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Discuss all things Destiny.

Edited by Solus06: 8/30/2014 6:25:39 PM

Short Story: "Not Enough, Part 2"

[url=]Read Part One Here[/url] [i]It's not enough.[/i] That thought had passed through his mind not long after his resurrection had thrust him into a world which was utterly alien to him. [i]And yet... some things never change.[/i] On the surface, there were significant differences, but humanity still fought battles against foes which would destroy them if left unchecked. People still lived, interacted with each other, ate, worked; the only difference was that now, those who fought to protect the weak had the means to do so. The last breath of the Traveler had gifted the people of Earth with the Ghosts: through arcane and obscure means, certain individuals were chosen, and those who the Ghosts chose were given new life and the strength to keep the foes of humanity at bay. [i] But it isn't enough, not any longer...[/i] Solus-01 picked his way quietly through rusted bits of metal and treacherous debris near the Cosmodrome, any of which would cause a cacophony to wake the dead if brushed against the wrong way. The reason that would have been undesirable is because he was presently surrounded by a Fallen scout team. They made no attempt to mute the sound of their passage, a boon for which Solus offered up a short prayer in imitation of organic traditions. His Ghost floated along behind him, keeping low so as to diminish the glow from its eye. The decaying structure in which they had taken shelter would have done little to mask his presence in the light of day, but at night shadows abounded, affording him innumerable places to blend in and avoid detection. The Fallen passed on either side of the structure, kicking bits of metal and stomping along the dirt, announcing their passing as clearly as a shout. Solus eased into place between a wall and a large generator, freezing perfectly still as only a machine could do, while his ghost settled near his foot. A Dreg poked his head in the entrance of the small shack, followed by a Vandal. They slowly advanced, peering this way and that as they edged closer to Solus's hiding spot. His processors debated the likelihood of having to eliminate them, and arrived at the conclusion that it would be necessary once they came within ten feet of his location; at that distance, they would simultaneously be close enough to see him, even in the dark, and they would be far enough away from the entrance that their demise would not be audible to the rest of the patrol. The only risk was that they would be missed by the others... The Dreg passed the point of no return and, with the precision of a machine, Solus's knife flew to strike the Fallen in the skull, knocking it back and causing sufficient damage for him to witness its soul erupt as a white vapor and dissipate. Like a shot Solus jolted from behind the generator after his knife. Before the Dreg had fallen, his powerful fist gripped the hilt, yanking the blade from the skull. In the same instant, he dug his foot in and pushed off, leaping directly toward the Vandal, who had just begun to react. While it raised its gun and prepared to call out, he struck the Vandal bodily. His knife was trapped between them, buried in its throat, and his other hand crushed tightly around the Vandal's neck to prevent it from screaming. Once the alien stopped twitching, he gently set its corpse down and wiped his blade on its clothing. Sheathing it, he waited, listening for any sign that he had been heard. Aside from the far-off noise the scouts produced, there was nothing but the cold wind which whistled through the abandoned hut. His Ghost cautiously floated up behind him, but maintained silence. He crept slowly out of the building, the gain in his audio receptors set at maximum, but slowly the night grew quiet as the scouts left his range of hearing. Satisfied that he had escaped, he continued toward the objective which lay in the distance, his Ghost in tow.... A Half Hour Later Solus and his Ghost moved down the ancient corridor, alert for signs of enemies, but relatively unconcerned... It appeared the Fallen were merely passing through and hadn't settled here yet. As they passed by broken doors and shattered windows, his thoughts wandered again: It was no longer enough to merely defend the City. The Titans had accomplished that goal admirably in the last several hundred years, but the Hunters had always been the ones who ventured beyond, whether to bring back information or supplies, or to hunt the foes which roamed the wilds; the Hunters had protected the City in their own way. The Warlocks' studies of the Traveler, among their other areas of scientific endeavor, had served their part as well, but the City Age was at an end. The Age of Reclamation was at hand, and Guardians of all sorts were leaving the city to take back what humanity had lost ages ago. It was for that reason that Solus-01 now existed. That... and the other reason: it was rumored that secrets from the Golden Age were hidden all over the solar system; secrets of technology, for which the Warlocks paid well, or artifacts of history, which the Cryptarchs coveted, or even weapons, which interested Hunters and Titans alike. There was, however, one thing which interested Solus-01 more than anything else... "The amount of energy you spend on this 'quest' of yours could be better spent serving the City, you know," his Ghost complained. "And that Fallen patrol would have been easy for you to wipe out." "Easy for you to say... I have to do all the work," Solus's mechanical voice intoned, echoing softly down the passage. "Yes, I could have killed them, but why waste the ammo?" "And this time consuming search of yours?" "...That is my business. Regardless, I shall probably find something of use to the city here. I usually do." "Sometimes I wonder why I picked you..." The Ghost whirred and rotated its parts in mild frustration, then glided after the Hunter. ............ "Are you sure there is nothing here?" Solus asked. He stared intently at the screen, whose glow was mirrored by his eyes. "More or less. Nothing you'd be interested in, anyway. I'll record this for the Tower; they'll find a use for it." A few seconds later, the Ghost popped out of the screen, and it went dark. "What do you think you'll find anyway? Records of that incident were impossible to find even during the Golden Age." "We can safely assume that there is information somewhere. The more we search, the more the probability of locating it grows. I am not the only one of my kind who will benefit from this knowledge. We deserve to know our past, our history, what we... what I might have done." Inexorably his eyes lowered to rest on his gloved hands, images of imagined atrocities and unfathomable bloodshed filling his mind. His Ghost whirred closer, pausing as if searching for the right thing to say. "Whatever you were then, you are no longer. Look at you; I can see you thinking about what might have been. No mere machine would ever be bothered by that. You cannot be faulted for committing an act you had no control over," the Ghost spoke calmly but firmly. "I understand that, and yet... and yet; I cannot stop this sensation of fear and curiosity. I admit that I am afraid to know, to see what was, but just as strongly, I am seized by a powerful urge to understand. Maybe once I do, I can..." His voice fell off in uncertainty, and he leaned against the console, feeling drained. His Ghost flexed its shell and hovered back and forth in annoyance. "Can what? What comes after that? Once you've discovered the reason behind your creation, and the Lost War, what will you do? Stop guarding Humanity? The Darkness is still out there." "I know!" Solus slammed his fist against the console. "But to know that such knowledge exists, and to not seek it, that is impossible for me. No, whatever the cost, whatever the outcome, though it destroy me, I have no choice." His hands clenched into fists, then turning he loosened his hand-cannon in its holster and walked out. The Ghost hovered pensively for a moment, then followed him.

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