Soaring through the night sky, I have the chance to ask the Ghost only a few questions. About the Golden Age. The time when the Traveler was alive and strong. A protector of flourishing humanity.
About the Fallen, their houses and hierarchy. I have new terms for the Four arms and smalls. Vandals and Dregs. The drones are called Shanks. The Captains lead crews of lesser Fallen, and Kells rule over their different houses.
Where Kells are political leaders, Archons are religious leaders. The Fallen need a substance called Ether to survive. The obtain this Ether through sentient machines called Servitors which they worship like gods. Archons serve as a link between these 'gods' and the Fallen. So priests basically. If that thing was just a priest, I don't think I want to meet a commander.
I didn't get much further with my questions, because the Ghost insisted that I should try flying. After getting over the fact that the only thing holding us thousands of feet in the air were my own two hands on a flimsy steering stick, it was rather enjoyable.
I did insist on the Ghost flying as we started our decent.
"There's so little left out here," he says as I peer out at the darkened landscape. "We're lucky to even find this ship. A guardian can't do much to protect the city without one. But it needs a warp drive if we ever hope to fight beyond Earth. And that Cosmodrome is the only place I know where we might still find one. We survived the Fallen once, we can do it again."
"'Course we can. Cayde and I have a deal. I live, and he teaches me. I plan to hold him to it."
The Ghost sets us down on a rocky knoll just inside the old Cosmodrome wall. It is dark here. Moonlight is the only light, beside the streaks of stars smudged across the canvas of the sky. The cold silver glow illuminates the snow, shining through the leaves of the scrawny birch trees that would dare to grow in such a place. Fallen banners, old bunkers and the rusted shells of cars dot the rolling landscape.
But it is the launch towers just behind the wall that catch my attention. My eyes follow them up and up and up. Tall, sharp spires with three large orbicular bulges like marshmallows impaled on a stick. If they were once space-worthy, they do not look it.
My gaze lingers beyond the ruined vessels, on the beautiful sky. The stars are magnificent. Vibrant without city lights to drown them out. Auroras of teal and emerald skip across the vast plane, undulating slowly like massive serpents. Beautiful.
"A Guardian ship was recently shot down here," the Ghost breaks in, jarring me from my thoughts as if he is trying to remind me of my mission. "If the Fallen haven't gotten to it, there might be parts we could salvage."
To visit those stars, those wild serpents. I drag my eyes to Earth and break into a rolling jog down the hill. With a second outcropping of rock ahead, I figure now is as good a time as ever to try out the masterfully named double jump.
I leap into the air, summoning my strength, and leap again. It is as though the air has gone solid beneath my feet. At least ten feet in the air, it feels like I'm flying! My laugh of triumph dies in my throat as my 'flight' comes to a crashing end against the rocky face of the knoll.
I roll to my feet again, winded, shaken, but wholly unbothered. I'm grinning like a banshee- sorry Banshee- from ear to ear.
"That could've gone better," the Ghost commented smartly.
I don't reply, for I'm already in the air again, leaping straight for a harried copse of birches then twisting and leaping to avoid them. This time I stick the landing, my boots sinking into the snow, dry grass whispering about my knees in the wind. I wonder if the wind could blow me off course.
"Better?"
"Much better."
That's when I pick up red on my monitor, to my left and behind.
"Guardian ship straight ahead," the Ghost reminds me. I peer into the shadows. I can see it there, sunk into the scourge in the ground it make on impact. Its bent wings are blackened, but by fire, or by the dark I cannot tell.
But I want a chance to test out my new weapon. I turn toward the red section of radar and head that way. Over the lip of the overhang, I can see them. Two drones, a four arms, and a small, all oblivious to my approach. I crouch and peer down my sight at them.
"So, two shanks, a Vandal and a Dreg, right?" I ask in a hissing whisper, watching them stalk around, growling in their own tongue.
"Spot on," he answers softly, even though I am the only one who can hear him.
I hum softly, thinking as I watch the Vandal snarl at the cowering Dreg, the Shanks hovering amiably behind them, watching all around. But not up. It is then that the wind changes, blowing from behind me, sending my scent downwind. The Vandal freezes, then jerks up to face me with a cry that I cut off with a shot to the head. I don't want to attract too much attention.
The Dreg wheels in surprise only to catch one bullet in the throat and another in the chest. He crumples and I leap off my perch to dodge fire from the Shanks. I jump again in midair and twist around to fire at them as I hit the ground, stumbling only a step. The Shank explodes, its chassis bursting apart into fragments that fly in all directions. I lunge for the second, burying my dagger in its center. I step back and look down at the two bodies and bits of metal scattered at my feet.
"I say we're doing alright."
"Not bad at all," the Ghost agrees. "Now let's get to that ship."
The ship is stuck in the ground like a dart in a dart board. The frozen earth is furrowed around the bow and blackened by flames long burned out. I wince, witnessing the damage to the cockpit and frame.
"Did the pilot survive?"
"Probably not," the Ghost replies, materializing in my hand and zooming out to scan the wreckage. "The ship's avionics are completely catatonic," he says after a moment, giving his analysis. "But I can code their last transmission."
A red light flashes on an exposed panel in the ship's side, and a muffled feminine voice comes through. Her words are rapid, like a distress call, but the audio is so full of static, I can't make out many of her words. She says something about 'the Skywatch' then there is a roar and crash as though an engine blew out. Then there is only fuzz and hum until the Ghost cuts the recording.
"They managed to restore an information hub here. Down in the tunnels below." He pauses, then shuts off his scanner and vanishes in a little spray of light. "We should check it out."
I back away from the wreckage, still searching it for any sign of life. I find none. But the Ghosts can just bring us back, right? So death is just a word.
I turn away from the ship and jog back to the knoll the Ghost dropped us on to begin with. I don't like the feeling the sight of a destroyed ally gives me. Strange to know they walked away without a scratch.
I crest the rise and stop, peering out over the landscape through the scope of my sniper.
"So. Do you have a name? Or is it just 'Ghost'?" I ask, spotting the horned head of a Vandal from behind a bunker ahead.
"Ghosts have programmed names. Sometimes their Guardians nickname them," he replies.
"But what is yours?"
"North."
"North? Like south, east, west?" I ask, drawing a breath and holding it. I pull the trigger as the Vandal steps fully into view, but my unpracticed hand puts the bullet in his upper shoulder exacting a shriek of pain. The rest of his crew comes into view as I leap and leap again to snow covered boulder just above them.
"Yes."
A Dreg gets a lucky shot on my arm. I counter with an equally unlucky bullet- for him- to the head, then leap up and up and drop my grenade. The Fallen are closely packed, and don't have time to move. The shell ignites in a burst of consuming fire and all but one are dead by the time my feet touch the ground. He gets a knife across the throat. And a glowing white object drops at his feet.
I spring back, ducking around the corner of the building for cover. But the little object does nothing. It just rolls harmlessly down the slope. I frown. North titters a robotic laugh.
"What is that?" I ask quietly.
"During the Golden Age, a fourth form of matter was discovered. Liquid, solid, gas, and engram." I scowl at the amusement in his voice. "A coded form of matter that could be decrypted into solid form."
I step out from my hiding place and crouch beside the little object. A dodecahedron that glows a pale white color. Tentatively I reach out to touch it, only to have it let off a small hiss and disappear. I yank my hand back, reaching for my weapon, before North's tittering comes over the com again. Stupid transmat.
"Not funny," I growl.
"You were so jumpy, I couldn't help it."
"Can you decrypt engrams?" He doesn't answer immediately. Curiosity beings to swallow my annoyance.
"I'm not trained in Cryptarchy, but this one isn't difficult. I'll manage."
"Cryptarchy?"
"The study of decoding engrams."
Engrams, Golden Age, Fallen, Warp Drives, coming back from death. What's next? I wonder if the books in the Vanguard's hall contain any useful information.
"Aha! Got it. A scout rifle just like, yours. Only this one's more powerful." My rifle vaporizes from my hands. An identical one appears a moment later, alike in every way. I stand and aim it at a Fallen corpse. Same weight and balance. Just a little more punch.
I step back and load the weapon, scanning the landscape in silence.
"The network hub is inside the bunker. Let's hurry. A Captain somewhere is bound to notice these ones missing," North says.
I step under the eave of the building. Inside is dark and rusted. Crates and canisters lie scattered about, but no computers to access a network.
As if reading my mind the ghost adds, "Downstairs."
Against the back wall, I had completely missed the set of stairs descending to a basement below. The filters in my mask must be good for nothing, for I can smell the heavy reek of Fallen even through my helmet as we go down.
"So if Guardians nickname their Ghosts, do Ghosts nickname their Guardians?"
"Sometimes. Sometimes Guardians pick their own names. Exo Guardians frequently have a serial number stamped on them that gives some clue to their names, but Humans and Awoken are on their own. Up ahead, I can access the system."
I cross the room and take a second staircase down to the left, Trax Callum at the ready for danger, but the cellar is deserted. A faint glow issues from a large screen mounted on the back wall. I let North go from my hand and he activates his scanner, buzzing around the access panels.
"A map of the entire area..." he muses softly. Shadows dance on the walls, cast by his light. My eyes track each and every one of them.
"You have any good names in mind?" I ask as he works.
He shuts off the probe and pivots to look up at me for a moment, shell contracting like his eye is narrowing. For someone without a face, his range of expressions is impressive. "I like Mora. Good for a Human or Awoken. I uh... had some picked out... just in case," he admits shyly. "Mora seems to fit best."
I grin. "Mora it is." I will wait until later to ask about memory. It sounds like no Guardian has it, but the question is still worth asking. And why.
"What we really need to find is a Warp Drive. So we can jump to any planet or moon. Our only hope is where we found our ship," he continues, shutting off his scanner and looking up at the place he has highlighted on the map with a green marker. "We have to go back." North evaporates into a burst of light.
"Riksis, Cayde said?"
The Ghost hesitates. "Yes. He's brought down several Guardians already who were brave enough to tangle with him."
My fingers tighten on the grip of the Trax Callum. He still hasn't explained to me how that is possible. "Who were they?"
"An Exo Warlock, Liam-2. An Awoken Warlock, Leoran. And a young Titan girl who hadn't even been named yet. She was probably looking for a Warp Drive. Like us. It's strange with her though. Riksis sent back the dead ghosts of Liam-2 and and Leoran, but not hers."
My gut twists in anger. He murdered them. Sent back their ghosts as a taunt. And would've done the same to me. "Do you think there's a possibility that she's still alive then?"
"Not likely."
Likely. A cold smile touches my lips. "I was just brought back from the dead yesterday. What are odds to me?"