Chapter 021
"What is Maine doing?" the Guardsman said quietly, his eyes motioning towards the empty seat of the Duke General.
"Getting into his Trance…it's how he likes to put it, Church, I mean, Seigneur Sancta." Bring said.
"Doesn't he know that the entire army has to be reviewed?"
"He probably does, but he doesn't care." Young added. "His lunacy gets worse with every stunt that the crazy little bitch manages to pull off."
"Looks like we have to carry on without him. The Ecclesiarchy had always occupied a higher position than the lay. Militants of the Cloth had a tradition of commanding more respect in the Guards. It was something that the Ministorum spent millennia to indoctrinate." Stoic reminded, nudging the Guardsman to take the center-stage. "Look up. Look confident. We still have the backing of a Commissar."
"An absent minded one that probably don't know how to draw his saber. It's a bad idea." the Guardsman said under hushed breath. "I can't believe we even thought of that as a means. Essesohn should be recuperating in a peace."
"It's a brilliant plan." Young, the instigator of the entire baloney, chose to cut in. "Essesohn the Immortal will strike fear and discipline into these scum."
"Essesohn the Immortal…" the Guardsman thought about the barely functioning mortal shell of the once great Commissar. If the Orresian guards had a father, it had to be Essesohn. He was the soul of the millions of men made manifest. Straighter than a yardstick with a legendary toughness that would put a heavy battle tank to shame. If anyone could walk down the entire regiment without getting killed it would probably be him. His steely gaze could cut glass and caught every little detail. The Commissar was fair to the millimeter. No trespass or acts of valor, even the size of mere cereal grains, escapes his notice. Essesohn's justice put March's to shame.
The old guards looked on as the soldiers formed themselves up into squares in whatever parade gear they could get their hands on. For most regiments, only the front three ranks wore the formals. The Great Rout of the Isthmus theatre meant that millions of tonnes of supplies were strewn across the land. Neat uniforms were the last things that an ordinary soldier would bring. Even the standards had to be remade. Many of them were complimented with local sashes and the iconic pictographs that even the natives had forgotten. The common folk believed that they could confer supernatural powers to the bearer.
"It's a wonder that our tanks are still working." Stoic noted the armored companies rolling on solid treads to their respective positions. The hulls were refinished with alien Earth-caste provided alloy plates and boasted new paint jobs and pictograph seals that should technically grant the vehicle the protection of the Constellations.
"There's nothing wondrous about it." Boyle Young said. "Imperial designs are modular. And it has always been modular. We had to tear apart half a dozen tanks to know how it works, and some parts had dates going back to three centuries ago. We could reverse-engineer blue prints based on the components and Techno-Servitor memory banks. The Adeptus Mechanicus helped a great deal. To them, anything that serves the Omnissiah is a Brother, even if they are alien in origin. The alien Earth caste and locals under their tutelage provided the bulk of manpower and intellect. Reduced friction drive-shafts and purified power crystal containment units made the engine more stable and a lot more quiet, albeit with slightly less output."
"Please say something Gothic so I could understand." Bring interrupted.
"You won't understand a thing unless you learn how to read and write." Young countered before explaining things to an even greater detail. "We had to remove the original armor blocks. Those are basically tri-layer sandwiches of ultra-dense but radioactive alloys. Perhaps that was the reason for the Omnissiah's Possession and high probability of poisoned tumors amongst tank crews. Chemically inert cell-armor that locals and aliens can both mass-produce was used as a replacement. The final Leman Russ is thirteen tonnes lighter than the originals we have from Orres."
"And the damage output? Crew interface?" Stoic apparently knew what Young was talking about. The Guardsman could hardly catch on, but the conversation was still interesting.
"Much improved. There's an environmental control unit within the compartments and colloidal-foam fire suppressant reservoir." Young explained. "It's standard equipment that the Tau have on their vehicles. Given that most of their vehicle pilots are female, I guess they have to pamper them. We also have an escape hatch installed."
"Is this a pansy's army?" Bring scoffed.
"No. It's an army that cares for the soldiers." the Guardsman approved of all these modifications, even though they took place without his consent. Compared to the Imperium, the aliens respected their warriors sacrifice. He suddenly realized that even if the Imperium were to adopt "the Greater Good", nothing would even change. Guards will still be treated as decimals. Thousands would still die from faulty drop ships, improper containment pressures, unstable Promethium tanks or non-existent fire suppressant inside the tanks. Those higher up would give it a euphemism. "They died for the Greater Good" instead of "They died for the Emperor".
"Oh, shit." Young gasped. "The Backstabber is here."
"We're so toast." Bring agreed. The Guardsman realized that it was better if Maine never came. The Duke General was half naked and drunk on some intoxicating beverage. Trance was barely clothed, wrapping her lithe limbs around her bond mate and donning a crown of flowers on her head.
"Church! I wasn't aware that you'd make it on time. Trance wanted to have some fun first." Maine laughed hysterically, his bionic pupil widened and narrowed without a clear sense of order. "Anyway, here's a list of names. Have them dragged out and shot on the square. Trance told me they've been looking at her strange." The duke general threw the Seigneur Sancta a pad with a long list of at least ten dozen names before smothering his face into Trance's breasts. The coiled lovers sat down heavily on the great seat. The Guardsman turned his head away while the soldiers below the erected platform stared and ogled. Apparently this was not the first time that Maine did something as shameless as this.
"Roast them slowly, Nigel. They have threatened to gang on me." Trance whimpered like a wounded sheep.
"Of course, my little Trance. Anything for my poor orphan queen." Maine could hardly form his words.
"Was Henson Model as distasteful as this? Did the Younger Model do anything of similar caliber?" the Guardsman browsed through the names while quietly asking Stoic.
"No. If he did, the Commissariat would have done the job with ease. March wouldn't even need to be there. The red-uniformed stone eaters would probably have him shot on the spot." Stoic sighed.
"What are you doing, old man?" Maine shouted as he tried to push Trance away. "Stop interfering with the business of the Seigneur Sancta. He has heretics to purge!"
"No, no, no." Trance chorused. "Don't make Nigel angry!"
"Get Essesohn, Chur…I mean, Lord Seigneur Sancta." Bring said. "It's the best way to get rid of this loon."
"Right. March the Commissar out onto the dais. Maine would probably recognize him." the Guardsman said exasperatedly as he threw away the list of names. "Men of Orres! Hail the Lord Commissar Essesohn! Essesohn of Cadia! The Immortal! The One-armed iron-hand of Justice!" the Guardsman's powerful voice blared through the audience square.
"Hail Lord Commissar Essesohn!" the men echoed in unison. Their response shook even the platform. Several years had passed since the men were personally reviewed in such a great gathering by a figure respected by all. The enthusiasm had not dampened. At least that was comforting to know. Chris Bastion led the squinting Commissar out, his mechanical fingers twiddling the handle of his saber nervously. Don't fail us, Lord Commissar. The Guards need you.
"Impossible!" Maine spat as he stood up, allowing Trance to fall to the ground in a heap. It was a vulgar sight. "Impossible! Church! I made you a Seigneur Sancta! Not a resurrectionist! Essesohn is gone! His mind is gone!"
The old guard of the 97th paid Maine no heed. The Guardsman nodded to them as they carried out the oft rehearsed stage-play. The Lord Commissar was led to the inspection dais. The view was breathtaking. The surviving Guards of Orres that were still in fighting capacity stood with their heads held high. The presence of the lone Commissar silenced the entire cohort.
"Atten--tion!" Stoic bellowed. As a man used to a position of authority gave his thunderous command through the vox. "Men of Orres, proudest of the Emperor's sons, salute those that were given the divine right to lead! Hail the Seigneur! High Lord and Protector of our Faith!"
The men smashed their heels together and raised their right hand to their brow. The Guardsman now knew what it felt like to be Potemnus VIII, looking down at men that appeared to be as big as beetles at this distance. He returned the honors and recited an article from the revised Primer: "Ye Protectors of the Weak and Innocent! Brave ones who throw your feeble mortal self against the brutality of war! Crusaders who fight to end all bloodshed! The Emperor blesses your souls, your armor, your swords and your guns!"
"Hail the Seigneur!" the men replied. Essesohn's lips trembled. The sight is scaring him. The Guardsman began to worry.
"Pathetic! These Guards are the trash of Orres!" Maine shouted. "Set up the pyres! Have the heretics burning! I want to see them scream!"
"Do you think we enjoy eating stones, Nigel Maine of the 1st Company?" The unmistakable tone that terrified with its monotonous judgment followed the singing of a fine Cadian blade. Essesohn's gray eyes glared as the command sword made a precise scratch on Maine's neck. "Indecency, abuse of superior rank, insubordination before the Ecclesiarch and disruption of formal review. You are guilty on all counts. Seize him."
"Forgive me, Duke General." Janus Bring chuckled as he proceeded to disarm Nigel Maine. It would be a wonder if Maine was even armed given that he was only clothed in his undergarments, but Bring would seize any opportunity to humiliate his long time nemesis. Maine's own loyalists dared not move. The sight of the Commissar nailed them to the ground. It was the results of conditioning to a Commissar's superior presence. It is working.
"No! Don't touch my Nigel! You heretics! Pawns of the throne!" Trance squealed as Reeve Stoic bundled her up in a great coat and had her dragged away by other guardsmen. Janus Bring kicked Nigel Maine at the back of his knees and made him sprawl on all fours. The Commissar repeated what he had done to Stoic years earlier. He smacked the disgraced soldier across his face and kicked him squarely in the chest with his hard shiny boots. Maine never fought back. He simply whimpered and wept.
"Pathetic cringing lot!" Essesohn grabbed Stoic's vox-cast and blared into the receiver. "I see why you are all mere shadows of your glorious selves. You've been led by a boy who thinks that he is a man. I pass his sentence now! He should taste his own poison! Prepare the 11th! Maine will walk the regiment that nurtured him!"
No one dared make any voice as the Commissar condemned the Duke General. The banners of 11th fluttered as the block of four hundred odd men marched forward. They were all that was left of Mode's eight thousand. Not one of the 13 Majors survived save Reeve Stoic and Nigel Maine. The quartermaster brought forth large chests of scourges. Each soldier took their own as they lined up into two neat rows. The Lord Commissar took a ceremonial rifle and escorted Maine to the start of the regiment. He held the rifle under his arm, the barrel and bayonet pointing to the rear. Janus Bring trailed behind, sandwiching Maine between two gleaming blades.
"Was this rehearsed?" Chris Bastion asked quietly.
"No. I think we woke Essesohn again." the Guardsman said worriedly. The drummers started their roll. Janus Bring jabbed Maine with the bayonet and urged him forward. The scourge came down methodologically. The cracks were oddly loud and muffled the painful grunts. Maine faltered after two hundred lashes and collapsed to the ground. By tradition, he would be bayoneted after 5 drum rolls if he didn't get back up.
"Not wise, Church. You should interfere." Young pointed out the importance of the hated duke general. "He used to be an excellent soldier. And plus, his bond with Trance May is a legitimate claim over the subcontinent."
"I don't think he's finished yet." Stoic knew more about Maine's physical capability than most. The lacerated figure climbed back to his feet after the third drum roll and trudged on. The men still swung their scourge without mercy. The hatred for Maine ran deep and rampant. Essesohn never harried the process. It would seem that he was enjoying every moment. Throughout his years of service in the Imperium, the extended execution was the most unbearable to the Guardsman, even though no one ever made it past the first ten companies. After what seemed like hours, the Commissar turned around and shouldered the ceremonial rifle. Janus Bring, however, stared in disbelief. Maine had reached the end of the regiment. Maybe the 11th was massacred down to less than five hundred men to spare Maine. The Guardsman didn't know why he breathed a sigh of relief.
"Private 1st class…Nigel Maine...reporting for duty, Lord Commissar." Maine saluted weakly. It was his last words of the day. This time he collapsed for a good while.
XXX
And as usual, Essesohn summoned the Guardsman to the new Commissariat that used to be Maine's Command Bunker. The title of the Duke General was dissolved. The entire army of two million would be led by the Seigneur Sancta and the Lord Commnissar.
"Surprised, Guardsman?" Essesohn raised his first question. "Or should I say, self-appointed Ecclesiarch?"
"Yes, Lord Commissar." What had made him return to us?
"It all swam back to me. Something I tried to forget." Essesohn sighed. "As long as the victories keep coming, I never thought I would need to worry about it. Survival in defeat is the worst thing that can happen to the Commissar. His entire existence is called into question."
"They said that Fishpan captured you."
"Oh, yes. The demon-enticed fool thought he could rescue millions of men from certain destruction. Demands that he met were repeatedly increased, inflated and made virtually impossible. In the end, the monstrous entity said that it would only save five. In truth, none of Fishpan's cronies were worthy. The demon made a fool out of the guards. It made us kill each other while it gorged on our unfortunate souls." Essesohn looked at the new Orresian banner. An aquila with its wings spread across four pictographs. Sigils of strength, invincibility, death and honor.
"What happened all this while?" the Guardsman allowed curiosity to get the better of him. "How did you overcome the void of the mind?"
"It's the past, Guardsman." Essesohn replied. "I am the son of Esse. You should have noticed that from my namesake."
"Was…was your father famous?"
"Yes, he was. But I had never seen my father alive. I was admitted to the Schola Progenium in recognition of his previous achievement, so I assume he martyred himself for the Emperor. The true manner of his death was kept from me. Under Imperial Tutelage, you have only one true Father – the Immortal God Emperor of Man. You did well to forget about your biological parents. You fail when you cry for them. And failure is never tolerated." the gray Commissar opened a neatly folded regional map and began doing some preliminary calculations and planning.
"What happened?"
"You learnt to question the Commissar. Impressive, Guardsman." Essesohn remarked. "Lord Commissar Zbrensk was my mentor. An old aging Commissar. Death can come from any corner and any crevice, Guardsman. Never let your youth delude you into fascinations of invincibility."
"What of Lord Commissar Zbrensk? Was he killed by an unexpected bullet or…"
"A knife. People crack under pressure, Guardsman. Zbrensk was killed by a most promising student. It wasn't me, Guardsman. I was a nobody in the Schola. At that time I only referred to only by a number. It was 41223, to be precise."
The Guardsman was silent. He could not find any words suitable to describe his feelings. Truth tends to be shocking. The Schola Progenium was known to be a brutal institution. But students killing their own instructors occurred to him as outright terrible and impossible.
"It should have been me. Zbrensk was expecting me to be the potential traitor. And he probably regretted his misjudgment. Commissars are just fallible like men. We only fail less often. But failures are still failures. He never expected the best hope of the Commissariat to turn against him. Such was the machination of his faulty imagination. The traitor had all outwardly signs of a saint. His heart, however, bled dark, filthy ichor of a lowborn trash, undeserving of the Emperor's grace. I knew it in my guts. But I was already marked as a traitor since my birth, Guardsman. All their unfriendly attention was on me. The beast-man could have killed more if I weren't there."
"You were there? And why would they suspect you?"
"Suspicions require no reason and mine was more obvious and logically justified. I had disciplinarian issues and had just undergone corrective reeducation. It's something that no sane man would go through for a second time, just to let you know. The traitor planned it longer than a while. Kill Zbrensk and those that his master had marked. I would be the good scapegoat. He would plant the evidence on me. My motive would be revenge on the harsh sentence. Very convenient and very logical. He gets away, becomes a Commissar, and spreads his terrible taint to the Guards. But I wasn't the prey, Guardsman. I was the hunter. I was ready for him."
"How? You knew his plan all along?"
"It wasn't that hard to figure out when you know what you're doing. Sneaking around looking for extra crumbs and morsels had always been my specialty in my youth. My prey had other Gods. Ancient, powerful and malevolent beings that he prayed for strength and protection. The corrective reeducation was a baptism of strength and a personal victory for me. It gave me the clarity of mind to plan my own trap. I took my time, Guardsman, thinking like my prey right to the very place he would kill Zbrensk. Traitors that kill their father figures don't deserve a good clean death. I shot him here, here and here." Essesohn pointed to the thighs, mid-torso and upper arm. "The foul beast had loyalty to whatever monstrous master he served. He bit his own tongue and swallowed it. I was hoping they question him thoroughly. Perhaps expose more potential traitors hidden within our ranks. I dedicated my life on killing these base lives from that point and have to confess that I am very good at it. To the point that sometimes my trigger finger did the thinking."
"About your lineage, the traitor and Zbrensk, there was something that tied them up together?"
"Zbrensk was the man that killed my Father, Guardsman." Essesohn tried to smile again, but his lips trembled and his voice quavered. "Zbrensk, so much for his harshness, was the one that represented the father figure in my life. I have never seen my Father, the ex-Lord Marshal Esse Zenheusen. As the other cadres came in and apprehended me, Zbrensk used his last moments in life in my defense and to tell me the truth. I am Essesohn, descended from the Traitor of Junos-Kappa. Esse Zenheusen who attempted to use a hundred thousand men under his command to seize the planet he was supposed to save. He believed he could make a better General Militant. He was stupid to think that the Commissariat would go along. Esse's revolt was over in twelve minutes. A gamble that destroyed a decade of distinguished service."
The Guardsman was silent. He did not know what to say next.
"Zbrensk was everything, Guardsman. Esse Zenheusen was a poisonous taint on the Imperium. The name Essesohn was both a curse and a punishment. Ugly scars on my namesake. I soon realized I could bring terror and honor to the name with the help of the Emperor. I am good at what I am doing and I enjoyed every moment of it. I killed hundreds of fools who would rather have an extra two seconds of life as opposed to martyrdom that honors his name for eternity. I failed Zbrensk when I was defeated by Fishpan. And now I suppose you have come to gloat?"
"We still fight for the Emperor." the Guardsman tried hard not to argue back. You are the one that summoned me in the first place.
"We all do. Now tell me, what blasphemy have you weaved exactly? You warped the Primer. You created a major Heresy. Now every righteous being in the Imperium of Man would hunt you down like the dog you are." Essesohn circled a few hills with a red marker with an air of nonchalance. "Now you're probably wondering why I chose not to shoot Maine on the spot, or why I chose not to shoot you either."
"No, I am wondering what happened to your mind all that time?"
"Hmph. I suppose you want to know about the psyche. I was basically reliving my memories, swimming through all the other alternatives to choices I have made in my life so far. To be sure, I am very proud of all the choices except one. That took a while. I had already recovered by the time I saw you with the broken Ordo Militant on the beach. My honest intentions were to continue my sorry existence in peace. Let the world forget about Essesohn the ex-Lord Commissar. I do not talk to heretics or heedless morons, and hence people still think I lost it. That is until your devious quartermaster Boyle Young decided to dress me in the garbs of red again. Putting me in front a heap of two million trash bags that sound like soft-legged half-men who could not even sustain an erection for two seconds. Hypno-conditioning and the fondness of my great deeds with the Guards! That's what did it! It was damn fucking clever! I enjoy being with the lowest common denominator and the dregs of Mankind! I enjoy leading them against impossible odds! I enjoy showering them in blood and pieces of themselves and that of their foes! To see them triumph and howl above the piled bodies of their slain! This is the addiction of War!"
The faith crisis had infected all. Even Essesohn was not spared. "Where does the Emperor come in?"
"Hah! Every major denomination of the Imperium Cult has their interpretations. The cowardly pacifists that we marked for heresy think He is a Deity of Gentle Kindness. To the Commissariat, the Emperor is the Intolerant God of War. Intolerant of Peace, Treason and Cowardice. War is the single most benevolent act of Man. War cleanses the dredges and moulds them as obedient servants of the Imperium. War uplifts the criminal and makes him the defender of Mankind. We are the extensions of His Unforgiving and Uncompromising nature The Commissariat! Demons of His Wrath donned in red and peaked caps! Executioner at the ready! Traitors down the barrel! Bang! No quarter given! No questions asked!" Essesohn ranted like a madman as he drew big arrows leading to the various cities on the map. "Stones for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Hearts of iron and mind of steel. Controller of mob psyche and overseer of the glorious pastime we call War! The Emperor is War! War is our Emperor!"
Those last lines of Essesohn reverberated through the command bunker. "What of Nigel Maine?"
"Do you think I enjoy shooting children, Guardsman?"
"No…not in any chance."
"Maine is a mere child. The prima-decas and storm troopers throughout the Imperium were all trained and conditioned to be that way. None of them were trained to lead. All of them were trained to obey and they get great kicks out of it. Think of them as somewhat clever little boys with better and flashier equipments who look upon his superiors as Gods. They're all hypno-sensitized to behave that way and operated on the head to make sure it sticks. Maine is no exception. Take away the superiors and team-mates and they would feel lonely. Their psyche would fall apart sooner or later. Maine had it worse. He was in a position of power. And that position is the loneliest in the galaxy. He behaved just as one expected. Ever thought of putting a boy on the seat of a General Militant and then telling him that he could do whatever he wanted? Well, you've got Maine. The Commissariat does not shoot children. That is the job of the Astartes, the Ordo Militant and scumbags like you. We have different operating protocols when it comes down to specialized storm troopers."
"But Maine hated his superiors, even the Emperor."
"Have you ever seen an oft-disciplined child that spoke well of their stern fathers?" Essesohn screwed the tops back onto the markers. "Of course not! But it doesn't mean that they don't love their Fathers. In fact, they need their Fathers more than ungrateful men like the scum you represent, Guardsman. The true men in the entire Guards are the rank and file troops we treat as fodder. And we all know that you are the most dangerous of all. It's the reason why the Imperium is hesitant in equipping you with the best. Children don't revolt. They merely throw tantrums. Men revolt. Men betray. And worse of all, Men think too much. Men would sell their own wives, daughters and mothers for a mere fraction of a cent."
"Maine's tantrums killed hundreds…"
"And the revolts of Men killed billions. Get the numbers right, Guardsman, before you try to argue with me." Essesohn harrumphed. The Guardsman knew that the Lord Commissar was truly back again. The old, uncompromising and philosophically aggressive stone-eater in red. "Now onto the reasons why I chose not to kill you."
"Why?"
"Because I think you're probably the only one smart enough to discuss this at length with me. The war killed most of the schooled gentry-elites. All the officers we have on our hands right now probably could not even write a proper sentence, much less understand a complex battle plan." the Commissar shot out his hand and grabbed the Guardsman by his collar, dragging his head close to the heavily decorated map. Essesohn had provided three possible attack plans on Clan May's subcontinent state with standard Guards counter notation down to regimental level.. "Now don't tell me you don't get a thing, because that would give me a reason to shoot you. And I do look forward in using my Executioner again."
XXX
Just as the Guardsman had predicted, the call to war was straightening out the wrinkles across the minds of the once-depressed men. Ju'sufyin's personal entourage came rather unexpectedly without prior notification. She still had an air of absolute calm demeanor along with her water caste advisor Zou'han, but her warrior retainers behaved otherwise. Clearly agitated with an aggressive body language.
"Gue'vesa Shas'ui, I did not give you the position to start a war against our allies! Do you humans enjoy killing each other so much?" Ju'sufyin questioned. Ineloquence. She is exasperated with the recent turn of events.
"I have gone along with your generous and thoughtful addition to our Faith. The Men had read your words, and they clamor for the might of justice." the Guardsman had only managed to be dressed in his most impressive formals. He always had three suits pressed and ready to be donned at a moment's notice. Flanking him were the Old Guard and the Lord Commissar himself who never left his side.
"Hmm?" Ju'sufyin looked left and right. "We are the ones who decide if you go to war with guns or with sticks and stones. What did you tell them, Shas'ui? Did you also twist my words to suit them? Where is Shas'ui Maine?"
"Maine had some psychological problem caused by previous surgery and has to recuperate."
Shas'o Hiyan'zuo said something in Ju'sufyin's ears. The Ethereal narrowed her gaze and whispered something back. It was something that even the translator could not decipher. The aliens had retained a degree of secrecy when discussing matters that demand covert details. "I had hoped you help him in the restructuring of the Guards. Not to start a war against a Gue'vesa clan or to depose him from his power."
"Maine is not suited for sole-commanding leadership. And it is not us who are the aggressors, Ethereal. We act under the Pursuit of the Tau'va and Justice. Trance is the Jun'zya and the rightful Pan'fu of the Mays. The seat does not belong to the kinslayer and incestuous man-thing that gluts itself on the flesh of his own kin." the Guardsman explained. "Trance's plight had moved the Guards. We must avenge her."
Zou'han, being the master manipulator that he was trained to be, nodded in a pretense of acknowledgment: "That is true, Shas'ui. But the former Pan'fu had removed Trance from her inheritance."
"The late Saan-Ul was killed by his own bastard son. Should we allow this man-beast to be comfortable on the seat of power or the previous heir that made no mistake apart from taking Maine as her bond-mate? It is abhorrent to the Greater Good that the Selfish Murderer begets the fruits of labor that his own kin had fought for. The kinslayer must be taken down from his lofty seat." Use the Tau'va against them, for surely every being bows before the Greater Good.
"Even the archaic laws of the Imperium does not tolerate this. Are you telling the Guards that kin-slaying is oft-practiced amongst the Tau? Does that explain your inaction?" Janus Bring provided the vitriolic reply. Shas'o Hiyan'zuo cursed in his Sept-dialect and would have pounced if the Ethereal had not gently placed her hands on the shoulder of the alien commander.
"We do not tolerate the kin-slayer. Such beings are an affront to the very principle of Reciprocity." Ju'sufyin countered with a pragmatic argument. "But your priority is to prepare the guards against the incoming Imperium reinforcements. I would not have the Gue'vesa engaged in another civil war while the Imperium arrive in their millions."
"The Guards would not fight alongside treacherous filth." the Guardsman retorted. "You must realize that you're keeping a dangerous and ambitious man-thing that knows not honor or loyalty. And the other clans of Demos, Yvan, Cuin, Zuoya, Ulleying and Fiojos would take the inactivity of the Tau as condoning such a crime. It does not bode well into the future."
"You seem to look further than all of us, Shas'ui." Zou'han smiled. "But your position is somewhat… how should I put it…similar. You also betrayed your Emperor to serve the Greater Good."
"Nay. The Greater Good is our Emperor. The Emperor is the Greater Good. Tolerate not the selfish profiteer who betrays the community for his own sake. Straight from our Holy Primer."
"Clan May knew of your intentions. They are prepared. More than three million men under arms, complete with armored support, air coverage and long range strike capabilities. You are outnumbered and outgunned. And the Mays are known for their mettle and honor." Zou'han tried to intimidate the guards into giving up the enterprise. Unfortunately, diplomat, we already knew this.
"Honor means nothing to the warrior who knows that he is fighting for an evil cause. Lansu's personal clique number no more than half a million. The rest joined only because he claimed the title of Pan'fu." the Guardsman replied. "But we have the rightful heir. And we must destroy Lansu for Justice and Tau'va to prevail."
"You talk about the Tau'va as though you own it." Ju'sufyin hissed angrily. It was the first time that the Guardsman saw her enraged. The Ethereal turned around and left without another word. The other Tau around her were caught in a moment of surprise and rushed after her with a meekness that even the Guardsman found surprising.
"I take that answer as a clear cut no." Janus Bring quietly said as the hovercraft took off and left. The Guardsman felt defeated. I messed the entire thing up. The Tau are still playing us like pawns.