[Epic] Fluff (Kelly's original) LONG !!!

From: Oki Purwanto <oki_at_...>
Date: Wed, 13 Aug 1997 21:36:14 +0800

Here's some additional fluff - think of it as the prelude to Insurrection by
Kelly. It Rocks ! (all feeble puns are fully intentional)

Regards
Oki



Redemption

                                                             by

                                                    Kelly C. L'Roy

Young Zeke made his way home on this day, just as he did every day. His
lessons today had been articularly grueling, so he was taking more time on
his walk than usual. He was a small child for his age of ten, but his tutors
thought him brighter than normal. He was more aware of his world around him
than others his age, and he made extra efforts to understand himself. But
the Preachers who attended his home at the Schola Progenium in Belkand took
affront at his questions and curiosity, and squelched it whenever possible.
He had learned long ago not to ask questions of the Preachers.

His tutors, however, were local folk, raised in the Imperial Cult and
granted the task of teaching the planet's population. Not that there was
much population to teach: Egana III was a poor agricultural world with only
a handful of towns, and even fewer cities. The planet was strategically
unimportant, and provided only enough food for itself and a few surrounding
asteroids inhabited by miners. It was protected by the Imperium simply
because it was easier to leave the people there than to cart them off to
another world. But the Imperium was a long way away and local ties often
overrode the more stringent Ecclesiarchal doctrine, so his tutors tolerated
-- even encouraged -- his curiosity.

Zeke knew little of his planet's place in the grand scheme of things. He
only knew it made for a pleasant existence: hard work, yes, growing crops
and surviving the winters, but so far in his short life it had been good to
him. Occassionally, starships of the kind he had pictures of in his books
came to visit Egana III, bringing new settlers and the rare military figure.
Zeke's home at the Mission orphanage was just outside one of the larger
cities, and so saw most of the space traffic. Once he'd seen the changing of
the guard at the Arbites' Fortress, called "Castra Exercitus" by the locals,
when a fresh batch of over four dozen shiny-armored men had come to relieve
the garrison. He'd stood transfixed with wonder as they filed in and out of
the Courthouse. No one had paid any attention to him, and it was long after
dark before he remembered his chores.

Tonight his walking took him over paths he had not travelled in some weeks,
as he followed his curiosity behind sheds and into neighbors' yards. Most
folks' land here was closer together, this near the city, but as he went
further in the direction of his home at the Mission the houses grew further
apart. He had several hours on this day until he had to start his chores at
the orphanage, and several hours of daylight as well, so he let his
inquisitiveness have free reign. Thus it was no surprise
that he eventually ended up at the Hermit's house.

The Hermit was a source of constant speculation amongst Zeke and his
classmates. The old folk spoke of him in whispers, and no one ever crossed
him. Even the Preachers seemed to lose some of their fire when talk of him
came up. No one knew his name, or even how long ago he had come to live
here, because he had lived here in relative seclusion longer than any of the
old folk had been alive.

He had a small dwelling -- a hovel, nearly -- far removed from all but the
farthest farms, "...and the Mission," thought Zeke, but the Mission was
still a goodly ways from the Hermit's house, though it didn't seem like it
to his youthful enthusiasm. Here he tended his crops, which grew strongly
even when the rest of the region suffered from diseases and pests. He never
took part in town business, and it was said he paid no tithes to the
Emperor. There was much gossip about the Hermit -- most of it blatantly
wrong -- but one story that seemed to have credibility involved the Adeptus
Arbites and the Lord Marshal Salzbry.

Years ago, they all said, when first the Judge had come to Egana III, he
tried to collect from the Hermit the taxes all citizens paid. He sent a
single squad of Arbites out to the Hermit's shack; they returned, literally,
in pieces. Next he sent four squads led by the Captain of the guard; less
than half of them returned at all. After that, no one ever tried to collect
anything from the Hermit again, and Salzbry covered up his failure from his
own superiors. An uneasy peace had existed ever since.

But Zeke knew the Hermit, and the Hermit knew Zeke. When he arrived at his
door, and the familiar but unknown Mechanicus devices had hummed and buzzed
at him, the Hermit let him inside. Zeke was always amazed at the way the
Hermit chose to live: he had a modest-sized house, but it was practically
unfurnished. Whereas the Mission deliberately kept its charges in a Spartan
environment for their souls' purity, the Hermit seemed to live in it by
choice. His harvests should have been more than enough to buy him anything
this world could afford him, yet his home was occupied only by a few simple
chairs and tables. No hangings adorned the walls, no machines assisted him
by showing him images or playing music, no artistry appeared in even the
patterns of the fabric on the furniture. All was plain and simple.

And yet Zeke felt that sometimes the Hermit wished for more; his manner
suggested controlled force, a potent angry strength that longed for output,
but which he forcible denied.

Zeke was never able to put such feelings into words; the Hermit just made
him uncomfortable that way. But Zeke wasn't afraid of him.

"Greetings, young charge," the Hermit said as Zeke entered his house. He was
dressed in the same thing Zeke had ever seen him wear: a simple tunic of
bland yellow, frayed around the edges. Almost a robe in the way it hung on
his arms, with a hood in back. This time, however, it seemed to bulge in odd
places, and the man looked larger than Zeke remembered. Glancing down, he
saw that the Hermit was wearing black steel shoes.

"Hello," Zeke replied. He never called the Hermit "Hermit," and had not been
told any other name to use. The Hermit didn't seem to mind and it seemed
perfectly natural to Zeke.

Almost immediately, though, Zeke's attention was caught by the weapon the
Hermit had on the table. It was nearly as big as the boy himself, and
painted bright red with Imperial eagles on its sides. The eagles appeared as
though someone had tried to scratch them off, but had been unable to. Or
perhaps it was just the dim lighting which made them look defaced.

"Are you going hunting?" Zeke asked, not knowing the meaning of the gun.

The Hermit chuckled, a deep sound, not unfriendly. "Someone is going
hunting, but it is not I," he replied. "But it is well you've come when you
did. If you had come tomorrow instead, you might have missed me."

Something in the tone of the man's voice snatched Zeke's attention from the
gun to his face. He'd never heard the Hermit sound quite so...solemn before.
True enough, the Hermit was a solemn, somber man, with only rare moments of
lightness. Zeke thought he spent much of his time in meditation. But this
was different: he sounded like he'd come to a decision of some kind. What it
was, Zeke couldn't even guess.

"You are going somewhere, then?" Zeke asked. An itch at the back of his
brain seemed to tell him something important was happening, if only he could
recognize it.

Again the Hermit laughed, but this time it was only half-hearted. "Not if I
can help it. But I don't think I can." He stopped his cleaning of his gun,
looked up at nothing. "They just don't understand. I've made my peace." He
returned his attention back to his cleaning rag. "But that won't be enough
for them."

Zeke was completely confused. He'd never heard the Hermit talk like this
before. All the other times he'd visited the man, he'd only spoken of simple
things: farming, the stars, and the Imperium of Man, but only in general
terms. He seemed to have lived forever, or at least to have lived here
forever, because he knew so much! Things his tutors and the Preachers only
pretended to understand, the Hermit _knew_.

"Won't be enough for who?" Zeke said. Normally, such forwardness would merit
him a smack by the Preacher's staff; but the Hermit never minded his questions.

This time, though, he wouldn't answer. "Never you mind. It's my concern."
Finishing with his weapon, its chrome plates gleaming brightly in the dim
light, he laid it on the table. He eyes straying far away again, he
murmured, "I've heard stories that they pray to their weapons now." An
ironic smile played on his lips. "Fools. That so fine a force could become
such...." but his voice broke slightly. He went on in a whisper, so low that
Zeke could barely hear him, "We were the best of them all.
Even Horus wanted command of us, though he'd never admit it. His Grace knew
where best we served. If only we'd been more faithful, more...." He broke
off again, turned a look like a haunted ruin on Zeke. "I cannot cry, boy,
but I have wept in my soul every night for four hundred years. _No one_ will
exact my punishment but the Emperor!" Suddenly he raged, "I SERVE THE
EMPEROR!..." and just as suddenly the rage flooded out of him, "...no longer."

Zeke was young, but his training in the Imperial Cult was thorough, and his
Preachers severe. _Everyone_ served the Emperor! Only heretics refused the
Imperium. Without realizing it, Zeke moved toward the exit, instantly
panicky that he could have grown so close to -- an avowed! -- heretic; what
would happen to him when the Confessor found out; he would be stringently
punished...!

Before he could reach the door, though, before he even knew what he was
doing, the Hermit had surged across the floor and taken hold of Zeke by the
shoulders. Sudden fear flared in the boy, and he tried to struggle, but the
hands that gripped him were like bands of steel. Yet they withheld from
crushing him; instead they merely kept him still, while the Hermit gave vent
to his newfound intensity.

The words came out in a rush, and Zeke found his curiosity battling against
his fear. Gradually the former won out.

"Do not judge me harshly, boy," the grim-faced man went on. Zeke saw, for
the first time, the scar running along the Hermit's jaw; briefly he wondered
how he'd gotten it. "You know nothing of the life I've led. I was called by
the Finest Man Who Ever Lived" -- his voice capitalized the words -- "to
serve the cause of Humanity. But I was misled by another, and for that
mistake I have suffered more than any man has a right to bear."

"I won't... I won't judge you...." Zeke whispered.

At that admission, the Hermit let loose of Zeke's shoulders. Standing
slowly, he raised himself to his full towering height. Zeke had never
realized just how _tall_ he was; the Hermit must have been a giant among
men. He was certainly taller than the Arbites soldiers or Zeke's Preachers.

Turning, the Hermit moved to a far wall, pressed a hidden button. A small
alcove opened, sliding up into the wall, revealing a shrine to the Emperor.
With a gesture towards it, he said, "I had this installed two hundred years
ago, when first I came here. I don't really know how to use it. To me, he's
still a _man_, not this dead thing you worship."

Again, Zeke's terror caught hold of him, but this time he restrained it from
showing. The Hermit was talking about the EMPEROR as if he knew him when He
walked among men. How could that be? Everyone knew it had been ten thousand
years since the Emperor was mortal in the way of ordinary men. Zeke's
confusion made him miss the Hermit's next words.

"...to learn to use it. I know he can hear me. He has forgiven me. He
understands." The Hermit's tone softened, as though the only thing he valued
was the fact of his forgiveness. "I ran because I feared His wrath. Then He
forgave me. So I hid, here where I thought I would be safe. I serve Him no
longer. How can I? It is millenia since I should have died in battle,
millenia since his Grace was a man I knew.... I no longer fit into this
world. I cannot serve a dead thing. Yet He knows this, and still He has
forgiven me. I _would_ serve if I but could." New hardness entered his
voice, "But _they_ will not forgive me. They think I am unrepentant; they
think that _THEY_ have the right to determine my guilt or innocence. But
THEY ARE WRONG!" This time as he raged, he drove his fists like pistons into
the ferro-crete of the walls, punching his anger at the words. Powder flew
from the craters he left in the walls, and suddenly Zeke knew what that itch
in his brain meant: the Hermit was wearing armored gloves, and armored
boots. No one else in the world -- in the universe -- wore armor like that:
the Hermit was a Space Marine!

The realization stunned him. He'd only ever heard of Space Marines in books
and in stories. They didn't seem like real people: all the stories said
there were only a thousand Chapters of them in the whole entire galaxy, and
there were a million worlds in the Imperium. How could anyone ever expect to
see one in real life? Most people thought them almost legendary, and figured
if you did see one, things were probably pretty bad for them to be there in
the first place and you would have more important things to do -- like
surviving the reason they were there -- than to worry about whether or not
they were really Space Marines.

"Who- who _are_ you?" Zeke said, barely audible.

(To be Cont'd)
Received on Wed Aug 13 1997 - 13:36:14 UTC