"Beware the House Eternal."
- Trainer Dax
The hatch yawned on its hinges as Stren yanked the release lever. Kelpo looked down and swallowed.
It was a thirty foot drop to the ground. Stren went first, huffing as he squeezed his bulk down onto the rear landing skid. The raid team filed down behind him, the zip line twisting as they slid down, gloved hands buzzing. Such was the length of the Severance that they were able to keep the front landing gear between them and the Dax sentries. They helped each other down, one by one; heavy boots kissing down against cold asphalt.
Telin's gloves burned as his feet thumped the deck. He stumbled as he landed. By the time he looked up, properly saw the city at ground level, his jaw fell open.
The colony was in ruins. In the distance, Watch Control slumped, a heap of slag and spilled debris, alight in several places. The Data Stacks, once proud and cold and imperial and majestic were simply gone: their absence from the skyline marked only by a haze of ever-sifting dust.
Telin Voss had never seen the Upper Tier in its full glory. He was a humble scavver: a roughshod, lowly rung on a long and pitiless ladder. Even so, he knew this place may never again recover, such was the extent of the devastation. Once a pristine pillar of commerce and cold, calculated luxury, the Upper Tier was now little more than a charred hellscape. All this from one damned salvage claim.
"Stay focused Cap." Stren whispered as he thumped him on the back. The veteran scavver was all business now. The men and women around them were seasoned frontiersmen, practiced fighters. They moved with a tense urgency, low to the ground as they scurried for the front landing gear.
They stacked before the front landing skid, bundling together in the shadows.
Kelpo swore under his breath.
This low on the ground, the Orokin ship was truly massive. Expansive and majestic. The belly hatch yawned open like some ancient maw, inviting them aboard with an ominous hunger. Waiting to swallow them whole. Which wouldn't be a bad thing, all things considered. That was sort of the plan.
The only problem were the golden giants guarding it.
There was no dusk on Venus, not in the same way there was on Earth. But smoke wreathed everything. Even in the murk, the Dax sentries made for impressive statutes: bulls necks and lean corded muscle; accentuated by ancient gilded armour that burned a ruby amber-gold in the smoky half-light. They stood stock-still and silent, as if carved from ancient stone.
Telin lowered his scope, turning to the others.
"Okay, here's the plan…" Telin began to whisper.
He stopped. They were all listening to something fast approaching. A fierce revving roar. An alarm system, whooping. Absolute chaos, moving at speed.
The Dax broke ranks, heads cocked in confusion.
Kelpo frowned, asking aloud.
"Is that an engine?"
Parson-Luk snarled in frustration, stabbing at the kaleidoscope of light emanating from the control console. He understood none of the Corpus script. Every conceivable alarm blared and shrilled at him. Intruder alarms, unpaid parking fines, outstanding motor tax and insufficient windscreen fluid: they all bleated separately. The sound was a deafening cacophony of hoots and shrills.
Eventually Brakarr leaned forward from the back seat and drove his fist through it.
The Dax shone bright in the headlights ahead. Plasma bolts spanked off the hood of the limousine, stitching what little was left of the windshield. Biting shards of glass sprayed across the front seat, nicking them both.
"So much for surprise!" Parson-Luk hissed. He floored it.
The Dax were much too quick to ram. For all their size they dove left and right, extraordinarily nimble. He threw the hovercar into a slewing skid, throwing up a cloud of churning smoke and flakes of ash. Presenting Brakarr and his propped rotary cannon with an angle.
It thundered to life, tracer fire searing out and splitting the dark. The Dax were quick, but not faster than a Grineer cannon at full cycle. Bodies jinked and danced as their armour was shredded, all but sawn in half.
Something heavy landed on the bonnet. A Dax, meticulously balanced on the front; halberd in one hand. Poised, ready to strike. Parson-Luk flared the limo's drives, trying to shake him off. Still the golden warrior clung on, teeth gritted; stubbornly determined.
The Ostron hit the brake. Hard. That proved more than the Dax could manage. He was thrown bodily onto the scorched ground. The Ostron smiled cruelly and, with the utmost calm, pressed his foot back on the accelerator.
There was a jolting hollow thump as chrome limousine met golden armour.
An energy blast caught them in the rear nacelle. It simply atomised, throwing the limousine wildly off course. They hit the upturned edge of an old plinth. Metal bit stone, folded. Emergency impact foam blasted from the control console, catching the Ostron's face with an almighty slap. Not for the first time today, Parson-Luk's nose broke.
The car wrapped itself around the plinth. It was a miracle the entire fusion core had not gone up. The Ostron tried prying himself free, blood streaming down his face. Brakarr was nowhere to be seen, had seemingly been thrown from the vehicle entirely. The steaming foam held him in place, half solidifying; clinging to him in great ropey chunks. The trapper tore them free messily, bristling at being ensnared. He was still struggling when he caught something emerging from the gloom in the corner of his eye.
The Dax descended upon him. The energy projector that encircled his wrist was silent, but the halberd in his hands was at the ready, blade glinting.
Parson-Luk ripped the last tendril of safety foam free of his hands. His hands were a blur, drawing a wicked recurve zaw and hurling it with lethal precision.
The halberd flashed, once. The dagger sparked and flew away into the gloom.
Still the Dax marched on, ever closer.
The Ostron's blowgun was at his lips seconds later. His most lethal dart spat forth.
There was a whistle as the dart flitted toward the Dax. The Dax's gauntlet snatched up in an instant, smiling. He tossed the dart aside, his stride never faltering.
Parson-Luk blinked, amazed.
There was an industrial thump; a piston sound that split the air.
The Dax grunted, almost losing his balance as he staggered. He twisted about, surprised.
Jutting from his lower back was a massive rivet. It was crude, inelegant; wholly unexpected. Blood streamed down the Dax's armour. He gripped at the steel bolt, trying to tug it free with a hiss.
Figures emerged from the gloom. Twelve of them. They were a bedraggled lot; hardened men and women dressed in long dusters and ramshackle environment suits. Parson-Luk recognised some of them, from his time aboard the Severance. They surrounded the Dax, closing from all angles.
"Liars and thieves, beggars and cut-throats!" The Dax spat, as he finally wrenched the bolt free and cast it aside, taking up his halberd in his hands. "Honourless dogs!"
"Us?" Telin frowned. "We're just playing the odds."
"Twelve to one." Kelpo agreed.
There was a wild chatter as bolts, bullets and blasters sounded from multiple directions. The Dax spun to the ground, holed in several places. Telin Voss stood over him, lowering his smoking pistol.
Incredibly, the golden warrior still lived. He gurgled and hissed through bloodied teeth:
"Insolent peasants! You're nothing more than scavengers!"
"That we are." Telin agreed. "And you're so very shiny."
The Detron sounded twice. Telin holstered the pistol and looked up at Parson-Luk.
"Evenin'."
"Thanks for the assist, Surah." The Ostron winced as he eased himself down from ticking ruin of the limousine. He was a bedraggled mess, covered in streaming foam and a leaking nose.
"Thanks for the distraction. Heading our way?"
Ostron nodded.
A crunch behind them made them all twist about.
Brakarr emerged from the fog, covered in grime; battered but moving albeit with a pronounced limp. He used his broken rotary cannon as a makeshift walking stick.
"Stupid Ostron!" Brakarr fumed. "Next time, Grineer drive!"
In the throne room of The House Eternal, Septimus held up a forestalling gauntlet.
"Bold words, Tenno Kael; but perhaps ill-advised." Septimus' hand squeezed into a fist. "Your situation is more precarious than you think."
A permeating wave of power swept through the room., radiating from the Orokin warrior.
A Nullification Field, designed to rob the Tenno of the Void's arcane power. To Kael, it was as though his sense of smell or sight had been abruptly stolen. He froze, unsure of himself.
Sara and the others were surrounded by the Dax, who encircled them in perfect synchronisation.
The Tenno had no weapons. Their Warframes were a dead end. Now the Void too was gone.
The circle of blades tightened with each prowling step.
Septimus studied Kael, never blinking.
"The choice before you is binary. Join us now, or die a traitor's death."
Kael swallowed, visibly sweating.
The other Tenno were steadily driven back to back as the Dax honour guard closed the gap, step by measured step.
"Any ideas?" Sara asked, her eyes darting from one spear tip to the next.
"Ars Bellica." Doric hissed urgently. "Counter-containment strategy Four Fifteen."
"What are you talking about?" Sara started. "I said ideas – not wittering code!"
Isolde nodded in understanding.
"Break the deadlock."
She abruptly turned and knitted her fingers together. Held them out towards Doric, palms upturned. Doric did the same, bracing his hands beneath hers. Forming a platform, a springboard. The Dax blades were almost close enough to touch.
Sara looked at them as though they had sprouted four heads. Then she realised their intent.
She shrugged.
"Works for me!"
They launched her high into the air. She twisted as she fell, landing with both legs wrapped around the neck of one of the Dax. He stumbled and fell, neck twisting as they went over as one. Sara used her opponent's superior weight to her advantage. With a savage, brittle crack he was done. Sara's hand was at the fallen warrior's belt. A knife flashed through the air, embedding itself in the eye socket of another Dax. The formation came apart, as the Dax instinctively spun to face the new threat.
Isolde and Doric were not idle. They hurled themselves upon the Dax closest to Sara, pouncing at the momentary distraction. Doric's beaked fist caught one Dax in the throat, sending the man gasping to his knees. He grabbed the man's helmet and shattered his nose with a striking knee. Then the halberd was in Doric's hands, whooping as he spun it through the air, driving the rest of them back, buying much needed space.
Isolde had a dagger in her hands, stolen from Sara's kill. They stood as one, facing a wall of golden armour and glinting spears. Even then, the odds were hopelessly one-sided.
Septimus laughed, clapping his gauntleted hands.
"Bravo. Tenno. Truly, we trained you too well."
With a scrape he drew his twinned swords. Master crafted nikana; priceless relics both.
"But without loyalty you are useless to The House Eternal." Septimus shrugged, "Kill them."
Kael rushed Septimus with a shout. A high strike, whisper quick.
The twinned-swords criss-crossed, neatly intercepting Kael's. Septimus chuckled, bemused. He swept both swords upward with a shriek of metal, throwing Kael off-balance. Then the assault began.
Septimus-as-Sohren unleashed a whirlwind of strikes that took every shred of Kael's skill to deflect. He back-pedaled, arms all but wrenched from their sockets, such was the force of each blow. Septimus barely broke a sweat.
Nikana were not traditionally employed in a dual capacity. It was unorthodox, unwieldy. Only a swordsman of particular skill could employ such a stance effectively, and hope to win.
Septimus wore Sohren well, marshaling finely honed muscle memory perfected from decades of relentless training. The blades danced a lethal dance; hissing, shrieking. Kael rolling and flipped to evade the wilder strikes that simply would have simply demolished his guard with brute force, such was the size different between them.
The dual blades in particular were a deciding factor. Kael could devote his attention to one, only for the second to sweep in an unexpected angle. More than one a hand-spring or hasty tumble saved him, as he kicked free of the repeated arcs of steel that scythed through the air, describing a mesmerising blur.
Septimus advanced, relentless.
Eythan Dax stepped forth from the Dax rank and file, one hand on his nikana.
"No more Void tricks, no proxy Frames. Just you and us, Tenno, here and now. Alone, and in the flesh. Frail and brittle."
Something hit the Dax formation from behind, at speed. A broken rotary cannon, hurled with considerable strength. It bowled many of the Dax off their feet. The chamber filled with the clattering of armour. Those still on their feet spun around, reeling in surprise, shouting challenges.
A single gunshot split the air, silencing them. Even Septimus and Kael's furious duel at the end of the chamber came to a screeching halt.
Telin Voss lowered the steaming Detron. He smiled theatrically, enjoying the audience.
"I have your attention. Good."
Telin nodded to himself, the silence lingering in the air. His boots scraped noisily against the stone floor as he stepped deeper into the chamber. Every pair of eyes watched him. The Dax, wary yet sceptical. The Tenno, incredulous at the scavenger's audacity. His own crew, slightly confused at what exactly their new leader was playing at.
Telin's voice was calm, authoritative.
"Here's how this is going to work. You're going to put the swords down, and step away from the Tenno. We're going to be civilized. Everybody's going to stay calm and –"
Septimus sighed wearily, already bored.
"Kill them."
The Dax dropped to their knees in unison and raised their wrists mounted weapons; drawing cutting discs and elongated pistols of fluted gold. The Scavengers retaliated in kind; bringing to bear all manner of shotguns, focus beams and brutish scrap-ware. There was a bristling of weaponry from both sides.
Caught in the middle, Telin Voss swallowed.
"Balls."
Telin threw himself flat.
Beams and blades and bolts exchanged in a flurry. Weapons discharged at point blank range. Bodies toppled. Golden armour spalled and split apart. Blades sang as warriors charged and Scavengers roared; cutting-axes raised. Both sides charged. There was the sinking thump of bodies impacting bodies. Metal biting flesh. Screams.
In any other situation, it would have proven a one sided slaughter. The Scavengers, for all their hardened grit, were not trained soldiers. They lacked the discipline of the Dax Cadre, the ab-human reflexes and lifetime of relentless physical training and mental conditioning. These were the warriors of old, whose ability had ensured Orokin dominance for centuries. Defeat simply did not form part of their DNA.
But the Scavengers were not alone. Brakarr waded through the melee, smashing golden warriors aside and snarling even as Orokin halberds speared his flanks. Parson-Luk unleashed bolas that tripped ankles and launched fizzling net launchers that tangled about the Dax's faces, the Grinlok rifle thumping out hasty shots whenever a chance arose. Telin's drone flitted above the melee, spitting bolts until a throwing dagger speared it squarely in the eye, pinning it to the far wall.
Telin's Detron kicked three times in quick succession. The Dax bearing down on him didn't even slow. Kelpo tackled the Dax from the side, and yelped as he was flung one-handed over the man's shoulder. Other scavengers charged in turn. The Dax made short work of them; quick brutal cuts that chopped his crew down like timber.
A flying stump of an arm caught Telin in the side of the head, knocking him off his feet.
The other Tenno rushed the Dax from behind, sliding low or leaping high. They lacked the physicality of the mighty Dax, but they had a nimble speed and peerless training. Doric and Sara rolled and tumbled between arcing blades, trading strikes and parries with blinding speed.
Isolde's focus was singular. With the dagger in her hand she lunged straight for Eythan Dax.
Brakarr beat her to the punch. The Grineer was lost in a battle rage, bellowing incoherently; blinded with pain. The Dax flowed as water, sword blurring and the Grineer's legs gave way, flitting sparks and spraying oil and steam. The Dax rose his sword to finish the job, when a bola snapped around his wrist, knocking the descending strike off-target. Still the blade descended, lancing into the war rig at an angle; biting deep. Brakarr howled.
Something tried to tackle Eythan Dax. A wiry, sinewy old man; stinking of incense and old leathery oils. Eythan Dax looked down, entirely unmoved. He barked a laugh. The skinny wretch was better served trying to tackle an oak tree.
The Dax lifted the Ostron hunter by the throat, steadily clenching his hand around the man's windpipe.
"An Ostron, giving his life for a Grineer?" Eythan Dax chuckled as he tightened his grip. "The first surprise I've had in centuries."
The Ostron's eyes bulged. Only they weren't looking at him. Eythan Dax saw the reflection in the man's bulging eyes.
Something behind them. Moving at speed.
Eythan Dax cast the Ostron aside and spun; flashing his blade to intercept at the last second.
The dagger met the nikana with a shriek, locking in place. Isolde's face was a mask of controlled fury.
"No running this time, Tenno." Eythan Dax leered.
"I've no intention of running." Isolde hissed. "Not when there's a job to finish!"
Actions matched words. The golden dagger in Isolde's hands was more blade than any single kunai. It weathered the nikana's savagery with a determination matched only by the cold, pitiless glare in the Tenno's eyes. Soon it was notched, chipped beyond any recognition. Relentless, Isolde pressed her attack: rolling and hurling herself at him, again and again. Leaps and tumbles into lashing kicks and descending swipes. A peerless fighter, Eythan Dax met each of them, and yet the wave only continued to build, becoming a tsunami.
Eythan Dax knew the look of a berserker. Had seen it countless times during the horror of The Old War. This was not that. This was something else: a controlled fury, a commitment to the fight that was singular, absolute. Nothing held in reserve, yet deliberate in its approach, methodical. His sword was a blur, but still she was quicker. A strike breached his guard, chipping at his vambrace. Eythan Dax blinked.
Another strike, this one at a knee guard. Again the armour caught it. Her fighting style blended more than the Thousand Feats. It was feral, improvised. Born of brawling in low tier colonies and backwater settlements all across the Origin System. Pugilistic strikes, sweeping feet; all infused with a merciless, cold anger. Blended with the training provided by The House Eternal, it lunged and nipped at him, striking from unexpected angles, relentless.
A hand clamped onto his ankle. The Grineer, mutilated on the ground, leaking oil and blood and coolant in equal measure. There was no strength left in the brute's grip, and a single twist of the Dax's foot freed him easily. But as a momentary distraction, it was enough. Isolde's blade nicked Dax flesh, and Eythan hissed in pain, blood streaming from his elbow, where the notched dagger had slashed the narrow section where his armour joints parted.
For the first time ever, Eythan Dax felt true pain. And with that, something else.
Fear.
He narrowed his eyes, steeling his resolve. He brought the sword back three times, catching the dagger thrice in quick succession. A fourth strike sparked off his belly armour, once. And though her brow was sheened with sweat, and she pushed her mortal frame to its very limits, Isolde was speaking.
Quoting him.
"No Void tricks."
Isolde swooped beneath the next sword strike, lashing out and puncturing the armpit of his armour. Blood drippled freely down his flank now. The Dax's arm went abruptly numb. Still he parried the next blow, stumbling backward.
"No proxy Frames."
He swung, drunkenly; cleaving only air. Isolde circled him, pacing like a hungry cat.
"Just you and me. Alone….
An overhand swing, trying to bisect her. The sword met the stone floor with a clang.
Isolde was beneath his guard. She all but embraced him, whispered in his ear.
"…and in the flesh."
She drove the dagger into Eythan Dax's chest, in the narrow gap between the breastplate and the belly.
"Frail," Isolde twisted the dagger, pushing it downward. "… and brittle."
Isolde released the dagger, stepping back. Eythan Dax gasped, felt his lifeblood spilling onto the floor. He blinked, tottering backward. The melee around him slowed to a crawl.
The golden nikana clattered to the floor. His knees followed suit.
Isolde scooped the golden nikana up as she watched Eythan Dax dribbled blood listlessly. Blood coated her hands.
"I would make this slower. Really, I would. But he always emphasised efficiency. And I keep my promises."
Eythan Dax's hands quivered as he pulled out the dagger that had riven his stomach asunder. His insides spilled out in ropey lengths. More than horror, Eythan Dax felt the burning shame of absolute defeat. Isolde tightened her grip upon the golden hilt.
"For Terrenus."
Eythan Dax managed a strangled croak, then Isolde brought the sword down. A clean strike. His head flopped across the floor, bouncing twice.
There was no relief, no cathartic satisfaction. Only a cold emptiness. Isolde's eyes were dull as she stood there, surrounded on all sides by similar acts of carnage.
Across the chamber, Kael hit the floor, rolling twice. Septimus had caught him with the heel of his golden boot, square in the chest. Winded, the Tenno rolled onto his back, lungs sucking for air that would not come. Sohren's sword had been knocked from Kael's hands, skittering across the far end of the chamber.
"Look around you." Septimus spat as he approached, pointing one sword at the brawl engulfing the throne room. "Is this what you want? Is this the legacy you choose?"
Kael said nothing. Couldn't speak even if he wanted to.
He clawed his way backward, scrambling for Sohren's blade.
"We are Orokin." Septimus spat, the veins in his neck bulging. "We are the one true order that can save this system from itself. Peerless, without equal!"
Kael would never reach the sword in time.
Telin Voss was many things. A mischief, a scavver, a self-interested gambler with few friends and fewer prospects. Most of all, he was a gambler.
Of all these varied things, Telin was no warrior. It was perhaps because of this that the Dax paid him no heed as he scrambled through the melee on his belly, surrounded on all sides by clashing warriors who bled and died in a churning frenzy. He was coated in blood, grime and sweat; a hundred different stains from a thousand different indignities visited on him over the preceding day.
Fortune smiled on him twice, at that moment.
That he made it as far as the base of the dais was one thing.
That he managed to finally land a shot with his Detron and was quite another entirely.
Even then it was a horrible shot. The not entirely trusty Detron only clipped Septimus' gauntlet. This was less than optimal. Telin had been aiming for the warrior's exposed head.
Fortune smiled a third time. The bolt deflected, catching Septimus' cheek; cooking the flesh in an instant.
Maimed, Septimus toppled, both nikanas tumbling to the floor as he clutched his ruined face.
"My face!" Septimus shrieked. "You ingrate! You animals! We are Orokin! We are Gods!"
Kael rolled back, the Sohren's blade appearing in his hands once more.
"You forget yourself, Septimus. We slaughter Gods."
He charged. Septimus snatched up his swords, livid; catching the strike just in time. The duel resumed in earnest. Telin hissed in frustration. The duellists moved too quickly to risk a shot. Knowing his luck, he would only hit Kael, and if that happened it was all over.
Telin did what little he could. He drew his improvised hand-axe and charged.
He tripped on the steps. This was probably just as well, as a return sweep of Septimus' sword would have entirely bisected him there and then.
Septimus' perfect face was flayed and charred on one side, one eye swollen shut. As ugly and twisted as the Orokin Empire itself. He stomped his foot at Telin's head. The scavenger rolled, panicking. The boot landed so heavily stone cracked.
Then Kael was on Septimus, driving him back. The Orokin was a wild beast. Maimed as he was, robbed of his perfect beauty, Septimus snarled and struck wildly. Pushing himself beyond any reasonable measure. Completely overextending himself.
Kael gave ground, but for the first time ever in a duel with Sohren, the young Tenno held back. Bade his time. Watched the erratic, wild striking patterns for what they were: reactive, petulant; a killing tantrum. As the twin swords slashed and whipped at him in a chaotic frenzy, Kael studied his attacker. There was no pattern, no structure to it. But there were flaws in the frenzy. A lack of self-regard, an absence of defensive discipline.
It strengthened Kael. Helped him steel his resolve for what needed to be done.
Sohren would never have been so sloppy.
Kael met the berserk Orokin head on. A high deflection, flowing into three quick counter cuts that met each chopping sword in turn. Kael found his gap. He smashed the hilt of his sword upwards in a savage uppercut; cracking his knuckles into Septimus' chin. Felt his own fingers break.
Kael shunted the pain aside. His grip on Sohren's sword never wavered, stepped into the Orokin's guard.
Kael shouted as he spun, dropping to one knee. He stabbed the nikana behind him, once.
Sohren's blade drove clean through Septimus' breastplate, piercing the beating heart within.
Septimus gasped. Blood jetted down the length of the blade. There was a clatter as twinned nikana slipped from his hands. Kael rose to his feet, head bowed.
A hush fell over the entire throne room. All eyes were on the violent tableau at the end of the room: the scavenger, draped on the steps, a smoking Detron in his hands. The lone Tenno, turning to look in shock at what he had just accomplished.
The Golden Lord, with the hilt of a golden sword jutting from his chest.
Nobody dared breathe.
Septimus looked down at the blade. He took one shuddering step back, then another.
He slumped back into the throne, gazing down in amazement. There was a palsied shake to his hand as he tried to pull the sword free, and failed.
The Orokin's voice was small and confused, as he marvelled at the blood seeping down his breastplate.
"But we are the House Eternal…" Septimus whispered, "… our will is…. forever…"
His head drooped. The light in his eyes faded.
The Nullification faded. The Void returned once more.
Lord Septimus was gone.
There was a flurry as the surviving Dax gave a single stern shout, and took their lives in unison. Opening their throats or falling upon their swords. The surviving scavengers yelped in horror, but it was over in one savage instant. Golden bodies crashed to the ground left and right.
Doric lowered the halberd, shocked. He had been driven into a corner, surrounded on all sides. Sara gingerly stepped over the bodies that littered the floor. She and Isolde embraced, shaking from the adrenaline; exhausted beyond words.
Kael drew Sohren's blade from Septimus' chest. He wiped the blade clean, holding it close as he bowed, deeply. The bow was many things. A confirmation that the deed was done. An apology, for being too late. Most of all a farewell, to a fallen brother.
Then the Tenno fell to his knees, and wept.
Telin rolled onto his back, blinking as he took in the carnage that had been visited upon the throne room. Little more than a third of the scavengers had survived: would have been doomed, but for the intercession of the Tenno and their bounty hunter allies. He saw Stren hauling Kelpo back onto his feet.
Telin caught their eye with a wink as he gestured to the aftermath of the carnage all around them.
"See? All according to plan."
"Soon as I reload." Stren growled. "I'm going to shoot him."
"Not If I shoot him first." Kelpo countered darkly.
Parson-Luk hurried over to Brakarr. The Grineer had been punctured, slashed and clipped at the knees. Yet the internal housing of his war rig remained stubbornly unscathed. The old Grineer warrior still breathed. The Ostron worked quickly: deft hands tying loose tubing and cannibalising spare parts to salvage essential systems.
"You still with us, Grineer?" Isolde asked as she crossed the chamber.
Brakarr flapped his hand at them, refusing to be fussed over.
The Grineer reached up and unsealed his facemask. A toothy grin split his mottled, leathery face.
"Tenno skoom."
"This is all very touching, but this isn't over." Doric addressed the chamber, voice carried by the acoustics of the vaulted walls. All eyes were on him as he climbed the steps, turning to face the survivors as a whole. "There's still a Corpus frigate in low orbit."
Kael appeared at his side, eyes raw, expression determined.
"I'll need a Liset."
"You'll have it." Doric nodded. "But you'll need to be quick."
Kael simply smiled at that.
"And you won't go alone." Sara warned him. "Not this time."
Kael bowed gratefully, hands clasped before him.
Mesa stepped forward, Isolde's voice filling the air as the Pyrana twirled in her fingers.
"Well then, shall we?"
An hour later, an alert chimed softly on the bridge of the Dominant Position. Ennui had set in across the bridge, trapped as they were in a holding pattern.
"What was that?" Captain Pohld asked his XO. Lieutenant Sel.
Sel's brow creased as he consulted the display momentarily.
"Minor sensor anomaly, Sir." Sel reported mildly, double checking. "It's gone now. Debris from the remnants of the Orbital Defence Grid, most likely."
"Very well. Carry on."
The ceiling grate hit the floor with a clang.
Volt dropped from the rafters, cloak flowing around him as he rose to his feet. Behind him, Mesa, fingers twitching low at her side. Kael looked back at Isolde, nodded once.
Elsewhere, Atlas and Mirage were already in position.
Kael gave the order.
The power went out. Ship wide outage, total system failure.
By the time power was fitfully restored, it was too late.
The record maintains that the Dominant Position was lost due to catastrophic core breach, on account of a poorly mounted fuel cell.
At a Board level, the loss of material was quietly noted, but deemed inconsequential. Boards of inquiry were conducted, insurance policies claimed. Then the matter was closed, the colony and its troubling history quietly forgotten: a small blot on an otherwise profitable quarter.
Core components of the ship still linger in the orbital debris field, even to this day.
Atop the Severance Package, back-lit by the Venusian sky, Telin and Kelpo watched as the explosion settled. The severed bridge module entered the atmosphere, descending like a comet; disintegrating from the sheer fiery heat of the atmosphere. It came apart in a thousand fiery pieces, that vanished as contrails of streaming smoke that lingered for hours after the fact.
The remnants of the Corpus army watched too, from afar. They were stranded here now. In time, they would acclimate to the battered colony, free of the constant indoctrination of Board dogma. Some would descend into criminality, others becoming vagrants and drifters: pawn brokers and guns for hire. This is not their story.
"Repairs are underway." Kelpo said. "Teico says we'll be airworthy in less than an hour. What're you thinking?"
Telin Voss said nothing for a moment. He looked at the silent Orokin barge, studying it.
Truly, a once in a lifetime find. Priceless.
Telin chuckled, shaking his head ruefully. He turned his head and spat.
"Think I'd rather find out where Neera went. Let's get out of here."
Kelpo did a double take.
"Really? You don't want to do anything about the giant Tier Zero find sitting right there?"
"Trust me, Kelp." Telin clapped Kelpo on the arm, still chuckling as he headed for the bridge. "More trouble than it's worth."