No Guardian, I

Part 6

Jas fell silent. The Fallen was nothing like what he expected - not a savage, not a raider and reaver. More of a scientist, tinkerer. He learned from Paook, in the last few days, that she was the group's source of glimmer and traded it freely for any rubbish they brought her. Paook called her Old Junk-Rat, and insisted that she was completely harmless. Harmless, but not defenseless, thought Jas, casting a glance at the dagger in the wall.

And the attention she paid to his work! When he first began, he had to disassemble the multitool and show her how it works - everything, from the mini-lathe to the glimmer extruder. She seemed genuinely happy, Jas thought, and absolutely delighted at the descriptions of production technologies in the City's plants.

It crossed his mind that this might be considered treason by his fellow humans back in the City - giving technology insight to the enemy. He did not care. Junk-Rat was not a war-mongering beast to be wary of. She was a fellow smith, willing to live in peace with the other people on this planet regardless of their race. At least, he liked to believe that.

The truck slowed, and then stopped. It meant that dusk was close, and they had to form a circle from their vehicles around the fire. Jas put the finishing touches on the gossamer-thin frame he has been working on and turned off the multi-tool. Then, he rose and stretched - first, hands up, body bent backwards, then - all the way down, palms touching the floor.

"You do this after work - why?" asked the Eliksni. "Act of worship?"

"Not exactly," laughed Jas. "The spine is under stress when sitting for a long time - workers are taught to stretch to loosen up."

"The spine - the column of bones supporting your body, yes?"

"Exactly."

"I thought that was what it is for. Much like the Eliksni, yes. Brain-fibres run through it, yes?"

"Correct. We must avoid damage to it, otherwise we may be paralyzed."

The Eliksni looked puzzled for a moment.

"Paralyzed - unable to move, yes? Same with Eliksni, but brain-fibres run deeper. Beneath the arm-muscles on the back. Vulnerable in armpit, between arms. This why docking is shameful. Makes weak. Makes vulnerable."

"Docking?" Jas felt that this was important somehow. Something he should know and remember.

"When lower arms are removed. Makes an Eliksni subservient. Takes away ability to defend himself. Makes a dreg. Docking rings are marks of shame. Clamped to make sure arms do not grow back."

"That's... rough." managed Jas.

"Rough, yes. Unfair, yes. Necessary? Yes. Otherwise, too many Captains. Too much ambition. Is why I left my House. I'm ambitious. I'm a Captain. Over Captain, Baron. Over Baron, Kell. Two steps, you see?"

"They came for me. I fled to Cosmodrome with my crew. Cosmodrome belongs to House Devils. We fought. The crew, dead, the skiff, damaged. Limped away. Crashed in Aral. Humans found me. Vultures."

"Fought again. Killed many. Others fled. Other humans came. Like Paook, the Spider. Kind humans. Violent, but understanding. Misfits, like you. Like me."

"This is my skiff. It will not fly again. Servitor damaged, yes. Glimmer drill, intact. Can trade, yes? Can go on with my ambition. Want to learn how to fix Servitor. Want to learn from it how to make Ether. Do not want to be Baron, or Kell. Do not need a house. Want to see the City. To touch the Great Machine. Want to live in peace. But only ever see war."

"You will kill again, Jasker-human. You will kill to not be killed. Maybe human. Maybe Eliksni. Maybe beast. Be sure to kill quickly."

"Take these weapons. Two shock pistols, yes? Powerful, accurate. Modified power cells. Self-charging. No ammo needed. And this, a shock dagger. Carve through anything, yes? Will help you on your journey."

"Remember Dralixis of House Scar."

***

++Guardian Report 3654692-Theta++

++Subject: Fallen Cooperation++

++Attempting to replicate Cayde-6's success in cooperating with an Exile against the Hive (if his story is to be believed), I have tried to coordinate actions with the crew of an active glimmer drill in the Iberian region.

I have set lures for the local pack predators (commonly known as night-howlers) around the drill site, and when the enraged packs attacked, joined in at close range in support of the Fallen. They did not attack me while the fighting lasted, but when the last howler fell, their Captain ran me through with a blade and looted my corpse.

After being resurrected by my Ghost, I followed the Skiff to their next drill site, infiltrated the camp and retrieved my belongings. I left behind a bundle of trip mines strewn around, and spent the next hours enjoying the fireworks.

In conclusion, I want to say that the Fallen remain cold, calculating and practical bastards with no sense of honor.++

++End Report++