"The Sentient's return to the Origin System was marked not by fire or destruction, but by silence. A gradual darkening of the defence grid. Entire towers and relays disappeared as the machines fell upon the Orokin border, exterminating any and all in their path.
There is no formal estimate of casualties; I suspect that if such a number were found, today's audience would find it scarcely credible.
The Seven were paralysed at first. The Empire had been secure for so many centuries; such an immediate existential threat proved difficult to comprehend. Their technologies were failing; co-opted by a machine born from the very wellspring of Orokin sophistication.
As in war, so too trading; surprise can be the most powerful advantage of all."
- A History of the Latter Orokin Empire, Collected Essays by E.M. Saronal
"What's taking so long." Captain Bravic growled. He slouched in his command throne, listless.
The bridge was quiet. They had been slowly drifting around the Upper Tier for some time now, led by nav-drones that seeded a flight lane of bleeping beacons before them. The route was meandering, nonsensical: a holding pattern, if Bravic had ever seen one.
Their City Watch escort was still with them. Even they seem bored, staring out over the horizon; the novelty of the Severance Package long forgotten.
"Mehrino's instructions, Boss." That was his helmsmen, Pohld. "We're to come around by the Executive Tower prior to landing."
"We're being paraded." Bravic glowered.
"Seems that way, Cap."
"Void's Teeth. Fine, but we're chargin' extra for the privilege."
The Severance Package drifted by in the distance, a gnarled, rusted brute rendered serene in the Venusian sun.
The boardroom by comparison was cool, almost festive in atmosphere. Mehrino had agreed terms with his buyer quickly.
With the briefest of thumbprints, the Agreement of Exchange was signed, and Prospect 141 became most assuredly his. All he need make now was one small delivery.
A moment to savour: Assistant Director no longer.
Now he was Colony Director. Or Chief Executive. Mehrino wasn't quite certain what his title should be, yet. A decision for another time.
Even so, a celebration was in order.
He invited all his friends. Spur of the moment; little forward notice. An open invitation, heated and spontaneous, with a promise of finger food.
Five hundred invites, splashed out with wild abandon from his personal inbox.
Six people arrived.
The first to do so was Kren Maruk, the City Watch supervisor. His presence was more out of dogged duty than true friendship (he was reporting to his future boss, after all), but Mehrino didn't care.
Merhino thrust a glass of sparkling wine into the Maruk's surprised hands, before breezing past to greet the rest of his guests. Soon, the chiming clink of chilled glasses and polite conversation filled the air, accompanied by the lilting swell of a synthachord.
Eythan stood off to one side, brooding by the observation window; never once taking his eyes off the Severance.
"Almost got it!"
Rivulets of sweat pulsed down Kelpo's brow, causing his swollen face to itch ferociously. Still he sawed away at his bonds, working the vine-work against the jagged hull with demented determination.
"Hurry up!" Telin's legs quivered under the strain of lifting his friend. Even with generous breaks, this was their fourth attempt. Each attempt was proving progressively shorter.
Yet progress had been made. The bonds frayed to the barest thread; stubborn, resilient. Kelpo redoubled his efforts.
Finally, they split apart.
"Got it!" he announced, triumphantly.
An explosion slammed the hull, throwing the two men off their feet. There was a resounding chatter of what sounded like an industrial sowing machine. Sparks flew all around them, blinding them. Then a rush of cold air.
Then hell itself broke loose.
"What in the Void was that?!" Bravic roared, leaping to his feet.
Warning sirens and klaxons hooted all over the bridge. Crewmen slammed by, racing to man emergency stations and weapon ports. Outside the view-port, the remains of one of their escorts still tumbled to the ground far below.
"Registering impacts to the starboard side; third deck." Pohld reported. "Minor hull damage."
"Monitoring emergency chatter on all channels." Teico chimed in, fingers dancing across his console.
"Pohld, bring us about. Weapons online."
"We're inside the No Fire Zone." Pohld protested.
"Then kindly explain to me why we're being fired upon. Shields up, full alert!"
A lime green shape flashed by the bridge. A nimble, colourful thing, Bravic only caught a snatch-glimpse of its pilot; who cheekily flipped him a hand gesture universally understood as a sign of contempt across the Origin System. Then the flyer was gone, looping and twirling out of sight.
"Bring that bastard down!" Bravic bellowed, incensed.
Below them, rising from the cloud bank in unison; a great line of ramshackle transports; great and small. Bound for the Upper Tier. Headed straight for them.
More flyers darted forward, plasma weapons spitting. The hull rocked once more.
Bravic snatched up the hand receiver crudely bolted to the edge of his command throne.
"All hands, battle stations. Defend this ship!"
The Battle for Prospect 141 truly began fourteen minutes earlier, in the calm and eerie quiet of a trading floor in the Upper Tier.
Jef Anyo was making his rounds as he always did, checking the efficiency rating of each of the brokers in the data pits. Trade activity was normal, healthy even. The news of the colony's impending sale had spread like wildfire. Markets reacted with all speed; establishing positions and counter-hedges. His supervisor, his own supervisor, had been gifted the colony, in exchange for a private trade. Exciting times indeed. The routine kept Jef calm.
He was crossing the trade floor when one of the low-traders stepped away from his station.
"You there!" Jef Anyo pointed. "News or no news, we're still on cycle. Back to your post!"
The man had his back turned to Jef. Jef Anyo strode forward, waving the on-duty guards over.
"I'm warning you! All bonuses are discretionary. You will be penalised!"
The man turned to face him. He was shaking in nervous terror; eyes wild and frenzied.
An uncomfortable knot of fear wormed its way through Jef Anyo's stomach. He stopped where he was. The two crewmen shoved past, snapping stun-prods into life with a keening, threatening whine.
They saw the trigger-switch far too late.
"Get back!" Jef Anyo cried. "Get back—"
The world vanished in smoke and fire.
Across the city, similar detonations wracked the Upper Tier of Prospect 141. The largest was in the data-stacks; a brace of chain detonations that sent one of the towers toppling into those beside it - a cataclysmic domino effect that choked much of the upper city in swirling, cloying dust for days to come.
Sirens traditionally reserved for Grineer Invasions rent the air, sending the teeming crowds scattering for emergency shelters or evacuation transports.
The B-Cloud struggled to cope with the catastrophic data loss. Drones across the city went haywire; overloading. Many simply collapsed to the floor. Others went berserk; MOA dashing into walls or opening up on the very charges they were assigned to protect. Chaos reigned.
The aerial defence grid had been the Resistance's principal target. Entire batteries of plasma projectors lay inert; rendered little more than lumps of ornate metal. The Resistance airships sped closer and closer toward the Upper Tier, largely unopposed.
Checkpoints between the Low and Mid-Tiers lost power in an instant. Sentry beams collapsed with a resounding pop.
The City Watch manning the checkpoint were swarmed by the waiting crowds. Poorly armed in many cases, but so, so numerous. They overwhelmed the checkpoints with sheer numbers, surging through and clawing with fingernails, or crudely improvised clubs. Hissing beam weapons scythed them down in droves, but for every person slain three more flooded in, imbued with a righteous fury.
The battle began in earnest.
On their transport ship, a safe distance beyond the immediate aerial engagement Sara and Vanger watched tracer fire split the sky.
"There." Hosk pointed. "The ship that took Neera and her companions."
Sara watched the bruiser of a barge wheel about, smoke trailing from the side of its plating where one of the Resistance flyers had scored its alpha strike. The Severance had come to bear, weapons cycling to life. Igniting shield auras caused the air around the barge to shimmer and blur, like a roadway in a heatwave.
The Severance Package was no slouch in ship to ship combat. It had been designed as warship first, salvage vessel second. Much of its armament had been cannibalised by the numerous surface raiders who had tried to best it over the years, and failed. Its armament reflected these diverse victories.
Harpoon launchers, Grineer flak cannons and looted Vruush turrets. The air suddenly filled with cloudburst shrapnel.
One hapless flyer flew clean into it; erupting in a starburst of trailing fire. Others swooped in, vengefully pressing the attack.
Mirage pushed to the edge of the hatch, turning to Hosk.
"Get me closer."
"And the risk the transport?" Hosk shook his head. "This is our window. We press on."
"We won't be saving anyone if your men blow that bucket out of the sky."
"We won't. But we're committed. As much I hate to say it, Neera and her friends are on their own for now."
Mirage seemed to glower as much as a Warframe could glower, but said nothing.
Below, mobbed on all sides by Resistance flyers, shields shivering from multiple impacts and weapons blazing in return; the Severance Package went to war.
Telin flinched as another scatter of shots stitched the hull.
They had been extraordinarily lucky to survive the first pass. A whistling series of holes been punched through the plating around them, narrowly missing them on both sides. The far wall containing the supply locker was shredded, dented and buckled, its contents spilled across the floor.
Telin blinked and patted himself down, astonished to learn he had avoided being perforated a dozen times over. The sound of rushing air was deafening. The internal temperature was plummeting, fast.
"Who the hell is shooting at us?!" Telin yelled.
"Shooting at them, I reckon!" Kelpo bellowed back. "We just happen to be stuck in the way."
"We need to move!"
"Agreed! Suggestions?"
Telin eyed the scattered contents of the locker. Some bonding tape, a series of old rebreather cartridges, and a particularly disheveled mop of limited value and even more questionable hygiene. Very little of it was within his immediate reach.
Still he grasped for it, grunting with the effort.
He was still straining away when Kelpo simply pushed the door of their makeshift cell open with a yawning squeak.
A stray piece of shrapnel had shaved the crude lock mechanism away, together with most of the far hatchway beyond. Once more, Telin gave thanks that he had somehow not been painted across the inner hull.
Telin looked up, confused. Kelpo shrugged.
"You complaining? Sometimes we don't need to scavenge."
The boy sat cross-legged on the floor. When the first explosion happened, his eyes opened slowly.
He frowned in mild irritation. He had been close, so very close.
Then the alarms went off, and the room bathed itself in red. His guards abandoned him, rushing to assigned positions elsewhere. The Nullification Field remained where it was, but the boy noticed its ebb and flow as the ship's shield array drew power elsewhere. It was subtle, but he noticed it all the same. That small but particular change in the field's sound.
Another impact, another barely perceptible change in pitch.
For all his discomfort, for all the commotion beyond the confines of his cell; the boy remained sitting where he was, the very measure of patience.
Waiting.