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Six paces from the bars to the back of the room.
Five paces from side to side.
If he stretched on his toes, he could just reach the ceiling.
The bed was actually large enough for him, but given the cell had been built for an Elite, that part wasn't that surprising.
What was surprising was how little attention they'd paid him after throwing him inside.
Locus had expected any number of things after being ambushed by a squad of Elites. Being taken prisoner instead of killed was a bit surprising. Stripped of his armor and weapons, less so. But being thrown in a cell and essentially ignored had not been expected at all.
They hadn't completely forgotten him; meals were delivered at fairly regularly intervals, and they were actually edible for humans. It was always a group of four that delivered them: one carrying the tray, three more standing guard, weapons drawn to prevent any escape attempt on his part. It was almost ridiculous; Locus wasn't foolish enough to try to take four heavily armed Elites with only his bare hands. Escape was going to require stealth and cunning.
But for the most part, he was left alone to mark the passage of time by the arrival and removal of food trays, and his own sleep and wake cycles.
He judged a week or so had passed with no better idea how to escape when the routine changed.
The racket echoing down the hallway caught him just as he was laying down to snatch another few hours of sleep. Unless he had badly misjudged things, it wasn't anywhere near time for his next meal. He stood by the bars to his cell, curious as to what was happening.
This time eight Elites strode into view, one of which was carrying a struggling human over his shoulder. Locus had a sinking feeling he knew who that human was.
The lead Elite barked an order at him and waved his plasma rifle. Locus may not have had a strong grasp of the language but the sentiment was clear: Back up.
He watched from the far side of the cell as a bound, gagged, and blindfolded Lavernius Tucker was unceremoniously dumped inside his cell. Tucker had apparently put up more of a fight than they’d expected – or perhaps he’d just been more irritating.
That second thought was probably the accurate one, as one of the Elites had to be forcibly restrained from kicking Tucker across the cell. Locus waited until the hall was quiet again before he approached and knelt down.
Tucker stiffened the moment he felt Locus’ fingers at the back of his head, and jerked away.
“Hold still. I’m trying to undo the knots.”
Speaking had probably been a mistake. Tucker rolled up against the bars, putting as much distance as he could – admittedly not much – between them. Locus stayed where he was; the reaction was not unexpected.
Nor was the fury visible in every line of Tucker’s body, even through the contortions caused by the ropes. He struggled to sit upright, putting the bars at his back and facing Locus.
After a few moments, Locus spoke again. “If you let me, I will untie you.”
Tucker grumbled something, probably obscene suggestions for Locus and various objects, but he did eventually inch forward. Not enough for Locus to get behind him, but enough for him to reach when he knelt down next to him.
Locus removed the blindfold first; lack of sight was one of the most disorienting situations in a hostile scenario. He debated skipping the gag for a moment, but that would be far too obvious. So he undid the knots there, sparing a thought to wonder why Tucker was bound in ropes and rags, instead of something more … well, he wasn’t sure what he expected.
Tucker glared at him in silence out of the corner of his eye right up until his hands were free. The he shoved himself away again, picking at the knots around his knees and ankles himself. Locus retreated to his bunk, putting the breadth of the cell between them.
“– fucking bullshit. Can’t believe I’m stuck here with you,” Tucker muttered, rubbing the circulations back into his arms and legs.. “What the hell could the religious nut jobs want with y–”
He stopped, and, inexplicably, started laughing. “Oh, holy shit, the Key. They’re confused because there’s two humans that have a Key.”
Locus tilted his head. “You understood them?”
“I should hope so! Otherwise all that bullshit time I spent as the UNSC’s ‘ambassador to Sanghelios’ was completely fucking wasted.”
Locus couldn’t help it; he gaped at Tucker. “They made you an ambassador?” Lavernius Tucker, who couldn’t keep his mouth shut, as a diplomat?
“Yeah, well, apparently fulfilling weird alien prophecies holds more weight with the Sangheili than decades of experience kissing ass.” Tucker looked insufferably smug.
Locus narrowed his eyes. “And what does that have to do with our current situation?”
“First off, there is no ‘us’,” Tucker snapped. “Second, these guys sound like one of the fanatical splinter groups that sprung up after I brought Junior to Sanghelios. Specifically the ones that are all into ‘racial purity’ and shit like that.”
He shrugged. “They probably just had ‘short, dark, has a Key’ to go on.” He snickered at Locus’ outraged look. “Dude, to a Sangheili, even you look short.”