Chapter 12: Field Investigations
All things considered, it wasn't too hard to find Jeshuas.
The city was large- much larger than Osmaer had originally gathered. Alleyways, public parks, suburbs, all crammed together in a compact space. It was like one of the "Hive" cities Osmaer had learned about during induction. He didn't have much hope, as none of the locals seemed to understand him. Despair had begun to kick in as he raced through a park, but it was as if a switch flipped as he was running. All of a sudden people were running in the same direction, with hurried shouts about "Imperials". Some people had begun to tail him, but these ones were heading in an opposite direction. He paid little mind at first, but slowly the realisation set in. He slowed, then turned and followed the crowd, baking hot in the no-water-land sun.
As to be expected, Osmaer was both parts amused and petrified at the scene. Jeshuas was explaining in great detail the biology of some sort of Xeno species. His pet servo-skull was projecting images onto a nearby wall, and the whole crowd of locals were watching with excitement and some doubt as Jeshuas continued rambling.
"As I shall further establish, the term "xenos" is what - ah, Osmaer!" Jesh announced cheerfully as Osmaer pushed his way to the front. He stormed up to the Mechanicus man and jabbed a finger at him.
"Where- why- what do you think you're doing?" Osmaer hissed, stunned at the Techpriest's insubordination.
"Giving a lecture. These locals are awfully undereducated." Jeshuas replied, without a hint of irony. Osmaer was about to go on a tirade when a local touched his lasrifle.
"Hey, man, is this thing real?" He asked, and Osmaer recoiled, his hand going to his knife.
"Disrespect it again and you shall find out." The local held up his hands and there was a brief moment of quiet as Osmaer nodded acknowledgingly. "Alright. Jesh, we're-"
"Well, I think it is a good time for a display of Imperial craftsmanship, would you agree?" Jesh asked the crowd, clamping a hand onto Osmaer's shoulder. "I'm sure this brave Guardsman will perform well."
"Jesh- this seems to violate every protocol and law we've set down. We need to return to the meeting, verdagchte!" Osmaer kept his voice low and steady despite the fear bubbling inside of him. He'd be shot for this, he was certain.
"Osmaer." Jeshuas' metallic voice cut Osmaer from his panicked thoughts, as a metal lined hand clamped on his shoulder. "If it is regulation and rule you fear, fear not- under Logi.Protocol_3441, I am free to do as I see fit, to gain information on the local inhabitants. And, under sub-protocol_12%}, the assigned bodyguard to me must-"
"Alright. Understood." Osmaer swallowed the bile in his throat and nodded. "Understood."
"Hey, are we seeing laser guns or what?" A voice in the crowd shouted out, and a hum of laughter followed.
"Fine. Fine!" Osmaer nodded once more to himself, and turned to face the crowd. "I'll need a target of sorts, and I'll need you to step back."
"So what you're seeing here is a Uhlan-Mark-32 Laser-powered field infantry rifle, also known as the Mark-32, or more commonly: the Lasgun, as a broader term. Hits hard, no kick, solid gun."
Osmaer sometimes wondered if he should've enlisted. Today was most certainly one of those times. Showing a stranded human civilisation the power of imperial technology was tantamount to heresy- but surely, the fear and awe would sway them to the imperial side. Perhaps this would be over quicker if he demonstrated.
"I'm going to need a, uh, target of some sort- anything, really. Something that won't, uh, explode if I shoot it." Osmaer explained to the crowd, as they immediately began to speak among themselves, suggesting things. Several things were offered: objects Osmaer vaguely recognised, small metal tins, with a liquid of sorts in them. He chose the one with the least amount of excess drink, and set it upon the top of a sun-baked stone wall.
"Alright, stand a little way back, please." Osmaer said, turning back to the can at a small distance away. "Don't want any incidents."
Jeshuas began to emit clicking and whirring noises as he ushered the crowd back, and Osmaer was dimly aware of the flying skull hovering around him.
His breath ceased momentarily, as he rested his sights.
"Firing!"
A barely visible beam, flashing somewhat red in the beams of the desert sun, skipped toward the metal tin. With a sharp clinking noise, the can was sent spinning, a neat hole punctured through them and the metal glowing.
The crowd let out a collective breath, before chatter broke out once more. Osmaer shuffled to Jeshuas, tapping him lightly.
"Uh, what n-"
"Quiet."
Jeshuas had a glint in his eye, standing almost paralysed. Then, as if he were waking up, he gasped slightly and shot a look at Osmaer.
"We are needed."
Life is going somewhat well for once. I've missed doing this.
