation, he could say that he respected her immediately. He’d killed his fair share though. It wasn’t genocide, but he’d been cruel out of spite. Everybody was going to hell then.

Wouldn’t be a Helljumper then, would he? He just might get there a bit later than the rest, depending on things. He might die in this ship of starvation if the trip was too long. He pushed it aside, dozing off as it began to feel like summer.

The heat woke him. It was too hot in his gear. Sweat clung to his forehead, drifting off in beads if he ran a hand through his hair. T’soona remained in the pilot’s chair, resting he assumed. He spoke tiredly.

“How long was I out for?”

“We’re halfway through the maneuver around the star. A few hours.”

The lower half of his suit unclasped and unlatched with one hand. That just left the techsuit he wore. It was a useful climate buffer, but not a miracle worker if he wasn’t sealed and airtight. He’d be wanting to slip out of it soon. Sooner than later, he decided.

“Hey, T’soona. I need a hand. It’s too hot.”

He motioned to his back. She understood, clambering out from her chair and drifting to him slowly. Her lithe neck gleamed. She was warm too. He spun slowly around. Each clasp undone exposing skin as the suit parted put him at ease somewhat. T’soona wasn’t as deft as before though. He took the time to ask.

“Where are we going?”

“A remote star system within range. We do not have enough power to use the slipspace engine. We’ll need to use the impulse drive and perform slingshots.”

Another clasp undone. Her suited fingers brushed the skin of his shoulder. He closed his eyes to the touch.

“And what’s there?”

“It is sparse Covenant space, a mining colony. We can repair and refuel there, if we make it.”

Another clasp undone lower. She was near the belt at his waist.

“That’s what I thought. Food?”

“If we ration it, yes. If the calculations are correct on our jumps and slingshots, yes. This is a luxury craft. It’s not meant for such travel. Only short distances.”

He motioned to his front side.

“I can’t get the front undone. There’s a chance we’ll die then, isn’t there?”

Her arms snaked around his hips to clasp the front belt, larger hands fumbling the straps somewhat. Even with the undersuit he felt her body against his back, felt her breasts compress. The delays caused her to brush against his already growing erection. He didn’t say anything. Neither did she.

“Yes, there is a chance. What did you say earlier? Poisoning is not an honorable death? Starvation is equally disdainful.”

Heller laughed nervously as her hands left to return to his backside. It conjured an interesting picture. An Elite pridefully starving to death. The last clasp unlatched. He could slip out now. He spun slowly around to face her, locking eyes.

“What happens then?”

Her mandibles parted briefly. She stared at him dead on.

“Kill me before it gets that far. Spare me the indignity of it.”

She blinked, watching him closely.

“What of yourself? Would you wish anything of me?”

Her breath was hot on his face. He could wish something, yes. Say it. Do it. He shook his head.

“I’ll blow the hatch and space myself. I’ll think of something.”

That green snake eye bore into him. Studying, calculating. But there was something tender behind it. There was a lump in his throat.

“Wait, yeah. I could ask something.”

Her face was impassive, hard to read, but her head tilted just slightly out of curiosity. Heller almost folded under that gaze of hers. It was like iron. And he was sure she knew it. He was sure she felt what he did, as wrong as it may be. God, and it turned him on. Fuck it.

“You know what I want?”

It seemed like a predator emerged from her. Her mandibles flexed, gaze locked on his.

“Soldiers want a lot of things before they die.”

Heller’s heart spiked. It was like a game of tug of war. Who would be the first to fold? Heller reached out, grabbing one of her wrists to no resistance. Her hand splayed out across his chest. He lowered it slowly, stopping at his abdomen.

“Sometimes they want the same things, yeah?”

Her hand moved of its own accord now, below the waistline, digits pressed to the bulge at his crotch. Hairs stood up on him. A shiver down his exposed backside. The way she pressed at just the tip….

He leaned in close. It wasn’t as smooth as he was hoping for. His lips brushed against the four tips of her mandibles. She exhaled sharply in response, retracting her hand and leaving him wanting. Her eyes were inches from his. Of the one he could see, her pupil dilated sharply. They both froze, floating together until she broke the silence. It was a heavy whisper.

“Much has gone wrong on this day. I have committed so many blasphemies. I fail to understand how this feels so right…”

His inability to properly kiss her spurned a certain hunger in him. He brushed his lips at her mandible tips again, taking one into his mouth between his teeth. The moan T’soona let out was laced with ecstasy. His suit was unbearably tight and hot now. Heller spoke raggedly.

“It isn’t right. It just doesn’t matter anymore.”

T’soona folded. Both hands clasped his head, fingers parting through his hair. She could crush his skull like a watermelon, instead parting her mandibles to engulf Heller’s jaw. Something pressed against his lips. Hot and prehensile. He let her tongue in to explore his.

Whatever convictions there were to be had seemed to shatter now. T’soona’s breath grew heavy with want. One of her hands slipped to his backside, down his spine. She gripped his ass tightly, pulling him in. His own free hand had begun explorations. He felt the stiffness of nipples even under the suit, squeezing and fondling her.

Her moans were sharp and short, spurring him on. His cock was slick. The strange kiss parted with saliva strands drifting between them while their gazes locked for a momentary breather. Heller smiled all teeth between ragged breaths.

“You know how to speak my language pretty good. You know what I want?”

Both of T’soona’s hands were now working slowly to begin peeling Heller out of his suit, starting at the shoulders. She was transfixed on him.

“Do not play coy with me, Heller….”

“Yeah. I wanna fuck you….make you scream….”

With more force than expected, T’soona tugged on Heller’s suit. It slid away and drifted aimless as she threw it aside, leaving Heller completely naked. Sweat and pre-cum drifted off his skin. The alien predator in T’soona emerged again. Forcefully, but not enough to hurt him, she pushed him against a bulkhead.

The air in the ship was hot but the metal was cold. Drifting in zero-g made him feel vulnerable. Her gaze was razor sharp. She floated away from him briefly, only to undo her own suit. Heller watched as each tantalizing inch of her was revealed. Alien to be sure, but it looked like they were a match.

Her nipples protruded from slits, dark purple. Between her thighs, dark purple folds, shining and slick. Her entire body glistened in sweat. Muscled and toned, curves in all the right places. She drifted towards him now, but winced slightly. The wounds on her side. He’d have to be gentle with her.

The skin to skin contact was electric to him. The bones of her ribcage pressing to his. Her nipples brushed his own. The tip of his cock brushed her thighs. Another deep kiss as she engulfed him to break it off. Both her hands clasped his head once more as she eyed him hungrily.

“I want you to mount me…”

His free hand trailed across the skin of her back, enticing a moan as his fingers danced down her spine. His fingers practically sunk into her tight yet soft ass.

“Not so different….huh?”

He shuddered as one of her hands brushed his cock. He felt the heat coming from her cunt as she guided him. He moaned as he slipped into hot folds. Tight but already slick. He closed his eyes, mouth agape as she hilted, mandibles flaring. Her dual hearts hammered against his ribcage.

Heller pushed off the bulkhead. They drifted slowly away in a spin. Her digigrade legs locked around his hips. Her folds gripped him tightly, squeezing, wanting. The two breathed ragged breaths together, drifting and bathing in the ecstasy of it.

T’soona’s forehead pressed to his. She spoke hotly.

“Ship…. Display port activate.”

Large inactive panels above the controls came to life. Filtered images, they displayed the surface of the star they were skimming. Bands of fire hundreds of thousands of miles arced above them.

He was still hard. Every movement gave him ripples of pleasure. He pulled T’soona close, holding her. He watched the star with her. Her mandibles tugged at his lower lip. He gingerly ran a hand along the scars on her side. Not gentle enough. Her gasp of pain made him flinch. But it was beautiful, coming from her. She spoke softly.

“Why did you spare my life?”

He didn’t have an answer.

“I don’t know. You spared mine too. Could’ve let me suffocate.”

He sucked on a nipple, biting carefully. With enough pressure his tongue could force it back into its warm slit. T’soona’s mandibles twitched with a long moan. Her body tensed, cunt putting more pressure on him. Her hands dug into the skin of his back. Pain spiraled from his shoulder briefly as he flinched. They drifted quietly for a time in their coupled embrace. He spoke first.

“I don’t want to die in this pod.”

He listened to her steady heartbeats against his chest. The soldier in her came out through her gaze.

“That shall not happen.”

“What happens if we make it? We just, what, part ways?”

“I believe the Gods brought us together for a reason.”

Heller huffed.

“I hope it wasn’t to make kids. I uh…”

T’soona felt it. The warmth pooling inside of her. Clenched tight to milk all of it, still burning hot. She felt vertigo. It soon passed.

“I studied enough about your species to know we share no genetic compatibilities.”

“Guess that’s a plus.”

Her hands traced the contours of his jawline as she eyed him closely.

“Indeed, as I want more.”

He smiled warmly.

“Yeah. Me too.”

Their embrace lasted for the duration of the slingshot around the star. Heller and T’soona eventually fell asleep, locked in an embrace of half sex and lethargy, floating in the roasting interior of the ship. It would pass, and the ship would cool.

Heller didn’t know where he was headed. He didn’t know if it was right. But he knew that he felt right, with T’soona. Wherever she was going, he wanted to follow her. He wanted to survive with her.