Title: Isolation
Rating: T
Summary: After an ork raid forces a retreat from a Tau outpost a single shas'la is left behind.
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. The fandom doesn't belong to me and that's probably all for the best.
Notes: Written for the Kovash Tauva forum fiction contest.
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Guttural laughter and deafening gunfire filled the air as the Orks celebrated their victory. Their blue-skinned enemy had held the outpost through three days of almost continuous assault before turning tail and running for their fortified hill-town just over the mountains to the east. A few of the boyz had wanted to pursue the cowards and collect blue hides to patch their tents with but Kamzotz had seen this blue-skin tactic before. He wasn't going to make the mistake his predecessor had made and go running into a crossfire. Once he'd stopped to fortify this place it would make a vital point to stage hit-and-run attacks to destroy the alien creeps once and for all. He was dreaming of the wealth and glory that would be his once every tribe leader knew what a triumph he'd won when one of his ladz let out a piecing whop of joy, followed by an alien's scream of agony.
"Hey boss! Dis 'ere bluey's still breathin'. Kan we skin 'im? We're gonna have fresh blue stew tonite!"
"Leave it ya idjot," snarled Kamzotz, poking the semi-concious enemy in the ribs. "I got a better idea. Oy! Grishk! We still got us dat god-squadder?"
"Yeah. Been improving 'im. So what?"
Kamzotz grinned up the ring of boyz who had gathered round the fallen enemy. "We got us some entertainment for evenin'."
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The first thing Shas'la Tau'n Nav'ar noticed about his new surroundings was the stench. It had even seemed to chase away the ever-present native vermin from the small cage his be'gel captors had dragged him into. If it was too dirty even for them some hideous disease would surely have infected his leg wound by now. The thought that the be'gel wouldn't let him live long enough to die of disease didn't raise his spirits much.
He nearly jumped as the cage door swung open and a large bloodstained be'gel swaggered into the cramped space. "Person stand!" It growled in a perversion of Tau speech. "Move to outside!"
It motioned towards an open doorway down the dark corridor and stood back, chuckling as Nav'ar hobbled towards the light. There was a great commotion coming from the outside and as Nav'ar's eyes adjusted to the light he could see over a hundred be'gel arrayed on makeshift tiers of seats. A few of the childlike ones were carrying plates of blackened meat to a group of large be'gel seated at the front, dressed in outlandish colours and carrying better weaponry – the Shas'os of the local tribes Nav'ar reckoned. A roar went up as a large, muscular, pink-skinned gue'la was pushed through a doorway on the other side of the plaza.
The bloodstained be'gel had followed Nav'ar to the doorway and now grinned. "You fight the Ooman. You win, you eat. You lose, you dead. You not fight-" it pulled a massive oil-covered pistol from its belt, " -you full of holes. You understand?"
Nav'ar nodded slowly and limped out into the sand-covered arena.
The gue'la had moved to the centre of the plaza and was just standing there, completely still. As Nav'ar approached, he was shocked to see that sections of the gue'la's skull had been removed and various vials of liquid were attacked directly into the grey fleshy mass beneath the incisions. The liquid started to pump directly into its brain and for a heartbeat the crowd grew quiet with anticipation. In the quiet Nav'ar could hear a distant sound that was familiar somehow. His efforts to recognise it suddenly stopped as the gue'la started to froth at the mouth and its eyes took on a mad, glazed stare. The crowd started to roar again and as Nav'ar took an involuntary step back. Then he remembered the noise - the quiet whine of grav engines. The Tau were coming to take the outpost back.
In an instant of clarity, Nav'ar realised that his death on the sands of the arena would not be in vain. If they couldn't hear the coming assault, the be'gel would be defeated with a minimum of casualties. Because of his capture, Tau lives would be saved and the Greater Good served. A great calm came over him as he prepared to sell his life in the flashiest, loudest way he could possibly manage.
Feinting left, he rolled under the gue'la's blow and kicked it in the stomach. A massive groan went up from the stands as the gue'la vomited up the remains of its last meal but kept swinging wildly at the Tau. The engine whine was becoming louder now and Nav'ar knew the attack would be soon. He dodged the gue'la's next blow but the spikes on its forearm guards grazed his face. At the sight of blood, the be'gel crowd went wild. Convinced that the gue'la was about to win, many of them were on their feet baying for a kill. Moving backwards Nav'ar tried to avoid the blows that seemed to be raining down on him from all directions. The blood was stinging his eyes and making it difficult for him to see clearly. He was backed up against the arena wall and the gue'la's flailing attacks were nearly impossible to avoid. It raised its arm for the killing blow then stopped - a heat haze shimmering all around it. Suddenly it went flying backwards and Nav'ar realised he was not alone in the arena. Five XV15 suits standing no more than two paces away from him had disengaged their holofields and were opening fire on the be'gel Shas'os. A troop carrier hovered over the plaza, fire warriors providing covering fire as their teammates rappelled down to firing positions. One of the stealth troopers stooped to tuck Nav'ar beneath one arm before leaping straight up into the waiting hatch of the Devilfish hovering above. Just before he passed out Nav'ar felt the calming sting of a tranq-patch and looked up at the Fio'ui medic tending him.
The Fio'ui smiled. "Welcome back La'Nav'ar. You're going home."