“What is the T’au?” the new auxiliary asks
me.
He chatters while we work, when he should
be focused on his task. I do not know why he has been assigned to my cadre, but
I’m sure there must be a good reason. All will be revealed as required by the
T’au’va.
We are in the armoury of the Notions of Authority, and we
should be checking the functioning of the cadre’s weaponry instead of engaging
in inane conversation about the elementary and the obvious.
“We are the T’au,” I tell him.
I fit a power cell to the boxy plasma pulse
rifle in my hands, and check the status indicator. A complete circle is
displayed; the perfect shape, just like the T’au.
The human’s furry features contort. They
are almost as hirsute as the Nicassar, with their mouths always hanging open as
if addled by some mysterious aroma. Ah but no, their olfactory orifices are
there, in the centre of their heads.
“No, the Greater Good,” he repeats. “In
your language, don’t you call it that: the T’au?”
“Ah, I see your confusion.” I remove the
power cell, replace the pulse rifle in its cradle, and take the next one down.
“No, what you call the Greater Good is not T’au but T’au’va, the path to T’au.”
“Right. So, what’s the T’au?”
“We are the T’au.”
The face crumples again. I am learning this
indicates annoyance or irritation. Au’ei! I am a simple soldier--let him speak
to an Ethereal and be enlightened. That is their role. Mine is to inspect the
weapons.
His name is long and difficult to remember.
Balts’Zar? Bal’A’Zar? Balt’Haz’Ar? Balthazar. Yes, that is it. Balthazar.
“Hey Vak’Thas, did they tell you which
system we’re going to?” Balthazar asks me.
“No.”
“Any idea what the op is?”
“No.”
“Don’t you wonder why I was assigned to
your team?”
“No.” Well, perhaps a little, but there
would be no harmony if I admitted this out loud.
“Aren’t you even a little curious?”
I huff in reproach at the question, though
I think he misses the gesture. “No,” I say. Again, my curiosity or lack thereof
is irrelevant--only what is good for all matters. “We will be told about the
mission at the most appropriate time, in accordance with the T’au.” I make the
sign of circle within a circle. “We shall receive instructions and execute them
to the best of our abilities. All else is a distraction. Now, have you
completed your inventory of the photon grenades? This is important. They could
save your life in a battle.”
Balthazar makes another face I am
unfamiliar with, involving raising his eyes to the ceiling for a moment. He
returns to his review of the grenades. Of course, they are all there, in the
exact number and location expected. The logistics team that loaded the ship
with supplies did so in perfect accordance with regulations, just as it is
regulation that we should review and confirm their work.
Harmony. Perfection.
Skel’Shih, our team leader and Shas’ui,
enters the armoury. He is older, a veteran scarred from glory in many battles.
“The ship drops from lightspeed in 30 rai’khor. The cadres will meet then.”
Skel’Shih looks at the weapons rack, then
back to me in silent rebuke for my lack of progress. A human might blame their
colleague for talking, but argument and excuses do nothing to aid the T’au, so
I spread my hands in contrition and acceptance of correction.
At the precisely appointed time, a chime
sounds to summon us to the war council. Balthazar leaps to the armoury door and
waits there, shifting his weight from foot to foot as I replace the last of the
weapons, close the door and secure the lock. There is no rush. I have walked
many times to assembly hall and know precisely how long it will take. But
Balthazar is forever three steps ahead of me, looking over his shoulder,
silently urging me to go faster. I smile to reassure him but maintain my pace.
Sadly, this does not improve his mood.
Au’ei! I am just a simple soldier.
The hall is a great round chamber, the
largest inside the Notions of
Authority. Soft lights are embedded in spiral rings in the ceiling,
like stars across the galaxy, and the walls and floor are of pale, delicate
pink and dusky purple. The hall is already filled with gold-armoured warriors
when we arrive. Each team forms a circle about its Shas’ui team leader, the
teams themselves circle about the Shas’el cadre commander, the six cadres a
circle about the central dais.
In addition to Balthazar, I note that each
of the other teams also has at least one Gue’vesa human auxiliary. In addition,
there are several teams of tall, gaunt, quill-fringed Pech’vesa, belonging to a
kindred with gills and webbed appendages, probably the result of a diet of
aquatic life-forms. The Pech, or Kroot as the humans call them, absorb the DNA
of those they eat and meld it directly into their own genomes. I do not think
there are any sentient aquatics, so the tribes with us today are walking a dangerous
path--go down it too far, absorb too much of the fish, and they risk becoming
more animal than thinking, sentient being.
Such thoughts are soon driven from my mind
as the Aun’ui enters the chamber, every cell of my being vibrating in unison. His
gold-robed form sweeps among us, a hand raised in benediction and blessing. The
Aun’ui is … perfection. Every word he speaks is neutrino-precise and
photon-bright, piercing through ignorance with illuminating insight.
Beside him stands the Shas’o commander, Brek’Tal,
as solid, present and real as the Aun’ui is numinous. Her movements are as
inevitable and unstoppable as gravity, her presence draws the eye as
inescapably as a black hole does light. I feel nothing but pride to be allowed
to share this space with them, to become the instrument of their wills.
Above Brek’Tal’s head, a hologram of a
planet springs into being. It is a blue-grey globe, covered in thick, striated
bands of grey and white clouds. The hologram’s point of view moves, dips down
towards the planet, pierces the clouds, revealing endless waves in every
direction.
“We are in orbit above a human world called
Tumult,” Brek’Tal begins. “As you can see, it is a water-world, with the human
population concentrated into a handful of floating complexes. This planet was
first discovered 16 tau’cyr ago by the cruiser Willing Compliance, and after contact and negotiation, its
rulers requested membership in the Empire. An Integration and Adjustment cadre under
Aun’Vei was left on the planet.” The portrait of a female Ethereal briefly
overlays the image, her face grave and serious. Her face fades into the
planet’s mist as Brek’Tal continues. “Progress reports from Aun’Vei were
promising, until all communication abruptly ceased two tau’cyr ago.”
The view shifts again, skimming across the
tops of the waves towards a cluster of distant black needles. As the view draws
closer, I see that each needle is a smooth, black tetrahedron the size of a
dozen sept-homes, high as a mountain, with a fringe of landing pads, docks,
wave generators and station-keeping engines at the waterline.
“Our mission is to confirm the status of Aun’Vei
and her Integration and Adjustment cadre and to investigate the cause of the
blackout. One cadre will be sent to each of these four complexes, with two in
reserve,” Brek’Tal continues. “Each team has been assigned a Gue’vesa to assist
with contacting the local population. Pech’vesa teams will be inserted at the
waterline and investigate the sub-levels of each complex. Report to me
immediately upon confirmation of the nature of the blackout and the fate of the
Integration and Adjustment cadre. Questions?”
Of course, there are none, for to raise a
question would be to imply the briefing had been less than perfect and that we
were somehow dissatisfied with it.
Brek’Tal makes a flat, smoothing motion, the
T’au gesture of completion. “All teams will be issued plasma carbines and
photon grenades,” she says. “Barracuda fighters will escort the dropships and
provide air cover. The deployment of Hammerhead armour and Broadsword suits is
contraindicated by the restricted terrain inside the city-ships. However, we do
not anticipate any resistance or hostilities, so this will likely be more than
sufficient. That is all.”
The cadre files from the hall and marches
down to the armoury. The standard Fire Caste warrior combat armour includes an
enclosing helmet with communications equipment and vision enhancement. There is
an enlarged shoulder guard on the left arm (all T’au shoot with the right),
bearing the crest of my sept. I take my plasma carbine from the rack I
inspected earlier, taking pride in its polish and readiness. The carbine mounts
a grenade launcher under the barrel, and I stow a brace of photon grenades
across my belt.
Balthazar’s world has more recently joined
the Empire, and he has yet to be issued the standard gear. The Gue’vesa wear
bulkier, hard-angled carapace armour and have brought their own lasguns, rather
than using our more powerful plasma weaponry. Balthazar clanks when he walks.
My eyes crinkle with amusement, but he cannot see behind my helmet.
The team of webbed and scaled Pech’vesa
stride past, shouldering their long, jagged guns and clacking to one another.
They are tall, taller even than Balthazar, and their eyes hold no warmth or
friendliness.
“Give me the heebie-jeebies,” Balthazar
confides, watching them clatter away. “I don’t get them.”
“They are not so strange,” I say. Unlike
the slavering Be’gel or paranoid fanatics of the Imperium, we seek peaceful
coexistence with all other species. Harmony. “If you wish your two species to
grow closer, perhaps you should allow them to eat a few of you.”
“Eat?”
“The more humans they eat, the more
human-like they will become.”
Balthazar shudders. “Sounds pretty inhuman
to me.”
“Perhaps only a few aged and infirm then,”
I suggest. “Surely the sacrifice of a few is worth greater amity and
cooperation between your two species.”
Balthazar looks at me, head tilted to one
side. “Vak’Thas, sometimes I wonder if you … Would you let them eat you? If you
were ordered, I mean.”
“If necessary for the T’au’va, of course I
would. I could no more refuse to obey an order than I could shoot a member of
my own team. But that is a foolish question. I am more valuable to the Empire
as a warrior.”
Balthazar looks again after the
disappearing Pech’vesa. Quietly, he says, perhaps to himself, “Oh yeah? You
sure about that?”
Of course, I am sure. How can anyone doubt
their place on the road to T’au’va? But I hold my peace. Patience. The humans
will learn, in time.
There are four Orca-class dropships waiting
in the launch bay to transport our cadre to the surface: The Through Fire to Reconciliation,
the Demonstration of Benevolence,
the Natural Rectification of Error
and the Ultimate Source of
Consensus. The Orca is a long, lean raptor shape, with two pairs of
directional thrusters, both fore and aft, built for speed and manoeuvrability.
Our team, along with seven others, is assigned to the Demonstration of Benevolence.
About three-quarters of the dropship is
taken up by the rear troop compartment. Eight teams of six can fit, seated in
four lines of 12, each warrior strapped in and secured against any sudden manoeuvring,
our weapons carefully stowed by our sides. As a junior member of the team, my
position is closest to the cockpit and furthest from the rear exit doors. From
the cockpit, I can just hear Skel’Shih talking with the Air Caste pilot. At my
side, Balthazar rattles in his armour as he fastens his restraints.
“What do you think, Vak’Thas?” he asks me
as he places his lasgun in the rack at his side. “Think the greenskins
attacked? What if it’s Space Marines, Astartes? We’re going to be outgunned
without combat suits.”
I listen to him chatter without comment. As
in the armoury, he seems to feel the need to fill calm and rounded silences
with streams of jagged-edged, rapid-fire blather. I suspect he is merely
nervous, perhaps a little afraid.
“I am sure Brek’Tal has considered this,
and is ready to respond to any scenario,” I say when Balthazar’s stream of
words finally sputters out. “Trust the commander. Trust in the T’au.”
A warning klaxon signals our departure.
There is a brief moment of lightness as the dropship leaves the protective
shell of the Notions of Authority’s
artificial gravity, quickly replaced by the growing pressure of acceleration
and a steady hum as the engines thunder to life.
Soon, the Demonstration of Benevolence begins to shudder and bounce as
we drop through the outer layers of the atmosphere. I feel relaxed, trusting
our Air Caste pilot to bring us down safely.
The shaking grows more violent, and even
through my armour I feel myself thrown against the restraints. The cabin blurs
somewhat, vibrating too fast for my eyes to follow. There is a dull, metallic
thud from somewhere on the outer hull of the dropship. This has never happened
in any previous drop. Perhaps our pilot is new. Balthazar looks troubled.
“There is no cause for alarm,” I reassure
him quietly. “Trust in the--”
The dropship lurches heavily to one side,
tilting almost vertical on one wing, and the tone of the engines changes from
thunderous boom to wailing scream.
Balthazar yells something, probably
unflattering about the pilot, but fortunately it is lost in the peal of the
thrusters and I am saved from having to correct him. Instead I gaze at the
opposite bulkhead, which has now become the floor, and wonder how far we are
above the waves of Tumult’s ocean, and how long before we hit them.
From the cockpit access hatch, I can hear
the honking of an alarm.
Trust in the pilot, trust in the T’au’va,
trust in the Shas’ui, I must trust in the pilot, trust in the T’au’va, I must …
With a jerk, the dropship rights itself,
and the scream of the thrusters slowly fades to their normal growl. I let go a
breath I was unaware of holding.
“We are through the storm layer,” Skel’Shih
announces over the team communications channel in our helmets. His voice is
calm, flat, reassuring. To acknowledge the terror of our flight would invite
disharmony, so it is ignored. “Approaching the landing zone. Prepare to
disembark.”
The tail of the dropship dips slightly, and
the lighting inside the compartment changes from white to orange. At this
signal, I depress the release stud on my restraints. There is a symphony of
clicks as the other T’au warriors all do the same, followed a beat later by an
erratic staccato clatter as Balthazar and the other humans unclasp their own
harnesses. I retrieve my carbine from where I stowed it, activating the power
cell.
The rear of the dropship swings open. There
is only darkness beyond. The interior cabin light changes from orange to
yellow.
“Go, go, go!” urges Skel’Shih.
We leap from the Orca with weapons ready,
spread out across the landing pad. The rain is nearly horizontal, the wind
howls and batters. Overhead is indigo and ash, split by sheets of lightning
that fill the sky from horizon to horizon. Each flash illuminates the landing
pad, as well as a cluster of towers, hangars and other buildings that surround
it, and the vast mountain bulk of the pyramidal complex beyond it. I sweep my
plasma carbine across the doors and windows of buildings surrounding the
landing pad, grey shadows and silvery highlights in my helmet’s display. No
lights shine from within, nothing stirs.
The landing pad is located at the edge of
the floating city. Far below, the great grey ocean undulates, pulses like a
thing alive, hammering against the base of the city in wordless, frothing fury.
A handful of rotund gun drones float above our heads, each mounting a pair of
linked plasma carbines that twitch back and forth, as though scenting the air
like Kroot hounds. Out to sea, the dropship Natural Rectification of Error stoops over the waves, and
scatters a line of Pech’vesa divers like tiny black eggs, plopping into the sea
with tiny white blisters that are immediately swallowed by the churning waters.
Above us rise the steep, sloping sides of
the tetrahedral complex itself, mirror-black and rain-slick. My helmet
amplifies the pulsating lightning that flashes among the clouds, and I see
there are gaps in the pyramid’s cladding, panels smashed or broken away. A
shard of one flaps frantically back and forth in the gale winds, as though
beckoning, or signalling distress.
The Demonstration of Benevolence rises into the air on four
pillars of wavering heat, leaving the teams on the landing pad. Alone in the
dark, save for the wind and rain and wordless, trackless ocean.
Skel’Shih and the other team leaders
announce each sector clear and secure. Like our inspection of the weapons, this
is unnecessary--each warrior carries a module that monitors their position and
vital signs, and allows the Shas’o to remotely monitor all visual and audio
data, even high above in the Notions
of Authority--but it is good to do, calming, reassuring. An echoing
chorus of readiness rises from the teams on other landing pads about this
complex and the other three hives. Everything is proceeding as planned.
“All cadres, leave one team to guard the
landing pad, other teams enter the main compound and begin your sweep, one team
per level,” Brek’Tal orders.
Our team is the closest to the compound, so
it falls to us to take the lead. The landing pad is separated from the complex
by a long, thin walkway, barely wide enough for two warriors to stand shoulder
to shoulder, suspended above the waves. At the far end are the great arched
doors to the complex, easily twice my height, ornately carved from some dark
and lustrous metal, firmly shut.
We advance cautiously in a staggered double
line, weapons ready, trained on the doors before us. Skel’Shih in the lead,
then Balthazar and myself, followed by three others. Out here, away from the
protecting bulk of the landing pad buildings, we are exposed to the full force
of the gale. Our slow advance becomes more necessity than caution--I must
nearly bend double just to stay on my feet. The walkway vibrates in sympathy
with the howling wind.
The great doors rear before us. Skel’Shih
points to Balthazar, then the door. Balthazar nods, slides slowly forward,
standing sideways to the doors to present a smaller target. He holds the lasgun
in the crook of his arm, and reaches out with the other hand and presses it
against the right-hand door. Five plasma carbines are trained on the faint line
that separates the two doors. Balthazar leans forward, and pushes.
The door swings easily, soundlessly inward.
Balthazar, surprised at the lack of
resistance, stumbles forward a step, catches himself, goes to one knee with his
lasgun ready. After a moment, he signals the all clear, and slips inside,
swallowed--just as the Pech’vesa were--by the shadows of this place. One by
one, we follow after.
On the other side is an entry hall. It is typically
human in its brutal and baroque architecture. There is a double row of black
columns. The main overhead lights have either failed or been turned off, though
there is a faint, sodium glow from emergency lights built into the bottom of
each wall. A faint layer of dust covers the floor, stirred now by the wind
gusting through the open door.
On one wall there is a bas-relief sculpture
of battle. A giant, haloed figure drives back a mass of writhing, corrupted
nightmare enemies. Twisted humans with tentacles and horns and claws wither
before the radiance of the human hero.
I notice Balthazar is looking up at it.
“A god?” I ask him, pointing to the radiant
figure.
“The God-Emperor.”
Ah, of course. “How terrible to be forced
to worship the one that enslaved you,” I say, sadly. “How terrible life must
have been here, before they joined the T’au.”
“Yeah,” Balthazar agrees slowly. “Must be
hard when you have no say in how to live your life.”
“It is lucky for you that your world joined
the T’au Empire.”
“Sure is,” Balthazar nods, but I do not
detect any enthusiasm in this voice.
“Quiet,” Skel’Shih barks, and we turn our
attention back to the team leader. He points down to the far end of the hall.
“We will begin our sweep.”
Beyond the entrance hall is the main
thoroughfare. Here, too, the lighting has mostly failed, save for a few
emergency lights at ground level, exaggerating the shadows of the many carvings
and relief sculptures. A few air circulators, as furry as a Nicassar from lack
of maintenance, wheeze and rattle.
Smaller corridors branch off to either side
at irregular intervals. The walls are pocked with doorways leading to
businesses, communal areas and sleeping units.
We enter a housing unit. There is an
entrance hall with a reception desk, unmanned, a bank of security monitors,
blank and layered with dust. Beyond is a corridor, utterly dark, lined with
doors to the individual sleeping units. This far down the pyramid, these will
belong to menial laborers, the human equivalent of the Earth Caste. There is no
differentiation or decoration, merely an insectile march of identical doorways.
Skel’Shih silently points to me and
Balthazar, then to the corridor. I give a fist clench of acknowledgment. With a
subvocalized command, I turn my helmet’s light amplification up to maximum.
Slowly I step forward. Even treading as silent as I can, each footfall echoes
like a thunderbolt.
We stop in front of the first unit,
Balthazar against the wall to one side of the door as I take up position
against the other. The door is of a sliding type, and stands open the width of
two fingers. There is no light on the other side.
There is an activation stud on the wall.
Balthazar presses it, but the door is without power and does not open further.
Balthazar shoulders his lasgun, braces one hand against the door frame, the
other against the edge of the door, and slowly forces them apart with a
falsetto screech of metal on metal.
As soon as it is wide enough, I pounce
through. Beyond the door is--nothing. A room. A plain, ordinary room. Tables,
chairs, an entertainment unit, a food preparation area. I wait for Balthazar to
join me, then head further into the unit.
We find them in the sleeping room. Four
individuals, two adults, two juveniles. Each one lies on a bed, facing upward
towards the ceiling, dressed in everyday clothing, shrouded in sheets from the
waist down. Their hands are clasped to their breasts.
They are dead.
I know this without checking. There are no
marks of violence, no signs of struggle in the room, but I do not doubt they
are dead. They make no movement, no sound.
Balthazar rushes forward but I restrain him
with a hand to the chest. “Infection,” I tell him. “This may have been disease,
or something more insidious.”
Balthazar hesitates, then nods, a human
gesture of understanding.
Skel’Shih has been watching on my helmet’s
visual feed, and now his voice fills my ears. “Possible, Shas’la, though it is
unlikely that all four would have succumbed at the same time, and so peacefully.
Search the unit for weapons, poisons or--”
His broadcast is interrupted by the Aun’ui.
“Cancel that order. The fate of human colonists is of secondary importance,” he
says sharply.
This is … startling. Of course, it is the
Ethereal’s right to intervene and countermand orders. However, it is. Unusual. Have
we displeased the Ethereals, disturbed the Greater Good?
“Our first priority is Aun’Vei and the
Integration and Adjustment team. Continue your search until they are found.”
Skel’Shih mutters consent. He is unhappy,
but voices no objection, does not disturb the T’au. I take solace in Skel’Shih’s
acceptance, and strive follow his example and master my own misgivings. I
motion for Balthazar to follow me out of the room. He gives the family a long
look before he begins to follow in my steps.
We move quickly through the other housing
units in the compound. Many are empty. In the rest, the same pictograph is
reproduced, over and over: Adults, juveniles, even household pets, sometimes
alone, others with their families, lying bed, sprawled in chairs, collapsed in
hallways, all dead. No wounds, no signs of violence at all, yet every last one
of them dead.
This housing complex has become a mortuary.
After a double handful of such scenes, I
lose count of how many humans have died here. Thousands, in this complex alone.
This is but one of hundreds on this floor, one of thousands in this hive. The
implications stagger me. Millions dead, tens of millions.
And what about the others? For all the
dead, there are many missing, too. Where have they gone? There is a stench
here, not of decay, but of madness. Though I cannot say so out loud, I am
afraid. Not for myself, but for the T’au.
A new voice speaks in our helmets.
“Attention, La’rua team Skel’Shih.” It is Brek’Tal.
“We have lost contact with your cadre’s Pech’vesa team. Proceed to sub-level
four and re-establish communications.”
“As you command, Shas’o,” Skel’Shih
acknowledges. Then to us, he says: “You heard the commander. Let’s move. Vak’Thas
and Bal’Thar, you take the point.”
Us again? I could understand having
Balthazar in the lead during our sweep of the housing area, but this is getting--but
no, the Shas’ui must have his reasons. Obedience is enough. We find a
stairwell, shine our lights down into its depths, and slowly work our way down,
down, down into the belly of the hive.
We pass landings, with exits marked S1, S2,
S3 in blocky, black script. We must be below the surface of the water now. The
air feels different, smells different, salty, humid, thick, making sound move
sluggishly. The walls seem closer.
At S4, the internal lighting has completely
failed. A little faint, weak light filters down from the upper levels, but
beyond the stairwell doorway even that falters. We adjust our helmet sensors,
pulling in thermal imaging, magnetic and motion sensors, even high-frequency
echolocation pulses. The helmet screen builds up an image, monochrome,
plastic-smooth in places where data is lacking, but enough for us to proceed.
The sub-level is crammed with desalination,
sanitation, recycling, station-keeping and power-generating machinery. Power
cables and tubing worm just overhead in a confusing mass. Here and there, thick
black coolant or some other viscous liquid has leaked, and drips from overhead
in fat, echoing drops, pooling into grubby puddles on the surface below. The
engines hum, whine and chug, some smoothly, others labouring, all of the sounds
combining into an aural sludge that fills the air.
“Team halt,” Skel’Shih calls and we settle
into a ringed, defensive circle. Skel’Shih stands still, head titled slightly
upwards. Finally, he looks down and tells us: “I have lost contact with the
Shas’el cadre commander and the Shas’o.”
That is disquieting news. “Should we
return?” I quickly ask.
“No,” Skel’Shih says. “This is doubtless
what the Pech’vesa encountered. Some anomaly, perhaps in the construction,
structure or material of this place, which blocks communications. We must
investigate.”
Skel’Shih orders us to pair up and spread
out. Of course, Balthazar is assigned as my companion. I am getting used to
having this human as my shadow, though I still wish he could be as quiet as
one.
“Everyone dead or vanished, and now the
Kroot have disappeared?” he whispers to me as we duck under cabling and around
stagnant, foul-smelling puddles of chemicals. “There’s more going on than the
Aun’ui is telling us.”
I stop for a moment. “That is both probable
and normal, Bal’Thar.” I try to remain calm. “The Aun’ui is the leader, we are
mere soldiers. We do not need to know everything. Perhaps doubting your
commanders in common among you fractious, selfish, undisciplined humans, but we
are T’au. Now, silence please. Your jabbering is interfering with the sensors.”
“Jabbering?” he mutters, but falls silent.
We enter a larger opening among the water
desalination machinery, an irregular rectangle of space that served as a
meeting point for the laborers and technicians on this level.
I get a ping on my helmet sensors. Motion,
and sound, coming from the corridor up ahead. The helmet tries to fill in as
best it can, paints an amorphous and blurry shape, vaguely humanoid, moving
this way. It amplifies the sound—clacking. Scraping. I motion for Balthazar to
hold. He hesitates, then hears the sound too, and hunches down. The lasgun
trembles in his hands.
“Contact, Shas’ui,” I find myself
whispering, even in the confines of my helmet.
“Human? Pech?” Skel’Shih barks.
“Uncertain. It is moving this way.”
“We are on our way. Stand by.”
The clacking and scraping sound comes
again, louder now. Organic sounds, I feel sure, bone or chitin on the metal of
the floor. Definitely something alive. Human survivor or one of the Pech we are
searching for, it must be one or the other. It is drawing closer, closer.
A shadow moves.
I am ready. My finger beside the trigger of
the carbine. “Halt!” I call, in human. “Identify yourself!”
The figure lurches forward another step. It
is tall, gaunt, covered in scales save for its head, from which springs a long
mane of black, shiny quills. I relax, take my finger from the trigger. It is
one of the Pech’vesa, the Kroot. We have found the team. It appears unhurt. We
have been worried for nothing! “Shas’la Vak’Thas, of Skel’Shih’s team,” I say
to it, almost giddy with relief. “Shas’ui Skel’Shih, I have found the Kroot.
They are all right.”
The Kroot regards me, but there is no
recognition. Instead, it snarls. “K-k-kyew!” The voice is high-pitched and
echoing, animalistic. Like the sonar of some underwater creature. The Kroot
crouches, whipping around the long, spiked barrel of its Kroot Rifle. The cry
of “kyew!” is taken up somewhere behind this Kroot, and there is the clatter of
more approaching footsteps. Five more Kroot charge into the room, weapons at
the ready.
“Uh, Vak’Thas,” Balthazar says, “I got a
feeling they might not be one hundred percent all right.”
“You know, I think you might be right.” I
crouch, bringing my carbine up. At the same time, there is sound from behind
me. Skel’Shih and the rest of the team have arrived. Skel’Shih immediately
understands the situation. The squad spreads out, facing the Kroot, their own
weapons pointed at our allies. Five T’au and one human face six Kroot across
the length of the room. Nobody moves.
“This is Shas’ui Skel’Shih. Stand down,” Skel’Shih
orders. “Lower your weapons and report your team’s status.”
The Kroot mutter to one another. Their
voices are sibilant, hard to follow. They seem to repeat the same word back and
forth to one another. It is--yes, I can make it out--they say: “Murder.”
“I repeat, stand down. Put your weapons
down.”
“Murder, yes--MURDER--murder--”
“Put them down. Down. Now.”
“Yes, murder. Murder.”
“Drop them. Last warning: Drop them or we
open fire.”
“MURDER!”
Both teams open fire at the same time. The
Kroot Rifles are modified for underwater combat, coughing, barking, firing
shards of crystalline ammunition that form a disintegrating haze that sweeps
over us. I’m firing, the rest of the squad is firing, the brilliant blasts of
our pulse carbines turning the deep gloom of the room into blinding, strobing
daylight.
At this range, we cannot miss. Nor can
they. Splinters of crystal smack into my shoulder guard, my thigh, my shin,
like being beaten by a hundred tiny hammers. The gyrostabilizer in my carbine
keeps it level even as I am knocked back. I fire and fire, not bothering to
aim. The Kroot opposite me is kicked back by the impact of the plasma burst,
thrown off its feet and it flies, smashes into the wall behind it, bounces off
and falls to the ground.
Silence. Darkness returns.
All six Kroot lie broken, blasted and
burnt. Their faces are still twisted masks of rage and pain. Thanks to our armour,
we have fared better, though two of our number lie dead, and a third thrashes
weakly on the ground, a twinkling shard of crystal jutting from his neck. Skel’Shih,
Balthazar and I have survived.
“What just happened?” Balthazar stands in
the middle of the room, looking alternately at the dead Kroot and our own
losses, his lasgun dangling forgotten from one hand.
“It is as I feared,” I explain to
Balthazar. “Atavistic. These Pech’vesa have regressed too far, become too
animal.”
“They seemed okay before. What triggered
them?”
“Who knows? Some shadow, some sonar echo or
sound-shape beneath this hive drove them mad, perhaps, the way pods of some
aquatic species are driven to beach themselves. As I said, they became
unthinking, wild and dangerous.”
Skel’Shih says nothing, but moves to stand
over our slowly dying comrade. He bows his head a moment, passes a hand over
his eyes, then raises his carbine and fires a single pulse. The burbling moans
stop.
“It is for the better,” Skel’Shih says. “He
would not have lived.”
“It is for the better,” I agree.
Balthazar shakes his head. Instead of
agreeing, he says, “Well, we found them. We know what happened to them. Do we
head back topside and report?”
Skel’Shih considers, then makes a vertical
chopping motion with his hand, the T’au gesture of negation. “No. Vak’Thas may
be right, but we must be certain. We must retrace the Kroot team’s footsteps,
find what they found.”
“What they found drove them mad,” Balthazar
says, quietly.
“Balthazar!” I admonish. “The Shas’ui has
spoken.”
Skel’Shih touches his forehead in
appreciation at my words, then waves towards the corridor the Kroot appeared
from. “Bal’thar, you lead--”
“No,” Balthazar says.
“Human,” Skel’Shih growls, “I am ordering
you.”
“I’m sick and tired of being your stalking
horse,” Balthazar returns. “Report me or whatever you like, but right now
there’s just the three of us, with no support, no backup, no idea what’s out
there, and if you want to face it with two people rather than three, go ahead
but I’m not taking point, not again. You want to find whatever-it-is so bad,
you lead.”
“Balthazar’s armour and weaponry are
inferior to ours,” I interrupt quickly. “Shas’ui Skel’Shih, I recommend that I
lead.” It is an excuse, patently wafer-thin, but it preserves harmony and the
T’au by giving both of them an opening to back down.
Skel’Shih grunts, Balthazar nods. Crisis
averted, for the moment. Now all I need to is lead our trio into an abyss that
has already claimed the sanity of an entire squad.
We have not travelled far when I notice a
trail on the floor. A dried liquid of some type, smeared in long streaks as
though it was scraped or dragged away. I crouch down, rub my fingers along the
crusted trail and hold them up before my sensors. The helmet’s chemical sniffers
analyse it for a moment, and spit out the results: Blood. Human blood.
The trail leads to a small, square chamber,
with only one exit. Desanliation machinery fills one wall, but it is silent,
stilled. There are bodies on the floor, hundreds maybe, too many to count. They
are human. They lie in almost orderly rows. None of them are armed. My first
thought is, so this is what the Kroot meant by ‘murder.’ They found and
murdered the human survivors.
But no.
As I kneel by one of the bodies, I feel a
second wave of unease. This human has been shot by a plasma weapon. The burn
marks on his body are unmistakable. The Kroot were armed with splinter guns,
which leave wounds that look completely different. I look over at the next
human. This one, too, has been gunned down with plasma fire.
“Not the Kroot then,” Balthazar says out
loud. He has seen the marks as well. “Murdered, by your people.”
“Impossible,” I say immediately. “We T’au
do not murder. A civil war among the population, perhaps …”
In response, Balthazar gestures towards the
wounds. “You might try believing the evidence of your own eyes,” he says.
“That’s what the Kroot meant by ‘murder.’ The murder of these people.”
“The Pech’vesa were crazed, devolved--”
“That’s an easy, convenient thing to think,
isn’t it?”
“You are mad. Irrational. Think logically--”
“Closing your eyes, stuffing your ears and
loudly proclaiming that everything is okay is not the ‘thinking logically,’ Vak’Thas!
Look at them. Look! The team your Empire left behind went berserk and massacred
everyone. That’s why the Kroot turned on us--because they discovered what Aun’Vei
has done. Maybe they thought they’d be next.”
“You are over-excited,” Skel’Shih
interrupts. “Remain calm. We will return to the surface and report what we have
found. We must trust in the wisdom of the Ethereals to unravel this mystery.”
Balthazar hisses in laughter. “Let the
Ethereals investigate a crime committed by the Ethereals?”
“Wait,” I say, forestalling another
argument, perhaps a more deadly one. “We have a crime, but no criminals. Murder
victims, yes, but no murderers. If the T’au truly did this Balthazar, as you
believe, then where are they? Why the communications blackout? Where is
Aun’Vei? Where is the Integration and Adjustment team?”
Balthazar, Skel’Shih and I are silent for a
long time, there in the dark. Somewhere, coolant drips, plip, plop, like a
metronome keeping time.
Finally, Balthazar says, “Up.” I wait for
him to explain. “Your people are hierarchical, Ethereals at the top, Earth
Caste at the bottom. That’s why the killers came down here--they instinctively
went down. Aun’Vei, if she’s alive, would see herself as the top. She’d go up.
To the peak of the hive.”
I force myself to nod like a human. It is
as good a theory as any.
“Agreed,” Skel’Shih says, as though it were
his idea. “We will head to the top of the complex, and find Aun’Vei. She will
reveal the truth.”
“One condition though,” Balthazar raises a
hand. “Turn your vox and data link off. We’re cut off from the ship now, nobody
will notice. If we do this, then we do this as a team of just us three. Maybe
you’re right, maybe I’m paranoid, but this is the only way we find the truth
without interference.”
I am sure that Skel’Shih will tell him not
to be ridiculous. It comes as a shock then, when the Shas’ui makes the
air-smoothing gesture of completion. “Very well, human. If it will avoid
conflict and help us achieve our mission. However, when this is over, I will
report your insubordination to the Shas’o.”
“Hell, if I’m wrong, report me to the
Emperor himself,” Balthazar shrugs. “What are we waiting for? Yeah, yeah, Skellie.
I know, I know. I go first.”
It is a long and wearying climb. The power
lifts are all dead, of course, and we must trudge up the stairs. The complex is
huge, the T’au few in number, and we slip easily past the other teams. I feel
guilty for making them worry, for doubtless we have been reported missing. I
feel like a criminal. Worse, I feel naked, exposed without the link to the
other teams, the cadre and Brek’Tal. Alone with nothing but my own thoughts
inside this helmet.
After hours of climbing, we come to a halt.
The stairwell is blocked. Human furniture has been assembled into a crude
barricade, reinforced with metal plates, some which appear to have been taken
form the hive’s exterior.
The barricade is burned in places. Round
impact marks, like the remains of ancient craters, surrounded by ejecta of
half-melted plastic or metal. The marks of plasma fire. There is a discarded
T’au shoulder guard among the debris. It has cracked down the centre, marring
the sept crest. There was a battle here. The T’au fought, and lost. Yet I see
no evidence of any other types of weapons, no kinetic shell casings, no
splinters of crystalline shards, nothing but plasma burns.
I push such thoughts away, consider how to
get through. There is no telling how thick the barricade is.
“Clear it with photon grenades?” I suggest.
Skel’Shih makes the hand-chop of negation.
“Too time-consuming and of doubtful effectiveness. There is an emergency
exterior walkway.”
The way is narrow and treacherous. Violent
winds buffet us from every direction. It keens and whistles through the gaps in
the metal, a banshee dirge that follows us with every step, higher, higher,
coiling about the pyramid. We are perhaps 500 tor’lek of more above the sea
level. Peering down, helmet sensors magnified, I can just make out the
microdots of the landing pad and remaining team on guard.
Seething rain batters against my armour. Balthazar
slips, going down on one knee. Ceramite meets the steel of the walkway with a
ring like a hammer on an anvil. We freeze, weapons ready, fingers on triggers.
After a double handful of heartbeats, Skel’Shih motions us forward again.
At the very top, almost the very peak of
the pyramid-hive itself, is a wide viewing platform of metal, smooth and shiny
as black ice. The metal is marked with plasma burns, scratched and scored, the
signs of battle. There is a waist-high railing, and a sweeping panoramic view
of the trackless, grey sea.
Aun’Vei stands at the railing, her back to
us.
Her gold robe is dirty, tattered, and flaps
frantically about her spare frame in the wind. She turns as our armoured
footsteps clatter upon the platform. “Ah,” she says, sadly. “There you are.”
“I am Shas’ui Skel’Shih,” our team leader
says. “Ethereal, where are the others? Where is the rest of your team?”
Aun’Vei gestures towards the waters. “The
humans were unhappy, rebellious. It was clear they would never truly join the
T’au. When I ordered the Earth Caste to poison the water supply, some objected.
I had the Fire Caste eliminate them, along with any human survivors.”
“The water …” I mutter. It would be easy
enough, here, on an ocean world. The hive’s drinking water all came through the
same handful of desalination plants in the bowels of the complex.
“Some of the warriors refused my orders,
and their bodies joined the Earth Caste.” Aun’Vei is calm, as though she is
discussing the weather. Cloudy today, chance of showers, sunny tomorrow, I
ordered my own warriors to kill my people. “Other warriors were distraught,
afterwards, about what had happened. They chose to end their own lives. I
realized none could be trusted, not even the other Ethereals, and liquidated
them.”
“Your own cadre,” I whisper. “You killed
your own cadre.”
“Never mind that,” Balthazar rages. “The
planet. They murdered the whole damn planet, poisoned the water supply. That’s
the crime they were trying to hide.”
Aun’Vei gives him a look that is almost
pitying. “That is no crime.”
I place a hand on Balthazar’s arm.
“Disharmony,” I say to him. “The fact that T’au sided with humans against their
own, and that T’au fought against T’au. For the T’au, that is the greater
crime. That is what she sought to hide. Imagine the repercussions, should the
failure of an Ethereal become known.”
Balthazar shakes his head, speechless.
Behind him, I have the glimpse of Skel’Shih
raising his plasma carbine. “We must ensure that never happens,” he says. He
fires. Violent white light pulses.
Aun’Vei is thrown backwards against the
railing by the impact, flips over it and tumbles from view. I race to the
railing, knowing it is too late, far too late. Only to catch a glimpse of a
tiny, gold-leaf shape, like a scrap of foil, tumbling, bouncing from the side
of the pyramid, dwindling into nothing before hitting the waves with a tiny
splash.
“Shas’ui!” I breathe, astounded. I cannot
believe, cannot conceive of what has happened. An Ethereal. He dared to shoot
an Ethereal. “We should have taken her back to the ship, to atone for her
actions.”
I turn back from the railing, and hear
Skel’Shih say: “You are right. None must know.”
There is another pulse of light. I flinch,
and save my life. The helmet takes a glancing hit from the plasma burst. The
helmet display dissolves into static, the communicator fills the helmet with a
piercing squeal then falls silent. The smell of burnt metal and plastic is
everywhere. I cannot breathe.
I claw at the seals, tear the helmet from
my head. Skel’Shih stands before me, plasma carbine ready. Balthazar stands to
one side, unseen behind Skel’Shih, with his lasgun raised, but his puny weapon
will be useless against the Fire Caste armour. I grope for my weapon, blinded
by the rain, knowing it is too late.
“For the Greater Good,” Skel’Shih says.
Balthazar tosses something, rolls it along
the platform between Skel’Shih’s legs. A neat cylinder, cobalt blue. I squeeze
my eyes shut, throw a hand in front of my face. Even then, even through my
eyelids the detonation of the photon grenade is a brilliant, searing, miniature
supernova exploding across the platform.
I open my eyes, blinking fiercely.
Skel’Shih staggers, his sensors blinded by the blast. The carbine is in my
hands. I do the impossible. I fire. I shoot my own commander. My own commander.
The gun shudders, rams against my shoulder. Sending Skel’Shih spinning,
sprawling across the platform, coming to rest against the far side in a
smoking, burning heap.
He struggles to rise. Looks directly at me.
“Good,” he says. “That is good.” And falls back, dead.
Balthazar slowly comes to my side, keeping
his lasgun trained on Skel’Shih’s unmoving form. He extends a hand and helps me
to my feet. I need to grip the railing with what little strength I still have.
I can barely stand, struck by the enormity of what I have seen, what I have
heard. What I have done.
Balthazar starts to laugh. Not a happy
laugh, not a joyous one. Despairing and bitter. I look at him in question.
“Don’t you get it?” he says to me. “Don’t
you see the irony? It was the humans who went to their deaths meekly, like good
little T’au. It was the T’au that rebelled and went crazy.”
I do not trust myself to answer. Thinking:
He is right. Thinking: Skel’Shih was also right, it must never become known
that Balthazar is right.
“What happens now?” Balthazar asks the sea,
not looking at me. “They’ll kill us.”
The answer, like the T’au itself is simple.
Perfect.
“We already have our villains. The Kroot
massacred Aun’Vei’s team and the human survivors. Nobody is left to say
otherwise,” I say, sadly. “Nothing happens.”
“Nothing?”
“This,” I gesture to our dead commander,
then sweep my arm to take in the waves, the bodies that lie beneath the
surface, “this never happened. It cannot have happened.”
“We let Aun’Vei get away with it? We lie?”
“We preserve the Greater Good.”
Balthazar is silent for a long time. He
looks at the waves, he looks at his lasgun. I wonder if he will follow the Fire
Caste warriors, and shoot himself. I wonder if I should stop him. He lifts the
gun--and with a convulsive heave, tosses it from the platform. It is snatched
away by the winds before it hits the water.
“That is the T’au,” I say.
He nods. “That is the T’au.”
END
No comments:
Post a Comment