Chapter Text
'More killer drones? Haven't we had enough of those already?'
Fir'vren scratched the upper rim of his nasal slit. The oxygen mask had produced a skin irritation that stayed with him beyond his recovery. Just like the slight wheeze that was the memento of the lung shot he'd taken.
'For a lifetime. But since you've elevated yourself into the position of resident expert, this shouldn't come as a surprise,' he answered, handing me the dataslate containing the details of my latest case. I took it and limped back to my chair, sitting with a sigh.
'Your leg still hurts?'
'Only when I'm anxious,' I answered. All things considered, our rehabilitation after the rogue drone incident was smooth. Our wounds had healed, at least the physical ones. The psychological ones we did not talk about. Fire warriors handled grief with gritted teeth and smouldering fury. Water caste calmed easier, but calm waters do not necessarily mean there's no turbulence beneath the surface.
Kicking back, I put my hooves on my desk's corner and opened the dataslate. Its flimsy Imperial construction hid a number of elegant upgrades. The machine housed in the cheap plastek was beyond anything the Imperium could cram into such a small space.
My new case welcomed me with gruesome pict captures of dead bodies and destroyed drones. The glyph in the upper right corner indicated I was looking at extremely confidential information way out of my league.
Nevertheless, I continued absorbing the information while swallowing my revulsion. It was not the death that bothered me, but the involvement of drones. Again. My recently closed case of killer drones still kept me up at night as I pondered how it could have happened. Were our drones truly capable of post-traumatic anxiety? Did their complex AI come with such a feature or did it evolve on its own through long bouts of camaraderie? Could stressful memories induce an artificial behaviour that was not in their original programming?
I had no fucking idea. I was Water, not Earth. I tried to talk to earth caste technicians though, to explore the subject, but I was met with stark refusal. Even the seemingly cooperative Elsy’eir Riliana of Vior’la Sept denied my request. They guarded their drones' secrets with the jealousy of Gue’la lovers.
Where was I? Oh yes, obliterated drones next to human carcasses. I read all the forensics reports and wished I could've been there to see the crime scenes with my own eyes, but we were hospitalised at the time. And now I was stuck with nothing but cold leads.
'Recaf?' Fir'vren asked from the door, holding two cups of piping hot brown sludge.
'Might as well,' I replied. I put the dataslate on the desk and gratefully accepted the cup. Fir'vren glanced down at the screen as we sipped the drink in companionable silence. His hard features were illuminated by the gaudy lumen strips hanging outside the office window, promoting the same amasec brand that sat on my table. The empty bottle twinkled in the colours of a mechanical rainbow.
'May I?’ he asked.
'Sure, knock yourself out.'
He picked up the device and went through the picts, his eyes flicking across the details in each of them.
'Their M.O. is different,' he said eventually. I looked up from the bottom of my cup.
'Sharp eyes, my friend. Yes, this is totally different, which is both a blessing and a curse. These drones acted alone and not in a pack, which makes them less deadly, but even more unpredictable. There's seemingly nothing connecting them. They belonged to different Septs and were stationed in different Rings when each accident happened. All of them were up to date and showed no signs of corruption prior to their, ugh, treachery .'
I almost choked on that word. AI were fiercely loyal and obeyed every command. They were as close to kin as one could be without genetic relations. As their very creators, we were responsible for their actions.
'I never envied you your job, det'ect'ive, but I envy it even less now,' Fir'vren said with sympathy. He took the empty cup from my fingers and left me alone with my thoughts. There were too many of them, so I decided I needed some help to focus. I clambered from my chair and hobbled to the office door.
'I'll be downstairs if anyone needs me,' I announced.
#
The regulars of the Velvet Curtain were used to a xeno drinking among them. There was an unspoken rule. You didn't ask others and they didn't ask you. It suited me just fine. Scerrogh looked up from behind the long bar as I limped to it and took my regular seat.
'Hey detective,' the barkeep greeted me with a glass of amasec.
'You must be psychic,' I joked as I accepted the drink.
The way heads started turning towards us told me the joke was in poor taste. You didn't joke around with psykers in the Imperium. There were things that didn't change even after their inclusion into the T'au Empire.
'It's easy to remember what you like, detective. You always order the same drink ,' he said, emphasising words that would prove his purity.
'If something ain't broke, why change it, right?'
I had to help Scerrogh crawl from the mess I just pushed him into. The crowd seemed to swiftly lose interest and the barkeep relaxed visibly, yet his fingers still shook.
'Please, detective. I appreciate your humour, but the guests are less forgiving , if you know what I mean,' he whispered, barely audible over the general din and background music.
'Apologies. No harm was intended. Let me know if anyone gives you trouble over this and I'll deal with it myself.'
'Thank you, detective,' Scerrogh sounded relieved. He didn't stick around to find out if I had any more jokes up my sleeve. Just as well, for my drink was still untouched. I picked up the glass, inhaled the amasec's scent and drank deep.
Horrible, painful, addictive.
Another gulp and the pain eased. Warmth spread across my cheeks and my scalp tingled. My thoughts, which had been zigzagging across my cranium, tripped over themselves and slowed down. Other, less relevant topics fled my mind and I was left wondering the mysteries of alcohol consumption.
No clarity would come though, quite the opposite. As abhorrent as my drinking habit had become, I couldn’t blame myself. Sometimes, you just had to go numb to accept things. Like not being able to save a single human boy from our own drones. Or getting shot by them.
'Fuck,' I muttered with feeling.
'What's wrong, lady face?'
I didn't notice the Gue’la sit next to me. I now looked the young male up and down. Bright yellow mohawk, an assortment of ill-fitting and probably stolen clothes and a face that had seen more than any juvie should. Still, the ganger - for what else could he be? - gave me the widest grin I've ever seen.
'Oooh, pretty eyes you got there!' he said.
'Ugh, not interested,' I replied. From time to time, kids made bets to see who could get me laid. There are enough physical similarities between T'au and humans to make them think it possible, but their Imperial conditioning didn't allow them such impure thoughts. Until it did and curiosity got the best of them. Same as those extinct household felines, the kh'ats.
'What? You sure?'
'No means no. Don't you Gue’la know that word? You had like, what, forty thousand years to learn it?'
'I don't follow,' the ganger juvie replied and the blank look on his face underlined his words. He really didn't follow. I sighed.
'Alright, I'm going to humour you. What do you want, kid?'
‘Money! I’m here for money!' he said with age-appropriate enthusiasm.
'So you are here for the bet?'
'What bet? No! I’m here ‘cause we got one of your servitors hostage. A wild one. Pay us and we'll hand it over,' he said in his best bargaining tone.
'And you just waltzed in here to tell me that? Alone? Without proof? Fuck off.'
'Alright, alright, no need to be a dick about it. Or a what-have-you. But if you don't believe me, come to the Tomb Ward. There's an empty lot behind the Wencklem Cratery on the Westward 215th Thoroughfare. Meet me there tonight at ten and I’ll show you the goods,’ he said, slipping from his seat. With a well practised motion, he slid his palms along both sides of his mohawk and turned to leave.
‘You never named the price,’ I reminded him.
‘Oh, shit, right!’
He fished a piece of vellum from beneath his layers of clothing and slipped it onto the bar. He flashed me another one of his impossibly wide grins.
‘Be seein’ ya, lady face!’
#
‘Do I need to say it?’ Fir’vren asked me as I prepared to head out for the evening.
‘Which part? That we don’t have nearly enough money to fulfil their demand? Or that I’m stupid for trusting a ganger juvie who showed up out of nowhere? Or that the Tomb Ward ain’t the friendliest place after our previous case?’
‘I meant that it’s obviously a trap. I’m not sure why they would target you, besides being who you, who we are,’ the veteran fire warrior said. Displeasure was writ across his face.
‘If they wanted to kill me, why not just do it in the Velvet Curtain ?’
‘They would’ve died trying,’ he declared with passion.
‘Yes, I’m sure they would have, but you’re missing the point, my friend.’
‘Which would be?’
‘A lead! If what the ganger said is true and they do have a rogue drone held captive, it could give us something to actually go on. To solve this case. And I’m willing to take this risk if it means I’ll get closer to my goal,’ I explained. The fire warrior didn’t like my reason, but he acquiesced. The mission, the case was paramount if we wanted to maintain the peace in Hive Brabarya. For the Greater Good.
'You seem to have a knack for getting into trouble, det'ect'ive,' Fir'vren said. He was both amused and troubled, a combination that described him perfectly. Such moments made me glad he was the one assigned to my protection.
It wasn't easy trying to revive a long lost human sub-caste, but Hive Brabarya was the ideal environment for my project. Yet no matter how ideal it was, danger lurked behind every corner and Aun'El Mu'gulath decided I couldn't, or rather, shouldn't do this on my own. Her caution had so far paid dividends, since I was still alive despite everything that happened.
A heavy THUD brought me back to the issue at hand. A matt black fio'tak case of significant proportions was deposited on Fir'vren's sleeping pod. Our shared habitation chamber - which also served as a panic room - had little space to hide something like that from me, so it must have been new. Fir'vren disengaged the locks and opened the lid.
'Are you serious?' I asked him.
The veteran ran a hand across the curving plates of personal armour. The bulbous dome of an advanced combat helmet sat in the middle, antennas in a format position. And what ran the whole length of the case was a pulse rifle of the latest design with an integrated scope capable of significant magnification. A sniper's rifle.
'The pyre burns brightest in the dark of night,' he answered.
'Which means?'
'Look to the highest mountain if you seek salvation.'
'Very poetic. You've reread the Shas'o'do too much in your downtime. But I understand. Thank you, my friend,' I said as I shrugged into my trench coat and put on my new fe’dora.
#
Strolling down a dark alley and not tripping over a corpse felt like a novel experience. Perhaps Hiva Brabarya was on the road to redemption after all? The thought fled my mind a moment later when I stepped on something organic and rotten. I decided not to look too closely and just pretend it was a dead rodent. More pressing matters were at the forefront of my mind.
‘Comms check,’ Fir’vren’s voice came from the tiny bead hidden in my ear.
'I think this might have been a bad idea,' I said to myself and could hear Fir'vren's grim chuckle.
'Yes, it was. Give me the signal and I'll get you out of there,' the veteran replied. His confidence was comforting, even though I knew he couldn't take on a whole gang just by himself.
To mask my anxiety, I began to whistle a tune that was ancient by the time mankind's ships first left Te'rra's solar system. The lyrics had been lost to time, but the rhythm and cadence of the song perfectly conveyed the composer's feelings. Bravery, passion and compassion. It was a tragedy that the humans had fallen so low they could no longer create such masterpieces.
'Who the fuck's making all that racket?' a gruff voice said from behind the building. I stepped from the alley into the empty lot and looked around. The outlines of a demolished building were barely visible, its grave surrounded by tall warehouses, silently looming on all sides. Torches and portable lumens flickered and flashed on the top of the largest mound of detritus. I continued to whistle as I headed towards it.
A dozen humans looked down from their little hill, holding boomsticks and spiked pistonhammers. They wore rubber jackets with hazard stripes, industrial steel-toed boots and upgraded the look with ganger graffiti. The brightly coloured mohawks waving on their heads completed the picture. The empty bottles and discarded joyinjectors at their feet told me this was a regular meeting spot.
'Hey, look, it's the ladyface! I told you she'd come,' the juvie from earlier grinned at his boss. The addressed man was uncharacteristically tall and lanky, with a gaunt face and hawkish nose. He looked like the one-headed, emaciated version of the Imperial Aquila.
'Shut up, Kiff. I can see her just fine,' he spoke quietly, but with an authority I was not accustomed to finding among gangers. If this human had been born higher up in Hive Brabarya's Rings, he could've easily been a lord. But fate had him dumped in the Body-Rings and the best he could do was run a gang of juvies and lowlifes.
'Good evening, my friends,' I tipped my fe’dora at the bottom of the mound, not placing my hoof on it. They fanned out, looking above my shoulder and into the shadows.
'Are you alone?'
'As alone anyone can be in the hive.'
The boss snorted in good humour.
'Fair enough. Kiff gave you the price, if I'm not mistaken, yet you seem empty handed,' he said, tilting his head to the side.
'Skipping the pleasantries, are we? I expected more from the infamous Tombstones,' I replied and watched their reaction. Surprise that I knew them, mixed with pride and curiosity. A good combination.
'Heard of us, have you? Well, that should make this fast then. Pay up and you get your servitor back. Try anything funny and we'll bury you. If you don't like those terms, you can fuck right back to your blue buddies,' the man said. There was a reassuring click in my hidden comm-bead.
'That is all good, Mister Headstone. Nevertheless, I would very much like to see the servitor before we can negotiate any further. After all, no drone, no deal.'
'Don't be demanding anythin', you dumb xeno broad,' one of the other gangers spoke up in the gruff voice I first heard. He had an Aquila tattooed across his forehead and his face was a mess of burn scars.
'Who told you to speak, Mince?' the boss asked with a sideways glance.
'Yeah, shut up Mince!' Kiff chimed in with his regular wide grin. The Headstone rewarded him with an almost fatherly smack across the back of his head.
'Both of you, shut your traps,' Headstone said, exasperated with his minions. I waited patiently for him to get them in line. I neither cared about their hierarchy, nor did I want to stick around until a challenge was issued.
'I don't have all night,' I reminded them.
'Then get lost, ya skank,’ Mince said. Turning with a shrug, I began whistling again and headed back the way I had come. They were in a hurry to get the drone off their hands and their only potential buyer was about to walk out on them. If I was correct, they would-
‘Hold on, detective,’ Headstone spoke up and I looked back over my shoulder. ‘We’ll show you the servitor.’
‘Thank you, that would be lovely,’ I replied with a smile.
Headstone waved to some of his men who were standing back during our initial conversation. They moved out of my line of sight, but I was sure Fir’vren had his markerlight on them. We didn’t have to wait long.
What emerged from the top of the mound looked like the ghosts of ancient human folklore. A tarpaulin bound by thick iron shackles bobbed above the ground, held down by two gangers by the trailing chains. Their industrially enhanced muscles strained against the drone’s anti-grav engines as it tried to propel itself away from its captors.
Headstone edged closer and lifted the tarpaulin briefly. What was underneath was definitely a drone of T’au design. I couldn’t make out the markings on its side or see much of its condition, but it was one of ours. Except, I didn’t like the look in its optics when our eyes met. Something was off and I wouldn’t know what until we had it in our possession.
‘Satisfied?’ Headstone asked.
‘Not in a way that you would understand, but yes. I am satisfied,’ I answered. I centred myself and let the ripples of my emotions subside as I prepared myself for the hard part. After all, there was no money in my pocket to bargain with.
‘Excellent. Now pay up and you can be on your way with your crazy servitor.’
‘I would love to do that, but as you so acutely put it upon my arrival, I don’t have the money.’
‘Then why did you come in the first place? And don’t try anything funny, we’ll have it through the crusher before you can summon your blue buddies,’ Headstone warned.
‘I came to negotiate. I don’t have the funds to pay even a tenth of the price you demanded. I’m not made of money and nor would I expect my patron to pay either. She would send down a couple of XV-25s to retrieve the drone and that would be it. But it’d be destroyed by then, now, would it? Which puts us at an impasse.’
‘A what?’
‘An impasse. When neither of us gets what they want and we’ll all be poorer for it. So I came to negotiate. Maybe there’s something I can offer that would be worth your while,’ I said with a smile. The members of the Tombstone gang looked confused. Kiff seemed particularly happy that something interesting was happening. Mince was on the verge of coming at me with his pistonhammer. Headstone remained cold and calculating and that’s what mattered the most. He seemed to have reached a conclusion and I really hoped it wouldn’t involve shooting.
‘What would you offer, then?’ Headstone said.
‘As much money as I can spare, plus a favour,’ I replied. Mince spat on the ground and twirled his hammer menacingly. The others looked at each other, unsure what that meant.
‘And what would that favour be?’
I knew from Headstone’s reply that I had him. I made sure not to smile and to keep my voice neutral, lest I gave away my satisfaction.
‘That is for you to decide. You can call on me and ask a favour. If it’s in my power to do it, I’ll do it. Don’t forget though, I would never betray the Greater Good, so no rebellious stuff or anything that endangers the peace or the lives of my fellows.’
There was silence as he thought over the terms. Headstone had made a decision before I even told him what it entailed, but he had to be seen deliberating the idea.
‘Fine, I’ll accept your favour and your cash,’ he replied. Relief swept over me, but only for a moment as Mince’s pistonhammer expelled a gout of steam. The ganger swung the spiked head of the weapon right at Headstone’s midriff. Surprise at the betrayal slowed the leader of the Tombstones and he couldn’t dodge in time.
There was a bright flash and blood sprayed in Headstone’s face. A fist-sized hole smouldered in Mince’s torso, evaporating his heart and a big chunk of his spine. The dead ganger folded like a marionette with its strings cut.
‘Hostile eliminated,’ Fir’vren’s voice murmured from my comm-bead.
‘What the fuuuuuck?’ Kiff said, looking as surprised as everyone else. But not surprised enough that they wouldn’t all be reaching for their weapons.
‘Tombstones, be as the graves,’ Headstone said stoically. Even though his voice was muted and deadpan, it carried across the empty plot. The gangers kept glancing around nervously, but they lowered their weapons. The situation was still precarious, but it could’ve been worse.
‘So, do we have a deal?’ I asked.