The Subsector Project

Caomer Subsector – Bemu – 741.M41

  It is a beautiful day on Bemu.

The sky is endless, a pale blue, grading to orange around the horizons. The air is fresh, clean. Maybe not the cleanest, given the industries pushing the slow expansion of Calmego steadily outward, but without a doubt fresher than Elbus had grown up with. Yet he cannot stop to enjoy it, he must rush onwards, against the hail of memory smashing into the interior walls of his skull.

He could feel the memories tugging at him as he hurried across the landing pad towards his power-loader, which he had christened Joyful Benediction in lieu of its designation number, standing ready for the next cargo hauler. It was his sanctuary during the day, the only place he could find comfort in his waking hours, lest he be lost to dreams of the past.

Elbus had been a teenager when he’d been conscripted into the muster, another body to fill out the steadily-increasing tithes of his homeworld. The sensory data from long ago practically assailed him: recycled underhive air rank with chemicals, the sound of other conscripts crying softly in the racks at night on a nameless warp-bound troop ship, the taste of cold mud after he took a wrong-footed step during his first engagement. It was too much, too many sensations crawling within his grey matter and the glittering repairs the Mechanicum had given him.

He steadied himself against the machine as he reached its towering bulk lest he pitch forward, the grey halo of hair following the scar around his pate itched as he fought to breathe slowly. None of it was really present in the here and now, yet that knowledge did little to calm his fear. The battle cries ringing in his ears, making his blood boil, weren’t the truth. The serenity of the plains-city was unmarred by the steady coughing report of heavy stubber rounds, outside his own perception.

Yet the memories continued to rise in a distorted frenzy, transporting him to battlefields of the past despite his reticence, visions lancing across his optic nerve:

A foxhole filled to the brim with blood and rainwater, he fought not to look and see Corporal Levin’s shocked face staring listlessly from her decapitated visage. He’d really liked her.

A wind-swept ice field across which massive, ceremite-armored traitors strode, spitting death from abominable fetish-covered weapons. Even as he grabbed Trooper Gethridge’s torso by the lapels, dragging the bisected man back into cover, he knew that none of them would make it out of the engagement.

A xenos flechette gun rattled its deadly cargo into an enclosed room in which his squad had been sheltering, butchering servants of the Emperor with every report, showering Elbus with gore. He could still taste it, could still feel shards of bone ricocheting across his brow as he chased the creature across the wall, stitching it with lasfire.

Elbus dragged himself to the ladder, gasping against the waves of emotion crashing over him, hand-over-hand, each rung painfully slow. The machine was an old guard model, the kind which had saved him on many occasions during his time in the service, but which was now repurposed to push crates around the depot. Despite the fact that he couldn’t remember the name of his parents, or indeed half the soldiers with whom he’d served, he could always trust that the horrifying memories would find him.

He knew plenty of soldiers who had similar problems after a lifetime of combat, warp-travel, and field medicine. With the number of plates and circuits rattling around in his brain, he figured some recollections were inevitable, but such knowledge did little to calm the racing of his heart.

He’d lived in Calmego since the regiment had been determined ‘combat ineffective’ and assigned to garrison duty on the backwater of Bemu. After that it had been a slow, creeping death for his remaining command. Orders and communication dried up, and the fight had gone out of most of them. Lacking the authority to muster from the local populace or any sort of rearmament from the traders who occasionally dropped at high anchor to extract Bemu’s agricultural wealth, the regiment had been slowly discharged, their responsibilities and materiél falling to the PDF.

Elbus had resisted the return to civilian life, maintaining his regimented lifestyle, prepared to return to active service at a moment’s notice, but the facts were self-evident. They had outlived their usefulness to the Astra Militarum, and were being disarmed. It was far from the glamorous end to the service he’d envisioned, but as demobilization waves struck names from ledgers, at least a few of his brothers in arms found peace.

Elbus had demanded to enter the PDF. He’d grown up with a lasgun in his hands, he intended to die with one. The recruits under his tutelage were of a sorry quality, and his stringent efforts to whip them into shape had attracted negative attention from the chain of command. Barely a year later, he had been quietly discharged from that service as well. Twice the veteran, twice the civilian. He knew the score.

He tried to live a quiet life, to draw his pension and keep his head down, but found that relaxation disagreed with him. He’d needed work, something to occupy his mind, to take the edge off of the tide of memories which sought to overwhelm him.

That’s when he’d found Joy.

At first he’d loathed operating the machine. He was no walker-jockey, he was a line soldier. He’d put in for transfer somewhere else in the spaceport authority several times until the memory bursts had begun to strike him with more frequency- first weekly, then daily, then near-constantly. No tech-priest could help him, no medicae he’d trust would risk opening his cranium. Yet as his condition deteriorated, he found solace in the cockpit, the place he’d fought hard to escape had become his home away from home.

Elbus groaned as he sank into the tiny space, heaving the canopy closed behind him. A chime greeted him, soft and welcoming, soothing his aching brain. It was a wholly unremarkable machine, coated with a peeling layer of green paint, sporting an uncomfortable seat cushion and careworn controls. Yet to him, the machine spirit felt friendly, like a fellow veteran greeting him from across the bar, or a squadmate tossing a pack of lho sticks from the next foxhole.

It felt like home.

The terrifying visions of Elbus’ past slough away from his perception, allowing him to finally stare out into the clear blue skies. His breath is easy despite the still air of the cockpit, and his heart slows. He can finally appreciate the majesty of the world upon which he has been allowed to settle. A meteor streaks overhead as it burns up in the outer atmosphere- then another, and another. He knows the horror will return, and that he cannot cease the battle within his mind, but for a moment, he is at peace.

It is a beautiful day on Bemu.