Kill Team, page 23
The tarellian on the floor springs to its feet and charges me, driving its shoulder into my gut and slamming us both to the ground. I defend myself with my arms as it flails at my head with its fists, and then head butt it on the end of the snout, causing the dog soldier to recoil in pain. I drive my fist into its face, cracking it just below the right eye and forcing it back far enough to give me space to get to my feet.
Something lands on the bar, screeching like a bird of prey. Crouched on the counter, I can see that it’s long-limbed and rangy. Its skin is a greenish-grey hue, patterned with body paint in zigzags and jagged lines. It doesn’t appear to be wearing clothes as such, just a tight harness with various pouches and trinkets attached. Its face is beak-like and orange and red spines splay angrily from the back of its head. It puts its head back and shrieks across the bar, a piercing noise which causes everyone to pause for a moment. Unleashing the power of its whipcord muscles, the alien pounces a good five metres across the room, landing on the back of the creature strangling Tanya.
More of them appear, bounding swiftly from table to table, their long arms swinging as they join the fight. Their speed is amazing, and the way they hurl themselves around, you’d think they were built out of springs. One leaps long and high, rebounding off the wall and spearing into a tarellian. I see the first one wind up for a punch, its long arm swinging around in a wide arc before catching another tarellian full across the head and hurling it through the air to crash down through a table.
I redouble my own efforts, grabbing the face of one of the scaly green things and driving my knee up into its gut and then again into its chest. Dropping the frog-thing to the floor with a thud, I sprint across the bar, picking up the splintered remnants of a chair and bringing it full force onto one of the tarellians, smashing it clear of the human mercenary. The others are fighting back hard as well.
Put off by our surprise reinforcements, the tarellians and other aliens break off, heading for the door. Some of them stop on the threshold and turn to face us, calling out taunts and jibes in whatever language they’re speaking. The quill-headed aliens all put their heads back and begin screeching, the sound filling the room and deafening to hear, putting the others to flight.
I stand there panting, leaning on my knees, and one of the aliens walks over to me in a low, sloping stoop.
‘Well, that was fun,’ I say to myself, standing up straight and meeting the gaze of the approaching creature.
‘Yes, it was,’ it replies to my amazement, in strangely good Gothic for something that looks so feral. ‘But there’s no profit in it.’
Our unlooked-for allies are kroot, an entire race of sellswords, most of them working for the tau. There are several hundred of them on Es’tau, in the employ of Commander Brightsword. They’re organised into family groups which Oriel calls kindreds, and the one that came to our rescue is led by a kroot called Orak. There are thirty or so of them, and Orak invites us back to their camp after the fight in the bar. Oriel accepts, obviously he thinks that a refusal might displease our new-found allies and attract more unwanted attention, and we follow the tall, gangly aliens through the streets of the city.
On our way out we picked up our weapons, and I note the long rifles and power cartridge bandoleers that all the kroot carry. Although they look like guns, the longrifles also have lengthy stocks carved into vicious-looking blades, and curved bayonet-like attachments under the barrels.
The kroot walk easily and confidently through the throng in the streets, their rangy legs carrying them along quickly and effortlessly until I’m panting in the heat to keep up. They chatter to each other with clicks and whistles, and the crowds part before them to get out of their way.
A hrud bustles up to Orak and tries to sell him a jar of something. The kroot isn’t interested, and as the exchange continues it seems to get more heated. Orak’s quills quiver more and more, and with a final angry hiss, they stand out like spikes, a fearsome crest which sends the hrud scurrying into the gathering gloom.
‘Problem?’ I ask the kroot leader, who looks at me, his quills lowering again.
‘Bad haggling,’ Orak replies, clicking his beak, laughing I suspect. ‘It was new here, it will learn.’
‘So how long have you been a mercenary?’ I ask as I half-jog alongside the tall alien, puffing to keep up, the arid air turning my mouth dry.
‘All my life, of course,’ Orak answers. ‘I did not fight until I came of age, but always have been a fighter for the Tau empire. How long have you been fighting?’
‘All my life as well,’ I reply after a moment’s thought. ‘But for myself, never for anyone else.’
‘Not even for family?’ the Kroot asks, quills shaking in surprise.
‘Not for a long time,’ I tell him quietly. We carry on walking through the street as the sun dips towards the horizon, turning into a large, deep red disk just above the domes.
‘You will be fighting for O’var?’ Orak says after a while.
‘When he’s in battle, I’ll be fighting for sure,’ I reply, trying to think how to change the subject. ‘Is your camp far?’
‘No,’ Orak answers abruptly. ‘Why did you start the fight in the bar?’
‘Someone was going to,’ I tell him with a lopsided grin. ‘I figured it’d be better if one of us did, than one of them. Always pays to get the jump on the other guy.’
‘That makes sense,’ Orak agrees. ‘Still, it was a brave or stupid thing to do. If we had not come to your aid, they might have killed you.’
‘It was just a bar fight. It would never have got that serious,’ I say with a shake of my head.
‘You forget, humans are despised by most races here,’ the kroot disagrees, turning down a smaller street leading off the main thoroughfare. ‘Nobody would have missed you.’
‘Why such bad feeling?’ I ask, wondering what we could have done that is so upsetting.
‘You humans are everywhere, you spread across the stars like a swarm,’ Orak tells me, with no hint of embarrassment. ‘You invade worlds which are not yours, you are governed by fear and superstition.’
‘We are led by a god, we have a divine right to conquer the galaxy,’ I protest, earning more clicking laughter from the kroot leader. ‘It is mankind’s destiny to rule the stars, the Emperor has told us so.’
‘Driven by fear and superstition, even worse than the tau and the tau’va,’ the kroot says, his voice suggesting good humour rather than distaste.
‘So what do you believe in?’ I ask, wondering what makes the kroot think he’s got all the answers.
‘Change,’ he says, looking at me with his piercing dark eyes. ‘As we learn from our ancestors, we change and adapt. We learn from our prey and grow stronger. The future is uncertain, to stagnate is to die.’
‘You worship change?’ I ask incredulously.
‘No, human,’ he says, showing signs of irritation again. ‘Unlike your kind, we simply accept it.’
As the stars begin to appear in the sky, the flames of the bonfire stretch higher into the air. We’re seated outside a half-finished dome with Orak and his kindred, and I watch the flames crackling on the great pyre. Huge steaming chunks of meat on sharpened poles hiss and spit within the fire, bringing the smell of cooking flesh and smouldering fat.
I’m seated next to Oriel, who has been watching the kroot closely since our encounter.
‘What do you know of these guys?’ I ask him when we’ve got a bit of space to talk privately.
‘Not too much, except that they are exceptional close combat fighters, but you know that already,’ he tells me with a grim smile. ‘The kroot have been hiring themselves out as mercenaries to other races for hundreds of years, the majority of them to the tau. They’ll fight with or against anyone as long as the pay is right.’
‘They don’t look too rich to me,’ I comment. ‘They don’t really wear ostentatious clothes, they don’t have palaces or anything else like that. What do they take as pay?’
‘It’s rather grisly,’ Oriel warns me with a distasteful look. ‘They fight for technology, arms and ammunition, but also for the bodies of the slain.’
‘What do they want them for?’ I ask, intrigued at this somewhat morbid form of payment.
‘They eat them,’ the inquisitor replies curtly. ‘They believe that by consuming slain foes, they can take the prowess and skills of their enemy. They also eat their own kind, supposedly to preserve their souls or something. It’s a bit complicated really, but some magi amongst the tech-priests believe that the kroot may be actually capable of absorbing information from their food, and passing it on to future generations. I don’t understand the details, and it seems highly implausible to me, but the kroot certainly believe it.’
‘They’re cannibals?’ I say, gazing around with new found horror at the aliens around us. ‘That’s pretty sick.’
‘To you or I, certainly,’ Oriel agrees with a nod. ‘To them it is perfectly natural.’
At that point Orak rejoins us, still with his rifle slung over his shoulder.
‘The feasting shall begin soon,’ he tells us with relish, his eyes reflecting the firelight.
‘Is this some kind of celebration?’ Tanya asks as drums and whistles begin to play somewhere in the darkness.
‘Yes, it is,’ affirms Orak, standing tall above us, looking proudly over his kindred. ‘Tomorrow we go to fight once more. Some of us will not return. Some of us will kill many foes and take their essence and grow strong. Either way is unimportant as long as the kroot survive, and the dead are not allowed to waste their treasures.’
‘Do you look forward to battle?’ Strelli asks. ‘Is it an honour and glory thing for you?’
‘It is a necessity of evolution,’ Orak says strangely, turning away and calling out something to the other kroot. Two of them appear carrying a rack of meat between them. It smells somewhat odd, but not unappetising. There are no plates, and the kroot just tuck in, using their sharp beaks to tear away strips of flesh, gulping them down with relish. I pull out my knife and hack off some meat for myself. I bite hard, but it is surprisingly tender, the hot juices running from the corner of my mouth down my chin. The others cut off chunks for themselves too, cradling the hot meat gingerly in their hands as they eat.
‘We took these carcasses in our last campaign, and have preserved them for tonight, to bring luck to the coming battles,’ Orak informs us, his thick tongue wiping solidifying fat from his beak. ‘Hopefully we will feast on this sweet gift again during the coming war.’
‘I thought that O’var was waging a war against humans?’ Schaeffer says uneasily, looking hard at Orak.
‘Yes, that is so,’ the kroot confirms. I get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, and bile rises in my throat as I look at the cooling flesh in my hands. I remember Oriel’s words.
Cannibals. The kroot are cannibals. It doesn’t mean anything to them to eat their own kind. I look at the others, who are coming to the same conclusion. Trost’s hands are trembling; Tanya clamps a hand over her mouth; Strelli hurls the hunk of meat away from him, earning him a puzzled look from some of the surrounding kroot. With a choke, Quidlon turns away and vomits onto the dusty ground, his retching punctuated by sobs.
‘Is something wrong?’ Orak asks, his quills rising slightly. Trost is about to say something but the Colonel cuts him off.
‘I think perhaps the excitement of the brawl earlier has unsettled our stomachs,’ Schaeffer says hurriedly, darting a venomous glare at all of us to contradict him.
‘I understand,’ the kroot accepts Schaeffer’s explanation and his quills subside again. ‘Perhaps the dish of honour will be more comfortable for you.’
He stands up and gestures to one of the other kroot, who disappears for a minute before bringing back a covered tray. I can’t help but notice the distinctly Imperial look of the silver platter, probably looted from some noble’s house.
‘Together we share this morsel,’ Orak tells us sincerely. ‘Your kindred and mine will be linked, for we shall share the same essence of the foe. In eating together, we shall become a wider kindred. Never before have I allowed this with a human, but your actions impress me. You fight as brave warriors, and you sit with pride at the feast. Join me now.’
He lifts off the lid with his four-fingered hand to reveal what is unmistakably a raw brain. A human brain, by the look of it. In the firelight, the grey mass shines orange, and I can still see a piece of spinal cord dangling from it. I want to gag. Orak picks it up reverently in both hands and holds it above his head and declares something in his own tongue.
‘Not for this feast the quick gorging of battle,’ he tells us. ‘With pride we eat the most precious of all flesh. This warrior was a great leader, he and his soldiers battled well against us. I have been saving this gift for only the most worthy to share with me, and now I offer it to you.’
He lowers the wobbling brain and his beak snaps forward, nimbly stripping away some of the rubbery flesh. He turns towards us and offers the brain forward. We just sit there dumbfounded and nauseous, looking at the quivering pile in Orak’s hands.
‘Who among you will share this treat with me?’ he asks, looking at each of us. None of us move except to swap horrified glances. Even the Colonel looks pale.
‘Who among you will share this treat with me?’ the kroot leader asks again, his quills beginning to tremble. ‘This is a great honour, and I do not offer it lightly.’
When none of us react, clicks and quiet squawks begin to sound around us, and the kroot I see are getting to their feet, their quills extending in anger. I look at Orak, who still holds the brain towards us like a medal. Fighting back the sickness threatening to swamp me, I stand up.
‘I will share this treat with you,’ I reply hoarsely, and I hear a hiss of breath from the other Last Chancers. I gulp hard. I can hardly believe I’m going to do this. If I don’t though, it could be my brain on the platter next time. The kroot don’t seem too pleased with us at the moment.
‘Very well,’ Orak says, proffering the human brain towards me. I take it gingerly, my hands trembling madly. The touch of it makes me want to hurl up the contents of my guts. It’s soft and seems to slither around in my grasp as I lift it up above my head for the assembled kroot to see.
My body shaking, I slowly lower it again and look at the organ in my hands. I try not to think about the man this once belonged to. I try to pretend it’s something else like grox brain which I’ve eaten before. It doesn’t work. It’s like it has eyes that stare accusingly at me.
Gulping again, I lift the brain to my lips and glance at Orak. He gives me a casual wave to proceed, leaning towards me eagerly.
My mouth is very dry and my throat feels like someone is choking me. I close my eyes and bite down on the brain. It doesn’t come away easily, I have to gnaw a portion off. My gut rebels, but I choke back the bile in my throat. I swallow hard, not daring to chew, and that almost makes me vomit as well. Opening my eyes, I hand the rest back quickly. Orak lifts it up once more for all to see and we’re surrounded by a sudden clamour of birdlike shrieks and stomping feet. I guess I passed the test, but I feel like fainting. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the taste.
Orak passes the honour dish to another kroot and gestures for me to accompany him slightly outside the circle.
‘That was well done,’ he tells me, bending down to talk quietly in my ear.
‘Uh, thanks,’ I reply, desperately trying to forget the last half minute of my life.
‘I understand how difficult that was,’ he confides in me, his black eyes gazing into mine.
‘You do?’ I ask, surprised at this comment.
‘I am not stupid, human,’ Orak assures me, laying a long-fingered hand on my shoulder. ‘I know that you do not share our same beliefs and abilities.’
‘You knew how disgusting I thought that was?’ I say angrily, remembering at the last moment to keep my voice a whisper. ‘Why the fraggin’ hell did you do it then?’
‘To see if you would,’ Orak replies evenly. ‘To see what kind of humans I would be fighting alongside. We go to fight against your own kind. What you have just done proves to me that when the fighting becomes fierce, you will not stay your hand. Now, return to your friends, and I will have you brought food that you will find more agreeable.’
I stumble back into the firelight and sit down heavily with the others.
‘It was damn test,’ I hiss to them. ‘All along it was a damn test.’
‘Well, we seem to have weathered that little storm at least,’ Oriel says, lying back with his arms behind his head.
‘Yeah,’ I reply sourly. ‘Next time you can eat the brains though.’
We decide not to return to the skull-laden bar and our rooms, after the trouble we caused our re-appearance might not be appreciated. Instead we make a rough camp not far from Orak’s kindred. As we watch their fire dying a couple of hundred paces away, Oriel calls us all together.
‘Orak said that they are leaving tomorrow,’ he says. ‘That doesn’t give us much time I suspect. If they are leaving, Brightsword will be making his inspection soon. I still haven’t been able to make contact with Coldwind, so we might have to play this by ear for a while. Wake up bright and early tomorrow, we could be forced to move at any moment.’
The night passes fitfully for me, close as we are to fighting the final part of the mission, and mixed with scattered nightmares of horrific feasts with the kroot. In one dream, I imagine devouring Brightsword’s brains, even as the others point at me and hurl abuse. I wake just before dawn, caked in sweat and dust, and push myself tiredly to my feet. I see that the Colonel is awake already, standing looking at the coming sunrise with his hands behind his back.
