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13.02.905.M38
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POV Of Sergeant Dominion Marine
"Look at them… those blue xenos make my skin crawl just from looking at them," the captain said as we walked through the improvised T'au camp. They were still waiting for an evacuation that advanced at an exasperatingly slow pace, clinging to the idea that someone would come to rescue them.
"What do you expect from xenos who try to act like civilized beings?" one of the sergeants laughed. "Yesterday some of our food waste fell off a truck on its way to incineration, and those bastards jumped on it like animals. It was ridiculous watching them fight over bitten apples and cans with scraps of grox and vegetables." He shook his head as he watched the T'au rummaging through the nearby ruins.
The captain leaned against a barricade of sandbags and glanced at me sideways. "And you, Kess… you were lucky enough to be in the vanguard, fighting shoulder to shoulder with the Royal Guard. Tell me—what were the xenos saying when they begged for their lives?"
"Not much, captain," I replied as I adjusted the new armor. "Most of the time I was coordinating the vanguard. I couldn't focus on the fighting with all the data coming in—I was coordinating everything the Titan cruiser was feeding us through its sensors. The xenos I took down… I just shot them. They stopped moving. Though when we captured a few, they just trembled and spoke something I didn't understand."
"Bah… I expected more whining or crying," he snorted. "Supposedly when Protoss were captured they wouldn't stop yammering telepathically until you were sick of it."
I shrugged, listening to the mechanical whine of my armor.
The armor I wore was a CMC-200, the standard model for Dominion military forces. Inferior to the Royal Guard's CMC-300s, without question. Mine was little more than a well-protected firing platform—enough to stop minor impacts, but without the reinforcements, advanced servos, or synthetic musculature that turned a CMC-300 into an extension of the body. It didn't provide the brutal boost in strength and speed that only the Royal Guard enjoyed.
Even so, the CMC-200 allowed me to wield the C-14 gauss rifle without risking tearing my arms apart—something that would be fatal without armor. Lately there were rumors circulating through the barracks: the Dominion was working on adapting the B-2 High-Cal LMGs for marine use. Tests had shown their lethality surpassed even gauss rifles in certain scenarios, so everyone wanted a weapon that could be mass-produced and kill faster.
My participation in the vanguard had earned me a promotion of two full ranks and a pay raise—from 1,200 to 1,800 credits. It was still less than what a Terran civilian earned in the factories—around 2,000—but far above the common wage of non-Terrans, who barely reached 880.
The real difference wasn't the credits.
The Dominion had covered my full genetic treatment. That wasn't something you got by pulling double shifts on an assembly line—the private genetic treatment was hovering close to one hundred thousand credits and kept climbing as fewer procedures were performed after this year's budget cuts in the civilian sector.
"Pff… these xenos really stink. Why the hell do we have to patrol this shithole?" one of the sergeants growled as he adjusted his helmet filter.
"Because they tried to steal a Dominion food shipment on its way to the starport," the captain replied without slowing his pace. "And because I want them to understand we're here. That if they try it again, we'll apply lethal force."
We were nearly a hundred men assigned to Refugee Camp Number Six, one of the closest to the starport. It was also the fastest-evacuating one—relatively speaking. The problem was scale: close to a hundred million T'au crammed into this camp alone, and barely twenty thousand evacuated per day. At that rate, the camp would remain active for years.
"Eyes open and backs covered," the captain ordered, tapping the side of his gauss rifle. "They handed over their weapons, but I wouldn't be surprised if one of them tried something. They're filthy dogs."
We entered the camp and, at least on the surface, everything matched the reports. The T'au moved slowly, emaciated, clinging to whatever routines allowed them to keep breathing one more day. There were improvised communal pots where they shared what little they managed to salvage from the nearby ruins—remains of buried warehouses, dented cans, torn sacks.
The hatred wasn't in all of them. Only in some. You could recognize them immediately: former warriors. They had emerged from their bunkers when we abandoned the planet and were hit by reality all at once. Their own state had left them behind. They surrendered weapons, military rations, equipment. Now they were just another part of the refugee mass, starving to death with uncomfortable regularity.
Our presence wasn't welcome. They stared at us openly when we passed near the cooking pots, not bothering to hide it.
For an hour we patrolled the area, checking that no one was armed. Everything remained calm. Just T'au moving through rubble, lifting stones, scavenging however they could for something useful.
"All right, time to eat," the captain said when we stopped near the edge of the camp.
No one answered. Everyone pulled out their rations. Today it was grox with vegetables, protein bars, and dried grox meat. Nothing fancy, but enough. The Dominion bought the cheapest supplies on the market as long as they met nutritional requirements: 3,500 calories a day. Everything else was irrelevant.
As we ate, I noticed movement. Some T'au were approaching slowly—but mostly the young. Big eyes, hands pressed to their stomachs, advancing cautiously.
No one seemed to care.
"Look at them… like stray dogs," the captain said while noisily chewing a piece of grox. He licked his lips, pulled out a protein bar, and bit into it. "Look at what these xenos are willing to do for food."
He tossed it into the mud, right in front of the young.
Without hesitation, one of them lunged forward, wiped the bar clean with its hands, and passed it to the one who looked weakest.
"Pathetic animals," another sergeant spat. "I don't know why we don't do them the favor of putting a bullet in them and ending this. Or slap cuffs on them and send them to the mines until they die." He copied the captain's gesture—but spat on the bar first. The result was the same.
One of the troopers suddenly stepped forward, shouting, and the young scattered in terror back into the camp.
Laughter erupted.
"Stupid xenos," I said between laughs as I finished my ration.
We stowed our gear and resumed the patrol—this time deeper into the camp. we need to make sure there were no hidden weapons. No one wanted to deal with a desperate xeno holding something sharp.
That was when a T'au approached. She wore a white coat that had long since lost its color, now gray and caked with mud. She walked straight up to the captain.
"Gue'la we have been informed that you are terrorizing our young."the female T'au said, speaking in Terran
"Uh-huh… and?" the captain replied, lowering his visor and stepping closer. "You got a problem with that, xeno?"
"There is a treaty between our states. Peace has already been achieved. These actions only harm the future of our peoples."
The captain leaned in until his helmet was almost touching her.
"And what the fuck do you care, filthy xeno?" he growled. "You think we like being here, surrounded by your disgusting species? If you weren't a pack of thieves, we wouldn't have to patrol this dump. Bitch."
"These are not honorable acts," the T'au said, raising her voice for the first time. "You take it out on innocents—on those who cannot resist. Do you think that makes you a better warrior?"
The captain cocked his head, as if weighing whether she was worth answering.
"Oh… you almost made me feel sorry for you, xeno," he said at last. "But you'd do exactly the same as we are now. The only difference is you're not on the winning side." His voice hardened. "My family knew xeno cruelty. I will never forget Chau Sara. The Protoss burned the planet. They killed almost all my uncles." He leaned a little closer. "And you would do the same if you could. You just lost."
"We would never descend to acts of such barbarism," the female T'au replied firmly. "The Greater Good demands collective unity to reach our full potential. We would never do this."
The captain let out a dry laugh. "See?" he said as he turned away, still laughing. "That's how they lie. Every word they speak is full of lies."
"We are not lying," she insisted. "I ask you, please, to withdraw from the camp."
I noticed movement. Several T'au were approaching, forming a wide semicircle—no visible weapons, but far too close.
Instinctively, I raised my rifle. The others did the same.
"And who are you to give me orders?" the captain growled, lowering his visor until it was inches from the T'au's face.
"We don't want this to escalate," she said, holding her breath. "Please, withdraw."
The captain laughed again. "Oh, sure… escalate," he said slowly, looking around at the crowd watching us. "This already escalated."
Then his eyes fixed on something behind them—a massive stack of crates.
"Look at that," he said, pointing with his gauss rifle. "Looks like we found contraband."
"Move aside, scum," he added, shoving several T'au out of the way.
We advanced. The female T'au hurried after us.
"That's just food!" she said urgently. "It's not contraband! Please, don't do this. We need that or many will die." She nearly stumbled as she walked. "We found it in old warehouses. It wasn't stolen. I beg you."
We reached the crates. The captain kicked one open.
Inside were sacks of pale powder.
"See… just ground carbohydrates," the T'au said, her voice breaking, nearly on her knees in the mud. "It's nothing dangerous. Please… noble Terran."
She took a handful and let it fall slowly through her fingers.
"Could be raw material for munitions," the captain said calmly. "Or explosives."
"It's food!" the T'au screamed. "It's just food!" She dropped to her knees and pressed her face into the mud. "It's just food…" she repeated, her voice shattered.
"I see you finally understand your place, xeno," the captain said with a triumphant smile. "On your knees, submitted to the race destined to rule the stars." He stepped toward her. "But every lesson has a punishment. This isn't food. If it were, it would carry Terran Dominion information seals. Without them, it's a dangerous substance. Potentially poisonous. Toxic."
He turned without hesitation. "Burn it all."
A trooper immediately stepped forward with a flamethrower, moving toward the crates.
"No… please… no…" the female T'au begged, clinging to the captain's armor.
That was enough to set the rest off. Several T'au began to advance, tense, fists clenched around improvised tools. I raised my rifle and fired into the air. The crack echoed through the ruins. I fired again. Those on the verge of charging stopped, hesitated for a second.
"Get the hell away from the contraband!" I shouted, continuing to fire into the air as I shifted to cover the flamethrower.
Our men shoved the T'au back. The captain kicked the female away from the crates. The flamethrower roared.
Fire covered everything.
The flames devoured the sacks and the crates. Heat slammed into us like a wall. The T'au's eyes burned with hatred, reflecting the blaze that consumed the little they had left.
"Come on!" the captain shouted, pointing at one of the T'au holding a stick with trembling hands. "Do it! Do it! DO IT!"
He advanced toward the T'au, offering himself to be struck. "DO IT!"
The T'au tightened his grip on the stick, body rigid, on the brink of acting. The female T'au shouted something in her language—fast, desperate. The male hesitated… and stepped back.
"Cowards," the captain growled. "Fine. We're done here. Check for more contraband or we're out."
We burned another cache before leaving. Then we left the camp behind, wrapped in smoke and silence.
We returned to the calm of our perimeter.
The following day, everyone who had taken part was rewarded with medals for valor—the Wolf of the Sons of Korhal—for showing bravery in the face of the xenos and enforcing Dominion law by burning food that did not meet sanitary requirements. Rumors indicated that the incident escalated further, and that the Dominion threatened the T'au with war over the event, as well as with the execution of prisoners—forcing all future food consumed in Augustgrad to be of Terran origin and compliant with Dominion law.
At exorbitant prices.
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If there are spelling mistakes, please let me know.
Leave a comment; support is always appreciated.
I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see.
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