THREE
As a general rule of thumb for commissars, unless you have a reputation like Cain, people are generally going to try and find new and inventive ways to stick it to you. Many times during my career I found myself sitting in medicae facilities or resting in my quarters for excruciating long periods nursing some miscellaneous injury. Most physicians, I realized, will avail themselves of any delay that could be safely taken to ensure a commissar stays off the field and away from his regiment. They would do that as a sort of favour to the regiment, who enjoy the time away from their commissar's whip. Of course, were I so inclined I could have simply picked up my things, marched out the door, and threatened to shoot anybody who got in my way. I had the authority to do that, after all. But while I may have been a commissar, I was not a doctor and I had little understanding of how my body worked. At the time my knowledge of medicine could be boiled down to one simple phrase'don't get shot.'
Thus, when the doctor told me to take the next few weeks off from battlefield duties so I didn't strain my injuries, I went with their judgment. I remained aboard the Emperor's Beneficence toiling away at any work I could scrounge up, even going so far as to start pestering the ship's captain take some of the load off of him by managing disciplinary forms. I had no authority on a naval ship, of course, but he said I was free to act as an advisor so long as it kept the dataslates off his desk for a while and out of his hair.
I had been reassured several times that my new biotic eye was being fixed up by a techpriest and would be ready for installation in a few weeks. The biotic required plenty of extra scans, tests, and blessings to ensure it functioned properly, Again, I was no doctor and definitely no techpriest so I had no idea if they were telling me the truth or just taking whatever chance they could to mess with me. The weeks, however, began to drag on and from what I could tell from the reports I got from the 597th, things were going relatively smoothly on the planet's surface, though they had been running into problems with their investigations as to the source of the heretical incursion on the planet. Occasionally, when boredom began to take a firm hold of me, I petitioned the doctor's to reconsider their original assessment of my condition but they remained steadfast. In my youth, I was far too naïve and trusting…I should've just told them to frak off and went on my way. Of course, if I had that route then things would have turned out drastically different for me.
Toiling away aboard the Emperor's Beneficence was tedious at the best of times. Without any Guardsmen aboard there was little for me to do and no one for me to socialize with. Navy boys weren't too interested in dealing with commissars. On the bright side, though, I didn't have to worry much about the Valhallans and how I would make myself a part of their regiment. No doubt they were equally content that I was stuck out in orbit. Cain's passing remarks about the weather in Glacier Peak served to further reassure me of my decision to remain in orbit during the campaign. My brain probably would have frozen solid if I had to fight outdoors on the dark side of Adumbria, which was all the more likely with only a few centimeters of bone and flesh separating my brain from the outside weather thanks to the newly excavated crater in my face. Between freezing every fluid in my body down in Glacier Peak or stewing in utter boredom in orbit, it was obvious to me which was the better choice. Of course, it was a decision that I revisited when the heretic fleet arrived in full force. The fleet was mostly comprised of large transport vessels escorted by some cruisers and one hell of a large battleship. Freezing started to seem like a better alternative as the days passed and the fleet drew closer, the heretical battleship plowing through our outer defenders without giving them a passing thought. I had only a small window of opportunity to make my decision – stay aboard the troopship and hope we didn't get blown out of orbit or commandeer a courier vessel and make my way to the planet's surface.
It was a tough call but I figured that my chances for survival were pretty even either way, so the only factor to consider was the death itself. Even if I did manage to make it to the starport in the planetary capital of Skitterfall, it was going to soon be overrun with heretics and the same went with Glacier Peak or if I felt crazy and decided to go down to the hot side to the Tallarns. There was a good chance I'd get gunned down or chopped to pieces if I went groundside. In orbit, however, I had no ability to defend myself and was sitting aboard a troopship, which was only lightly armed, about as maneuverable as a brick and sittingjust a touch to the left of the last and largest torpedo magnet remaining in orbit. The possibility of transferring over the Indestructible, the battle cruiser still parked in orbit to protect us, had crossed my mind briefly but being aboard the highest priority target seemed like an even less-desirable situation. At the very least, if I died out in space it would be swift…or so I assumed. I knew very little of the effects of being sucked out into the vacuum of space, though I imagined the chilling temperatures would make it a very brief affair.
In the end, I decided to just stay put and take my chances aboard the troopship. Hell, I could even catch a nap while I waited for the fireworks to start. A part of me sort of envied Cain at that moment, at least being able to be in the thick of it all and having far more control over his destiny than I did at the moment. Though when I read some of his after-action reports, I was glad to have been declared by the doctors unfit to fight.
For the most part, the Emperor Beneficence managed to get out of the ensuing orbital battles relatively unscathed. I had been awoken at first by the general alarms but considering there was nothing I could do to change things, I merely grabbed some plugs and tried to get some more rest. I figured if I was going to die, I could do that just as easily in my sleep. By the time I awoke once more, the fighting had passed with the battleship apparently blown apart by some clever tactics on the part of the Indestructible's captain. As more and more reports began to filter back to the ships, I kept an eye out for battlefield reports in hopes that the regiment would remain intact enough for me to rejoin them. As I had hoped, and partly expected from my first impressions of them, the Valhallans had pulled through remarkable well and I was able to catch a courier down to Skitterfall within a few days after the end of general combat.
By the time I caught up with Cain, he seemed in remarkable good spirits despite everything that I had heard. Beije had apparently cooked up some bogus accusations against him, which were summarily dismissed as a load of grox shit by a tribunal. A pity I never got an opportunity to see how that little pious asshole reacted to the news.
"Well look who finally made it to the planet," Cain said cheerfully when he spotted me approaching. I found him with Kasteen and Broklaw, both of whom looked well despite the chaos that had briefly engulfed the planet.
"Depth perception is one of those things you never appreciate until you pour hot recaff on your lap," I joked as I fell in step with them, though I didn't know where they were heading off to as of yet. "I heard you were very busy sir – bagging a couple of chaos marines and a daemon to boot."
"I had help," he replied, modestly shrugging his shoulders as if standing against a space marine in close quarters was as simple as putting down a domesticated grox.
"Still haven't gotten your biotic yet?" Broklaw asked when he noticed that I still had a large piece of gauze taped onto my face. I shrugged indifferently. With the worst of the fighting over I lost any interest in getting the eye replaced in a hurry. And, as I mentioned to the major, the surgeons had their hands full treating all the wounded so my case was even less of a priority than it would normally be.
Cain eventually led us to a little restaurant, which was tucked away in what appeared to be an older quarter of the city judging by the more rustic architecture and the fine wood trimming that lined the restaurant's doors and windows. Aside from a section of the restaurant that had been accidentally renovated into a patio section, the restaurant had managed to survive the worst of the invasion. The front of the restaurant looked fine…until I noticed that the large glass panes that flanked the front door were completely absent, likely due to whatever blew apart the heretical tank whose wreckage still sat on the street nearby. I noticed a few juvies gawking at the ruined machine with curious fascination before being shooed away by a nearby Guardsman, who saluted when he noticed the four of us walking by.
The inside of the restaurant itself was still a work in progress, though most of the debris from the semi-collapsed roof had been cleared away along with any bodies (as I noticed a few red stains still persisting in the wood flooring). Chairs and tables had been neatly arranged as expected, although aside from ourselves and the owners the place was quite empty. Speaking of the owner, he was overjoyed to see us coming through the door, which upon closer examination was barely attached the doorframe. Like many citizens of Adumbria, he had nothing but gratitude to lavish upon us with, not to mention all the food and drink, my companions were happy to receive.
We helped ourselves to a booth next to where a front window used to be, thus granting us a pleasant view of the streets, as well as the wrecked tank, and giving us the option to chat up any Guard officers or troopers that happened to pass by. Kasteen and Broklaw took the opportunity to share with me some of the finer points of the Valhallans' part in the campaign. The owner of the restaurant was true to his word, too, as he brought over copious amounts of what he called 'his finest' dishes and, to nobody's surprise, the moment Cain's name came up the man was pretty much over himself in awe. As usual, Cain did his best to play down the constant stream of platitudes but he did manage to get the owner to break out a well-aged bottle of amasec for us to enjoy, which we most certainly did.
It was over my second glass of amasec when I noticed a few Guardsmen across the street, likely on their routine patrol; they bore the trenchcoats and hanging gasmasks of a Krieg Death Corp and I was overjoyed at the prospect of being able to mingle with fellow Kriegans. Broklaw must have followed my gaze because he looked over in the same direction and let out a quiet groan of veiled unease.
Cain, ever the observant individual, was first to react as I had been so relieved at the sight of the Kriegans that I had only just barely noticed Broklaw's reaction. "Something wrong major?"
"Hm?" Broklaw must have been surprised to notice Cain's quick response, though from what I learned over time the major was not a man who kept his thoughts inside. "It's nothing really, just those Death Corp guys bother me."
"What's wrong with the Death Corp?" I asked. Broklaw must have mistaken my confusion for naivety.
"Most of them are clones for starters and I've never liked the idea of clones. There's a reason it's so restricted," Broklaw explained. "They're pretty dull to talk to too…usually going on about death and duty like they're actually looking forward to dying on the battlefield. Those Kriegans are just…well overly depressing. It's really annoying."
"You do know that I'm from Krieg," I finally revealed to the major, whose embarrassment was quickly evident by his fluster. The fact that I was sitting in the booth next to him didn't help matters either, not that I actually took any offense to what Broklaw said. If anything, he did have a bit of a point – cloning was barred in the Imperium for a reason, Kriegans were a rather gloomy bunch as a whole, and the Death Corp do go on about it a fair bit about death and duty. For people not familiar with Krieg and its history, these all would seem to be rather puzzling. To me though, these seemed rather matter of fact and likely no different than how a Cadian viewed their own place in the Imperium.
For you readers unaware of the nature of Krieg and its people, I'll give you the quick summary (if you hadn't already looked it up in another text since I have mentioned it repeatedly already): Krieg underwent a civil war that lasted for centuries and resulted in enough nuclear devastation to get Krieg reclassified as a death world. That civil war, though, bred the descendants of Krieg into the fierce fighting race they are today and our reputation for remaining stalwart even in the face of overwhelming odds earned our planet the right to clone its population in order to bolster its numbers. Sure, we Kriegans can be a gloomy bunch at times but you rarely had to worry about morale…we didn't have any to start with so there is no effort required to maintain it. Members of the Death Corp don't care if they live or die…just so long as it's in service to the Emperor.
"You're not going to tell me you're a clone too?" Broklaw said when he recovered from his slight embarrassment.
"Emperor no, I was born the old fashion way," I insisted, though to be honest if it were the case I could have gone through most of my life without knowing. "According to my father, I wasn't actually born on Krieg."
"Then where?" Kasteen asked, though my only answer was a shrug. I was never told and quite frankly I didn't care. I might not have been born on Krieg but I was just as much a child of it. Where I was born exactly never came up in any discussions with my dad and, given the circumstances surrounding my birth, I could just have easily been born on a ship in transit, which wasn't too uncommon for people.
"All I know is that I was conceived while my dad was on deployment to some isolated rock circling a dying star and when I was born I was handed over to dad who took me back to his home on Krieg."
"And your mother"
Again, all I had for them was another shrug. "Died years ago from what my dad told me. Kind of a shame, he also spoke so fondly of her…but I gathered both of them were too married to their duties to ever really make a proper family. Apparently mom would have made even worse parenting material than my old man."
"What did you mother do exactly?"
"Seraphim I'm told."
I never get many opportunities to surprise people, least of all to the extent that I did that day. Cain nearly choked on his amasec when I mentioned that, while Kasteen and Broklaw simply stared at me in disbelief. You didn't see many commissars that had a mother in the Adepta Sororitas and, as far as I know, I'm still the only one. The fact that most daughters had a tendency to follow their mothers into the Sororitas just made my case all the rarer. I like to think that I inherited my fierce dedication and determination from her but more likely I probably just got her temper and penchant for solving difficult problems by blasting the frak out of it.
Anybody who has ever had to get an eye replaced can understand the period of adjustment I had to go through, as can anybody whose ever gotten a limb replaced. Just like how a man who has had his arm replaced will spend the next few days bumbling his recaff and cursing his shoelaces, I had to adjust to life seeing things in a slightly different light.
My surgery for my new biotic eye did not occur for several more weeks as more life-threatening matters took precedence. Even then it still took me a few days of nagging, and maybe a casual threat or two, before I finally got my surgery booked and checked into the medicae facility. With Skitterfall slowly returning to normalcy, I was able to make use of the civilian facilities rather than the makeshift medicae facility used by the Guard surgeons. The process went smoothly as I'm told and by the end of the day I was playing with my new toy, which was now wired into my brain. I had opted for the smallest model that my modest salary could afford and thanks to a surprisingly generous donation from Penlan, who continued to apologize profusely for years afterwards, I was able to afford a high-quality model that I was told would last longer than I would. As it turned out it wouldn't outlast me but the doctor couldn't have predicted the kind of things I would subsequently put it through over the years.
I had spent the weeks before worrying that the process would look awkward and cumbersome, not to mention prove problematic for my usual habit of regularly wearing my gas mask but when the doctor handed me a mirror I was pleasantly surprised at the result. Most of the scarred tissue had been covered up with a thin metal plate that encircled my orbit in a c-shape, ending just at the edges of my nose. Several barely noticeable wires were visible below the surface of my skin, sloping down the pit of my eye socket and into the small, ocular unit that had been fitted into place. The lens unit itself had a very low profile, much to my surprise, and it barely protruded out from the socket. In fact, if it had a rounded dome and I still had an eyelid left, it probably could have fit right under it, giving me the ability to blink once more.
Speaking of blinking, that was one of the toughest things to get used to with a biotic eye – you can't 'close' that eye so there is a constant feed of information no matter what you did. Most people, myself included, find a odd sense of relief in being able to shut one's eyes and plunge everything in darkness, even if its for just a moment. That wasn't quite the case anymore. When I blinked I could still see the world around me; when a bright light forced me to squint I could still see everything. Unless I turned the eye off directly, I would still get images even when I slept (if one could get to sleep with an active biotic eye). That sensory overload was difficult to adjust to at first and it resulted in a frustration with your predicament and your only option is to get used to it.
The second problem was the slight sense of double-vision that comes from the fact that the new eye could see with far better clarity than my natural one. In fact, when I first got it installed the techpriest had the lenses adjusted improperly and I could barely see straight. A few adjustments later, though, and I just had the normal sense of double-vision. Again, it is something that you have to get used to and after a few weeks I barely even noticed the sensory difference.
Once I had adjusted to it, though, I started to forget about it altogether and it felt as natural as the rest of my body, save for the fact I need to clean the lens every so often. My position of authority even afforded me some addendums that normally aren't available in the civilian market, including an increased in spectral sensitivity, including low-light and thermal, and a small tactical uplink. Were I so inclined, and I was half-tempted when the techpriest explained it, to get the full tactical upgrade package but that required I get a few chips installed into my brain and a larger ocular unit, which I really didn't want. Being able to see enemies a bit more clearly was enough of an advantage for me.
Now I had never considered myself to be vain or insecure about my personal appearance; I spent what I figured was an average amount of time grooming myself in the morning if time permitted and I never worried about my appearance save for what was required by Commissarial codes of dress and deportment. Besides, if I were a victim of vanity, I would have had far more concerning issues than just my biotic eye. Still, I spent the days after my surgery staring aimlessly into the mirror, as though I was trying to will myself to accept my new appearance. I spent an inordinate amount of time sitting in my billet in Skitterfall, which Cain was kind enough to arrange for me in a hotel that the lord general had been using as his headquarters, making liberal use of any reflective surface I could find. It was almost to the point where it was getting hazardous for me to just pass a reflective piece of dinnerware. I would have had to settle on the drastic measure of covering up all the mirrors had it not been a well-timed intervention.
"Maybe I should have insisted on the brass plating," I muttered idly, running a fingertip along the c-shaped metallic plate that encircled my eye. The piece of metal had a steel-like finish to it, which blended in well when I let my hair down, though I wondered if the yellow-brown tone of brass would better blend with my complexion. After you've stared at your face in a mirror for almost an hour you find yourself focusing on the smallest little details and, like pretty much every one else in the universe, I was particularly critical regarding the image that stared back at me.
I only turned away from the vanity mirror when I heard somebody knocking on the door. A few moments later I was greeted to the sight of Major Broklaw. I admit, I was a little surprised to see him and he too seemed a bit uncertain as to whether or not he should be there.
"My apologies, Commissar Abel, I'm not interrupting you am I?" he asked politely, probably noticing I was still holding the mirror.
"Oh, this? Nothing serious…just adjusting to me the new me," I answered honestly, figuring that a bit of openness would help ease my transition into the Valhallans, since it had been so abruptly interrupted the first time around. "What can I do you for Major?"
"Commissar Cain asked for me to deliver these to you," he explained, handing over a couple of dataslates. This act left me entirely confused and it was one of the last things I had expected from Broklaw. Anybody could've dropped off a pile of dataslates and if they were from Cain he could have had his aide accomplish that easily. What was Broklaw doing playing courier? If Cain was involved, I had to suspect that there were some angles being played.
"Since when did you become his messenger?" I replied, making no attempt to hide my skepticism. Broklaw probably didn't expect me to buy his original reason as he didn't seem too surprised by my response. I offered the major a seat but he didn't take, which led me to believe he didn't plan on staying for very long.
"To be frank, a few of us were concerned – you hadn't been outside your room for several days now," Broklaw explained. Whether they were genuinely concerned for my well-being or simply didn't want to risk me going topside (another Krieg saying, derived from the saying 'going topside in the buff,' which was a reference to somebody being either incredibly stupid or completely insane), I couldn't tell. Still, for Broklaw of all people to come it seemed out of place; a lackey could have checked on me to similar effect.
"Aw, Ruput, I didn't know you cared," I joked sarcastically. When I noticed he bristled at the remark, I decided it'd be better not to scoff at it. "Seriously, I'm fine. It's just taking me a little getting used to the changes, that's all." I emphasized the point by taking another glance into the mirror, poking and prodding lightly at my eye's periphery as though I still had trouble believing it was an inseparable part of me now. "It just looks weird…you know what I mean? Plus, I've been lucky so far that nobody's caught wind of what actually happened but with Corporal Penlan still spouting apologies like a fountain people are going to start asking questions and then I'm going to be a laughing stock around here."
"You're worrying too much," Broklaw reassured me.
"Easy for you to say, you don't have people snickering when you're trying to discipline people half a head taller than you."
"It's better than what Cain had to deal with when he first got attached," Broklaw explained, chuckling lightly under his breath as he reminisced on those memories. What my original briefing slates had failed to mention was just how fractured the original regiment was when it was formed from the existing elements of the 296th and 301st, which Cain subsequently had to deal with. Apparently, they were literally at each other's throats but Cain somehow managed to glue the pieces together into a fighting regiment that was worthy of its reputation on the battlefield. I truly would have been in over my head if I had to instill discipline in a regiment that unruly.
With my insistence that my mental health was in good order, I half-expected Broklaw to head out again to rejoin the rest of his regiment in their usual nightly celebration of victory over the heretics (celebrations that continued every night for quite some time judging by the number of disciplinary reports I had to file). However, he remained as he was, suggesting that there was still something left to unload on me and the true reason for his presence.
"The planetary regent has organized a gala of sorts to properly celebrate the planet's successful defense," Broklaw explained. The news didn't come as much of a surprise, save for my curiosity as to why it had taken so long to organize one (apparently a crashing shuttle clipped the roof of the governor's palace, collapsing a section of the building's west wing). "The senior staffs from all the Guard regiments are being asked to attend."
"Be sure to smuggle a few bottles out for the troops. They deserve as much credit as the rest of you," I said dismissively, knowing full well where he was going with this and trying to subtly steer it away from me.
"Cain felt it would rude to leave you out of the festivities as you are part of the senior staff."
"True…but I didn't do anything. I sat in a bed and jiggled my mask during the entire campaign."
"Like any of them will know that," Broklaw said, shrugging dismissively at the prospect of lying to the nobility of Adumbria, not that any of us cared about the opinions of those disgustingly wealthy oafs. Nonetheless, the major argued a good point and if Cain felt strongly about my presence then I had to put my trust in the commissar's judgment. When I asked him for the date, he gave me a smirk that bordered on devious and answered that I had an hour to get ready to go. "Cain suggested that if we gave you less time in advance to prepare, you'd be more decisive," he explained when my shock at the news became self-evident in my expression. I think he enjoyed the look on my face a bit too much.
"I guess I have no choice," I sighed lightly, running a checklist through my head of what I'd need to do in order to make myself properly presentable for a formal occasion. On one hand there wasn't any time to get my uniform properly cleaned but the good news was my absence in the campaign meant it was still immaculate and only required a quick pressing. My eyes drifted back to the mirror, as if I had to check once again to make sure that I still had a biotic eye. Suddenly, Broklaw pulled the mirror from my grip and proceeded to smash it against the wall as though he was a christening a new cruiser. "I'll um…get started on my boots then," I acquiesced as the major handed the mirror's frame back to me.
"We'll meet you out front in an hour."
Since I didn't have any option, other than risking losing all credibility with Cain and the others, I tidied myself up as best I could and met the others outside. Once again I must give credit to Cain and his uncanny ability to understand the subtleties of those working around him. Were he not so charismatic and his reputation so firmly grounded, he could probably have twisted the entire command staff of the 597th around his finger with this unparalleled skill of his. Hell, he could have been the most self-serving, hedonistic bastard in the universe and we wouldn't have been able to tell the difference. Putting me out into the public, least of all surrounded by scores of people who pretty much made it their life's goal to be as shallow as humanly possible, forced me to put trivialities like my insecurities aside to focus on the task of getting through the evening with my dignity intact. And, as Cain no doubt expected, during the whole night the issue of my eye never became a problem for me barring a few moments when people asked if I had lost my eye during the conflict; I aimed to be as vague as possible, commenting that I simply took a lasbolt to the eye when I had a lapse in concentration and left out the minor detail of 'it was from my own troops' and 'days before the assault' out of the conversations.
By the night's end Cain's plan had come full circle and I had lost all concern about how my new look might adversely affect people's reaction to me. Such big social affairs weren't really my thing but I managed to hold my own, following friendly advice from Kasteen and hiding behind Broklaw's blunt mannerisms whenever I needed a break from the civvies. I saw little of Cain that night and I half-suspected that some nobilite's impressionable young daughter had ushered him away from the crowds. All the better for him I suppose. I did my best to stick close to the colonel and major for the night, though the sight of a woman in commissarial garbs did attract the usual sort of attention, not to mention endless remarks of people who 'didn't think there were any women in the commissariat.'
Within an hour I wanted to punch the next dignitary to make that remark regardless of their gender, rank or status. Cooler heads, and a helping of quality amasec, prevailed thankfully.
The night would leave me with many memories that I would carry over the decades – some bad, a lot good, and a few that would trouble me for the following years.
Not that in the aftermath I had such time to think about those things. By the end of the next month our regiment was told to pack its bags and get on board the transport in orbit because there were still worlds in danger and the enemies of the Imperium never slept.