Getting Warhammered [WH 40k Fanfic]

169 – Connection

Ciaphas Cain was old. Rejuvenation treatment after rejuvenation treatment had seen to that he lived so long he could barely even recall his home planet. 

The dark tunnels of the far-off hive world, and the tunnel-rats senses they had gifted him were the only mementos he had. 

Centuries had gone by since he first stepped foot on the Schola’s grounds, and sometimes he still wondered about the sheer impossibility of it all. He was still alive, despite time and every last enemy of mankind doing its best to put an end to him on a near-daily basis.

“Sir?” A nonplussed voice snapped him out of his brooding. As his senses returned to him, he felt his oldest comrade’s utterly unique body odour invade his nostrils. He really must have been lost in thought, Jurgen was not the sneaky kind and yet Cain hadn’t noticed his presence until he spoke up. “Care for a cup of tanna?”

“Yes,” Cain said, nodding slowly as he made sure to breathe only through the mouth. Jurgen had many positive qualities, foremost of which was his unbending loyalty, but few ever cared to look beyond his unkempt and rather repulsive exterior. Oh well, that only served to keep them from realising his true nature as a Blank, so it was to his benefit. “Thank you, Jurgen. Was there any communication from our friends in the capital while I was out?”

“No, Sir.” Jurgen shook his head. “It’s been silent.”

“Well, that’s not good.” Cain rubbed at the bridge of his nose as he savoured the warmth of the tanna spreading through his body. 

It did little to banish his rising anxiety though. There had been no news from Amberly for what felt like ages, but was a mere two days in actuality. 

Cain was rather certain the headstrong woman would be just fine, one way or another. Inquisitors were made of sterner stuff, and Amberly even more so. What he was more worried about, was that without her, he was stuck here like a landed fish since she was the only one who had access to whatever they used to communicate with the stealth void-ship up in orbit. 

It was her own personal ship of course, but Cain would really do with any shoddy piece of junk that could fly him off of this damnable planet. He had never been one to believe the Emperor had the time, or willingness to personally protect his every last subject, so he liked to take every precaution to put as many obstacles between himself and enemies as possible.

Alas, life always found a way to mess it all up.

This time, it came in the form of a request. Few men could ever resist the words ‘darling, could you do something for me?’ spoken by a beautiful woman. That was doubly true when said woman was an inquisitor. 

“Sir?” Jurgen spoke up, and Cain glanced up with a start to find the man’s face warped in a confused frown. “What are we supposed to do with the Miss that came with you? The Lieutenant has been complaining that she keeps poking at his men’s equipment.”

“‘Poking at his men’s equipment’?” Cain repeated, an eyebrow tiredly raised in amusement. Unfortunately, Jurgen was immune to humor, or likely never even learned the word to begin with, so he just nodded. “Which equipment?”

“Guns, knives, tactical gear,” Jurgen listed out, looking confused. “I thought they weren’t supposed to let a civie touch their stuff, but most of them didn’t seem to care. I don’t get it.”

“Well,” Cain said, pausing to down the remaining tanna in his cup before rising to his feet with a groan. The day’s action had not been kind to his knees and hip. If he couldn’t get another rejuv treatment soon-ish, he’d really start to wither, he felt. “Let’s see what’s going on.”

Cain already had an idea of what might be going on, several ones in fact, and he was relieved to find that it turned out to be one of the rather tame ones. As he stepped into the larger room, the one they’d named ‘the lounge’ of the safe-house, he wanted to sigh. The detachment of elite stormtroopers that had stayed behind with Cain should have known better, but they had been stuck inside this ratty safe-house for weeks now. 

At least this bunch isn’t from a mixed regiment. Cain mused, watching half a dozen grizzled troopers fawn over the gorgeous woman who had found herself locked in a room with them. The Lieutenant was frowning up a storm in the corner, arms crossed and feet almost tapping in annoyance. Cain knew the troopers would have killed the woman if their superior had given the order, but by the flash of almost malicious relief on his face as his eyes caught Cain’s, he seemed reluctant to weather the blame for giving that order. After all, why did they have a Commissar in house if not to be the object of all malcontent and blame?

Well, frak that. Cain thought, suppressing the urge to glare at the man. Making a platoon full of veteran soldiers loathe him was the last thing he wanted to do, especially so far away from any real imperial authority and with them being the only thing that’d stand between him and a planet full of Slaanesh-worshipping-loons. 

Before doing anything else, he let his gaze wash over all the weapons and gear spread out on the small table before that Emilia woman. Laspistols, lasrifles, combat knives, flak jackets and even a tactical combat helmet. More importantly, all the firearms were missing their power packs. Meaning they were harmless. The most dangerous thing on the table was the combat knife, but Cain was pretty sure whoever lived long enough in the stormtrooper corps to become an elite veteran could handle a single civie woman with a knife. 

Surprisingly, the second person to notice him lingering just beyond the doorframe was the woman in question, not any of the other soldiers. Cain’s palms tingled as his eyes made contact with a pair of enthralling emerald eyes filled with overflowing curiosity and a hint of … amusement. That couldn’t be right. What regular woman would feel not a hint of fear or anxiety when locked in a room with a score of killers of whom she knew barely anything about?

She must still be in shock. Cain decided, remembering her trembling hands coated in blood as she stood over a gutted cultist with a haunted look on her face. People reacted in a million different ways to facing down death. It wasn’t the first time he saw someone seemingly lose grip of reality as a result. The lack of fear, and the need for distraction in the form of playing with strange ‘alien’ weapons made sense too, if he looked at it like that.

Cain sighed, squared his shoulders, and strode into the room. The men glanced over, then snapped to attention, their fists slamming into their chests.

“At ease,” Cain said easily, and they all relaxed. He was just about to address the woman in question, who stood along with the soldiers, wearing a sheepish expression on her face. Then she flinched, taking a half-step back before she caught herself and hid her reaction in less than a second. What was that? “I see you’re getting along well.”

A moment later, Jurgen’s familiar bouquet notified Cain of his aide’s arrival. For a brief, tiny instant, Cain’s heart froze in terror as he recalled the kinds of things that tended to react to his aide’s presence most negatively.

Daemons, Genestealers and Psykers. Any who drew upon the cursed realm of the Immaterium for power.

He banished that thought in no time flat. Emilia was back to her previous, mildly curious expression that masked just a hint of revulsion as her eyes flickered over to Jurgen. If she was a Psyker, she would have been writhing on the ground, bleeding through her eyes and screaming in agony, as Cain had seen Psykers do on more than one occasion when they got too close to the Blank. It was foolish of him to even consider the possibility, especially since without the Schola’s teachings, a rogue Psyker was unlikely to live beyond the age of ten without blowing themselves up, or getting possessed. 

No, Emilia was a regular human woman. With eyes. Which explained the revulsion he saw in her eyes when she laid eyes on Jurgen, and had her eyes forever tainted by the sight of what a varied collection of skin diseases could do to the face of someone who already thought hygiene was something that only happened to other people.

Now, a more ruthless man in his place would have ordered the woman’s death the moment she outlived her use as a meat shield, distraction and, lastly, driver. Which was just about when the beat-up van rolled to a stop in the abandoned warehouse near the safe-house. A kinder man, one still having deluded ideals of inherent human goodness, would have let her be on her way.

Ciaphas Cain was neither. He didn’t want to order the death of an innocent woman just because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time and had ‘seen too much’, but neither was he willing to trust her not to go blabbering about their location to the local authorities the moment she was out of range of their rifles. So she had been kept here, as their sort of prisoner for the time being. 

“So,” Cain said, drawing the word out as he let his gaze conspicuously wash over the assortment of gear the troopers had laid out on the table. “I hope you have not forgotten your duties just because a woman finally graced the room with her presence?”

“Of course not, Sir.” One of the Sergeants said, the one named Marvin … something. He sounded the slightest bit offended at the question, but hid it well behind a veil of professionalism. “Third and fifth squads are on lookout duty, keeping watch of the streets.”

*****

I watched the byplay between the soldiers and Cain with some amusement, but the main part of my attention was focused solely on pushing the boundaries of what I could still do with the oppressive power of a Blank pressing down on me. 

Now that I was this close to him, I could tell my drone would have had no hope of pushing back against it. My telepathic link to it would have snapped the moment it came close to Jurgen and my inbuilt contingencies would have activated, which would have had this lot around me slaughtered to the last man. A Blank’s powers might dampen, or even nullify, all of my powers that were fueled by soul energy, but it had no power against bio-energy and raw power. 

Without exerting myself overly much, I could still actually use my powers, though in an area limited to my body and its immediate surroundings. Even that much took me pulling my aura back in and wrapping it around me in a bubble, layering it atop itself until it kept most of the interference away from me.

The Emperor’s feat of using his Psyker voodoo on a Blank suddenly became a hundred times more impressive. It might take me frying my current avatar with a massive amount of soul energy to even come close. I was confident I could manage it, if it was some tiny thing like sending a blast of psychic screeching into his mind, but it just wasn’t worth it beyond tickling my ego.

I had hands, with fingers that could turn into claws able to rend flesh from bone with little to no effort. Killing a Blank the simple way was much more doable, since they really were just like regular old humans when it came to physicality. 

Cain was talking with that grouchy Lieutenant guy while I pushed and pulled at the aura-shell around me, trying to expand it and infuse it with more soul energy without compromising its integrity when I caught the telltale sound of static coming through a vox-speaker.

In the corner, the tactical officer — the guy responsible for maintaining the comms and keeping in contact with other units — jumped in shock just as a warbled, but clearly feminine voice came through.

Whatever petty drama was going on between the Commissar and the Lieutenant, which largely involved the two throwing barbed insults back and forth, came to a sudden stop as the man manning the not-radio turned the volume up.

Cain jerked and turned towards the speaker, ignoring the soldier who glared at him, but kept whatever he wanted to say to himself. 

“ … -thre, do you- … -repeat, do you copy?” 

The techie glanced up at his commanding officer, then at Cain who was by now right there next to him with the urge to nab the speaker and the mic out of the trooper’s hand clear on his face.

“Respond,” Cain said, and I caught a hopeful tone in his voice.

The techie nodded jerkily, then grabbed a mic before speaking a string of words that was likely some authorisation code or maybe it was to make sure whoever was on the other end of that line knew for sure this side hadn’t been compromised.

“The connection is shaky, but we can hear you. Over.”

“Thank the Emperor,” the voice cleared up a little, and I could hear the relief in the woman’s voice. “Prepare for departure. We need to leave this planet yesterday. We will be using the agreed-upon meetup location, be there in 48 hours. Vail, out.”

Hmmm. So they are running? I mused. Didn’t they have something they wanted from this planet? Beyond just banishing that Daemon Princess? They must have gotten it already, or decided to abandon the mission with all the fuss we had been kicking up around here. Oh well, it could still be interesting to see what they found, or would have wanted to find. I just need to somehow attach myself to this bunch until they leave … but how can I convince them not to leave me here?

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