Chapter Text
I sit with my head in my palm, leaning over the control panel I'm assigned to watch. Dozens of screens lay flickering before me, and yet none have anything interesting on them. Just the same still images of snow-covered landscapes, some of them broken by the grey pylons that make up the perimeter fence. I spin a coin on my desk for what must be the 100th time today. "One… two… three… fo- damn."
The coin falls onto its side and stills with the Aquila side facing up. My record is seventeen seconds, so three and a half is nothing. I'm collecting the coin to try again when a voice comes over the intercom. "Guardsman Rahmani, report."
Pleased to just have someone to talk to, I eagerly push the transmit button and speak into the vox-transmitter. "Present and reporting, Corporal Hassig.” I take a cursory glance over the monitors as I continue. “Nothing to report, sir. Uh…” I trail off, desperate to try and prolong the conversation with something but unable to think of anything worthwhile.
“Trooper? What’s the problem? What do you see?” The voice on the other end of the intercom is simultaneously concerned and excited, and I can tell he’s just as eager for action as me.
With a sigh, I relent. “Nothing, Corporal. Just boredom. Wondering when we’ll be off this rock.”
He sighs, but it doesn't sound angry. "When our job here is done, soldier. It may not be the most glamorous of assignments, but service here is just as valuable as service on the frontlines. We’re all protecting the Imperium.”
“I know, but…”
“Trust me, son, you want battle now. But you survive your first and you’ll be begging for a cushy assignment like this one. Enjoy the calm while it lasts.” With that, the connection is cut and I'm left alone with my thoughts once again.
I suppose that my C.O. is right, combat probably doesn’t feel all that glamorous when you’re being shot. I can’t control my own impulses though. I want action, excitement, even just some change would help. I've been stationed on this icy orb for nearly a year now and been in this tower for most of that time. The days have blended together into a forgettable time soup, only organized by the occasional event of some importance. When we got reinforcements from a regiment that was being dissolved, when we finished the repairs on that malfunctioning pylon, that time when the water pipes froze over and we had to ration for a week. My last year could be boiled down into a handful of events, and yet not one of them involved me actually seeing something on these throne-damned monitors.
Hours pass in expected quiet. I spin the coin another 400 times, with my record for the day being ten and a half seconds. Eventually, the sun begins to set and with that comes the end of my shift. My replacement, the night watch for Watchtower East, knocks on the door of the room. I stand from my post and go to open the door, feeling the immediate rush of cold from the outside.
The coat-adorned human there pushes his way into the room immediately. “Man, close the fucking door. Cold as shit out there today.”
I shake my head and smirk, shutting the door, glad that the temperature starts rising immediately. “Hey, Seb. Sleep well?”
“Ah, fuck off. You know I hate the graveyard shift. Didn’t sleep a wink.” He starts removing his jacket just as I don mine, both bearing the Imperial Aquila and the name of our regiment: Wilkaran 4th. “I’m telling you, Hassig just does this because he hates me.” Seb rests his head against the wall, taking a few slow breaths. It’s very easy to tell he hasn’t slept in a while. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a bottle of pills, swallowing a few of them.
“Caffeine supplements?”
He nods, wincing a bit. After another few breaths, he detaches from the wall and turns to face me for the first time. “Sorry, Sayim. Shit’s rough on me. Anything fun happen on your shift?”
“Never does, Seb.” I check the pockets of my coat and then zip it up. “Oh, wait, there was something.”
Seb’s eyes widen in intrigue. “Oh?”
“Yeah.” I take a step closer to the other man, looking around almost conspiratorially before leaning in. “...it snowed.”
I'm shoved towards the door as Seb rolls his eyes. “You’re an asshole. Get outta here.”
I don't suppress my chuckle as I open the door, stepping out onto the deck. I'm confronted with a full view of Planetary Outpost 210, which has been my home for the past year. It is a series of tightly packed buildings, connected by tunnels and covered walkways. From my vantage point, I can identify the mess hall as the largest building, then several of the dormitories. The administrative wing also stands out with its distance from the rest. Attached to it and standing as the largest structure in the compound is a large satellite dish I could see from the ground 5 clicks away. Surrounding the complex are rockcrete walls and, of course, the other three watchtowers. Beyond the walls of the outpost are snow-covered hilltops that were at one point beautiful but have since lost their luster after innumerable days spent looking at them; anything would. I sigh and descend the staircase. I've counted the stairs a dozen times and concluded that there are 124 of them. That thought makes me thankful that I don't have to descend or ascend these in the middle of the night, just at sunrise and sunset when there’s still enough light to see under my feet.
I make my way to Dormitory B, shivering by the time I arrive. “Damn this planet…” I open the door, quickly sliding in and closing it right behind myself. It’s somewhat warmer inside, and I let out a breath that I thankfully can’t see. I enter into a crossroads between sections of the dormitory. The walls are a stark white and the floors are standard gunmetal grey. My boots clank against them with every step, reverberating with a metal on metal sound. I consider going to the barracks immediately and lying down, but I've been deprived of contact for long enough, so instead I start towards the common room. It's late, but usually there's a few in the regiment still awake.
When I arrive, I'm greeted by the sight of two of my fellows sitting around a communal table. There are several cards lain out between them. I watch as the man I recognize as Jonas slams a few triumphantly on the table, immediately moving to slide a handful of featureless chips onto his side of the table.
I choose that time to approach, hoping to be spared Jonas's legendary boasting. "Jonas, Alek. Good to see you both."
Jonas greets me immediately, turning his chair to face me. He's an older man, but that's saying very little in guard standards. In reality, he's probably only in his thirties, but a hard life of combat has given him both wisdom and wrinkles beyond his years. "Sayid!"
And a memory issue. "It's, ah, it's Sayim, Jonas."
"Of course, of course. How was the shift?" He leans back on his chair, reaching for another that's tucked against a different table. He gets his fingers around it and spins it over to ours, gesturing for me to sit.
I oblige, smiling as I do. I've been on my ass all day, but somehow, it still manages to relax me. "Same old. Another day."
Alek gives me a nod of greeting that I return. He's about my age, that being early 20's, and is one of the soldiers we inherited from a dissolved regiment. Thusly, he has lighter skin than most Wilkarans and doesn't share our prominent brow. A slighter man than most, but from training exercises, I know he's one of if not the best shot in the 4th, so his lack of muscle makes him no less intimidating.
Jonas continues. "Ain't that how it's been? Hey, I just finished taking all of Alek's ration tokens, think I could tempt you to a game?" He collects up the cards and begins shuffling them, looking at me with all the coy subtlety a wrecking ball of a man can manage.
I spare a glance for Alek, who, to his credit, only seems slightly dismayed at his loss of rations. I turn back, a confident smirk on my face. "Sure, why not? Siege?"
"You know it." Jonas deals out a hand to each of us.
The cards are adorned with stylized renditions of the 17 primarchs, excluding the great betrayer (obviously) and they're also accompanied by one of three colorations. There are various ways to win this game, but in essence, it comes down to forming a better hand than your opponent. My starting hand is a blue Guilliman, blue Fulgrim, red Kurze, and green Sanguinius. A decent hand, but not one that should rightly win me the game yet. Still. "I'll bet 3." I take 3 ration chips out of my pants pocket, setting them on the table in front of us.
Jonas whistles. I'm sure he's happy to face me after playing Alek for who knows how long. I don't play nearly as conservatively. He matches my bet, taking it straight out of his winnings. "D'ya hear about the new arrival tomorrow?" He lays a card down and grabs another, and I do the same.
"No? I would've heard if we were absorbing another regiment." I take a few seconds to deliberate over my cards, which Jonas takes as cue to continue.
"No, no. From what I hear, it's just one person."
That gets my attention, so I decide to just keep my hand and focus on his story. "One person? What do you mean?"
He slides 2 more chips into the middle, which I reluctantly match. "Well, they're keeping it all hush-hush, y'know. No details for us meatheads, but I know the personal messenger for the Commissar. You guys know Mack?"
Alek shakes his head and I do as well. I don't think I've ever met a Mack around, but those on different shifts don't see each other too often, even after a year working together. Jonas could also be misremembering his name.
He continues, unconcerned. "Old timer like me, nice guy, keeps to himself. Anyway, we got to talking, and apparently, he overheard the Commissar organizing a transfer. Didn't sound none-too-pleased about it neither."
"Huh." I can count on one hand the amount of times I've even seen the Commissar, and when I do, I do my best to avoid him. I've heard from others that the last Commissar was way better, actually giving speeches and advice. Commissar Ulthran seems to want nothing to do with us. To hear him care enough to be upset, it must be pretty bad. Still, what could be so bad about one more soldier? "Well, more hands couldn't hurt."
Jonas raises an eyebrow. "You don't find the single-man transfer a little odd?"
"Well, sure I do. But you know how Militarum bureaucracy is. Could be any number of reasons, most of them not nearly as exciting as they seem. Ulthran's probably just upset he has to get off his ass and work for once." I tap the table twice and lay my hand down, locking it in.
Jonas laughs, even Alek smiles a bit. There's no humor like the stuff you really shouldn't say.
Alek speaks up for the first time, having set the dataslate he was fiddling with down. He speaks slowly, in heavily-accented Wilkaran, our (not his) home world's language. "I think Sayim is right. Odds say, it is just a logistical error. Manage a billion planets and a billion regiments, things like this will happen."
Jonas looks between us, a little disappointed. "Come on guys, where's your sense of conspiracy? What if it's something awful; some serial killer from a penal legion or something."
I raise an eyebrow. "Yeah, but it definitely isn't that. We aren't a penal legion, we wouldn't get their soldiers."
"Oh I know, but what if we did? That'd be way more exciting than a clerical error or whatever."
Alek and I look at each other and shrug, and Jonas scoffs, returning his attention to the game. A moment later, he's off talking about something else and our boring responses are forgotten.
We play another few hands after that, but we avoid the topic of the new arrival. Despite the conclusion, I was still curious. If it wasn't just a clerical error, what would that mean? Maybe some poor soul who's the last of their regiment? Man, if that ever happens to me, I hope they just let me retire. Maybe it's a new officer or something, replacing Hassig or even the Commissar? That could explain his mood, losing his cushy position. Whatever it is, I'll find out tomorrow, so I don't bother theorizing further. Jonas is rubbing off on me too much.
I ended up with about as many ration tokens as I started with. I did win more than I lost, but I passed the extra into Alek's hands before I bid them farewell. Unlucky or not, no man deserves to eat unflavored slab for a month. I left the common room soon after our 5th hand, wishing the two of them a goodnight. I was surprisingly tired from what was an unremarkable shift, but still, better to be well-rested for tomorrow. Who knows what excitement this new arrival will bring with them? The Jonas in my head says a lot, while the Alek says none.
I settle down in my small dorm, consisting of just a bed and storage for my possessions. According to other Guard, actual dormitories are a real rarity in deployments, so I should be quite thankful for my cushy assignment. It's the only one I've ever known though, so I can only compare it to my previous life. I was born on a hive world, but my mother was a trader, so we were generally more well off than our neighbors. My room was slightly bigger than this, but far more furnished with leisure devices. In that sense, the Guard was a significant downgrade. But I knew that going in. I didn't join up wishing for a comfortable life; anyone who does is severely misinformed.
I lay back on the bed once I'm stripped down to my fatigues. My flak armor fills a foot locker near where my feet rest. I remember when I first started, the armor seemed so bulky and uncomfortable. I was mortified when I was told I had to wear it all day, every day here. But now it feels like a second skin. I'm not slowed down at all by its bulk, and whenever I'm discomforted by it, I just think of His Angels, basically trapped in their suits of armor. I should be glad I can still take mine off to sleep.
I've never struggled getting to sleep on time, so I only lay awake another few minutes before drifting off. It's a dreamless night, as most have been since I was stationed on Avor I. Some people say dreaming is your mind making sense of recent events, and I suppose if recent events have been unremarkable, maybe your dreams are as well.
–
I wake up at 6; I always wake up at 6. Mostly because that's when morning tone rings, and that's always been enough to wake me. After a shower and changing into new fatigues, I'm throwing on my armor when a chime sounds from the wall slate. It's a text message, reading, 'Order: Guardsman Rahmani, report to the administrative wing by 06:40.' -Corporal Hassig.'
That's certainly… strange. I've never set foot in the admin buildings in all the time I've been here. I'm not high ranking, and I don't have a problematic disciplinary record. I do my job and make no waves, that's how I've always done it. What could possibly warrant my presence? Sitting here thinking about it would only make me late, so I speed through equipping myself in both armor and jacket, then step out into the hall. I see a few other guardsmen doing the exact same thing, and I nod their way before turning down the hall, a different direction than I normally go. My thoughts are filled with endless theories as to why I'm being summoned, but my only conclusion is that it has something to do with our new arrival. Too coincidental otherwise.
I open a metal exterior door, stepping out into the biting cold of the planet's surface. It's especially frigid today, several ice crystals snapping off the door as I close it behind me. I turn and start marching towards the admin wing, throwing my hood up halfway there as the wind buffets my exposed ears. As I get near enough to see through the nearly ever-present snowstorm, I spot Corporal Hassig standing with his arms clasped behind him, right in front of the main admin entrance. His coat is firmly pressed and heavy, likely armored, so it doesn't flutter nearly as much as everyone else's. He looks entirely unfazed by the winds, yet despite that, he looks more unsettled than I've ever seen him. Something about the way his eyes meet mine, not in an imperious commanding officer way, but in an "oh boy" way. I can almost see the deep breath he wants to take. He's only a little older than Jonas, looking to be 40 at the latest, but stress has worn lines into his face. He's always been pleasant with me, and I've seen him smile often enough, but I've also seen him tear into my comrades when they're not up to snuff. I march up to him, keeping a respectful 5ft of distance before saluting.
He nods. "At ease. This way, guardsman." His voice is gravelly, deep, and resonant. Even if he was in the same armor as me, I could tell just from his tone his station is above mine. He turns, stepping to the side of the door and next to a skull with eyelights, covered in snow like most everything here. The Corporal stands in front of it a moment, before the door slides vertically open. A servitor lock, huh? Much fancier than anything in the main building. He steps through and I follow behind quickly, worried the thing might decide to crush me in the door if I'm not fast enough.
The inside of the admin building is barely any different from the rest of the complex, something I'm a little surprised and glad about. Metal floors, rockcrete walls, the same energy efficient lights hanging from the ceiling. I step in, stomping my boots on a carpeted pad, it being the only change I notice from elsewhere in the outpost. The Corporal does the same, and soon starts walking down an adjoining hallway, taking us out of the entryway before I even get to have a look around. He's walking slowly though, hands still held behind his back, gripping themselves a little tighter than I'm used to seeing.
He glances back at me and my slightly confused expression, which I endeavor to hide too late. He stops and turns, unclasping his hands. He cracks a small smile, already doing wonders to put me at ease. "Apologies, Guardsman. It's been a taxing night. I'll brief you fully in a moment, but have no fear: you're not being disciplined. Just have some new orders for you." He puts a hand on my shoulder briefly, squeezes through my armor, then turns and continues walking, this time with his hands held relaxed at his side.
New orders, huh? I did express my boredom to him yesterday. Maybe he took that to heart and found another post for me? I certainly wouldn't mind a change of scenery, though I don't know what I've done to deserve such a boon (or a curse; there are certainly worse positions than mine). I follow behind him wordlessly either way, knowing I have no say in the matter.
We pass many metal doors on both sides of the hall, each with a label on them. Most I don't recognize at all, with titles like Head Seneschal or Director of Operations. I didn't even know we had such a detailed command structure; I've only ever seen the Commissar and Corporal Hassig out and about. Maybe these head the facility, not the Guard stationed here, and that'd be why I don't see them around. But then again, I don't know if the facility does anything other than relay vox-communications; the place isn't exactly filled with civilian workers.
I think too much. My father, a Guard man himself, would've told me to stop, that anything I need to know would be told to me. In this situation, I'm inclined to agree, as all this thinking is only serving to put me out of step with the Corporal.
Finally, after walking what feels like the entire length of the building without making a single turn (why did we enter from this side?), he stops in front of a door labeled "Interrogation Room A," with a green band under the label. Next to it is a door with the same label but a red band. Corporal Hassig tugs the handle and the door comes right open. He steps in first, I follow, and then the door is shut behind. Inside, is a fairly compact room with a desk, a few chairs, a vox-transmitter microphone, some machinery next to it that I couldn't begin to comprehend, and most notably, a large shuttered window the entire length of the room, on the side of the room facing that red-barred door. Frankly, by now, I am growing incredibly concerned, but the Corporal isn't showing any fear, so I don't either.
He turns to face me, then offers me a chair, sitting in one himself. Honestly, aside from riding in landers, this is the first time I've seen him sit down. When he does, a lot of the platforms elevating his station above mine crumble away, and he offers a small smile. "Sit down, Sayim, you're going to want to."
An honest warning like that does not go unheeded. I sit in the metal chair, unsure whether to look at the still-shuttered window or my C.O.
"So, in case you were not aware, we got a new arrival last night."
I elect to not say that I did know, not wanting to get Jonas or his contact in trouble for eavesdropping.
"Just one mind you. Garalegian 10th basically dropped her in our laps and then set off on a mission of quote, 'grand importance.' One would wonder why they wouldn't want all of their soldiers for such an important mission, but nevertheless, she's here now. And she is our problem to deal with." His eyes trail over to the shuttered window, and he taps his fingers on the desk momentarily.
So that's our new arrival behind there? But why is she locked up, why am I involved, why does the Corporal look worried– by the Throne, brain! Shut up, you are literally having your questions answered right now.
He soon returns his attention to me, looking darker than I've ever seen him. This is the face I imagine he'd have before sending us off to a battlefield. "Sayim… what do you know of abhumans?"
I know enough that hearing that sends a chill down my spine. "Sir, you mean like… psykers?" I whisper the word, as if one was going to jump out of the shadows.
He thinks for a moment and then nods, looking at me to continue.
"I, I know about as much as the next Trooper, sir. Next to nothing. Just that they're dangerous. Even when they're on our side. 'Watch the psyker in your trenches twice as hard as the one in the enemy's.' Never really worked with one before though."
The Corporal nods, then looks at me a moment longer, a stare I can't help but return wordlessly. He smirks. "You're wondering why you're here aren't you?"
I don't want to ask, for fear of embarrassing myself, so I just nod.
"Well, Sayim. To be honest, random chance. We needed someone for this job, and you expressed a need for excitement yesterday. This is the most exciting thing to happen to this rock since our deployment. You'll get your wish, and maybe learn to be more careful with your wishes in the future, eh?" The smirk he gives there is somehow both congenial and threatening. I couldn't replicate it, though maybe it's something they teach you in officer school. "As you've probably surmised, our new arrival is an abhuman, though not a psyker. At least, not that we know. Who knows with this kind of heresy? I think it might be easier to show you, but I'm warning you ahead of time the sight can be a little jarring." He gets up and approaches a cord at the end of the window, placing a hand on it before looking back at me.
I take a few moments to process the fact that I'm about to see an abhuman. I've seen two astropaths and a navigator in my entire life, and all three set off so many alarm bells in my head. Without trying to be too obvious, I reach under the table and grab two supports, turning to face the shutters. I nod, and the Corporal pulls the cord, lifting the shutters and revealing a small, nearly featureless room.
I ignore the flat, unadorned walls, instead focusing on the metal table and chairs in the center of the room. My eyes are immediately drawn to the one occupent, and I struggle to keep my jaw off the floor.
Sitting in chains at one end of the table is a female creature in guardsmen garb. The armor is not standard issue for our regiment, looking more grey than green, and perhaps a little bulkier, but that is far from the most notable thing about her. On her arms, face, and… I suppress a shudder as I notice the tail, there is a layer of fur not unlike the Terran tigers I've seen picts of. Orange dominates the patterning, with black lines that could be called stripes, though they certainly don't present the regularity of any striped clothing. Half of her face, which is protruded partially in the shape of an animalistic muzzle, bears white fur instead, trailing down her neck and under the grey-green fatigues. Her snout is also adorned with tiny whiskers, dangling off each side of her face and twitching occasionally. Similarly, the two rounded ears sticking out of a mess of short, orange hair seem to twitch irregularly, as if sensing things I cannot. The tail, though I'm tempted to look away and forget it exists, floats lazily at her back, curled upwards just before it touches the floor. As I look, it wraps around her ankle, but as soon as it does, she moves it with determined effort back to its former resting place. Even as I'm examining her, she doesn't look my way, instead staring down at the table where her two hands lay shackled, fingertips bearing inch-long claws. She seems to be tapping them against each other, then the table, sighing in what is an, abhuman or not, universal display of boredom.
Even with my grip on the table to anchor me, I'm feeling a little light in my chair. I'd never expected to see something like this, at least not without a battlefield between us. But, I quickly realize Hassig hasn't been watching the creature and is instead watching me. Under the scrutiny of my C.O., I steel myself, remembering all the morale exercises I've been taught and doing all the least visible ones in my head. In less than a minute more of staring, I'm able to tear my eyes away from the abhuman woman… thing. I look back at Hassig, trying to keep my expression neutral. "I've never… seen one of them before. In books or in person."
The Corporal doesn't look the least bit judgemental, at least not towards me. "I hadn't either, to be fair. I've been informed that they're a very rare breed of abhuman, native to some colonized planet of the Imperium. Technically sanctioned, though only insomuch as they bring value to a regiment. And… that is all the information I have on them, other than that they're called Felinids. For, uh, obvious reasons." He scratches his head, now apparently allowing himself to look at the creature. Disdain is obvious on his face, twinged with disgust, but not as harsh a reaction as I had. This probably isn't his first time seeing her.
"Um, sir, what exactly is the job you needed from me? I'm certainly no expert on abhumans, least of all felinids." I keep my hands from fidgeting, mostly by avoiding looking at the figure through the window. She still hasn't looked up, leading me to believe the window is some kind of one-way glass.
Hassig turns back to me, standing up from his seat and reaching inside his thick coat. "Your job will be to figure her out." He pulls out a file. I honestly had no idea the garment had pockets, but it seems awfully convenient now that I notice it. He lays it on the desk and flips it open. Inside is a vox-recorder and a leaf of paper, covered in questions in Wilkaran. "Ask these questions and any others you can think of to ascertain her usefulness. This and a few other tests will determine what she's worth. If she seems valuable enough to warrant keeping, well, we'll talk about that then. If she doesn't, we toss her in the ice lake." He looks pleased as he relays my orders, and I can tell he's come up with this plan at least partially himself.
Still, it seems like a lot to hand to a Trooper like myself. Even among those of my rank, there are people with tougher nerves than I. People that have actually seen battle for example. "Um, sir, I hate to repeat myself, but am I really the man for this job?"
I can see him glower, and I instantly feel my mistake in questioning orders, but he just simmers for a moment, instead calmly answering. "I am sure, Sayim." He's called me by first name more today than he has in the entire time I've known him. "I could bring in any of your hundred comrades on this planet. Throne, I could even do it myself. But I picked you for a reason. Most of the men out there have fought in one battle or another, or lost somebody to one. They see that as the enemy." He points to the felinid, while pointedly not looking at her. "And I do too. But if I send in someone looking for vengeance, I already know what the verdict of this test would be. I think you have a good head on your shoulders, can spot heresy when you see it, and wouldn't toss an innocent abhuman in the lake just to see them freeze. So in the name of impartiality, and not throwing away what could be a valuable asset, I'm sending in you."
Wow. Not one of my superiors has spoken that glowingly about me. The Guard, by and large, isn't known for positive feedback. With that thorough explanation though, I no longer question the orders I've been given, just how well I can pull them off.
I stand up from my own chair, offering a salute that the Corporal just nods to. He picks up the file and hands it to me. "Good man. She's chained up, so you're probably safe, but leave your weapon in here just in case. If anything happens, go straight out the door and close it behind you, it auto-locks. Here's the keys to her shackles. You probably won't need them, but just in case." Dropping the keys into my hand, he gestures me towards the door.
I step out into the hall, putting the keys in the pocket of my fatigues. I wait there a few moments to catch my breath before doing this. I'm about to talk to an actual mutant. A thousand ministorum priests speak in my head, telling me not to, to kill it or report it to the nearest ecclesiarch. But no, orders are orders. And besides, she's wearing our armor. As unpleasant as this is, she probably only obtained that by being at least slightly civil. I turn the handle on the red-banded door, stepping in before I can talk myself out of it.
There sits the same creature I saw through the window, though now she's looking right at me, bright green eyes reflecting the one bulb hanging above us both. I stand there, awestruck to be stared at by something so human, but so very… not. Knowing Corporal Hassig is watching me from just the other side of the glass, I take a deep breath, surprised to find it doesn't smell like beasts, then sit down in the cold metal chair opposite her.
Her eyes never leave me as I approach. She seems to be studying me as much as I was her, though much quicker. One look over most of my body and she returns her eyes to mine, an emotion there that's difficult to place with her alien features.
She doesn't say anything, leaving me to open the folder and set out the recording device. It has one button on it, that I press, and the room fills with the quiet buzz of static as it clicks into operation. She gives it a cursory glance, then returns her attention to me. I read the first question to myself. 'How many men have you killed?' Okay, that's not much of an icebreaker. I do a scan down the list and they're all as tactless as that one, so I close the folder for now, instead looking at her directly. If I'm going to do this, I'm going to try to do it properly.
I speak slowly, in Low Gothic. "Hello. I'm Guardsman Sayim Rahmani. Your name?"
Her eyes widen in what even I can tell is surprise. It lasts but a moment though, replaced by a more inscrutable feline glare. She glances at the solid black glass wall that I know the Corporal is standing behind and narrows her eyes. I'm about to rephrase the question when she speaks, looking back at me. "I can read, Guardsman Rahmani." She gestures to my flak armor, specifically to the patch reading 'Rahmani' on my chest. "Three people I've seen sit in that chair, you're the first to ask my name."
Her voice is odd, but not in an overtly discomforting way. She speaks proper Low Gothic at least as far as I can tell, it not being my first language. But the words seem to come more from her throat than her lips, adding a twinge of growl to what she says. She doesn't seem angry otherwise, so I have to assume that's just her voice. If I was in a better mood about this I might even call it a purr, but I'm not so it's definitely a growl.
She doesn't elect to continue or answer my question, so I force a smile and forage ahead, speaking normally now that I know she grasps Low Gothic. "Well, I am asking aren't I? Gotta count for something, right?"
She stares at me a while longer than I'd like, but eventually nods, ears bobbing as she does. "It does. I am Khaliya." She taps her own nameplate, but there is no painted name. On closer inspection (close enough that I grow very uncomfortable at staring at an abhuman's breast), I notice a faint scratching in the metal, reading 'Khaliya.'
I write that down on the back of the questions sheet with an ink pen thankfully included in the folder. Then I ask the obvious followup, gesturing to the nameplate with the pen. "Did you do that?"
She smiles for the first time I've seen. It's not as repulsive as I expected, exposing but one fang under her raised lips. In fact, she looks much more bearable now than when she glares. She lifts a paw as much as possible, considering it's chained to the table. Her claws have since disappeared, but as I look she extends the one on her pointer finger, over an inch long. It's sharp, culminating in a point no wider than a speck. I have to wonder whether she does that to them herself or if it's natural.
I move right along, deciding that accusing her of defacing Guard property is not the tactic. "Nice to meet you, Khaliya." That isn't true, but the veneer of civility has worked so far. "Your… last regiment wasn't too forthcoming on details about this transfer. Would you like to explain it yourself?"
"Mm, would you like to uncuff me first? If you're going to pretend we're friends, commit. Otherwise, I think we're done here." She leans back in her chair, bearing an expression that's either smugness or anger, or a mix of both.
I'm a bit taken aback; I really thought the conversational tone was working. Did she know it was fake the whole time? "You do understand what's at stake here then? If you refuse to answer-"
"You'll kill me in some presumably horrible way, for being what I am. Yes, I understand."
I just look back at her, eyes slightly wide. I'm shocked that anyone, no matter how alien the creature, would throw their life away so easily.
She just smirks back, lifting her arms as much as she can to show off her shackles. "Freedom or death, Guardsman. I leave the choice up to you."
I slowly turn to look at the tinted glass, but as soon as I do, she slams her paw on the table, stealing my attention back. "I said you , Guardsman! Not your superior. Just Khaliya and… Sayim."
It would be incorrect to describe the way she says my name as anything but a purr. She's still smirking; I can't fathom why she would be so pleased in this situation. I should just walk out, declare her not worth the trouble, then leave it to The Corporal to dispose of her. I get up to do just that, and Khaliya lowers her head, finally losing all mirth. She just stares back down at her shackles, immobile and accepting. Her ears, whiskers, and tail all still, as if she were already dead.
Something about that expression gives me pause. She's not an emotionless alien, but someone who understands their choice and is willing to die for a cause. But why? I voice my concerns without thinking. "Why would you die for this?"
She raises her head, apparently surprised I'm still here and questioning her. She glares, but after a moment I realize it's not a glare, but a calculating stare. For whatever reason, I feel evaluated. "Do you really care to know?" She pronounces the 'r' in 'care' much longer than I would have.
"I, I do." My own answer surprises me, but I just do. I want to do everything in my (limited) power to avoid pulling the switch on this women. Maybe it's just my nature.
"Well, Guardsman. It's simple really. I will never be a slave or a prisoner. My clan fell to slavery, dragged off to every corner of your universe in chains. I serve your Guard because there were no fights left on Felinis that meant anything to me. But I will not do so in shackles or at gunpoint. Whatever your missionaries or superiors say, our lives are our own. And I'd happily face the abyss before I spend mine in servitude like my kin."
I lower my head. "I'm sorry about your family." It comes out as genuine because it is, but even that surprises myself. A bunch of felinids in the hands of slavers shouldn't upset me so much, but it does.
She seems surprised, and it lingers on her face, eventually forcing her to break eye contact. "Thank you." Her voice is quiet now, almost inaudible. Her hands tighten and I can tell her claws are out, digging into her palms.
Before I truly grasp what I'm doing, I've reached into a pocket and removed the key, stepping around the table to her side. With slightly shaking hands, I bring it up to her shackles, slotting it into the keyhole just as she looks up at me. Eyes still wide and slightly damper than usual, she just stares. I hurry through the process of unshackling her, only able to take that look for so long. I don't know whether I'd storm out of the room or cry with her, but that face is about to make me do one or the other. As soon as both her wrists are out, she turns away and starts rubbing them. I can see the fur is flattened where she'd been held, and it must feel good to be out of them.
I go back to my side of the table, and by the time I'm seated she has composed herself. She suddenly leans back in her chair, stretching her arms overhead. I'm struck by how flexible she is as her entire body seems to bend backwards. Her chest is thrust forward, and I'm quick to turn my head away. A display like that is not something I've seen in the 2 years I've been a Guardsman, as restrained as it was.
"Guardsman."
I look up and she's returned fully to her seat. She's smiling again as well, whiskers lifted.
"Thank you. You've surprised me today. You may ask your questions; I will answer to the best of my ability."
Right. Questions. I nod to hide anything that might tumble out of my mouth, gathering my thoughts before speaking. "Right, so you say you joined the Guard. Tell me about that."
"As you wish. I didn't have any family left on Felinis, so I wandered the planet aimlessly for a while. Went to Ophara, the only 'civilized' city on Felinis. It's the only place your Imperium cares about."
"You say 'your Imperium.' I was under the impression Felinis was incorporated?"
"It is. And when your Imperium treats me as anything but an animal, I'll call it my own. Also, you're interrupting. I found where your people were recruiting, mostly non-felinid 'residents.' I insisted on joining, got put with the, uh…" She pauses, turning around and tapping the 'Garalegian 10th' on the back of her armor. "Them. Felinis is too small to have its own regiments. They didn't know what to make of me and eventually decided to offload me on the next Imperial world they neared. So, here I am."
I tilt my head. "They let you join, and then kicked you out?"
She smiles, crossing her arms and tilting her chair back a little. "I don't think they predicted their men's response very well. One kept throwing up every time he saw me, a few demanded to be in different barracks, one even tried to touch me to, quote, 'pet the cat.' I gave him a new scar instead. I guess they decided that after all that, I wasn't worth the trouble."
I frown. Sounds to me like it's certainly a lot of trouble to put up with. "And what does make you worth it?"
She tilts her head. "Is this an interrogation or an interview?"
"It's…" I stop. It is kind of both. "They're just questions. You said you'd answer them."
She laughs. It's such a normal sound out of a beast. "Alright, Guardsman. Well, I'm good with a blade. If your soldiers hadn't stolen my sabre, I'd show you."
I nod. Close combat training is always good to have, but it isn't the main thing we're trained for. "And your marksmanship?"
She shrugs. "I aced all your tests on the first try."
I make a grunt of surprise. It took me three tries to even pass, and she didn't miss any first go?! Had she even handled a gun before then? "Really?"
"Really. You ever shoot a bow?"
I only remember the primitive weaponry from history class. "No."
"Way harder than your guns. Accounting for uh…" She holds her paw in the air, then drops it. She repeats it a few times, looking at me expectantly.
"...gravity?"
She snaps, her claws clicking off each other. "Yeah. Accounting for gravity, and the wind. You don't have to do any of that with your rifles. Just point and shoot. A kitten could do it."
Since being freed, she's gotten more animated, moving her paws as she speaks and flicking her tail every which way. It's honestly slightly distressing. I could stomach the differences between her and I much easier when they weren't being flaunted. I nod despite that, trying to hide my disgust. "Okay, so. A crack shot and good with a blade."
"Not just good ."
"Sure, sure. All of that would need to be proven again, of course. Your previous regiment didn't see fit to send us those records."
"Not a problem."
"But now, I have some… darker questions to ask you." I slide back over the file of pre-written questions. "Please answer as honestly as you've done so far."
She nods, though I can tell by her wandering gaze that she's already growing bored.
I read the first question again. "How many men have you killed?"
She looks at me again and grins. "Does that include my kind?"
I stutter, then stare at the question again. I finally look at the one-way glass behind which I presume is the Corporal.
" No. " The voice that comes over the speakers doesn't sound like the Corporal at all. It's not as deep, seeming to come more from the nose than the diaphragm. My eyes widen as I remember where I last heard such a voice.
That's… the Commissar! He's watching this. My eyes widen and I hold the paper tighter in both hands, staring hard at it. I can't fuck this up.
I can see Khaliya grinning at me over the file. "Someone important?"
I lower it and give her a warning look, tinged with some of my fear.
She just nods, losing the grin at my expression. "Alright. Furless men I've killed… three."
"And why?"
She scowls. "Two were slavers I thought might lead me to my family. One was a drunk in Ophara who tried to assault me. Didn't mean to kill that one."
I glance at the one-way glass, then nod. It's not really on me to decide whether that's forgivable. But, if she's telling the truth, I'd probably give her the benefit of the doubt. "Okay. Next. What God do you pray to?"
She continues scowling, glancing from me to the one-way glass. It looks like she's examining herself in a mirror, but I know who lies beyond it. She turns back, smirking just a little. I don't know if anyone but me would notice it. "The Emperor, of course."
I linger on that look. It's almost dismissive, and that doesn't sit right with me, but I don't know how to ask about it. I nod, slowly. "And no others?"
"I'm not some cultist, Guardsman. The only heresy I commit is my existence."
I look at her, and she just grins expectantly back. I'm forced to move on and proceed down the sheet of questions.
They go by relatively smoothly. Khaliya answers them all, never seeming to bat an eye at how dark they get. Eventually, I've reached the bottom of the page. I ask a few more questions about the people in her last regiment and her relationships with them, and then when I can't think of anything more to ask, I look curiously at the one-way glass.
A few beats of silence pass, and I wonder if there's anyone behind it. I'd feel pretty stupid deferring to an empty room.
Then, that same nasally voice over the speaker. "Chain it up."
I haven't even seen the man yet, and by his tone I just feel like I'm wasting his time. I turn from the mirror to the felinid, cutting off the vox-recorder at the same time.
Khaliya is silently snarling as she leans away from me. The side of her muzzle lifts and reveals pearly white fangs. "Is that how it is? Use my freedom to get your answers?"
I frown across the table. "You know we can't just leave you unchained."
"I have been perfectly polite! I answered every question honestly, I made no threats, and you still treat me like I'm about to tear your throat out!"
I get up, slowly, not wanting to startle her into making that a reality. "This isn't permanent. But I have to follow orders." I walk around the table, my back to the glass.
She follows me with her eyes the whole time, leaning away. "Guardsman." She whispers the word, or maybe hisses it. Either way it's through gritted teeth. "I will not end up enslaved. Or imprisoned."
"I know." I whisper back in turn, hoping beyond hope that there's no microphone in here to pick me up. "I'm sorry, but I have to listen to the Commissar. I'll–" I sigh quietly. I made up my mind a few minutes ago, but it still feels wrong to voice it. "...I'm going to work to get you free. At least give my recommendation. But you have to cooperate."
She meets my eyes. And even though we've been sitting across from each other for the better part of an hour, this is the first time that I notice hers are vertical, like a real feline's. Emerald green slits against a translucent white sclera. She's not snarling anymore, but it doesn't look much better as a pout. "Your people hate me so much. You really think they'll take the cuffs off when you're gone?"
"I'll make sure of it." It's a dumb promise. I'm nobody, and even if I give the most stellar review, the Commissar or Corporal could just overrule me. But I'm going to try my best. Though I'm still adjusting to her appearance, and my stomach still lurches when the light catches her fur a certain way, I have no doubt in my mind that she is a valid person, with as much right to live as me.
She squints at me, probably scrying for dishonesty. Then, she growls, moving her paws back into the restraints on the table. "I want out of these soon , Guardsman."
I smile sadly, reaching down to adjust the restraints and then her wrists. It's the first time I've touched her; I wasn't even thinking about it, but the soft fur squishes under my grip and I find myself so glad I'm wearing gloves. Still, it's so alien, and that alone brings back all those mental ecclesiarchs demanding I get as far from this thing as possible.
She seems to notice my discomfort, expression immediately shifting to a grin. Her other paw lands on the back of mine, tiny pinpricks of claws sticking right through my glove. "And, I'll be forever grateful to you if you get me out, Sayim." She purrs my name again, tracing her fingers over mine before laying her wrist back in the unsecured restraint.
I don't know how to react. I kind of feel like doing nothing is going to cause more problems in the future, but… my emotions can't agree on what I should be feeling right now, so I just stand motionless.
It's actually Khaliya that reminds me of my task, jingling the metal of one of her restraints.
I hurry through the process of closing them, locking them without ever making eye contact or even looking at anything but her wrists. As soon as I'm certain she's secured, I grab the file and recorder, marching out of the room with determined efficiency. I'd rather face the Commissar than think for more than a second about what just happened.