PeZook wrote:I was a little skeptical of the concept at first, but the execution is first-class.
And I don't really think that a standard year is a long time for the Inquisition to find one man on an entire planet, unless they engage in a gigantic manhunt. A planet is a big place.
Though I do wonder - how the hell did the Guard know Tomas deserted? They must've lost hundreds of thousands of men during a planetary invasion, many of them would be mangled beyond any kind of recognition or just plain incinerated. So how did they realize Tomas was still alive, just dodging the roll calls?
Presumably one of his buddies noticed his absence and squealed. Also, I'm guessing the Guard probably logs gene-codes of each soldier as a sort of DNA dog-tag. One thing that's easy to forget about 40K is that it *really* is very high-tech; it's just clothed behind so much mysticism and dark-age thought that it's hard to remember.
That said, here's more story...
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A few months later
Yorkis regional airfield
The Thunderhawk growled its way through the air, and as Vehrec exchanged invective with the adept in the traffic-control tower, Meirax scrolled through the reports he’d gathered from the regional arbites as the investigation had proceeded. There had been several Kaldens in the Praetorians; apparently it was a common enough name, which frustrated the investigation.
But this was a promising enough lead—a farmer Kalden in the mountains, who emerged rarely to sell large piles of furs or leather, as well as grains and dairy products. Recently registered as adopting a foundling child. And the kicker—a tech-adept at the local arbites had logged a suspicion of xenos involvement, due to the appearance of Kalden’s daughter which set off his xeno-ident files…
He looked up from the dataslate and shouted, “Snowman! On the control deck now!”
Feet clattered up the stairs, and the sniper poked his head through the door; Meirax copied the relevant files to a smaller dataslate and handed it to him, noting, “You may use that tau gun of yours if you need it. But your mission is to find them and that’s it. I’ve detached some funds for your use; rent a quad and use that to get into the mountains. Track them down and report back immediately to me. Understood?”
Snowman leisurely took the small dataslate, scrolled through it, and nodded, red hair swaying gently in the air reclaimer’s breeze. The aircraft rumbled familiarly, and swung about upon a descent heading; Vehrec toggled a rune upon the console and called out through the ship’s intervox, “Landing in a minute. Advise all passengers buckle up your crash webbing.”
Once landed and the rear hatch folded down, Snowman got up and grabbed his pack, and a long rectangular case; tucking the small dataslate into a leg pocket and donning a large-brimmed hat, he strode down the ramp to vanish in the town. Meirax turned to Vehrec and handed him another dataslate, and asked, “Stay here till we need you. Snowman, Father Gale and I are going to do most of the legwork. The Guardsmen will stay here as well. We don’t need to be marching about with an armed bodyguard in this hick village. If we need you, we’ll vox and you bring them. Understood?”
The pilot nodded and shoved back his seat, turning around to head outside to ident the necessary papers. Meirax stood and strode outside, the massive form of the cleric behind him. He spoke out loud without turning his head,
“Father Gale? I think we’re getting close.”
“Positive,” the cleric intoned flatly in agreement, eyes dead.
That evening; Kalden’s Pond Farm
Tomas Kalden stood upon the ladder leading up to Tanith’s bedroom, head poking above the floor. He contemplated his adoptive daughter and sighed, looking for he didn’t know how many times at her face, the aquiline, sharp features illuminated by the moonlight. A pointed ear lifted gracefully from the side of her head, paralleling the line of her cheekbones.
He sighed again and descended the ladder. Mari stood by it, looking up at him, concern in her expression. Quietly she asked, “Are you all right?”
“I don’t know. I keep seeing her and our guest together, and he seems to be teaching her how to use those powers of hers. Soon enough, Mari, she’s going to realize she’s not human. I know we told her all those years ago when she was growing up that she’s just fine, just a little different because of the warp-touch on the colony ship that brought her ancestors to Praetorius Primaris, but she’s old enough to reason it out now. And what about this?”
He held up a small, oval stone on a light cord seemingly woven out of metal; as it turned in the moonlight, alien glyphs glittered upon its surface.
She frowned and looked at him, “Tomas, I thought you were going to get rid of that. It’s a xeno artifact, and I told you it’d only bring us trouble…”
He insisted, “It’s the only link we have to her past. I found it around her neck when I took her out of her crib in that eldar city. I think it has her name on it, maybe her parents. Soon enough, we have to tell her, Mari…”
She shook her head, doubt written on her features. Petr gurgled in his sleep, and she went to the side of his crib, looking at the boy. Quietly she asked, “Do you ever wish we’d had children of our own, Tomas?”
Coming up behind her and gently laying a hand upon her shoulder, he looked directly at her and answered just as quietly, “Yes. Sometimes. But, Mari, we have a wonderful daughter, and a beautiful son. They are gifts of our God-Emperor, brought to us by His Will, and they have blessed us. We can only strive to do our best for them, and for each other, love.”
Silently, she nodded and leaned against him, resting her head against his shoulder as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders.
Early the next morning, Tomas arose and dressed, then went to the barn.
Though he knew Mari would come later to do it, he took the basket off its hook and went to the yard-birds’ pen, sliding his hand under each one roosting and taking its freshly laid eggs. Once the basket was filled, contemplatively he took the scythe off its hook and took out the file to sharpen it; the yard needed trimming.
As the file slid along the blade, the quiet metallic scrape filled the room; he mused to himself, “I wonder if it’s better to go ahead and talk to her first, or wait for her to ask…?”
A voice sounded from behind him and he jumped, snatching his hand away from the scythe as he dropped it, looking around as their guest finished his comment, “I think she knows already anyway.”
“Sorry about that. Didn’t realize I was speaking,” and Tomas paused as he realized he’d just told the guy (why didn’t they know his name, he realized as well) Tanith wasn’t human. Casually he bent and picked up the scythe, and continued, “speaking aloud. Sorry, I tend to woolgather like that. What do you mean, she knows anyway?”
He gave Tomas a direct look, and responded, “Don’t be disingenuous. I know she’s eldar. And you can put any thought of killing me with that scythe out of your head; I’m not going to spill the gumes on you or her. I’ve seen too many eldar killed to want to see one more exterminated just to satisfy the holy ordos.”
Tomas reluctantly hung the scythe back up, and pointed the file at him, asking pointedly, “And what do the holy ordos have to do with you, mister? And by the Holy Name of the Emperor, just what is your name anyway?”
He smiled mirthlessly and responded, “My name doesn’t matter. As I told Tanith a while ago, I was once an agent of the Ordo Xenos. I helped them in the command of the Imperium’s forces that defeated the eldar, and I led kill-teams of stormtroopers through the wraithbone cities to exterminate the survivors. Eldar might be heartless bastards when it comes to mon-keigh, but they’re an intelligent, self-aware species just trying to survive. They didn’t need to be purged like this. I’m not going to have the blood of another on my hands.”
At the haunted look in his eyes, Tomas knew. He nodded mutely and dug into his pocket, where the cool stone met his fingertips. He looked up at the agent—former agent, he supposed—and inquired, “You wouldn’t happen to know how to read their runes, would you?”
He looked up, eyebrows furrowing, and nodded. “I have some small experience. I can’t guarantee that I’ll be able to read it all, but I can give you the gist of it at least. What do you want me to look at?”
Tomas held out the stone; he took it and tilted it in the sun. Taking out a graph-stub from his pocket, he found a scrap of planed wood and began sketching out the glyphs as he went. Looking over what he drew, his brows drew together and he cast a sharp look at Tomas. Slowly he asked, “How did you get this?”
“We were attacking City Kappa. I don’t know its eldar name. The sergeant heard a commotion in one of the buildings nearby, called in an earthshaker strike. It came in a little short, but broke the building. We ran in and shot them down, though one of their leader warriors was in there and he killed a few of us before Hastus with the melta fried him. We followed procedure and finished off any of the ones that were still alive, and I saw they’d been children mostly. Everybody left and I was rearguard, but then I saw motion. She hadn’t cried at all… I don’t know. I pray she never remembers. That was around her neck.”
The ex-ordos man shook his head and turned over the wood, and scribbled letters on it. He handed it to Tomas, who scanned them—they began, “Taernaeth ap Matholyk aes Anath.” Looking up, incomprehension in his expression, he shrugged. The other guy responded slowly, “She’s the daughter of Farseer Anath, heir of the Matholyk line of farseers. You had better pray her people never come back for her, Kalden, because they’re going to want her, and soon. You’ve got a psychic bomb waiting to happen with her if I can’t teach her how to control her powers…”
It's a strange world. Let's keep it that way.