Chapter Text
EDITORIAL NOTE
The account which follows came into my possession during an investigation into unauthorised trade between several Imperial frontier worlds and representatives of the Tau Empire. Precisely how it reached Imperial hands is a story in itself, although not, I think, a particularly interesting one unless you have an unusual enthusiasm for agricultural machinery, falsified shipping manifests, and the internal politics of the Adeptus Administratum.
The original document was compiled by Commander Shas'o Vior'a Kai after his initial report concerning events on the world in question was returned by his superiors with repeated requests for clarification. Having examined the earlier reports myself, I can sympathise.
Apparently, the statement that an Astra Militarum company contained "a probable Necrontyr construct identifying itself as an Imperial Guardsman named Steve" was considered insufficiently detailed.
Kai's subsequent account is considerably more expansive. It combines his personal recollections with sensor records, tactical logs, diplomatic reports supplied by Por'la Vior'a Vash, and several transcripts of conversations which the Tau, with their customary enthusiasm for surveillance, recorded in their entirety.
I have rendered the material into a more conventional narrative and added explanatory notes where Commander Kai's understanding of Imperial institutions, customs, or motivations was incomplete.
There were rather a lot of those.
I should also acknowledge the assistance of my apprentice, Helena Voss, whose patience in collating and translating the original Tau records considerably exceeded my own.
With one minor intrusion from my apprentice, the annotations accompanying Commander Kai's account are my own.
— Inquisitor Amberley Vail
In the official trade manifests submitted to the Earth Caste Commerce Directorate, the installation was designated Forward Exchange Depot 7-A.[1]
To those stationed there, it was a cluster of prefabricated shelters, dust-streaked solar arrays, and reinforced ferro-concrete shipping bays hunkered down in a red-rock canyon. Officially, the planet was a frontier imperial outpost, isolated and largely forgotten by its Segmentum command.[2] Unofficially, it was where Por’la Vior’a Vash, a junior Water Caste diplomat with an overabundance of ambition, met quietly twice a cycle with a local Imperial sub-governor who preferred trading agricultural machinery for Tau pharmaceuticals over watching his population die of lung-rot.
Commander Shas’o Vior’a Kai sat on a crate of ceramic seals, his arms crossed over his chest, watching the perimeter fence.
He hated this assignment.
Fire Caste belonged on the front lines, directing the precise, harmonious application of long-range firepower. They did not belong in dust-choked canyons guarding trade envoys who spoke in endless, tedious euphemisms.
"They are late, Commander," Por’la Vash observed, adjusting his crisp blue tunic. "The Imperial representatives are usually punctual when the shipments involve broad-spectrum antibiotics."
"They have a new garrison," Kai replied, his eyes scanning the ridgeline. His cadre’s sensor drones hovered high above, sending clear thermal feeds to his armor’s HUD. "An Astra Militarum company was assigned here three days ago for planetary rest and security duty. Their commanding officer may not share the sub-governor's pragmatic approach to border control."
"Nonsense," Vash said smoothly. "Humans are fundamentally driven by material necessity. Once they review the supply manifests, reason will prevail."
"Humans are driven by dogma and panic," Kai corrected softly.[3] "Keep your shield-drone active."
The heavy steel gates of the Imperial compound ground open. Two light transport vehicles kicked up clouds of rust-colored dust as they rolled into the neutral staging area. Imperial Guardsmen spilled out: tired, weathered men and women in drab flak armor, holding their auto-weapons with the weary familiarity of long-term survival.
Then, the third passenger stepped out from the rear of the second transport.
Kai’s hand dropped instantly to the pulse pistol at his thigh. His armor’s targeting systems hummed, struggling to resolve the visual data.
The individual stood nearly two and a half meters tall. It wore an oversized Imperial Guard fatigue uniform that looked as though it had been pieced together from three different supply crates. Over its face, it wore a standard-issue helmet, though the chinstrap hung uselessly loose.
What caught Kai’s attention was the skin.
It was pale, unnaturally taut, and draped over a broad, metallic frame. Around the wrists and neck, the seams were visible: slits where grey, brushed metal peeked through decaying organic material.
A drone, Kai thought immediately, his Fire Caste training attempting to categorize the threat. An organic-synthetic hybrid. A crude Imperial attempt at cybernetic infantry.
"Fascinating," Vash whispered, leaning forward. "An advanced combat unit? I was unaware the local sub-sector possessed the technological infrastructure to deploy heavy cybernetics of this scale."
"It isn't a cybernetic," Kai said, his brow furrowing as he reviewed the drone telemetry. "The power signature is completely wrong. There is no biological life-sign within the chassis. It is entirely cold."
"A remote-operated chassis, then?"
The Imperial commander, a haggard-looking captain with a scarred face, approached the center table, flanked by two Guardsmen. The tall, metallic figure followed three paces behind, its heavy boots leaving deep depressions in the red dirt.
"Let's make this quick," the Imperial captain grunted, tossing a data-slate onto the table. "My men need those medical crates. The sub-governor said the paperwork was already settled."
Por’la Vash stepped forward, offering a flawless, practiced gesture of diplomatic respect. "Greetings, Captain. The Tau Empire is pleased to facilitate this mutually beneficial exchange for the Greater Good. However, protocol requires a brief verification of identity and authority."
Vash glanced past the captain, his eyes lingering on the massive figure. "And might I inquire as to the nature of your escort?"
The Imperial captain didn't even turn around. "That's Steve."
Vash blinked his inner eyelids. "A designation? Or a model series?"
"It's his name," the captain said tiredly.
Kai stepped up beside the diplomat, his sensor visor flicking through diagnostic modes. "Captain. My scanning arrays indicate this unit possesses no organic vital signs, yet it wears human epidermis. Is this an automated defense drone?"
"Steve?" The captain sighed. "No. He's with the Guard."
"Which sub-species of humanity is he?" Vash asked, trying to find a logical hook for his report. "An Ogryn variant? A specialized cybernetic strain?"
"He's Valhallan, I think," a Guardsman near the back offered.[4]
Kai paused. "Valhalla is a cold-climate Imperial world. It is a geographical origin, not a biological classification."
"Don't tell him that," the Guardsman muttered under his breath.
"He's Mordian," another soldier called out from the transport. "Look at the stance."
"That is also a planet," Kai said, his voice rising slightly in frustration. "Not a species! What is he?"
The large figure took a step forward. Kai’s hand tightened on his weapon, but the creature didn't raise a rifle. Instead, with a slow, agonizingly deliberate motion, it raised two massive, mitten-clad hands to its head, clumsily working the chinstrap with thick woollen fingers, and unlatched its oversized helmet.
It lifted the helmet off.
The removal of the helmet did not clarify the situation; it made it infinitely more horrifying.
Beneath the brim, the organic material was not a proper head, but a greyish-pale human face stretched violently thin over a broad metal skull. The skin was poorly fitted, gathered at the jawline like a hastily knotted sack. Around the cheekbones, the leathered hide had split, exposing the matte-grey metal beneath. Where human eyes should have been, twin points of cold, emerald light burned from deep within dark, hollow sockets, illuminating the interior lining of dead flesh.
The Fire Caste commander froze, his hand locking onto his pulse pistol. Por’la Vash stumbled back two steps, his diplomatic mask shattering into pure revulsion.
The creature placed its helmet politely under its arm. Its jaw unhinged slightly, stretching the stiffened human skin across its chin, and a vox-speaker buried deep within its thorax crackled to life.
"I APOLOGISE," Steve said, his voice echoing off the canyon walls with the flat, mechanical resonance of an industrial public-address system. "I WAS INFORMED THAT HEAD COVERINGS ARE DISCOURAGED WHILE EATING. I ASSUMED THIS WAS A FORMAL SOCIAL GATHERING."
Silence descended on the staging area.
Por’la Vash stared at the green lights burning behind the stretched face. He turned slowly toward Kai, his voice barely a whisper. "Commander... what classification of Tau auxiliary report do I file for this?"
Kai stared into the glowing emerald optics of the thing standing in a Guard uniform. "I have no idea."
The Imperial captain sighed heavily, pulled a stubby pencil from his top pocket, and slapped a hand onto the shipping manifest.
"Right," the captain said, completely unbothered. "Antibiotics. We asked for forty crates of the broad-spectrum respiratory gel. I'm only seeing thirty-eight on the flatbed."
Kai blinked behind his helmet visor. He looked at the captain. He looked back at Steve, whose glowing eyes were fixed attentively on the supply crates. He looked back at the captain.
"Captain," Kai said, pointing a rigid finger at the two-and-a-half-meter anomaly standing three feet away. "That is a synthetic apparatus wearing harvested human skin."
"He's a bit stiff, yeah," the captain agreed, squinting at the manifest. "Look, about these missing two crates. If the sub-governor finds out we came back light, he's going to dock our rations, and my squad's been eating starch-paste for three weeks."
"It has no biological heart!" Kai insisted, his voice edging into genuine disbelief. "It has no vascular system! It is a walking engine draped in a corpse!"
"Steve?" The captain looked up, waving a hand dismissively in Steve's general direction. "Yeah, he doesn't talk much. Good in a trench, though. Holds the line. Doesn't complain about the mud. Now, are those two extra crates in the back container, or do I need to log a trade discrepancy?"
Kai opened his mouth, closed it, and slowly let his hand drop from his sidearm.
An hour later, the formal trade negotiations were underway inside the shade of the primary prefab shelter.
Por’la Vash had managed to recover his diplomatic composure, though he deliberately kept his chair arranged so that two heavy Earth Caste cargo containers sat directly between himself and the corner of the room where Steve was standing.
The Imperial officers and the Tau delegation sat around a long metal table, reviewing border trade permissions, water filtration parts, and agricultural quotas. Small bowls of emergency nutrient paste and tea had been set out, a customary courtesy of Water Caste diplomacy.
For forty-five minutes, Steve remained motionless against the reinforced wall. He stood at perfect attention, his oversized helmet tucked under his left arm, his glowing green optics fixed straight ahead on a wall-mounted ventilation unit. He did not blink. He did not shift his weight. He did not breathe.
Por’la Vash kept glancing sideways at him. Finally, unable to contain his sociological curiosity, the Water Caste diplomat cleared his throat.
"Excuse me," Vash said gently, addressing the corner. "Guardsman... Steve?"
Steve’s head turned with a faint, metallic clink-clink-clink of internal servos. "YES."
"You have not touched your rations," Vash noted, gesturing to the small tray that had been politely placed on a barrel near the door.
"NO," Steve agreed.
"Is the nutrient paste unsuitable for your... physiological requirements?" Vash asked, trying to phrase the query with maximum diplomatic tact. "We can request an alternative compound from the Earth Caste quartermaster if you have specific dietary parameters."
"I AM NOT HUNGRY," Steve stated plainly.[5]
Vash waited.
Steve did not elaborate. He turned his head back toward the ventilation unit with another quiet clink and resumed staring at the wall.
Vash looked down at his data-slate, tapped his stylus against the glass, and made a small, utterly useless note in his official log.
Across the room, Kai sat in silence, his helmet visor cycling through secondary deep-scan protocols, cross-referencing the structural telemetry against the Fire Caste tactical network.
A high-priority notification pinged quietly in his ear-piece.
Kai’s visor returned another identification possibility.
He dismissed it.
The system ran a secondary spectrographic analysis on the necrodermis beneath the rotting skin.
The identification returned.
Kai dismissed it again.
THREAT-LOG IDENT: NECRONTYR CONSTRUCT
PROBABILITY: 87.4%
That was absurd.
Necrons did not wear Imperial uniforms. Necrons did not stand three paces behind Astra Militarum captains. And, to the best of Kai's knowledge, Necrons were not called Steve.
A secondary sub-routine ran against the Earth Caste threat-database, matching the energy signature of the thorax vox-unit, the metallurgic density of the frame, and the specific wavelength of the green light burning in those sockets.
MATCH CONFIRMED: NECRON CONSTRUCT[6]
Kai stared across the room.
Steve was still standing quietly beside the ventilation unit.
The Imperial captain dunked another biscuit into his tea.
Kai felt the headache behind his eyes deepen. The Fire Caste had extensive tactical doctrine concerning the Necrons.
None of it contained the words Imperial Guardsman.
Footnotes
- A.V. The Tau designation translated here as "Earth Caste Commerce Directorate" appears to refer to a regional logistics and material-exchange command rather than, as some translations have suggested, an agricultural collective.
H.V.: Confirmed. Though it took me six hours and correspondence with three Ordo Xenos savants to establish this.
A.V.: Excellent initiative.
H.V.: You already knew, didn't you?
A.V.: Of course.
- "Forgotten" is perhaps unfair. The Administratum had merely misplaced three consecutive requests for resupply, incorrectly classified the planet as a shrine world, and, for seventeen years, believed its principal export was fish. There are no native fish.
- Commander Kai's assessment is both grossly simplistic and, regrettably, supported by a considerable body of evidence.
- Given Steve's habitual indifference to sub-zero temperatures and total lack of pulse, the Valhallan identification was surprisingly popular among local garrisons, though my acquaintance Ciaphas Cain always maintained Steve lacked the requisite enthusiasm for tea.
- Or, indeed, capable of digestion. Steve has presumably not felt organic hunger in roughly sixty million years, making his polite decline of the Tau paste perhaps the most accurate statement made in that room.
- I should point out that this identification took Commander Kai approximately fifty-three minutes longer than it took me. In his defence, Steve was not wearing a regulation greatcoat at the time.