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The news spreads through the Tower like wildfire. “Is it true?” a Hunter asks.
Her companion sniffs dismissively. “It can’t be. The only times there have been Hive on Earth are the Rusted Lands and a Seeder found in the Arabian Dead Zone. Both times they were wiped out.”
The gathering area holds an uneasy air. The large hall they are in is for multiple floors of the Barracks. This one is especially large, as it sits on the edge of the multiple blocks, where Titans, Hunters, and Warlocks come to mingle and share gossip. Some of the obviously younger Guardians hang around the outskirts of the group by the bounty board, hoping to hear the older ones discuss without intruding.
The babble is cut as a loud Warlock stood up. “None of you have proof of anything! Regardless of whether it’s true, does anyone actually know who encountered the Hive? All of this is third-hand information and speculation, and therefore unhelpful.”
“I do, actually.” A Sun Legion Titan shoots back. “I know one of the seven. I saw her going into a closed-door session with the Vanguard, and she was carrying a Boomer. She told me that she went to the Skywatch and found a Wizard-led nest. A seeder got past our orbital transmitters and dropped straight next to the Array.”
Whispers circulate through the bunch, a potent mixture of confusion, anger, and fear. A few exit, their mission complete, no doubt eager to run the rumor mill more with their Fireteams. It’s a joke among the City population that if you ever want a Guardian to know something, you stick it in a piece of gossip. Odds are, it’ll reach its intended recipient quickly.
The Warlock’s shoulders drop. “If what you say is true, Parhan, we will likely go to war. You know as well as anyone what Hive in the Cosmodrome means.” His face betrays disgust tinged with fear.
The younger Guardians hold a hasty consultation in the corner, glancing over at their elders and quickly looking away when they meet gazes. Finally, an Awoken with a makeshift wrap covering her head and eyes the color of fire speaks up, at once loud and hesitant. “What are you talking about? So they’re in an old shipyard, so what?”
The Sun Legion Titan regards her. A small charm mostly worn by New Lights marks her as from the Venus Cohort, probably raised within a year or three. Sun Legionnaires are in the business of knowing everything about New Lights; their order makes and donates armor for the newly-rezzed and guides New Lights to the City. Zaga Parhan remembers her first days, full of fear of the unknown and the intensely frustrating feeling of wanting to be taken seriously, yet remaining a child in the eyes of those with centuries to their name. With this in mind, she speaks gently.
“It means they’re forcing our hand. Lots of new Guardians come from the Cosmodrome, but it’s also a highly contested territory with the Fallen. My Order shepherds New Lights to the City, like you, young one. If the Hive gain a foothold, we face a choice.” She and the Warlock exchange a glance. “We can let the Hive and the Fallen rip each other apart in Old Russia, but reduce Ghost activity in the area. For those that risk it, casualty rates will skyrocket, and we lose Ghosts, our most precious resource in attritous fighting. Or, we fight pitched battles against a ruthless enemy with weapons we don’t understand. Either way, I expect to spend a lot of time digging graves soon.”
The Warlock’s face twists. He had already known the stakes, but speaking them aloud still stings like a Shock Pistol barb. He nudges his companion, silent up to this point. “Odon. You’re older than I am. What…”
He trails off as Odon’s white-hot gaze snaps to him, all pent-up tension and shakes. “Say it, Khalil.”
“What do you think?”
Odon holds his words carefully, both having known he would be asked and also knowing that words would not be enough warning. “For the younger of you, I have no good tidings. You may dismiss me as a doomsayer, or simply too traumatized to think clearly. Do not think these things. Not all of us are Eris Morn. I tell you that if we go to war with the Hive, we will lose. It is only something we can stave off, not win decisively.
“You may have heard of the Great Disaster, when thousands of Guardians tried to retake Luna. I was one of them. I watched my Fireteam be cut to pieces by Cleavers that stole the Light. I only saw Crota himself for a few seconds, farther across the battlefield. I saw a trail of bodies behind him, and Guardians staring down death incarnate in front. I ran. The smart ones ran.
“The brave and the stupid and the unlucky still lie on that moon, with no bacteria to even decompose their bodies. Perhaps the Thrall have chewed their bones to pieces to placate their Gods. If we can avoid this war then we must…”
As Odon continues his recounting, one of the older Guardians is giving the New Lights a mini-lecture on the Hive’s history by the bounty board. “...so we don’t know where they came from, unfortunately. Their main territory is the Moon, which we ceded after the Great Disaster, and – wait, do you know what that is?”
The small group nods in unison. The older Guardian can easily discern their approximate age by observation. Younger Guardians are not identifiable by physical age; some are resurrected appearing as middle-aged, some older, some looking like teenagers. There are other tells. A mark or cloak without many declared deeds or influences, a bond that looks like it came from a donation fund, a Hunter not carrying a vermillion stripe. The most reliable is the body language of a very young immortal, someone who has not learned to wear their power like skin. The tells are scattered all over the rag-tag group hanging onto their elder’s every word.
The older Guardian continues. “The Hive have only shown up on Earth a couple times, most famously in the Eastern Flood Zone. You might know it as the Rusted Lands.” A couple looks of recognition pass through the huddle. “Some Guardians found a group of survivors there. It’s not a written rule, but we never refuse a plea for protection, and asking for anything in return is taboo as well. Peace between mortals and Risen used to be a lot tenser, and breaking that rule is as good as saying you prefer the Dark Ages.
“Anyway, the Fireteam agreed to defend them, but the stories the refugees were telling were crazy. Witches, and blades that could steal souls, and grass-green fire that didn’t use any fuel. Turned out, it was all true. The Hive kept stalking them as they pushed through the ruins, but any ranger or Pilgrim Guard will tell you the first rule of guiding refugees: A pack is as fast as its slowest member. When it came to the final battle, they stuck the kids in a nearby building, and anyone who could fire a gun hung around there while the Guardians tried to clear out the Seeder nearby. Only one survived, a Hunter, but she got the rest of the refugees to the City. Didn’t lose a single one to anything preventable, either. Then Shaxx turned it into a Crucible training ground in their memory.”
A Hunter bursts into the hall, door slamming hard behind him so hard it shakes the bounty board. The more skittish of the New Lights startle, some of the others reach for their guns. The fiery Awoken doesn’t move a muscle. The Hunter skids to a stop in the middle of the crowd and pants, hands on his knees. The tension is tuned to a high G string, wound tight at the prospect of new information.
“They – the Speaker. He’s…dropping the Interdiction.” He pants raggedly. “Guardians are going…going back to the Moon.”
The hall erupts, the buzz sounding like a particularly enraged bee. Odon looks as furious as Khalil has ever seen him, the smallest bit of unconscious, trembling fire at his fingers. “Steady,” Khalil whispers, snuffing the flame as he takes Odon’s hand.
“Ha!” says one. “I’m not. No fucking way am I doing that. I’ll fight for the City, but I’m not suicidal!”
“I don’t know why you all are so surprised,” says another. “Those were the conditions. If the Hive can still make moves, the Interdiction would be lifted. Either the board is empty, or it’s war.”
“Real nice, Amyss. Your platitudes about the Speaker’s wisdom will bring great comfort to me when the Hive rip out my femurs and slit my throat with them, or some shit.”
“I didn’t say that! I just said we shouldn’t be surprised. What do you propose? We huddle here and give the Hive a nice big target?”
“Enough!” the Sun Legionnaire shouts, cutting the babble. “Do whatever you want. I’m going to fight, the New Lights I shepherd are like blackberry sweetmeats for the Hive. If they want the Cosmodrome, they’ll have to fight me, and if they want the City, they’ll have to fight you. Odon is no doomsayer, but his words are not useful.” She stares down each individual member of the crowd. “Maybe we die, maybe we don’t. But we’ve spent a hundred years under siege from the Fallen, and I’ll be damned if we give up now!”
Some in the group appear touched by her words, some sneer, and Odon turns away, shaking his head.
The Sun Legionaire stalks out with a growl, muttering. “Those damn Hive won’t have…I’ll kill them, all the way up, the bastards…Fenris, come in, I’m on my way.”
The Guardian standing with the Kinderguardians sighs and slaps his hosters absentmindedly. “That’s that, I suppose. Interesting times, these are.” He grins suddenly, totally incongruous with the grave discussion that was taking place. “Well, I’ll be interested to see what kind of grimy, creepy shit the Hive keep in their caches, at least. The best science is the stuff that we don’t understand yet, and there’s a lot we don’t understand about the Hive. Just…don’t go it alone, keep your head screwed on straight, and you’ll be fine, kids.”