Chapter Text
Don Vittorio kneeled before the small, battered Aquila that hung at his small village church. From here, the remote world of Tilea stayed in the Emperor’s light despite being in a dark, isolated corner of the Imperium where only rogue traders dared to stride in the name of profit.
It wasn’t the largest or grandest of churches, not compared to what was found in just fifty kilometres in Bulagna or far away in the great capital, Rho'ma, but this modest and stout building had been where he had kept the population of Tilea’s hearts true to the Emperor, as many had before him. Or at least it had been until recently.
The sound of footsteps echoed off the scuffed terracotta brick floors, interrupting the priest's quiet prayers. “You know you won’t be able to do that much longer, right?” a voice called out. Nonna Bianca was the village’s symbolic grandmother. Although she held no official title, her age and wisdom held great sway over the village’s population.
Don Vittorio sighed and turned to face his most troublesome parishioner. “I guess our new xeno overlords won’t allow it, will they?” He shook his head. “I have dedicated my whole life to this building.”
Nonna shrugged. “Well, if the t'au can bring in the food convoys on time, it is a small price to pay.” She then added spitefully, “The Imperium barely ran the convoys at all, and when they did, it was to take our pears and grapes, not much of help, I would say.”
Vittorio knew it would be tough to fight against such logic. It is difficult to talk about higher morals when your audience can only hear the sound of their grumbling stomachs.
“Come on,” The old woman gestured to the door. “It is time to meet our new administrator. He will decide what to do with your old antique of a building now”
"They can't be doing this! There are millennia of history in here, to desecrate the house of The God-Emperor..."
"Well, now that Lord Confessor Messolini is hanging upside down from a fueling station in Mediolano, they certainly can," said the old nonna with a snart.
Vittorio made the sign of the Aquila at the mention of the Lord Confessor; he knew it was bad to be rejoicing in the death of an apparently loyal servant of the Emperor, but the evil Messolini showed... may the warp take his soul for eternity.
"Though, from what the maresc- ehem, Shas'ui had said at yesterday's lunch, their kind seems to allow the worship of the emperor to their 'liberated people', just be sure to rewrite your sermons a bit, I don't think they would enjoy the whole 'suffer not the alien to live' rhetoric."
The priest didn't know if he should be more disgusted that she took a dirty alien to lunch and likely prepared him her tagliatelle like it was her nephew or that he was now to worry about the future of his way of faith.
Still, he rose from his position, and, despite all he was feeling now, he followed the nonna to the door to face the heresy of this day.
"Emperor, grant Thy children the strength to endure the xeno menace", he said as he opened the door to the piazza, and he would need it, for today.
Out in the Piazza they were greeted by a scene they would start to consider typical, two old farmers arguing about which armbull dumped their load in which field, the three drunks already a bottle of rotgut down at noon at the local bar, Bar Della Pace, a Shas’la trotting around the fountain nervously with the ever-present pulse carbine, a weapon, that had granted them the moniker of ‘carabinieri’, to the annoyance of Shas’ui Lihn'an, or ‘maresciallo’, as the town affectionately had already started calling the blue-man of Bork’an, but never to the xeno's flat face, no one wanted to meet a hoof to the ribs after all.
And so down the feeble sun, the two walked towards the new maglev station, quietly built in a few days by the xenos’ abominable intelligences of disk shape. At least, one can say that with the T'au, the trains will run on time, because they did not run at all during imperial rule.
When they arrived at the station, only the shas’ui was there to greet them. He growled at Vittorio before completely changing his attitude towards Bianca. He bowed respectfully, smiled like a human, and shook the old woman's hand with his rough, four-fingered hand. Vittorio thought to himself, what a disgusting xeno ruffian…
“Good to see you, Nonna, Don Vittorio, hope the day finds you well, the Por’vre will arrive in a few minutes from my calculations.”
He greeted them in an accented Tilean Gothic that was gradually losing its xeno accent to better adapt to the speech of Tileans. Nonna Bianca couldn’t help but notice how Lihn'an's tone had shifted at the mention of the Por’vre, returning to his normal rigidness for a second, his jet-black eyes turning even darker.
“Do you know him in person?” the priest asked, clutching the aquila with his left hand. The xeno sighed from his nasal slit and pondered long over his answer.
“In truth, I do not, but I heard… forgive me, personal prejudice must be clouding my judgement, do not allow my temperament to influence your thoughts of him. I'm sure Por'vre Ksi'm'yen Misaa will do a great job at handling this town, the aun wouldn't have appointed him otherwise.”
Nonna put a hand over her chin as she analysed Lihn'an's words, curiosity enveloping the old matriarch's mind over what could bring such a reaction forth.
“Hmm, you said once that your xeno names all mean something about yourselves. As an example, you said yours means ‘jagged peak’ cause many of your battles were in mountainous terrain, what does our new mayor's name mean then?” she finally asked.
“It's a shade of colour… one you cannot see, you gue'la don't have a vast colour range as us, but in your terms, it's a shade of what you call ultra-violets.“
“Huh, an unknown shade then, and like all unknowns, a menace until further analysis,” completed the priest as he made the sign of the aquila.
The shas'ui and the old woman did not have the time to rebuke such an assessment, for as fast as promised, the maglev had arrived without so much as a sound, a true wonder of a word most despised by the Imperium, progress.
From it, only one person did exit, as expected, and that person was the Por’vre.
His skin was azure and his lineaments soft, his hair of obsidian was not tied in tails or braids as t’au usually do, but flowed like a cascade, slumping on his shoulder. The por'vre's eyes were emerald voids that glinted in the sunlight, yet something about them appeared dusty and weary to the old matriarch. She was still filled with wonder at the variety of colours that the iris-less eyes of the t'au displayed.
He wore a white robe, covered by a long beige overcoat with a V-shaped collar and wide sleeves. The coat reached down to his ankles, barely revealing the xeno's ungulate hooves—clothing that was ill-suited for a small marshland village. He would need to learn that soon.
A smile crossed the water caste face as he stepped on the station’s platform. The shas'ui immediately came after him and greeted the Por’vre in T'au noh Por, that language so incomprehensibly complex for humans that flowed like a river in the xenos’ mouths.
Nonna, who had learned to interpret the xenos' gestures, focused on the bork'anite’s fingers as he spoke. The four fingers of the t'au’s hands, while displaying a clear respect, seemed to conceal feelings of disdain and frustration about what was merely a brief interaction.
Lihn'an then turned towards the two humans and switched back to his rigid, low Gothic.
“Por'vre Misaa, these are Don Vittorio and Nonna Bianca, the town's cultural lighthouses, they will be your guides around this place. I hope this quiet place finds you a third light, one that guides this town to the tau'va in the full respect of its people,” the shas’ui said with a face that betrayed annoyance.
“Respect and dignity shall be upheld in the administration of this town, as the deep rights that the ethereals command of the individual. The greater good is served by all, as it serves each of us.” Misaa finally spoke, his voice having a honeyed quality and perfectly pronouncing the Tilean Gothic, even emulating the cadence of the bassa with precision. This uncanny skill truly unnerved Don Vittorio; he had heard of the remarkable abilities of the water caste at imitation from the shas’ui, but witnessing it in person was an entirely different experience.
“Forgive our squabbling, dear gue'vesa, I'm sure any differences of view that may arise between me and the shas’ui will enrich the road to the greater good that this quiet village will follow. Now, if you please, may you introduce me to this lovely town? I have heard of it from my time in Bulagna as an envoy, a lovely locus amoenus the poets decanted from their halls.”
He smiled at them, and it unnerved Vittorio even more, for he knew that t'au do not smile normally, they have their facio-gestural that is well different from one of the blessed human form, perfect imitators, truly a hidden threat.
But it was such that the four did not even step out of the platform before the shas’ui would have to leave them, “an emergency”, he had declared when his communicator ringed like a screeching-bat, only then to switch to his alien tongue, to what, by Misaa's reaction, were probably the harshest, most vulgar and deepest curse words under the sun.
The old woman and the priest well knew what the emergency was and how it could give quite the wrong impression to the new administrator, but were sure that they could avoid confrontation with it if they picked the right streets.
“She wasn't this loud nuisance before, was she?” had muttered the priest under his breath.
“She couldn't speak before, you dolt! Now that the cat's missing…” had answered Nonna with an elbow to the man's ribs.
The por'vre looked at them with an intrigued look, as in emulation of humans, he tilted his head for a moment. He had surely heard their interaction, but did not investigate as he let himself be guided into the village in observant silence.
And so, the two humans showed the xeno the beauties of the mudhole they proudly called home, they showed him the riverbank, where those weird animals that they called frogs sang choirs to the nature of the universe, where the so-called quietness that poets researched among the waters of the Corso Grande was found.
A river that signifies the life of the Bassa, but also its destruction, for every year, in the months of cold and rain, the Emperor sends his punishment to his subjects by the river’s overflow, meant to cleanse the wetlands of some ancient sin long forgotten by its inhabitants.
"Graceful, yet dangerous,” the xeno had commented in a tone of the same description.
Nonna wondered if the water theme of Misaa’s caste made him somewhat attracted to the river, but shot down the thought quickly. After all, it’s not like the shas were drawn to fire, except for the one they called Fasah, but that one was considered crazy even among the others of her kind, or at least Lihn’an called her so; poor ‘maresciallo’, he has to keep the order among the populace and his subordinates in equal measure.
Then they showed him the fields, where, apparently, grew the seeds of plants so ancient and forgotten that they supposedly came from Holy Terra itself, from a legendary time in which humanity's ancient cradle was once green with vegetation and blue with oceans.
Everyone knew that things like ‘tangerines’ or ‘spiky figs’ were native to Tilea. Where else in the world would these blessed fruits that only grow here come from? The Emperor blessed this soil with the most wonderful plants of the galaxy, Don Vittorio used to say in his sermons.
To think they would have to share the planet’s fruits with xenos now, it made the priest shudder, but more, the idea of meeting that “nuisance” during their little tour, it would give the wrong impression! This was a town of Emperor-fearing men, not mud-throwing troglodytes! Were they?
But as they took their naturalistic detour, the old woman made him sign that it was time to show the town proper to Misaa, Vittorio braced himself with the sign of the Aquila as they left the muddy roads for cobbled ones, and prayed Saint Celestine to preserve them from meeting those hooligans and their leader, godless barbarians the lot of them.
They began from the small alleyways, making sure to avoid both the piazza and the main streets, with Nonna Bianca taking the longest time possible to explain the subtlest details of lore that this insignificant village offered. The xeno listened carefully, with that sheepish imitation of a smile that was probably hiding mockery of some kind.
“This is the Stoppanis' home, their youngest is an absolute pest-”
“Forgive me, good woman, but I have a question for the priest of the god-emperor.”
Don Vittorio nearly jumped at por'vre Misaa's words. The poor priest had hoped to interact the least required with the alien, let the Nonna do all the talking and scram off as far away as possible from this tainted presence, but now, instead, he wished to talk to him.
“S-sure, if I know it, I shall answer it."
“Thanks for your service then, father, for I have been fearful to ask, but curiosity dawns upon me, for I've heard your church of Saint Celestine is among the oldest of this region, and that its walls are decorated by magnificent frescos depicting the lives of saints and events of the 'Lectio Divinatus.' So, is it sacrilege to your branch of the Imperial Cult for an ‘impure xeno’ to enter it? I certainly would not risk disrespecting this town after what the shas’ui asked of me.”
Vittorio pondered a moment on the xeno's words, he had never heard of such a taboo from his superiors, and while he wasn’t inclined on risking to find it out, it was clear to him that in front of him was a fiend with a quality of angels, a cultured mind.
Sure, Misaa was a vicious alien, a wicked creature of perfidious designs that one must not suffer to live, but Vittorio had for long ached to have a conversation with one that could appreciate the flow of history that was revealed in his church's millennia old frescoes.
So, at the risk of blaspheming and well knowing of whatever possible heresy he might commit, he finally opened his mouth and uttered words that should have gotten him smited by He on Terra's full, glorious, force.
“It would be an honour, Por’vre, to show you the beauties of my church, like the triptych of frescoes that depicts the unification of terra painted by Jottus of Fiorenze, from the far away Etruria region.”
The Por’vre thanked him gracefully while the priest looked around, as if expecting divine retribution for having just invited a foul xeno onto His house, yet no strike would come.
Maybe the Emperor couldn't care less of the sins committed by a country priest living under xeno rule, for today, at least.
Bianca looked at him like she had just heard the funniest joke in the galaxy, and while the priest would have wanted to say something to stop her silent gloating, he well knew the old hag would have used anything he said against him; the Nonna was sharp-tongued as steel.
Alas, though, the trio made their way to Saint Celestine's, entering from the rectory to avoid the confrontation with those they knew.
At that point, Misaa had certainly noticed something was wrong in how they toured him around, but strangely, kept himself being quietly guided by the two humans as if all was normal. Vittorio found it unnerving.
Yet, whatever feeling the priest kept before, it was overshadowed by the talks of how the columns in the nave were made of marble from the planet's north pole, of how the colorful majolica tiles beneath the altar came as far away from the southern island of Trinacria and of how the starry sky painted over the vault roof was made a blue pigment that is quasi-extinct by their time.
He was proud of his church, and it showed.
Nonna Bianca stood at the church's door, overseeing from the keyhole the situation in the Piazza.
A situation which had gotten rather dangerous, the mob of the disgruntled, the so-called union, was here.
Forks and hoes raised to the air, yet eerily silent, no one dared overstep their “representative”, and there she was at the helm of that mass, Arianna.
She was a good kid once, the Nonna mused, learning from her father Marcello the ways of machines and how to repair them, devout to the Omnissaiah and the God-emperor.
Then, one day, Marcello said something that annoyed the imperial official of the time, the Podestà, no one is really sure what, but the day after, two enforcers arrived at their repair shop, told him that a minister of the machine cult would like to speak with him in Bulagna and asked him to follow them. He never returned.
Since then, the young Arianna grew a quiet resentment for society and its hierarchies, resentment, that as she became the adult she was now, found like-minded individuals in the farmhands of the town, who often waited for the few scraps those “richer” men in town would give as salary, when the time was right, and, the aquila's talons faltered over Tilea, she championed their cause, it became her goal to bring herself and her friends out of this labyrinth of chains, not through a thread, but by destroying it.
From the other side of the piazza, the whole squad of t'au stood at the doors of the comune, pulse carbine at hand, and their red, vertical lenses glowing in the fog.
The first time she had seen one of their helmets, Bianca had thought that it made them look like they had a camera instead of a head, but to see it now, it was terrifying.
One of them, from the elongated helmet, Lihn'an, stepped out of the formation and greeted the crowd with a voice of steel, both in tone and in the robotic quality the helmet gave it.
“This gathering is unauthorized. Explain the meaning of this.”
Arianna did not make the answer wait, as she roared in the same tone.
“We seek to speak with your superior, Xeno. We have much to talk about.”
“If you seek parlay with the por'vre, ask for an appointment at the comune once he has settled in his position.” Lihn'an made a step closer with his hooves; to the old woman's surprise, he seemed trembling a bit.
“We will not waste time with your bureaucracy when people starve, your kind made promises when they landed here, abide by them by your own will, or we shall force you”, the union leader said as she too stepped closer.
Then Lihn'an spoke again, but his tone was much less than the metal of a few moments ago, more insecure, despite the words spoken.
“I advise you to speak more wisely, lest you find yourself in our custody.”
Nonna could not see what happened next. The way the crowd moved made it too hard; they only advanced and then…
A loud sound pinched the sky, and the mob dispersed for a moment as a blue glow opened the sky. One of the xenos fired a warning shot in the air.
The old woman jumped at the sound. What a scary thing they were, the pulse weapons.
Their power could pierce the walls of houses, but their sound, oh, their sound was a terrible thing.
No sound of weapons was good in old Bianca’s book, but that sound of pure, unedulcorated power, that sound she hoped to hear the least in her last years of life.
Immediately, Don Vittorio and the por'vre ended their conversation on whatever small detail the priest could use to claim the great prestige of his village church and rushed to her side to ensure the Nonna was fine, to which the old woman just huffed and put her mask of snide confidence once again as the priest held her up.
“Bah, it takes more than this to get this wrinkled hag to be scared! I have seen things you younglings wouldn’t believe…”
As she was ready to retell one of her many ‘fond memories,’ Misaa opened the door of the church and walked to the piazza.
In that moment, the two humans could have sworn to have seen the xeno’s dull green eyes lit up like the fire of prometheum upon the touch of carbon monoxide.
“Shas’ui, what is happening here?”
His tone was calm, yet felt just as powerful as the pulse fire of the carbine.
“Turmoil, por’vre, it’s our job to tone it down, stay in your sphere, please, and this will all be solved,” was Lihn’an’s response, though it felt more like a rite than something he believed truly.
Vittorio was for a moment stunned. Why would the por’vre speak in Gothic to another t’au? Clearly, though, this was a show of power.
“Is it shas’ui? Isn't the job of water to soothe fire? One certainly does not extinguish the flame through matches.”
Lihn’an remained silent at Misaa’s words; the entirety of the piazza stood frozen in place as the por’vre asked again, though this time to the crowd.
“What is happening here?”
For interminable moments, it felt like time had stopped, till finally Arianna spoke.
“It is you whom we seek.”
She moved closer towards the por’vre to look at him more closely. By contrast, the por’vre smiled.
“Pray tell, dear gue’vesa, what ails you?”
“Hunger, xeno, we seek that no one here starves anymore and we have no time to wait when already mothers renounce their bread for their children, your brethren promised it when you landed here and burned the fools too loyal to the emperor in pulse fire, will you keep your promise, or there is no honour among you spokesmen as among your warriors?”
Everyone stood and watched as Misaa stepped in front of her and, to everyone’s surprise, be they humans, be they t’au, kissed her hand and spoke.
“The Aun sent me to help the tau’va in this village, and the greater good means that none will starve anymore. If you are willing to be my helper here and voice this village’s problems, it will be so.”
Still, the union leader was the most stunned of all, and as much as she wanted to hide it, her cheeks had reddened for a moment.
She had wanted to say something, yet no sound came to her throat; instead, the xeno continued, talking to the whole crowd. A cold breeze flew as he spoke.
“Hear ye, hear ye, gue’vesa, don't you feel the wind? ’Tis the wind of the greater good, it flows here for none shall suffer chains and hunger anymore, thus we promised when, by the ethereals’ wisdom, we landed on this planet. Tell us your cries, for they will be answered.
Follow me to the comune, so that we may speak of it openly, because, forgive me, but this cold fog makes no place to speak of it.”
A few snickered at his last sentence; the rest moved towards the comune building.
Lihn’an ordered his shas’la to move, and verbally chewed out the one who fired that warning shot in their incomprehensible language as they moved to the caserma.
As the gathering dispersed, Nonna Bianca and Don Vittorio stood still at Saint Celestine’s door, looking like they had just hallucinated the whole scene.
“Emperor, oh Emperor, why hast thou forsaken us? What have we done to deserve this punishment?” said the priest as he made the sign of the aquila.
Nonna shrugged and laughed instead.
“I don’t think it’s a punishment, Don, he just sent us the conductor of the circus.”
And that said, she left the priest to his thoughts. If He-On-Terra was watching, he was likely laughing…