Orron weighed many responses to Rasputin's proclamation. He had no doubt Ghost was too, and was even surer that Zavala had some more horribly blunt and undiplomatic words for the Warmind. He wasn't surprised, though, when Anastasia Bray's voice was the one with the answer.
"Don't worry. We got this."
Orron's face twisted into a sick smirk. She hadn't just said that. Firstly, it was incredibly cliche. It was clear to the younger Guardian that Zavala and Ana had gone to the same City School of Heroic Stereotypes. Secondly, he just didn't believe her. Ana's comment was so nonchalant, so flippant, that he wasn't even sure that they had just heard the same speech, one given by a potentially insane AI with the capability to destroy the system.
Ana's hand touched the console, and it lit up with orange.
"Welcome, Dr. Anastas-..."
The console immediately shut back down and the hollow, broken Russian of Rasputin echoed through the chamber, reverberating in the open space and hitting Orron in the stomach even through all of his armor.
"Я был построен, чтобы повиноваться. Теперь, единственное, что я подотчетна это человечество."
Ana turned back to the two Titans, both standing silently.
"I was...built to obey. Now the only thing I am...accountable to...is humanity."
The apprehension on Ana's face grew with each word she translated. Zavala remained quiet, for once. Ghost was the first one to speak.
"Well...that's good, right? He's on the side of humanity. Maybe we don't have to be best friends, but…"
That voice again.
Я не могу понять ваши работы, маленький свет. Ваш путешественник не смог защитить человечество. Хорошо.
"I do not understand you, little light...but your Traveller failed to protect humanity. I won't."
"I hate being called that."
Ana shook her head.
"I don't think Rasputin cares."
The AI didn't answer. Orron got the feeling that the Warmind of Mars wasn't particularly interested in small talk, or if he even understood it. His musings were interrupted by Zavala, serious as ever.
"You can't control him, Ana. The past, the past you are obsessed with, is gone - and Rasputin has changed. Now you have given a mad AI the strength he needs to wreak havoc on the Vanguard and the City."
"He won't do that, Zavala", said Ana, protest growing in her voice as the Warmind's nexus impassively watched from behind her. "He was built to protect humanity, and by every measure, that's what he's doing."
Zavala shook his head, turning slowly away.
"Your hubris was always going to be your downfall, Ana Bray. You are a skilled Guardian, and I respect you for that. But I cannot sanction any further Vanguard involvement in this disaster."
He turned to Orron. "Come, Guardian. Let us leave the heirs of Clovis Bray buried in the ruins of their facilities."
Orron looked at Ana, who had turned to match Zavala's steely gaze and now watched the Vanguard Commander lumber off. Ana wasted no time.
"Guardian...I…"
He held up a hand in protestation "You can call me Orron."
"Ah, so you do speak! Fascinating. And here I'd thought the Vanguard only accepted mutes these days."
"I just didn't have a lot to say."
Ana nodded her head in mock-agreement.
"Well…" She looked at Rasputin behind here, at the swirling, glowing mass of bright specks and the orange field binding them all.
"We should go with Commander Zavala, Orron." Ghost was more serious now. Orron shot him a sidelong glance.
"Guar-..Orron. Look. I don't know exactly what Rasputin is doing, but if you give me some time I can try and figure it out. I've spent the last few years of my life trying to unlock the secrets buried here. I won't leave him."
Orron silently considered her for a moment. Here they were, standing in a vault her family had made. He wondered if any other Brays still existed - he could be a Bray, for all he knew. He wondered if the Anastasia Bray of the Golden Age had been the same Anastasia Bray now - a flippant gunslinger. Something told him no.
"I...cannot disobey an order from the Vanguard. But…" he looked around conspiratorially, as if the Warmind cared what he had to say. "Give me an update soon." He smiled a little bit, an awkward gesture, for a Guardian, and turned to follow Zavala.
The New Tower, Guardian's Quarters
Though he swore he didn't want anything but a hot shower after the Hellas Basin expedition, Orron found himself turning the shower's dial to the coldest setting after stripping out of his heavy armor. The stream of water was harsh, not gentle, and felt more like one of those fancy massages than a relaxing trickle.
The Titan paused. A relaxing trickle. In the cold water, he felt something in his brain stir, like it had been thawed. A relaxing trickle…? A voice in his head whispered to him. It sounded suspiciously like Ana Bray's. How do you know what showers are supposed to feel like, Orron? As if he could dispel the thought, he shook his head. He'd...probably seen it on one of those Golden Age shows they liked to play around the city. Or something.
He stepped out of the shower, towelled off with the solid grey towel hanging on the solid grey rack. Like almost everything Orron owned, it was simple and pragmatic. The door to the bedroom slid open as Orron approached it with a quiet hiss, and the Guardian pulled on some underclothes while Ghost hovered, scanning some of the Clovis Bray files he'd picked up on Mars.
"You know, Clovis Bray really did make the Golden Age...well, Golden," he said. "Their tech is still beyond ours."
Orron sighed as he changed into some loose-fitting pajamas. Also grey. He didn't want to dwell on the Hellas Basin mission right now. There was too much at stake - yes, too much at stake, for Orron, for the Vanguard, and for the entire city.
"Clovis Bray is dead, and we are not. Don't think too much on it."
"You were dead. Until I resurrected you. You're welcome."
Orron smiled without parting his lips. His Ghost, like all other Ghosts, had a unique personality. To equal parts amusement and detriment, this Ghost was sarcastic, dry, and snarky. A perfect companion to himself, he supposed, being a man of few words. Orron sat down at the small desk with a console atop it, one of the few pieces of furniture in the entire room, along with the bed, armor stand, and chest of drawers. Other Guardians had opted for an armor cleaner as well; but Orron preferred to clean and polish his thick plating after every mission by hand. Nothing gave him as much pride as seeing the golden double-eagle crest on his chestplate gleam, the bulky pauldrons and bracers polished to a high sheen. It was about discipline.
Discipline. Ana Bray was undisciplined, and it bothered Orron. Her lack of discipline - no, her lack of duty - had led to her abandoning the City for a personal quest of glory when the City needed her most. It had led her to seek out a dangerous AI, an AI no one could control, an AI with questionable moral standards, and unleash it on the galaxy.
He tapped his fingers on the desk and shook his head, resigning the thought to the back of his head. He would not dwell on this mission any further, at least for now. Orron stood, paced across the cold metal floor, and removed his still-dirty helmet from the armor stand, a slight hiss emanating as the maglocks deactivated. Returning to the console, he palmed the cord attached to the blank blue screen and attached it to a jack in the back of his helmet.
"Ghost, I'm going to send our helmet feed and any environmental data we picked up to the Vanguard, then get some sleep and forget about this whole thing. Can you make sure it gets through?"
"Got it. Going to bed without chow? I'm sure they'll miss your brilliant conversation down at the mess hall."
Orron rolled his eyes and watched the progress bar as his helmet's internal computer transferred any data, programs, and useful information it might have picked up.
Suddenly, the screen flashed. Orron sat up. The progress bar was gone, and in it's place-...
"I HAVE NEED OF YOUR AID. AI-COM/RSPN."