So a while ago I wrote a little plot about a rebellious faction of Corpus on Europa. It fit with established game lore relatively well, and spanned a pretty long period of time with multiple little adventures and such. Initially, I had planned for these adventures to be told second hand by the main character through little transmissions, but I quickly grew tired of the format and explored other potential ways to present the story.

Opting for the most simple, I decided to just write it. Unfortunately, I'm not a good writer, so I quickly found myself losing motivation to continue (though what else is new with me). I got about 3ish chapters in before quitting again (though I have the entire skeleton for the plot well established at this point).

However, I'm for some reason extremely fond of the idea, so I kept finding myself going back and adding little touchups to the story. While chapters 2 and 3 aren't in a presentable state, I polished off chapter 1. It's a bit rushed, and I definitely skimmed on some important character building, especially with Angdal who is a pretty important character, but writing dialogue and characters are my weakest points.

Regardless, I figured I'd put it up here for anyone who likes fan-fiction, and also put a little illustration along with it for anyone else.

Some context (though not necessary)

Part 1 - Salvage

The Shipmaster awoke with a start. Despite the frigid air blowing through the numerous rips and tears in his quarter walls, a film of sweat caused his lower thermal suit to cling to his skin. His breathing was ragged, uneven, and his eyes darted around the room as he tried to assemble his waking thoughts.

Gradually, his breath slowed, and he grabbed the thick angular helmet from beside his bunk. Fastening the restraints, he felt the tasteless filtered air pump in through the oxygen regulators along his collarbone. Lights flickered in the darkness of his enclosed view-space, and soon the black gave way to an image of his surroundings, albeit with additional readouts of information flitting at the corners of his vision.

The sun was low on the horizon of Europa. Pale orange light cast off the snow banks in the distance and the shadows of derelict ships stretched long across the tundra. The Shipmaster's room had direct view of the sun, and snow fluttered in through the gaping hole in the wall, dancing along the wind.

The Shipmaster had chosen a relatively undamaged ship as his quarters. Though not star-worthy by any means, it was close enough to satisfy his ambitions and he set up his humble camp with haste. Aside from his bunk, which was raised slightly above ground, the room was rather spartan. A comm terminal against the wall covered in frost, a storage locker against the wall, and a thermal tower in the corner wired directly into the ship's dying power supply. The thermal tower emitted a dull blue pulse every few seconds that brought the immediate area's temperature up to a survivable level, though still well below freezing. Many crewmen would prefer standard shelter, but the Shipmaster had always been more accustomed to the cold. In truth, the tower had not been his desire, but had been forced upon him by his crew as yet another misguided act of affection.

Pulling himself to his feet, he flicked a switch by his throat that connected to a thin tube feeding into a metal cylinder fastened to his helmet's mantle. Chemical aerosol mixed with the regulated air, and his vision began to dissolve into myriad colors. The terrors of his subconscious subsided, replaced instead by dull euphoria as the gasses churned within his suit's enclosed oxygen system.

"Your sleeping habits continue to concern me."

The voice resonated from the room's walls, without a visible host.

"And your choice of...recreation is hardly a suitable solution."

the voice came directly From the comm terminal this time, and three metal bearings rose from its surface into a pyramid formation. Blue light danced between the bearings and gave the pyramid form. Within the pyramid's center, an opaque cyan orb materialized. A somewhat unorthodox appearance for a cephalon, but the cephalon, Solis, was quite fond of it.

"Is that so?"

The Shipmaster addressed Solis directly and rose to his feet, beginning to walk towards the pneumatic door adjacent to the terminal.

"Yes. Your health is severely compromised. The...mist as you call it is affecting you adversely. I've analyzed its components and I'm highly concerned as to why you would willingly formulate such a mixture, let alone consume it."

The Shipmaster gave a non-committal grunt and walked past Solis. The pneumatic door slid open with noticeable strain and the Shipmaster proceeded into the dimly lit hallway beyond.

"I'm not going to ask you to apprise me of your...history. But I AM going to ask you to weigh your options in how you choose to reconcile it."

Solis followed the Shipmaster through the doorway and hovered a short distance behind him, casting light within the cramped halls where the ships own damaged illumination had failed completely.

"Duly noted."

The Shipmaster continued to ignore Solis as he navigated the ships twisted internals.

The cephalon had always been a necessary annoyance. Though not officially required by his superiors at Luxor, it was strongly encouraged for any salvage operation to employ one, if not multiple cephalons to assist in menial data assessment. The Shipmaster begrudgingly obliged the suggestion, and was quick to tamper with the cephalon's internal systems to ensure that it was truly his own and did not come with additional surveillance options that would lead prying eyes to monitor his legion from within. While it did aid in many day to day operations across his salvage operation, its incessant worrying was quick to wear on his nerves. He often considered removing its personality protocols, but felt that at this point the disruption to the familiar would be far more unbearable.

Though Solis had no facial features to emote with, it was quick to find ways to express its displeasure. Its light blue prism shifted hue to red, and it rattled its projection bearings as an additional show of anger. It had been quite proud to think of that one.

"Fine. If you are so callous in regards to your own health then at least think of the operation! What would become of your legion should you die? To my knowledge, you have no contingency for...worst case scenarios, death among them! Are you so blinded by ambition that you ignore the possibility of downfall?"

Dodging the question, the Shipmaster instead shifted focus to his daily routine, knowing full well that the cephalon would quickly lose interest in vestigial affairs.

"Where is Angdal?"

Solis switched from red to blue and settled its bearings.

"He went on ahead to meet with the salvage crew assigned to the tunnel. They had radioed in earlier asking for immediate assistance, they had claimed it was urgent."

"And he didn't wake me?"

"No. He said he wanted to let you sleep longer."

The Shipmaster paused in his walk and took in a long breath, letting it out along with the wave of emotions the cephalon's report had brought him.

He thought of a retort, but merely shook his head and resumed pace towards the exterior of the vessel.

As he walked, he entered into the main cargo lane, where many crewmen were busy at work repairing the massive ship's damaged systems. So many of them were young, much like Angdal. Most were willing to follow orders well enough, but too many were either unwilling or unable to regard their positions with much seriousness. As he watched the crew from afar conversing as they worked, he could not shake the feeling that they saw their exile as some sort of joyous excursion. Admittedly, a feeling that was due in no small part to his comparatively lax command structure.

No wonder they had been disbanded from the more rigid rank and file of the Corpus fleet.

Regardless, the Shipmaster felt it was far more important to maintain trust, loyalty, and morale than to see perfectly idealized efficiency. A leadership tactic that had caused much friction between him and his constituents in the fleet.

"Captain!"

A massive, stocky crewman wearing the bright red suit of a techmaster, emblazoned with fluorescent yellow stripes along his torso to signify his position, approached the Shipmaster. He wore no helmet, and his bronze skin crossed with numerous scars shone with a worker's sweat. Still, he showed no signs of exhaustion, instead grinning wide to reveal perfect teeth.

"Arja. How are the repairs?"

Arja put his hands on his hips and twisted his mouth upwards while furrowing his brow. On such a large imposing man, the expression was somewhat ridiculous.

"Fine enough I suppose. I figure it should only be a few more weeks before we have all essential structural damage repaired, and most of the ship's circulatory systems back online."

"And the reactor?"

Arja turned to the captain, grinning wide once more.

"Still crap!"

Arja was the head tech not only for the major repair efforts on the Obelisk, but for the entire legion. A jovial, boisterous leader, the Shipmaster had appointed him for his unparalleled mentor-ship skills and ability to maintain a well spirited work force. He had taken the rejects and criminals of the salvaging party and turned them into a group that actually took pride in their work.

While his various technician skill focuses were overall sufficient, his major claim was in his mastery of starships. He possessed an intimate understanding of how all star-worthy vessels operated, and how to make the most out of any ship.

However, his expertise only extended so far. The ship they were focused on had crash landed with minimal damage, yet even minimal damage was enough to keep it grounded. A low-orbit void space jump had overloaded the engines and the reactor core, and while most of the ship could be repaired with salvage, a working reactor core was extremely rare to find, difficult to secure, and even more difficult to secure without the prying eyes of Luxor seizing the profits for the company.

"Well, keep at it. There's good chance we can make something from the new salvage site."

"Ooooh, thinking a tor-"

"Thinking. That's all."

Arja's face relaxed, and his eyes grew distant.

"Ah. I see."

"Temper their expectations. They've already started rumors."

Arja and the Shipmaster looked out again at the crewmen in the cargo lane, busy at their various tasks across the massive, kilometer long shaft.

"They're just looking for a break, captain. They want this as much as you do."

"I know."

Arja turned to the Shipmaster with a stern look.

"I don't think you do. You've done well at getting them to put their faith in you, and they want to share in your glory."

"They want their cut."

Arja's face grew even sterner.

"I know they aren't your ideal crew, but they're earnest...Well, most of them at least...And with time, I know even the more stubborn ones will come over. There isn't much to hope for out here, and...well...you give them something-"

The Shipmaster turned to look at Arja.

"Arja. I know."

The men stared at each other while the far off sounds of machinery and repairs echoed through the shaft, drowned out by the occasional howling of the wind.

Suddenly, the tension was broken.

"Sir, it is a hailing from Angdal. He says you need to come to the salvage site immediately."

Solis spun with urgency after receiving the news, and was already starting to drift towards the ashlar bay, urging the Shipmaster to follow.

The Shipmaster turned from the cephalon back to Arja.

"Keep me posted."

Arja nodded, but he avoided meeting the Shipmaster's gaze.

Without another word, the Shipmaster quickened pace to follow Solis down the exterior access hall towards the outside.

As the Shipmaster emerged from the interior of the ship into the ashlar bay, his helmet's display was momentarily washed out by the vast differences in lighting. The reflective qualities of the tundra amplified the low sun into a blinding display of orange and purple, casting brilliant halos around the areas where the light struck the surface.

A short distance away, great plumes of steam rose from where the legion was directing heated water beneath the obelisk in an attempt to speed up its excavation process. Thousands of gallons of water from a nearby lake were ran through an array of industrial heating units, just barely managing to bring the water to a lukewarm temperature where it would then be ran through the tunnel system below the ship. The process was only moderately effective, but the Shipmaster was willing to hasten the excavation in any way.

The ashlar bay was less of what most would consider a 'bay' and was instead a wide, flat clearing in the snow, surrounded by the mountains of ice that had been pushed aside. Piles of crates and several small depot huts dotted the bay, and designated landing zones for the legion's ashlar transports filled the remaining space.

Though some crewmen in the distance could be seen moving crates filled with various tools onto their ashlar, the bay was mostly empty, with most of its inhabitants already deployed to their designated salvage sites for the day.

"Sir, we REALLY need to get moving. Angdal is continuing to send hails."

The Shipmaster nodded to Solis, and the two moved down to an awaiting ashlar that was clearly for them.

A tall crewman leaning against the ship bolted to the ready when she saw the approaching duo, quickly stiffening into a salute.

The Shipmaster waved away the gesture and proceeded onto the ashlar.

Ashlar transports were long, flat vessels that were typically used for moving cargo across medium distances, but with most of the legion's ice crawlers deployed full time, and standard Gox transport units few in number, they doubled as personnel transports.

The Shipmaster squeezed into a reclining position within the cramped vessel, almost completely on his back. Gripping a notched handle along his seat's base, he twisted it slightly and his helmet's view was replaced instead with that of the ship's exterior, though a small window of his immediate surroundings remained in the corner.

"Your cephalon already gave me the coordinates."

The crewman from the outside crawled into her seat at the head of the transport, and nestled into position.

"Should be only 5 minutes. Did you want to monitor flight plans, or just let the computer handle it?"

"Yes. Flight plans."

The crewman gave an affirmatory hand gesture and twisted the dial on her seat as well.

The view of the ship's exterior was suddenly overlayed with geometric patterns and flight information. Carefully calculated paths marked with transparent snaking arrows along the air streams guided the ship along the most efficient path to its destination. The Shipmaster had no fear of computer error, but wanted to occupy his time during the jaunt.

Rising from the bay, the ship slowly floated to about 15 meters off the ground, then gradually gained speed towards it's designated path.

As they flew, the Shipmaster regarded the obelisk they skirted alongside. Over six kilometers long, the massive vessel proved difficult to navigate in any timely manner on foot, necessitating the use of the ashlars. Though ashlars could go much faster, their speed was inversely related to their accuracy, and the risk of crashing this close to the surface rose exponentially.

Still, the trip was short, and the Shipmaster took this opportunity to have a brief respite, as he absentmindedly watched the lines and shapes fly across the projected surface of the tundra. Without even thinking, he quietly flicked the intake on his collar, and drew in a long, deep breath of the mist, watching the obelisk stretch onwards to infinity, and the lines of the flight path twist into geometric patterns beyond comprehension.

The ashlar landed softly, to a hover just over a meter from the surface.

Shaking himself to his senses, the Shipmaster disembarked, again ignoring the forced salute from his pilot.

Regarding his surroundings, the Shipmaster noticed the salvage site was almost eerily devoid of activity. The only visible proxies he could see were still, and no crewmen were to be seen.

Approaching the mouth of the ice tunnel that led deeper into the salvage site, he finally spied another sign of life. Angdal. An average build man with standard brown suit, not much set him apart aside from the bright blue insignia of the legion emblazoned upon his helmet, given by the Shipmaster to distinguish him from his colleagues. He had chosen Angdal as his personal assistant and envoy for situations where he himself could not be present. He was not sure why, but something about Angdal's impressive plainness was endearing.

Fidgeting nervously in place, Angdal seemed preoccupied with something deeper within the tunnel. As the Shipmaster got closer, he wheeled around in place and sprinted to meet him.

"Sir! Thank the void you're here. Please, hurry, I don't know wha-"

"Where are all the crew-members for this zone?"

Solis interrupted Angdal and floated lazily around the area, scanning for other signs of life.

"That's just it. They all went below."

The Shipmaster tilted his head slightly at the report.

"All of them?"

"Yes, Sir. About 2 hours ago."

"Why?"

Angdal shied away somewhat.

"Well, sir...I...I think it's best if you come see for yourself."

Solis interjected once more.

"That is not a particularly satisfying, nor informative answer. Why are you acting like some secretive academy child?"

"I...I just don't think t-that..."

The Shipmaster turned to the cephalon, then shrugged. Turning back to Angdal, he gestured for him to lead the way, and the trio descended into the dimly lit tunnel.

As they walked, their shadows danced along the walls in the passing floodlights. Glistening ice shone in the darkness, and the ever present dripping of water could be heard as the howling of the wind grew quieter behind them.

The Shipmaster was worried. Looking sideways at Angdal, he noticed the usually talkative man tracing patterns with his fingers in the air. Hunched over and not regarding the Shipmaster directly, something was clearly occupying his thoughts.

Once they had walked approximately two hundred meters into the cave, he saw what it was.

The salvage site had been the subject of many rumors and whisperings within the legion. Several days prior, large deposits of gold and rubedo had been discovered along the flood-ways where they were directing water beneath the front of the ship. Nothing resembling reliquary had been discovered, but that didn't stop many of the more devout crew from jumping to conclusions and formulating ridiculous ideas.

The Shipmaster was the first to caution against unfounded expectations, but now, even his mind was beginning to entertain the possibility of something immense.

All along the floor of the tunnel, the crewmen of the salvage site lay prostrate. Most were silent, or at the very least had their external microphones turned off. Others arranged credit chips in honorific patterns and were quietly reciting prayers, gesticulating wildly as if they were weaving something around them.

Silently, the Shipmaster moved onwards. Stepping around the crewmen on the floor as he rounded the corner through the dim light and proceeded to an area where dozens of floodlights had been gathered and shone like miniature suns in the darkness.

"S-sir...I...I don't-"

Angdal stopped behind him and began to trace the patterns with more desperation as the end of the tunnel came into view.

Awe struck, the Shipmaster hesitated as well before continuing forwards.

Here the crewmen were packed the tightest, and the Shipmaster lightly pushed them aside with his leg, causing them to let out pitiful cries as he did so.

"Is...is that?"

Solis too began to slow, and his center orb flickered wildly as he processed the data he was consuming.

The Shipmaster could barely breath. A combination of pure elation and immeasurable fear gripped his chest. The nape of his neck tingled with a sensation of great static. The atmosphere became tangible, and each of his steps took considerable effort as he waded through the cloying aura of the discovery.

The ice at the end of the tunnel gave way to a great, white surface. Marked only with flowing gold patterns and filigree.

Placing his hands upon the smooth, alabaster like surface, the Shipmaster felt a great energy run from his fingertips up his arms, causing his skin to prickle with the sensation. Shuddering at the touch, he traced his fingers along the edge of a raised bar in the center of the surface, to a dark, circular recess.

With bated breath, he managed to speak a single word.

"Orokin."

No sooner had the word left his lips, his hand brushed against an indistinguishable surface within the recess that caused the recess to spring to life and emit a brilliant cyan light. With the light came a great booming chime that resonated within the Shipmaster's chest and caused the crewmen to quickly look upwards in a combination of dread and wonder.

The filigree shifted within the surface, and where a pristine white expanse had once been, purposeful edges rose into stark relief, clearly outlining a doorway.

The door flew open, sending fragments of ice showering outwards that spun and twinkled within the floodlights. A massive gust of air was sucked into the opening like a mighty breath, and the force threw the Shipmaster to his knees.

As the air pressure equalized, lights began to flicker within the dark opening. The light revealed yawning golden halls stretching a great distance before leading to more doors. Dozens of them.

This was no Orokin skimmer. This was something much, MUCH bigger.

His arms and legs felt weak, as if he had undergone great exertion, but the Shipmaster managed to pull himself to his feet.

Barely managing to keep his emotions in check, he turned to the crew.

Though most wore helmets, he could feel all of their eyes on him, hanging upon his next action.

Fighting to prevent his voice from wavering, he gave a single command.

"All crewmen. You've just been re-assigned."