Note: This omake was written by dptullos over on SpaceBattles, and it was so good that I've canonized it.
Everqueen AU Fanfiction: Remembrance
Their tyrant was winning the war.
Mayor Abdul al-Saleh knew that official broadcasts were not to be trusted, but his cousin Krishna was in the Imperial Army. The stories of glorious victories were all true, and it seemed the warlord who named himself "Emperor" was on the verge of uniting Terra under his rule. It was a time for celebration, as the loyal subjects of the Imperium gathered together to rejoice in their master's triumph and proclaim their undying loyalty. Fortunately, nothing about the ritual required actual thought, just the ability to appear loyal and make the appropriate noises.
"Praise the Emperor!," Fatima proclaimed, her voice ringing with absolute faith and certainty. Abdul hid his annoyance with the ease of long practice. "His Majesty has triumphed over the barbarians, and now they acknowledge his rightful authority over all of humanity." He was a humble farmer, but even he knew that "all of humanity" was more than one world. Besides, all of Terra had not yet submitted to their warlord.
The soldiers behind Fatima stood stiffly at attention, looking down at the assembled villagers. It was proper to fear soldiers, and easy to hate them, but these were only conscripts gathered together from the warlord's conquests, not his true servants. Abdul idly wondered what the tyrant would do with his vast armies when he had conquered Terra. Perhaps he truly would march on to the stars, as the broadcasts proclaimed. If he did, his armies would no doubt return to take more of Gunupur's young men and women. Many of the children who praised the Emperor today would lie in an unmarked grave, never to return home.
It could be worse. Abdul had taken up a rifle at the age of thirteen to fight the True Men and their armies of Mindless, and they were only the first. There had been invaders before that time, but never so many, never so desperate. They flooded into the valley as if driven by demons, desperate to break through the trench lines of the League and reach some imagined safety beyond. Plague Children, Sons of Slaughter, hosts of techno-barbarians with relic weapons from the Age of Peace...if the invaders had not fought each other as much as the defenders, they would never have been able to hold. Even with the invaders fighting each other, they could not have survived forever.
Then he had arrived. Abdul had awakened to the sound of trumpets and a great host of armored giants marching towards the trench line. A flag of truce rose over their ranks, and the mayors and officers of the League had rushed out to meet with the new warlord. Something about the great golden figure drew every eye to him, and his army dwarfed the hosts of the previous invaders. But he did not break the lines, burn their villages, and enslave the survivors. The "Emperor" simply told them that they were his subjects, and under his protection, and of course they had agreed. The "Emperor" had claimed a tithe of their crops and taken forty of the village's young men and women, and at the time Abdul had thought he must be a merciful man, the kindest of warlords.
He knew better now, of course. Fatima was delivering another long speech, a proclamation of the warlord's many virtues and victories, and Abdul wondered how his sister could be so blind. She had put aside the faith of their parents to follow a golden tyrant, worshiping him as a god in all but name, and yet he could not find it in himself to hate her for it. His little sister had been no more than a girl when the warlord came to Gunupur, and she had fallen for the lies of his servants, the myth that their master cared for them.
"As a token of His Majesty's generosity and love, I bring you a great gift," Fatima told them. This got the crowd's interest; praise for their dearly beloved "Emperor" was all well and good, but food was scarce in Gunupur. Abdul would happily drink the warlord's health in cheap wine and feast upon slaughtered goats. If they had to invent lies in praise of a tyrant, at least they would eat well for their trouble.
Instead of bringing out food, though, Fatima drew out a small pouch and emptied it into her palm. She held out her hand, and Abdul saw a pile of ordinary green seeds gathered there. "In his wisdom," Fatima said, "the Emperor has devised new crops for his loyal subjects. Plant these seeds in the worst ground, tainted by radiation and chemicals, and they will still yield a rich harvest. More than that, they will cleanse the ground so that you may grow other crops in the next season."
A long moment of silence followed, as his people watched the seeds in her hand. It was a good promise, almost too good to be true, and so they hesitated. Abdul was the first to rise to his feet. "Praise the Emperor! Praise him!"
"PRAISE THE EMPEROR!," his people roared, forgetting their fear and distrust. Half of Gunupur's land was tainted by the foul weapons of the True Men, and those seeds would mean the difference between life and death for many of them. "PRAISE THE CONQUEROR, THE LIBERATOR, THE GUARDIAN OF HUMANITY."
The doors to the town hall burst open, and two giants marched inside. Abdul froze in place, distantly hearing the villagers cheering the armored figures, the Emperor's monsters. They carried a great chest between them, no doubt full of the precious seeds, but Abdul could only stare at them and remember.
The Mindless were gathering for another charge. Normal soldiers would have routed long ago, but they advanced without fear, ignoring the steady crack of gunfire. Abdul's hands were busily loading cartridges into his rifle while his mind screamed in absolute terror. There was a regiment of the monsters out there, advancing on the refugees, and he had twenty-eight soldiers of the Imperial Army beside him. His radio lay discarded in his foxhole, snarling with static, and he knew that there would be no reinforcements. They were all that was left of the 118th Indus Regiment.
Allah protect us, he begged. There was no answer. Allah had abandoned this world long ago, and there were no gods, only demons. Abdul aimed down the scope, seeing the vacant stare of what had once been an elderly woman. They sent the weakest first, to draw fire. He pulled the trigger, and someone's grandmother fell without a sound, twitching on the ground as her body fought to rise and obey.
Abdul killed and killed, ignoring the bullets that snapped past him. Bodies piled on the ground before them as Rina raked the machine gun back and forth, slaughtering the enemy. Her eyes were blank and horrified as she massacred the slaves of the True Men, but she never stopped killing. The wave of Mindless halted, stumbling over the corpses of their comrades. The abominable Will that drove them hesitated, seeing its pawns caught in the narrow pass, and Abdul dared to hope that it might turn them away to find easier prey.
The thunder of the machine gun died away, and Abdul slowly turned his head to look. The gun barrel was glowing red with heat, and the foxhole was littered with spent cartridges. Rina pulled the trigger desperately, but there was only an empty click. Some part of him wanted to run screaming, to flee to the riverbank and force his way out at gunpoint. Instead, Abdul checked his magazine. Six rounds left, and then he would be out. Reaching over his shoulder, he drew the standard-issue bayonet. It was an ugly, crude piece of metal, and Abdul had never seen the use of it before now. "Fix bayonets," he ordered.
"Abdul," a voice said, and he shook himself. "Abdul. Are you all right?" Fatima looked concerned, and he made himself smile. "You seemed lost there for a moment. Do you need to lie down?"
"Of course not, Fatima," he told her, more sharply than he had intended. "I am perfectly fine. Seeing our Emperor's noble warriors just brought back old memories." Abdul put a shaky smile on his face, trying to pretend he couldn't still hear the screams echoing in his ears. "But we are at peace now, and the Thunder Warriors keep us safe. I have nothing to be afraid of."
Her eyes went to his empty sleeve. "I'm sorry, brother. I didn't mean to upset you." The monsters had laid the chest down before the villagers, and his people were gathered around, examining the precious seeds. They seemed unafraid of the beasts that hovered over them, indifferent to the menace of bolters and chainswords.
Abdul could feel his heart pounding in his chest. But no matter what he felt, he had been a soldier. When he walked towards the chest, his steps were calm and unhurried, and he stepped dangerously close to the tyrant's creatures before bending to look at the seeds. They were small and green, just like a hundred other crops he had planted. These seeds were a miracle, the promise of life and prosperity for Gunupur, and they looked completely ordinary. Abdul had expected them to glow with power, as their maker did. Abdul picked up a handful of them, letting them run through his fingers. Fatima stood at his shoulder, beaming joyfully up at the armored beast that towered above her.
"Thank you," Fatima said. "Ever since our Emperor saved us from the warlords, he has been our liege and our champion, our shelter in distress and our guiding light. Blessed be his name!"
Abdul said softly, "Blessed be his name." Fatima had always been a devout girl, but when Allah had not answered her prayers, she had turned to a living god. Though she was careful never to say outright that she viewed the Emperor as divine, Abdul was no fool. He could see the blind devotion shining in her gaze. He had never shared that faith, but Rini had. She had believed in the Emperor, all the way to the end.
"He is our shield and our armour," Rini recited, watching the Mindless approach. "We are his sword. In his service, we shall know no fear." Abdul knew a great deal of fear at the moment, but he didn't interrupt Rini. "In his name, we shall conquer. The Emperor protects!"
"The Emperor protects!," Abdul shouted, hearing his squad join in the cry. He didn't even believe in the Emperor. He never had. But behind them a thousand refugees huddled on the banks of the Ganges, trying desperately to make their way across with a single raft. In that moment, he would say anything to give heart to his soldiers. Before the, the Mindless advanced without hesitation, approaching the thin line of bayonets, and Abdul reached a hand down to the grenade at his side. He only had one, so he would wait for the slaves to surround him before he pulled the pin. There was no question of surrender, not to the True Men.
"Die, abominations!," Rini shouted. "Die in the name of the Emperor! In His Name, burn!"
And they did. Fire erupted among the enemy's ranks, slaughtering hundreds in an instant, and Abdul watched in delighted awe as huge armored forms charged into the Mindless. Thousands of the slaves swarmed around them, fighting to drag the Emperor's Warriors under with sheer numbers, but they fought with impossible speed and grace. Chainswords snarled, flamers roared, and Rini dropped to her knees in gratitude. "The Emperor...," she whispered, tears of joy streaming down her face, "the Emperor protects."
"Corporal." Abdul met the Thunder Warrior's gaze. It was a tall monster, more than twice his height, and it carried a power sword at its side. Some rumors said that the beasts did not know fear. He was only a man, and he did fear them, but he did not flinch. "You fought at the Battle of the Ganges."
Abdul said, "I did." He had his campaign ribbon and a wound medal. The Imperium gave out many medals after the Battle of the Ganges. He only wore his on special occasions, when the village would expect it of him. Feeling Fatima's eyes on him, he added. "For the Emperor."
The Thunder Warrior nodded to him, a disturbingly human gesture. "For the Emperor," it agreed. "I fought at the Ganges as well. Too many good subjects of the Emperor died there." Abdul realized that his hands were shaking, and he made them be still. Attacking the beast in front of the village would only get him killed. And it would upset Fatima. He didn't want to upset Fatima.
"They died for the Emperor," Abdul said, and it was true. "Praise his name." They had done that as well, before the end.
"Blessed are thou, Emperor of Mankind, Teacher and Guide." Abdul was on his knees beside the others. He whispered a quiet apology to Allah, even if he wasn't sure that his God truly existed. "Truly you are the Righteous King, who raises up the humble and casts down the mighty. You have blessed us with the presence of your Chosen." Those Chosen were drawing close. Their leader lifted a sword that burned with strange energy, raising it high above Rini's head as if to bless her. Rini lowered her eyes to the ground in reverence. "Holy Servants," she said. "Chosen of our Emperor. We thank you for our lives, and promise you that we shall spend each day in the service of our Liege and Master."
The first blow took her head.
"So many died at the Ganges," it said, and there was something strange in its voice. "I am...sorry for their loss." Abdul hesitated, lost for words, and the beast continued. "We should have protected them."
The second blow took his arm. As he lay there, paralyzed with agony, he heard someone scream. The Thunder Warrior stepped over him, blood boiling off the edge of his sword, and began walking towards the refugee camp. Abdul drew in a breath to cry out, to warn them, but his vision was blurring and he could not speak.
"You are not to blame," Abdul said quietly. He had known that for a long time, even if he still hated the beasts, even if he wanted nothing more than to kill them all. He did not blame the Mindless for what the True Men had done to them, so why would he be angry at the Thunder Warriors? They were creators, not creator. The fault lay with their maker.
The Army had burned the bodies of his friends. He had stood by as they added the corpses to the great pyre by the shore of the Ganges. It was only right that they burn with the remains of the people they had fought to protect. When the colonel had told him that it was the Mindless, that he needed to remember that they had died to the Mindless, Abdul had not argued. It would not have been wise to argue. There was a monument where the pyre once stood, and Abdul went every year with Fatima to lay flowers down for the Martyrs of the Ganges, the innocent refugees and brave soldiers that the Thunder Warriors had arrived too late to save. The Imperial Truth taught that religion was a lie, but he still asked Allah to remember their sacrifice, even if he didn't truly believe in his parents' faith anymore. Perhaps somewhere, there was a god who was listening.
When he met with other veterans, some of them had whispered very quietly of similar...misunderstandings. Events that had not happened, that must not have happened. The Thunder Warriors were the Emperor's Chosen, and any flaw in them would be a flaw in their maker. The tyrant was the gentlest of warlords, the kindest of masters, but he was warlord and master, and it was not their place to condemn his works. So they had kept their silence, though Abdul had quietly noted that the Thunder Warriors no longer fought alongside the human armies of the warlord.
"While I am here," the Thunder Warrior said. "I ask your permission to visit the monument. To honor the dead, and to remember those who should not be forgotten." Abdul's eyes went to the sword at the Warrior's side. "With your permission."
Abdul looked at the butcher, the abomination, the tyrant's monster. The tyrant's victim. Then he said, "Yes."