The Golden Opportunity, high orbit above Rekhel I
Callen Hesker looked at his son. His son glared back. Both of their plates went ignored.
Thankfully they had a private room to themselves. Callen had suspected something like this might happen, and he had been determined to avoid a scene on the bridge, so he had brought this to his personal study. The furnishings of the room were sparse, but not the cold steel of common deck hands. A round mahogany table sat in the center with a rich cedar desk against one side and a set of various weapons adorned the opposite wall. Above the door was the head of Fenrisian wolf, it's face set in a permanent snarl.
Vask was a beautiful boy, and that could be honestly said without a shred of fatherly bias. He was average height, but his face was mercifully free of his father's pitiful superficial genes and yet he inherited his sire's broad back. A strong jawline, a long but broad yet not porcine nose set perfectly in place, bright blue eyes and long blonde hair tied back into a tail behind his ultramarine blue beret. His coat was Imperial Officer standard, but he wore it well and with pride. Yet his face was set in hard lines as he stared at his father with a look of cold granite.
"It's not poisoned, you know." It was a pitiful attempt at humor.
"A comfort, father" his offspring deadpanned.
Callen took a bite of his dish, as if to prove his statement true. Vask took a sip of wine in return. Then the glaring resumed. The Rogue Trader sighed.
"What is my crime? I assume you have some sort of reason for hating me."
"I do not hate you. I only wish to know why you've seen it fit to take me from my duties."
Callen chuckled, his son's lie so bold he would let it speak for itself.
"Do you remember our grandfather?"
"Indeed I do. I remember a kindly old man. A man who was always there for me." The discrepancy went unsaid.
Callen nodded in acknowledgment. "He was that. He was also a fool. A man who left our house so deep in the red that it took me the better part of a decade to dig it back out again."
Vask broke his stare to look at his steak. He began cutting, more for a source of distraction than any need to eat, his father assumed.
"Do you understand the word nepotism, my dear boy?"
Vask froze. His next words were wooden and dull. "I have no wish to inherit this house father. You may do with it as you wish. I will pursue my fortunes in the Imperial Navy."
The words cut deep. "If that is your choice. But it is not your only choice, I assure you." Callen said softly. Vask raised his head, his eyes full of fury, more so than before.
"You dare? You ignore me for fifteen years. And you waltz back into my life as if you have some sort of right to be here, as if you've been trying to do me some sort of favor by leaving me with my whore of a mother?"
"Don't bring your mother into this-"
"-She was a joygirl! You paid her for sex and she begot me, and she used me as leverage to gain a place in one of your mansions. She was a whore in every sense of the word!" Vask spat the words with venom.
"She was! And she was an excellent business woman who knew the bargain we agreed upon and took full advantage of it, just as I would have done-"
"-Which makes you both whores!"
"And to think that it makes any bit of difference only proves you a fool, Vask! Money is what makes the galaxy spin. There are two, and only two forms of interaction in this universe, son. One happens when two parties mutually agree to a bargain, and the second happens when one puts a gun to the other's head and demands services be rendered to him by the threat of force! Every interaction, every single one is defined by these two options. Two friends enjoy each other's company because each mutually agrees that the other is a pleasure to be around. A renter pays his landlord and they mutually agree to a lease. A mercenary puts his life on the line for his employer because one wants protection and the other wants money. These are voluntary interactions between two parties. Your mother and I agreed to a deal. She demanded I uphold my end of the bargain. More than anything, I respect her for that. Meanwhile, you press-gang your servants into working for you by kidnapping them and throwing them into your hold with death threats. Tell me, son, is that your idea of a mutually agreed upon interaction. Who's more honorable now? You or your mother?"
Vask opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water.
"You can't-...I don't-...fuck you, father!"
"Your mother already did that. It was the time of my life." Callen took a gulp of wine and continued.
"A man is not measured by his kind words or the sentimentality of his bleeding heart, Vask. A man is measured by his actions and his actions alone. I refused to dote upon you. I refused to let you have this house purely by virtue of being born. Is that what you hate me for? My moral code dictates that I give my employees what they have earned. And you have earned something. You personally set foot upon the deck of a Dark Eldar ship, at personal risk of being tortured beyond any pain imaginable, and you wrested it from the hands of your enemy. That is an accomplishment you can be proud of. I'm seconding to you the 271rst Voidborne Regiment. They're the best of the best, vat grown troops who know only combat. As good as the Death Korps of Krieg. You've earned them."
With that Callen threw down his napkin, meal practically untouched, and left the room to leave his son to stare at his steak.
Brothers Grimm Fortress Monastery: Rekhel I
Upon first glance, Itzal would have believed he had entered a Black Templars Monastery. After the initial Black/White color combo hit him, he soon noticed differences. Black and white quartered, with the black squares holding a white cross, while the white squares held a black dog's head. Itzal stared at the heraldry, trying to puzzle out it's relation to the chapter name.
"The hound is the Church Grimm, for which the chapter is named. The Church Grimm is a hound sacrificed at the northern corner of the church to ward away evil spirits. As the Church Grimm wards away evil, so do we." One of the brothers said, noticing the inquisitor's fixation. Itzal nodded, and let the brother lead him on.
The Monastery fortress reminded Itzal of a tomb more than anything else, cobblestone walls and cement floors, torches lined the walls that gave off the unpleasant scent of burned animal fat. The Brothers apparently enjoyed the struggle of primitive living. They longed for harsh environments against which they could test themselves. They were, for lack of a better term, bored with guarding this system. They did indeed keep all their equipment in peak condition. But when faced with a lack of objectives, they burdened themselves to keep from complacency.
Despite the surface temperature, Itzal had to acknowledge that it was quite cool below ground. The whole complex was a massive affair, and the imperial official got the distinct impression that they were leading him in a roundabout fashion. Either this was to impress him, which he found unlikely, or they had no wish for him to see the more critical areas, altogether a more logical conclusion. When he finally sat in the audience room, a massive figure in artificer armor sat upon a throne. A throne atop a plinth. Between the super soldier's impressive stature and the added height of the throne, and the fact that the guest was deep in the heart of the stronghold of some of the fiercest warriors the galaxy had ever seen, almost anybody would have been intimidated.
Itzal, to his credit, was not "Almost anybody".
His guide introduced the authority figure before them. "Chapter Master of the Brothers Grim, Yeth Shuck."
Yeth inclined his head, acknowledging the inquisitor's presence. Itzal waited for the chapter master to say something. When it was plain that the man (loosely speaking) had nothing to say, Itzal introduced himself.
"Itzal Hermenegildo of the Ordos Hereticus, at your service, chapter master. I have come to inquire of the integrity of this system. I most humbly ask your chapter's aid in this matter."
The chapter master flashed a number of hand signals. Itzal was confounded. A chapter master born dumb? His guide chuckled. "It's always worth seeing your faces when you find out he's a mute. I take it you don't know silent speak?"
"You would be correct, battle brother." Itzal said dryly.
"The chapter master extends what help he may, so long as it does not affect the sovereignty of the chapter. We acknowledge your authority, so long as you respect the Emperor's Autonomy granted to the Adeptus Astartes."
Itzal bowed respectfully. "Your autonomy is seen, chapter master. I have noted that the imperial tithe of gene-seed has been fulfilled faithfully by your chapter, and have no suspicions as to the loyalty of your order."
The chapter master waved his hand dismissively, a most human gesture coming from the immortal.
"That being said, the chaos incursion to the Galactic East is most troublesome. As I have no wish to lure the Archenemy to our forge worlds, it would be most prudent to take action to ensure the purity and integrity of the system."
At this, the chapter master began jerking and shuddering. Itzal looked to his guide, who seemed unperturbed by this. Plowing ahead, the inquisitor continued.
"Knowing this, I have constructed a bold plan of action to purge the hives of taint. It will be a most arduous task, but there is no reason as to why it shouldn't be done at this critical stage. Even as we speak- is something the matter, chapter master!?"
This last came as the jerking and shuddering increased in violence and intensity. Itzal looked to his left to find his guide biting his knuckle as to restrain himself from laughing. He did a double take at the chapter master, who was removing his helmet to reveal a face streaming tears of humor.
"You're a decade late and a lasgun short, dear inquisitor. We've been purging this system quietly of heretics for the last twenty years!"
For the first time since entering the system, Itzal found himself truly speechless. The chapter master began signing, and his guide began translating. As they did so, the chapter master got to his feet and began leading them down the hall. Itzal had to break into an embarrassing run to keep up with the super humans.
:::Our chapter does things a bit differently from the standard Codex Astartes. We are constantly on the lookout for new recruits. As our world is barren, we began recruiting from the hives among the forgeworlds. In our quest, we noticed something. Something truly disheartening. Youths, falling to the sway of the archenemy. We sought no help from the inquisition, as we had faith in our abilities and our training. These youths were misguided souls. Young men bucking and chafing under the yoke of heavy-handed governance of your clumsy planetary officials. It is important to keep the populace's eyes on the Emperor, dear inquisitor. But you fail to adequately motivate them to do so, relying on crude measures of force. These youngsters will not be held down with whips and power mauls, no. You can only redirect their energies to more productive tasks. That said, we have devised our own solution to the heresy problem:::
Coming to a sort of conference room, the leader of the chapter gestured to several maps, detailing the various hives of the system. The maps were a riot of colors and emblems. Two he recognized straight away, the symbol of the adeptus arbites and the emblem of local law enforcement agencies. Other emblems were drawn in strange esoteric symbols that the Inquisitor had never seen before, and others still were drawn childishly, the emblems seeming to come from a teen's homework dataslate as doodles done in the off-time.
:::We have various clans and gangs under our control in the underhive. Where your arbites are too busy with the so called "important matters", we uplift the youth to do their duty as faithful servants of the God Emperor. Where the Local law is too timid to tread, our hivers patrol the areas regularly to keep them safe and clean from heretic scum:::
Itzal was mentally off his footing. "How...?"
:::We adapted our scouts to serve as force multipliers. Eleven man teams, an initiate and ten neophytes each, to establish contact with long standing hive gangs. After usurping the gang-leaders power through a slow game subterfuge, we've managed to install our teams as the primary leadership of the largest gangs. This was done by undermining the authority of the Gang Leadership, by exposing their iniquities and their ineptitude. Youngsters, as restless as they are, were only to happy to tear apart their own leaders once their failings were brought to light. Once we established ourselves in the largest gangs, we began expanding our powerbase. Now the truants and the trouble makers are enforcers of the Brothers Grimm, their families pledged as chapter serfs. But this brings us to a problem:::
"What kind of problem?" Itzal inquired, inwardly breathing a sigh of relief to find out his presence was a complete waste of time.
:::Well, as we've pointed out, the youngsters are restless. Things are getting far too peaceful in this system for their liking. It's like an Orkish Waaagh. They need an outlet for that energy. They're looking for adventure. They want excitement. Which is why we're initiating a crusade:::
Renegade Gal'leath battleship Hann'ie: Deep space to the South of Rekhel
Hw'ann was still getting over not being called "Shas" in accordance with caste, still getting over not being identified by his job. Still getting over creating and using a personalized name for himself, not something that had been assigned by an Elder or a Noble. His head was positively clouded when he reached the port side security office.
He liked the name Hw'ann. Liked the way it rolled off the tongue, liked the short, sweet nature of the word. He could have said it all day. Hw'ann. Hw'ann...Hw'ann-Hw,ann-Hw,ann. He almost bumped into his Tarellian lieutenant just thinking about the new name he had chosen for himself. Embarrassed, the warrior stood straight and offered his superior a sharp salute.
All security was privatized now, meaning there was much more incentive to improve. Better work meant more pay. More pay meant better armor and better weapons. Yes, merely adequate no longer sufficed among the tau warriors. Many former fire warriors had dropped the profession altogether, leaving it to the more experienced mercenaries of the fleet or moving instead to the Air Caste. Auxiliaries had been working the market-based system for years and were more familiar with it, daunting the warriors of the tau empire who were leery of leaving their fates to the highest bidder.
But it's not the Air Caste anymore, is it? Just like we don't have a Fire Caste. What do you call it, then?And if Tau is a reference to the Greater Good, does that mean we should stop using the name Tau? he wondered. Bah, a pedantic thought. Everybody had been using the name "Tau" to describe them for so long that using any other word was...alien. It was strange.
Hw'ann raised his arms, letting the drones scan him from top to bottom. He nodded at the drones, and one of them bobbed in return. The drones had their own rudimentary intelligence, and Hw'ann liked to believe that they were capable of being as fond of him as he was for them.
"Kid!" The Tarellian barked at him. The young tau saluted again. "It's Hw'ann now, sir."
"Right. Well, my name hasn't damn well changed, your caste system, or your new lack of one, isn't my concern. But knowing that, you're now going by Tarellian rank. Which mean's you're a Ki-enn. A brave. A sergeant is a Sai-enn, a warrior. Your lieutenant, (in this case, me) is a guide or a-"
"Guide?" Hw'ann interrupted, his confusion temporarily overcoming his formality.
"Guide." His superior confirmed. "On Tarellian Hunts, the Guide (or Sh'wey) is the one responsible for the pack's direction as he knows the woods the best, a position of honor. The name has been adapted for our modern times. We net your jobs, we bid for small-time contracts within the security firm. We're the ones deciding where you're going. We're guides."
"Oh." Hw'ann absorbed this with some degree of both shock and embarrassment. In the Fire Caste, they treated mercenaries as just another piece of the monolithic Tau empire. It had never occurred to him that they might have a culture of their own. A different way of looking at things. Now that he thought about it, it seemed silly of him. Of course they had their own system. To think that they were just Tau Auxiliaries was naive and presumptuous.
"And to start, my name is Musco'Quen. Or Musko for short. All this will be uploaded to your HUD...in time." Hw'ann sensed a bit of hesitation there.
"In time, sir? Is there some trouble?" Hw'ann asked.
Musco snorted in frustration. "The Firm is improving our systems with all sorts of fancy software and automated systems from your water sculptors...your...water caste. I haven't even figured out the half of it yet, and it's driving all our techs crazy trying to get it all settled. Those security drones were just one of myriad upgrades. It'll take some time to get everything sorted."
"Maybe I could help, sir? My previous occupation was cataloging equipment at the armory. I know it's not much, but I know my way around a computer pretty well. " Hw'ann offered.
Musco gave him a long look, and Hw'ann soon got rather uncomfortable. He didn't know Tarellian customs. Had he said something wrong?
"You'd do that? A blueblood like you?" His lieutenant asked.
"It was just a suggestion. If you don't want to-"
"-No, we want to. Hell, we need to. Progress with the computer systems has been glacial. If have to wait much longer, we'll be truly fragged. Our contracts are all running through the computer system now. I don't want to say we bought a hunk of junk, but it's beginning to look like it...I'm just surprised you offered. Most Fire Warriors believe that they can't help with anything that's not directly relevant to combat. As if the muscles in their arms have disabled the brains in their heads."
"I'll do what I can sir. Nothing wrong with helping where I can." Hw'ann assured him.
"Alright, go down the aft hall and take a left on the third door. All our computer folks are holed up there. I'm recommending you for a raise in stipend."
Hw'ann hurried to the hall his lieutenant had just pointed to, but was stopped when Musco called his name again. He did an about face, looking puzzled. "Yes sir?"
"Why'd you stick around, anyways? All you bluebloods are running off to become flyboys and such. Why not leave the grunt work to us?"
Hw'ann shrugged. "I dunno. I always liked the idea of being Fire Caste. I always liked the idea of being on the ground where the action is. When I found out we we...I mean, the fire caste, was being liquidated... I began looking for the next closest thing, and that's here in private security."
"Well, a word of advice in the private sector: Keep doing what you just did. Step forward. Get noticed. Put in your hours and get your hands dirty. It looks good, it makes the bosses happy. Just make sure to get what you're worth out of them. They'll screw you if you let them."
"Thank you sir, I'll keep it in mind."
Four hours later, Hw'ann was still working out all the kinks in the computer system, but at least he knew why. They had uploaded an automated system but had not bothered with a rudimentary AI to make sure that all the downloads were, in fact, compatible. The automated system, with no AI to discern which programs worked and which did not, simply downloaded everything. Needless to say, many of the programs were not actually compatible with the system's current format, and as a result the system was crashing every hour or so as a program sent nonsensical jumbles of data with commands that made no sense.
Hw'ann had been on the telecommunicator for an hour and a half now with a friend in the Software Conglomerate trying to sort out and delete all the incompatible programs. Hw'ann took a sip of some sort of new product the Argonian Food Company was shipping in. It was a sweet, brown, and fizzy liquid. Something adapted from Gue'vesa culture to fit the Tau. Hw'ann had tasted the Gue'vesa stuff, and had promptly spit it out: the humans had a much less sensitive taste pallet, and the flavor was overpowering. But somebody in the water caste had the bright idea of diluting the flavors to more tolerable levels, and Hw'ann had to admit the result actually tasted pretty good.
There was a thump on the door frame as Musco entered.
"Hey, I saw Jax and Elom were out sorting boxes in the loading ramp. You need any help in here?"
"Nope sir, I sent them there. This is a one-person job, and it's tedious as it gets. I figured they could be doing something more productive with their time, so I sent them to the loading ramp to sort inventory." He said nervously.
Musco opened his mouth, and snapped it shut again. Hw'ann waited silently, he didn't know Tarellian body language. Had he overstepped himself?
"So you've just been in here this whole time? Doing what?" Musko asked.
Hw'ann explained the problem and everything he had been doing to fix it. Musko blinked. "Should have known."
Hw'ann sat there, dumbfounded. "Sir, the company you bought this software from...what a bunch of crooks."
Musko swiveled his head sharply to look at him with one eye. "Crooks, why?"
"They let you buy this whole software system, but they didn't let you know you ought to have an AI? What kind of savages would let you struggle with such an easily solvable problem?"
"You really are a blueblood, aren't you?" Musko said. Hw'ann shifted uncomfortably.
"You keep using that word, sir. Does it mean Tau?"
"Yes and no. Blueblood used to mean Tau. Now the word has evolved. Now it means stupid, naive, and gullible."
Hw'ann stiffened. Musko continued.
"Your belief in the Greater Good...it's something us Auxiliaries have been laughing at for some time. It's a nice concept. It's quaint. But that's not the way the galaxy works. In this galaxy, you look after yourself, and you look after your friends. Anybody else, you really just have to assume that they can take care of themselves. Of course the Tech Syndicate let us download a system without the necessary AI. They're not going to waste their time checking up on a complete stranger to make sure they know what they're doing. You think they don't have their own problems, as urgent as ours are? They're too busy looking after their own affairs to be concerned with us."
"But they could have told us!"
"Yes. Yes they could have. But they assumed we knew what we were doing, because that's the de facto assumption. I'm not going to go sticking my nose into all of my client's business just to make sure that they're doing ok. That would be preposterous. I've got something in the realm of fifty lives to watch over. I don't have time for babysitting strangers, and neither do you."
Just then, the telecommunicator rang. Still struggling with what Musko had just told him, he fumbled with his headpiece "H-hello? Oh, hey." He turned to Musko "It's my friend, the one that's helping with the system."
Without a word, Musko snatched the headpiece from Hw'ann and put it to his own face. "-Hey!" the young fire warrior protested.
Ignoring him, Musko growled into the communicator. "Hey, you know your way around tech? Yeah?... Uh-huh... What are they paying you over there?...That come with additional benefits, like medical treatments?...If I gave you a better offer, would you be willing to drop that job and work for us? Yeah, we're hiring...we have plenty of non-combatant positions available, I can promise you won't need to touch a plasma gun in your life...When can we expect you?...Great. Welcome aboard. You still willing to help my employee for the next couple hours?...Alrighty. Here he is."
Musko tossed the comm back to Hw'ann. He jabbed an accusing finger at the offending computer system and told his worker; "Five cycles from now you won't have to put up with this garbage. Thanks for getting it sorted out, kid. I'll have somebody bring you some food."
Authors note: As always, thank you for reading, though I am sure I have enraged many tau fans by writing about them with my limited knowledge. I have a great appreciation for the Tau simply for the "Rule of Cool".
Arguments about "Weeaboo Space Communists" aside, they're legit cool if you've gotten bored of the Imperium's Diesel Punk atmosphere. However, arguments of not being grimdark hold no traction for me. When you realize that the Tau are Games Workshop shoehorning their political beliefs into the Warhammer setting; (ever notice that Mag Uruk Thraka sounds an awful lot like Margret Thatcher?) it could ruin the series once you realize all the other factions are simply very, very fleshed out political strawmen.
Of course, the fan base didn't like this idea very much, and began screeching that the Tau weren't grimmdark enough. So GW did what any political satirist does when asked to find flaws with their own belief system, and turned the Tau Ethereals into mustache twirling cartoon villains. Take it all with a grain of salt, everybody lets their cultural views color their works. I don't fault the folks at GW, they believe what they believe, and it shows in their works.
Any help with the Tau would be most welcome, as I have no codexes and warhammer40k wikia manages to crash Adobe every time I try to use it. That being said, I'm forced to go by Lexicanum, which is sparse.
