Alyona's wound was superficial, no more than a severe bruise spreading over her forehead. The helmet angled the stray bullet away, and now sported a fresh graze on the spot where it had impacted. Jas thought it added to the helm's already ancient character.
What was worse, though, was Alyona's concussion. She was groggy and had trouble standing up. She also dry-heaved from time to time. Her stomach was empty.
"When did you say she's been revived?" Jasker asked, scrolling through the medkit's instruction leaflet in search for something that could help the woman.
"Yesterday night," the Ghost answered. "I could heal her, you know."
"Sounds like it's something you'd not rather do," said Jas acidly. "If you can - help her. Now."
"It's more complicated than you know," complained the Ghost.
"Well, no more complicated than raising her from the dead, I think. Here, give me some light."
The Ghost floated to Jasker's shoulder and dutifully illuminated the open medkit. They set up camp half a kilometer away from the firefight, with Jasker hoisting the unconscious Alyona up on the Sparrow and pushing it by hand. He only activated the repulsors, to avoid the engine flare giving them away in the dark.
Of the fight, after he gave up on life and rose from cover, he remembered little. Only the feeling that his hands were guided by something more than himself, and the satisfaction at seeing and hearing Fallen die. Then - merciful blackness. He came to his senses at sundown, and ran up to Alyona to check her pulse. She did not even stir.
He then collected his supplies, stuffing them haphazardly into crates, not caring about categorization. They needed to move, as fast and far away as possible. The Ghost joined them shortly, claiming to have hid while the fighting lasted. It looked very embarrassed.
It did find the burrow for them, though.
It looked like a great pipe, easily half again as tall as Jasker, had been broken in on a side. The edges of the hole were neat and molten. Jas remembered the dagger on his belt and how it was stuck in a wall to serve as a peg for his pistols' holster. This cut was made by a far larger version of that blade.
The pipe ran for no more than ten metres in each direction, before being choked with earth and rubble. By all appearances, a group of Fallen had found the pipe and excavated it for some time before abandoning the task as pointless. The result, though, was a nice hideout for the three... traveling companions? Comrades in arms? Jasker had not yet decided what to think of their rag-tag group.
He covered the entrance with a camo-net that he got from the caravan and used to disguise himself and his Sparrow when resting. Any light from inside, as long as not directed at the hole in the wall, would be dispersed by the net to the point of being effectively undetectable by an observer's sight.
"Well, let's hope this works," Jas muttered under his breath, shaking three color-coded pills from matching bottles. He poured a cup of water from one of his canisters and held it out to Alyona.
"Medicine. Erm... myeditsina?" he said, uncertain if she'd understand.
She gave him a poorly-focused glare.
"Spasibo," she slurred. "Nadeyus', eto nye yahd."
Jas only caught the thanks, and smiled reassuringly.
"Myeditsina, horosho?" he repeated.
She sighed and took the pills. Her hands were shaking. She was very miserable and angry.
She gulped down the pills and swallowed a sip of water. She looked confused, for a moment, then drained the whole cup in a few long swigs. Then she held the cup out towards Jas.
"Yeschyo," she said. More. Jas refilled her cup. She drank, hurriedly, as if she only now realized how parched she was.
"Yest' chto pozhevat'?" she asked, and made the universal gesture for food - a finger pointing to an open mouth.
"Careful. Her digestive tract is empty. She might have trouble adapting to eating and drinking again," the Ghost said. "We might need nutrient paste, it should be mild enough and assimilate easily."
"I have quite a few packs in the crates," replied Jas.
"Can you bring her some?" asked the Ghost. "I have no hands, you see."
"Was that a joke?" Jasker smirked. "You're not too good at them."
"Just trying to lighten the mood," said the Ghost, defensively.
"It's okay. Will this do?" Jas held up a nutrient pack.
"Yes, perfect," replied the Ghost. "Wait, is it due to expire in a month?"
It was Jasker's turn to be embarrassed.
"Well... the best a civilian can get, I'm afraid. Not many people go out into the wild. Even fewer come back. Rations are manufactured only once in a blue moon, when the ones in the militia warehouse are about to go bad. I was 'lucky' enough to start packing before they made the next batch."
"We're lucky you found us now, I suppose," said the Ghost. "There's very little to eat here, and dying of hunger is not something I'd wish on someone who's just been resurrected."
It glanced at Alyona, who now sat, much more steadily, and ate the tasteless paste with the gusto of a starving person. She looked right back and winked.
"Rasskazyvai, Glazok. Gde ya? Chto ty? Kto on?" she said, punctuating each question with a gesture with the plastic spoon that came with the ration pack. Where am I? What are you? Who is he?
The Ghost looked at Jasker for support. He shrugged.
"Tell her. And me too, I suppose. I've always wanted to hear a welcoming speech to a Guardian."
The Ghost went silent for a moment, whirring and clicking in mid-air. Then it began to speak. And it spoke in two voices.
***
//Capture feed from a helmet-mounted camera, encrypted on a datachip found in the Volgan Grasslands by a Guardian patrol//
//A ravine between two hillocks. The camera lies on its side, almost level with the ground. It captures a man in his early twenties, lying on his back behind a long rock some forty centimeters in height. The man squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, and springs up, out of cover. He draws a Fallen-looking pistol from his right hip and fires. His second hand fires another pistol, presumably worn on his left hip. Out of the camera's view angle, two sharp pop-hiss sounds are heard.
The man stays in the position he made his last shot from, both hands extended forwards, feet wide apart, head down. He remains in this stance for 2.3 seconds, before exploding in a vicious sequence of motions. His pistols fire eight times, each shot followed by the same pop-hiss sound. Then, another three figures enter the camera's field of view.
Four-armed and wearing full-head helmets with downswept horns, they assault the man with long hand-held blades. He sidesteps a swing and fires at the back of the head of the overbalanced attacker. Pop-hiss.
A thrust from below threatens to disembowel the man. He steps in, towards the assailant and a bit to the side, angling his body so that the thrust sails past. Then he puts two point-blank shots through the Fallen's chest. He drops his right-hand pistol, takes the blade from its slack hand and parries a downswing aimed at his neck by the last attacker.
They trade blows for another 3.7 seconds, before the man's blade deflects the Fallen's and plunges in the vulnerable spot beneath the upper pair of arms. The alien collapses.
The man stands absolutely still for another 16 seconds, before falling to the ground. The rest of the capture shows the day passing by until the datachip runs out of free space and the camera shuts down.//
YOU ARE READING
No Guardian, I
أدب الهواةJasker Marlyn has finally decided - today he leaves the City, and the life he knew, behind. What will he find out there, in the wild? What is his inheritance?
