Chapter 3
015.M3, Holy Terra, New York, Queens, 29 August
Saturday. A day most kids endure the entire week in expectation of relaxation and fun. A day to hang out with friends and not worry about school work or studies. It was still morning, and Peter had met up with Ned at his friends' house, chatting about the night before while the tv played in the background.
"So Linux Roboto held your phone and worked, like, techno-magic on it?" Ned asked.
"Yeah. It was the weirdest thing. When I went through my phone, I found he'd accessed things that required passwords and those "anti-robot" checks to get through. And he'd done it all in just a couple seconds!" Peter said, still distressed by what went on at the hospital.
"Well, just don't tell Michelle. She'll freak and somehow find a way to rub it in your face," Ned replied.
"Right. I haven't told her much yet about this whole situation, mostly because I don't want to worry her, but also because I know she'd try to go and beat Linux up. But just, ugh, I just wish I could get to the bottom of this."
"Hold it! Something's on the news – hey, isn't that the hospital where those three were sent?"
"You're right. Oh, no. What happened?" Peter asked, suddenly more interested in the broadcast.
«Late last night, a woman and her accomplice have gone missing when Police went to take them in for questioning. These two, » the program displayed blurry gray-scale pictures of the Commissar and Linux, probably taken from security, «have assaulted police officers and are currently holding a 17-year-old teen hostage, though witnesses state that the teen appeared to be working with the other two. If you see these people, do not hesitate to call the police. They are extremely dangerous…»
Ned and Peter exchanged a look.
"Dude, didn't you just speak to them last night?"
"Yeah, but they seemed normal then! Sure, I think the woman nearly punched out one of the ER nurses, but she seemed pretty lucid when I was talking with Linux."
"Pete - You never actually spoke to her. You told me earlier that Linux was translating everything for the both of you. So, she really could be exactly what the news is making her out to be," Ned rationalized.
"Okay. So we know they're weird. We don't know if they're good or bad. We do know they're good at fighting and good at hacking. Now, how do we hunt them down?"
"We've got a couple of choices. We can look for Mr. Roboto – I'm sure he'll generate a lot of conversation wherever he goes from what you've told me. Alternatively, we can monitor police reports while they look for the kid."
Peter thought for a moment. "Can you help me make both happen? That way we'll can look for leads on either person and track them down quicker."
"Let's get started then," Ned said, heading to turn on his computer.
015.M3, Holy Terra, New York, Queens, 25 October
A month. They had been stranded here for over a month, Kasia Poltava mused as she looked out of the window. They'd become squatters. Sam had found this abandoned apartment and the three of them had worked over the course of the month to make it more hospitable. During the first week, they rummaged through dumpsters and trash heaps like underhivers. Their only consolation was that the vermin here were not quite as large or dangerous as those in certain hive cities.
Kasia was eager to explore this new, or was it old, Terra and instructed Enginseer Linux to teach them all the English he had learned in his data-base. Meanwhile, in his free-time, Linux had scavenged enough material to modify their comms and other equipment, still in accordance to the ancient machine writs. Although they may be using less-than-orthodox materials, he would have his own organic parts grafted back onto him before he resorted to tech heresy. He modified the charging cells to be able to recharge more than just charge packs. With prayer, incense, and oil, he performed the rites of power, hooking up the wiring that ran though the place to the modified charger. He gave their little sanctuary self-sustaining power. Then, he'd performed the rites to install his translation program into the comms. While it was unable speak English for them, they could at least begin to understand the words that were being spoken and formulate small, short sentences of their own. Now, at least they could communicate with the locals. The rest of learning would come in time.
Sam was the only of them to find a job. Both Kasia and Sam looked, but only Sam had been hired. Kasia couldn't quite figure why no one saw her fit for any of the positions she'd applied for. She'd applied for supervisory and managerial positions at warehouses and companies. She had exceptional leadership skills. She was a Commissar and Vostroyan First-Born! She'd been enrolled in the Schola Progenium and worked hard to prove herself worthy. She had over 3 decades of experience to prove it! She'd never even landed an interview. Occasionally, there would be the odd reply that none of her experiences existed.
Meanwhile, Sam had applied to lower grunt-type jobs. Warehouses, manual labor, and other jobs of the like. Eventually, he was hired by a cemetery organization. He was to be a groundskeeper. Kasia was perplexed at how the young guardsman was able to find civilian employment with such ease, while she herself kept getting sidelined.
Sam, however, hardly thought anything about the job. His employers seemed a bit hesitant when he was unable to produce a "valid New York State driver's license or other form of ID." He didn't quite understand why his dog tags – which clearly state his name, regiment, home world, and allegiance to the Emperor – did not suffice. For that interview, he'd only gone in fatigues. The first couple of interviews he'd gone to he went in his full kit – one never knows when Chaos, Xenos, or heretics could strike. It had been under Kasia's advisement that he attend in fatigues. During some of their sorties to gather supplies, she had noticed the other civilians general unease at their presence, noting that their eyes lingered on their martial bearing, skull ornamentation, and holy Aquila. Once, someone had shouted at them.
"Nazi bastards," the elderly woman said, spitting on the pavement in their direction. Guardsman Trembley was quick to level his lasgun at the woman, finger light on the trigger, waiting for the command to fire.
"Guardsman, a warning shot, if you will," Kasia ordered in High Gothic. She still wasn't sure what compelled her to give that mercy. Trembley complied in silence, the shot burning into the cement beside the woman. "How dare you disrespect the Emperor!" she chastised, her accent thick upon the strange words of this English.
"Dave! Dave! Call the police! There's some crazy Nazi's with guns!" the woman screamed. Kasia noted how the other civilians in the area had taken out their mobile electronic communicators.
Trembley looked at her expectantly. Were they to cleanse this entire street of traitors? Kasia shook her head. "Let's go home," she commanded softly. Their brisk pace took them several blocks away before they heard the sirens. Thank the Emperor that they'd been able to put enough space between them and the incident. She did not want to have to face the Arbites again.
After that, she'd advised Sam to leave the armor behind. Although this may be Terra, now was not the time to let the Emperor's light be known.
Once Sam had developed a routine at his job and began to tell the others a little more about it, Enginseer Linux perked up at the mention of the place being a burial ground.
"Private Trembley," he'd said, "Would you exhume for me a good skull from an honorable person?" the Tech Priest had asked Sam one day.
"It will be done," Sam replied. Over the course of a couple days, he reviewed the markings on the graves. Not quite knowing who they were or what the little crosses and stars meant, he made a copy of the marker and noted the location. In the wee hours of the morning, he returned in the dark, shovel in hand, and exhumed the skulls of a couple united in death, carefully replacing the soil so none would be the wiser.
It took nearly three days of labor. Linux had successfully constructed two new servo-skulls. They were simple little things. Mono-task skulls with little pincers at the ends of long retractable arms. They were perfect for doing little odd, monotonous jobs like writings, keeping watch, or aiding in manual labors. Linux would have liked to have created a Guardian, but lacking access to the materials to create the gun, it just wasn't feasible. Not yet. Linux had whispered to Sam that, if the young guardsmen was able to find resources in this world and collect skulls and - dare he mention it - living bodies, then their defenses could be bolstered through the use of those servo-skulls and servitors. They could create their own army to better enforce the Omnissiah's will, Linux had mused maniacally. Sam decided it would be best to leave the Tech Priest to his mutterings.
In any event, the little skulls now floated about their apartment, mainly working with brush and bin to tidy the place up. Sam continued working in the cemetery, Linux experimented with different materials, and Kasia worked to keep the household running and moral up. Every morning, she would lead Trembley in prayer to their glorious Emperor, the little Aquila from her own chain serving as their focus. Sam would unconsciously thumb his own bracelet as his thoughts turned to the events of the 41st millennium. In those quiet moments of prayer, all of them would entertain thoughts and memories of the lives they left behind.
Sam was walking through the streets. Today, he was tasked to go shopping for essential foodstuffs. He supposed he was glad that the Commissar knew how to cook. He was used to the near inedible rations that they were issued for whatever campaign he'd been sent to. Hard and dry, things that could survive space and warp and likewise kill the denizens of either if they attempted to consume unawares. He rather did like having these fresh ingredients, he decided.
As he walked past some of the other shops, he noted the change in atmosphere over the past few weeks. The air had changed, becoming colder and crisp, and things were becoming… festive? The unveiling of skulls and other necrotic and mortal imagery reminded him of some of the feasts days and dedications to the Saints and the Emperor. Although orange, black, and purple weren't exactly the most pleasing colors – everyone knows that gold is the way to properly honor the Emperor and his faithful dead - he took some amusement in the sights. The skulls they had on display in the shops were funny. Instead of being true bone, they were cheap plastic imitations. He couldn't fathom why they wouldn't honor the dead with their own, real skulls, but he dismissed the thought, not trying to get caught up in all of the particularities of this strange Terra.
He was shopping in the grocers when it happened.
His Commissar had written they needed. Some staple vegetables – whatever looked fresh – some of that delicious hard-crusted "Italian" Bread, and a cut of steak from the butcher. Sam had practically salivated when she told him she was going to make fresh steak. As he thought about it, being here on this Terra was like being on a civilized world. There were small cities with people, but they still had access to gardens and fresh food. He was trying to decide between vegetables called "sugar snap peas" and "string beans" when someone bumped into him.
"Hey man, sorr- Wait. It's you," the voice said, starting an apology before changing thought. As he turned to face the person, some amount of realization dawned on him. It was the Man of Spiders, the one that Linux had learned so much from.
"Hey, Pete, there a problem?" a short, chubby kid said, taking note of the Man of Spiders' concern. "Wait, is this one of them?" the kid asked in a stage whisper.
"Salve, Man of Spiders. I-" Sam began before being cut off by the kid.
"Shh! No, call me Pete. No one else can know that!" The Man of Spiders – Pete – said frantically.
"Pete," Sam said, trying to commit the name to memory. "I was… shopping for food. I did not expect to see… a person from the… beginning here? I am sorry for how I speak - it is new to me," Sam said, his speech broken and thick with his own accent as he searched for the foreign words.
The other boy had been glancing between Peter and Sam, concern and suspicion written on his face as Sam spoke.
"Okay," Peter shook his head before running a hand through his hair. "What did you guys do? I need to know if I can trust you, because, honestly, after attacking those police officers, I don't know if I can."
Sam looked at Peter, mind clearly concentrating on the words he said.
"It is… a misunderstanding? My Commissar believed the Arbites to think we were in violation of Lex Terra – um… Law of Terra and were to execute their… judgement, upon us."
"So, the obvious choice was to run away from the police officers who were trying to arrest you rather than go with them to present your case," Peter said, his words dripping with sarcasm that Sam didn't seem to get.
"The Arbites are Law. If you break the Law, you… I don't know how to say. You become like body in cemetery?" Sam said. After a moment's pause, he added, "You die," the words remembered in his mind.
Peter wrinkled his brow as a confused smile crossed his face as Sam spoke before he realized what Sam was saying. "Wait. You mean that where you're from, the police kill their suspects?"
"Yes. Walk with me. I need to get these foods back to my Commissar," Sam said, gesturing to the produce currently in his little basket.
"Why would they do that? Aren't there trials before executions?"
"The Arbites – police officer? – est iudex, iudicum, et carnifex."
Peter and Ned exchanged a glance.
"I think you say as "judge, jury, and executioner." You can understand?" Sam added.
Peter and Ned were dumbstruck as the trio moved to the checkout counter, where Sam began unloading his basket.
"So, you have money now?" Peter hazarded to ask, hoping to change to a lighter topic.
"Yes. I give my services as Custodes to the cemetery," Sam said, a little smile playing on his features. "It is very nice. The cemetery is very beautiful. The trees! So many trees! They are old and beautiful. They do not feel evil like Chaos," Sam mused as he paid for his food.
Peter followed with his own groceries, though Ned was the one to speak up. "Dude, you like working in the cemetery? Isn't it weird to be surrounded by all those dead bodies?"
Sam blinked as he turned to the other boy. "I do not believe we have met. I'm Sam Trembley of the Cadian 1214th," he said, holding out a free hand in greeting like he'd seen other "New Yorkers" do.
"Uh, Ned Leeds of, uh, Queens," Ned replied awkwardly, going in for a handshake. He shot a glance to Peter that Sam appeared to more or less ignore.
Instead, Sam continued with his answer as they left the store and began walking down the street. "No. The cemeteries here are small. Intimate? It's strange not seeing thousands of markers together. But a good strange," He said, musing on how they would mark the dead. Often, there wouldn't be a body to send home, but little memorials would be placed within small niches in huge, towering cathedrals of those now lost to the Imperium.
Sam pondered a bit before speaking. "What do you do here?"
Peter and Ned exchanged a look, not quite certain of Sam's meaning. "Uh, Ned and I go to school during the day. Homework takes up a lot of the evenings, but we always find time to talk and hang out," Peter answered.
Sam nodded as his eyes went wide in shock. "You are able to attend a Schola?"
"Yeah. All the kids here attend school. And if we score well enough on the exams, we can go to college," Peter replied nonchalantly.
"Everyone goes? Not just the orphans?" Sam asked, incredulously.
"Yeah. Why? Is it different where you're from?" Peter asked.
Sam nodded. "Only the most… skilled? orphans are selected for the Schola Progenum. I was a Whiteshield for nearly three years, and then I was selected for the 1214th. I was not lucky enough for both my parents to have died in service," he said with a wry smile, "but through me and every Cadian that lives, Cadia stands."
"Wait, what is a Whiteshield?" Ned asked.
"They are young soldier without regiment. Trained past recruit, but no experience." Sam replied.
"Dude! How old are you? You don't look much older than us!" Ned said incredulously.
"17 Terran years. Why? Is that strange?" Sam asked.
"Dude! You're like some… child soldier! You must've been, like, 14 when you started! That's insanely illegal!" Ned exclaimed. Peter, too, had an expression of shock plastered across his face. "Holy shit, Pete, if Michelle ever hears about this, she'd go crazy."
As Peter and Ned discussed the supposed insanity of Sam's upbringing, Sam lightly touched the small vox-bead in his ear. «Enginseer Linux. Tell the Commissar I will be delayed. I have found the Man of Spiders and he is telling me more about this planet. I have the groceries,» Sam said quietly in High Gothic.
The Tech Priest voiced an affirmative through the bead's channel.
Peter couldn't believe it. Actually, he could. He just didn't want to. When he first found Sam in the alley, "child-soldier" had been one of the first thoughts that raced through his mind. Hearing it from the guy's own mouth, though, was disturbing. He felt like he should really try to get in contact with SHIELD about them, but a little spark of stubbornness inside him was throwing a fit saying "Don't!" For all he knew, SHIELD would make it worse. Sam and the other two were already flighty from their initial police encounter. He could just picture SHIELD showing up, trying to strong-arm them into the fold.
Peter also was feeling a little rebellious. He had asked Ned to contact SHIELD in the beginning, but they ignored him. He had tried to make them understand about the appearance of these strange, otherworldly people, but SHIELD had dismissed him. It was up to him and Ned. But also in thinking about it, Sam didn't come across as out-right evil or anything. Just different. Even Linux, the weird computer guy, hadn't seemed malicious when he'd taken all of Peter's info from his phone. It was more of a misunderstanding of the worst kind. Peter decided it would be best to get to know them. What was the old saying? "Keep your friends close and enemies closer?" He was definitely going to keep these guys close.
Sam eventually broke Peter's and Ned's musings. "I need to take these home," he said, gesturing to the bags in his arms. "Do you want to come with me?" he offered.
Peter and Ned exchanged a look. Ned, Peter presumed, was most likely thinking that that he would be able to meet Mr. Roboto. Peter similarly saw this as an opportunity to learn more about them, that he would be able to find out more about how they were living and blending in and whether he needed to maintain a more stringent focus on them. However, Peter also had his own bag of groceries. He'd promised Aunt May that he would do the shopping for dinner and get the candy for the Halloween candy bowl. Inwardly, he sighed.
"Sorry. I gotta get these back home, too. Maybe we could meet up Halloween? We could meet you after you finish work at the cemetery," Peter suggested.
Sam, however, looked a bit confused. "Hallo-ween? I do not know it?"
"Oh, well, it's this Friday. Kids and people dress up in fun costumes and go house-to-house trick-or-treating to get candy," Peter tried to explain unsuccessfully. He frowned as Sam's eyes continued to glaze over in unfamiliarity. "Just, after work, make sure you have a costume. Ned and I will give you the full Halloween experience then."
"We will?" Ned asked.
"Yeah. We'll go trick-or-treating, walk through a haunted house, go to a party – those sorts of things. I gotta get these home. I'll see you then?" Peter said, waving goodbye.
"It shall be so," Sam replied, returning the wave and departing from the other two to return to his own home.
AN: Well, this was the supposed "Halloween" special, but I only finished organizing all my thoughts, like, a week before Halloween. Plus, I like to think of Halloween being something of a liminal space. Get ready for the Plot to thicken.
As always, I do not own Marvel, the Avengers, Spider-Man, Warhammer 40k, or GW. This is being written purely for fun, as to see how would our "modern" superhero-flavored Earth would survive these visitors from a grim, dark future where these is only war.