by Guy Haley
‘I ain’t asking you. The sun was warm today, and I don’t have my heat vest or anything other to wear than this flimsy basdacking Militarum jacket, do I?’
‘That one,’ said Kalligen. ‘Says “soldiers of the Imperium welcome”.’
‘And they’d be fools not to put a sign like that up even if they would rather cut our throats in our sleep than water us,’ said Leonates. ‘This is no place for celebration. We should go back to barracks. I don’t like it here.’
‘You’re buttoned up, you are,’ said Ganlick.
‘And you’re drunk,’ said Leonates.
‘Guilty!’ said Ganlick, and giggled.
‘We can commend ourselves for being sensible if we go in there,’ said Kalligen.
‘You fine with that one,’ said Meggen. ‘Epperaliant, you’re ranking officer.’
‘I’m easy,’ said Epperaliant.
‘You’re quiet,’ said Ganlick.
‘Don’t pay that any mind,’ said Meggen. ‘Just his way. He spends all the time in the tank shouting, so he likes to keep his lips buttoned tight outside. Isn’t that right, sir?’
‘Something like that,’ said Epperaliant.
The group strung itself out as Kalligen led the way to the bar and passed through its greasy glass doors. Discordant music thumped out.
Gollph remained staring seriously at the hanged men.
‘Come on,’ said Vaskigen. ‘Don’t look too long. Don’t think about it. Be glad it’s not you.’
‘But... but it could be. On Bosovar, it is custom to take possessions of defeated enemy.’
‘Yeah well, sometimes it is with us too, but not now. The high-ups want this planet to fall back in line as quickly as possible. They can’t do that if we trash everything. They put those men here because they know most of those on leave will end up coming down this street. Don’t be worried by it.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘You’ll get it,’ said Vaskigen. ‘Just understand this – if you see a commissar, Gollph – the men in black, yeah? – you stay away from him. They’re nothing but trouble.’
Vaskigen had to gently lead Gollph into the bar, for the feral-worlder could not stop staring at the results of Imperial justice.
They found a table, though the place was full. Epperaliant’s lieutenant’s badge scared away a group of field engineers from a large booth in the corner. Leonates protested that it was not fair on the men, but the Paragonians took their seats with clear consciences. As far as they were concerned, the seats were Epperaliant’s due as an officer and as a nobleman.
They had limited time, and began the serious business of getting properly drunk. They ordered local ale that was hard on the palate but possessed of a pleasing aftertaste, and a spirit that was harsh as promethium all the way down to the gullet. They drank it anyway, grateful to be out of the tank and the war.
Meggen drank quicker than the rest, and set to grumbling.
Vaskigen jibed him for it. ‘Don’t you ever quit complaining?’
‘Do you ever start? You don’t stick up for yourselves enough,’ said Meggen.
‘Maybe,’ said Vaskigen. ‘But the reason me and Gollph here don’t moan so much as you, Meggen, is that we’re too basdacking busy working the shells to have the breath to spare. Why don’t you save all our ears and quit your whining when we’re in the fight?’
Gollph chuckled.
‘What are you laughing at, you pink-skinned midget?’ growled Meggen.
Gollph’s laugh turned instantly to a scowl. ‘You do not speaking with me that way, Meggen.’
‘Yeah, don’t,’ warned Vaskigen genially, whose own relationship with the feral-worlder had got off to a rough start. He’d regularly meted out beatings to the smaller man, until Bannick had told Gollph it was all right to fight back. Once Gollph had floored Vaskigen, they got on just fine.
‘I’ll say what I want, Vaskigen. You ore grubbers always think you know best. See what I mean, Leonates? There’s a bit of clan rivalry for you right there.’
‘I do know best. He’ll put you on your back and break your arm if you don’t watch it,’ said Vaskigen.
‘Man’s as weedy as a slowtail after the long winter,’ said Meggen doubtfully. ‘He might be able to best a sissy like you, Vask, but I doubt you’d get one over on me.’
Gollph grinned wickedly. ‘Not strength. Fighting skill. You got it? Gol... I have,’ said Gollph, correcting himself.
‘Yeah, yeah, I’ll bet you have.’ Meggen raised his glass. Gollph looked at him in confusion.
‘You knock glasses together? Yeah?’ said Kalligen, and knocked his against Vaskigen’s genteelly. ‘Cheers,’ he said. ‘See? Now you do it.’
Gollph looked doubtful. ‘On Bosovar, this is big insult. You must not knock another man’s drink unless you want to fight.’
‘Not on Paragon, you pink pipsqueak. Cheers,’ said Meggen.
‘Now you insult me again!’
‘It’s called banter where we’re from,’ laughed Kalligen.
‘All right.’ Gollph brought his glass up, then snatched it back with a scowl. ‘You sure you not mock me – stupid man from feral world, haha, let us laugh hard at the savage?’ he said. ‘You nasty. Maybe I teach a lesson, Bosovar way?’
He said this with such vehemence, Meggen’s mouth hung open. ‘Hang on a minute, I’m only teasing you, little man. We’re all friends here–’
Gollph laughed uproariously. ‘Ha! Now I mock yo, big grox man! Cheers!’ He clanged his glass hard into Meggen’s. Everyone laughed, and the two downed their drinks, slapped the table and grimaced.
‘How, by the Throne, do they make this stuff?’ said Meggen.
‘It does have the distinct whiff of ablutorial cleanser about it,’ said Kalligen.
‘Ladidada! Look at him, getting all Lo on us. Prefer a nice gleece, your lordship?’ said Ganlick.
‘As a matter of fact I do,’ said Kalligen, affecting an upper-class accent. That made them all laugh.
‘I’m a Lo, and I’ll drink it,’ Ganlick slurred and sniffed his. ‘I don’t give a damn.’
‘I do not understand you people. All this lo that, and vor this,’ said Leonates. ‘Does it matter?’
‘Yes,’ said Kalligen.
‘Simple,’ said Ganlick. ‘You got Paragon right? You have a given name, a mother name, and a clan name. If you’ve any noble blood in you–’
‘Which Ganlick has greatly diluted with this piss,’ Meggen interjected.
Ganlick persisted. ‘Any noble blood at all, then you’re entitled to use “Lo” before your clan name. If you don’t, you’re just a filthy commoner.’
‘You’re as common as me and Vaskigen,’ said Meggen. ‘Born and bred to the manufactorum floor.’
‘I don’t think so. These lovely hands of mine did not a jot of manual labour. Scribing, that’s what the family did, and proud of it too,’ said Ganlick.
‘Lo doesn’t mean anything any more,’ said Meggen.
‘I admit,’ said Kalligen, ‘there has been talk of abolishing it. Some on the unified clan council say it’s devalued. Too many nobles putting themselves about. They’ve only themselves to blame.’
The Paragonians fell quiet. All of them were suddenly reminded of their home, uncrossable light years distant.
‘This is so divisive,’ said Leonates. ‘Why carry it with you into the Astra Militarum? It means nothing.’
Meggen gave the Atraxian a grave look through the bottom of his empty glass. ‘It means everything.’
‘I still don’t understand,’ said Gollph.
‘On Bosovar, you got your elders, yeah?’ said Kalligen. Gollph nodded. ‘Well back home, we’ve got the high bigwigs in their glass palaces, and then there’s the rest of us living in the stink and noise of whatever our clan specialises in.’
‘B
ut you, and him... Meggen says you live in stink too,’ said Gollph.
‘Reminding others you got noble blood is a way to make yourself feel better,’ said Kalligen.
‘I do not understand either, friend Gollph. It is alien to me also. On Atraxia, all men are born equal,’ said Leonates. ‘We are tested throughout our lives to find the most suitable role for us in life. Birth is no guarantee of a man’s quality.’
‘Yes it is important!’ said Meggen. ‘How in Terra’s name do you know who you are if you can’t count on your roots?’
‘But you said that the elders are bad to you,’ said Gollph.
‘It is the way of men from society where birth is important, Gollph,’ said Leonates. ‘They decry their situation, but will defend the system to the hilt. Fair testing is the only real alternative. In this way, we can be sure of serving the Emperor to the best of our ability.’
‘You must have scored low then,’ said Kalligen.
‘How so?’ blustered Leonates. ‘I scored very highly!’
‘Did you? Then why did they send you to join the Astra Militarum then?’
‘Here you go, little Leo, these scores sure are good. Honest,’ said Meggen in the sort of voice a mother soothes a babe with. ‘We’ve a lovely lasgun and a small bunk for you on the other side of the galaxy where you’ll be out of the way of the serious boys.’
‘Step this way!’ said Kalligen.
‘What?’ cried Gollph in mock outrage. ‘This is exactly what happen to me on Bosovar!’
All of them laughed. Even Epperaliant, lost in his own thoughts, smiled.
‘What’s all this about then?’ A bearded fellow with violence in his eyes spoke.
The tank crew’s mirth subsided as shadows fell upon them. A ring of Atraxians surrounded their table.
‘Nothing that concerns you, friend,’ said Meggen. He finished his drink with an exaggerated gasp, and set the glass down hard. He pulled out a soft packet of tarabac cheroots and lit one. He offered them round, pointedly ignoring the Atraxians. Vaskigen and Kalligen took one each.
‘Hey, you. I’m talking to you.’ The Atraxian slapped Meggen’s beefy shoulder.
‘Don’t do that, friend.’
‘Then, “friend”, tell us what the joke is. Laughter concerns us all. Tell us the joke. You, you are Atraxian. Are you with these men?’ he said to Leonates.
‘I am. These are my comrades, as they are yours.’
‘And what about that?’ said their leader, pointing towards Gollph. Gollph stared back. His old nerves returned suddenly, and he shrank into himself, unsure of what he should do.
‘That’s right, cringer. You cringe,’ said the Atraxian leader. ‘He shouldn’t be out.’
‘That,’ said Meggen with deadly amity, ‘is also our comrade.’ He stood up, the chair scraping back on the stone flags with bar-silencing volume. Chatter died away as he looked down at the Atraxian. ‘A member of the Seventh Paragonian Super-Heavy Tank Company, as we all are here. Brothers in arms. What, by the Emperor’s chamber pot, are you?’
The Atraxian leaned in, breathing alcohol fumes into Meggen’s face.
‘I am a man in mourning for his friends, his brothers and his kinfolk, slaughtered when these cowardly subhumans broke and ran.’ He pointed to Gollph. ‘Let me prevent the same happening to you. We will deal with him, then you can have a civilised man in your crew instead, not this savage. The lumen posts outside are not yet all decorated.’
The other tankers stood to face outwards at their ring of challengers. The other Paragonians and Atraxians in the bar eyed each other. Hands closed on bottles.
‘Two to one,’ said Meggen to Vaskigen. ‘What do you reckon?’
‘Unfair odds. For them.’ He cracked his knuckles. ‘Gollph,’ said Vaskigen, ‘The elders say it’s permitted to kick the dung out of these basdacks.’
‘Sir?’ asked Gollph of Epperaliant.
‘Fine by me. If they want a beating, you are permitted to provide it.’
‘Pink runt like that couldn’t kick a ball,’ said the leader. ‘Out in the north the lot of them broke. Ferals have no place on a battlefield.’ The Atraxians closed in.
‘We’re not starting anything,’ said Epperaliant. ‘But if you do not stand down, we’ll finish it, and I’ll have you up on charges.’
‘You can’t tell me to do anything.’ The Atraxian tapped the lieutenant’s badge on his shoulder.
‘You heard Epperaliant, boys,’ said Meggen. ‘No fighting.’
Gollph dropped into a low stance. His demeanour changed so radically the men facing him took a step back.
‘Give us the feral, and you’ll have no trouble.’
‘This feral ain’t your feral. He’s our feral,’ said Vaskigen.
Meggen took a long, slow drag on his cheroot and blew the smoke in the Atraxian leader’s face.
‘You’re not taking him anywhere.’
‘Who’s going to stop us? You tankers? You haven’t got our edge. We’ve been walking everywhere for the last six years, not sitting on our padded behinds.’
‘Hear that, Vaskigen? He thinks we’re soft.’
‘Yep,’ said Vaskigen, grinding out his own smoke on the heel of his hand. ‘I suppose years of hauling basdacking heavy shells about don’t count.’
‘Just give him up, or suffer the consequences,’ said the Atraxian lieutenant.
Meggen sighed, cast his eyes heavenwards and landed a punch of such power on the Atraxian’s nose he flew back, face spouting blood, bearing two of his comrades to the floor with him.
The bar erupted into violence.
Atraxians took military training from a young age. Martial artistry was beaten into them. Individually, they were capable bare-hand fighters, but they were better together, and they fought as a group, for that was the Atraxian way.
In this first regard, the Paragonians were at a disadvantage. There was no comparable fighting art on Paragon to that employed by the Atraxians, but the Paragonians were more heavily built. The majority of them had performed punishing physical labour from childhood into early adulthood. The gravity was heavier there, and so they were stronger.
Meggen and Vaskigen made good account of themselves, their bodies further hardened by years of manhandling the Baneblade’s heavy shells. Vaskigen took a flurry of punches from a smaller man, then picked him up and bodily heaved him through the air.
In the second regard, that of fellowship, they were the equal of the Atraxians. As tankers they lived in a state of intimate proximity that exceeded even that of a common foot-soldier. They fought back to back. Epperaliant went down with a broken rib. Ganlick was hopelessly drunk, and for all his ferocity, was tackled to the floor, where an Atraxian commenced frantically punching him in the face. Leonates faced off three of his countrymen, his facility with Atraxian open-hand combat greater than theirs, though their number prevented him from incapacitating any. Kalligen wrestled with a short Atraxian.
But it was Gollph who surprised everyone but Vaskigen, who had fought the feral himself. The little man tumbled and weaved his way through the melee, jabbing the points of his fingers into various vulnerable nerve clusters, dropping surprised men wherever he went. The Atraxian fighting style focused on dealing gross damage; Gollph’s was subtler and therefore more potent.
The man fighting Kalligen wrapped his hand around Kalligen’s face, fingers searching for his eyes. Kalligen bit deep into the webbing between the man’s forefingers and thumb. Leonates finally dealt with one of his opponents, and began to press hard on the remaining two. Ganlick was out cold, face swollen. Epperaliant curled up in a ball, hands wrapped around his head to protect himself from the kicks raining down on him. Gollph slid up, caught a kicker’s foot and snapped his ankle with a savage twist, overbalancing him and shoving him into his fellows. Meggen and Vaskigen roared, backs pressed together, w
eathering blows that would have seen to the smaller tankers, and responding with bludgeoning fists hard as plasteel.
Men of four worlds piled out of the bar to escape the fight. Those who remained inside were drawn into it. Glass shattered. The floor became a sticky minefield of sharp slivers and spilt drinks.
Meggen charged out of the scrum of men, bowling combatants from both sides over, catching an Atraxian about the midriff and slamming him through a table, then out the window. The taverna’s front broke outwards, and the Atraxian landed badly on the pavement.
Meggen turned back to the fight to find the leader pulling out his bayonet from inside his jacket.
‘They’ll shoot you for having that off out of the camp.’
‘You should have given me the pinkskin,’ he said, and lunged. Meggen threw out an arm to protect himself. The blade cut a line of red into his skin.
‘Basdack’s got a knife!’ he roared, blood pouring from him.
Gollph was there a second later, coming in at Meggen’s head height with his feet extended in a double flying kick. He smacked into the Atraxian’s head and used his face as a springboard to push off and somersault backwards. The Atraxian screamed to have his broken nose hit again, but came at Gollph, swinging wildly through the pain. Gollph sidestepped, took the man’s arm at the hand and elbow, and neatly broke it.
‘Stupid man,’ said Gollph.
Meggen staggered back against the wall, blood dribbling through his fingers.
‘Basdack!’ he swore. ‘That’s my good arm!’
Whistles sounded outside, then shots: the weird crack and whistle of webguns, the flat whump of baton rounds.
‘Nobody move! Peacekeepers, peacekeepers! Halt!’
The melee separated itself. There were many bloody faces around. Paragonian military arbitrators flooded into the taverna, face masks on, shock mauls crackling.
The Atraxians faced the Paragonians with naked loathing. The Atraxian leader stood, cradling his broken arm. He spat blood.
‘Let me revise what I was saying. You want Gollph, you try and get him, my friend,’ said Meggen.
‘This isn’t over,’ said the lieutenant.
‘No, brother of my world,’ said Leonates sadly. ‘But it will be when they hang you.’