No Guardian, I

Part 5

"What I really don't get, kid, is why you even left"

They were seated around a small table inside one of the trailers that formed a protective circle around the travelers' camp. Jas nursed a cup of mild coffee, warming his fingers against the sides of the mug. It was nice to drink something warm after two days of living off the moisture of the lukewarm, even after chemical heating, nutrient packs.

"You had a home. You had stuff to do. You were paid for it. Sounds like you even had a girlfriend. And, above all, you were safe."

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure about that" said the Exo, in his unpredictable voice. "The place is crawling with Guardians. There's nothing safe about them."

"Actually, I've never met a Guardian in person" said Jas, staring into the mug. "They never come down into the City. All I ever saw was the Tower in my section and the Crucible matches they used to stream on Viewlink."

"And you've never been to that... Tower?"

"No. People are actually selected to go in there. Top quota fillers, acclaimed artists, journalists. That sort of people. No tourists. And the Tower itself is walled off. Well, not really walled off. Fenced off, more like. A buddy of mine, he tried sneaking there, once. Came back shaking and drunk himself senseless. Never told me why."

"I told you, Paook, the Guardians are a menace," rasped the Exo.

"Yeah, Sixes, time after time. Tired of hearing that. Need to see one with my own eyes. They can't be that worse than Fallen."

Paook, the small man, rose from his chair and stretched. He told Jas his name after switching the safety on his shotgun on and helping Jas up from his knees. Jasker's collapse was not something they expected, he said. He called himself Paook. "The Spider", he added with a particular emphasis, as if it was an integral part of his name rather than a moniker. Jas couldn't tell.

The Exo was called Wail-606, or, familiarly, Sixes.

"So what made you leave, kid?" asked Paook once more.

"It's... complicated. I'd rather not talk about it. It seems very stupid out here."

"Out here? The Wastes, you mean? Oh, this can't be that bad a place, right, Sixes?"

"Right. Could've been worse. Could've been the Dead Zone."

The Exo was meticulously cleaning his now disassembled handcannon. He looked awkward doing it, pinning part after part down with the stump of his right arm and rapidly, expertly brushing it with a cleaning tool in his left. Jas marveled for a second at this example of adaptability, and then he did something entirely unexpected even for himself.

"You know, I could probably fix that," he said.

"Fix what?" asked the Exo in a childish voice.

"Your hand. I'm still a weaponsmith, I could take a look and fashion something to replace... your..."

"Ach, don't look for words. Just say it, kid. His hand. Can you really fix it?"

"Given tools and materials - not easily, but I can. It won't look too good, though. I'd need a forming machine for that. The rest of the tools - got them in one of the crates on my Sparrow."

"And materials? What do you need?" asked the suddenly attentive Exo. He sat, stripping the weapon one-handed and then cleaning it, without a word throughout the questioning Paook has put Jasker through.

"A handful or so of glimmer, wires and a few connectors. I'll also need to take a look at your arm, if you don't mind."

"Of course he doesn't!" laughed Paook. "Kid, you're the best damned find we happened upon since we left the Aral Ruins. Let's go fetch your tools, and then we'll see about the glimmer."

They stepped into the chilly night, sand and snow crunching underfoot. Sixes remained inside, alternating between scrubbing the interior of the handcannon's barrel and picking it up to inspect, one eye dimmed, the results.

It was already late, but with the caffeine buzz through his veins, Jas did not mind. They passed a few travelers, going about their business around the fire. Nobody stopped to warm himself at the open flame. Some said muffled greetings to Paook, who invariably nodded back.

"Isn't a fire dangerous here? Out in the open?" asked Jas.

"Nah, kid. It'd be far more risky without one. The flame keeps many predators at bay. And if they'd attack regardless of the fire... Well, it would make no difference anyway."

"What about other people? And... Fallen?"

"Those can find us even without the flame."

Jas fell silent for the rest of the way to his Sparrow. It was now settled down at the opposite side of the ring, where he left it. It waited obediently since, shaken and shaking, he was led into the camp by the duo that hailed him not two hours ago.

The crates with his belongings were undisturbed. This surprised him. Jas had half expected the travelers to search his things.

"What's the matter, kid?" asked Paook.

"Nobody tampered with my crates, is all. I'm surprised," answered, frankly, Jas.

"Who do you think we are, vultures?" Paook seemed more than a little bit offended. "Look, kid, these people are honest traders. They run this caravan from the Aral to the Baikal, around the Cosmodrome and through the Taiga. Sometimes, they hire people to baby-sit them on a leg of the journey. Right now, that's me, Sixes and the two good men, rest their souls, whose graves you found. They don't want your stuff. But we may trade, if you need anything. Ach, I'd give you anything, free, if you fix Sixes' arm. He wouldn't shut up about it ever since that run-in he had with someone he keeps telling me was a Guardian back in Crater Basrah. And in his million voices, it never gets old enough to stop really pissing me."

"A map. I need a map of the Wasteland and of the Volga plains," said Jasker. "And water. I... kinda forgot to pack mine."

"A map's no trouble, if you have a screen in your pocket. Water may be something else. I'll talk to Khasim, we'll see what we can do. Still depends on the trade."

"I'll show you what I have," said Jas. "Can we take the Sparrow closer to the fire?"

"Sure."

Jas started the hover engine and pushed the vehicle, much like a shopping cart but with way more momentum, to the fire. He needed the light to show Paook what he had in his crates.

As he opened the crates one by one, Paook became more and more agitated. When he took off the lid from the last one, containing the medkits, Paook whistled softly.

"Well, kid, that's a treasure you've got here. A single complete medkit will buy you all the water you might need. Throw in another one and I'll get you a crate of grenades and a launcher. And, a word of advice - don't flash these around too much. For your own good."

"Thank you, Paook," said Jas.

"Don't. Just fix Sixes' arm. Oh, about that glimmer. Follow me"

Paook started towards the north-westernmost truck, the one with a bulbuous shell with a few aerials protruding here and there. It looked scavenged and cobbled together. Paook knocked on the almost circular door. It slid open with a hiss, releasing faint whisps of a thick, white smoke. The air immediately acquired a bittersweet aftertaste that clung in the back of the throat.

In the doorway, underlit by a soft light from behind, stood the unmistakably four-armed shape of a Fallen.

***

>++ Having a House means having someone above you. Having someone above you means they get more ether. Getting more ether means they grow stronger than you. By growing stronger than you, they can dock your arms, make you a dreg. You don't want that, yes? You can get your own ether. I can show you how. Come, yes. But first, you must have no House, yes?++

>++Translation of a looped broadcast transmitted from an unknown location in the Himalayas++