A/N: Yeah, not dead yet.
Baria PDF Headquarters
Situation Room
Radio chatter merged into white noise, filtering in from cogitators which towered floor to ceiling on the right. Operating the switchboards and entering data into the central command interface required twenty staff officers at all times in this room, just operating the equipment on this one wall.
To the left where the floor sloped up, rows after rows of analysts and translators worked on cogitators and typewriters, entering in situation reports to be displayed on the central piece of the room; a pit of black sand, shivering and twisting in its three dimensional representation of operational theater.
"How long was I gone?"
All eyes fell on Olenk's piston-powered arm. On the magnetic display, at the center of the room, she saw a map of the Capital's sub-urban area, close to the warehouses district. The metallic filings making up a short rounded building were tinted red, which a hand-drawn legend, taped to the display's frame, claimed marked AdMech facilities.
Someone, far beneath Olenk in rank, tapped something on the display and the shimmering metallic sand collapsed.
To the left, past the desk-filled slope to the CO's office, a sharply dressed lieutenant walked out "A long time." Said the man, taking in Olenk's singlet, caked with blood and sweat, and disheveled hairs "I'm afraid the governor no longer trusts you to make decisions on his behalf."
Looking around, Olenk saw no new faces, no royal guard insignias, except on the lieutenant's shoulder. "So he sent you to relieve me of my command?" His reply fell on deaf ears, as Olenk considered this.
None of the staff officers met her gaze, so she turned back to the lieutenant, "There is a Xenos, or worst, a heretic running around the capital, Lieutenant," she boomed, loud enough to be heard across the room, "I don't care who you are or who your orders are from, I am instituting a general order effective immediately: Orders are to come from me and nobody else, Lieutenant Fancy here is going to be my buddy, if he is seen without me at his side, he is to be detained and the Magos Biologis Provost is to be notified, same if I am caught without him!"
The lieutenant went to object, but she forced him aside and stepped back into the situation room proper.
"As of right now, you will shit in pairs, you will eat in pairs, hell, you will wank in pairs! If you lose sight of your comrade for more than three minutes, you will both be detained and we will perform any test Magos Provost deems necessary, individuals seen walking alone are to be detained and shot at the slightest sign of treachery… And when I say shot, I mean vaporised! We face a foe that can take the face of any of us, act accordingly!"
The Lieutenant put his hand on Olenk's shoulder. "The Governor…" Her gaze stopped him and he quickly withdrew his hand.
"Trust me, kid, nothing in the world I want more than to make this your problem, but that is not happening, not this time."
With that, she motioned to her aide, a skinny corporal with dirty brown hairs, and began grilling them on the happenings of the last hours.
His report of the bus incident sent her straight back to Provost's room, though she had to stop herself at the doorframe of the situation room to yell back "If the lieutenant does not follow me within ten seconds, shoot them, with all the respect due a royal guard officer, of course!" And she left.
The lieutenant made no motion to follow, until a series of muted pops, about eight by his best reckoning, resounded across the room. Holsters being un-clipped.
He ran to catch up to the Major.
Dockside Ghetto
800 metres from PDF Headquarters.
Further down, overlooking the docks, stands a twelve stories tower. These are proper nautical docks, not the fancy spaceport from the city centre. The PDF headquarters used to be a prison, build waterside to allow dissenters to be loaded in quickly, and for bodies to be disposed off conveniently.
My father's death haunts me again. The man's one moment of giving a frak, and it cost him his life, but the petty, childish desire for revenge is not why I am here. I am a labourer, not a scholar, though I was fortunate to be given an above average education, I still know nothing of the world at large. Most people in this building know even less, all but one, in fact.
Magos Biologis Provost.
The Sergeant knew some useful things, now that I have a moment to look into it. He was a rat bastard for sure, and every time I dig into his thoughts, he disgusts me a bit more, but at least it doesn't cause me actual pain anymore.
He had been obsessed with the Machine Cult adept, but nothing to do with her as a person; Man had… Appetites… Her synthetic limbs were the source of his fixation, more specifically, the part where human flesh had been carved and metal grafted to it. He would often arrange to be on guard in her room, finding any excuse to "accidentally" barge in as she was in various states of undress. The creativity of his excuses baffles even me, and I can become an entirely different person on command!
"Sarge, you were a deeply troubled man." I groan, shaking his fixations out of my head.
Around me, night has fallen again. It's odd, time passes at a crawl when I am threatened, and loses all meaning when I am on the prowl, blending into a crowd or waiting for an opportunity. It's rather odd, I was never a patient man.
If the bums around me, warming themselves by barrel fires or under sheets of platicards, hear my grumbling, they must chalk it up to another madman wandering the streets.
Even when I transform myself into the overweight sergeant, I only get glances.
I wish I had access to a typewriter, or just ink and paper, but cannot think of any way to get them without causing more commotion. Instead, I click the vox built into the sergeant's helmet, trying not to get distracted by the questions brought forth by my body's ability to recreate functional electronics, and announce in the sergeant's voice.
"Command, this is…" On cue, as though reading my mind, the vox seizes up and garbles the identification. "Just got done following a lead on the bus attack. I need Magos Provost on the horn. Over."
No answer for a second. Then a voice comes back. "This is Command, identify yourself."
"This is…" Your sister, "Authorization code… " Blow me. "Over."
Again, the answer comes, metallic and slightly irritated. "Unintelligible, repeat last. Over."
This is not going to work. As a last ditch effort, I shout, in my best Non-Comissioned tone,
"Have urgent traffic for Magos Provost regarding possible Xenos infiltration, you will patch me through right this instant!"
There is a beat, then the answer comes. "Standbye."
A minute passes and a female voice comes through, "Milandra Provost, Magos Biologis, who is this?"
Does she know the sergeant is dead? Can't risk it, going to try and finesse this. "Thank you for agreeing to speak to me, Magos, I…"
"Who is this?" She insists.
Gotta answer without answering, huh? Come to think of it, what's a name going to mean to her? "This is Private Matthias Kells, I was part of the patrol investigating the bus incident."
"I have the report of this incident already, private, why are you contacting me, what is this about a Xenos infiltration?" She is not having any of it, is she?
"I tracked down and interviewed some more witnesses, Magos, and some of the information is concerning to me."
She says nothing for a second. "Go on."
How do I describe to her what I saw? A lot of people survived the incident, she will have gotten a pretty good idea of what the creature looked like, but I got a look under its skin. "The second subject, the one our primary target ate?"
"He what?" Ah, skak, guess nobody saw that.
"Witnesses report the second subject was ripped apart and eaten by our target. They claim to have seen a sort of chitinous carapace under its skin, and an extra arm, with pincers, under its clothes. It was not human, but masquerading as one."
Again with the silence. She's not buying it… She's from the machine cult, odds are she is triangulating my exact position right now and there is a Deathstrike missile underway already… "Omnisiah…" Her voice is soft, "Private, I thank you for your service. Does your kit contain suicide pills?"
Oh… Emperor help me, the cog-head is afraid. "Magos, what are we dealing with?"
"I cannot discuss this with you, Private, please answer my question." Noted, next time, impersonate an officer. Stupid mistake.
"Yes, Magos, it does, what of it?"
"Your patrol has returned already, your isolation means you could be infected, I am sorry." She sounds sincere.
I can use this. "I will do my duty, Magos, but I don't want to die without knowing what I am fighting, please, grant me the dignity of looking my death in the eyes…"
"Tyranids, Genestealers, from your description, and something else." Her response comes instantly, as if pouring from a pressurised bottle.
"How will it happen? Worst case scenario, what will happen to my home?"
She tells me. She tells me more than I wanted to hear, more than she should be telling some kid about to pop a suicide pill. Matthias' personality tells me she's being too forthcoming. Got no reason to spill her guts like this.
An insectoid invader devouring the biosphere of my homeworld pales in comparison to whatever she has on her mind. I don't believe anything she tells me is fabricated, because I had read a bit on Tyrannids and much of it coincides, though what I read was heavily propagandised.
Genestealers. How long have they been here? I lived on Baria my whole life, I would know if some four armed fraks were running around. Then again, my yoga teacher turned me into an apex predator with a kiss, who knows what else I didn't know?
"Taking the pill now, thank you, Magos."
"Thank you, Private Kells, I will see to it that your sacrifice is honoured by your colleagues."
Dana once told me about wolves. On old Terra, for a while, they had all but been wiped out, and vermin began spreading. With great effort, the governments of the time re-introduced them to keep the preys in check, now knowing that wolves never preyed on humans before.
Yet the surviving wolves had learned to adapt to an environment where humanity ruled. Pets started vanishing, then cattle, then hikers. The wolves were blamed and poachers began hunting them once more, even when it was found that bears, now competing with the wolves, were to blame for the disappearances, wolves were still reviled in these areas.
Come at me, Tyranids, the Wolf of Baria awaits.
