Rats, Not Vultures

“Get out of here you punk! This isn’t a damn charity station!”

“No, wait! I keep telling you, I’m UNSC! Navy Special Operations, serial number—”

“I said, beat it!” The sergeant’s rifle rose over his head. “Before I really lose my temper!”

Simon-G294 could have stopped the blow. He might have been shorter and younger than the soldiers guarding the patrol station but he was faster and stronger than both of them put together. His augmentations could have easily turned aside the oncoming rifle butt, yanking it from the sergeant’s hands and turning it on him in an instant. At the very least he could have leaped out of the way.

Instead he just stood there and took it. The rifle struck him in the face and sent him sprawling backwards into the dusty street. His head reeled and he tasted copper. Through the ringing in his ears he heard laughter. The soldiers were laughing.

At him.

“It’s an original one, I’ll give him that,” the sergeant said, turning to his partner. Both men wore the grimy fatigues of Mamore’s Colonial Authority security forces. “Special Operations. Where do these brats get this stuff?”

“Too many damn Waypoint shows,” the other soldier grunted. “Flash one ODST on a screen and suddenly even street trash are dreaming big.”

A dull red sun beat down on the cramped street. A few passersby stopped to look over at the source of the ruckus but they quickly turned back to their business, or what little passed for business in this dismal border town. Simon wiped the blood from his mouth, feeling like an idiot. Of course they hadn’t bought it. Clad in stolen clothes that barely fit him he was just another street urchin. A street urchin in remarkably good shape, maybe, but no one these goons would listen to.

He needed to get back out into the foothills and retrieve his armor. These idiots would have to listen to him when he was clad from head to toe in Semi-Powered Infiltration gear. Maybe then they’d let him use their long-range transceiver.

If the local Insurrection didn’t shoot him first. This entire region, no, the entire planet was a hotbed of rebels and rebel sympathizers. Just like the militia thugs who’d gotten him stranded here in the first place. He was crazy to think spouting UNSC credentials would get him anywhere here. One of those gunmen might even be mixed in with the civilians here. In armor he’d be an even bigger target than some hapless street urchin.

Simon’s hands balled into fists as he pushed himself to his feet. The Insurrectionists had done the shooting, but Team Jian were the ones who’d left him behind here. His fellow Spartans. His team. The family he’d grown up with. Jake, Ralph, Mary, even Cassandra. They’d left him to rot down here on this miserable planet.

A hard pit filled his stomach. It had been a long time since he felt this alone.

“I told you to get out of here!” the sergeant called, though neither guard bothered stepping out from their shaded covering. Handing out a beating to some irritating kid wasn’t worth risking Mamore’s merciless sun.

He could take these idiots. All he had to do was catch them by surprise. He’d get a rifle easily enough and then…

…what? Shoot down colonial troops? These guards might be thugs, but right now they were the closest thing Mamore had to a UNSC presence. The Colonial Administration was his only chance of getting off-world and back into the fight.

He’d get another chance. Simon dusted himself off and turned away from the guard post. Maybe he should just head back into the foothills. He’d get his armor back and put Tom and Lucy’s isolated survival training to good use. At least he hadn’t been a complete failure at those lessons.

Movement caught Simon’s eye from the closest alley. Someone was waving him over. Squinting through the sweltering heat he made out a lanky girl with a dirty jacket and messy brown hair. The leader of the gang of kids who’d tried to mug him yesterday.

Simon sighed, balling his fists and making his way over to the alley. If they wanted another shot at jumping him he’d just have to just go a bit further in teaching them not to mess with them.

A week ago he’d been raiding a rebel arms depot. Now he was brawling with street urchins and getting his teeth knocked in by local security forces. This was beyond humiliating. The perfect end for Gamma’s worst Spartan.

The girl grinned at his approach. “What did you say to them this time? You must have really pissed them off to actually get them to hit you.”

Simon gingerly touched the spot on his cheek where the rifle had landed. He’d gotten lucky. The sergeant clearly wasn’t too experienced with clubbing people. “It could have been worse.”

“Yeah, but it takes a lot to get those lazy assholes to give any kind of effort. Actually hitting you is more than they usually do.” The girl laughed. “But we owe you one. When I saw you trying to talk to them I knew it was our chance.”

She motioned behind her. Several of the other urchins stood proudly around a military-issue storage crate. They must have snagged it while the guards were busy shouting at Simon.

Simon made a face. “You only grabbed one?”

“No need to be greedy. These rations will feed us for a week.” The girl plucked a ration pack from the stolen crate and dangled it in front of Simon, holding it just out of reach. “If you promise to forgive us for the misunderstanding yesterday, I’ll give you one.”

He regarded her with narrowed eyes. So they were back to this, were they? He should have known better than to think he’d left these stupid games behind on Onyx.

Simon’s hand snapped out and seized the ration pack. The girl flinched and leaped back, looking more relieved than angry once she realized he wasn’t going to hit her.

“Glad I could help. Those guys must really be idiots if they let a bunch of vultures like you steal from them.”

“Calling us vultures is a little generous, actually.” The urchin girl grinned and held out her hand. “We’re just rats. A pack of rats. A rat pack, that’s what—”

“Great.” Simon pushed past her and her friends, tucking the ration pack beneath his jacket. He snatched another one from the box for good measure. “Don’t try and jump me again. I don’t like having to beat you guys up.”

“You should stick with us!” the girl called after him. “We could use a jerk like you! I’m Emily, by the way!”

“I’m fine on my own,” Simon lied.

“Sure, you tell yourself that. I’ll get you in sooner or later. These streets are no place for strays!”

Two ration packs was a pretty good trade for a bruise on his face. And maybe Emily and the other urchins weren’t so bad after all. But right now all Simon wanted to do was find somewhere to curl up and forget about the war his friends were off fighting without him.