In Catlin’s years fighting for the Origin System, she had seen hundreds of Orokin towers, crawled through hundreds of derelicts, and fought the infestation time after time and invasion after invasion. But never in all her years had she seen a derelict quite like this. The architecture was familiar, buried under many layers of infestation. But that was where the similarities ended. Many corridors and hallways twisted back on themselves, a maze of collapses and cave-ins. Yet for all the damage, she could find no weakness to the external hull she could use to escape.
No wonder the infestation hasn’t spread from here, threatening Earth. It’s completely trapped in here. She would have to mark the place carefully, once she found her way out. The others in her clan could transport explosives here, and melt the whole thing into vaguely evil sludge.
Finally, after her discouragement had grown enough that she was near to giving up, Catlin heard something. Voices echoed strangely through the ruins, yet the speech was so familiar. She felt drawn to them. Was that her, or the frame? Lucky for them we already cleaned the place up. But the frame did not respond. Even her familiar Excalibur had never actually spoken. It was just feelings. This one retreated from her attention, vanishing back into the quiet corners of her mind.
Catlin ran. She dodged the thickest patches of fungus, breaking into a rapid pace that made her legs move different than before. A gallop, that was the word. If I make it back, the clan will never let me live this down. It didn’t help that the space was so huge compared to her, doorways looming like they could fit whole vehicles through. That probably meant she was tiny, even compared to most Tenno. That would be just perfect.
But Catlin was also experienced. Many assassins had come for her over the years, and she hadn’t survived this long by being reckless. She slowed as the sounds got close, listening from an upper balcony.
“Ruby! Ruby River, are you here?” shouted a voice. Not distorted by corpus headgear, or failing gene molds. It was clear, albeit frightened. And it wasn’t alone.
“This is extreme, even for you! Running ahead like this, without the princess’s permission…”
“We’re down here! How can anypony find their way through this maze…”
Catlin remained utterly frozen as they passed underneath. First it was just the flicker of a torchlight, and then they came into view. Yet what she saw made no sense. They sounded human, untouched by genetic debauchery or infestation. They walked together in a tight group, a single story down. In that instant, Catlin learned why her frame looked so strange.
They were searching for a missing friend like humans might do. But they looked like her—or like what she might’ve been, if she wasn’t a warframe. Four legs, hairy mane and tail. Their bodies came in colors that any Orokin would’ve been proud of—but Catlin couldn’t imagine such compassion from any of them. Even the Entrati hadn’t put themselves at risk, but sent Tenno around Deimos to do their dirty-work.
She wanted to talk to them. Or… no, it wasn’t her. She wanted to follow in the shadows for hours, watching what they did and gaging whether they were safe to interact with. Where do they fit? Who created them? Maybe this wasn’t Earth after all—maybe this was a Jupiter station, and she’d inadvertently woken in some Corpus genetic menagerie, abandoned since the Orokin had last come to purchase exotic bodies.
She took a few steps towards the balcony, without meaning to. Catlin resisted by instinct, and her head started to fuzz. The frame was fighting her. But it couldn’t spit her out the way the Umbra had—she had nowhere to go.
Fine! I’ll go to them. She balanced carefully on the railing, then slid down behind them. Instead of landing in a delicate roll, she collapsed loudly to the infested floor, legs spasming. Of course, those techniques didn’t work with too many legs. Catlin groaned silently, struggling to her hooves.
Her arrival had startled them. The quadrupeds turned, and suddenly several flashlights were on her. Those faces were so strange—fully organic faces, not twisted and deformed by the Helminth. Huge, expressive eyes, that somehow managed to convey the same range of emotions she might’ve expected from human beings. Shock.
“What the buck is that?”
“Is she wearing something?”
“No eyeholes. Can they even see us?”
There were no sharpened claws resting against their hooves. No weapons hovered in the air beside them. Catlin considered drawing the rifle, but resisted. These three creatures did not seem like much of a threat. They carried only flashlights. One wore an adorable set of glasses, another had a spool of string they’d used to mark the way in. And the way out. She could leave right now, and not need to interact with them. Genetic pets, or experiments, or… something else?
Strangest of all, they all had little horns, just like her frame did. They were using them, too. Their flashlights flew through the air beside them, pointing where they wanted to. Right in her face, currently. How can they do that, without the Void empowering them? These weren’t frames, they were just animals! Genetically engineered, extremely clever animals, by the look of them. But still.
“It isn’t moving. Is it dangerous?”
“Maybe it can lead us to Ruby.” The oldest-looking of the trio stepped forward. Their body was wrinkled with age, slightly stooped when they walked, and they peered through spectacles as though half-blind. The corpus hadn’t been sharing life-extension with their products, if that was where she was. “Whoever you are, or… whatever, I suppose. We’re in search of our colleague. She was lost within these walls. She meant no harm to you or any other pony. She was only… overzealous. If we have intruded or insulted you, we will go. But please, help us find her first.”
Catlin took a few involuntary steps forward. She didn’t resist this time. You know them. You want to talk to them, but we can’t. Warframes don’t have speakers. Maybe one of them has a radio? She could see no headsets between them, but they could’ve been subdermal.
“Strange animals, my name is Catlin. This place is not safe—there may be more infested here. We need to leave.”
None of them reacted, not even a twitch. No radios, no weave, and no transference. What did that leave?
Her strange frame hadn’t given up. As the elderly creature got close, she tilted to the side, exposing the object slung over her shoulder.
“A recorder,” gasped one of the creatures. “That’s Ruby’s recorder.”
“Maybe it found her,” said the other. “She’s in danger, and it went looking for help. There could be a message from her.”
The older alien extended one of its stumpy hooves towards her, pointing at the recorder. “May I have it?”
I can’t even use sign language. Still, she could act. She leaned to the side, lifting up the object into the air and wiling it to move towards the strangers. It was the easiest the ability had ever been, like the frame itself was doing most of the work. It wanted this. I don’t think your friends can help you.
The other two aliens seemed to lose some of their fear, hurrying to join the first one. They took the recorder from the air, manipulating its arms.
“Pretty banged up… did it jump off the balcony with this?” asked the dark green one.
“Disk wasn’t loaded, or we’d have a hole straight through it. Skip to the end, Deep Silver”
“I know, I know.”
The frame was content to wait there, unmoving. But Catlin kept her eyes on the open doorways all around them. She had killed so many infested—but it would be foolish to think there were no more. Her frame was immune. These others would not be.
The recorder started talking. A female voice issued from within, with a slightly distorted quality. Either she’d damaged the machine in her fall, or it just sucked. Notepad. She saw it poking out of the elderly pony’s satchel, along with a pen. She snatched it through the air, levitating it towards her while they were focused on the recorder.
The voice seemed to come from someone exploring the derelict around them. They described various bits of architecture, and the things they observed in intricate detail. Yet there wasn’t a single word to suggest they knew what they were looking at, or even who had built it. Did they even suspect this was Orokin?
Finally one of the animals noticed her. But they were too late to stop her—Catlin had already turned to a blank page, and started scribbling. “Silver, I think it’s writing.”
The old horse-alien looked up. As soon as it took its hoof off the recorder, it fell silent. “You have a message? I guess you’d have to write it down, I can’t see a mouth anywhere. What are you?”
Catlin held up the pad. With their flashlights, they would be able to read the text easily. Deep Silver gripped it in his levitation, pulling it close and squinting down at the pages.
“Can either of you make this out?”
The aliens huddled closer, looking at the page. Catlin felt a wave of frustration that wasn’t her own—the frame wasn’t happy she’d interrupted the recording. We need to get them out of here. They’re not even wearing masks. If more infested show up, your friends will die.
The aliens might not have radios, but at least the frame could still hear her. The annoyance vanished, and her own anxiety grew.
“This is worse than the griffon language. Completely unreadable.”
“Can it even understand us?”
She rolled her eyes, or would’ve if she had them. But then she heard something from the floor above, something dragging itself along the ground. Before she could react, another elder landed a few feet away, turning its attention on the aliens. Genetic experiments or not, they still had flesh. They were vulnerable.
Catlin dropped the notebook, cartwheeling through the air and smashing into the infested with one stumpy hoof. A tentacle wrapped around her, but she was faster—the gun levitated into the air beside her. She fired a quick burst into the elder’s head. Green ichor sprayed around her, and its grip slackened.
But that one blow was already too much. A familiar howl echoed from above them, and the sound of movement became a roar.
The animals were still frozen in terror. Mostly they stared at her, apparently oblivious of what was happening. “Run!” she shouted into the radio, unanswered.
The top half of an infested dropped onto the ground beside her, lunging at Deep Silver. Catlin emptied several short bursts into the creature, careful not to let a single shot go wide. Her bullets would tear through these soft little animals without resistance.
At least they had some survival instinct. Both of the others turned, stumbling away. “Monsters!” one yelled, leaving the recorder forgotten on the floor.
Deep Silver stumbled after them, steps shaking and unsteady. “Get out of here! Seal the doors, call the Royal Guard! Run!”
Catlin had an instant to choose between the old animal and the fallen recorder—it wasn’t much of a choice. She shrugged under him, slinging him across her back with minimal effort. Her frame caught up with the other two running animals within seconds, gun still hovering beside her. She fired as a side-passage opened and more of the infested shambled out from within.
“Helping us? It’s not part of the attack,” said one of the younger… no. There was a name. Alidade. This was Alidade. “What do we do, Deep Silver?”
“Run faster!” the old animal grunted. “It actually saved me! The least you two can do is make it out.”
Catlin wasn’t lost anymore, though she also didn’t have half the dexterity she was used to. She couldn’t leap up a flight of stairs, and had to take them painfully slowly, with the ancient shambling along behind. If there were infested Grineer or Corpus on this ship, they’d be eaten three times by now. Though they were incredibly strong, the ancients were quickly falling behind.
Then she saw it—an opening, with stone visible beyond. She sped up, as quickly as she dared with a weight balanced over her shoulders. She was first through the opening, in time to deposit the elderly creature roughly to the stone before rushing back to the doorway. The other two aliens galloped past her, but she hesitated. There, the old Orokin control circuit. She levitated the barrel of her Burston over to press the finger-sized keys one at a time. The doorway lit up, bathing them all in golden light as it sealed shut before her, almost without a seam.
We did it.