21st Experimental - Gnaritas

[zenarion]

21st Experimental – Gnaritas

The small craft was drifting for more than a week now. The six people inside were half-way through their supplies, and five of them were considering the sixth as a last resort if they would become really hungry. He was fully aware of that.

Furcas was telling the rest of the band of memory-less spacemarines all that he knew. They believed every word he said, since the events down on the planet made them believe everything their now dead guide said. Furcas continued to fill everybody in on what they were, and what their unknown master wanted from them. They were all sitting in the cockpit, just to make sure that the pilot they kidnapped would not do anything stupid.

Furcas continued his tale.

“It came to me in a dream, and it will do the same to you. The master that is. We can refer to him like that. He has only recently found out about us. After all, we are creations of the Imperium. We were experiments in man kinds attempts to create perfect warriors. And we are one of the many failed attempts.”

The speech did not get a very positive reaction. None of the others accepted themselves as failed. But Furcas backed up his opinion by facts.

“Normal spacemarines are created with the genetic stock of only one source – their chapter. Every marine in the chapter shares a large portion of his genome with the others, at the level of siblings, or even more. We, on the other hand, are different. Some time, long after the first founding, some genious thought that genetic material from different chapters of spacemarines could be combined, to cancel out each others’ weaknesses. So he got the approval from some higher power, collected some other ‘enlightened’ men, and started the creation of us. The procedures were not correct, since the makers only wanted to see the results. Much of what were supposed to undergo was skipped. We were never considered as future spacemarines.”

Razakel did not like the idea of him being a wasteproduct of some bigger project. Nobody would care if they lived or died, since they were already considered dead and useless. The master, however, believed they had some value. And for that, Razakel liked him. Furcas continued.

“Several chemical treatments that we had on schedule were removed. Half of the memory-erasing programme was skipped. Therefore, you might experience some surfacing memories, mostly in dreams. Master tells me it will be an obstacle for you to overcome, since the memories will not be pleasant.”

In Razakel’s mind the image of the woman with the golden hair and eyes of amer rose up again. He wondered who she was. The memory of her brought good feelings with it. Razakel shook his head, and focused on Furcas’ talking.

“There will be further problems. Since we are made out of mixed geneseeds, we are not very stable. The instability can express itself in deliriums, comatose states, and epileptic attacks. So we have to be very careful. Our genestock is mixed from several chapters, different for everyone. I myself a strong connection to the warp, so i presume i was created with DNA from a psychic spacemarine legion. Thousand Sons is my first guess. Also, I had some of Imperial Fist DNA. That I know from me not having a functional Betcher’s Gland. For those not aware of what that is, do not spit on the floor. Also I contain other DNA, from chapters not affected by any severe mutations. What they are, I do not know, since they are not that pronounced.”

The others wondered what they were. Razakel started wondering what he was made of, but did not get too far. He discovered that he knew nothing about any spacemarines, and even the names Furcas said were alien to him. He decided that it was not important at the time. Although, he tried spitting on the floor later, and he watched the saliva sizzle and burn away the thin metal plating. From what he understood, he was not a Space Wolf. The name did not ring any bells in his head though. What he was, did not bother Razakel that much. He was a lot more concerned with the uncertain future. Master or not, Razakel would not follow anybody for long. There was something he had to do, he just lost all memory of it. An urge to go back, to something before the whole chemical treatment and implantation procedures. That something was welcoming and warm. He could almost remember it when he closed his eyes. Razakel decided to take are of all emotions later, and walked back to his comrades. They were discussing their plans for the future. Furcas was telling about a plan that their master devised.

They were to travel to yet an other planet. This time an industrial forgeworld. Furcas felt that the Master would need help there, because his minions were not fulfilling his bidding. They needed additional motivation, and some precicely-applied force in the political structure of the planet, to tip the balance in their favour.

Their contact on the planet was not talkative. Kasdaye, Razakel’s collegue with tough skin and small sharp teeth, Vakulo, the man with the thick black hair, and Razakel himself were given carbon-fibre blades, since metal would be easily detected by the security system. They were supposed to break in to the apartements of the local governor, and kill everybody in the vicinity. Razakel held his new weapon in his hands. The blade was not longer than twenty inches long, and two inches wide at its broadest point. It felt heavy, as if it would be made of metal. Razakel cared not for weapons construction, as long as it worked. So did the others. They were also given new garments: black leather coats, boots, and workers shirt and pants, to “blend into the crowd” as their contact said. After an additional briefing (“you get in, you kill everyone, and hopefully, you get out”) they had a rather small and tasteless meal and set out to meet their other partners in crime.

The planet was alive even during the night. Forges worked around the clock. Light from molten metal coloured the concrete orange. Razakel, Vakulo and Kasdaye were following their guide to the place of killing. They were shown to an ugly building, not unlike the other ones in the city. The only difference was that there was no thick smoke coming out of it’s chimneys. Someone was cooking there, and not doing a too bad job. Vakulo inhaled soundly and smiled. The trio decided to start from the bottom of the three-story villa, and continue upwards, so they could escape over the rooftops when everything was over. They walked in through the front door.

The smell of searing meat hit Razakel’s nostrils the instant they were inside. Some sort of banquet was planned for tonight in the residence. The room they entered was  mainly a lobby, with crates stacked in corners. The lighting maked the room seem small. The floor was simple concrete. The citizens here did not care for comfort, only productivity. Somewhere, deeper in the house the trio of killers heard voices. There was clearly some activity going on in the kitchen. Kasdaye walked in there, the others proceeded to the next floor.
The air in the kitchen was thick and moisty. It was filled with scents and odours of meals cooking. Everywhere were children, carrying ingredients, cutting them up, pouring things into large pans, tasting the boiling mixtures of plant and animal parts. Kasdaye picked up the blade from his pocket and looked at it. The children were in the ages 7 to 12, their heads were shaved, their clothes were old and torn. They did not seem to notice the stranger in their kitchen. Kasdaye tossed the knife between his hands, toying with it. He took a deep breath, tightened his grip around the knife, and lunged himself forward.

One floor above Kasdaye, Razakel and Vakulo began their dirty work. Once again, Razakel felt himself being all-powerful. The people he killed were only methods of satisfaction now. The plastic knife he was given earlier broke almost immediately, and he fought with his bare hands. He did not even look where his fists landed, he just reached out with his limbs, always hitting something, always causing pain.

Someone had alerted the guards. They rushed into the building, a small gang of men, thinking that there was a burgler inside. They knew that this would not take long, the criminal would be cornered, and killed. The guards proved to be right on one account: Vakulo and Razakel did not take their time when disposing of them. After killing off the servants and guards, they found a staircase to the third floor. The governor had locked himself in his room, apparently with weapons. He threatened to open fire if they tried anything. Vakulo broke the door, and leapt into the room. This turned out to be the master bedroom too. A bed with metal poles at each corner took up most of the room. The governor, wearing a oly underwear and wielding a pistol was standing in the corner of the room, shaking and shivering. Vakulo was suddenly next to him. The thin man was pulled up, held in the air by Vakulos hands above his head, then violently brought down onto the metal bedpost, wich impaled the man neatly through the chest. For a second, he looked into Vakulo’s eyes, tried to lift up his gun, but his eyes went dull, and the pistol fell to the foor. Calming down, Vakulo and Razakel noticed a fourth person in the room. On the bed, sitting with her knees drawn up to her chin was a little girl. She seemed to be not older than thirteen. Her head was shaved, her face frozen in shock. Razakel notice the girl being completely naked, only covered by the no-longer-white bed blanket. Vakulo understood. Something from his past reminded him of the girl, of the man he killed, of the room with the soundproof walls, the dirty bedsheets. He pressed his lips together, not allowing them to tremble, and turned away. Razakel also knew. He noticed the girl’s clothes on the floor, picked them up and gave them to her. She drew them under the blanket, still shaking, and got dressed. Razakel completely forgot the madness of combat, the thrill of killing. All he saw now was a hurt child. He put his heavy jacket on the girl, picked her up, and walked out. The girl closed her eyes, for what Vakulo was doing to the corpse of the governor frightened her even more than the governor, when he was alive.

They found Kasdaye in the kitchen. He was sitting on the floor, amongst the children. They were standing around him, examining his exotic appearence. He was smiling.

Their contact was concerned. Things did not turn out as planned. He was walking around in their hideout, waving his hands above his head, shaking his fists. The children sat on the floor, looking at the panicing man. Razakel was amused. The others were too, but they did not show it. Only Vakulo was quiet, washing his hands in a bowl of water. The water was now red. Furcas was trying to calm the contact. The master would have use for some young minds too, as he has use for us. Everything is just a part in the great scheme, and the little ones are just as much gears of the engine as we are.

The morning after, the band of experimental marines had to leave the planet. After the governor was killed, small uprisings started everywhere. Furcas stated that their work was finished here, and they had to move on. They took goodbye of the children they freed. The little girl from the governor’s office looked at Vakulo and Razakel when they were leaving. They looked back at her. The girl whispered something to them. Razakel nodded, and thought “You are welcome.”

[Wolf]

awesome, carry on