Spoilers
Whispers in the Walls - MAJOR
1999/TheHex - MINOR
It was midwinter in the Origin System.
Once, before the Exodus, before the Artemis Accords and the ecological collapse, snow had been common on Old Earth. These days, it could only be found on the highest peaks of the Himadri - far above Earth's vast, polar deserts and equatorial belt of toxic jungle - and occasionally on the low-lying steppe known as the Eidolon-Moh, mostly due to the shielding effect of the Unum. A damaged, greenhouse world caught on the edge of perpetual summer, the wheel of seasons meant comparatively little on Earth, and with the tundras of the Orb Vallis warming a little more every day, snow had become somewhat of a novelty in the System.
When it began to fall on Deimos, Loid knew their time was short. The deep, organic heat of the Infested was too great for it too gather in any great amount, of course, but the flakes whirled and danced in the air, soft as eyelashes, and katabatic winds came rushing down from squirming heights. It was quite impossible not to read it as some type of omen. The countdown clock was about to strike midnight-
-and Loid was not prepared.
He'd done all the necessary research, poured over every scrap of documentation his Albrecht had left behind. In truth, Albrecht had made the crossing to 1999 many times. A thoroughly messy, distracted sort of man when it came to organization, he collected artifacts like a corvid collected shiny objects - not for any sort of aesthetic or sentimental value, of course, but because even the smallest things could be pried apart and studied. As the Entrati family crest so boldly attested: No God Above Knowledge.
In his more philosophical moments, Loid wondered if that brash statement had angered those very gods, and whether amends could be made by offering flowers, food or incense at some inchoate pagan shine. In any case, the Netracells - and oftentimes the laboratories themselves - had amassed a bewildering array of... stuff. Videocassette recorders. Compact discs filled with upbeat music. Piles and piles and piles of sodding paperwork, seemingly stuffed into a satchel at random. Bulky cathode-ray monitors, not unlike the archaic POM-2 into which he was currently staring. He'd forgotten what he was supposed to be doing ten minutes ago.
Behind his oculus, Loid's eyes felt gritty. He fought the urge to place his head on the desk and grasp for a few, precious moments of respite. The POM-2's ancient hard disk rattled in the silence, filling the air with the smell of static and lukewarm dust. Loid's weary gaze drifted over the primitive collection of "photographs" displayed on its bloodless screen, trying to restrain a bitter laugh at the thought of a man like Albrecht strolling about like a tourist.
The ancient city-state of Höllvania was strange and primigenial to look upon. Cobbled grey stone, plaster and timber, bloated hazmat structures ballooning around low buildings that rose no more than four or fives stories high. Other photographs showed immense, steel-and-glass constructions known as "skyscrapers". A pretty title for things Loid thought were both structurally unsound and terrifying. Like a child stacking blocks, or Icarus undaunted trying to touch the sun with waxen wings.
He knew the city was in the clutches of midwinter, and it was unreasonable to blame the trees for their lack of foliage, but even so, he was unable to shake the bleak feeling the city conjured in him. Rats may not have been to blame for the city's predicament, as other, even more ancient plagues had been - but deadly, skittering things still waited 'round every corner. Unlike the weaponized Infested it would one day become, the Technocyte was still dependent on technology as a rule, but Loid theorized that the local mammalian population had been all but obliterated. Squirrels, rodents. House pets. Zoo animals left to starve in their pens. Organic fodder for the spreading rot.
The desolate streets looked bitter and empty, like a bed gone cold. It was an easy metaphor for Loid's weary thoughts to clutch at, fingers stretching across the sheets into the faint hollow where someone once lay, hoping for a lingering shred of warmth. The scent of Albrecht's skin - a cold fougere of shaving foam, grey pine and bergamot - wrapped around him with such clarity, Loid could almost believe that if he turned, the man himself would be nearby. He knew better than give in to the compulsion. The scent was no more real than the voice he sometimes heard when he was alone. Quiet. Entreating. Insistent. Whether it was his own haunted halls of memory, or the meddling of Albrecht's demon, Loid didn't know - and he didn't want to.
Snow was falling on Deimos, whose labyrinthine sprawl of laboratories lingered so close to that membrane between worlds.
He'd messaged the Tenno promptly, and now waited for his arrival.
The POM-2's screen abruptly went to black. A fleet of small kitchen applications took flight across the monitor, followed closely by slices of bread turning loop-de-loops. How they were flying was anyone's guess. At least the appliances had wings. The sight was so absurd, Loid couldn't help but snort. The ancient computer had formerly displayed a primitive star-field in response to inactivity. A crude, but functional piece of ephemera meant to prevent the phosphorescent "burn in" endemic to these old relics. Loid wondered who had fiddled with it while his back was turned. Honestly, it could have been any one of the Cavia. Fibonacci would have thought it humorously low-brow. The bird probably just enjoyed watching the motion. And Tagfer would have altered the program simply to be cheeky, especially if it got a rise out of him.
For a brief moment, Loid simply watched the appliances flutter past. In the black spaces between them, he could see his own pale, distorted reflection staring back from the glass. His gaze didn't linger long. It was unwise to peer too deep into reflective surfaces around this place, or turn to follow the shadow at the corner of one's eye. There'd been a saying, back on Old Earth: do not stare too long at the moon, because it will eventually blink. It doesn't like being watched.
Taking a deep breath, Loid got to his feet. A faint wince crossed his face as his knee and low back protested the movement. He may have wiled away the last millennium in a dreamless sleep, but he wasn't as young as he once once - and hours of crouching on the unforgiving marble floor, contorting his body into impossibly tight corners to access circuits not meant to be accessed, had taken its toll. Loid flattened a hand into the small of his back and arched against it. Something popped, but provided no relief from the discomfort.
There was a formal tea set on the edge of the desk, and far too many cups to count. Instead of washing them as they were used, he'd gotten into the habit of selecting another when his current one had gotten too unhygienic. The detritus was scattered across the desk, with more then one sitting precariously close to the POM-2's archaic keyboard. Albrecht had been guilty of that particular offense more than once, something that'd annoyed his tidy, fastidious assistant to no end. Having registered the mess, a frown tugged at the corner of Loid's mouth.
He possessed many skills worthy of his station. Discretion. Attention to detail. A grasp of the current fashions and formal attire, lest the family be inadvertently embarrassed. He was also a capable scientist in his own right, with a broad grasp of Void-dive physics, temporal anomalies, and Conceptual Embodiment, with plenty of practical knowledge besides. The art of tea brewing, however, brought him a more personal pleasure. A measure of serenity in times of stress. The temperature of the water, steeping time, the subtlety of scent rising on delicate, rising curlicues of steam.
Most of the cups polluting his workspace had little cottons strings dangling over the rim. Cheap, instant varieties doused with water at a boil. Irritated, Loid picked one up by the rim. There was an inch of cold, over-brewed liquid sitting at the bottom - and no way to tell if it'd been brewed that morning, or the prior evening. As the workload piled up, unforgiving of the even the most trifling of error, the delicate greens and serene herbals had given way to dark, oxidized brews and ginseng roots scalded for every ounce of energy they could spare. Loid gave the cup a sour look.
His back was still troubling him. It would not do to meet the Tenno hobbling like an old man. Flinging open the desk drawer, Loid added several painkillers to his palm and washed them down with the last of the bitter liquid. He'd been unable to eat anything more substantial than fortified glasses of milk for two days, and the mixture was not welcomed by his stomach. He pulled a disgusted face.
You can do this, he told himself. It is not so difficult a thing.
He'd done it before, after all.
"Mr. Lo-oid!" Bird 3 trilled.
Loid seized the hem of his waistcoat and gave it a tug.
Dignity. Dignity at all times.
He met the Tenno at the entrance to the Sanctum. He had become familiar with many of his Warframes, but the one descending the stairs to meet was not one he'd previously made the acquaintance of. A vision of the feminine form rendered in ceramic and sword-steel, this one was more elegant and ostentatious than most. The bluish glow of the teroglobe's flames reflected on cold, bone-white surfaces and glinted back from jointed, oddly-segmented talons protruding from the platform's forearms. Folded back to tuck against its elbows, not unlike a bird at rest, Loid thought of wings. Wings that'd been striped of flesh and connective tissue, until all that remained were bones.
"Wonderful to see you, Tenno," he said, earnestly. "Come. I have much to explain."
The Warframe fell in behind him. Despite the high-heels, it's footsteps made no sound against the rare cuts of marble. Silent as the flight of a bat. It was through a deep and abiding sense of trust in it's Operator that Loid was able to turn his back on the dread thing without fearing for his life. As he walked, however, he felt the telltale press of Transference enter his consciousness. Like holding his hand close to a source of heat - invisible, but identifiable all the same.
"You're favoring that leg again. Are you in pain?"
Warframes could not speak. They could only scream, or roar or howl.
But the Operator, the Tenno from which the platform drew its unholy power?
That was another matter entirely.
It'd taken Loid a good deal of time to be comfortable with the notion, knowing, on some instinctual level, that the Tenno was choosing to be gentle. Should he deem it necessary or his comfort irrelevant, that fleeting touch could become a lance of burning steel, an invasive hurricane of force that would strip his thoughts - drench them, twist them - until his very sense of self had been subsumed under the Tenno's much greater will. A living vessel to puppet as it might.
Loid grit his teeth, sorry he hadn't taken the painkillers a little earlier. A tool must be in tip-top shape, after all.
The thought rose unbidden. Loid guiltily shoved it away.
"I am well, Tenno. I assure you," he said, not disingenuously. He descended the stairs at a brisk trot.
Tagfer joined them at the bottom, curiously sniffing at the newest Warframe. His crest flared at the scent of blood.
"...You, uh, you do much hunting in this one?" he asked.
"It's a War Platform, Tagfer," Fibonacci huffed as he swam over. "Surely even you must realize how moot that statement is?"
"Yeah, well, this one's... different. Sickly. Like it's been taking a bath in the stuff."
"Rosters must have taken a hit, I daresay," said Fibonacci slyly.
Tagfer rolled his eyes. The fish just didn't get it all at. What would something that sucked water through its bulbous head know of the deadly, den-smell of a predator? Like gallons upon gallons of blood glistening on cold whiteness, arterial spray pumping from hearts impaled upon shattered altars of bone. Footsteps advancing through the powdery snow, lips peeling back from killing teeth. The short fur along Tagfer's spine bristled. He sneezed and shook himself. Thankfully, their Tenno was a predator of predators, and not them. Hooves clattered as he leapt a bundle of crap Loid had strewn all over the ground.
"Mind the cabling!" Loid shouted after him, exasperated.
He gathered himself, then turned to face the Warframe.
"You recall I mentioned a "connection" in the Vessels that I believed I could exploit? To start with, I should clarify that Albrecht made many successful journeys to the Plague Year of 1999. Most often, he returned with technology. Things like that charming antique on the desk over there. Other times, the things he brought back were of a more organic nature. Blood and tissue samples from his... "volunteers". Specifically, the proto-frames Excalibur and Mag."
There was a long pause.
"I regret that I do not know their names," Loid added quietly. "Albrecht never mentioned them in his notes, nor in any conversation with me."
"What a surprise," Tagfer deadpanned. "People get names, and he doesn't treat anybody like people. Just things."
There was a glint in the creature's eye, daring Loid to refute what'd been said.
"Arthur," the Tenno's voice said softly. "His name is Arthur."
"The Excalibur frame?" Loid huffed an empty laugh. "That does track with his usual sense of... humor."
"Hardy har," said Tagfer, coolly.
Ignoring the creature's attempts to barb him, Loid indicated the Vessel in the center of the room with one slim, strong hand.
"In our work to combat the Indifference, I helped Albrecht combine the proto-frames' unique genetics with elements of the Grey Strain - it's predominate feature, as you well know, being it's propensity for absolutely gargantuan proportions. Combined with certain wisdoms gleaned from the Warframe mandate - acquired at no small risk, I assure you - we were able to create the Vessels, with "Arthur" being the progenitor for the male body-frames such as this this one."
As he spoke, Loid stepped over the mess of cabling descending from the Vessel; some as thick as his leg, others a delicate nervous system of fiber optics and spun forma. Most of the latter were hooked into Albrecht's casket, recently repaired to the best of Loid's ability. He trailed a hand over a splendid obuls. Many of them were still missing.
"When my Albrecht made his final crossing, he entrusted me to destroy the instruments. He implied that the Entity would follow him - a hound to the hare - and the destruction of the equipment would prevent it from ever returning to our time. To "protect me" from its unblinking gaze - though he never said as much. It was ever Albrecht's way, saying nothing. Allowing others to fill the blanks in whatever manner they needed to make his silence palatable. Laudable, even."
The Tenno's head swiveled towards him like a security turret painting a target.
"Buddy, please don't tell me you bought into that spiel," Tagfer scoffed.
"Of course I didn't!" Loid snapped.
Once, perhaps. But no longer.
Tagfer's gaze narrowed, his crest fluttering.
Loid took a deep breath, cursing himself for the outburst.
"Considering that the enemy yet lingers in our esteemed hallways," he continued, calmer now, "and given that I refuse to believe that Albrecht would make such a casual error, I can only conclude that I was bade to destroy the equipment to keep others from following in his footsteps. Mine, perhaps. Yours, almost certainly."
He peered at the Tenno over the rim of his oculus, aware of the sudden, barb-like intensity of it's gaze.
Like it, too, was trying to figure something out.
"As the "chosen Operator", he no doubt meant you to remain in this time to pilot the Vessels. Perhaps during the next phase of the Sequence. Perhaps as a redundancy, should Albrecht's plans fail. He was very good at constructing redundancies. In any case, my destruction of the casket was... very thorough. I have repaired the device to the best of my ability and hardwired it into the Vessel, as you can see."
The dregs in his stomach were not abating, If anything, the roiling discomfort seemed to be getting worse - reaching into his chest and contracting the muscles there, forcing his breath to come swift and shallow. He resisted the urge to flatten a hand against his middle, afraid that he couldn't show functionality, he'd be benched in favor of someone more capable. The Construct, perhaps. The bastard had even given it an oculus.
"...You, uh, you alright there?" Tagfer asked, his tone cautious.
Loid cleared his throat.
"Perfectly," he responded crisply. "Fortunately, you will not be needing to use the casket. Not in the same manner as Albrecht used it, in any case. Given that this Vessel is genetically identical to the proto-frame Excalibur, they are in essence the same Warframe - size not withstanding. My plan is to use to casket as a lensing device, what Albrecht's notes on the era refer to as a "Star Sixty-Nine." A primitive way of calling up the last coordinates inputted to a device. If you use Transference to synchronize with the Vessel at that moment, and if all goes well, I believe you will seamlessly transition from piloting it to piloting... Arthur. Distasteful as that sounds."
There, he'd gotten it all out. The bulk of it, anyway.
Talons clicked against the marble as Bird 3 bounced through the mess with more dexterity than something of his bulk should have been capable. Loid's eyebrow twitched, refraining from yet another warning to mind the cabling, his thoughts going to how much extra work he'd need to put in if the avian disturbed even one of the coaxials-
"I'm still con-fused," Bird 3 muttered. "What does Papa Albrecht want in the long-gone anyway? Wuk wuk wuk."
He butted his head beneath the Warframe's arm.
"Scritches please!"
The Warframe's fingers carded through the avian's brightly colored feathers, causing a pleasant shiver and a iridescent flash of color.
"I dunno, what's the douchebag ever wanted?" Tagfer muttered sourly.
"Language!" Loid growled.
Honestly, these Cavia.
Tagfer made a rude noise.
"His notes speak of the radiation wars, of the incandescence of atomic fire," Fibonacci chipped in, bobbing up and down the water column of his tank. "Tagfer has been, mmmmm, very diligent in combing through the contents of the Netracells. Albrecht has not been so generous as to leave us a roadmap, but he speaks rather frequently of the "uniqueness" of the time. The analog world at the cusp of emerging into a new, digital area. A time like no other in history!"
"Papa said we were "unique" too," said Bird 3 sadly.
"We still are, at that!" Fibonacci told him.
The mood was very close to taking one of it's frequent dips.
"I also promised you would not go unarmed," said Loid, quickly jumping back into the conversation. "Your equipment should follow the Transference stream, just as if you were performing an Extraction-jump from the labs. As I mentioned, Albrecht was able to exchange objects from both ends of the timestream. However, I suspect there must also be a casket on his end to facilitate this. Until it is located, or until you can contrive to build another - a task I do not envy, given the technology of the time - you may have to make do with "local" hardware."
To Loid's credit, his voice was steady, even laced with a touch of humor. It was easy to pretend, easy to casually puppeteer himself. Disconnected. Dissociated. The ever-faithful, diligent servant. The Warframe's head canted to one side, not unlike Kalymos when she'd been roused from sleeping in the most inconvenient of spots - the slow, lazy tilt of a predator deciding if it was worth it. Almost as if it sensed his insincerity. Loid swallowed hard.
There was more he wanted to say, and even more unsure if it was wise to say it.
Well, better to hoist himself by his petard.
"Tenno, I must warn you that despite my efforts... this is all mere speculation. In the end, I was merely Albrecht's research assistant. This cobbled-together device of mine may not work at all. Or it may work improperly. You may not arrive at the correct time, or you might suffer irreparable harm. Of what sort, I dare not imagine. One must also consider the possibility of harm to the proto-"
"Oh, pish posh!" Fibonacci interrupted. "He's just being modest, you know. Waste of time, if you ask me. Being modest."
"I don't recall anyone asking," said Tagfer, without heat.
"Hmpf! Lucky for you, ahem, lower lifeforms, you're getting my unfiltered opinion - free of charge!"
"Well, something's unfiltered around here."
"Wot?! Are you- are you implying that my tank is filthy?!"
"Just calling it like I see it, fish. I can literally smell what you had for breakfast."
"What did we have for breakfast?" Bird 3 asked. "Did we... did we even have breakfast?"
"Yes, we had breakfast," said Tagfer patiently.
"Mr. Loid doesn't hardly eat anything. Not juicy-fruit, or dewy-green. He just feeds us, and works and works and works..."
"Do not change the subject!" Fibonacci gurgled, butting in. "My tank is perfectly pristine!"
"Suuuuure," said Tagfer lazily, unrepentant mischief gleaming in his eye. "If that's the case, where do you go the bathroom?"
Someone laughed, but the sound was utterly... wrong.
"You're staaaaaalling, Loid."
Loid's eyes daggered towards movement on the stairs, forgetting that all-important rule: never glance at Lua. One would think, given the commonality of mirrors and the fact that humanity had evolved past daubing ocher on the walls of caves, the sight of one's own likeness would have ceased to hold any kind of supernatural power. But there was a certain, special terror in seeing oneself, not in reflection or painted likeness, but duplicated. It dragged one hand down the banister, glancing at it's fingertips in disgust. The gaze that bent itself on Loid over rims of an identical oculus was as blackened as the stars it'd felled.
"This must be awful hard on you, day by day, ripping off little pieces of yourself and lying them on the altar..."
That voice, that horrid, resonant voice... was his.
It gave a little mock gasp.
"Oh, why don't you try begging? You wanted to beg last time, didn't you? But you were too proud."
I was too proud.
The taste of bile in Loid's mouth was as thick as tar. He heard anew the sound of crunching metal, the sputter and pop of damaged circuitry. Obols popping off, coins for the Ferryman, under every punishing swing of the Ekhein. Again. And again. And again. Until he'd gone to his knees beside the ruin of the casket, chest and arms burning as bitterly as his tears.
He took the the bloody cat instead of me.
The Indifference started to grin-
-and Loid threw up on the floor.
There wasn't much to expel, just a thin, acidic splatter of tea. Tagfer leapt aside with a startled yip. The Warframe moved suddenly. So fast, it barely seemed to move at all, rather that it was over there... and then suddenly here. It's arm flew up alongside Loid's head, the drape of its sleeve abruptly blocking his view of the stairs, while it's terrifying, bird-like talons clicked forward like golden scalpels - encircling him in a protective cage of blades.
"Don't look at it!"
"Tenno, it- I-"
Temporarily witless, Loid didn't even know if he meant it as a warning, or a protest.
"I know it's there. It gives only what you offer it. Look at me."
The waterfall of silk might have been impeding his view, but Loid heard the laughter anyway. Resonate, malicious, laughter. He must have flinched at the sound, because there there was a noise like a doorway opening between worlds, and the Tenno abruptly stepped out of his Warframe - halving Loid's personal space in a heartbeat.
He was painfully young - and already nearly as tall as Loid himself. No stocky Ostron with dark, common eyes, or some Corpus-born autocrat with pallid skin - but fine-boned and beautiful, with a delicate nose and pointed chin, his neat hair the exact color of Martian shimmerwine. The scientist in Loid couldn't help but note that the Grineer would give anything to get their hands on such pure, untouched stock from before the Fall.
Loid had seen the boy before, in fits and starts, over the long months of their acquaintance. And time had not dulled the feeling of... obscenity. Like walking in unannounced on someone in the bath. This hidden component, this stark reminder that Warframes, for all their terror, were mere battle envoys for something much, much worse was terrible enough on its own, let alone the realization that this child - his eyes blazing star-points of unholy light - was himself a vessel of some third, ethereal quality beyond mere flesh and bone. A magician by any other name. And Loid knew enough of the arcane to know that to wield magic's dreadful power, one must also be willing to pay magic's dreadful price.
He dropped his gaze to the floor. Partially out of respect for the Tenno's nakedness, and partially out of sheer embarrassment. To be in the presence of such towering might with cold sweat oozing down his back and his teeth burning with acid, like a toddling Kaelli throwing up in the aircar. Void, he would have given anything to return to that moment, a wad of napkins in one hand and reassurances on his lips. At least his stomach felt better, at any rate.
The Tenno's warm hand slipped beneath his chin, and tilted his face back up.
"Look at me," he repeated, more firmly this time.
Loid's throat made an audible click as those unfathomable eyes searched his face.
"What's wrong?" the boy pressed. "Whatever it is, let me help. Please."
Loid suddenly wanted to scream. What was wrong? Bloody EVERYTHING.
Consummate coward, that he could not give voice to the choking rush of emotions.
It had been a year since he'd awakened from that cryopod, though the chill of it still haunted his marrow. Sometimes he still awoke in the night, expecting the frozen sleep to have worn off, the device to have malfunctioned, and find a dark sarcophagus lid arcing over his head. It hadn't happened, of course. Albrecht's machines had performed admirably, despite the march of centuries. He'd been forced to hit the ground running - having fallen asleep mere moments ago by his reckoning, the sting of Albrecht's departure still lodged in his breast like a thorn. In the intervening months, it'd been a struggle to find a new equilibrium. There were thousands of deeds to perform, a million tasks laid out for him, ranging from basic maintenance, to cataloging supplies, to playing command-and-control when the Tenno descended into the deep labs.
All the while, the Murmur tested their defenses.
A few months previous, he'd bullied the Tenno into taking him into the labs to do some repairs on the Auricle. He was perfectly capable of handling himself in a crisis, thank you very much, as the holstered Zylok should well attest. For all his warrior's skill, the Tenno was neither a scientist nor a mechanic. They'd gotten by for the most part, with Loid talking the Tenno through most repairs over comms, but some things required the touch of someone actually qualified to do the work - not a bullet to a conduit in order to release pressure build-up. Loid shuddered at the memory.
The Tenno had been obstinate - but so had Loid.
Eventually, they'd descended into the deep labs. The space had become cavernous in the millennia while Loid had slept. The blueprints no longer matched reality; and Loid would know, having designed half of them himself. Rooms had been doubled, duplicated. Other spaces had vanished entirely, only to reappear weeks or months later in an entirely different place. Entire sections of architecture had been torn away or transmogrified into something else. If any further proof was needed of the Sanctum's dislocation, of it's tenuous hold on reality, it was those citadels, the bleak, barren spaces of titanic grey blocks where endless storms raged, and the rough sand that danced through the miasmic half-light was not sand at all, but aeons of powdered bone.
The Warframe had stood guard over him as Loid had shimmied beneath the Auricle to enact repairs. There'd been a sodding incursion, of course. Dislocated hands and legs, crawling up through rents in the floor. He'd escaped without injury. At least, none inflicted by the Murmur. The ones to his fingertips had been self-inflicted. While the Tenno fought, Loid had continued his work, shedding his gloves by prying them off with his teeth - needing the extra dexterity bare fingertips would provide in such a cramped space. He'd flayed them raw against the razored filaments of copper and auron as he'd striped their casings and frantically twisted new connections together.
Such shoddy work, and so blatantly against safety protocols, too.
The Tenno had to drag him by the arm as they retreated to the safety of the upper levels.
He'd found an earthenware jar on his desk the next morning, filled with healing beeswax and tallow, a milky spray of macerated roots rising from the earthy sweetness of honey. A remedy from distant Cetus, undoubtedly. He'd gratefully applied it. Below the scent of herbs, there was the distinct, chemical astringency of nepenthe - a rare, microbiotic fluid for healing wounds. So expensive, only the wealthiest Orokin could afford it; an unheard-of miracle in the current state of the System. Somehow, the Tenno still had access to a supply.
And it wasn't just the jar.
Sometimes, when the voices drifting up from the labs were too loud, the days too long, or contents of the Netracells particularly grievous - the Warframe would take up position at the corner of his desk, radiant with the heat of its ephemera, but far enough away as not to be directly underfoot. Legs crossed into lotus, its sorcerous power keeping it afloat nearly half a meter from the floor. Silent. Formidable. It was there as Loid worked tirelessly, trying not to listen to the strident coughing of the Cavia - and again when he woke to find himself on a nearby chaise lounge, covered by a heavy crimson duvet. He'd fallen asleep at his desk, and the Tenno - that dreadful Warframe - had carried him across the Sanctum and put him to bed without awakening him.
Like it'd cared, or... at least had the capacity to pretend that it did. For his health, if nothing else.
Loid couldn't help but clutch the realization like a life-raft in a storm, no stranger to this kind of awful self-delusion.
And now-
Now he was standing over this casket again, ready to say goodbye. Exactly a year to the day.
What next? Another millennia tucked away into a cryopod? The thought was nearly enough to make him retch again. His place should have been with the family upstairs. Instead, the bloody Construct had gotten that honor, while he was placed in cold storage - a tool awaiting the day it could carry on it's master's grand work. Loid clenched his jaw, ashamed of his hateful thoughts.
Do not punish the Construct for existing, he reminded himself. You know he has been nothing but loyal, that their misery wounds him as surely as if it were his own. Place the blame where it truly lies. It is you that cannot bear to look in a mirror and see what you really were to him.
Rark! Papa loves us! Papa won't let us become dead things! Wuk Wuk! ...Right, Mr. Tagfer?
Papa
We trust in Papa's wisdom-
Papa
Papa-
Forever kissing the fist that beats you, eh fish? That's all we ever were: "tag for disposal".
I SAVED YOUR LIVES! Do you really think Albrecht thought to freeze you? To preserve you? That was me! In the hope that we might find a cure-
Look at these things. Lying around. ABANDONED. *gasp* Like you, Loid!
Through it all, Loid was intensely, excruciatingly aware of the Tenno's small hand against his cheek. Why that gesture, of all he could have chosen from? Collapsing into himself without moving an inch, Loid clutched at the Tenno's wrist - desperate to prolong this last and final moment. Like clutching a dagger buried to the hilt, knowing that to withdraw the blade, to unstopper the pulse of blood, would surely be his death.
Memory tugged at him like a fishhook. Albrecht's hard, granite thumb dragging across his cheek, as if the heartbroken tears spilling down his face were a curious novelty. The outcome of some new experiment. And then Albrecht was leaning away from him. If both hands were not wrapped around the Ekhein's handle, he might have reached out to clutch the man instead. His sleeve, the lapels of his coat- something. Anything. A few words of praise. A tender goodbye. Confirmation that he was wanted, needed.
Why don't you try begging?
Loid pulled his oculus off with one hand and jammed trembling fingertips into the bridge of his nose.
"Forgive me, Tenno. I just... I cannot do this again."
The plaintive, shame-filled admission was barely above a whisper.
Dead galaxies whorled at the back of the Tenno's eyes, his expression morphing with understanding, anguish and a frighting, almost nauseating capacity for endless, merciless, rage. Tagfer pawed the ground with a hoof, nostrils flaring, dancing in place as his prey instincts actively screamed at him to flee from the stink of vomit, the utter wrongness taking hold of the air. He bit down on the compulsion with every ounce of sapience the bastard had given him.
"...What, er, what seems to be the problem?" Fibonacci called down uncomfortably.
"Take a rutting guess," Tagfer spat, lighting on the truth quicker than most.
"Ah. W-well..."
"Raaaark. Why are Mr. Loid's eyes leaking?"
A hollow, mirthless laugh bubbled out of Loid's chest. Now he'd done it. He'd gone and upset the avian with his wretched lack of self-control. He took a deep breath, determined to straighten his tailcoat and soldier on. Stiff-lipped. Enough of this silly, self-pitying-
"Loid."
The Tenno's voice reverberated within his very soul. Caught in a moment of wonder both exultant and terrible, Loid forced himself to meet his gaze.
"This isn't goodbye," the boy said softly. "It's hard to explain, but... let's just say that I'm a Duality of Choice made manifest, two versions of the same reality existing separate, and simultaneous. The truth of one does not negate the truth of the other."
A memory niggled at Loid's head. Eularia. Dearest Eularia. Oh, how the family must have suffered these many years.
"That is one of the tenants of Eternalism, is it not?" Loid croaked.
It felt ridiculous to be asking such questions now, but they were the only stable ground he had left.
The boy smiled ruefully. "'The Palimpsest of Spacetime'. A. and E. Entrati. Supplemental reading before it all went to shit."
For half a second, his voice deepened to that of a young man, then shifted back again.
"My point being, I'm not going anywhere. In one reality, I make this journey. In another, I stay behind to watch over you. Ora e Sempre. Today and Forever. For ages and ages to come, till the last trumpet sounds. I don't know if there's a way for me to die - permanently - but death is the only force that would prevent me from being at your side. I am honored to call you friend, and I swear to you, by all the stars that ever shone: you will never be left alone again."
The words were an old Orokin covenant. Wedding vows between nobility. The sworn oath of elite Dax soldiers. A token of troth for the immortal office of Executor.
Ora e Sempre.
That charming little alliteration had been quite amusing to them.
"I- I'm not certain what I've done to be worthy of such oaths."
The boy's eyes flashed, and not in the metaphorical sense. Stark terror closed the back of Loid's throat, certain he'd spoken out of bounds, but he didn't have time to dwell on it. Out of nowhere, larger, stronger hands suddenly took hold of his shoulders.
"Don't even start with his bullshit!" the Tenno hissed, his words - dangerous in their timbre - slicing the air like daggers.
In the space between heartbeats, he'd aged a decade - no longer a boy, but a young man with his jaw clenched in barely-restrained fury. His features were too sharp, too strange, to be conventionally handsome, but he had an air of pure regality about him that made Loid's breath catch in his throat.
"You don't have to offer me something to be worthy of my loyalty," the Tenno added. "You are enough, just by being you. Kindhearted. Selfless, and brave."
"You don't think I've noticed how hard you work? How much of yourself you sacrifice?"
"Do you think the menagerie back there is any less concerned for you?"
"You try to suffer in everyone's stead, and I-
"We-"
"Won't allow you to destroy yourself."
The Tenno spoke in turns; the voice of an ageless child, and the immortal lord he would and had become, overlapping on a perilously low octave. Separate, and simultaneous. Operator. Drifter. Tenno. Devil. The Crownless King. Whatever name they'd shared before the Zariman 10-0 had fallen beyond the bounds of reality, into that place the Orokin called Hell.
The Sanctum was utterly, abhorrently, silent.
"There there, old chap. Buck up," Fibonacci offered awkwardly."It isn't- it isn't all bad. You have all of us... don't you?"
The mournful query was what caused the last, tattered shred of Loid's self-control to finally desert him.
Feeling him sway on his feet, the Tenno abruptly swept him forward into his arms. There was a sudden, strange, though not terrible feeling of being in two places at once - of solid arms, hard and strong from handling wild kaithes, wrapping around his shoulders at the same moment an equally strong, equally real, pair of smaller hands spread against his back, trying to scuff some warmth into his spine. Loid couldn't help but liken the sensation to being held by a deity with four arms.
"If you know anything in this world of uncertainty, know this: you are appreciated, and you are loved," the Tenno murmured.
"Hear hear!" Fibonacci ejaculated.
"Fish- you are... arghhh, so annoyingly hard to hate, you know that?"
"...I- thank you, Tagfer."
"Whatever. This ain't about you."
Their chatter faded to a roar.
Trembling, Loid buried his face in the Tenno's shoulder and wept when the younger man folded him close.
So much for his bloody dignity.
Strange scents enveloped him - tea brewed from leaves which had no name. Peachwood and osmanthus flowers, and cold, killing steel. Though he was rapidly loosing the ability to smell as this undignified fit of sobbing clogged his nose, the scent changed again - becoming the finest agar and sandal woods, incense-perfumed armor on the eve of battle, softened by the narcotic, waxen floral of lotus petals.
Loid sagged into the embrace, the tension in his body evaporating with sudden, painful rapidity - like a broken bowstring, pulled beyond its limit. Void help him, if the Tenno weren't holding so tightly, it was doubtful he'd be able to stand unaided. He'd been in Albrecht's arms before, of course. Those heavy hands had given him pleasure once, and from that could be taken comfort - but not like this. Even at the peak of physical intimacy, Loid could not call to mind a single instance that felt comparable: as if all the love and light contained within the Tenno had risen around him in a ring of fire, burning itself out in some wondrous, incoherent defiance of a cruel and unfeeling universe. The polar opposite of indifference, the Tenno had chosen instead to share of himself. Keenly, and without reservation.
A pungent animal scent - part feather duster, part barnyard musk - wrapped around Loid as Bird 3's beak descended alongside the vulnerable shell of his ear. The enormous avian could have nipped it off with less effort than removing a fruit from a low-hanging branch. Instead, Loid felt the point thread through his hair with astonishing tenderness. There were no painful yanks. And certainly nothing like the scalping he'd feared. Bird 3 arranged the strands straight along his back, making a satisfied clucking noise as he did so.
"Don't be leaky-eyed, Mr. Loid. See? Your family's all right here in your nest."
"You can say that again," Tagfer grunted.
"Ooooooh, don't be leaky-eyed, Mr Loid. Your-"
"Not literally, you half-witted floof."
"Hmpf. Wuk. Word-salad. Wuk wuk."
Loid's soft, muffled weeping was both exhausted and relieved. Though things had begun on rocky ground, he had come to genuinely care for the Cavia, to share a terrible, regretful camaraderie with them - endlings and left-behinds, abandoned when they had nothing useful left to offer - but to know that his affections were returned was more than he could bear. He felt ashamed for having ever doubted it. For feeling like it hadn't been enough. For allowing himself to believe, no matter how silently, that the Tenno was anything like him.
Standing apart on the stairs, the Indifference hungrily swayed forward; an image of Entrati's former steward, gifted with the Scholar's empty, granite awareness, like a scientist watching a crucible twirl. All-knowing, without ever understanding. Oh, but how it wanted- needed- yearned. A low guttural hum started in its chest, rising through a clenched, rictus grin like mountains colliding. The Sanctum rumbled. Powdered bone shifted through a crack in the ceiling.
The Tenno wrapped a hand over the back of Loid's neck. The older man was unaware of the tone, not on a conscious level - but Voidtongue was not a language meant to be uttered with human vocal chords, nor heard with human ears - and it writhed in the unconscious. Crucified to the tail of a comet, plunging helplessly through black silence. Hollowed. Scraped out like a dry gourd. And in those empty spaces where your soul had been, screamed the cries of angels and the impish laughter of the Indifference, forever knocking against the Wall of Lohk. He wouldn't allow Loid to listen. Not if he could help it.
Standing on her lonely precipice, the Lotus burned with unbearable pride and sorrow. So much suffering. So much sacrifice. Two thousand spears had gone to war, and one thousand nine hundred ninety-nine had shattered - all to identify the one that would not break. Her Champion. Her Child. The Void's precious Mara Lokh. Who'd made himself kind despite the horrors. A cosmic wind rose to buffet her, harsh with the rasp of sand. Lotus spread her arms wide. Her voice rose to drown out the rising scream of it.
"Let your life be a Dream. Integrity. Honesty. It's too late for me. Don't look back, till you're free to chase the morning."
Those were the words Marghulis had uttered above the Reliquary the night the Dax had come for her.
The Lotus uttered them now as a clarion call of defiance.
Come for me, if you dare.
Entrati's pager stabbed it's earsplitting call into the air. Loud. Insistent. She held it tight in one fist. A talisman. A threat. The blast of desiccated bone was suddenly, impossibly, joined by flakes of snow. At her back, the Vessel in the middle of Sanctum opened it's mouth in a silent scream. Loid lifted his swollen face from the Tenno's shoulder. Shakily, his replaced his oculus and stared at it with widening eyes. Void-glyphs etched into the casket suddenly blazed with light, lighting up in sequence. The room filled with dazzling azure motes.
"The casket, it's... resonating," Loid murmured. "Temporal readings are off the charts."
"That's my cue. I think," the Tenno observed, somewhat wryly.
He stepped back from Loid and reentered his Warframe. Turning to face the blazing light, he stepped onto the cold, granite bicep of the Vessel and climbed to reach it's mouth. The pulse of it's heartbeat thudded in his ears. Far way, and far too close. No, not a heartbeat. That terrible, rhythmic knocking. The crash of shadows as the Cavia lay dying - and were reborn. Endless faces. Countless forms. Condensed to a single singularity. A knuckle drumming against Zariman glass.
The Warframe paused to look back over its shoulder.
Pale and spent from the catharsis, Loid was leaning against Bird's warm flank, one hand resting on Tagfer's head as the creature had mulishly sat down on his other side. Just in case he decided to topple face-first into that cosmic pit, you understand. Behind them, on the graceful curving staircase, it waited. Still watching. Feeling the Tenno's gaze, the acknowledgement from which it drew power, the Indifference's eyes snapped to meet his. The kid instantly looked back at him across the gap, smiling a placid, unreadable smile. Whatever greed it'd felt, staring in through windows at the warmth of a life it could not, but so desperately wanted to touch... was gone now. Maybe it had never been there at all. Laughing, it swung itself up to sit on the banister.
"Tick tock," it chided him.
A reminder, or a bald-faced threat.
Maybe both.
The Warframe stepped into the blaze pouring from the Vessel's throat. A flash of light swallowed him as he accelerated along the strands of Khra, falling forward into days long gone.
How we doin' Hölvaniaahhhhhhh?!
A blast of freezing wind caught everyone in the face, blowing Loid's fine hair away from his tear-streaked cheeks. It smelled like icy concrete. Dirty snow. The stench of warm plastic, and the rot of something organic. Cold pizza and a glass of champagne at the end of a millennia.
It smelled... like death.
Time to chase the morning, kiddo.
DON'T BE LATE.
TRIVIA
"by all the stars that ever shone" comes from The Last Herald-Mage Trilogy by Mercedes Lackey, published 1989-90. It was sung by under the name "Battle Dawn" by the artist Shandeen in the early 1990s. Have a listen on YouTube if you're interested, otherwise the most pertinent lines are below (with minor alterations to the gender pronoun "him" versus the original "her" and swapping "priests" for "Arbiters" - cause reasons)
The Arbiters all say I must not hate - but I will not pretend.
I saw the wreck you made of him, my Herald and my friend.
The scars you left in flesh and soul will be so slow to fade,
Oh, would I had your coward heart beneath my naked blade!
I must control my fury or let slip all that I've sought,
But vengeance would not be enough for all the grief you've wrought.
Gods grant this day you fall beneath the steel of me and mine,
And drink full deeply of defeat, that cold and bitter wine.
By all the stars that ever shone,
By all the gods, known and unknown,
I swear that you will pay!
I think this nicely sums up my feelings for Albrecht Entrati. For Loid. For the Cavia. For the family upstairs. For the Hex. If it comes down to one of those Sol v Lua Morality options where Albrecht's preaching one thing and Wally's chillin' in the background going "Kill him, kiddo. Crush his windpipe!" - I'm taking my chances with the eldritch horror.
Ora e Sempre
Italian for "Now and Always" or "Today and Forever"
The phrase (and accompanying oath) are the opening theme to 1985 stop-motion animation The Life & Adventures of Santa Claus by Rankin/Bass, based on the book by L. Frank Baum. (Also on YouTube) My favorite of those ancient holiday movies. Part Tolkien, part Dark Crystal. I can still recall the fascination the first time I saw it on VHS when I was about 4 or 5. It think it perfectly captures the gravity, pageantry and underlying mysticism of the Tenno. Another tune to the beat of the Naga Drums, a gathering of Orokin immortals - and the undying warrior-gods they made the mistake of turning their backs to.
All of the character lineart in this chapter was drawn by hand. On paper. With a mechanical pencil, Zebra Fude, and Sakura Pigma Micron manga pens. I don't normally do this, but... I think it was well worth it.
Finally, and most importantly:
Where is my comfort Loid button, DE?!