#this isn't my favorite chap but it moves the plot along to where we want to be

[thedistantstorm]

A Shipwright Worth Her Salt Chapter 05

In which: Zavala and Andal have a conversation, Amanda realizes something she wanted to forget, Sloane is confused, and our two favorite hunters attempt a daring rescue. Angst incoming!

He sits back in the Consensus meeting, nodding and interjecting appropriately. His personality is startlingly good for what he does. It’s baffling though, how he could be so well suited for this glorified desk job and yet come from the wilds - constantly feel the pull in his blood to go . He really needs to get out for a bit. And soon.

In an effort to redirect his wanderlusty thoughts, the Hunter Vanguard decides to pull up the database through which all other devices running on the Tower’s network are connected. He’s curious. Zavala has been exceptionally tight-lipped, and Cayde is throwing a fit about the girl . Aviatrix. Blondie. Flygirl. There’s like fifteen other names that Andal’s heard in some variation, and they only get more cringey as the list goes on. Zavala knows her. She knows him. No one told Cayde. And that pisses him off(Andal only hears about it every time he sees him).

He pretends that he’s looking up metrics for some supply run - he needs to make a note to have Cayde skim some of the supplies off that Dead Orbit route. Those fools will be on Earth still, long after they put him in the ground for good. Instead, he pulls up a list of the Commander’s most recent searches. Here are a good three pages worth of results, and as expected, they are all intelligent inquiries - looking up Cayde’s search history is always a blast, and he makes sure to do it most times they go out drinking at the more bawdy establishments in the galaxy.

When he resorts the results by most recent, he’s not surprised to find certain ones mixed in. Amanda Holiday. Amanda Holliday arrest record, Amanda Holliday known associates, Holliday workshop, Holliday records. He wonders if the Commander is surprised by the results of the second, because there are several several arrests on file. Two of which Andal has personally bailed her from.

He really wonders if that part’s in there. Not that he’s concerned enough about it to look.

It’s not the whole story. Andal’s only ever worked with her in passing - she’s a sneaky little addition to their crew, when the need arises. And Cayde, Cayde never stops talking about their hasty escape from the Cabal on Phobos, or how she fixed a sparrow with a belt and a pair of earrings after he got them shot at over in Old Chicago. She’s impressed him. He knows things, though. His network isn’t nearly as deep as Ikora’s, or half as widespread. That doesn’t change that he knows things about the slip of a girl that the database does not, and Zavala very obviously wants all the information he can get without relying on Ikora or her Hidden. Andal logs in his personal encryption codes, and locks any searches including Amanda Holliday or similar variants to require two-thirds Vanguard approval. And of course, an encrypted notification on his handheld for when the Vanguard Commander attempts to use his authority to go around it.

Game, set, match.

-/

“Andal.”

The Commander approaches him from a few meters away, and the call girl practically shoving her breasts around his arm sighs and picks up her drink, making a show of a wink and a kiss before she walks away with a swagger. She’s cute, but he’s had better. And besides, he likes a challenge. When his gaze swings back across the room, she’s already found a much greener target. Poor warlock doesn’t know what he’s getting into.

Andal holds up a half empty glass and motions for the bartender to bring another for the off-duty Titan, still in his armor. Said Titan sits down on the empty stool beside him. The chatter of the Tower bar is a moderate drone, especially with the races happening tonight.

“Zavala. To what do I owe the pleasure? You don’t fancy Sparrow Racing, and it’s the Grand Prix.” He makes a grandois gesture to the nearly packed bar. “You betting on anyone in particular?”

Andal knows Zavala doesn’t bet. Zavala knows Andal knows it, too. Andal rubs his mustache and grins at the irritated look that comes his way. Zavala is almost grateful when the mug of ale is set in front of him, lifting it to his lips without a word.

“Well, if you ask me,” No one did, but Andal knows where he’s going with this, “I put all my glim on Marcus Ren. Holliday designed his sparrow - calls it Hastilude - and that thing could probably make the jump to orbit if you needed to.”

The large hands wrapped around the medium sized mug tighten before he can think better of it. Andal has practically gift-wrapped Zavala’s way into the conversation he wants to have. “Sparrow racing is still an unsanctioned activity,” The Commander grits out. Good, good. He’s evaluating. If something is too convenient, it’s likely a trap.

And this is absolutely a trap.

The Hunter Vanguard shrugs and takes a pull of his ale. “So is attempting to skirt around firewalls for search results requiring two-thirds Vanguard approval.” He leans back and stretches like the cat who caught the canary. “I tipped you off about Cayde looking at your recipe for Action Snacks and went so far as to refuse to allow him to look it up with my credentials. Yet, here you have been, trying to break the rule you made up.”

The swirling lights move more rapidly under the Awoken’s skin. He’s embarrassed.

And he’s caught .

“What business do you have with Amanda Holliday?” Andal asks quietly. Around them, no one reacts. The could just as easily be discussing the weather.

“What is it to you?” The Commander counters.

The Hunter leans into another swig and sets the mug back down with a quiet thump. “It’s not. I'll admit my curiosity, I suppose. However, I happen to know more than the database, and could be persuaded to impart my knowledge.”

“And what will it cost me?” Traveler take him, Zavala thought dealing with his fellow Guardians was sometimes more dangerous than engaging their enemies.

Andal shrugs again. “Time. I need to get beyond the walls for a bit. Breathe some fresh air and sink my blade into the enemy.”

“Two weeks.”

“A month.”

“That’s too long for the Hunters to go without a Vanguard.”

“The Hunters barely need a Vanguard, you boss them around more than I... and it’s not like I’ll be totally in the wind. Think of it as me doing some fieldwork. I’d check in like any other Hunter.”

“So, not at all. And you’re going to come back after this ‘ field work ?’” Zavala didn’t look impressed.

“Yes,” He hisses in reply, looking wounded. “Scout’s honor.” The conflicted look the Commander gives his beer tells Andal he’s got his mark. “So about the girl… where should I start? Actually, you tell me what you know and we can compare notes.”

Zavala glowers. He’s already been outmaneuvered once tonight, and he has yet to finish his drink. “Not happening, Hunter. Start with how you know her.”

"Through a contact, in the city. Took up a job no one had any business takin’, and did it better than half my usual crew. Solo.”

“Sounds about right,” His colleague agreed with a nod, and Andal caught the proud puff of the chest Titans had whenever you praised one of their own. He catalogued it.

“Shy little thing. Worked hard, kept to herself, was discreet. Perfect for freelance work. They loved her.”

“Sone of ‘em started noticing that Cayde took a shine to her. Had her in peals of laughter - I hadn’t - nobody realized how young she was. Thirteen years old, she'd told us. Makes her what? Fifteen, sixteen now? A mere babe, Zavala. She has no business-” Clench, unclench, repeat. “being the best flyer I’ve ever met. Fix anything you ever need, half of it with her eyes shut. But get her in the skies and - well, you saw how well Sloane’s op went.” When silence fell, Andal nudged the Titan's beer closer to him. “Drink up, mate. Cayde's told me several stories that I think you'd rather enjoy.”

He skips the finer details, takes note of questions he can’t answer, and offers to get what info he can without any further promise of time away - he’s getting soft, damn it all, but Zavala is very invested in his every word. This girl means something to her. Something very important. So he does what he does best: spins stories.

Eight - or was it twelve - fourteen? - beers, two shots, one race, and a pretty fantastic return on investment for the Hunter Vanguard later, the two members of the top brass are almost-not quite stumbling back to the Tower. Andal is talking animatedly about a - definitely unsanctioned - job on Venus - or maybe Phobos, or was it… didn’t matter, and Zavala is laughing, shoulders loose for a change, from the excess of booze. Something about reframing an Interceptor with slug rifles since they'd shot out the blasters. Cabal never saw them coming. The stories get lighter as the night goes on, because Andal has known this man for more than a couple decades, and he'd sag under the weight of the world on his shoulders if things got too heavy while he's trashed(not that he's liable to admit it - it's not a pretty sight).

Zavala claps Andal once on the back and says, “First time I met Amanda, I saved her from a Fallen brigade. Dropped down on them with Fists ,” He makes start of the motion, always a bit more animated when he’s had something to drink. “She spent the next hour checking to make sure I didn’t hurt my hands. Didn’t have the heart to tell her Titans drop from the tallest buildings we can find for fun.”

Andal decides it was worth the hangover the next morning, especially when he holds all the info he's accumulated over Cayde's head.

-/

She returns to the small room she rents in the city bone tired and weary. She hasn’t slept in three days, the job paid poorly, and the guys she’d worked for were pigs. She shudders thinking about it. Worse times, she's had far worse than a few lecherous toerags staring at her. She leans her head against the door frame and looks down. There’s a box outside her door. She brings it inside, opening it slowly and cautiously.

It’s a radio, smallish and scuffed. The circular logo is unmistakable. There is a slip of paper with tidy writing folded beside it.

Should you ever you wish to talk, I will be here. Be safe.

He still cares. It hits her like a tidal wave, but the part of her heart she’s tried so hard to ignore says of course he does. She cradles the scout radio to her chest and cries.

-/

Months later, she’s sent to the Outskirts, past Trostland, just shy of the Shard. She rarely goes out that way, because of the Fallen. She knows infestation when she sees it, but some things just can’t be helped.

There’s a Pike Gang that’s been driven out of the area recently, by guardians. She’s to pick through their makeshift garage and bring back whatever vehicles she can. The more she brings back, the better her payout. High risk, high reward, the man tells her when she agrees, despite reasonable doubt to her chances of success.

It’s an old parking garage that’s been converted into a living space, complete with transportation storage. There are six pristine looking pikes lined up and ripe for the taking, and no enemies on her radar. Smooth sailing.

Or at least it was, until the Fallen happened upon her theft in progress. Must’ve jammed the radar.

She’s not a soldier, and the reward isn’t worth her life, so she dumps the Pike she’s moving and runs. She hears the sound of rockets and a too loud blast and knows they’ve likely just bombed her ship. She forces herself not to panic. Panic won’t save her life. Panic is the same thing as death in these situations.

She reaches for a little metal button clipped to her bandana. “Anybody out here that can assist in an extraction?” She says in a clipped tone over static. She’s got the radio on her belt tuned to a general frequency. “Got some glimmer I can give ya.” There’s gotta be a couple money hungry guardians around here somewhere.

“Did somebody say glimmer?”

She exhales a sigh of relief. “Cayde-6, that you?”

“Amanda, love, send us your location.”

Cayde and Andal? It's her lucky day. Thank the Traveler. Then, their communication is washed out with angry fallen chatter. She double presses and holds the button to give her current location away, then sets out to find a place to hide from the throng of angry Fallen out for blood.

“Jeez kid,” The comm crackles to life minutes later, Cayde sounding just this side of concerned over exasperated. “What’d ya do to piss ‘em off? Call their mothers ugly?” She hears the scratchy wailing sound of sparrows on fast approach, followed by some telling hand cannon fire.

“Tried to take their Pikes,” she whispers back. “Intel I got was that the gang was taken out. Seems they rolled out the welcome wagon. Sorry ‘bout that.”

Andal chuckles. “We have a similar knack for trouble. Get to you as soon as we can. Keep your head down.”

She stays in a high corner of the garage, hidden behind the skeleton of a rusted car. Fallen chatter comes close and then fades, and she forces herself to breathe slowly, lower the volume on her comm as low as it can go for her to still hear any directions from the hunters down below.

“Alright,” Cayde says, once the gunfire has slowed to a dull roar, “You’re lucky I like you. You got an entire ketch on you. Whoever gave you that intel should be shot.”

“High risk, high reward,” she calls back. “I’m just lucky y'all were nearby.”

“Lucky is one word for it, kid. You shouldn't be out this far in the EDZ without a crew.”

“C’mon, I can handle-” a squealing whoosh and the corresponding blast short out the comms for a second. The concrete underneath her collapses, her vision goes purple around the edges, and she falls.

-/

The comms light up red in the Vanguard Hall. Sloane toggles them immediately. “Go ahead.”

“I need backup in the EDZ. We got anybody available to help out?”

“Cayde-6. You were supposed to report in weeks ago,” The deputy commander says, looking at his ping on the map. “And besides, you never need backup.” She’s skeptical. “What’ve you got yourself into this time?”

“There’s a first time for everything. Look, I don’t - I don’t have time to explain. Just send someone to Outskirts - literally anyone - pronto.” The static catches gunfire.

Zavala and Sloane look at each other. “Well, should I authorize a fire team?” She asks him.

He nods. “I would.”

“Cayde, we'll need some more information-”

Andal’s voice is cool and curt as he interrupts her. All business. Both Titans glance at each other. “Deputy Commander. Put Zavala on the line.”

“You're late, Brask.” The Hunter Vanguard is over a week late checking in, and Zavala takes that agreement they made to the letter. His voice is clipped, angry.

The sigh that cuts across the line is subdued. Andal knows he deserves it, not that he'll admit it. “I'd like to think I'm right on time, considering the circumstances. Sending coordinates to your ghost.”

“Why?” Sloan asks the question he's thinking.

“Holliday.” The Hunter Vanguard punctuates the rush of her name with several shots of his sniper rifle. “Bad Intel. No time to explain.”

“Holiday? Is that a protocol or...?” She's not looking at the Commander. For the best. Zavala jumps up, summons his ghost. Her cones are swirling and twitching, and his rifle falls into his hands - a steady weight - as though he's standing in front of a battlefield, not the Vanguard Table.

“Send a message to Ikora that I will be unavailable for the foreseeable future,” He addresses Sloane, like she’s some orderly and not his second in command. His ghost transmats them away immediately after.

Sloane is left standing there, infinitely confused and kind of ticked. How the hell is she supposed to explain this to Ikora?