gold bars and commissars

8/7/2019 Gold Bars and Commissars

http://slidepdf.com/reader/full/gold-bars-and-commissars 1/9

Gold Bars and Commissars

1





2

They had thirteen gold bars, they couldnt sell one.

in a grimy two bunk hab in a cheap low-rise apartment block in west Blossom town, trooper Carl Linton

sat on his bunk and played with the gold. Sometimes hed stack them up into little pyramids, other times

hed lay them out in front of him in a long line and just sit with his arms resting on the tabletop, peering

at them like they were the most beautiful thing hed ever seen, and on Pandora they probably were.

After a while this got trooper Dachas Dublanes nerves.

Will you cut that out, kid? Im trying to concentrate! Spat the older trooper. Sitting on the opposite

bunk with his back against the wall Dublane was cleaning the inside of his autopistol with a vizzycloth.

Really he wasnt paying much attention to cleaning the old pistol; his mind was on other things, like how

to get out of the current situation they now found themselves.

Sorry, Blane, Linton signed, gathering up the gold and placing each bar into the cushioned container

with meticulous care. Afterwards he sat back and began chewing his fingers, watching in amused silence

as Dublane failed to un-jam his pistol. Want me to take a look?

No, I dont, Dublane snapped, scowling at his partner.

Sorry I asked. Im good with tech-kit thats all. Should have been a cog-boy, Linton smirked, holding up

his hands in a mock gesture of surrender. It was true Linton had a reputation throughout the regiment

for being a knack with tech-gear, a rep he was keen on maintaining as it reduced the chance of him

being beaten to a pulp in the mess hall if he could fix a guys backup piece or resurrect a dead power-

cell, but Dublane was damned if he couldnt fix his own hand-cannon.

Screw it! The older trooper spat, tossing the pistol across the table, beaten. Linton raised his eyebrows

but didnt say anything. He knew it was best not to rattle Blane when he was in one of his moods.

Beating the back of his head against the wall the older trooper breathed in and out and tried to think.

Hooking a finger through the blinds Dublane peered through the window at the city outside.

Early morning in Blossom town. The harsh sun beat down across the desert world, rising the

temperature to an unbearable heat only Dublane and the rest of the Imperials garrisoned on Pandora

seemed to feel. To the inhabitants of Blossom town, a young, ugly city of cheap, prefab slum-blocks,

drab flakboard barracks and grim, rockcrete sweat-shops the heat was the same as it always had been,

except for the wonders of air-conditioning the Imperials had brought with the Rediscovery.

Blossom town was a shit-hole as far as Dublane was concerned, named so by the ironic wit of the

Guardsmen garrisoned there. The locals had a different name for it, the name of the ancient city

Blossom was built around, but Dublane couldnt remember it.

Hastily built by the Imperial occupation to house its Imperial Guard garrison, newly appointed centre of

government and native population of cheap labour, Blossom city was a spewing metropolis of crime and

poverty. Overpopulated and underfunded, unemployment was at such a level that crime was the only

way many people could afford to eat. So much so that Guardsmen like Dublane now found themselves

enforcing Imperial law refer then guarding against anti-imperial insurgence, which was ironic as they

were often the ones breaking Imperial law.

Outside, the slum district rang with the sounds of traffic and trade. Silk and cloth merchants heckling

their wares with the first of the morning customers, spice and trinket traders opening up their stalls,

filling the air with myriad smells and aromas, some nice some not. Vast crowds of workers in the

colourful robes and turbans of their culture descended the streets, kicking up sand deposited by the

wind. Hundreds of beggars and pick-pockets harassed the crowds, ignored or trampled by the masses.

Thousands of Pandorian workers headed to the Munitorum sweat-shops and cloth-mills that ran

Pandoras steadily rising economy of cheap, affordable labour. Outside Dublane could hear the toots

and beeps of dozens of personnel scooters, taxi-carts and cargo-haulers as the workforce population of




3

Blossom city crossed the streets in droves. Imperial occupation had taught the people of Pandora many

things, faith, education, technology, sub-sector economics and the benefits of an effective

administratum-run government. Road safety had not been covered.

Linz, get the set out, he said at last. Linton looked up in confusion and opened his mouth in query, but

thought better of it and instead pulled out the vox-set from under his bunk.

Linton was a vox-officer, being one of the relative few in the regiment who could read, write and count.

As such he knew his way around a vox-set, one of the reasons Dublane considered him a useful partner.

Put Jafaard on, the older trooper ordered.

Linton placed his set on the table and began adjusting the dials.

Jafaard, huh? Didnt know you were a fan, he commented jokingly.

Shut up, Dublane ordered. Jafaard was the presenter of a local public radio station intended for

disenfranchised Pandorians. A pro-Throne, anti-Imperial Jafaard was a part of a growing number of

Pandorians loyal to the God-Emperor and the Imperium but against an offworld government and an

Imperial Guard garrison. Jafaard used his radio show to spout anti-Guard propaganda, supporting the

call for the Pandorian PDF to take over Guard duties. Unintentionally his show had become popular

among the Imperial Guard who didnt want to be on Pandora either. Dublane listened because it gave a

biased but uncensored coverage of local news. Linton finished tinkering and the set blurred into life, the

voice of quick-talking Jafaard coming over the speaker in accented Gothic.

can we perceive Imperial aggression and domination as anything other then the main cause for thecurrent insurgent conflict! How can filling our city with violent Guardsmen do anything other then

provoke further bloodshed! If they want the bombings to stop, the ambushes to stop and the terror

attacks to stop, then they should learn to control their own forces! How can we maintain peace and

security if the very soldiers meant to enforce peace and security are the very ones threatening it! How

can we unite under ourliberators if they are the same people prolonging the conflict! Its not the

terrorists raping our daughters, killing our sons and robbing our families, its the Guardsmen! Hear my

people, let me give you an example of Imperial law keeping, the things you wont hear from the

commissars

Jafaard stopped talking and over the speaker came the sound of rustling paper as the presenter rifled

through his notes.

-Last night a local courier was making a run in the Anziba merchant district when he was stopped by

two men. These two men shot him dead, murdering the father of two in cold blood and dumping his

body in the street while making off with an undisclosed amount. According to district arbiters the

robbery was witnessed by a local hab-wife who reported the use of las-weaponry and identified the

assailants as offworlders. The matter has been taken up with the Imperial commissariat who have

placed the witness under protection- Jafaard stopped reading and his voice dropped back to his usually

tone of bitter cynicism.

Ok, my people, if that doesnt stink of a cover-up I dont know what does! I- Dublane switched off theset and stood rubbing his cheeks in thought.

Shit, Blane, the girlie went to the commissars Linton gulped, fear replacing his high-spirits. What we

gunna do?

Dublane didnt answer straight away, staring through the blinds. Then he grabbed his brown leather

jacket and kitbag and pulled it on over his vest.

We, are gunna do nothing. Youre staying here, the trooper told him forcefully. Im going out.

Huh? Are you sure thats was wise? I mean, with the girlie playing footsie with the hangmen they couldlooking for you, looking for us, The younger, fresh-faced trooper said anxiously.




4

There are four regiments stationed in Blossom city, its gunna take em a while to track us down, dont

you think?

Still Linton persisted.

Look, Dublane smiled, trying to reassure the kid. He shouldnt have, because after a life time in the

Guard and a hard life before that Dublanes face wasnt used to smiling. All it did was shifted the once

handsome, tanned hide of his face, creasing his wore, grim demeanour. I dont feel like waiting in this

flea-pit for the commissars to find us. Way I see it, weve been real lucky. That golds more then enough

to get us off this rock, so I say we make sure we get the chance to spend it, alright?

Its a risk is all Im saying

Yeah, I wish that was all you were saying.

Hey come on, if the hangmen catch you theyll catch me pretty sharpish, I wouldnt mind betting, the

kid muttered ruefully. And Mister Lushas aint gunna help us this time. Itll be firing squad, quick and

queasy. Throne, you should have cut him in, Blane.

Give me your las.

What you gunna do?

Im gunna deal with the girlie, Dublane spat, holding out a hand for the pistol. Linton hesitated, then

pulled out the las from his fatigue pants and handed it over.

Stay here with the gold, Dublane told him, tucking the laspistol into the holster under his jacket and

making for the door. If the hangmen come calling, you know what to do.

What am I gunna fight them off with? Linton scowled. My impeccable wit?

If youre such a hot-shot with a tech-kit, fix my frigging pistol, his partner shot back impatiently, aware

the kid was stalling.

How come you get the good las and I get the shitty slug-thrower? Linton complained.

Cos I cant afford for anything to go wrong, ok kid? Dublane snarled, pissed with the kids moaning.

Before he could say anything else, Dublane was out the door.

In the hallway the old crook paused. He didnt think the kid would do anything stupid, but still. Taking a

lho stick from a bartered old packet he popped it into his mouth and another in the crevice at the top of

the door. Walking down the hall, Dublane skipped down several flights of stairs and left the apartment

block.

Entering the busy street he cast a furtive look over his shoulder and marched through the crowds,

lighting his lho stick as he went. As usually the crowds parted almost subconsciously to let him through,

a few giving the disheveled Imperial bitter looks but mainly just giving a wide-berth. The myriad aromas

of the morning markets assaulted his senses and he took a few long drags of lho to fight back the musk.

Dublane sighed. All in all hed planned a successful little job. After acquiring a silenced auto-pistol,

Linton and he jumped a local courier, one theyd been tipped usually carried a couple of thousands

crowns worth of Imperial currency. When they jumped him Dublane had supposed to kill him quickly

and silently with the autopistol, but the damn thing had jammed. Before he had time to correct the

misfortune with his knife the courier legged it, and before he could stop him, Linton popped two las-

rounds into his back. Emperor knew how the kid had got the las through the commissariat sweeps but

the kill had been loud and noisy. A local hab-wife had witnessed the whole thing from her hab-window,

watching the courier fall down dead and staring at the two troopers with cold accusing eyes. Dublane

had wanted to kill her straight off but the kid got spooked and they ran back to their hideout instead.




5

Back there theyd found to their surprise the courier had been carrying more then a few grand. Hed

been carrying thirteen gold bars.

A street urchin bumped into him interrupting his trail of thought, with nothing more then a mutedapology the kid made off. Dublane grabbed him by the arm and took back his wallet, giving the child a

clip round the ear for good measure.

After dodging a few arbiter patrols and Guard checkpoints Dublane came to his destination in a back-

alley near the Dhuraka merchant quarter.

The Welcome Inn was a grimy, misnamed bar built under a cloth warehouse favoured by off duty

Guardsmen and Munitorum workers alike. Dublane flicked away his lho stick and jogged down a flight of

steps into the small bar.

As he entered he saw the owner to the left, a grim ex-guardsman named Morb, who was busy cleaningthe bar surface with a dirty cloth. To the right by the door two off-duty troopers in the plain grey combat

fatigues of Dublanes regiment were playing jackpot at a snook table. Dublane gave them a nod and they

returned it, turning back to their game. Down the right hand side of the club were padded booths,

empty but for the far one, in which a small, prematurely bald munitorum cleric sat smoking. Dublane

made to go over to him, until he saw the trooper sitting at the bar.

Major Elem Lushas was not a pretty man. In fact it was often stated that he looked like a corpse, just

starting to decompose. His skin was so pale and taut it was greyer then his fatigues and his flesh had less

life about it then the recently deceased. Sickeningly lean and long limbed Lushas was little more then a

skeleton dressed in the fatigues of a Guardsmen. The skin of his hairless head was so tightly wrapped

around his skull he seemed not to have a face at all and indeed there was such a lack of flesh he could

barely close his mouth, forever locked in a hideous grin of spade-like yellow teeth. Dublane was sure his

eyes would have been sunken and horrid if Lushas had any. Instead his eyes were replaced with bulky,

augmentic optics. It had once been said by an under cautious trooper that Mister Lushas was actually a

mutant. That same trooper had been found in his bunk the next day, having choked on his own tongue.

As well being arguable the most repulsive man in the regiment, Lushas was also the most ruthless and

criminal. Guilty of almost every crime imaginable, the Major ran every black market activity the

regiment was a part of. He had risen through the ranks thanks to his gangland ruthlessness more then

combat effectiveness. He ran the black market with a raised dagger if not an iron fist, and was callous

and inventive at punishing those that didnt pay him his cut.

Dublane had a horrible feeling he should have paid Lushas his cut.

Dublane, Dublane, the Major rasped in his coarse, reedy voice. Come, sit! Lets have a chat

Dublane hesitated; Lushas was one complication he didnt need.

I dont bite Lushas chuckled dryly, showing his big, toothy grin. Dublane forced a smile and sat down

on the stool next to him. What can I get ya too drink? He wheezed.

Err just a shot of amasec, Dublane decided, seeing that was what the Major was drinking. Morb

came forward and placed shot of amasec in front of him, which he sipped casually.

Its a bit early to be drinking though, dont you think? He commented to the Major, who sipped his

own glass.

Its never too early for amasec, my friend

I hear it dehydrates you, makes you thirstier, Dublane said offhandedly, nursing his shot.

Is that so? Is that so Morb? Lushas called to the beefy bartender who just shrugged and grunted,

cleaning glasses. Well you learn something everyday




6

s what I heard, Dublane nodded.

Well, you know what I hear? Lushas grinned, tilting his head in his fellow troopers direction.

What?

I hear that you got hold of a couple of pistols after the commissars tightened up gun control, He

rasped almost flippantly. I also hear that a courier got jumped for all he was worth the other night.

There anything youre not telling me, Blane, my old pal?

Dublane tensed. Out the corner of his eye he saw the two troopers playing jackpot, troopers he now

recognised from Lushass platoon, come forward menacingly. One came right up beside Dublane, resting

his knuckles on the bartop while the other stood behind him ready to choke him with his snook-cube at

the Majors signal. Dublane signed, nursing his shot. He then picked up the glass and rammed it into the

head of the trooper beside him.

Leaping up, Dublane punched him for good measure and the man went down bleeding profusely. His

comrade cursed and came at Blane thrusting the end of his cube towards Dublanes face. Dublane

caught it in his grip and repeated the move with his free hand thrusting the other end of the cube into

the owners face. As he reeled Dublane kneed him between the legs, the man collapsed with a cry and

his assailant grabbed him by the head and pulled his face into his rising knee. There was an ugly crack as

the mans nose shattered and he fell back unconscious.

Dublane stepped back over to the bar and kicked the first man savagely in the chest. Clicking his neck

and adjusting his jacket he sat back down beside Lushas, who hadnt reacted in the slightest during the

exchange.

That stick-up had nothing to do with me, Lushas, Dublane lied. You not hear the details? Lasfire. I

heard about that courier, witness saw them use lasfire.

Them? Who said anything about them? Lushas asked giving Dublane an unreadable look.

The radio did, Dublane said, recovering fast. They said nothing got past the Major. You were thinking

me and Linz stuck up that courier, right? Come on Mister, since when did I leave witnesses?

Lushas shrugged.

Thought you might be losing your touch so you didnt get any guns?

Yeah I did. Dublane admitted carefully. A couple of autopistols I bought from Boris over there, He

said pointing to the munitorum clerk seated at the shaded booth a little way away.

Horis-Boris? Lushas chuckled. You bought autopistols from Horis-Boris? Shit, did they work?

Thats what I wanted to find out, Dublane quick-talked, fully aware he was lying through his teeth to

the most dangerous man in the regiment. I got a few samples Linton could check out; you know his got

an eye for tech-kit. I had an idea you see, for a little scam.

Go on, the Major nodded.

Boris has contacts with the armoury clerks in the PDF. They have lock-ups heaving with old auto-

weaponry they want to keep out the hands of the insurgents. Battered old junk most of it. But the PDF

are always looking for shiny new guns to add to their armoury. I thought we could buy a load of knock-

offs from Boriss contacts, clean em up a bit and sell them to the PDF.

Lushas looked at Dublane and a big beaming grin split his features.

Buy the PDFs knockoffs and sell them back their own guns, thats not a bad idea Lushas nodded

thoughtfully. So when were you gunna cut me in on this?




7

What am I doing now?

Saying what you need to say to stay alive, Lushas grinned.

Off cause I was gunna cut you in. Scamming the PDF was never gunna work with just me and Linz,

Dublane sneered, praying to the Throne the Major bought his frankly awe-inspiring piece of

improvisation. Shit, if hed thought of that scam early he wouldnt have even been in this mess now.

Lushas peered at him with his bug-like optics, then sniggered.

Alright Dublane I buy it. You talk to Boris, Ill set a crew together, well work something out

Dublane nodded, trying to keep the relief off his face. Getting up, he breathed out deeply and made his

way over to Horis-Boris.

Boris was a corrupt little weasel who worked as clerk in the Departmento Munitorum, the organizational

division behind the day-to-day runnings of the Imperial Guard. Bald, like all munitorum drones Boris was

a thin, sweaty young man with a pale, thin face and watery blue eyes. He watched with obvious

discomfort as Dublane approached.

As he came nearer, Dublane discovered Boris wasnt alone in the shaded booth. Sitting with him was a

brutish, mustached Pandorian that Dublane took to be hired muscle, filling the booth with the stench of

his body odour.

Uninvited Dublane sat opposite the squirming clerk.

Hello Boris, you dont seem pleased to see me, He growled with thinly veiled threat.

No, not at all Boris mumbled. Just didnt expect to see you out in the open. Thought you might be

lying low, you know.

Dublane glared at him for what seemed like an eternity.

The pistol jammed, you little weasel, he snarled.

Boris paused before replying.

You get what you pay for, he scowled.

Dublanes hand dashed out and grabbed Boris by the scruff of his uniform, yanking him across the table.

The hairy paw of his hired muscle closed around his arm and Dublanes other hand darted out, grabbing

a handful of the mans hair and smashing his head against the table. The mans grip relinquished and he

fell back snorting blood. Dublane didnt relinquish his grip. Boris gulped.

Do you want a new gun? Ill-Ill get you a new gun if thats what you want, Ill- Boris stuttered, before

Dublane shut him up.

You have contacts in the laundry department, right? He snarled.

What? Boris gulped.

The laundry department! I need a commissar uniform, can you get me one? Dublane hissed letting go

of the clerk.

Err, yeah I could. Wait, what? Why? He spluttered, adjusting his uniform.

None of your business. Can you get me one today?

Yeah, Ill make a call.

Ten minutes later Dublane left the Welcome Inn and walked for fifteen minutes to a launderette

requisitioned by the Munitorum. There he met Boriss contact, the launderette owner, who gave him




8

the shirt, breeches, sash, cap and storm coat of an Imperial commissar and let him use the backroom to

dress. Taking out his shaving kit from his canvas kitbag Dublane washed, shaved, put on the stolen

uniform and stuffed his own clothes into the kitbag. All but the laspistol, which he holstered to his side.

Leaving the launderette Dublane hailed a taxi-cart and used a wad of his last few credit notes to pay for

a ride to a hab-district just outside the Anziba merchant district. Arriving a few minutes later Dublane

recognised the street despite the light of day, and the hab, at which two commissariat troops stood

outside.

Paying the tax-driver and telling him to wait Dublane marched straight backed towards the guards and

accepted their salutes.

Commissar Dual, He improvised, naming himself after his regimental commissar. Here to see the

witness, she in?

Yes, commissar sir, said one of the troopers. Dublane nodded. There had always been the risk they

would move the witness to the local arbiter station, then he would have been screwed. Evidently they

had not.

Is it alright if I go up?

Of course, commissar. She was just sleeping, the other trooper said opening the hab door for him.

Dublane thanked him and stepped inside.

Running up a flight of stairs he came to the apartment door and knocked twice. He saw light shift

through the eyehole and looked away deliberately. The door opened on the latch and a young, tannedskinned woman peered out.

Commissar Dual, Dublane lied politely. Here to ask you a few questions if thats alright?

Yes of course, commissar, She said in accented Gothic, closing the door and reopening it free of the

latch. Dublane wandered in behind her and closed the door. When inside he glanced around the hab.

Little more then a single room with a bed, kitchen area, plus a side room to the right leading to the toilet

and shower. There was no one else in the apartment. The woman was saying something about the

arbiters already asking her a load of questions as she went to the window and undid the hab curtains.

She turned around and froze, seeing the laspistol pointed at her person.

Close the curtains, Dublane demanded, voice cold and hard. The women glared at him, eyes widening

as she recognised him as the murderer from the night before. She did as she was told. Lie down on the

bed.

She did so, acting coy, misunderstanding his intentions.

Hold that pillow tightly, Dublane ordered, gesturing with the pistol as he came closer. She did so.

Pushing his las against the pillow Dublane fired twice. The women gasped, smoke escaping her mouth as

her eyes widened in fear and pain, then she flopped backwards. The pillow masked the snap-crack of the

pistol blasts but not the flash. Dublane hoped the curtains had stopped the light from alerting thesoldiers outside. Holstering his pistol, he left the apartment and stepped outside. The soldiers looked at

him in surprise, none the wiser.

Poor things exhausted, He explained. Ill come back when shes well rested.

Very good, sir. The troopers smiled.

Dublane hopped back into the waiting taxi-cart and paid the driver the last of his notes to take him back

to his apartment. While in the back of the cab, he couldnt help congratulating himself on a job well

done.




9

Unable to repress his smile he left the taxi and wondered into his apartment block, ignoring the dirty

looks from the locals. Taking the stairs two at a time, Dublane reached his hab. Checking the door he

found the lho hed placed there was still there, meaning his partner hadnt left. Smirking to himself, he

popped it into his mouth and opened the door.

Lintons first shot hit him in the shoulder. The autopistol popped like nobodys business and Lintons

second and third shot hit him in the stomach and lower gut. Dublane didnt have time too make Linton

see the mistake he was making before his fourth shot hit him just above the heart.

gold bars and commissars

Documents