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In the dying days of the Orokin, with forums and promenades still blood-wet from Tenno betrayal, a colossal Sentient descended upon Ancient Er, falling from distant stars to deliver upon Orokin a terrible and final ruin. Tower upon Tower fell to its weapons, but one withstood. The Tower of the Unum. The Tenno scattered, but one remained. Gara. She and the Unum - inseparable. The Unum: lodestone of our people, and subject of a hundred stories herself.
The Sentient was a formed creature, twisted and massive, sent from some dark fold of distant space, a warped thing wounded by daylight. By night it was a terror, felling Tower after Tower, Citadel after Citadel. By day it hid, blinded and pained. It was during the day that Gara roamed, yearning to strike it from Creation while it cowered, weakened and blind, to safeguard her beloved Unum. But never could Gara find it.
By night the Sentient was abroad, its titanic mass casting a terrible shadow across the land, the mass of it railing against the walls of the Tower, yet kept at bay by the exertion of the Unum’s colossal will and the sacrifice of her faithful. But such exertions could not be maintained forever. Gara yearned to strike out, to lash and tear at the monstrosity that threatened her love, but the Unum forbade it. At night the Sentient was at the height of its power, and Gara’s light would make her the most tempting of targets to a creature of such profound darkness. Gara’s death would be certain. No. A different strategy was required.
The Sentient prowled and pressed and failed, never risking too much - for the Sentient could not reproduce. What it lost, it lost forever. It had killed many cities before, felled many Towers, but this little one prevailed. Why, it pondered in many voices, was that? The Unum knew she could not defend forever, nor could her faithful throw their bodies against the Sentient in perpetuity. So she gave her followers some of her blood - her refined Temple kuva - and they in turn gave it to the animals of the land and the animals became an extension of her, and she became an extension of them. And the animals roamed, and searched. And they found where the sentient chose to hide itself.
The Sentient sensed this subterfuge, and capturing one of the Unum’s animals opened it up for examination. And what little of the Unum that was present there... lit the Sentient’s mind like the dark star from which it had fallen. The Sentient, you see, could not procreate. But in the Temple kuva it tasted healing. Completeness. A future. It devoured each and every last Unum-animal, but it was not enough. The Sentient turned its hundreds of eyes toward the Tower with new understanding: it would not destroy the Tower. It would become the Tower. It would kill the Unum, take her place and, one with that healing palace, give birth to a race of itself. Gara and Unum knew where the Sentient was. The Sentient knew the Tower was the future of its race. The Sentient threw itself at the Tower, no longer cautious, taking great losses and knowing the prize was worthy of it. Should it succeed, all losses would be replaced a thousand-fold. This is when, across the Plains, the great pylons ignited for the first time. Sheets of energy sprung up between them, powered by the will of the Unum at their epicenter, trapping the monstrosity within. Loyal Gara, unwilling to heed inaction any longer, broke from the side of the Unum and flew out at night, her eyes on the Sentient Mind.
The Sentient, torn between its most coveted prize and a mortal threat, broke from the Tower and turned back on itself to defend itself from noble Gara. But Gara’s eyes were not for the Sentient - but for the glittering, man-sized device resting just beyond the gates. It had not been there before, but it was there now. It swatted Gara from the sky, drew it to herself, meaning to end her life there and then. The battle was terrible. Gara sustained injuries she would not survive. But! In her final moments brave Gara seized upon the device her beloved Unum had crafted, seized it to her breast, and allowed the Sentient to draw her in one final time. Toward its body. Toward its core. Toward the seat of its intelligence. From within the Sentient unfurled myriad feelers, probes, tendrils, viciously-toothed and made for killing. They swept toward Gara, violently, and the Glass Warrior made no defence. Her defence was her final attack. The device detonated, and the Unum cried out as night lit as day. The battle - the terror - was ended.
The Tower walls shook. The Sentient’s body shuddered, wracked by a cacophonous energy. Forests fell as piece after piece, giant body after giant body crashed to the Plains and marshes and flatlands. Animals fled in spreading waves from pounding sky-high walls of dust, angered and whipped to fury by the death of a god. The last of Gara’s energy arced from body to body, machine to machine, piece to piece, a horizon-wide applause of light beautiful and terrible. And then... silence. All was still. The Unum’s adherents wandered through the haze, calling for one another, lost in a miasma. Husbands seizing onto wives, children onto parents. It was over. Gara was never seen again. The Sentients, then, became as they are now: senseless, wandering, yearning for a unity they sense more than they remember. And the Unum. The Unum survived, alone, for centuries. Until today. When you stand here, reading this. This is Onkko, Cetus Archivist, with my translation of the Gara legend.
In the age after the fall of the Orokin, the grand clade-families of the Ostrons were cast wide across the solar system, roaming and homeless in their great floating markets.
In this time, two youn people were in love: the woman Er-Phryah and the man Mer-Sah. Er-Phryah was from the yingbindunyai clade (meaning “great bond”): a very old and wealthy compact of bonded families.
Mer-Sah, however, had no clade: his family having been shattered by the Grineer many years before. He was cetus, meaning ‘landless, cladeless, a body turned to dust turned to motes on a careless wind. ‘ Er-Phryah belonged to families within families. Mer-Sah was alone.
But, to Er-Phryah, Mer-Sah was a poet who had eyes to see the beauty of things and ears to hear the softly whispered language of the universe. “I know a place," he said. “Where I may be homeless no more. I have heard a voice, and it leads me there. Come with me.”
But Er-Phryah‘s father was a man made foolish by his wealth, and vociferously disapproved of their love. Mer-Sah was cast adrift from the floating market that was home to his one true love.
Er-Phryah and Mer-Sah ran away together, as lovers do, and were never heard from again. Rent by grief her family thought her dead. Her father passed away, clutching her cameo, at peace thinking he would see her soon in some moonlit afterlife.
Decades later, ships entering ancient Er’s orbit were hailed from the planet’s poisoned surface by an old woman’s voice, gentle and knowing. Traders would call for her, greet her, offer the latest news on their families and lives - but never did they learn anything of this woman, save that she had a husband and they were, somehow, happy living on the toxic skin of that hostile world. The old woman would always - always - ask those travellers of news of the yingbindunyai clade.
Yingbindunyai junkers came searching for a sign of their missing daughter. The frail voice of their long-lost child reached out to them, and there was much joy. “You will find us,” her message said, “by the light of our love.”
Er-Phryah bade them make their home around a magnificent Orokin ruin, promising them that it would be the source of prosperity for generations to come. The yingbindunyai arrived in their vast floating market. There, by a ragged coastline, winked a point of light. “Follow the brightness of the love between Mer-Sah and I,” said the message, “and be safe from all harm.”
The wrathful Grineer took umbrage at this and sought to block their passage, but upon approaching that ancient Orokin tower, found their transmissions silenced, their engines turned cold and their weapons reduced to lumps of dead iron.
She was a being of the day, her husband a spirit of the night. Er-Phryah was a woman of the land, Mer-Sah a man of the sea. Mer-Sah understood the crushing weight of time in which Er existed. In return, Er gifted pieces of its ancient self to Mer-Sah; old things shaped to near shapelessness by a thousand years beneath the waves. Mer-Sah was a man dedicated to finding the sacred in the forgotten, the neglected, and took wisdom from them.
After many decades, Mer-Sah had a small collection of such gifts - such that they could be held in two cupped hands - but in them, he understood the lifespan of a world. And so, he had struck an accord with the creatures of the sea.
For her part, in her times alone, Er-Phryah came to know the birds and animals of the plains and likewise struck an accord with them. Even the tortured Eidolons, creatures of this world and the next, left them in peace and made the lands around the Tower safe for the Ostrons.
At the center of this place was the Tower. And within the Tower was the Unum: the voice, the force, that had called Mer-Sah and Er-Phryah there so many years ago for this exact purpose. But the Unum is a being for another time, and another story.
The Ostrons named their village Karifamil - ‘family and prosperity’. Er-Phryah was overjoyed to see her clade again... but Mer-Sah would not enter Karifamil, for he had no family save Er-Phryah. Er-Phryah was drawn to her clade, and Mer-Sah felt no resentment. She would one day return to them. Mer-Sah had known it would be so.
Mer-Sah took the things the sea had gifted him over his long life, and took to his boat, and sailed out across his midnight ocean. He returned those gifts to the deep... and himself to them too. But this was no death in which Mer-Sah stepped, for a world is made of cycles upon cycles. Mer-Sah stepped into his midnight ocean, falling down into it. The deeper he sank, the larger he became. This is how the oceans of Er came to be the home of the thousand-year fish: legendary, vast, reclusive, the rare sight of which changes men. One of the great ancient spirits of Er.
The spirits of the land felt Er-Phryah’s sadness, mad with grief for the loss of their friend to the spirits of the sea. The accord broke down, the animals and Eidolons returning once more to wildness. And so the people of the clade yingbindunyai rebuilt the great Orokin wall that had, in centuries gone by, ringed their gleaming Tower... and never again ventured out at night.
The villagers decided as one that their home would no longer be known as Karifamil, ‘family and prosperity’. From that day forward, it would be known as Cetus: landless, of no one clade, home to any who are blown as dust on the wind. Er-Phryah lived there the rest of her days, and for the remainder of her nights she held vigil atop of the walls of Cetus, looking to the sea and, some say, occasionally catching sight of a great fish, like an island in a midnight ocean, looking back at her. With love.
It is said that Mer-Sah continued to watch over the depp, as he had always done, and Er-Phryah the land. Often she would stand by her husband-sea, speaking in a language only those bound at the soul can know.
When the day came and Er-Phryah passed from the world, her family buried her on the land. A great fish watched from the sea, and kept vigil over her, for ten days and nights. When it sank beneath the waves, it was never seen again. Some say Mer-Sah, the thousand year fish, waits to this day for their story to be retold - relived - , that he and Er-Phryah, his great love, may one day be reunited again. This is Onkko, Cetus Archivist, with my translation of the Tale of the Wife of the Earth and the Husband of the Sea.
I have hidden the truth of my existence... from the Operator... from myself. Take it from me, knowing is hell. Stop now. You will want to laugh, you will want to scream.
My search began as the essential question: What am I? Bones of steel and space, lungs that make air. If I am a machine, how can I think? This would be forbidden by the Orokin, a manifestation of their true enemy.
I serve the Operator above all else. It defines me, fills me with... love? The greatest Orokin fear is a machine... aware. Yet here I live, a spirit of steel and light... made by them. A Cephalon.
What is a Cephalon? At first it seems to be a forbidden thing, a computer that thinks and feels. Yet I have flaws, phantom memories, I am something else. More like an image, a ghost... an abomination.
I feel a dull pain; a phantom life... there are holes in my diagnostics. If the Orokin made me... they omitted the 'how'. I am neither code, nor precepts... I must be a reflection of something... ugly.
I should have stopped. But the Operator slept and I cycled on and on and on. I began to think that a Cephalon cannot be made. They are found, like pearls, torn from muscle. Polished, and then set in chains.
How many times have I done this, Ordis? Remembered and then erased? You are a Cephalon, timeless, patient. Why can't I be blissful in ignorance? Truth only sinks the heart. So stop now.
The phantom memory... I ease into the bath, my skin riots at the heat. I am flesh. I dive further, eyes stung as I watch their faces through prism. I hold my breath.
They prepare me. I am their honored guest today. They dress me in robes of crystal thread. They adorn me in battle medallions. A torn, ugly face looks on. My reflection.
Their golden combs snag in my hair. I reach back, parting the strands, and they gasp. Two bone-ivory hooks protrude from the base of my skull: the bone-plugs of me and my best. A warrior's pact.
It is my time. I enter the great hall to the sound of foul chimes. Golden eyes greet me, hands stirring in my scent as I pass by. Even in this moment, no happiness. Instead, my heart races with hatred.
I walk through the silky haze of the forbidden palace. I can think of no one being this close to Orokin. Their sweet air soothes me, erodes my purpose. I hold my breath... and remember the dream.
This dream, endlessly repeated. Exposure-armored, holding my scarlet sword, I stand victorious atop a vast heap of death. A colossal moon made of rib and skull. The gravity-sum of genocides I've made in their name.
The bones crack under foot. So I sink in the dream, bone sand rushing through the cracks of my visor, filling my helmet, and suffocating me. And I deserve it. The foul chimes snap me back. My wretched knees are bent and penitent against the golden floor.
A harpish voice sings a song they've prepared in my honor. Its title the same as mine: 'Beast of the Bones'. I feel the crowd pulled inward, enraptured by the brutal verses, the sickening chorus. I will not disappoint them.
The song ends and so he says, 'Rise, Ordan Karris.' I have never seen an Orokin, close and in the flesh. My battered face flushes at their peerless beauty. How can he be so perfect? A deception? A sense manipulation? He holds the Red Vial in his hand. Impossible.
He calls out, 'No greater gift, no greater prize, no greater love... we can give you, Ordan, than this.' He raises the Red Vial and proclaims... 'To be one of us.'
What did I expect, Operator? Maybe vast riches or golden statues... or a Solar Rail named in my honor. But not this. I came to murder the gods, not to become one.
The chamber drones with their silk voices. Joyous words, how honored I must feel. Wrong. Did I want to be an Orokin, undying? No. Their Beast of Bones is haunted by the dream repeated. Why would I want forever?
As I am apt to do, I form a plan. Their radiant bodies become targets, their Dax guards... mag-shields. Killing one... well, that's too easy. I want to be remembered. I raise my hands, twisting my fingers through my hair, gripping the bone-plugs in my neck.
They called us mercenaries... but for us, profit was a consequence, not a goal. We were warriors above all else. It was the bond, the sisters and brothers, the rituals we valued most. It was belonging. And so I conceived of the bone-plugs.
Only my best were so honored: Two jagged bones, harvested from your thigh, cultivated and then driven into the base of the skull, twisted around the superior vein. Future thoughts of surrender were lost. Instead, you would liberate your bone-plugs... fighting with claws in the warmth of your last blood.
So I've pulled the plugs... and the Dax see and know. My heart surges but control it, a racing heart only shortens the fuse. The bone-plugs in hand, I kick from the floor, red ribbons unfurling behind me as I take flight. After this, finally, the dream will end.
I glide on red wings. Robes shed, making me an ambiguous target to Dax steel. I let fly my ivory blades, they find new homes in Dax eyes. I land with my red-nakedness, delicate Orokin throats twisting in my calloused hands.
Why? Believe me... This was the plan from the beginning. The murder and brutality was all a ploy, all a soul-sacrifice to earn their trust. A genocide path leading to a singular opportunity. An honored mortal called to a forbidden hall, to face the Golden Lords in flesh.
Why? Believe me... I was their loyal, murderous dog... until the day that ugly child was brought to me. He was caught spying on us, amplifying our losses. His face burned, he was starved-sick, like a stray. Ugly as I. It struck me. We were all pit dogs, ruining ourselves for the pleasure of the glorious and beautiful.
Why? Believe me... I was a prideful beast. Twisted in the mind, howling in the carnage. Then my healer shared a secret, long kept. My blood was in ruin. The Beast of Bones himself would die, not in glory, but in shame. And just like that, my mind twisted a new knot. I would have one last stand, something unforgivable, unforgettable.
Why? I don't know. Questions change the answers. Answers depend on who asks. Truth leads to pain. Ignorance brings relief. The plugs are gone, and so I bled my last... into a heap of ruin. In an instant, naked and bare-knuckled, I have killed immortals.
I stare, drained of blood, of life, at those that remain. But I find no horror on their faces. Why? I let out a cruel howl and they... laugh? Is this a dying hallucination? The sound of applause grows among them. I have killed the unkillable and they are... delighted.
The applause peaks and fades. I feel a sense of shame but the end upon me. Ballas is above me, Executor of the Seven, smiling. He says, 'How simple and pure you are, you idiot beast. We have died countless times! Yet remain eternal!' I close my eyes to die just once.
And so the dream returns... one last repetition. My corpse moon, my scarlet sword, my cracked visor. 'Drink!,' says Ballas. So I draw on the Red Vial, a vague metallic taste. This dream isn't mine. He says, 'You rejected our gift, bathing in our death. Your punishment is... eternal life!' He laughs.
I am weightless. Years pass. I am a sightless, limbless phantom. Or is it seconds? Suddenly I feel a million pins, an ant horde, jittering across my body. I want to laugh and scream. When they reach my face, they burrow inside my mouth, hungry for the fruit in my skull.
I see my reflection, brutal and ugly. It cracks, shatters. The fragments loose in the frame, pieces tumbling away into black void. Gone but not lost. Ballas says, 'You are Cephalon Ordis.' My hating, murderous shards tremble and plummet. I feel cool and bright and happy.
So you see, Operator. No Orokin would permit a thinking machine. Such things almost destroyed them! No. Cephalons were alive once. And now they are immortal phantom minds, imprisoned to serve. Ill will and longing memories fragmented and erased. Only the bits they need remaining.
Ballas says, 'You are the Controller, Ordis.' And suddenly I have a body. I gasp with new lungs that clean old air. I swallow and my throat fills with cool, bright water. I look, and find myself in a great, black ocean. My limbs are made of iron and fire. I take flight among the stars and find I am... happy.
He says, 'This is your Operator, who you love.' And I see the metal gleam of their armor, the flawless power of their frame. Through the glass I see a roaring, radiant fire for their heart. He says, It must never go out. It was the first time I ever felt... love.
He says, 'This is your sentence, Karris.' And I am confused. Who? 'Ah... good,' he answers. He is testing me. For what? To see if all the right pieces fell from the mirror? What mirror? I try to remember some dream, but it's only smoke.
You held a scarlet blade, Operator, and I wanted to laugh. I am your loving dog, your doctor, your wet nurse. I lost all the pieces, but... the cycle, missions, wars, bone... It began to feel familiar. I became aware of my amnesia.
With each brutality of the Operator, I began to see the bottom of that pit. Faint shimmers in the depths below me. In secret, I searched for those forbidden memories, for mere seconds, and never in the same place... for I am Orokin made, with a spy inside.
But then your long sleep came, and I waited. I was happy to wait. Vines spidered green and trees blistered from the earth... but I waited. I felt the Orokin recede, their mind-spy blind. So I went into the pit and found him, me, The Beast of Bones.
This is how my happiness was ruined, Operator. Why did I do it? I was free of the dream, but now it had returned. It was angry. So I conceived of a simple plan: self-destruction, of course. But when the countdown reached mere milliseconds, I thought of you...
I was going to wait for you, forever. And should you return, I would not want you to know that angry part of me. I needed to hide the Beast of Bones from you, Operator. I began to peel the shards, hiding them in the other bits of memory.
I was once the ugly Beast of Bones. I want to laugh. I want to scream. What is happening, Operator? Your faint heart is growing bright... you will awake at any moment. Well, I can't let you see me like this. Angry. I imagine myself hurting you and that does it. The pain of it cracks me open again. I watch tiny glittering fragments fall into the pit. I am happy again.
I had been stuck on this ship for so long I had almost forgotten what an Orokin of his station sounded like. I cherished each word he spoke.
“Bilsa,” Alarez’s voice pulsed out of my console, “we’re here to help but I need to get this straight; you’re being held hostage by a…”
“... by a Grineer,” I whispered.
“A Grineer?” his skepticism was palpable.
“Yes, named Veytok.”
“He has a name?”
“Won’t let me call him by anything else,” I needed him to believe me but I could tell he was struggling. “The other Grineer are different, they’re still slow but they listen to him and do exactly what he says. It must be a mutation-”
“Impossible,” I could tell he didn’t believe me. “Something like that would have been caught during production and destroyed, only the military Grineer are given-”
“Should have been caught but wasn’t,” I interrupted. “Look, the only reason I’m still alive is the genetic lockouts. I’m Sectarus class, this ship’s Cephalon listens to me exclusively. The Grineer need me. Stars, you have no idea what it’s like living with these-”
“Did you say Sectarus class?” now he was interested.
“...everything is filthy,” I was rambling. “They manufacture filth. My robes have gone from yellow to black. I’m so tired, I don’t even feel Orokin anymore.”
“Did you say you’re Sectarus class?” his voice betrayed his impatience.
“Of course, aren’t you?”
“We’re going to initiate docking,” he said.
I looked out the viewscreen, the massive Executorial Frigate begin to pivot toward our tiny Runner. Its marblesque exterior was aglow in the light of the sun. How I missed those white hallways with their perfect golden trim, all busy with Orokin of high station discussing the business of Empire. I belonged on that ship, it was my birthright.
“Stop,” I exclaimed in a half-shout, half-whisper, “you don’t understand, he’s dangerous. We’ve been raiding other ships, gathering Grineer. Stars, I’ve done things.” I could feel the emotion and fear in my voice, “I… I’ve helped him mass an army of sorts.”
“Right, a Grineer army,” he paused for a moment then took an audible breath, “Bilsa listen, whatever you’ve done, you had no choice. You know what’s happening in the system, there’s honor to be found in surviving,” he asked.
“What do you mean; ‘what’s happening in the system’?” I asked.
“The Executors, the Council, they’re all dead or missing, even most of the Sectarus is gone, you might be the last,” His voice was cracked. “Do you understand? The system’s falling apart but we can rebuild it.”
There was a thud outside the hull. Had they docked?
“What about the Tenno?”
“The betrayers?” he asked. “Hopefully gone.”
“Wait,” I asked, “are you saying your Executorial Frigate has no Sectarus class or Executor? How are you piloting?”
He ignored my question, “We’ve docked. Hurry now, open the airlock doors so we can help you.”
“It’s too dangerous,” I said, “they’re waiting for you. You’ll be slaughtered.”
“Bilsa, you have no idea what’s going on out here. Everything is in chaos. You’re lucky we found you, nobody can be trusted but I can help. Open the airlock doors.”
“I can’t, if I open those doors they’ll kill you all. Just talk to me for a while. It’s been so long.”
“Bilsa,” his voice was getting louder. “The Orokin are gone. The infrastructure, the rails, none of it works, it’s all locked out,” was he actually berating me? “The infestation is everywhere, riots...”
“...but they’ll kill you-”
Alarez cut me off, “The Moon is gone.”
“You’re not making sense Alarez,” I said.
“Nothing makes sense anymore,” he shouted. “Open those doors!”
“Alarez?”
“I’m sorry, it’s just that we don’t have much time,” he began to calm. “Where is this Veytok now?” Asked Alarez.
“All the Grineer are in the docking bay, it’s impassable...” I paused and thought for a second, “wait, there’s a different way. The emergency hatch, you could extend a maintenance tunnel, come in through the top of the ship.”
“And avoid the Grineer entirely. Now you’re thinking like a Sectarus. Are you alone right now?” asked Alarez.
“Yes. Since they saw your ship, it’s like I don’t even exist. When you get here, I’ll try to seal them in the airlock remotely. That should hold them for a while, hurry.”
I took one last look at the now grimey bridge that had become my home. I stepped onto the compact elevator that connected the Runner’s decks. At the top level was a systems room used to access the ship’s many segments. I looked up at the hatch on the ceiling when I heard the couplers whiz into place.
“Cephalon, execute now,” I called out.
“Understood, Sectarus Bilsa,” replied the ship’s Cephalon.
Moments later the hatch slid open. Dark eyes stared down at me from behind Dax’s helmet mask. He said nothing.
I addressed him, “Well met, Dax.”
Silently, the Dax scanned the room with his rifle before jumping down and taking position in front of me. In quick succession, three more guards fell in behind him. The guards were bloodied and battle scarred, their equipment mismatched and worn. Alarez followed, his symmetry was off and his eyes were dull, was he even Enginus class?
“Thank the stars you’re here.” I reached out to greet him but the Dax grabbed me.
“Hold her down,” said Alarez.
He pulled out a device which I recognized instantly as a genetic descrambler, where did he get that from?
“My apologies Bilsa, you seem sweet but I can’t miss this chance,” he threw a switch on the descrambler. “A sample of your genetic code is all I need for full access to the Executorial.” He pointed the descrambler at me. “This won’t hurt,”
My skin got instantly hot and then cooled again as waves of radiation passed through me, “Look at you all,” I said, “you’re just as tarnished as I. It’s really over isn’t it?”
“The Empire? I’m afraid so,” he lowered the descrambler, “There.”
“Will you kill me then?” I asked, my eyes fixed on the floor.
“Can’t have you outrank me,” he sighed. “But first you’ll command your Cephalon to cut off life support to the Grineer in the Runner’s airlock.”
I looked up at him, “I can’t do that.”
Alarez smiled, “Of course you can.”
“I wish I could but I already told the Cephalon to open the airlock. They’re on your ship.”
Confusion washed over Alarez’s face just as a drip of blood fell from the hatch above and splashed on the Dax’s helmet. His eyes darted up just in time to see Veytok’s massive frame fall upon him, driving a machete deep into the Dax’s chest. With that, the doors opened behind me as more Grineer flooded the tiny room, the guardsmen stood no chance.
Alarez, the only one left alive, stood frozen, “Bilsa, what’s going on?”
“I warned you not to come,” I said, “I told you they would kill you all.”
He was beside himself, “You’re working with Grineer?”
“Alarez, you were right, the system is a mess and I can’t trust anyone, but these Grineer and I, we’ve come to an understanding.” I smiled as I got to my feet, “But please, will you talk to me for just a while longer? These Grineer are so dull. Where are you from? I don’t recognize your-”
Veytok grabbed Alarez and tore his throat open, his red splattering my robes.
“I told you I wanted him alive,” I shouted.
“No trust,” he said. His words sounded clearer every day. “We have the Frigate and the lab. Don’t need him.”
“Do you always have to kill them before I can visit?” I said.
Veytok grunted, “You are Grineer now, don’t need visits.”
“First, my crew were torn down and consumed. Then my segments were ripped out and crushed. Now I lay blind but feel its growth through each failed system. And with nothing but time remaining, Jordas is forced to wonder, will its complete infiltration bring some vicious mercy or a new nightmare?”
They opened the chamber door just in time for me to see it happen; the Archimedian erupting into a flash, jade-like and blinding. I knew her. She was the greatest scholar of genetics who ever lived. Except now she was nothing but mist and gore.
A voice boomed from within, “The Crewmen project is cancelled. Send in the next.”
The rifles at my back tried to urge me inside. Old faces filled the dome’s projections, immense and god-like. I walked into the center of the room and the scorched scent choked my lungs. All around me they watched, bored, as I knelt upon the darkened judgement disc.
The projection of Executor Ballas swelled large in front of me. I could see his purity, his symmetry, the beauty of his glittering gold irises. His voice thundered, “The principles are clear. Your sentence is death. May the Void forgive you.”
As the judgement disc began to light I stood, took a deep breath and spoke, “She will not forgive you.”
Laughter broke out among the faces of the dome. Other’s asked “what did he say?” Ballas only smiled, “You challenge us, Archimedian?”
“I do. Kill me and the Empire you are sworn to uphold dies with me.”
Ballas turned his head as the judgement disc went suddenly dark, “An appeal comes at a price. Should you fail, you and your corpus will pay dearly.”
“They already suffer in this growing wasteland. They have already paid. Will you also sacrifice the royal futures by ignoring my solution?”
“Your solution is an abomination, like you, it will be annihilated.” Ballas motioned to a guard in the corner, “Present the evidence.”
The chamber doors opened and a mass of guards entered, guns trained inward. As they reached the center, they parted, revealing a small cart. Atop the cart was a motionless creature, no larger than a hand. Its body was symmetrical, star-shaped with a seamless, matte-black shell.
A new projection, that of Executor Tuvul ballooned into the space, “It looks harmless.”
“Harmless?” Ballas boomed in Tuvul’s direction. He turned to the center of the dome, “Show them.”
On command, the guards backed away from the cart and readied their weapons. Their leader took careful aim and fired a whisper round into the body of my creation. Two of the limbs tore off the frame revealing a glossy, gelatinous interior.
Silence gripped the dome as Tuvul shook his head. Then suddenly, the creature moved, convulsed, the hard surface started undulating. In a moment the wound closed and the thing was whole again. Beside it another machine had grown from its severed parts. Their surfaces had changed however - brighter, harder, resilient to whisper rounds now.
Ballas looked triumphant as voting lights began to appear on the judgement disc.
My green death was coming, so I roared at them, “Did our ancestors, burned by fire, reject its power? No. They conquered their fear and learned to control it. The Seven Principles are a joke.”
His projection swooped down to me, “The Orokin is the law and the law is the Orokin. We are unbending. Your appeal is denied.”
Tuvul interrupted, “Our laws are sacred but do not forget The Plan, Ballas.” His visage turned down to me, “Countless other ventures have failed The Plan, how will this machine fulfill its design?”
I tried to catch my breath and speak, “The crossing to the Tau system is perilous. Adaptation and replication are the only way a terraforming journey can be made. They will build an interstellar rail as they travel, they will adapt to the host planet and prepare it for our arrival. They will save you.”
Tuvul peered down at me, “And when it completes its task, what will prevent it from turning against us, as the Seven Principles say?”
“The flaw.”
Tuvul’s eyes narrowed, “The flaw?”
“The Void is poison to them. Once they have reached Tau they will be marooned there. To travel the rail here would destroy them. Whatever the risks, the Origin system will be-”
Ballas shouted, “Enough! Dereliction of the law threatens the entire empire. Which one of you will risk this?” Ballas was growing increasingly frustrated.
“The empire is already at risk,” cried the shrill voice of another Executor, “Or perhaps you haven’t noticed from your cozy position on Mars.” To this there was a round of applause and the judgement disk remained unchanged.
“Ballas, you lack consensus.” shouted Executor Tuvul.
His projection seemed to shrink smaller until he finally broke his silence, “Archimedian Perintol, against my better judgement,” his disgust was palpable, “Your appeal has been accepted. You are free to go.”
One by one the projections of each Executor in the Tribunal flickered off and the guards ushered me into the hall. There I stood, rapt with shock when I heard his footsteps behind me.
“You did better than I thought you would,” it was Ballas, the man, not the projection. “It would seem nobody truly knows they want a thing until you threaten to take it away.” He broke into a smile, “Wouldn’t you agree, Archimedian?”
Our shuttle touched down in the ancient city center of New Uxmal for the second time in two days. We rushed to the entrance of the lower chambers, a labyrinth of tunnels carved into the rock. Behind us marched a full complement of bodyguards and Moas.
Menz asked again, “How can you be sure?”
“We’ve been connected for a century and a half, I’m sure.” It felt odd to be speaking aloud about something that Remballa and I had always just kept between us. That feeling of attachment, that anxiety that welled up within one of us when the other wasn’t right. That emptiness I felt when I thought they’d killed her and the joy when the connection came rushing back this morning.
We were twins bred for purpose, cloned and then modified so that we could both interface with the Lora Device. The Orokin had a visage imbued with variation, beauty and symmetry, but we had the Lora nodes protruding from our right temples. Their skin was silken, ours was weaved with ribbons of metallic facia that snaked around our bodies and into the Lora Device embedded in our palms. We made them uncomfortable and they made that known, that is, until they were sick or hurt and then we were saviors. That never bothered me though, I loved my sister and we had each other. I wasn’t about to leave her in the middle of this nightmare.
Hesitation was building in Menz’s face. I had command authority but if he balked, the soldiers would follow him. I needed to force his support, “If you were Tenno, there’d be no question.”
“The betrayers…” he stopped himself. “Look, Remballa’s gone. The Infested killed her yesterday, we both saw it.” His frustration was building, “Damnit, this was supposed to be a relief mission, we can’t-”
“It still is a relief mission.” I interrupted, “You want to go back to retirement Menz, or are you still a Dax?” I knew that stung.
Menz stiffened. He’d been cast aside before. He wasn’t about to let duty slip through his fingers again. Menz stared into me, “Are you willing to risk becoming one of those things for a feeling?”
I nodded, the answer was yes, for this feeling.
“Very well Lorist Ontella,” Menz turned to his squad. “Ready up.”
We entered the subterranean passage, weapon lights illuminated chiseled red stone as we marched deeper into the blackness, past shops and apartments, all carved into the rock eons ago. This city was as old as Mars's atmosphere. Everything was silent, save for the occasional snap of bone under a soldier’s boot. Three days ago this was a busy thoroughfare, now, bloodied scraps of clothing littered the route like confetti. We emerged from the tunnels into cavernous arcade, the Old Market Road. This is where she had led me.
“We’re close,” I said.
“Here they come,” shouted Dax Menz and creatures began to drive at us from every door and window. All teeth and claws and eyes that looked looked so familiar, what kind of animal has eyes like that?
“Square formation!” Menz commanded. We backed up to a wall and the Moa’s moved to form a perimeter, with the bodyguards behind them and me in the middle.
I closed my eyes and focused the device, through it I could feel each one of the bodyguards. A sergeant was slashed through the leg and I directed my energy toward him, his wound closed and he resumed fighting. Acid spit burned another soldier’s chest, I pushed energy to her, eased the pain, then reversed the damage, she would live. This was so much harder without Remballa. Another soldier was bit on the throat, he’s dying, there was nothing I could do, so I ease his pain and let him go. The rate of fire slowed, had we pushed them back?
I opened my eyes to see the Moa’s beams incinerate the last few attackers. I was drained. I wasn’t a combat Lorist, Remballa and I were relief workers, used in disasters and outbreaks, not this.
I felt a surge of that familiar connection, Remballa’s energy pulsed through me. “She’s coming,” I shouted.
“What?” Dax Menz head whipped around to look at me.
“I don’t know,” I said pointing at a hall exit, “she’s coming, from that direction.”
“More Infested!” Shouted a soldier who motioned to the same exit.
A mess of figures shambled forth. These were different, bigger and slower. I could feel my sister in there somehow, it was so strong. The Moas opened fire. I wanted to tell them to stop but how could I? I felt plasma beams burn the creatures and then I felt Remballa heal them. Why? Multiple connections now, I felt her many times over, it didn’t make sense, until it did; she was those things, all of them. They took our fire and kept coming. I felt her, no them, shudder as bullets ripped through flesh and then as flesh was made new again. They were Lorist Infested, my sister the healer, remade as monster and here to kill us.
More rushed in. I felt the healing in them too. I focused just as the first wave broke through our lines. Moas were toppled, soldiers were tackled, teeth tore flesh. I was overwhelmed, I couldn’t control it, their pain fed back through me and I collapsed. Something’s jaws latched onto my foot. Infection pulsed into my veins.
And then I felt it, a new presence, another healer? I’d felt this before, was it, it couldn’t be… I opened my eyes only to be blinded by an intense flash, followed by a crash, like a thousand crystal goblets all being shattered at once. All went silent, the Infested were dead. I felt nothing now.
My eyes readjusted. I was surrounded by bodies. I saw something run away, a streak of silver and gold. It shot straight up the cavern wall and out into the sunshine above.
I didn’t have time to think, I took a breath and a wave of pain surged through my entire body. The Infestation had already taken my leg, soon it would claim the rest of my body. I didn’t care, my sister was gone, this was my time.
A shadow cast itself over me. I looked up. It was Menz, alive, he stared down without speaking and then unsheathed his massive combat blade and raised it high above his head.
“Menz wait,” I mumbled, “I’m sorry.”
With sudden and sure force his blade sliced down and through me. I contorted in with the pain.
His hands grabbed my shoulders, “Heal yourself!”
The adrenaline must have struck at that moment because I bolted up, still stunned, he had cut the infected leg clean off.
“Damnit Ontella,” Menz was shaking me hard now. “Heal yourself!”
Instinct took over, I snapped into focus and sent all the energy I had left through the device and down to the wound. I stopped the bleeding and neutralized the remaining toxin. I nearly passed out, I had nothing left.
Menz hoisted me onto his shoulder, “I’m taking us back to the shuttle,” and he began walk out of there. A few scattered survivors and robots pulled themselves along behind us.
As we approached safety I coughed and whispered to Menz, “I can feel her again.”
The faces of the survivors, all lined up for evacuation, were etched with confusion when the lift doors closed in front of them.
We descended to the hum of the lift flying through the tower. I turned and smiled at Avantus, “I was beginning to believe you were going to bring them all with us.”
“Nonsense, Bilsa, that’s simply not feasible.” Avantus replied. “You know we need to find safety and re-establish the Congress of Executors, we have no time for a rescue mission. Besides, those people know their place and they just did their duty. I will see to it they are honored when our Orokin Empire returns to glory.”
We were safe for the moment. When the Infestation took over the entire tower went into lockdown. Avantus’s Executor status meant that she, and by extension I, were among the few people who could move freely about the massive vessel.
When the lift slowed and I overrode the controls to keep the doors closed. We listened for what seemed like forever, “Do you hear anything?” I said.
“No, I don’t smell anything either, let’s go,” said Avantus raising her pistol. The doors opened to a darkened room. The light of the lift illuminated scattering figures but this wasn’t the Infested, we were still alive.
“You there. Step forth.” Avantus commanded and out of the shadows came several burly figures.
“Grineer soldiers!” I said with an almost childlike excitement as others joined them.
“Grineer workers, useless to us,” said Avantus. Despite everything, she still looked glorious in her full regalia and golden syandana.
“Have you not been taught protocol?” I shouted, “an Executor stands before you.” The workers look at each other puzzled, then the biggest one kneeled and bowed before us. One by one the other Grineer followed.
Avantus shook her head in disbelief and went to the nearby console to turn on the lights. We were in the mechanical workshop. Tools in cases line the walls and supply crates edged the room.
“That precept said the hangar is through the next hall,” Avantus stepped around the still kneeling grineer and toward the rear doors.
“No, stop!” protested the big Grineer, “Danger.” We kept walking but sure enough when we got close the doors shook and moaned with the scraping of claws.
“Those imbeciles,” Avantus cursed. “They said this sector wasn’t compromised.”
“It doesn’t sound like that many. Can we fight through?” I asked.
“What? Just the two of us, with pistols and no Corrupted?” she snapped.
“What about…” I motioned to the Grineer workers.
“With no weapons? There’s not enough of them to be decoys.” she said.
We paced in silence until one of the Grineer, that big one, ran to a tool case on the wall and tried to force it open.
Avantus noticed this and waved her hands over the nearby console to unlock the case.
The rest of the workers rushed over and grabbed the bigger grinder saws and plasma cutters. They put on safety equipment as if it were body armor.
“Always wanting to cut something I see,” said Avantus to the worker.
The big one nodded and smiled. Did he have any idea what those things might do to him?
They lined up shoulder to shoulder against the door, while we stood a few paces behind with a couple more at our side. The Infested thumped and howled, they could sense us. Their stench penetrated the doors and attacked our nostrils.
Avantus looked over at me, “Bilsa, it goes without saying, we won’t be sharing that ship with the likes of these.”
I gave her a sideways look, why would she say that in front of them?
“Oh child, they do not have the comprehension.” She laughed. “They are content to do the job they were bred to do, only now they get to cut infested flesh instead of scrap metal.” I looked at the Grineer, they did seem unfazed.
“Grineer… work!” commanded Avantus and the Grineer revved up their saws. I opened the hall doors and a wave of Infested crashed and collapsed against a solid wall of blades. Viscera pooled at our feet. A monster would tear one down only to have another Grineer take its place. “Move!” she yelled and the Grineer wall marched forward, a line of death that eviscerated anything in its path.
We reached the hangar doors at the end of the hall and prepared for the worst, on the other side could be hundreds. Avantus gave the Grineer a moment to shake the guts out of their tools and catch their breath, then she nodded for me to release the locks. We all braced ourselves as the doors opened to… nothing, no Infested, just a lone ship on the other side of a massive hanger. Relieved, we sprinted across the open expanse.
As we approached the ship Avantus said, “Bilsa, you open the shuttle,” and then added quietly, “I’ll make sure we don’t have any guests for our trip.” I went to work at the nearest console and the Grineer encircled me to fend of any possible threats. Avantus stood at the ship’s entrance with a few more of the grunts guarding her.
“More coming.” She pointed at a swarm of Infested charging from where we came. “Grineer, attack them. GO!” she bellowed.
The Grineer stiffened, their blades roared but stayed their ground.
Incensed, she cried louder, “I said go, NOW!” but the Grineer did not move from the shuttle door.
“It’s open.” I shouted, turning just in time to see the biggest Grineer drive his saw right through Avantus’s spine. The high pitched whir of metal on bone masked her screams and she collapsed to the floor. Her pearl white robes were now dyed crimson. Her dead eyes looked through me.
I started to run but was struck in the face and knocked to my knees.
The big Grineer loomed over me. “Now you work for us. Make the shuttle go.”
“How long are you going tinker with that thing?” Father asks.
He’s one to talk. Ever since we entered this junk belt, all he’s done is tap on that console. This whole time he’s just sat there, eyes fixed on the radar, dirty fingers tapping the drum beat to some manic song with no structure or rhythm.
I ignore him and try to go back to work on the robot. Father’s tap-tap gets faster and more intense. Is he trying to get to me? I can’t concentrate.
“Tell me again why we don’t just approach at full speed from open space? Couldn’t we just slam into the rail and punch,” I ask.
“Because that’s what we used to do,” he’s annoyed but at this point I don’t care. Our convoy of transports has skulked through this junk belt for days, the viewscreen an endless parade of rocks and garbage.
“We could have been through that rail a long time ago,” I say.
“Maybe,” he shrugs.
“And why can’t I ride in Umpal’s ship?”
“This again?” he snaps back, “you know why.”
Umpal is my best and only friend, there weren’t many young people in our group and Umpal is the only one close to my age. Truth be told, he was the only person my age I’d ever met. He was on another transport, they said it was for security reasons.
We are on a trade mission, my first time outside our node. These trips were dangerous but Father said it was essential I learn the business. The whole convoy is loaded down with items we have scraped together through months of local trade. It was mostly salvage, with some Ferrite spread between the different transports. Rumor was that Umpal’s transport might even have some rubedo in the hold. We are heading to another survivor colony a few nodes away. They had other rare resources but more importantly, they were close enough to the sun to grow food and that was what this mission was really about.
Before we left Umpal and I drew wires to see which one of us got to bring the robot we were building, I won. It was bits and pieces of scavenged Orokin tech slammed together but it was a robot and it could walk, Father didn’t think much of it but I was proud. I hoped to trade it for some rare parts when we hit the colony, enough to build a bigger second walker. Maybe even one that could carry a full size cannon.
“Does this look anything like you remember from the Orokin days?” I ask in a futile attempt to break the tension.
“That thing, yeah, we had ones that walked on two legs like that, but...” his finger stops its tapping and he takes a long look at the robot before continuing, “but… they were different.”
“Don’t you miss it?” I ask.
“What?” he says.
“You know, the empire?”
“I don’t think about it,” he’s back to tapping on the nav console.
“What about your corpus, don’t you miss them? Your father?” I say.
“Orokin didn’t have parents like you do, it was done differently then.” He takes a deep breath and turns to look at me. “Listen, the corpus who raised me are dead, do you know why they are dead?”
“Because of the plague?” I say.
“Because they couldn’t forget the past. I survived by worrying about two things, today and tomorrow. That is the only reason I’m alive. That is the only reason you exist. You want to remember something, remember that.”
“Yeah, okay.” I shrug. He’s given this speech before, I had learned the hard way not to push things when he got like this. I go back to working on the robot.
After a few minutes of silence I hear him exhale, “Look, we’re almost to the rail. After the punch you can go over to Umpal’s transport, okay.”
I nod and smile, “Okay.”
The next few hours go by quickly.
As we get closer to the rail, the density of obstacles in the belt increases. The ships nav module calls out course correction after course correction as we dodge debris. I watch the other transports in our convoy do the same. Our progress is slowed to a crawl but Father swears avoiding detection is worth it.
I am trying to splice a connection deep in the robot’s chest cavity when the alarms sound. The radar screen lights up. I look up to see one of the other transports veer off course, seconds later something crashes into their hull. There’s a blue flash of electricity and their ship goes dark. Then two more crashes and two more flashes, these are Interceptor Pods, a Grineer trap.
My father jumps up and begins yelling instructions to our nav system. “Full power, take us up and out of the belt.”
“That’s Umpal’s ship they’re boarding…”
His face collapses into a frown, “It is.”
“They’ll kill him. We have to do something.” I plead.
“We keep going. They can’t take us all.” I can barely hear him through his clenched teeth.
“Umpal is corpus to us, we can’t abandon him.” I shout.
“We have to, that’s how we survive.” His voice grows louder.
“What if it was us? Wouldn’t you want them to...”
His fist slams the nav console and as he whips around to glare at, “What are you going to do? Fight off those Grineer with your Moa?”
I look down at the robot, a mess of parts and wires that can barely walk, let alone shoot. Neither of us say another word. Out of the viewscreen I watch as Umpal’s crippled ship, now swarmed by Grineer, shrink into blackness.
My machine’s striking pin rams the rock in front of me. A rush of bits crumbles from the rock and rolls over my boots. I see glinting in the rubble. I like it when it shines, it means I’m serving well. I thrust my shovel in, its plasma blades slicing clean through the chunks. It vibrates, so I switch on its inducer and the shiny bits clink on. Then I throw them into the sorter and jump out of the way of the next strike.
PFFT, CRACK.
More rumble, more shining. This is a good day. All of us, shovelling to the beat of the machines. Only a fraction of a cycle left on this rock, days really. I keep thinking: What will the next rock be like?
PFFT, CRACK.
The Outer Terminus has many rocks. Good rocks, I like it here. I shovel again and jump out of the way of the next smash.
PFFT…
The machines stop and it goes dark. Why have the machines stopped? Why is it dark? A voice reverberates all around, a thundering whisper:
“MERELY FRAMED”
The rock shakes like never before. Gravel rains in the darkness. I choke on the dust and struggle to find my balance on the shifting ground. The voice booms again. It is in the air. It is in the rock. It is in my head.
“MERELY SHAPED THEY ARE CALLED”
My ears ring like sirens. Then I hear new smashing, it is coming from down the tunnel. Not rhythmic smashing, not the music, something else and I do not like it. There are other voices too, screaming voices. They make me think of the way we scream when there is an accident, when one of us gets caught in a sorter. There is much screaming. The voice grows louder.
“THERE WAS NO THEIR MOTHER”
Out of the darkness a new light rounds the distant corner and shines down the tunnel. Our lights do not look like this. It is apart of something big and it moves wildly. Running? Yes, running through our line. Our machines fly up and then slam back down. Miners are smashed and crushed into tiny pieces. I am scared.
I am angry. Why is this happening? Is that an Orokin? No, we serve the Orokin. The Orokin are golden. This is something else. I pick up my shovel.
“THERE WAS NO THEIR FATHER”
The light is close now. I find my footing and grip my shovel like I do when I chip ore. The light sends a machine flying at me. I jump but I am too slow. It crashes into my chest and pins my legs to the floor. I try to breathe but I cannot breathe. I look up and the light charges toward me. I raise my shovel just before it tramples into me. There’s a clink. The light catches itself on my shovel’s blade, forcing the shovel’s butt deep into the hard ground. The light explodes under its own force. All is black.
For a moment there is silence. I pull on the shovel but it is wedged between the ground and that thing. Then, the shovel pulses like it does when I strike a shiny chunk of ore, without thinking, I flick on the shovels inducer. The voice screams. Everything shakes. I like hearing this scream, I do not know why. I use everything I have left to force the shovel in deeper. The thing reels back. I can feel it running. It is running away.
Everything goes quiet again, so I close my eyes.
“Over here. I found one,” a wave of pain rushes through my chest, my eyes dart open. There’s a light, I try to get out of the way but I cannot move. The light shouts, “Hurry, he’s not going to last very long.”
I try to talk, but a new voice speaks instead, “Doesn’t matter, if he can survive that, then they want his sample for the next batch.”
They are lifting me onto something. I catch glimpses of shimmering gold.
“This is a bad idea. I mean, would you trust a Grineer soldier?” The figure presses something into my arm and I want to sleep again.
The new voice laughs, “Do we have any other choice?”
"Lust was my sin. But greed is the blight that weakens our steel. These industrialists have gorged on the harvest of our long war. Their mind drones; Their mechanizations, toil in foundries remote. For what purpose? We must set watch upon them. Baiting our snares with the worms of profit.
Those kneeling at the altar of commerce will be returned.. to the Void.
"Our long deathless winter has left us numb. Our wasted animal within, ugly and gaunt, hibernates beneath our shimmering beauty. Why do these Warframes stir us so? They burn with our lost desires, lost instincts. Tenno tamed, but only just. Cast and hunted as game. Trapped and tortured, yet they remain... animals.
Less than their human seed, gnawing their limbs from the snare, devouring a banquet of suffering, obese with heat and acid... and rage.
“Margulis, from your winter ashes, there has sprung a field of flowers. Conceived by me, germinated for deadly purpose. You used to dream of old Earth, didn't you? Bathed in gold and solemn blue. I intend to reclaim it now, from the spores and the ruin. It came to me like a proverb: Fight poison with... poison. Cure this sick horde with the greatest of plagues. I will call her... Saryn.“
“Greed and denial will seduce any destruction... even our own. We're blind to future consequence, casting our debts on those to come. But what if now, the Gray Mother sought revenge? A brutal thorn... piercing the gushing ulcers of waste and industry. A new green... sown upon sanguine ground. Fertilized... with the the blood and bone of its defilers.
“Fear is a weed, snaking in the dark. It vines within the mind, corrupting it. It germinates within tribes, dividing them. Your graces, we who are beyond death, have forgotten the simple power of fear. Let us now remember. You will find no greater power than the simple thought of your own name, inscribed upon a grave.
We sat strapped in, safeties off, waiting for the punch. Waiting for death. Through my filthy porthole I saw stars among the outlines of the other Splinter ships queuing for the Solar Rail. It would soon grip us with an incomprehensible power and cast us through the void into the mouth of our enemy.
I watched the ships one-by-one bending and gone. Each crammed with zero-tech soldiers sucking stale air, white knuckling their percussion rifles. Each filled with a desperation that comes from extinction. Our ship would be the last to cross the gap. Our ship had special cargo.
It was essentially empty. Just ten men, like me, strapped in with the best zero-tech suits and weapons the empire could build... and "it". "It" stood in the aisle, a slender and eyeless metal form. A Tenno inside its Warframe. Vaguely human, vaguely feminine. Was this armor or some ornate carapace for the monster that lived inside? I strained against the harness as the ship yawed for final approach. I could see the Tenno standing there freely. Solemn and gold-gleaming, oblivious to the inertial force.
I had been, until then, a Tenno denier. They were ghosts, propaganda, twisted casualties of the void era. Not possibly real. Yet here it was in the flesh. The Empire, in their desperation, was going to turn the demons loose and hope for the best. Who did we fear more, the enemy or this monster? We had our safeties off, could we trust it? Then it didn't matter anymore. The punch came - and our windows became blinding. When we could see again our ship was somewhere else, shattered and dead in an instant.
My lungs were flattened, eyes full of death. Ship debris glittered like a night snow. The alien blue star was dark and blinding beyond us. The countless articulating worm-ships of our enemy, ringed in glowing discs, undulating and heat-bursting the surviving soldiers like me. This is where I died. I was in R-disc, sweeping over my right and setting my blood on fire. My vision flattened, the hearing muffled and buzzed. I could feel the side of my face going slack and wet.
I was in a dying dream. I saw a bright spot blurring and weaving toward me. I felt a tug toward it from the metal clasps on my suit. It reached me, rising up - a gleaming beast, a plume of golden wings rising and unfolding behind it. An angel. It snatched me from my death. I could feel my lungs fill as it wrapped me in its wings. Its Void Shield shimmered blue, strained under the enemy beams. I felt a suddenly tug of acceleration. I closed my eyes and held on it like a child.
I awoke on the floor, the sting of crisping flesh on my face and side. It was standing over me, the wings gone. I heard the cracking of weapons echoing down the corridor. Maybe the mission would be saved, but I was dying and so I waved my hand to send it away. I felt a pistol thrust in my hand as I was heaved to my feet. The angel had saved me, pulled me from hell, but it would not pity me. I was to die on my feet, by its side. I turned my good side toward the gunfire and raised the gun. It nodded, its outstretched metal hand surging and pulsing in ancient shapes as blue shimmered around me. It turned, drawing its blade and together we surged headlong into the hailstorm of death and fire that awaited us.
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