"Raiyah! How could he miss
that one?" Katsuro Daichi, Cadet Commissar, shouted as the star kickballer
missed an obvious goal attempt.
"That means 2-1 to the Helsreachians,
Cadet Daichi," the bartender, a stout, middle-aged man named Fermeaux said
softly. "Seems you'll lose our little bet, then."
"The game's not over
yet," Daichi said confidently.
"The Helsreachians aren't
up to it," a voice said softly by Daichi's side. The young Cathayan turned
and looked at the tall, lean figure in the black greatcoat. The bluish-black
hair that stuck out from underneath his peaked cap gave him away.
Commissar General Rolf Yarrick
sat down next to his cadet. Katsuro Daichi wasn't his first cadet. He was his
third and most promising so far.
"Really, why do you reckon
so, sir?" Daichi asked.
"They've been dragged
around with player damage for a long time," Yarrick said simply. "Also,
the Armageddon Commissarial team is quite good, no?"
"They are," Fermeaux
agreed. "The usual, commissar general?"
"If that means Callidussian
whiskey; yes, please," Yarrick replied amiably. Daichi took the chance to
have a refill of his Cathayan sake.
Yarrick spun round on his chair
and took in the entire of Upper Spire Bar 23/gn, also known as the "Skull
and Laurel" because of all the commissars who frequented it after they'd
gone off-duty. There were mostly Armageddon Commissars at the Skull and Laurel,
but it happened that Imperial Commissars, like Yarrick and Daichi, dropped in. Of
course, Yarrick was the leader of the military junta of Armageddon and Daichi
was his cadet, so they were both more or less stationed here on unknown time,
but still.
Yarrick looked back at Daichi. "Do
you want another reason that the Helreachians won't win, Katsuro?"
Daichi tore his eyes from the
tele-slate and looked at Yarrick. "Go ahead, sir."
"If they now do win,
against all odds," Yarrick said with a soft smile, "and do knock out
the Commissarial team, the Commissariat of Armageddon will claim that the
tournament never took place."
Daichi snorted with laughter. He
was already familiar with how the Commissariat functioned, despite his tender
age of twenty. Heck, Yarrick thought, at that age, I was a commissar cadet as
well. Now, he silently reflected, he was to be seventy years old next month. And
he didn't look a day over thirty.
There was a shrill whistle-blow
from the tele-slate, and the entire bar erupted into cheers. Armageddon
Commissarial had won, and Daichi had lost his bet with the bartender. Daichi
easily fished out fifty Imperial crowns from his waistcoat pocket.
"C'est la vie,"
Fermeaux said as he scooped down the Imperial crowns into his big hands. "Better
luck next time, mon fils."
"Hai," Daichi replied,
using his own dialect of Low Gothic to counter Fermeaux' Low Armageddonian. "Next
time. If there's going to be one."
Yarrick raised his glass. "For
the Armageddon Commissarial kickball team, Katsuro. Worthy opponents and
winners, no?"
"Yes, indeed," Daichi
replied and raised his own glass. "As we say on Cathay: Wunsai!" With
that, Daichi knocked the shot back easily.
"Wunsai," Yarrick
replied and sipped his own drink.
The evening continued in a
cheery mood for all of them. However, at half-past one, Yarrick felt enough was
enough and thanked everyone present for the fine company they'd been, as he'd
always had done. He tried to convince Daichi to come with him, but the young
commissar cadet wanted to stay with the others. Yarrick decided to leave well
enough alone and left by himself.
For being a hive, Hive Infernus
was awfully quiet at night. At least in the upper spires. The sodium lamps that
had been lighted as the night-cycle had been begun cast stark light and equally
stark shadows all around.
Yarrick wondered if there were
places were the sodium lights never shone their crime-damning light. He also
wondered, what he'd be doing with his life. He was now sixty-nine years
Standard Imperial. Soon to be seventy.
And he had no children.
The thought struck him as a
battle-axe. He was famous and powerful, everything an ambitious man would want
to be, but he had no family to share it with. The thought saddened him, to say
the least. Where would he find a wife? Who would love him in any other way than
as the Liberator of Armageddon? He thought of old Hendrik Irwin. The old man
was over eighty now, nearly ninety. Irwin had loved him as a son, hadn't he? Same
went for Chomaki in those days.
But Yarrick had played the son. He
wanted to play the patriarch for once. He wanted someone who loved him in the
word's sexual sense too.
He came to think of Skuli, but
that had been a master-servant relation. And Skuli had the same relationship
with Irwin, who was the main concern of the little mutant these days.
A sudden pang crossed Yarrick's
mind again, and the horror of it made him stop dead in his tracks.
He was the last member of his
entire family! The Yarrick family would end with him, if he didn't do something
about it. Suddenly, it seemed to him that it was his duty to find a wife to
love and have children with, not only something his love-sick heart longed for.
Yarrick shook his head. He was
going to life forever in the annals and codices of Imperial History, and most
surely mortally as well, but he'd never leave anything behind. No children. No
grand-children. Life had a cruel sense of humour.
Fiona McAllen, born Icharian but
now in the Upper Spires of Infernus Hive, felt for once safe. It wasn't often
she felt safe. Her entire life had been a long run to escape something. The
latest example was the pimp she'd been working for. "His property",
eh? Right. She had her own soul and nobody would have it if she didn't want
them to. They could take her body, frekk, they could take her. But they
wouldn't ever have her soul.
She was young, not more than
twenty-three years old, and painfully beautiful. She'd never needed the use of
make-up, not even in her so-called profession. Men had chosen her anyway. And
they paid really good, though she'd only get a little share of that. At
current, her brown hair was long and tied in a pony-tail. As all people of her
planet, she was tatooed. Hers was a blue Icharian knot over her right wrist. She
was wearing a knee-length, white jeans skirt, black tanktop in velvet and a
white jeans jacket. Her feet were in white sneakers and gold necklaces hung
around her neck. Despite she wasn't at work, she was an inviting sight.
She stopped dead. What had that
sound been? She shrugged and kept on going. She passed a dark alleyway.
And a massive hand reached out
and snatched her from the street. It placed itself over her mouth, clamping it
shut so she wouldn't scream. Fiona didn't scream outwardly, but inwardly she
screamed for it to stop, to never happen again. She was right, in a way...
Yarrick strolled down the
gantry. His mind was still heavy with thoughts of family and much else. He
thought of paying Irwin a visit again. It always calmed his mind to see the old
man. He had much experiences from life and was a great knower of people. What
Irwin lacked physically, he more than well made up psychologically. Hendrik
Irwin was his surrogate father, Yarrick had to conclude.
He passed an alleyway and heard
some muffled sounds from it. At first he thought it was homeless trying to make
some sort of ranking and a cosy jumble to keep warm. It took Yarrick five
seconds to recall that he was in Hive Infernus' Upper Spire. There were no
homeless people here!
He walked back and strolled
silently into the alley. It was dark, but he could clearly make out what was
happening.
There was one big man, not as
tall as himself, but much broader. He was holding a girl firmly in his muscly
arms. He had two companions, shorter and lankier, unbuckling their waistbelts
and getting ready.
"Gentlemen," Yarrick said
softly, but he got their attention immediately. "I don't think the young
lady wants to, so let her go."
"Frekk off, spirer!"
the thug shouted. "Who the hell do you think you are?"
Yarrick reached into his coat
and picked out a light-stick. It was a common thing employed by Guardsmen who
didn't want to waste batteries and only needed very little light. Thing with
the light-sticks was, that if in contact with flammable material, they would
ignite the material in question.
Yarrick broke off the top of the
ten centimetres long light-stick and dropped it into a pile of papers. He aimed
no contemplation as to why there was a pile of paper there.
The paper-pile broke into
flames. The yellowish flames gave light to the scene. There was the thug,
holding a beautiful young woman firmly, so that his two friends could her
easily.
And there was Commissar General
Rolf Yarrick in his black dress-uniform. He looked straight back at the thug,
who now had a very shocked expression on his face.
"I think I am an Imperial
Commissar," Yarrick replied coolly.
Before the two lanky men had
time to draw their laspistols, Yarrick had smoothly drawn his own side-arm:
Chomaki's bolt pistol. The weapon still served him gallantly.
The bolt weapon barked once and
glanced the nearest of the lanky twosome's throat. The result was that half of
the man's neck disappeared. He fell to the ground, stone dead.
The second one fired his las
pistol at Yarrick. The shot would've hit, if Yarrick hadn't had his
extroadinary reflexes. He dodged to the left and fired his bolt pistol again. The
shot struck the man in his pistol holding hand, exploding the las pistol and
the man's hand. He fell screaming to the ground.
The thug threw off the girl, who
landed on the ground next to the screaming and convulsing man without any right
hand.
"I give frekk in that
you're a black coat or not, you're gonna die, man!" the thug roared and he
charged in with his fists at Yarrick. Instead of firing another round and
finishing the job quick and easy, Yarrick sent one of his legs into the elbow
of the onrushing thug, breaking it. The force of the kick sent the thug off
balance. He crashed to the ground, whimpering and holding his broken left
elbow.
Yarrick grabbed the thug's head
by what little hair he had left and pulled the man's face up to face him. With
his free hand, Yarrick raised the bolt pistol and pointed it between the thug's
eyes.
"Bang," Yarrick said
silently, "you're dead."
For being a man whom his entire
life had relied on muscle power and some brute resemblence of courage, the big
thug wet himself for the first time since he'd been three years old.
"Raiyah!" Cadet Daichi
yepled as he entered the alleyway together with three other commissars. "Yarrick-san,
what has happened here?"
"Cadet Daichi,"
Yarrick said slowly, "get a medic, and an arbitrator. These men are
accused of rape..." Yarrick went silent. "Or attempted rape. It still
rings disgustingly in my ears. To sink so low." He pulled a little in the
thug's hair. "I should shoot you here and now, know that!" He then
let go.
"All three?" Daichi
said and indicated the two prone men.
"Only two, one is
dead," Yarrick replied coolly. Daichi scurried away to find what he'd been
ordered and took one of the Armageddonian commissars with him. The other two
went to help the two criminals into the street so it would be easier for the
arbiters to pick them up.
Yarrick, on the other hand, went
over to the young woman. He helped her up and quickly saw how torn her clothes
were. Instinctively, he got out of his greatcoat and offered it to her. The air
was a bit chilly this night.
She gladly took it and put it
on. He walked her out of the alley.
"Dare I ask for your name,
sir," she asked cautiously. Yarrick noted her rich Icharian dialect. He
didn't blame her for being afraid. The warrior in him was a terrible thing to
see up close, especially if you weren't used to it.
"I am Imperial Commissar
Rolf Yarrick," he said and looked at her. God-Emperor she was beautiful! If
he was to have a wife, he'd want one like her.
"The Liberator of
Armageddon?" she said, startled.
"Are there any other
Yarricks of your knowledge?" Yarrick said and cocked an eyebrow.
She shook her head.
"Can I ask for you name,
miss," Yarrick asked politely.
"Fiona McAllen," she
replied. "Thank you so much, commissar. But I wasn't cautious. I should've
been."
"You were cautious. They
are the criminals, not you. Tell me, miss McAllen, is it a crime on Ichar to be
born pretty?"
She shook her head again.
"Good," Yarrick said
and smiled. "Neither is it on Callidus."
Little did he know that this was
only the beginning of the happiest part of his life.
Rolf Yarrick looked up into the
sky. He was back on his home-soil; County Invas, Callidus. And he loved every
second of it. It was all made better that today he was to be married to one of
the most beautiful, loving and intelligent women he'd ever met.
The sky had the same colour as
the Omega Squadron Space Outlaws' armour, he concluded to himself. And not a
cloud in sight! The last two years had thankfully been very silent on the
war-front. A few skirmishes, but that was all.
Deep within, he knew Kharn was
planning something. However, he decided not to bother his mind with this. Not
now anyway.
He checked himself over. He was
clad in his best dress-uniform. Black greatcoat, something that would make him
sweat enourmously as soon as he got out into the sun, with all his medals
pinned to his chest. Well, at least the most prolific of them. He also wore a silver
frogged black tunic, black dress-breeches with a red edging. His jackboots had
given way to more ordinary foot-wear. But his shoes were polished shining black
and immaculate. His leather gloves were artic white and his black peaked cap
was decorated with gilt braids and the golden aquila along with the red edging.
He turned round and saw
McGranth. Grand Commander Eddie McGranth. His best man and one of his best
friends. McGranth was dressed in his Tactical Dreadnought armour, though
unarmed. The armour had been repaired and polished. Several honour parchments
and seals were attached to his armour, not to mention marks of brilliance he
had around his neck.
Next to McGranth was Commissar
Katsuro Daichi. He was too dressed in commissarial dress uniform, just as
Yarrick. His medals were just half a dozen and that was most surely all he
owned. Yarrick liked the young man quite a lot.
On one of the benches out in the
sun, Yarrick spotted old man Irwin. The old white-haired man was wearing a
black dress-suit and was sweating profusely as a result. Yarrick silently
reflected over how small and hunched Irwin seemed. He was ninety now, Yarrick
marvelled. Ninety years old and still having energy enough to come to something
like this.
Shame be if he hadn't, as Irwin
had said himself.
And Skuli sat just behind him.
"Rolf," a soft voice
said behind him, "what are you thinking about?"
Yarrick turned and looked at
Fiona McAllen, soon to be Fiona Yarrick. She was just as beautiful as the first
day he'd met her, more than a year ago.
"Not much," Rolf
replied and held her lightly around the waist. "Just how perfect this day
is..."
Fiona only smiled softly. They
both knew that her white dress, although symbolizing purity, did cover a
wonderful secret. Within a month, it would be impossible for Fiona to try to
hide it any more. And only then would Yarrick tell his colleagues and friends
about it.
She put her arms around
Yarrick's neck and hugged him tightly. She wanted to kiss him, but today's
first kiss would be symbolic for all people present.
The cardinal came out of the
cathedral of County Invas and smiled at the couple to be united in holy
matrimony. He was a thin man with a good-natured face.
"Shall we proceed?" he
asked softly, and the commissar and the young woman nodded.
Neither Rolf Yarrick nor Fiona
McAllen did listen too closely, but still they knew what to say. They'd known
it for over five months now.
Commissar Daichi brought Yarrick
the ring for Fiona's finger whilst McGranth brought Fiona the ring for
Yarrick's finger.
The long awaited kiss came and
went.
For the loving couple, Rolf and
Fiona Yarrick from now, the rest of the day went quick and endlessly slow at
the same time. For them, there was little else in the world this day than each
other. But it would change, they both knew.
So better make the most out of
the day.
Carpe diem, Yarrick thought
silently. Well, I truly have, no?
"He hasn't got much time
left, master! You must come!"
The words still stung to his
mind.
Rolf Yarrick sighed heavily. He
had everything now. A loving wife and two wonderful girls; three-year-old
Eloni, after an aunt Fiona had, and one-year-old Viktoria, which Yarrick named
after his old mentor Chomaki.
But now, another important part
of his life was slipping away.
Yarrick looked away from the
window. The weather outside was sunny and clear and not at all suitable for
such a dreadful day. He slowly walked over to the bed in the centre of the
room. Yarrick caught himself Skuli's attention and gestured to him to leave the
room.
After that, he sat down on the
bed and clasped Hendrik Irwin's gnarled hand. The small old man looked back at
him and smiled weakly. Irwin was very old now; in his nineties. His hair was as
thick as ever, but it was white, not grey any more. And it went without
mentioning how thin Irwin had grown.
Physically, Irwin was dying. Yarrick
knew that all too well. Irwin's body was ten, maybe twenty years older than it
should be. Yarrick knew why. The same had happened to his grand-uncle. It was
something you got the commissarial occupation, one could say.
But despite that his ailing body
was going to kill him, Irwin still kept his spirits up it seemed. His mind was
just as clear as ever. Perhaps clearer still.
Yarrick sighed again.
"Rolf, please," Irwin
said and patted Yarrick's hand with his free one. "You must've known this?
I am not like you. I age. I've grown old. It happens to everyone sooner or
later."
"But not me..." Yarrick
muttered darkly. He looked up into Irwin's warm brown eyes. "Do you regret
anything in life, Hendrik?"
Irwin looked nonplussed for a
while and then said, "Well, that would be signing on for staff service all
those years ago, but then I wouldn't have you, right?" Yarrick nodded his
assent. "Okay, so then I don't really have any regrets. My life has been
damn good, you should know."
"I do," Yarrick
whispered silently. "It's just... Damn..." He wiped away the tears
that had gathered in his eyes, but there were new ones to take their places. Yarrick
also had this thick clot in his throat. He hadn't felt like this since Uncle
Caspar had died in his lap. Chomaki's death hadn't given that feeling, but
Irwin's did.
However, in both the earlier
cases, Yarrick had been on the field of battle, or at least had a fight near,
so he could went his sorrow as anger and fury. But know, in the home of Hendrik
Irwin, in times of peace, there was nothing like that to relieve him.
Yarrick bore the full brunt of
sorrow for the first time in his life.
Irwin seemed to know what was on
Yarrick's mind.
"Rolf, say it," he
said weakly. "Say it, you will feel better, I promise."
Yarrick let go of Irwin's hand,
leant towards the old man and hugged him as tightly as he dared. Irwin felt how
the commissar general was shaking with tears now.
"Hendrik," Yarrick got
out between the gulps of air he forced into his shaking lungs, "Hendrik,
you've been like a father to me. The father I never truly had. I thank the
God-Emperor for having the pleasure to have met you."
There was a brief pause as
Yarrick gathered his breath. Irwin stroked him gently on his wiry back.
"The rest, Rolf."
"I love you, Hendrik,"
Yarrick snivelled forth. After having said that, it felt like a weight had gone
from his heart. He unclasped Irwin from his grip and stood up. Irwin was
smiling at him. Softly and weakly, though.
"I've been waiting for
that, Rolf, know that. How I've been waiting. I've loved you like a son. The
son I never had. Makes us even, eh?"
Yarrick was to reply, when he saw
how Irwin slowly closed his eyes, a faint smile on his lips. A content smile.
A few seconds later, and the
thin chest under the blankets stopped heaving.
Yarrick waited a few minutes and
then leant forward and touched Irwin's wrinkled cheek with one hand.
"Of all the heroes I've
known, Hendrik," Yarrick whispered, "you were the greatest. Your
commitments weren't on the battlefield, because you were no warrior. You put
your efforts where they mattered."
With that, Yarrick walked out of
the bedroom. When he came out, he whispered to the doctor present what had
happened. Then he turned to Skuli, his wife Fiona and his two children. Skuli
had entertained them with trick and acrobatics.
They all noticed the grim set on
Yarrick's face. No words were needed. Fiona got up and walked over to her
husband. The two hugged each other tightly.
Skuli felt the tears roll down
his cheeks as he held the two young girls to him. Nothing was ever going to the
same again.
Not for Yarrick and certainly
not for Skuli.
Two weeks later, Hendrik Irwin,
Imperial Commissar and Loyal Servant in His Imperial Highness Holy Guard, was
buried in the soil of the land where he was born: Kilarney Hive on the southern
continent of Ichar.
Commissar General Rolf Yarrick
attended, in full dress uniform, together with his wife. They hadn't been many,
but all men and women had one thing in common: they were all in some way linked
to the deceased and to the Imperial Commissariat. As a matter of fact there was
no preacher to read out the proceedings from the Ecclesiarchal Creed. Instead,
a commissar had been called in.
During the entire funeral
service, Yarrick tried discreetly to locate Skuli in the crowd. He knew that
Skuli had become of average human height.
The mutant had been nowhere to
be seen.
And Rolf Yarrick would never
hear from him again.
At the end of the service, when
the coffin had been lowered into the ground and people were starting to walk
away from the cementary, Yarrick darkly reflected that he'd soon enough would
lose someone perhaps even nearer.
He knew he would outlive his
wife. But it didn't make things better at all.
Things were going to very grim,
he concluded. Very grim indeed, before they got better.
Commissar General Rolf Yarrick
had no idea that this was a grave understatement on his behalf.