Short Stories

"TRUST" by Richard Mendoza III

I hate waiting in a lobby for an appointment. These chairs are made from cheap plastic, I'm pretty sure there's a stain from blood or something disgusting on the tiles, and there's a guy a couple of chairs down from me who won't stop hacking up his lungs. This place smells moldy. But regardless of how horrible it is here; I must wait for my scheduled appointment. I suppose the only thing I can do in times of boredom and disgust is thinking. I like thinking. There is something about being secluded to your own thoughts that is safe. You can't be judged, you can't be argued with, and you can't be influenced by anyone other than yourself.

Yes, while I’m here, I will think.

I will think of something influential.

I will think of something un-thought of.

Yes…

I turn around, studying different parts of this lobby. The tiles are black and white, there are three pay phones covered in yellow caution tape. The front desk clerk types away on her keyboard from within a sectioned window in the concrete wall. She’s pretty nice actually. Addressed me by my full name and everything. I like genuine kindness; just the great trust someone puts into a stranger to show vulnerability. It’s beautiful really.

We really do put a lot of trust in strangers on a daily basis. What was to stop me from grabbing her computer monitor and chucking it across the lobby? I’m surprised people don’t do things like that more often. I guess that’s the real deterrent, self-preservation that is. People are too afraid of being judged, or getting hurt, or even arrested.

A poster to the clerk's right projects an image of a car just about to collide with another, the caption reading, "Be mindful of people on the road, drive defensively." I chuckle. That is the most fascinating aspect of life. It takes a lot of trust to just drive on the freeway at the same time as thousands of other drivers. I mean, any number of drivers can be drunk, on their cellphone, distracted, blinded by the sun, or just straight up impulsive. I don’t think it’s talked about enough about how all it takes is one impulse action for a driver on the freeway to swerve into your car and send you flying off the freeway. Self-preservation, I guess, self-preservation and trust.

The clock above the front desk ticks to 5:00 pm. It's time for my appointment. The grotesque man who's been hacking out a lung stands up. He's wearing a stupid blue shirt that doesn't match with his black pants. God, his jingling keys rattle my brain. He approaches me and I reel back so I don't catch whatever he's got.

“Alright, Philip, the jury is ready.” He helps me up from the chair, takes off my metal bracelets, and opens up the door.

Anyway, to finish up, it really does take a lot of trust to be around strangers.

"Tau Expedition" by Richard Mendoza III

The gentle rumble of the ship soothed M’yen as he drank in the voided stars. He pictured his home, far into that space, and its golden fields: T’au. It was hard to tell how much of his memories were true, and how much was his own fabrication. His world never ceased to fade further and further away. He exhaled and pulled his aching hooves down upon the shuttering metal of the Manta, of which owned more years of M’yen’s life than that small rotating orb he was born to.

M’yen frowned, recalling the patriotic soldier he had once been, that he had left behind on that world. He still kept the persona alive, but had anyone noticed the coward he had morphed into over his years? He had to be a coward if he was to see those golden fields again.

A buzz emanated from M’yen’s personal drone that hovered by his bedside, Ukos the people called it, for the dip within its chassis. “Shas’el M’yen, there’s a distress beacon from the nearby planet of Gue Run’al. Commander Shas’O J’karra waits for you on deck.”

M’yen stretched his legs and trekked to the front of the Manta.

J’karra, who’s crossed arms flexed in a bow of muscle, smirked when he glimpsed the veteran M’yen enter the room. “Looks like the Gue’ron’sha have come seeking the Greater Good at last.”

The Manta orbited the dark side of a foreign world. M’yen grimaced. “I’ve never known the engineered ones to submit easily.”

“Well, they will kneel or bleed for the Greater Good all the same.” J’karra cracked his neck.

Fool. He’s too eager, M'yen thought. “Pace yourself, Shas’o. I don’t wish to see any unnecessary blood shed this day.”

J’karra chuckled. “Of course, valiant Shas’el.”

M’yen clenched his jaw at the word valiant. “What’s our intel?”

“Besides the usual elite warriors, we’ve only seen a mere fleet of tanks and one of their inferior suits. An easy plucking for our missiles.”

“We’ll see.”

*****

The stink of ash burned M’yen’s nostrils. This world had once been a part of the human empire before the Tau liberated it with the help of its citizenry. It seemed that the human warriors had not forgotten this, littering the earth with civilian corpses. “The Gue’la astonish me with the amount of destruction they are willing to inflict on their own kind.”

J’karra’s suit blotted out the sun as he stepped forward. “They only know blood. These ones seem to relish in it. Look at how they’ve painted their armor with symbols of beasts, and teeth. These are not the warriors of old, these are the Gue’la’s newest invention… primaris.”

A unit of 8-foot tall armored primaris encircled the blood-soaked roads, flanked by a bulky walker which sputtered black smoke. The real threat trailed behind, two tanks hovering between the smoldering ruins, not too dissimilar to the Tau’s hammerheads, with massive barrels that rotated upon them.

M’yen’s cadre took a conservative position, clinging to a single structure at the end of the battlefield. Pathfinders waited with him in the darkness, while crisis suits, broadsides, piranhas, fire warriors, dozens of drones, and a noble riptide fortified just outside the walls; as well as the eager J’karra. M’yen had positioned himself with care, as he was always wary of facing a new opponent.

“We should have kept our battle suits within the skies and dropped behind the enemy.” J’karra’s suit bounced from hoof to hoof. His four fusion blasters preferred a close target.

The old Fireblade, M'yen, shook his head, “No, I need you to inspire the cadre with your sharp command. Separation could leave us in the wake of an ambush.”

“Hmph, you’re para-”

Fire erupted against a squad of drones, sending their tiny bodies spiraling in flame. The rest of the drones scattered, catching further gunfire. The human tanks unleashed their ordnance, casting a lone piranha into a plume of black fire.

They’ve seen-

“They’ve seen us!” J’karra roared. “Kauyon!” The tactic of the patient hunter, but in hypocrisy, he took to the skies in a blaze of jet smoke.

Curse me for my slow mind! Curse J’karra for his brash actions. M’yen scrambled for his thoughts. The other piranhas, with under-slung fusion blasters, matched the pace of the brazen Commander. Going straight for the tanks. M’yen signaled his comrade pathfinders. They brought to bear a dozen markerlights, washing the tanks in a blaze of red dots. Data flickered across M’yen’s optical scanner. “Cadre, focus your fire on the tanks, acknowledge their weaknesses.”

Dust billowed from underneath J’karra as he landed mere feet from one of the monstrous vehicles. Fusion coils ignited, and ripped through the metal beast, as if blowing away a cloud.

M’yen’s chest thrummed; had he been too quick to judge J’karra? He declared over his commlink, “You were right, Shas’o, the Gue’la are no match for our weaponry. Perhaps you’ll make a better leader than I.”

The Commander chided back, “As I said, Shas’el, they will kneel, or bleed for the Greater-!”

“For the Emperor!” Came a defiant declaration from the tank as it, melting to sludge, reared its twisted barrel towards J’karra.

Thunk.

Its final shell tore through the commander, dropping him in a pool of blood and oil.

The horror shackled M’yen. The world blurred as the human warriors encircled the rest of his cadre, painted with serrated white teeth that dripped with the pigment of Tau blood. The pathfinders shrieked as blades, near the length of their bodies, eviscerated them. Crisis suits crumpled, and the piranhas crashed to the earth. All around, M’yen saw his defeat.

Say the words you cursed wretch. Save us! But pride held him back, something that he had put on himself since the day he had left his home planet. His exterior wasn’t meant to falter; he needed to be brave like J’karra.

No, if being brave means I die here, then I will be the coward instead. “Retreat… Retreat!” He cried, but only his Cadre’s screams came in response.

About "Tau Expedition":

Richard wrote this story as a fan fiction piece set in the Warhammer 40,000 universe. He plays the tabletop game version, where players use hundreds of miniature models to play war simulations. This story was written as an adaptation of a game in which he lost against another player in a tournament at Stormcrow Games, in Lubbock.

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