Chapter 9
The Commander
Voices whispered.
A boy ran through a black maze, the slap of his bare feet on the cold obsidian floor reverberating off the walls and the drumming of a single heart pounding in his ears. Within the obsidian black of the walls the boy thought he could see things, shapes that moved in warped proportions screaming silently and bearing maws lined by rows of razor sharp fangs following the boy in his flight, bringing with them a dark malice. The boy did not know why he was ran or to where, just to run with all his heart and soul else risk losing both.
The boy rounded a corner, slamming head-first into cold metal the boy fell back, tumbling, giving out a cry of pain. He reached up to nurse a broken nose as blood poured down his lips and chin, dribbling down onto the obsidian floor. He looked up at a large silver suit of armor, a strange toothed sword and two large firearms bound by an invisible force to its legs, a utility belt of pouches and strange cylinders tightly secured around its waist. The suit itself towered above him, two massive shoulder pads that covered just above the elbow, a gigantic backpack attached to its back. The armor seemed pristine, undamaged, aside from the streak of blood across one of its legs where the boy's nose had received its unfortunate injury. The helmet gave the impression of screaming rage, though its red eyes were dim and lifeless. The boy assumed the suit inactive, though he could not help but wonder what kind of giant could bear such a heavy load of silver steel, surely only a being of unimaginable strength and power.
The boy cocked his head curiously as he studied the silver suit of armor, pulling torn tissues from a pocket and jamming them quickly into his nostrils and after several seconds of wide-eyed wonderment the boy returned to himself, remembering the urgency of which he ran. With a glance at the wall, ensuring the cruel things that seemed to exist there remained within the obsidian black. The boy dashed under the silver suit to resume his frantic run from a thing he couldn't recall when suddenly his feet met air. Crying out the boy flailed frantically for a handhold, vainly straining to grab at anything, even the vertical plane of the black wall and its terrible shapes. The boy's hands whipped through empty space and he felled into the obsidian floor with a shocked scream, vanishing into the black.
Voices whispered.
"The Stuff" 7 had said, rolling my eyes. I strode through the well-light hall of the "Astartes Project" personal barracks. The walls were layered steel, vents and plates placed at exact intervals with blast doors set within its unforgiving and solid length. The air was stale and cold, smelling of sweat and other assorted scents that related themselves to a military facility. Giant boys as tall as men walked past, smiling and greeting me happily,
"Little Brother," They said in greeting. "Little Brother" had become my name, the numerical classification we all had apparently now a thing of the past in my case. Ever since those who'd received the Astartes augments returned from rehab they called their fellow human brothers, "Little brother." I knew my now-Astartes brothers meant well, only making fun of us who had yet undergone the enhancements to lighten the already-dark atmosphere of our daily lives, but still the name dug an ever-deepening hole of spite in my stomach with each use, more so now that I was the only "human brother" remaining. My brothers had all received "The Surgery," as 7 called it, the name receiving its origin form when Dr. Aoi had announced the augmentations as nothing more than,
"The Surgery," he'd said, "The Surgery to make boys into Astartes, unstoppable man-made weapons with the fury of a god." Within the last two weeks each and every one of my brothers had undergone The Surgery that gave them their enormous bodies. The results of The Surgery varied of course, some blessed with the super-human bodies of giants while others…. Others died, or worse. Emotion suddenly welled within me at the thought, and I hurried into a nearby closet struggling to control the tears that assaulted me. Nineteen of my remaining seventy-three brothers either died, or became mutated existences of tainted flesh because of The Surgery.
32 had been one of my closest brothers, we'd been in the same squad for our jungle ops in the Amazon and had become very close, saving one-another's lives several times, though he rescued me doubly more than I him. 32 was ten times the soldier I was, brave enough to face down a jaguar with nothing but a knife and the strength of his arm to defend me, who was frantically trying to extract himself from an anthill I'd fallen into. We'd been tracking the jaguar for days but when the pivotal moment came the ground caved, swallowing me into a hell of insects that stung and bite me with a fury I had not expected such insignificant things capable of, leaving 32 to fight the beast alone. By the time I'd climb out he sat comfortable on its body with a proud smile, laughing as he saw me throw myself to the ground, tearing off my clothing and equipment while desperately swatting at the ants.
Now 32, instead becoming the proud warrior Astartes he deserved to be, he now lived as a mess of flesh and cancerous growth that oozed a yellowish slime from its pores in a disgusting stink. The research team was at present trying to put him down, but he'd developed a ridiculous regenerative ability from some sort of super-cancer created from the Surgery that somehow gave his cells the next thing to immortality. They couldn't kill him "humanely" and from what I'd overheard, they'd need to burn him alive, crush him in a trash compactor, or force him to be the victim of some other grisly death. One of them had the gall to say,
"Despite this tragedy, we have learned of a new method of influencing cell-regeneration and structuring that we can likely use to save countless lives from what would once be considered fatal wounds in the near future."
What did I care about medical science? A brother was dead. One of my brothers had died trying to become what he had earned by right. He hadn't made a miscalculation, he hadn't accidentally fallen into an anthill, he hadn't failed, and his body just had a bad reaction. I could not accept that. It was not right.
I recalled the nights we huddled together, looking up from our post at the top of the thick forest canopy, at the glittering night sky trying to name the constellations from an astronomy book we had secretly stolen and hidden in my pack from the military base nearby. I hiccupped, fists pressed against my face, what was the point of everything he'd done just to die because a doctor was a fucking idiot?
"4, what bothers you?" I whirled around, staring into a pair of deep brown eyes beneath a bushy and unkempt brow of brown, chiseled into a bald head and stoic face of stone cracked by worry. The Commander crouched down over me, massive form five or six times my own size.
I seized my shirt, scrubbing furiously at my teary eyes, and shot to attention slamming a hand to my forehead forcing my trembling lips and pitiful face into the best tough-guy act I could,
"SIR!" I yelped, voice cracking, "Performing inventory sir!" The heads of several of my brothers poked curiously from outside, around the corners of the door and into the closet as the Commander raised one of his thick eyebrows,
"Really?" He rumbled, voice quaking through my body in waves of power that threatened to shake me off-balance, "Taking inventory?" I bobbed my head stiffly,
"SIR!" I yelped in affirmation, managing to keep my voice under control. The Commander looked down like a god passing judgment upon one of his subjects, easily discovering the lie in my words with those ancient eyes of his,
"This is an empty utility closet, 4." I blinked, looking around.
The shelves sat bare of their contents aside from a single metal bucket. I looked back at the Commander,
"I CAN SEE THAT SIR! I DISCOVERED THERE WAS NO INVENTORY TO TAKE, SIR BUT DECIDED TO TAKE A BREAK SIR!" Sniggering crept out from behind the Commander just outside the door to the closet,
"ASTARTES," The Commander boomed without turning his head, and I nearly jumped out of my skin, "Something amuses you, mind enlightening me of this jest of yours?" Silence cut the sniggering like a knife, and three Astartes jumped into view. I recognized them as 57, 23, and 99,
"Sir!" 99 shouted, staring straight ahead, "We were just amusing ourselves with this item sir!" He extended a hand, the Commander reaching back to take it, eyes still fixed on me,
"This is a rubber band."
"Yes sir! A surprisingly amusing item, is it not, sir!?" The Commander studied me thoughtfully. I could not breathe beneath his mighty eyes, chest filling with concrete,
"Indeed," He rumbled, a sudden glint flashing in his eye he winked at me, "Show me one hundred different 'amusing' uses for this, I will expect you to drill me on them in approximately two hours, dismissed." 57 and 23 turned to 99, expressions blank with rage. 99 swallowed nervously,
"Yes sir." He wavered, and the three turned on their heels, marching off,
"Now," The Commander sat down heavily, floor shaking beneath his mighty muscle and authority, "What is it that affects you so greatly 4?" He asked, crossing his arms massive over his equally massive chest, "You are the most human of your brothers, the most light-hearted, and I do not say this as an insult." He smiled, "In fact it should fill you with pride. I have not seen a frown upon any of your brothers when you are within sight. None of the hundred souls I have watched over found themselves tainted with the even the slightest hint of dark emotion when you walked among their midst. So why is it, when walking in theirs, you are?" I gawked at the Commander in awe of his omnipotence, and words burst from me in a tide of emotion,
"Why is it the Doctor is so adamant I be delayed in receiving the surgery, why is it everyone but me is getting to become Astartes, why am I being treated differently, why won't any of the researchers, instructors, or even the Doctor answer any of my questions, and why does it seem like they're all hiding something from me?!" The Commander sat back, eyebrows ascending high above his ancient eyes, "Sir." I added quickly. The all-knowing being that was the Commander rumbled as he hummed to himself, the entire closet rattling,
"Well," He began, "What do you think the reason is?" For a moment my mind blanked, frozen in a curious realization, before flying through an advanced well-oiled machine that considered every angle, every possibility, every personality and personal goal,
"Permission to speak?" I chirped, the Commander nodding, "They don't want to lose me." A wide smile that exposed shining teeth made itself known upon the Commander's stony face, eyes crinkling in what I could only discern as pride,
"Correct. Why would that be?" I shook my head,
"I don't know sir, otherwise I would not ask." The Commander replied with his own head-shake,
"You know they do not want to lose you, but not why?" I nodded blankly. The Commander sighed, "You are a pillar among your brothers." I frowned,
"Sir?"
"Do you believe yourself the best of your brothers, or the worst?"
"Neither, and we do not have any 'best' or 'worst' among us." The Commander's brow furrowed,
"No 'best' or even 'worst' Astartes? What makes you think that?"
"We are not strong just because of our skill, enhancements, intellect, strength, wit, or weapons, we are strong because we are brothers and act as one. And to act as one, we must know how to make one another strong, for alone we are weak and to evaluate each individual Astartes defeats the purpose of our brotherhood."
"Why?"
"If a single Astartes can win a battle, a brotherhood can win a war." The Commander fell silent, expression a blank stone of thought as his ancient eyes looked past me at something I dared not turn to see. He sighed,
"You remind me of myself when I was with my own brothers." He stood, filling the closet with his great presence, "But you are not entirely right. Do not let yourself be so ruled by emotion, it is a weakness. To feel emotion is to be human and allows oneself to exist without regret or baseless hatred, but always remember your role as Astartes." He raised a fist, "You are a weapon, a tool to be used and sacrificed by the judgment of our betters, as are your brothers. It is admirable of you to be so loyal and equal in your devotion to them, but remember that they will not live forever. You will all die in the service of man, nothing can change that, and you must prepare yourself for their deaths, which may not always be in the glory of battle, else you will eventually lose yourself in the depths of your own regret and sorrow. You will become less a weapon that can be properly used, and instead a rabid dog who only lives to kill.
You are Astartes, but you were once human, emotion will never leave you and it can propel you to do the impossible. But it may also drag you down to do the unthinkable and though Brotherhood is a valuable thing, each Astarte is his own. Remember that." The Commander turned, exiting the closet,
"Uh, Sir?" I questioned, raising a hand. The Commander stopped,
"Yes?"
"Um, I heard that some of the Legendary Pandoras were back?" The Commander did not respond for a moment and my heart quivered anxiously,
"You heard right." And the Commander left, footsteps thundering into the distance. After a moment of elation, I sprinted in the direction of 7's section in the barracks, I had a supply run to make.