At first glance, I honestly wasn’t sure which of them was older and more battered. The rifle I’d found in the ruins of the Cosmodrome, or the blue and yellow plated Exo studying it. According to Ghost, Banshee-44 had been the official Gunsmith of the Tower for at least a century, possibly more, and had served in the City Militia before that. That was an impressive achievement for anyone, but it became truly exceptional when one realised that he wasn’t a Guardian. To live so long in such dangerous times, without the resurrective immortality a Ghost provided…
Standing in front of him, I felt like a child standing in front of the School Headmaster. That said, if he noticed my unease, he was kind enough not to show it as he placed the rifle on the table at the front of his stall. “Khvostov 7G-02,” he rasped. “Designed in the early Golden Age by some of the best gunsmiths of the time. It would have been a wonder, but then it had to go through a committee.” He shook his head sadly. “Politicians and bureaucrats. They get handed a work of art, so of course they break it. Still, enough of the original design survived. If you knew what you were doing, and had the right tools, you could still make something magnificent.”
Running a finger along the side of the barrel, he nodded in satisfaction. “It’s an ancient weapon, battered and worn, but it still fires true. Maybe it was waiting for you,” he mused, looking up at me. “It got you through the Fallen, and all the way to the City. Not bad for an antique.”
“I don’t think we’d have gotten out of there if we hadn’t found it,” I admitted. “But if we’re going back out there, I think I need something a bit better maintained. Cayde said you’d be able to help us with that?”
“Heh. He said that, did he? Best keep an eye on him Hunter. Cayde’s good at making promises on other people’s behalf.” With that warning, Banshee turned towards a rack of guns on the wall behind him, while Ghost and I exchanged a bemused glance. Considering the weapons in front of him for a moment, the Exo took a rifle down and walked back over. “Luckily for you, this time he’s right. I’d never let a Guardian go into the Wilds without a proper gun, not if I could help it.”
Taking the gun from him, I looked it over. A bullpup design, with smooth white panelling covering the front of the rifle, it was bulkier than my Khvostov, but noticeably lighter. “Trax Callum semi-automatic rifle,” Banshee said. “This is a marksman’s design, built for precision. I think it’ll serve as a good starter weapon for you.”
Inspecting the rifles sights, I nodded, remembering Ghosts explanation. Guardians used the Light to enhance our abilities, physical and otherwise. It made our armour stronger, our bullets hit harder and all sorts of interesting effects. In some cases, we were able to even craft weapons from the Light itself. Naturally, the City had developed ways to take advantage of that. Technologies that welcomed the Light flowing through it, that could refine and direct it. Even that simple, old leather armour Cayde wore, despite its primitive appearance, could potentially withstand a direct hit from a tank.
There was a downside, at least for myself. The more powerful the gear, the more Light it needed. And right now, I was young, and my ability to channel the Light weak and unrefined. If I tried to power the sort of gear an older Guardian like Rebecca or Cayde used, I’d probably faint from exhaustion before I even pulled the trigger. Which would be embarrassing, and not exactly productive. Hence, I was using ‘starter weapons’. While they could channel the Light far better than something like my Khvostov could, the power they demanded was well within my limits.
Thinking back, I wasn’t able to suppress the smile as I remembered I Ghost had gotten a little too eager to explain, and ended up going on about the mechanics in great detail, forgetting that I’d understood maybe one word in ten when it came to City Age Science. I still wasn’t even sure what a ‘paracasual reassessment probability kiln’ was even supposed to be.
Looking back up at Banshee, I gave the man a grateful nod. “Thank you.”
“It’s what I do,” he replied, waving a hand dismissively. “Used to be that I’d be out there, right alongside you, taking the fight to the Fallen myself. Used to be I’d see how your gun worked up close. I can’t do that anymore. Turns out even Exos can’t ignore time forever. So, now I do what I can to make sure you come home.”
Hesitating, I tried to think of a good reply, but the man simply turned away, leaning over a half dismantled machine gun. After a moment, he began muttering to himself under his breath, and I realized that he’d seemingly forgotten I was here. “Let’s leave him to it,” Ghost whispered.
“Uh, have a nice day,” I said, before making my way along the edge of the plaza, towards the door to the hanger bays. Banshee seemingly didn’t hear me, his attention focused on his work. “That was… abrupt.”
“He does that sometimes,” Ghost replied. “I mean, I’ve never spoken to him before, but I’ve heard a lot from Ghosts who have. They say that, in a lot of ways, he’s a lot like a Guardian. All the times he’s been repaired from near death, it’s left a lot of scars, physical and mental.” Pausing, I gave her a puzzled look, and she sighed. “Memories, Guardian. Just like yours are inaccessible, his are… scattered, for lack of a better term. Apparently, his work is how he keeps himself grounded.”
Contemplating that for a moment, I couldn’t quite hold back a shudder. The void in my mind was already horrible enough. If it was there, but in pieces? That sounded like the stuff of nightmares. “You know, don’t take this the wrong way, but the future is really failing to live up to expectations.” My new Scout Rifle vanished into storage, letting me wave my hands around as I continued. “Ruins, alien invaders, brain damage and memory loss apparently being commonplace…”
“I wouldn’t say commonplace,” Ghost protested. “Let’s be fair here, Banshee’s been through some rather exceptional circumstances.”
“I’m pretty sure the future was supposed to be a wonderful, post-scarcity society, where my every indulgent whim would be catered to,” I noted, letting a smile appear on my face. “I’ve yet to see any attractive servant boys around to feed me grapes.”
Catching on to my joking, Ghosts panels spun in what I was coming to recognize as a suppressed giggle. “Well, we used to have those, but then the Darkness came along and ruined it for everyone.”
“Is that going to be your default excuse?” I asked. “‘Oh, it’s totally the Darkness’ fault.’”
“Only when I can find a way to justify it,” she replied cheerfully as we approached the hanger. “But seriously, Banshee didn’t mean any offense by it. He just tends to be very focused on what he can do.”
“Which is make sure our guns are the best they can be,” I replied as we passed through what I suspected was some sort of security station. Stepping out of the way of a Titan in gleaming red armour coming the other way, I turned to consider the brightly decorated rifle on his back. “Say, the nice paint jobs on some of these guns…?”
“Those need more Light than you can channel right now, yes.”
“... Is it wrong to say I kind of want them because they look cool?” I asked, feeling my cheeks heat up slightly.
“There’s a text shared among Hunters,” Ghost said after a moment. “It’s called the Pahanin Errata, and it’s a collection of quotes, sayings and advice from Pahanin, one of the first Hunters the City has records of. There’s an entry that I think applies here.” Turning to her, I raised an eyebrow. “Your missions: protect the City. Look better than the Warlocks. But don’t look like you’re trying.”
My laugh turned into a cough, and I shook my head, trying to reclaim a little dignity. “So, that’s how it is, is it?” Ghost nodded, and I had to fight the urge to laugh again. Earlier, Eva had told me she worked to help make Guardians more than just a gun and a suit of armour. She helped them establish an identity for themselves in this strange world. And suddenly, as I’d looked at a shiny gold and black rifle, her work made so much sense.
Smiling at my own foolishness, I continued on into the hangar, following Ghosts directions as she led me past racks of missiles, countless supply crates, and a lift bringing jumpships up from deeper in the building, towards a massive workshop towards the rear of the Tower.
When I last saw the jumpship Ghost and I had used to escape the Cosmodrome, it had been old and battered, paint scraping off, rust in places no aircraft should have rust, and so on. Rebecca had told me the Tower Shipwright would have made getting it actually safe to fly a priority for her people, but it had still been less than twenty four hours. I’d expected to find a work in progress at best, a large collection of spare parts at worst.
Instead, I found my jumpship sitting on its landing gear, gleaming from a fresh coat of paint. There were still old scars and scrapes, but the rust was gone, all the panels were properly bolted down, and the grass I’d seen on the starboard engine was gone. As I stood back and looked it over from a distance, Ghost flew up close and started running her scanner beams over it.
“Oh my goodness,” she said at last, turning towards me. “It’s been completely overhauled. Wiring, fuel lines, circuitry… it’s in great condition.”
A new voice made both of us jump slightly, turning towards the blonde human woman walking towards us, wiping oil from her hands with a rag. “Well, I’d certainly hope so,” she commented, my mind tagging her accent as southwest american for some reason. “I only spent all night workin’ on it with whatever Frames I could spare.” Grinning, she held out a hand. “Name’s Holliday. Any vehicle needs, I’m usually the one takin’ care of it.”
“Rose,” I replied, returning the handshake. It occurred to me that she might be the first person I’d seen since arriving at the tower that wasn’t wearing thick clothing over her entire body. Then again, given how much warmer the hangar was than the rest of the Tower, a sleeveless top did make a lot of sense.
Flying back over, Ghost twitched her panels. “Wait, you worked all night to get it operational?” she asked. “Personally?”
“‘Course I did.” Reaching up, Holliday gave the Ghost a friendly tap. “How could I not? It’s been a long while since I saw a new Arcadia make it to the City. Even if I wasn’t the shipwright, I’d probably have done it.” Her smile softening, she gestured at the ship. “It was an Arcadia that got me interested in flyin’ in the first place. Always had a soft spot for ‘em ever since.”
Nodding, I moved closer to the craft, making a brief lap of it. “How much of it were you able to salvage?”
“About ninety percent of the actual frame,” Holliday reported. “Engines took a bit of work. The parts weren’t as bad as you’d expect, but there was a whole lot of crap in there. The wiring was the real nightmare.” I glanced at her, and she grinned, resting a hand against one of the engines. “You’d be amazed just how much of it there is, even in a jumpship this size. Still, it’s all replaced and right to go.”
Scanning the ship again, Ghost floated down next to me. “I’d heard you were one of the best ma’am, but this is… this is incredible.”
"I wouldn’t be here if I weren’t good at my job,” Holliday said, although it was clear she appreciated the praise. “That said…” she gestured at a side bench, where a silver cylinder about a foot wide and three feet long rested, half dismantled. “I haven’t been able to get everything ready in time. Your NLS Drive still needs a lot of work,” she admitted. “It’s all there, but until it’s properly calibrated, well. All it’d do right now is turn you into mathematical vapour.”
Ghost and I exchanged glances, conveying our unease with that concept easily enough. “Well, that’s not going to be an immediate problem anyway,” I told her. “We’re not planning on leaving the planet any time soon.”
“You’re headin’ back to the Cosmodrome, right? Cayde told me,” she added in response to my raised eyebrow. “I’ve managed to teach him to keep me informed about things like this.”
“I have to know how you managed that,” Ghost said, sounding genuinely impressed.
Holliday gave us a smirk. “Percussive maintenance. He doesn’t cause me too many problems, and I don’t need to crack his skull with a wrench.”
“... That makes more sense than I should really be comfortable with,” Ghost mused.
Coughing to contain a laugh, I nodded. “Well, in this case, he’s right. He wanted us to take care of a job in a region called the Mothyards.”
“I know the spot. It’s an old plane graveyard, well west of where the Vanguard say the Devils are making trouble. I’ve had Guardians recover some gear from there before. Now, I already uploaded the latest maps to her computers,” Holliday told me, giving the Arcadia another pat. “You can go over them if you want Ghost. Personally though, I’d recommend flying in from the north, along the Forgotten Shores. Word is there’s practically no Fallen up there yet, so you should be able to get in undetected. Might be a bit more of a walk…”
“But it’s probably better than flying into whatever the Devils are using for anti-air,” I agreed. “Thanks Holliday.”
“No problem Rose.” Her expression became more serious. “You two watch yourself out there, y’hear? Vanguard might say the region is low-risk, but that don’t mean there’s no risk.”
“I’ll be careful,” I promised her. “If nothing else, Ghost might be able to bring me back, but I’d rather put off finding out how that feels for as long as possible.”
***
Getting comfortable in the flight chair, I once again marveled at Holliday’s skills. “She even replaced the chair,” I noted with a smile.
“And she installed a City-designed interface for the flight controls,” Ghost said. “Much easier for me to connect to.” Looking up from her work, she hesitated. “Are you sure about this?”
“About what?” I asked, pausing from where I was strapping in.
“About going back to the Cosmodrome. About going back out into the Wilds so soon, for that matter. I only found you yesterday, and you haven’t even gone into the City yet. We spent all day in the Tower.”
Frowning slightly, I considered her question. We’d been so desperate to escape the Cosmodrome, and yet here we were, about to go right back in. On the surface, it sounded crazy. And why were we doing it? Because a man I’d only just met asked me to?
No. There was more to it then that. Even if I wasn’t sure on all the details just yet, being a Guardian felt right, like it had a purpose to it. Defending the City, the last bastion of mankind, felt right. I could make a difference, I could help. In the grand scheme of things, this might be an odd job that even a ‘Kinderguardian’ like myself could do, but it was a start. And if I could do that, then I’d go see the City I was helping to defend.
“I’m sure,” I told Ghost. “Besides, I really want to take a look at that place when we’re not running for our lives.”
“Fair enough,” she said, turning back to the controls. I watched her for a moment, before catching sight of a tiny piece of paper, sitting next to one of the gauges. Curious, I picked it up and unfolded it, raising an eyebrow at the handwritten note. It was messy, and had more than a few words corrected or outright crossed out, but it translated easily enough.
Rose,
Amanda’s the best damn engineer in the City. You won’t have problems with your ship. But if you run into trouble on the flight, get the hell out. Ships can be replaced, Guardians can’t. Just remember. You’re new to the Wilds. That’s all right. Watch your back, shoot straight, conserve ammo. And hold your head high. You’re a Hunter.
- Cayde-6
Rereading the note a few times, I smiled softly, before folding the note back up and putting it in one of the pouches on my belt. “Well then partner,” I said to Ghost. “Let’s get out there, shall we?”
Standing in front of him, I felt like a child standing in front of the School Headmaster. That said, if he noticed my unease, he was kind enough not to show it as he placed the rifle on the table at the front of his stall. “Khvostov 7G-02,” he rasped. “Designed in the early Golden Age by some of the best gunsmiths of the time. It would have been a wonder, but then it had to go through a committee.” He shook his head sadly. “Politicians and bureaucrats. They get handed a work of art, so of course they break it. Still, enough of the original design survived. If you knew what you were doing, and had the right tools, you could still make something magnificent.”
Running a finger along the side of the barrel, he nodded in satisfaction. “It’s an ancient weapon, battered and worn, but it still fires true. Maybe it was waiting for you,” he mused, looking up at me. “It got you through the Fallen, and all the way to the City. Not bad for an antique.”
“I don’t think we’d have gotten out of there if we hadn’t found it,” I admitted. “But if we’re going back out there, I think I need something a bit better maintained. Cayde said you’d be able to help us with that?”
“Heh. He said that, did he? Best keep an eye on him Hunter. Cayde’s good at making promises on other people’s behalf.” With that warning, Banshee turned towards a rack of guns on the wall behind him, while Ghost and I exchanged a bemused glance. Considering the weapons in front of him for a moment, the Exo took a rifle down and walked back over. “Luckily for you, this time he’s right. I’d never let a Guardian go into the Wilds without a proper gun, not if I could help it.”
Taking the gun from him, I looked it over. A bullpup design, with smooth white panelling covering the front of the rifle, it was bulkier than my Khvostov, but noticeably lighter. “Trax Callum semi-automatic rifle,” Banshee said. “This is a marksman’s design, built for precision. I think it’ll serve as a good starter weapon for you.”
Inspecting the rifles sights, I nodded, remembering Ghosts explanation. Guardians used the Light to enhance our abilities, physical and otherwise. It made our armour stronger, our bullets hit harder and all sorts of interesting effects. In some cases, we were able to even craft weapons from the Light itself. Naturally, the City had developed ways to take advantage of that. Technologies that welcomed the Light flowing through it, that could refine and direct it. Even that simple, old leather armour Cayde wore, despite its primitive appearance, could potentially withstand a direct hit from a tank.
There was a downside, at least for myself. The more powerful the gear, the more Light it needed. And right now, I was young, and my ability to channel the Light weak and unrefined. If I tried to power the sort of gear an older Guardian like Rebecca or Cayde used, I’d probably faint from exhaustion before I even pulled the trigger. Which would be embarrassing, and not exactly productive. Hence, I was using ‘starter weapons’. While they could channel the Light far better than something like my Khvostov could, the power they demanded was well within my limits.
Thinking back, I wasn’t able to suppress the smile as I remembered I Ghost had gotten a little too eager to explain, and ended up going on about the mechanics in great detail, forgetting that I’d understood maybe one word in ten when it came to City Age Science. I still wasn’t even sure what a ‘paracasual reassessment probability kiln’ was even supposed to be.
Looking back up at Banshee, I gave the man a grateful nod. “Thank you.”
“It’s what I do,” he replied, waving a hand dismissively. “Used to be that I’d be out there, right alongside you, taking the fight to the Fallen myself. Used to be I’d see how your gun worked up close. I can’t do that anymore. Turns out even Exos can’t ignore time forever. So, now I do what I can to make sure you come home.”
Hesitating, I tried to think of a good reply, but the man simply turned away, leaning over a half dismantled machine gun. After a moment, he began muttering to himself under his breath, and I realized that he’d seemingly forgotten I was here. “Let’s leave him to it,” Ghost whispered.
“Uh, have a nice day,” I said, before making my way along the edge of the plaza, towards the door to the hanger bays. Banshee seemingly didn’t hear me, his attention focused on his work. “That was… abrupt.”
“He does that sometimes,” Ghost replied. “I mean, I’ve never spoken to him before, but I’ve heard a lot from Ghosts who have. They say that, in a lot of ways, he’s a lot like a Guardian. All the times he’s been repaired from near death, it’s left a lot of scars, physical and mental.” Pausing, I gave her a puzzled look, and she sighed. “Memories, Guardian. Just like yours are inaccessible, his are… scattered, for lack of a better term. Apparently, his work is how he keeps himself grounded.”
Contemplating that for a moment, I couldn’t quite hold back a shudder. The void in my mind was already horrible enough. If it was there, but in pieces? That sounded like the stuff of nightmares. “You know, don’t take this the wrong way, but the future is really failing to live up to expectations.” My new Scout Rifle vanished into storage, letting me wave my hands around as I continued. “Ruins, alien invaders, brain damage and memory loss apparently being commonplace…”
“I wouldn’t say commonplace,” Ghost protested. “Let’s be fair here, Banshee’s been through some rather exceptional circumstances.”
“I’m pretty sure the future was supposed to be a wonderful, post-scarcity society, where my every indulgent whim would be catered to,” I noted, letting a smile appear on my face. “I’ve yet to see any attractive servant boys around to feed me grapes.”
Catching on to my joking, Ghosts panels spun in what I was coming to recognize as a suppressed giggle. “Well, we used to have those, but then the Darkness came along and ruined it for everyone.”
“Is that going to be your default excuse?” I asked. “‘Oh, it’s totally the Darkness’ fault.’”
“Only when I can find a way to justify it,” she replied cheerfully as we approached the hanger. “But seriously, Banshee didn’t mean any offense by it. He just tends to be very focused on what he can do.”
“Which is make sure our guns are the best they can be,” I replied as we passed through what I suspected was some sort of security station. Stepping out of the way of a Titan in gleaming red armour coming the other way, I turned to consider the brightly decorated rifle on his back. “Say, the nice paint jobs on some of these guns…?”
“Those need more Light than you can channel right now, yes.”
“... Is it wrong to say I kind of want them because they look cool?” I asked, feeling my cheeks heat up slightly.
“There’s a text shared among Hunters,” Ghost said after a moment. “It’s called the Pahanin Errata, and it’s a collection of quotes, sayings and advice from Pahanin, one of the first Hunters the City has records of. There’s an entry that I think applies here.” Turning to her, I raised an eyebrow. “Your missions: protect the City. Look better than the Warlocks. But don’t look like you’re trying.”
My laugh turned into a cough, and I shook my head, trying to reclaim a little dignity. “So, that’s how it is, is it?” Ghost nodded, and I had to fight the urge to laugh again. Earlier, Eva had told me she worked to help make Guardians more than just a gun and a suit of armour. She helped them establish an identity for themselves in this strange world. And suddenly, as I’d looked at a shiny gold and black rifle, her work made so much sense.
Smiling at my own foolishness, I continued on into the hangar, following Ghosts directions as she led me past racks of missiles, countless supply crates, and a lift bringing jumpships up from deeper in the building, towards a massive workshop towards the rear of the Tower.
When I last saw the jumpship Ghost and I had used to escape the Cosmodrome, it had been old and battered, paint scraping off, rust in places no aircraft should have rust, and so on. Rebecca had told me the Tower Shipwright would have made getting it actually safe to fly a priority for her people, but it had still been less than twenty four hours. I’d expected to find a work in progress at best, a large collection of spare parts at worst.
Instead, I found my jumpship sitting on its landing gear, gleaming from a fresh coat of paint. There were still old scars and scrapes, but the rust was gone, all the panels were properly bolted down, and the grass I’d seen on the starboard engine was gone. As I stood back and looked it over from a distance, Ghost flew up close and started running her scanner beams over it.
“Oh my goodness,” she said at last, turning towards me. “It’s been completely overhauled. Wiring, fuel lines, circuitry… it’s in great condition.”
A new voice made both of us jump slightly, turning towards the blonde human woman walking towards us, wiping oil from her hands with a rag. “Well, I’d certainly hope so,” she commented, my mind tagging her accent as southwest american for some reason. “I only spent all night workin’ on it with whatever Frames I could spare.” Grinning, she held out a hand. “Name’s Holliday. Any vehicle needs, I’m usually the one takin’ care of it.”
“Rose,” I replied, returning the handshake. It occurred to me that she might be the first person I’d seen since arriving at the tower that wasn’t wearing thick clothing over her entire body. Then again, given how much warmer the hangar was than the rest of the Tower, a sleeveless top did make a lot of sense.
Flying back over, Ghost twitched her panels. “Wait, you worked all night to get it operational?” she asked. “Personally?”
“‘Course I did.” Reaching up, Holliday gave the Ghost a friendly tap. “How could I not? It’s been a long while since I saw a new Arcadia make it to the City. Even if I wasn’t the shipwright, I’d probably have done it.” Her smile softening, she gestured at the ship. “It was an Arcadia that got me interested in flyin’ in the first place. Always had a soft spot for ‘em ever since.”
Nodding, I moved closer to the craft, making a brief lap of it. “How much of it were you able to salvage?”
“About ninety percent of the actual frame,” Holliday reported. “Engines took a bit of work. The parts weren’t as bad as you’d expect, but there was a whole lot of crap in there. The wiring was the real nightmare.” I glanced at her, and she grinned, resting a hand against one of the engines. “You’d be amazed just how much of it there is, even in a jumpship this size. Still, it’s all replaced and right to go.”
Scanning the ship again, Ghost floated down next to me. “I’d heard you were one of the best ma’am, but this is… this is incredible.”
"I wouldn’t be here if I weren’t good at my job,” Holliday said, although it was clear she appreciated the praise. “That said…” she gestured at a side bench, where a silver cylinder about a foot wide and three feet long rested, half dismantled. “I haven’t been able to get everything ready in time. Your NLS Drive still needs a lot of work,” she admitted. “It’s all there, but until it’s properly calibrated, well. All it’d do right now is turn you into mathematical vapour.”
Ghost and I exchanged glances, conveying our unease with that concept easily enough. “Well, that’s not going to be an immediate problem anyway,” I told her. “We’re not planning on leaving the planet any time soon.”
“You’re headin’ back to the Cosmodrome, right? Cayde told me,” she added in response to my raised eyebrow. “I’ve managed to teach him to keep me informed about things like this.”
“I have to know how you managed that,” Ghost said, sounding genuinely impressed.
Holliday gave us a smirk. “Percussive maintenance. He doesn’t cause me too many problems, and I don’t need to crack his skull with a wrench.”
“... That makes more sense than I should really be comfortable with,” Ghost mused.
Coughing to contain a laugh, I nodded. “Well, in this case, he’s right. He wanted us to take care of a job in a region called the Mothyards.”
“I know the spot. It’s an old plane graveyard, well west of where the Vanguard say the Devils are making trouble. I’ve had Guardians recover some gear from there before. Now, I already uploaded the latest maps to her computers,” Holliday told me, giving the Arcadia another pat. “You can go over them if you want Ghost. Personally though, I’d recommend flying in from the north, along the Forgotten Shores. Word is there’s practically no Fallen up there yet, so you should be able to get in undetected. Might be a bit more of a walk…”
“But it’s probably better than flying into whatever the Devils are using for anti-air,” I agreed. “Thanks Holliday.”
“No problem Rose.” Her expression became more serious. “You two watch yourself out there, y’hear? Vanguard might say the region is low-risk, but that don’t mean there’s no risk.”
“I’ll be careful,” I promised her. “If nothing else, Ghost might be able to bring me back, but I’d rather put off finding out how that feels for as long as possible.”
***
Getting comfortable in the flight chair, I once again marveled at Holliday’s skills. “She even replaced the chair,” I noted with a smile.
“And she installed a City-designed interface for the flight controls,” Ghost said. “Much easier for me to connect to.” Looking up from her work, she hesitated. “Are you sure about this?”
“About what?” I asked, pausing from where I was strapping in.
“About going back to the Cosmodrome. About going back out into the Wilds so soon, for that matter. I only found you yesterday, and you haven’t even gone into the City yet. We spent all day in the Tower.”
Frowning slightly, I considered her question. We’d been so desperate to escape the Cosmodrome, and yet here we were, about to go right back in. On the surface, it sounded crazy. And why were we doing it? Because a man I’d only just met asked me to?
No. There was more to it then that. Even if I wasn’t sure on all the details just yet, being a Guardian felt right, like it had a purpose to it. Defending the City, the last bastion of mankind, felt right. I could make a difference, I could help. In the grand scheme of things, this might be an odd job that even a ‘Kinderguardian’ like myself could do, but it was a start. And if I could do that, then I’d go see the City I was helping to defend.
“I’m sure,” I told Ghost. “Besides, I really want to take a look at that place when we’re not running for our lives.”
“Fair enough,” she said, turning back to the controls. I watched her for a moment, before catching sight of a tiny piece of paper, sitting next to one of the gauges. Curious, I picked it up and unfolded it, raising an eyebrow at the handwritten note. It was messy, and had more than a few words corrected or outright crossed out, but it translated easily enough.
Rose,
Amanda’s the best damn engineer in the City. You won’t have problems with your ship. But if you run into trouble on the flight, get the hell out. Ships can be replaced, Guardians can’t. Just remember. You’re new to the Wilds. That’s all right. Watch your back, shoot straight, conserve ammo. And hold your head high. You’re a Hunter.
- Cayde-6
Rereading the note a few times, I smiled softly, before folding the note back up and putting it in one of the pouches on my belt. “Well then partner,” I said to Ghost. “Let’s get out there, shall we?”