A/N: Big chapter today! :D
Book II: Corruption's End
Chapter 52: Thank You
"The vast majority of Imperial planets are supremely uninteresting. Not every system is full of overpopulated hive-worlds or radioactive deathworlds. Most of them just… exist. Filled with citizens who go about their lives, and know of the Imperium only as the tax-takers that arrive every decade or so." - Master Loxillion Kandar of the Estate Imperium, regarding a recent census.
Yang waited all of two days before cabin fever could no longer be ignored. If she spent another minute sitting at a window and watching for their contact, she'd go insane. Stripping off her flak armor and beret, she laid them down in the spare bedroom she'd made her own. Rooting around in the bag she'd packed for the mission, she dug up her old Remnant duds.
It'd been months since she'd worn them, but they were still clean and ready to go. Yang grinned as she pulled her old rider's shorts over her legs. Finally, some breathing room. Her old bra was a welcome relief as well… the Munitorum made allowances for every size, sure, but nothing could beat a custom fit.
Grinning, she checked herself out in the standing mirror. Looking good. She flexed. Definitely more of a beefcake than before. Before leaving, she made sure to buckle the straps that held her powersword and lasgun in place. On her wrists, Ember Celica was safe and secure, polished to a mirror-shine.
With a wide, toothy grin, she tucked a pack of lho into her breast pocket. Time for a joy ride.
Descending the grand staircase that led to the living room, she caught the wary stares of a few kasrkin.
"Sergeant," Darron called to her from his place by the front door. "Where's your flak armor?"
"I'm ducking out for a bit," Yang replied, hand resting on the bandolier-strap across her chest. "Don't worry, I won't be gone long. Just gonna do some… recon." Yeah, that sounds legit. "We've been here two days and haven't put any eyes on the town below us."
"Grox-fucking-shit," Darron spat. "You're not going anywhere. I was very clear in the briefing. We're staying here until we meet the other Inquisitor's party."
"Sorry Captain, but we be both know that's not going to happen," Yang said, reaching the bottom of the staircase. "I'm taking Amat and the Governor's car."
Even though he was almost two dozen yards away, Yang could see the veins popping on the Captain's forehead. "What part of 'we must stay put' is not clear to you, Sergeant? Are you incapable of following orders?" Darron demanded. Amat strode into the room, shutting the door behind him silently.
"Not entirely," the assassin said, facing Yang. She shot him a toothy grin. "She's just very willful."
"I don't give a shit," Darron said. "Orders are orders. She stays here."
"I see no harm in it sir," Amat said. "It's been two days since our arrival. If the Inquisitor's party was waiting for us, we would have heard from them by now. If they arrive in the next few hours, the Sergeant still has her microbead. And I have one as well."
Yang nodded solemnly. "What he said," she added, jerking her thumb at the assassin. Chera approached her, hellgun across her chest. Her violet eyes regarded Yang with suspicion, but Yang showed her nothing but easy geniality. "This really isn't anything worth fighting over," Yang said. "I'll be gone a few hours, if that."
"I don't like it," Chera said as she faced her husband. "But perhaps letting her go is a good idea. She's been wearing a trench into the floor these past few days."
Darron considered the advice. "Fine," he spat. "This is still ridiculous. You're a soldier, Throne damn it."
Am I? Yang wondered. I have so many more titles in the Imperium than I did on Remnant. Guardsmen. Psyker, Representative, Sergeant…. Monster.
She shook the thought away in a flutter of golden curls.
"Get out of here," Darron said, waving them away. Nodding at Amat, she motioned him away from the living room. When they'd escaped into the hallways, she let out a small sigh of relief. A calloused fist rang against the Assassin's shoulder.
"Thanks for the support, man."
"Of course," Amat said. "I don't understand what your plan is, but I figured you could use a break from watch duty. It doesn't suit you well."
Yang giggled. "That it does not."
"What's your plan then? What are we scouting?" Amat asked.
Beaming as bright as the sun, she threw a boot into the garage doors, revealing the Governor's car. "Amat my friend, there is no plan."
A muffled "Oh," escaped his mask. Digging into her pocket, she brandished the keys she'd liberated from a nearby drawer.
"Oh yeah. Buckle up, assassin-man, we're going for a ride." Amat nodded in that maddening way of his, the way that betrayed nothing of his emotions or thoughts. "Really? No reaction?"
He shrugged, unslinging his rifle as he climbed over the door and into the passenger seat. "I saw the way you looked at this car. You were drooling."
"I was not!" Yang protested, crossing her arms defiantly.
"My mask's HUD has video recording and playback capabilities. I can confirm that you did." Amat said, regarding her through the crimson of his visor.
"I didn't know the Temple taught you how to be smug ass," Yang said, flicking the garage-door switch. It opened slowly, revealing the driveway the Inquisitorial party had landed in just a few days ago. A cement path that wound around a bend, snaking into the forest that coated the mountain.
"They didn't," Amat said, as if he was realizing something.
"They teach you how to drive then?" She asked, hopping into the driver's seat.
"I'm certified to operate all standard-pattern Munitorum vehicles," Amat replied. "Though this model is… unfamiliar."
Yang gaped. "You don't know how to drive stick? I always knew the Temple was bad, but this just takes the cake." Licking her lips, she appraised the luxuriant interior. The ebony leather was just as soft as it looked two days ago, and the steering wheel was polished to mirror shine - enough so that she could see her own reflection, radiant and full of golden hair.
"Now, I'm more used to a motorcycle," she purred, tracing the ignition socket with the key. "But don't worry - Momma Xiao Long knows how to treat a lady." After slipping the key in and pressing on the clutch, the engine roared to life. Its purr was throaty, yet refined and even - a well tuned piece of engineering. "Alright, let's see what you can do."
Amat buckled himself in and pulled his mask off, resigned to his fate. Yang waggled her eyebrows at him, but he betrayed nothing. She tucked her sword and lasgun under the seat. With any luck, they wouldn't be necessary.
Shifting the car into first gear, she started off slow, enough to get her bearings. It was responsive and tight.
"Can't believe you don't know stick," Yang muttered. Amat said nothing. Emperor does it bug me when he does that. Realizing she just cursed with the Emperor's name, she paused, letting her foot off the gas by a hair.
"Everything okay?" Amat asked, his head unmoving as they proceeded down the driveway. Though his body remained motionless, his eyes flicked about like an addict's. If Yang didn't know better, she'd peg him as the nervous type.
"Yeah," she said, switching into second gear as the driveway widened. "Just realized it's been about a year since I arrived in the Imperium," she said. Most of the time was spent in warp transit, plagued by nightmares and the endless whispering. Weiss' glyphs helped... kinda.
But that wasn't the issue.
The issue lied in the fact that the Imperium was her home now. Even worse, she felt at home. Ever since the battle with the orks on Elodia, she knew it. The chaos, the horror, the scale of the violence and blood-pumping thrill of unparalleled battle. She felt more alive here than she had since Ruby died. Maybe, a part of her whispered, maybe even before that.
"I miss Remnant," she said, wearing a small smile. "Wish I could weekend there or something, you know? See my friends." Anyone other than whoever Weiss became. Ros' reluctant smile flashed before her eyes, and a pang of loss struck her, more powerful than a bolter shell.
Amat considered his words, watching the trees roll past. "I'm... happy you're here Yang. At least, I think that's the word I should use here." He moved his hand as if to make a gesture, but decided against it. "The Imperium is a better place with you in it."
Yang looked at him. It could be a trick of the light, of the sun shining through the tall conifers that stretched up towards the sea-blue sky… but for a second, it looked like Amat's cheeks were a shade redder than before.
Her reminiscing died under a brilliant smile. "Amat, you big ol' softy." Reaching the end of the driveway, she saw the road open up, smooth and embedded in the mountainside. Before she let the beast loose, she fiddled with the dashboard, turning knobs and flicking switches. The radio crackled to life with a burst of static. Took her awhile before she could find one transmitting in a form of gothic she could understand.
"-and though it has been confirmed that the vessel belongs to the Inquisition," a DJ said, his voice a smooth, concerned baritone, "the Ascendant Dawn is, and I'm quoting its Captain here - 'merely stopping by for rest and repairs'. Sleep a little easier out there, listeners."
The car Yang had liberated seemed far away now as she fiddled with the connection. There was something… entrancing about the radio. The DJ was just a normal person, working a normal job. The people of Gartenwald lived peaceful, normal lives.
"Another quick PSA," the caster continued, "migration season started yesterday, so watch get your pict-stealers ready. Look, but don't touch! And now, for some music."
A song started on the radio. A good was rough, uncut garage rock... some twangy blues with a rockin' guitar line and generic-as-hell lyrics. Even a galaxy away, musicians knew the same chords. Yang's smile widened. Glancing over at Amat, she took her aviators off her lapel.
"You ready to ride, assassin-man?"
"I am suddenly very concerned."
"Duly noted," Yang said, donning her sunglasses. Throwing the car into fourth gear, she stomped on the gas pedal. The engine roared to life, drowning out the radio for the briefest of moments. As it peeled out, Amat's grip tightened on the door, hard enough to dent the metal.
Yang laughed as the car devoured the road underneath them. She switched to fifth gear as the trees flicked past, hair flapping behind her.
Emperor, it feels good to go fast again. Still no bike, but hey, I'll make do. A hundred meters down the road, a sharp turn screamed towards them, a thin steel barrier between them and a sheer cliff.
Amat whipped around to face her, his eyes wide and full of apprehension. It was the most honest expression she'd ever seen him wear. She laughed, yanking on the handbrake and pulling on the steering wheel.
Just as she expected, the handling was excellent. It turned on a dime, just quickly enough so that the back bumper scraped against the railing.
"Emperor protect me," Amat mumbled. Yang didn't hear him, she was too busy drumming on the steering wheel, head bobbing in time to the music. Throwing the car into sixth, she tore down the road.
"Goddamn," Yang cried over the howling wind. "Now this is music!" She laughed even harder. Amat was less amused. She punched his shoulder, still grinning. "C'mon man, I felt like I was gonna die in that mansion. Let's live a little, huh?"
"This is your idea of living?"
"Hell yeah," Yang said. "You know we wanted to make a band? Team RWBY?"
"You mean… the Lady Inquisitor?" This puzzled the assassin, his brow furrowing. "A band?"
Yang chuckled, waving his concerns away with the back of her hand. "Yeah dude! Oh come on, have you heard her sing?"
"Never."
"She didn't show you any of her performances? Like… with the memory thing?"
"Not one."
"You're missing out, man!" Yang said, running a hand through the hair that streamed behind her. "Voice of an angel. Coulda gone professional if she didn't want to be a Huntress."
"A band?" Amat repeated, still stuck on the concept.
"Yeah man! We had it all worked out. I was gonna learn the drums, Ruby the guitar... Blake woulda been right at home on the bass. Fight baddies by day, rock out by night. Fuck man," she said as she unearthed all the buried memories. "That woulda been the shit." She snickered. "At least Weiss still has the leather getup right."
"I wonder what else my Lady hasn't shown me…" Amat said, looking out the windshield. They weren't in danger of driving off a cliff anymore, and he seemed a tad more accustomed to the speed.
"Probably a lot. She defrosted a lot as the years went on. Still didn't open up too much though, you know?" Yang shook her head. "Just the way she was raised. I'll be honest," she said, realizing it as the words tumbled from her lips. "She really got a shit hand in life. Weiss was a good person. Still is, I think. Deep down. Her heart's in the right place, even if it has frozen over. What do you think?"
"My Lady?" Amat asked. "She is-"
"Yeah, yeah," Yang said, peering out the corner of her aviators. "I get the same spiel from the Woadians all the time. About how wonderful and strong she is. But that's not what I want to know, Amat." She took a moment to savor the radio, the drum solo that shook the car on each bass kick. "No, no no… what do you think? Your opinion."
"I mean… she's pious," Amat started, clearly uncomfortable. "Besides her witchery, in every metric available to the Imperial citizen… she is a perfect person."
"Sensing a 'but' here," Yang said, shifting gears once more.
"But," Amat continued. "She prays all the time, but I never hear the words. When her kasrkin leave her, she seems to slump. The Lady Inquisitor is drowning," he said, locking eyes with Yang. "Drowning in sorrow. Every step she takes only pulls her down further." He sighed. He realized he sighed and seemed confused for a moment, as if to say 'oh yeah, this is something people do'. "I used to see her as nothing but a voice to be obeyed and respected. An Inquisitor. Things were different back then," he said. He still wasn't comfortable speaking openly. Yang rested her hand on his shoulder, indicating he should go on.
"Now I pity her," Amat said. "And I don't know why. I barely even understand what it's like to feel pity. But I know I pity my Lady."
Yang said nothing, choosing instead to squeeze her friend's shoulder. "I'm happy to have you along Amat. I know you still love the Temple, but no one deserves to be shut off from what makes them human. For now I say fuck the Vindicares. You're with me, man. It's good to see you opening up. I had a bitch of a time finding out what was under that mask, you know."
Amat chuckled. "Sorry about that."
"You're good, dude." They tore through a tunnel, and their connection fizzled. The lights rushed over them, one after another. Like strobe lights.
"Why though?" He asked.
"I'm a curious person," Yang replied. "And you piqued my interest. You come shimmering out of a burning city, smoking rifle in hand and an ass like chiseled marble… and you don't know why I might be interested?"
"Not really," Amat said. "I don't understand what you mean though."
Yang laughed. "What, the ass comment? Come on, like you haven't been checking me out on the sly!" She elbowed him in the ribs, but Amat ignored the jab, turning something over in his mind. Yang shot him a grin before returning her attention to the road. Noticing he hadn't confirmed her question yet, she did a double-take.
"Holy shit... you haven't!" She laughed, even though the realization confused her deeply. Why? Is he not into chicks? Possible, but it's more likely the Temple gave him a snipping of some sort. Of all the things to take from a person, that seemed one of the most horrifying to Yang. Let's see how he responds to some teasing. Maybe he just doesn't like blondes, she thought with a smirk. "I mean, if you thought I was ugly, you shoulda said something!"
"What?" Amat asked, shocked from his thoughts. "Oh Emperor no, I just-" He looked over at Yang, and noticed her smile. "Oh… you weren't serious."
"Not entirely." Yang said with a wink. "Your reaction told me everything I needed to know." So very different from the men and women back on Remnant… Woadians too. Those Xiao Long genes had treated her well, and it was weird not getting stared at.
As the mountain road leveled out, Yang merged onto a highway. It was eight lanes wide and sparsely populated, with only a few boxy trucks hissing by. The road signs weren't readable (they were all in the local Gothic dialect), but Yang could make out the city lights from the road, twinkling in the orange pre-dawn glow. She knew where she was going.
"Fancy a drink?" Yang asked, speeding past a lagging tanker-truck. It honked at them, so Yang threw it the Woadian two-fingered salute. Probably didn't mean anything here, but it felt right.
"Will it taste like amasec?"
Yang giggled. "Nah, nothing hard tonight. We have lots of important waiting to do, remember?"
"I don't really have a choice though, do I?"
"Nope."
"Is this really necessary?" Amat asked, inspecting the coat Yang had tossed him. It was a simple brown-leather bomber's jacket with some wool surrounding the collar. "Where'd you get this?"
"Found it," Yang half-lied. She found it in a b-rate thrift store, but the assassin didn't have to know she'd stolen it. "You can't walk around in just your cat-suit... unfortunately. Look," she said, nodding over his shoulder. A couple youths were ogling the two Inquisitorial agents, and a few of them took out some scroll-like objects to snap a few photos. Amat raised the jacket to block the unwanted attention.
"Okay, fair point," he said, slipping his arms through the sleeves. Yang zipped him up and smoothed out the shoulders. His legs were still obviously cat-suit, but he was far more inconspicuous than before. Could probably pass the legs off as designer jeans or something.
"Looking good, assassin-man. Unf." Nothing new, but he deserved to know. His hair had grown in the two months they spent in transit, though he still kept it well-trimmed. Still sandy-blond, like the fuzz on his chin and cheeks. Same studs over his eye. The bomber jacket was new, but tied it all together. Makes him look more… personable. Standing uncomfortably on a sidewalk in an orange dusk glow, he almost looked normal. Hard to imagine that this was a man who needed the approval of all twelve Lords of Terra to be unleashed.
"If you say so," Amat said, scratching at the back of his head and avoiding her gaze. "What about you? You're not cold?"
"I run hot," Yang said. "Semblance," she explained to Amat's questioning eyes. "It could be negative twenty in the middle of a blizzard, and I won't freeze. I'll be fine."
"I keep forgetting the power of aura," Amat said. "And each person has a unique one?"
"Somewhat. Some are hereditary, like Weiss'."
"Imagine what it could do for the Imperium," he said, his eyes unfocusing for a heartbeat-moment.
"You sound like the Lady Inquisitor," Yang said. She pointed down the street, to a small corner pub with ivy crawling up its side. "Now let's do what we came here for."
Yang threw the doors open with her usual gusto, enough to grab every patron's attention. It was a busy place, but relaxed and lived-in. A long bar ran the length of the left side of the room, with tables sitting in the center and plushy booths on the right wall. A stained and well-worn hardwood floor hosted a fair number of mingling drinkers, who lounged atop holey and over-stuffed stools. Most of the people here were Yang's age, but none of them looked like her. They were more diverse in appearance than the Woadians, with mixed-white complexions and hair colors that ranged from fiery red to jet black.
They stared at her for a moment before returning to their merrymaking. Ah, glorious anonymity.
Yang swiped up a coloring book and some stubby crayons that sat by the hostess' stand before sauntering over to an empty booth. With an exaggerated sigh of relief, she planted herself down and gestured for Amat to join her. Once again, he was back to his mechanically precise motions, eyes scanning every patron once, twice, thrice.
"Hey man, easy," Yang said, pushing the drawing materials in front of the assassin. "No one here's gonna try anything."
"You don't know that," Amat said. "Any one of these people could be an agent."
"Psh," Yang huffed, waving her hand dismissively. "So what if they are? Do you really think any of them stand a chance against the two of us?"
"Hallo," their server squeaked, a mousy thing with frizzy brown hair tied up in a simple bun. "Was kann ich gertrunken die?" She asked, a wide smile splitting the freckles that painted her face.
"Uh..." Yang said. "You speak standard gothic, sweetie?"
The waitress screwed up her face in confusion. "Gotheek? Ah, gotheek! Spreche Iche nur ein bisschen… aber... " She paled, almost dropping the thin plastic menu clutched tight to her chest.
"Auswalder," she whispered, eyes flicking over to Amat, who, to his credit, looked concerned at the woman's sudden terror. "Inquisition." She hissed. Yang caught her wrist, gentle fingers patting the top of her hand.
"Shh," she hissed, putting a finger over her lips. "Nothing to worry about sweetie, promise. Like the disc-jockey said, we're just here for some R and R. What better place than this fine establishment, huh?"
"M-meine L-Lady," the waitress stammered, bowing her head in deference. Yang shifted uncomfortably.
"None of that now," Yang said, flashing her a brilliant smile. "The name's Yang. Yang Xiao Long. This here's Amat," she said, gesturing over to the assassin. He gave the woman an awkward wave. "Call me Yang, okay?" The waitress nodded. "Wonderful. Look, we don't have any of your local currency, but is it possible you could bring us a couple beers on the house? Again, not here to start anything, just a little thirsty. Nothing too expensive, we don't want to overstay our welcome. You understand me?"
The waitress nodded once more, and Yang's smile widened. She released the woman. "Please… relax. We'd like to keep a low profile."
She scurried off, nearly tripping over herself in her haste to escape. Thankfully, no one seemed to notice her plight, and she recovered after a few seconds of deep breathing.
"That went better than I thought," Amat said, watching the waitress retreat. "You have a way with people, Yang."
"It's one of my many talents," Yang said, throwing a handful of sunny blonde hair over her shoulder.
"Just like your boundless humility?" Amat asked. Yang stuck her tongue out at him.
"Bite me, assassin man. Or," she said, pushing the crayons forward. "Draw me a pretty picture."
With ginger grace, Amat plucked a crayon from the table. "Colored wax," he said, examining it. "Not my preferred medium."
"You'll make do. I saw what you did with your prayer to Shao-la." She slid a piece of blank paper over to him. "Impress me."
"...With a crayon?"
"Y-your drinks, Miene L-Yang," the waitress said, plopping down two stone mugs of beer. Chill to the touch and spilling trails of foam down their sides, Yang had not seen such a delicious sight in a long time.
"Thanks," she replied. "Keep us topped off if you could, but no more than… four? Four sound good Amat?"
"Sure," he allowed, still a little lost.
"Four beers. What's your name?"
"Eisyl."
"Thank you for the beers, Eisyl." Yang sent her along before taking a swig of beer. It was rich and smooth, a golden wheat ale of some kind. Delicious. First real beer in ages. Her binge drinking days were done. For good. I have a physique to maintain now. "Go ahead," she said, gesturing at Amat with her mug.
Clearly cautious and mistrustful after his bathtub amasec experience, he sipped at the foam. His eyes lit up in an orange-red sunburst. Just like when I fed him those fries. "This… is actually pretty good," he said, rolling his tongue around in his mouth, savoring the taste.
"Not everyone enjoys beer their first time. You have good taste sir," she said, raising her mug. Amat nodded before picking up on her expression.
"Oh, right." He met his mug to hers with a dull thunk, and they drank once more.
"Now, that picture," Yang said, tapping the sheet of paper.
"What should I draw?" He asked, tumbling a black crayon between his knuckles.
"Whatever you want man," she replied. "I just want to watch you work. Honestly, how many other Vindicares can draw like you?"
That stirred something within him. Setting his lips into something resembling a mask of concentration, he set to work on the page. The mechanic nature of his movements disappeared at once, and his fingers traced elegant angles across the paper.
"I know your memory isn't so great," Yang tried, "but I'd really like to know where it came from. Your painting skill, I mean."
"To be fair, I still remember much of my initiation and education," Amat admitted. "It is what makes me Vindicare. Though as for my art, I can't say," he said, still focused on his sketch. His tone was still bright and conversational though, so Yang chalked that up as a win. "It's always something I've done. I suppose it's a remnant. An… epitaphum, I suppose. An echo of whoever I was before I was Vindicare." He took a drink, savoring each swallow. "You didn't tell me drinking could be pleasurable," he said offhandedly.
Yang was still trying to process his casual dismissal of being changed into an entirely different person.
"No, the other initiates used to mock the scribbles I made in the dust. The time I took staring at the Temple's artwork. They are long dead," he said, his crayon leaving the page but for a moment. "They did not survive the trials. The only thing of them that remains is their jeers. I cherish them," he added.
"They were children, weren't they," Yang asked.
"They were. I realize how that sounds to someone who came from Remnant. But to me… even knowing what Remnant was like, the standards its people lived by… I don't regret that they died."
"That's fucking bullshit." Yang spat before swallowing a mouthful of beer. "How can you defend this Temple? I understand they made you what you are, how powerful they are… but why? Why Amat?"
He didn't have a response, not yet. Instead, he kept at his drawing, the strokes lighter now, quicker. "Are you angry with me?"
"What? I- no! No," she repeated, ashamed at how quickly she'd become incensed. "I just want to know. You're one of my only friends. Ros is gone… and she had a family she never told me about. I miss her so much, and I... I wish she'd shared, you know? Take some weight off her shoulders. If you have any baggage, it's better that I stay informed, right?"
Amat gave her a chuckle. "Yang, you're growing into the role of Inquisitorial acolyte quite well."
Yang rolled her eyes, but allowed him a small smirk. "Whatever. Now spill."
Stone rang off wood as Amat set his beer down.
"There are a quintillion souls in the Imperium. Maybe more. Out of that number, perhaps a billion are admitted into the Schola Progenium. Of that number, two hundred are selected as Adeptus Assassinorum candidates. Of those two hundred children, perhaps ten excel enough at preliminary studies to become assassins. Of those ten, maybe three survive. I am one of those three. Granted, this is a process that repeats itself every decade or so, but I can't stress enough how few of us there are." He paused, taking a deep breath. And another sip of beer.
"You're from Remnant. The love of the God Emperor is a foreign concept to you. I understand this. But in the Imperium, at every stage of a person's life, we are taught that above all else, our duty is to the Emperor. I became an assassin because I was one of the few who could. The Vindicare Temple still possesses my loyalty because they allowed me to do everything I can to serve the Emperor, in a way very few people can. I have a true purpose, and I won't squander it. I won't waste their sacrifice… Two-Seven, Eight-oh-Three, Nine-One."
"The other initiates," Yang realized. Amat nodded.
"I remember their words. Their epitaphium," he said. "Were they a millisecond faster, a centimeter larger, able to lift a single gram more… you might have been speaking with one of them instead of the person who became Amat. The Vindicare Temple does no more than it has to. If it does not, people like me will stop existing, and the Imperium will be worse off for it. The Emperor counts on us to do our duty. He depends on me."
Yang finished her beer, only for Eisyl to fill it hastily.
"I don't expect you to understand," Amat said, setting his crayon down. "I'm sorry for wasting your time."
"No, Amat. Thank you for sharing. It certainly clarifies a few things."
"I know what they do is extreme. I can't even deny that myself. I might have led a normal life without them… but I was chosen for something greater. If I remember correctly, many Huntsmen chose their profession because they felt the same way."
Yang nodded, taking another drink. "Who's that?" She asked, pointing at Amat's sketch. It was a bald woman clad in a simple black frock, electoos lining the side of her face and headwires trailing down her back like an electric ponytail.
"Instructor Palla. Whenever I try and remember my mother, this is the woman I think of."
"May I?" Yang asked, resting her fingers on the paper. Amat nodded. Picking up the sheet, she inspected Palla more closely. Even in crayon, it was an astonishing piece of work. Her angular face was cleanly shaded, her robe billowing and loose despite the chunks of wax used to compose it.
"Your teacher."
"The primary one. She taught me many things, but of all my Instructors, she was the only one who encouraged my scribbling."
Weiss sure knows how to pick 'em, Yang mused. Of course she would pick Amat out of all the other Vindicares.
"What about you, Yang?" Amat asked.
"What about me, buddy?" Yang replied, confused by her friend's somber tone.
"A purpose," Amat clarified. He finished his beer, draining it until the last drop. Once again, Eisyl was there with a replacement. "This is quite good… Yang?"
Her fist curled around her mug, knuckles as white as the foam that crowned it. "I… used to have a purpose… back on Remnant, it was Ruby. Here? I… I don't know. A quintillion souls? I mean… fuck, man. I signed up with Weiss because she wants to fix the Imperium. Lately though? I just don't see how that's possible."
"It's… a tall order," Amat agreed.
"What can I do? I'm just one person. A total badass," she said with a quick smile. "But just one person. And I don't want to become like Weiss if that's what it takes to get the job done. I just can't. So if I can't fix the Imperium, what then? Find Ruby of course. Kill Abaddon and Josephus, sure… but what if Ruby never shows up? What then? Do I just keep fighting?" With a long sigh, she took a pull of beer. "I guess there are worse ways to live."
"Is it enough?" Amat asked. "The prospect doesn't exactly seem to thrill you."
"I mean… it's just what I did on Remnant. It's fun. Lets you forget about everything for a while."
Amat pushed the picture of Instructor Palla over to her. "There is a lesson we learned in Book of Patience. One of many. I don't know if it will help, but it's relevant - 'Focus upon the present, the task laid out before you. To scatter one's thoughts is to weaken one's mind.'"
"A real fancy way of saying 'worry about it later'," Yang said, huffing. "But you're right. At first I just wanted to see the stars. Travel until my legs fell out from underneath me. But now? I can't say, not yet." She chuckled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "That book has the right idea though. We're here now," she said, raising her mug. "Fuck it. Let's enjoy a few drinks, huh?"
Amat grinned, toasting to the present they shared. "Well, whatever you decide, we'll face it together."
Yang smiled too, warmth restored to her cheeks. If nothing else… I can count on Amat. "Damn straight we will. Thanks man. For everything."
"I live to serve, Lady Yang."
"Oh please," Yang said, rolling her eyes. "Don't you dare start that nonsense with me."
"Yeah, that just felt weird," Amat said, kicking his mug back.
"For someone who's supposedly been brainwashed, you're awfully snarky," she replied.
"And I have you to thank. You and those damnable headaches."
"Cheers," Yang said. "To being smug assholes."
Their mugs met once again, and they shared a laugh.
The drive back to the manor was a pleasant affair. Yang tore down the highway, letting her hair out behind her. She'd cranked the radio again, and she even caught Amat tapping his foot to a few of the better songs. At night, the highway was practically deserted, free for Yang to reign over at her leisure.
She felt happy. Happy for the first time in years.
A part of her felt like she should be wallowing in grief over Ros and Ruby, but it was quieter. Its voice was faded, muted. Yang knew she'd done everything she could. The past was the past, the present was now, the present was the Imperium. As for her future?
She didn't really know, but wherever it led her, Amat would tag along. Despite all his training and conditioning, he still shared his secrets with her, indulged in her whimsies and pointed banter. Yang smiled.
"What's that?" Amat asked, sitting up in his seat. He gestured to a flash of neon-blue light just up the mountain road, flickering between the conifers.
"Let's check it out!" Yang said. She was in no hurry to see the manor or the kasrkin. Amat grinned, a sight growing less rare by the day.
"Let's." Just to be safe, he slapped a shell into his exitus rifle, couching it into his shoulder.
Laughing, Yang shifted into fifth gear and tore up the mountain. As they made the ascent, Yang turned into an unnamed overlook.
They found the source of the light.
"Emperor," they whispered in unison. Far above the plains and valleys of Gartenwald, a flock of flying mantas soared amongst the clouds. Biofluorescent lines shimmered down the length of their bodies, warm pulses of blue light against the stars.
One crooned, a whale-song for the sky. Yang killed the engine. Felt right.
With each slow, purposeful beat of their wings, the creatures traversed the sky. They sang to each other, beautiful rolling music that echoed across the valley. Yang left the car, careful steps taking her to the edge of the overlook. Below her, there was nothing but rocks and empty air. She saw none of it.
"Quite a sight," Amat said, slinging his rifle across his back. "A million worlds in the Imperium… how many do you think look like this?"
"Not many," Yang said. An impulse struck her. She couldn't say where it came from, or what part of her thought it would be a good idea, but she did it anyway.
She reached across the space between them.
A part of her screamed that what she was doing was incredibly stupid. She was making things weird. Throwing away the one real friendship she had left in the entire galaxy. Moving too fast for someone still figuring out what it meant to be a person.
He met her halfway, syn-skin hand warm to the touch.
"Not many," she repeated.
Their fingers intertwined, and for a moment, the Imperium was at peace. Yang squeezed. For every lonely moment she'd spent in the Imperium, she squeezed. Amat returned the gesture. In time, maybe he would learn what it meant to hold hands with someone.
Maybe Yang would too.
Her microbead crackled, shattering the moment into tiny fragments. Cursing her fortune, Yang let go of Amat's hand, pressing the device deeper into her ear.
"Sergeant!" Darron's voice cried, desperate and fraught with urgency. "Whkkkkkk" Yang tapped the bead, trying to filter out the static, her heart leaping into her throat. "We're under attack! Xenos! We've been ambushed by Eldar!"
A/N: Uh-oh. WHO COULD'VE PREDICTED THIS?
Joking aside, I really hope you all enjoyed. This chapter was murderous to put together, and one of the most heavily-edited in a long time. It's also the reason I went on an unannounced hiatus for two-months... absolutely could not push the words out for this one. But now it's done! :D Again, I hope you liked it, and be sure to leave any thoughts you may have as a review!
Oh, and if you're looking for soundtrack picks, I highly recommend listening to Gary Clarke Jr.'s Don't Owe You a Thang or Blue Saraceno's Bad Man for Yang's escape from the manor. After the corner pub visit, I highly recommend the shorter version of Bran New Lovesong by The Pillows.
One more note: yes, the local gothic dialect spoken on Gartenwald is a bastardized version of German. No, it was not supposed to be literally German.
Thanks so much for all your reviews, guys! You're the best!
Until next time! :D