Home Fires – Chapter Twenty-Seven: Contact
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Chelkin Katran snapped awake.
Her mother, in the beat up cot next to her, let out a snore that sounded like thick fabric ripping. Katran scooched off of the dingy mattress, toddled over to her mother, and pulled the thin blanket up to her shoulders. She kissed the top of her mother’s head, which elicited a snort. Her mother rolled over slightly and began to breathe more deeply.
Katran retrieved Mr. Beaks, the stuffed two headed eagle, from her cot, and gingerly tiptoed to the entrance of her new home. The makeshift sheets turning the former prison cell into a tiny cabin for refugees parted as her face broke their plane. A few dim red lights illuminated the cell block. Irregular sheet patterns made a sickening moire behind the bars of the cells which shifted as she looked around. A few adults shuffled about, but the refugee camp was mostly quiet.
Katran took this opportunity to explore. She put a cautionary finger to her lips, admonishing Mr. Beaks to stay silent, and then crept onto the gantry. Before her, the common areas stood almost empty, with a few people sleeping on the benches or tables. Katran moved as silently as a pastelmouse, making a beeline for the kitchens.
As she crept down the bare plascrete hallways with chipped tile floors, Katran could almost taste the pudding she so desperately needed. Before the war, there was always pudding. Well, almost always. If she was a good girl and the Emperor wanted her to have it. She hadn’t had pudding in what seemed like forever. But certainly she deserved some. If he could talk, Mr. Beaks would say so.
The clunky tattoo of approaching boots on the tile made Katran’s heart leap into her mouth. Quickly she dashed for the nearest doorknob and turned it incredibly slowly so as not to make noise. Praying to the Emperor that the hinges were well oiled, she opened the door the infinitesimal crack needed to squeeze her five-year-old frame into, and then pressed it shut behind her. The boots approached, accompanied by a harsh white beam of torchlight. Weird boxes with irregular colored plastic bits were illuminated as the guard swung the light into the room above Katran’s head. Katran heard a dissatisfied grunt as the guard peered through the wire grid covering the windows into the room. Seemingly satisfied, he continued his rounds, leaving Katran to the dark of the room.
Katran counted to fifty to make sure the guard was truly out of earshot. During this time, her eyes adjusted to the darkness, turning the empty room into a starfield of idle indicator lights on the boxy machinery. What was this room?
Katran decided pudding could wait and stepped forward, sweeping her bare feet in slow half-moons to avoid kicking anything that could make noise. She found stools before each of the machines and carefully climbed one chosen at random. Fumbling in the dark, her hands found soft leather discs connected by an arc of telescoping metal. Katran suppressed a squeal of glee, this was a headset! For a vox! Before the war, Katran used to listen to the devotionals and children’s stories on the vox with a headset like this, but obviously a bit smaller. She placed the headset over her ears, stymied as something hit her in the face. Her fingers pinched and studied it. It extended from the right earpiece and was made of thin wire covered at the end with a thick bead of foam. Katran knew from her war stories; this was a microphone. She gently raised it to stick up in the air. Then, she carefully searched the vox for the activation rune. Upon pressing it, static burst to life in her ears. She grimaced and scrabbled her hands desperately over the surface of the vox to find the volume knob. For this model it was a thin dial with a green rune that changed intensity, and as she lowered it the green rune became dim. Satisfied, Katran began fishing through the frequencies, searching for either the devotional channel, or something that involves Space Marines. Those were always the best stories.
A man’s voice emerged from the static. He was droning on about supplies or something. Boring. Katran continued scrolling.
Irregular beeps filled her ears. Katran didn’t know what that was, but it certainly wasn’t music. She began to grow frustrated. Channel after channel was either static or boring grownup stuff. Frustrated, she flipped a switch or two to see what they did.
“Hello?” a man’s voice whispered in her ear.
Katran looked around in a panic, thinking it was the guard come back to find her. As the voice continued, she realized it was coming from the vox.
“Is anyone receiving this message? My name is Sandrip Brandyn. I’m being held captive by the Orks. If anyone is receiving this message please respond.”
Katran lowered the microphone and found the “send” rune. She activated it and whispered “Hi, Brandyn, my name is Katran! I can hear you!”
“Oh thank the God-Emperor. Someone finally heard me. The Orks captured me on Captain Antonius Day and they’ve been holding me ever since. I’m just a farm technician but they think I’m some kind of king? I don’t understand it, but if I play the part they don’t hit me as much.”
“You’re a pretend king? That sounds like a lot of fun!” Joy permeated Katran’s whisper.
Brandyn went silent for a bit then said “Katran, how old are you?”
“Five and a half. Almost five and three quarters!” she said with all the pride she could muster.
Brandyn said one of those really bad words that Katran wasn’t supposed to say. Katran giggled.
“Alright,” Brandyn began slowly “…listen to me very carefully Katran. I have important information about the war. Are there any grownups with you?”
“No!” Katran whispered even more quietly. “I’m being sneaky. If they catch me, I won’t get any pudding.”
“Pudding, eh?” Brandyn said, his voice taking a more regal tone. “That won’t do at all. You are, after all, my most loyal subject. As your King, I promise you a whole bowl of pudding if you find the adult with the most colored badges on his chest and bring him to this vox station. Post haste, young lady! It would not do to keep your king waiting!”
“Nuh-uh! You’re just a pretend king!”
Brandyn sighed. “You’re right, Katran, I am a pretend king. But this is very important. I can only send these signals at night when my Ork minders are too drunk on fungus beer to pay attention. I don’t know how long I can stay here. You have to get an adult right now.”
“But…” Katran simpered “…I’ll get in trouble.”
“I’ll tell them you’re a good girl, Katran. Please? I’ll be your friend forever.”
The tone of Brandyn’s voice steeled Katran’s resolve. He was her friend and he needed help. “Fine, I’ll go.”
“Thank you!” he said probably a bit too loud.
***
Days later, in the dead of night, Antonius, Sterling, and several officers waited patiently as the civilian vox channel spat static. Time stretched on for what seemed like an eternity until finally the vox spoke.
“Regent to Altean Defence Forces. Is anyone there?”
Antonius depressed the send rune. “This is Captain Zeraf Antonius of the Azure Flames 4th Company. I am here with Governor Sterling and the command staff of Altea.”
“Sweet Emperor’s teeth… uh… sorry, I just thought I’d be on with someone… less important.”
“Just get on with it!” Sterling snapped.
“That’s the governor all right. My name is Sandrip Brandyn, farm technician third class. I was picked to man my farm on Captain Antonius Day while all the other hands went to the parade, and the Orks just happened to attack. There was a really big one who called himself Gargatok Gitsmasha. He thought I was a king for some reason, and they took me prisoner.”
One of the PDF Colonels spoke up. “Why would they think you were a king?”
“I have no idea!” Brandyn squealed. “They started by beating me to get me to talk, but then I played into the whole King angle. Being snooty and acting like I owned the world. The Orks ate it up. I have thirty-two Orks who genuinely think that they’re special because they watch me. Gargatok Gitsmasha even listens to me in his war councils.”
“You’re full of it.” Sterling spat.
“Seriously!” Brandyn pleaded. “He was going to attack the city until I convinced him to go after the Tabantha province instead!”
“You did that?” Antonius said with genuine shock.
“…uh, was that bad?” Brandyn whispered.
“Mr. Sandrip, you may be responsible for saving the lives of every human being in this city. Your misdirection let my Chapter lead a strike that greatly slowed the advance of the Orks.” Antonius hammered. “You are a hero of the Imperium.”
“Oh. Well. Good.”
“You have quite a talent for understatements, my good sir.” Antonius replied.
“Well, considering I’m such a hero, can you get me out of here? Gargatok Gitsmasha killed some sort of Arch Lord and now he’s running all of the Ork war efforts. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep up the act, and if he gets tired of me…”
“Absolutely!” Sterling trumpeted. “We shall commence rescue operations at once! You’ll be paraded through the streets as a hero.”
“No.” Antonius spat.
“NO?” Brandyn and Sterling said simultaneously.
“I need him whispering in the Ork Warboss’ ear. Orks are notoriously dependent on their bosses. If we can slay this Gargatok Gitsmasha, the tribes of Orks will fall upon each other to compete for dominance. That could buy us months.” Antonius said somberly.
Brandyn sighed. “I understand. What do you need me to say?”
Antonius gave some short instructions so that Brandyn would be able to keep in contact. He then gave one that had even Sterling blanch.
“Understood.” Brandyn said. “One last thing…”
“Yes?”
“My friend, Katran. She helped me, and I promised her pudding. Can you make that happen?”
Antonius barked a laugh. “Indeed. Your friend and her mother received a month’s rations. Isn’t that right, Governor?”
Sterling muttered noncommittally.
“Does that satisfy you?” Antonius asked.
“That should do it. Regent out.”
Sterling made a dismissive noise. “Regent. As if.”