Chapter 10

Alba – Tayari Plaza, nine hours after slip-space rupture.

Alba heard the scuffle as the remaining Jackal launched its ambush on the Imp, along with the squeal that informed her of its outcome. She readied her carbine, aiming the reticle at the shadowy stairwell down the corridor. There was only one way that the Imp could come, and the radioactive rounds from her carbine would punch straight through his jet-black armor with ease.

His helmeted head emerged, but she hesitated once again as he mounted the steps and came into full view. There was a slight limp in one of his legs, his black chest armor was scarred by plasma, and crimson blood was seeping from wounds on his shoulder and forearm. In one hand, he held a tiny knife, its blade wet with Kig-yar blood. In the other, he held the Elite’s plasma rifle, the red glow of its ammo counter indicating that the charge was almost depleted.

He had torn through her squad like a Zealot, and how many more before it? Where else could he have obtained the rifle and the plasma grenade? He was injured and alone, he should be hiding in some dark corner somewhere, waiting out the invasion. Yet he kept coming, never faltering. This was the tenacity that the Sangheili so respected.

The Imp aimed his weapon and fired, the shields on Alba’s power armor absorbing the bolts harmlessly, flickering waves of energy passing over her body. She knew that he didn’t have the charge left to collapse them, it would take half a battery at least to overload her shielding. She let him have his moment, the projectiles growing weaker and less precise as the weapon sputtered and died. He glanced at it for a moment, perhaps not understanding what had happened, then let it fall to the ground. It seemed that the little kleptomaniac had run out of stolen weapons, now all that was left was his knife. What would he do next?

To her surprise, he swiveled the knife in his hand so that the blade was facing downwards, taking up a fighting stance. She had three feet over him, and she weighed several times what he did, but that didn’t seem to faze him.

Alba considered simply cutting him down with her carbine, he was defenseless now, but something about him stayed her hand. There was no fear in him, no hesitation, and he was ignoring the wounds that peppered his body. He was injured, no doubt exhausted, separated from his allies, but he stared at her unflinchingly through that angular visor.

The Imp charged at her, sprinting down the corridor, racing headlong into certain death. His knife was scarcely long enough to penetrate her thick hide, but he was going to try all the same. He covered the distance quickly, and there was a flash of sparks as his dagger met her armored forearm, glancing off the blue material harmlessly. Undeterred, he tried again, his strike easily deflected. Her power armor could stand up to some of the most powerful Human firearms, there was no way that he was going to penetrate it with just a combat knife.

That said, her shields would not deflect a blade as it would a bullet, and there were joints in her armor where the underlying suit and her naked skin was exposed. Was she in danger?

As if to answer her question, the little alien darted in under her arms, planting one hand on the pommel of his blade for leverage as he drove it towards her ribs. It sank deep into the rubbery vest that she wore beneath her blue armor, slipping between the protective plates, the sting of its point penetrating her skin.

She reacted reflexively, catching him with her forearm, lifting him off his feet and throwing him across the corridor. He flew through the air like a doll, hitting the adjacent wall hard enough that the plaster cracked, dust raining on his limp body as he settled onto the floor.

Alba cocked her helmeted head at him as he struggled back to his feet, his knife still clutched in his hand. He took up another stance, the knife flashing as it caught the light from the street outside that bled in through the windows. Incredible, he still wanted to fight.

“Have it your way,” she muttered in her native tongue, stepping forward and throwing a punch at him. Her fist was as large as his head, and it impacted the wall where he had just been, sinking up to the wrist in the flimsy material and sending a cloud of white dust billowing into the air.