Chapter 3
The red sun of the Perdore system had begun its ascent across the sky, and uncovered cement was already hot to the touch. It greedily hissed and sucked up any water spilt on it. The members of the Adeptus Administratum scribes and their servants darted between the shade with their cooling devices pulled close, trying to avoid any unwanted tanning or specks of dirt on their clothing. The ground was kept methodically clean by specially equipped servitors, augmented to tolerate the heat while working tirelessly beneath the nearly unbearable sun.
The Preacher didn't like the heat much better, but forced himself to remain poised and undisturbed, walking in measured stride. The Ecclesiarchy Monasteries had taught him well a large part of his position was leading by example. His flock should only be tasked with copying him, not burdened with the struggle to learn themselves and focus on their toils and work. Ricardo bore the heat with a more natural ease and hadn't even bothered to bring his cooling device, though his thermostats hung heavy and drunk at his waste. Instead he basked in the warmth as only the children of the heat can, leading his Brother through the narrow streets of Grettelute.
His shoulder length hair smooth and silky while Thomas' hair had already begin to to curl further with presperation in the humid, hot air. "So Brother, have you read anything interesting lately?" Brother Ricardo asked his more scholarly companion.
"I wish I had something new to read. " Brother Thomas lied. "I've been trying to find a bookseller for months, but I've been reduced to reading farmers almanacs and the life cycle of the Grox. Did you know that they're so aggressive and stupid "untreated" that they'll charge their own reflections in water? There have been a lot of cases of them knocking themselves unconscious on the rocks below and drowning."
"Hahaha! Thomas, I wish I had a mind like yours. Even the most boring thing becomes interesting when I have you around to talk about it."
Thomas shook his head and drew a deep drink from his thermostat as they began to exit the administrative area and into the tenements. Brightly dyed cloth tarps hung everywhere, flapping gently in the warm breeze and covering most of the walkways and balconies. They provide much needed shade from the sun while allowing the rain to drip right through them, and were a hallmark of the planets cities. "You say that but everyone thinks of you as a hero. You've fought off bandits and heretics with your bare hands, and it is alway you they come to when they need help and are afraid of Moses."
Ricardo's expression became solemn for a moment as he looked at Thomas, before bursting out into laughter again. "Brother. If you knew who you were talking to, you'd eat your words. Yes, I can fight, whether with words or with weapons." His look became solemn once more, but radiated compassion at the same time. "But Brother Thomas, you teach them things that improve their lives and bring them peace and prosperity. They may not realize it, but your Brothers do, and the Emperor most surely does." Ricardo jangled his bracelet of various shape and sizes of snub shells, each inscribed with holy scripture. It served as a sign of his commitment and the altered course of his life. " I can only dream of one day doing that."
Compassion and friendship are one of the few things that ease the burden of living the Imperium of Man during the 41st century. War and Chaos lurk everywhere. When you must be ever wary of your neighbour becoming corrupted and spreading it to your house, friendship can be hard. For a few brief moments as the men conversed on their journey, they were able to forget that the universe rested on the verge of destruction. Teetering back and forth on the edge of a knife as the Imperium desperately tried to maintain its balance against the pull of xenos, heresy, and mutants. Mutual compliments and laughter easing the burden of their rank. While their toil was less harsh than those in the fields, it often felt less honest as well. In a way Thomas wished he had been born simple and average enough that he could be happy with a life in service to the emperor and raising a family under the values of the Imperium. But his was the way of the book and the word, and he accepted reality as it was. Both Preacher did in fact, as they reached the drudging reality of the fields.
Spreading in every direction from the city gates were vast fields of pale blue Astha and golden brown Athsa honeycombed with farmers tending to them. There were also great pens of lobotomized brown-yellow grox, glazed eyes locked forward on nothing as they mindlessly chewed feed produced from the inedible (to humans) grain byproducts. In this way nothing was wasted and food was constantly produced. Unlike many worlds where starvation and poverty were rampant. Isipros men and women were often broad chested and heavy as working beasts from the large and hearty meals they ate. However, most were not literate and relied on scribes and priests to do read and write for them. From eye to eye men and women toiled to produce food for the various troops of the Empire. Proudly knowing what they grew with their own hands filled the bellies of the various heroes and heroines of the Imperial Guard. Though they did not fight themselves, they knew they were an integral part of the local supply system and were quick to remind anyone who looked down on them of it.
Criss-crossing and dividing the fields were footpaths of packed dirt, while larger cement roads for vehicles and farm equipment only ran through important areas. It was the closest of these that the Preachers moved towards. A truck was waiting for them in the shade of a large well building. The truck had been decorated with various Ecclesiarchy markings and two Archangel's Horn XIII Laud Hailers sat atop with several martial looking metal angels blowing them. Driven by an old man by the name of Sirius, who had one eye from a bandit raids decades ago, it stood out amidst all the plain functionality around it. Now in his retirement from the fields, he served as driver and bodyguard to the priests. He would bring them to various pre-assigned stops throughout the area. There they would wander about for the designated time doing their duties before moving to another. The morning sermons were recorded and played over the Laud Hailer as they travelled. In this way they got their message to everyone who "needed" it and inspired the workers with sacred words..
Sirius' tobacco laiden spit sizzled on the pavement even in the early morning sun. While as devout and pious a man one could ever find, his teeth and mouth were always stained black with chewing tobacco, and as they met as he chewed vigorously on the foul substance, "Mornin' Brothers. Benedicat Nos Deus Hominis.". He tipped the wide brimmed straw hat perched on his head to reveal his sparsely haired head, the only protection he used against the elements."We'll be heading to the Collection Point Sigma first if you don't be mindin'. Misses Osgrox and her kin have a new Land Crawler for you to bless, and she won't be stopped in worrying about using it until then." While they lacked the ability to quell machine spirits as Adeptus Mechanicus, they could at least align them with the holy Emperor. This protected it from being inhabited by evil spirits which could cause the machine to malfunction or even attempt to injure its owners. A superstitious lot, most of the population refused to work unless their equipment was so blessed.
With curt and pious nods the Priests now assumed the reserved and dignified air of the clergy, like actors in a play stepping onto the stage. With an unhurried gait, they took their seats behind Sirius in the vehicle. As they settled into the thickly padded seats, they gave the solemn prayers that begin the ritual of field rites while their driver started up their vehicle. In a few minutes they began on their way. The wheels jostled loudly against the gravel roads used by the farmers and Sirius' was a talkative man, so the that the space not filled with hissing and crunching of stone was taken over by his coarse yet wet voice.
"Folks have been seein' a lot of strange fires in the hills at night." The one eyed man started. "Been hearing more and more people claiming they've been seeing ghosts too. Strange shadows moving around at night. But you know how it is Brothers. Everyones been spooked since we heard about Calixamis." Caliximas had been a planet a few systems away that had recently fallen to the ruinous powers and had to be purged of all life for the sake of the Empire. "Most of us had a friend or knew someone with a friend or relative from there. So they got whiff of some of the rumors floatin' around and they've been spreading like a fire in a byproduct silo." He glanced back at the two priests who listened in relative silence and tipped his hat again. "I'm thinkin' that you've got your work cut out for you keepin' their heads straight and silencing idle tongues, Brothers. Pardon my saying so." Ricardo offered a reassuring grin, and Thomas gave an appreciative tip of the head to Sirius. The old farmer served as a valuable liaison to the farmers and an able bodyguard given the relative safety of the planet. Stub gun wielding bandits and the occasional space pirate desperate for supplies was the worse they'd ever seen. Sirius wore Adeptus Ministorum modified Imperial Guard flak armor. "Don't be worrying about anything though, Brothers. I say its just superstition and foolish gossip you'll easily clear away. The worst we've ever got is a couple of mutants with pitchforks and stubbies, and I'll take care of them." Sirius patted the imperial pattern laspistol slung over his shoulder and over his breast. It accompanied the armor in overwhelming force. At least compared to the mutants and heretics of this planet. Sirius turnined his attention back to driving, humming a holy hymn under his breath as he did.
Sirius' duties meant that he had to be inducted into the Frateris Militia. It wasn't much but it gave a small monthly stipend and an imperial pattern laspistol amd armor. The first allowed him a comfortable retirement, and the second was a mark of pride, worn openly as if they were a medal or badge. Between Sirius and Ricardo, Thomas felt confident that any heretics or mutants you'd find on Isipros would be well taken care of. He reasoned that while the entire planet was armed, they had only basic training and the best weaponry they had were stub guns made by local smiths complemented by improvised weapons converted from farm tools, and a leather armor reinforced with metal plates. While they protected against the relatively simple and crude stub guns of the planet, a laspistol melted through them like butter, and Ricardo's martial experience meant he easily overcame such resistance.
Which was important to Thomas, as he was frankly aware of his own weakness. The Empire has been engaged in a ten thousand year long war, and even a relatively safe and unimportant planet like Isipros was one renegade space hulk away from being consumed. Even if the planet had not suffered a serious attack in millenia. His frailty and physical ineptitude had left him bullied and harassed as a child, his intellect only deepening the emotional wounds. He knew he could not contribute in a meaningful way to the war and felt a deep guilt and shame. The Emperor and his church were his salvation as a lack of aptitude towards advanced mathematics and technology left only the Ecclesiarchy.
There he had found that he had a gift for rhetoric and an innate understanding of human nature, and his knowledge and intelligence found him acceptance and even small praise. It was his lack of ambition, any skills beyond book knowledge and convincing word, and a lowly birth that doomed him to a life as a lowly preacher. He had accepted his post on Isipros with the resignation that it was likely the best way he could serve the Holy Emperor. A lifetime of service to a flock that only required him to accept the drudgery and boredom of his post. At least he was at last able to feel useful, ensuring the people of Isipros and especially Grettelute were able to supply the raw food goods needed to keep local imperial guard forces fighting. What else could he do?
His self-pity and train of thought where both interrupted as the truck ground in front of the towering metal silos and plastic transport bins where goods were stored after being collected. In the middle was a circular complex that regulated the flow of underground water to irrigation ditches. Thomas blushed realizing he had lost himself in thought and had been gazing silently out the window at the passing fields and farms for nearly the entire trip. His companions hadn't noticed or were being polite as neither mentioned it as they exited the vehicle. Composing himself as he did the same, he reminded himself that idle thoughts distracted from his hallowed purpose. With a sibilant prayer to the Emperor, he apologized for his indiscretion and rebuking himself, focused his attention on the here and now. The Emperor had no use for his past or regrets, only the future and his duty. His unhappiness was nothing compared to the sacrifices made everyday for the Empire by billions of its citizens. With a new found furor of devotion, he turned to Brother Ricardo. "We should start our work at once. These rumors must be quelled lest they linger in the mind and warp it by their sheer nature. Fear and doubt impede the work of the Emperor and we must cast them aside these distractions. His might is both spiritual and material, as his glory is reflected in the strength of the Imperium. Let us ensure it remains so, so that we do not let him down."
Thomas' oratory skills caught not only the ears of his companions, but the throng of farmers and their wives and helpers as they brought and took goods had stopped. Tractors and trucks drove past in endless cycles as streams of people like ants came back and left. The collection points served as central hubs as well as storage and during the day it was never empty. For a moment it had slowed however and those in earshot had paused to listen to the Preacher, including a Laund Hauler and a Mole Claw Ditch Digger. Then came a loud muttering of appreciative blessings and hearty agreements and as the crowd buzzed Thomas felt as if he could confront this task with greater clarity than ever. Brother Ricardo gave him an enthusiastic pat on the shoulder and his trademark grin, whispering quietly to his friend"What did I tell you? You're so hard on yourself, but when have you ever seen me stir the souls of the righteous and set them on the proper course like that? If only I had your wisdom and gift with words Thomas."
Thomas was better with humility than pride and shook his head. "How often do they confess to you problems that they would never come to me? How often have you taught them things that have improved their capacity in the mundane world?" But Ricardo would not let the matter drop with his reserved friend. "This is a war of souls, Thomas. I may be able to protect them from being taken here, but you protect them from lost faith and the darkness that brings."
His inferiority complex refused to accept victory and he settled for a truce. "Then we each play a part that is useless without the other." Ricardo had long given up fighting to compliment Thomas and accepted the victory conditions offered. Sirius had kept himself entertained conversing with an elderly man also chewing tobacco, but disengaged himself politely as the clergymen stepped forward and Ricardo asked politely to begin the tour. The ground was flat from hundreds of years of stomping boots and wet with mud tracked from the fields. While the high leather shoes and robes of a Preacher were sufficient, the hems of their robes and their boots were already caked with wet mud. Field Rites were a messy dirty business no matter how you went about it.