"Some call the Corpus Trade Guilds; others, a Merchant Cult. The truth is somewhat more muddied. They are not as unified as they seem, for one. There are rivalries, internecine conflicts that can oft-break out into trade warfare in a very literal sense. These fissures run the length and breath of the Corpus Empire: from the highest Board member to the lowest subcontractor.
Exploit them to your advantage.
Ignore them at your peril."
- Tenno Doric, ruminations on Corpus politics
Kahrl Bravic sweated. The chaos of the battle had thrown the Severance off course.
Now they drifted over the battle engulfing the stretches of the city immediately beyond the landing pads. First class seats to the impending destruction of the Upper Tier.
The battle spread like wildfire; spilling through abandoned cafes and fine restaurants; through wide boulevards and plush galleries; even shrines erected by wealthy patrons hoping to curry favour with the Prophet himself.
Between frenzied firefights and brutal hand to hand clashes, Solaris sympathisers stopped and gawked at the sheer ostentation displayed throughout the Upper Tier. The degree of space set aside for their supposed betters proved more bewildering than any skirmish.
Above, Bravic could see the flitting bursts of plasma fire between the lines, as the Solaris rebels pushed the City Watch further and further back into the city. It was a question of hunger as much as anything else. The rebels had committed to the assault with singular purpose. To fail here was to die, or worse: a lifetime of the very servitude they sought to end.
The crewmen by contrast were either purpose-bred gene-stock or indentured servants: disciplined, certainly, but lacking the fire and urgency of their opponents. The mind-wiped infantry lacked initiative, and this lack of creativity materially showed in the degree of territory ceded to the rebels, as hole after hole was picked in the Corpus line, and exploited with ruthless speed.
By now the rebel flyers had disengaged; discouraged by the Severance's dogged resistance. Now they kept their distance, strafing City Watch lines and pounding the inert anti-air batteries into scrap metal.
This made a welcome change. The Severance had been sorely tested. Twice the shields had failed outright; and it was only through sheer happenstance that it had been spared an even greater beating. Even with its layers of armoured plating, Bravic had no intention of exposing his ship further. Not with his prize still on board.
Now they drifted over Watch Control itself, far from the frontline; as the Severance licked its wounds: the crew noisily patching the various holes that had been ripped through the platework; soldering severed wires and coaxing emergency systems back to life. The Severance slowly began to heal.
Bravic marvelled at the view, letting his crew get on with it. Ordinarily, a contractor like him would never be allowed to fly this close to such a key facility.
Up close, the ziggurat presented a grim, foreboding structure: a long flight of steps from the open plaza led up to where the boardroom sat at its summit; a glass two storey tower with a full panoramic view of the city around it; almost shrine-like in its placement. Bravic could see the crewmen manning the palisades; establishing mortars and fixed emplacements, should the unthinkable happen and the rebels manage to test the ziggurat itself.
The place was a fortress, and rightly so: Watch Control was the cold intelligence controlling Prospect 141; the summit of Corpus influence and power. Contained inside its armoured walls was every major system required to ensure the Board's dominance of the colony: the reserve servers for the drone manufactories; the orbital defences and environmental controls that kept the very city and its environs habitable. It was no small wonder the Solaris were hell-bent on taking it.
It was a giddy prospect. He who controlled the ziggurat, controlled the colony.
Bravic was still marvelling at the view when he heard a dry click behind him. The entire bridge wheeled about in their chairs.
"Nobody move!" Telin warned, a gun pressed to his hostage's head.
Kelpo stood beside him, a crude flamethrower in his hands; the pilot light shimmering from the rattling-hum of the pulse drives. The two scavengers had evidently raided the armoury. They were festooned with ammo belts, looted surplus gear and more bandoliers and pouches than any one person should conceivably carry. Bravic smirked.
It took Bravic a moment to remember quite who the hostage was. When he did, his smirk widened to an outright grin.
"You again." Bravic rose to his feet. Telin readjusted the grip on his pistol, pressing it tighter against Spendric's head. The pistol rattled audibly, such was the shake of Telin's hand.
Captain Bravic heaved a sigh. He reached back and keyed a button on the side of his command throne, broadcasting the conversation wideband throughout his fleet. It would be good for morale, if nothing else.
"Okay. So what's supposed to happen here?" Bravic asked, turning back to face his would be hijackers, eyebrow raised.
"We're taking this ship."
"Are you now?" Bravic folded his arms, bemused by the whole scenario. "Because I'm not convinced."
Scattered chuckles broke out amongst the crew. Bravic continued, slowly pacing. His head nearly brushed the ceiling, such was his height.
"Because if you were serious about taking this ship, you would know that every single one of us is armed. That, even if you did kill me; our being here is solely on account of the agreement I personally hold with the very man in charge of that fortress. Something happens to me? Corpus control blows you out of the sky.
Bravic then pointed out the port window. Two barges of a muscled pattern similar to the Severance were visible on the horizon, inbound to their position with all speed; drives flaring.
"See those two barges? My other crews. The long one is Forward Transaction, the sister ship to this barge. The stubbier one is the Short Position. See the cannon to the stern? That's a Graviton Three Decimator. I'm not even sure what it does; I just know it cost more credits than you've ever seen in your miserable scavver life. But go ahead, take the ship. Give the city a live demonstration."
Telin shifted on his feet, doing his best not to panic. Kelpo for his part debated torching the captain there and then. Anything to shut him up.
Bravic wasn't finished.
"But your experience isn't even the most insulting part of your sorry plan." Bravic was playing to the gallery now. "It's that of all the key personnel you could have taken, you chose him…"
Bravic pointed at Spendric. His men were roaring with laughter now.
"… our onboard sanitation expert, as your leverage."
Spendric shook with umbrage as the majority of the bridge crew drew weapons, cackling all the while.
Bravic wiped a tear from his eye, still laughing. He shook his head.
"Y'know, Telin Voss, with all the credits you cost me, I was planning on selling you. Good return on wetware these days. Might even get a lease agreement with Fortuna directly. But I haven't had a laugh like this in years. So we'll settle on just killing you."
Bravic's bridge opened fire as one. A roar of gunfire that by rights should have painted Telin, Kelpo and the hapless Spendric across the deck. They flinched.
Nothing happened.
A shape had descended from the ducts above. The air shimmered between it and the crew.
The shape rose to its feet. The golem; angular lines and slender metal. Twinned horns jutting out over an arched, sloping visage. A deep blue cloak, and curved shoulder pauldrons decorated with Orokin script; white on black.
The air before it shimmered; crackling with electricity.
The laughter stopped.
Bravic didn't hesitate. His Grakata were up in seconds; shredding the air. The fizzling shield absorbed it all. The Grakata snapped empty; scattered shell casings steaming across the deck.
The Warframe cocked its head to one side, as if amused.
Then Bravic was lifted clean from the ground; throat all but swallowed by the metal warrior's elongated hands. The bridge crew were on their feet now, weapons pointed at the Warframe from all directions. It noticed the green broadcast light on the command throne.
A voice emerged in the air around it; tinged with a metallic rasping echo.
"You're broadcasting live; all channels? Good."
Telin recognised the boy's voice immediately. Bravic just kicked and spluttered, turning blue. With frenzied fists and desperate feet he thumped at the Warframe, again and again. Until his fists bled. He may as well have been hitting a statue. The boy's voice was icy calm, detached.
"Whether you live or die depends entirely on you, Captain Bravic. Make no mistake: I am taking control of this vessel. Any further harm to my companions will be revisited in kind. Do you understand."
"Void Freak!" Bravic managed to croak; spittle flying from bulging lips.
"Evidently not." The Warframe shrugged. A surge of lightning coursed through Bravic. He shrieked; an animalistic sound so loud and piercing it seemed scarcely human.
Then the Frame applied the slightest degree of pressure.
The shrieking ceased with a single hollow snap; that echoed across the bridge of every ship in Bravic's fleet.
The Warframe dropped the corpse to the deck with a resounding clang. It looked around.
"Anyone else?"
There was a resounding clatter of guns being cast aside. A sea of hands filled the air.
The Warframe nodded once, satisfied.
Then it looked over at Telin. The scavenger felt three centimetres tall all of a sudden.
The boy spoke with a ruthless confidence far removed from the lost child they found buried beneath the ice.
"You were wrong about me, Telin Voss. I am not a kid, nor am I salvage, to be bartered."
Volt Prime took a seat in the command throne of the Severance Package, Bravic's smoking corpse still twitching at his feet.
It turned in the revolving chair, looking out over the burning city beyond.
"I am Tenno. And my name is Kael."