40k RPG; Memoria, Part Secundus

[Pcm979]

The Star of Ascendance, liscenced transport ship en route to Cardinal Primaris in the Exendor system from the damaged world of Adraxis, was carrying some 5000 refugees that had fled the world following the numerous Chaotic uprisings that had occured over the past month. Most were hoping to escape from the madness that had engulfed their formerly safe planet. Many had sold themselves into slavery to buy passage.

One had sold himself into slavery long ago, to the Lord of Change.

[Pcm979]

Orbiting Adraxis

Gyllia Xyng, Techpriest second class, was repairing a burst conduit in one of the Ramilles-class Starfort's many maintenance corridors. The ancient Orbital had been suffering cascade failures ever since the near-destruction of the Starfort during the PsyKing episode, and this was one of many maintenance tasks that consumed most, if not all, of her time.

Integrating the Archaeotech with the venerable space-stations' surviving equipment had been difficult. The new, more efficient systems performed well, of course. Entirely too well, in fact, as the burst conduit attested. The old machinery was quite literally strained past the breaking point, which lead the station's Techpriests to the ludicrous realisation that they'd have to either completely rebuild the colossal station from the foundations up, or run the new equipment far below its minimum specifications.

The conduit suddenly leaped out of her hands like a snake, and snapped itself back into place, nearly making her jump out of her skin.
"Can I help?" She spun around.
"Pater! I haven't seen you since... The funeral."
The young Inquisitor nodded, his obsidian faceplate drinking in the light. "Things have been busy since then, to say the least." He began to pace, and Gyllia could see that he was carrying alot of emotional baggage.

"Lord Vonrilyental is dead, and Gix and I are leaving before the reinforcements arrive. We plan to go our seperate ways, spreading the Archaeotech wherever we can. This means that-"
"You want me to come with you." Gyllia finished for him.
Pater grinned. "It's been far too long since we've finished each other's sentences. We're departing in 10 hours. See you there."

[Cynical Cat]

Jolan raised his hand, hesitated, and then knocked on the cabin door. A moment latter it slid open. Severa smiled at him. She was wearing her full naval officer's get up, but with Inquisition patches. She was a broad shouldered woman of not insignifigant height and it added to her air of authority. She smiled. "Jolan, come in." She stepped aside.

The quarters assigned to her were fairly spacious. The frantic fighting on this star fort had been won by the Inquisition and its agents and she was the one the navy brass dealt with on a day to day level. They hadn't stinted her on quarters as a result. She had been firm but professional with them, making sure that Gix's will was executed while not damaging their pride.

He quarters consisted of sitting room and a bed room, both furnished with silks, furs, and woven cloths from worlds throughout the subsector. Most interstellar commerce went through navy hulls and it kept a share for itself. "Business or pleasure?" she smiled.

Somwhere along the line they had slipped from being friends into something more. How much the fear and chaos of battle had played into it was hard to tell. Time together was one thing they had had little of. And now if he cared about her he was going to have to give her up.

"I talked with the commodore," he said.

"About what?"

"About being your returning to naval service. Here, away from your enemies. With Lena as your patron. She said yes." Severa's eyes lit up like suns.

"Oh Jolan!" She swept him off his feet and swung him around laughing. And then it hit her. She lowered him down. "And that means . . ."

"Yes. If you take it, we aren't going to be together. Don't get me wrong, I want you in my life. I want you with me. But this is your choice. And I know how much it means to you."

She squeezed him hard. He hugged her back. "Damn! It's not fair!"

He gently disentangled himself. "We both know life isn't fair. And I saw that look in your eyes. You'll take it."

She nodded. She was silent for a moment. And then she looked up a fierce blaze in her eyes. "Jolan, I will never forget you. Friends, always."

"Yes," he replied, "friends, always." The words seemed so inadequete to what truly lay between them.

"You'll be here for a while right? Cleaning up? And they'll be awhile coming up with an assignment for me and when they do the first one will probably be here. We have some time at least."

"Yes, we do," he agreed as he gently pulled her face towards him.

[Brother-Captain Gaius]

Pressing Need

Brother-Sergeant Vitellius surveyed the battered landscape through the black lenses of his helmet. He nodded to himself, pleased with the work he and his squad had done here. It had been his unit that ambushed the greenskins' supply column, smashing it into oblivion and denying the orks vital ammunition. The Space Marine gently unsealed and removed his helm as he worked his way out of the concealing vegetation and down toward the ruined convoy. Brother Laenas was quick to join him.

"The xenos are cleansed, Brother-Sergeant. No survivors."

The older Marine nodded once more and dismissed Laenas with a gesture. Vitellius kicked some debris away from one of the wrecked trukks, satisfied to see the tangled and broken corpses underneath lay still. He was about to address the squad when his vox chirped. The Marine recognized it immediately as the Brother-Captain, currently many kilometers away where the main ork threat was.

"Vitellius. I have just received word from the Ex Inferis. A matter of some importance has arisen and you are needed. I am dispatching a Thunderhawk to these coordinates. Your squad will continue on. Gaius out."

The sergeant frowned, replacing his helmet to see the coordinates that had been sent. What could be so important as to necessitate his immediate extraction? But he trusted the Captain's judgment implicity. The Marine fired off a few clipped orders, placing Laenas in command and informing the squad of his absence before vanishing into the thick forest that permeated the region. The gunship would be landing soon, and the frequent fighta-bomma patrols would prevent it from staying for long.

As he made his way toward the landing zone, his thoughts were once again interupted by his voxlink.

"Sergeant, you are no doubt wondering what this is all about. I will explain in greater detail later once the immediate threat has been dealt with. For now, be content with the knowledge that you have been selected to fulfill our Chapter's oath to His Holy Inquisition."

Now it made sense. Vitellius was to join the Deathwatch.

[The Necrontyr Messenger]

Living Saint Lena Novadlorian had drifted away, over time, from the inquisition, as much as was possible in her position. After decades and dozens of wars, the quarters that had once belonged to Saint Celestine, her last predecessor, still felt alien, or at least, not her own, under the warm sky of Ophelia VIII.

She glanced at the six Soroitas Celestians that remained with her at all times, one from each of the six orders militant of the Soroitas, dressed variously in livery of white red and black, colours of purity and sacrifice. One of them carried her own sword, a truly ancient weapon procured from Holy Terra itself.

Taking a seat at a writing table, she hunted about amongst the pens there, for once taking one of those used among the Soroitas, and wincing as its spiked surface dug into her fingers. Dipping it into its inkwell, she began writing.

By the Hand of Lena Novadlorian, Saint of the Imperium, Admiral of the EmperorÂ’s Most Glorious Navy (retired), Abbess of the Adepta Soroitas, penned in the second year of the forty-second millennium.

She paused in writing her latest encyclical, her memory pushed back over the decades into the last millennium, reflecting past wars of faith, and years of arduous politicking, on to her time on Adraxis and Cyrus Gamma. She remembered Severa, and the efforts sheÂ’d made, efforts that seemed amateurish to her now, but which had been sufficient, to keep her in the navy as sheÂ’d wanted. It was a pledge, in truth, that she still upheld, reporting as she did directly to the Ecclesiarch, she had access to some resources one didnÂ’t want to get on the wrong side of.

“My lady,Ââ€Â

[SirNitram]

We Who Are About To Die...

The T'au fell back. The battle had been won, not the least of which because of the Predator tanks and Land Raider APCs that now thundered across the plains. The Battle Barge Semper Curator observed and relayed data from above, and held the meeting of the Techmarine officers.

They held in their hands a tricky situation. Technically, no one in the Imperium save the God-Emperor could order a Marine Chapter to do anything at all. Request, cajoule, bargain, beg, bribe, manipulate.. Yes. But never order. On the other hand, the group currently making noise at the Duskguard's 'eccentric' methods was the Adeptus Mechanicus; the Machine Cult. Without positive relations with the Cultists of the Omnissiah, the Duskguard faced many difficulties.

So it was that a sacrificial lamb had to be generated. One whose exile would please the Machine Cult for the 'excesses' of the Chapter, yet who had a likely chance of surviving. Ultimately, the questionable honour fell on Brother-Captain Malkamar. He was a good choice, even he had to admit. Having manipulated T'au technology no less than three times(Though, he thought when he was sure none of the entirely-too-prevalent Psykkers were around, two shouldn't count. Thermal weapons used for spot welds is just good battle-ingenuity) in this campaign, he could easily be singled out as the most ready to use unsanctioned machines.

It didn't matter much to him. He had served longer than most; his family had continued for generations without him, and now he seemed alien to his own blood. His own human memories were even starting to fade, his anchorpoint as a Guardian Of Humanity.

The Warp-capable craft he would travel to the blighted sector on emerged from the Barge's bays as the battle on the ground wore on.

[Pcm979]

The Star of Ascendance, en route to Cardinal Primaris

Fera Sytal's life flashed before her eyes.

She was a Joygirl from Sorada Hive on Adraxis. She'd bought herself passage off the God-Emperor forsaken rock by using her only available asset; Her body. Luckily, prostitution was always a booming business, never more so than when in cramped spaces on a 5-month voyage. Her latest client was into kinky shit. As long as it paid the bills.

He was cutting her, cutting her deep.

She'd done crap like that before, with the whips and the bondage gear. She was desensetised to it by now.

She tried to scream, but the bit reduced it to a whimper.

The man had seemed strange, even for a sex freak. It was something about his eyes, they didn't look quite right. Blue in one light, green in another. Whatever, he had cash, she needed it.

Oh Saints oh Emperor the pain!

It had started out alright, as far as that sort of thing ever did. The usual 'hit me harder' business, and a bit of hair-pulling. It wasn't real anyway. Then he'd tied her down. That was alright too, if it got his rocks off she didn't care. Then...

He was chanting. What was he chanting?

He'd shoved something down her throat, held her nose so she swallowed it. Put the gag in, and pulled out a fucking large knife. She was fucking scared.

The air seemed to change, like before a storm. Something leaked from her nose and dribbled into her eyes. Blood. She was going to die!

Suddenly, she felt something. Something hot. Something sharp. Her throat burned, he mouth went dry, her vision whited out, and the last thing she heard was the cackling of a thousand hungry gods...

The man stood up, blood dripping from his hands, and surveyed his work. It was good. The girl's eyes, red with blood, stared into nothing...

Then looked straight at him, blue as the sky. He hurriedly loosened the ropes and pulled the gag out. The girl spat out her teeth, and then smiled with a set of blood red fangs. "Skorn. I knew you'd come through for me." Said the PsyKing.

[Cynical Cat]

"My lord inquisitor," said the young Arbites officer. He gulped nervously. "We weren't expecting to arrive so quickly." He couldn't be older than early twenties, at the most.

"I was passing through on another matter when I got the message," Jolan replied. Under his customary stormcoat the inquisitor was wearing a carapace breastplate over a long tunic and breeches of black armor cloth woven through with gold. The heavily armed bulk of Hethor D'eckor followed behind.

The young Arbites officer nodded. "Please follow me, my lord." He headed into the courthouse. The heavily armed troopers waved them past the checkpoints and through the scan net. The men manning the gun emplacements looked down on them curiously, but the barrels of their autocannons stayed covering the entrance.

"Fill me in."

"Yes, my lord. We recieved an emergency transmition from one of the DeCora's estates. They are local nobility, one of the Two Hundred Families. We sent to reaction units and a pair of escort gunships to their lodge and found a massacre. The monitoring system had been completely wiped. Everyone was dead. Except for this guy."

The judge took them down a side corridor decorated with gorgeous holopicts of saints and primarchs. "We thought he was another deader at first, he was in real bad shape. But he was alive. No indication of who he was. We stuffed him into trauma case and carried him here. We didn't think he would make it, but he pulled through. When he regain conciousness he said. 'the Inquisition' and then passed out. So the senior judges sent word. He regained consciousness yesterday, but we haven't asked anything else."

Gix stopped. "No other questions?"

The young judge nodded. "We know better than to step into Inquisition business uninvited."

"Wise. Continue."

"Yes, sir. Well, we had employed forensic tech adepts and medicae in our investigation. We completed our testing and stored our data to present to the Inquisition when it arrived. Ah, here we are."

"Lead me to him."

"Yes, my lord." The young judge lead them through the hospital wing. It was small, but equipped with some of the best technology of the Imperium. The judge lead them through to a private room guarded by two Arbites in full combat gear.

They passed through into a room where a single patient lay shrouded in bandages and attached to a half dozen arcane machines. Gix stopped and examined the monitors. The young judge failed to conceal his awe of a man who could interpret the arcane glyphs on display. Gix turned to the patient.

"I am Inquisitor Jolan Gix. I know you are conscious. Respond."

The voice that answered was little more than a hiss. "Yess."

"Who are you?"

"Danell Keys, Master Assassin of House DeCora."

"The catalogue of enhancements and weaponry present on your person tends to confirm this. What happened."

"Lord Veldinar had a meeting. He had it in the lodge . . . . for ssecressy. Five men, sshrouded. Two carried a case. My lord and his ssage met with them. They opened the case. The ssage verified what it wass. Some device of technosorcery. Then the leader said he had more . . . . much more. My lord wass happy. And then the leader removed his face shield."

The wounded man stopped to sip water from a tube. "My lord recognized him. His face was ordinary. He cried out. Too late. We had scanned the with a psi detector and gotten . . . nothing, but somehow they had . . .fooled the machines. They other four . . . were pskers. The were . . . already striking. I hit the wall. Then . . . nothing."

"Why did you ask for the Inquisition? You must know that your house will be investigated, perhaps even destroyed."

"My lord is dead. Others. . . . may live . . . may not. But this one will destroy them. And more. Saw . . . .his eyes. His power . . . . great. He killed my lord this way face to face. . . .because he wanted him to know. He will crush the rest . . . to be complete. And he will not stop there."

[Cynical Cat]

"Get us moviing," Gix shouted to the pilot.

"Where to, lord?" He was a professional and had piloted the sleek black flyer in missions both covert and overt.

"The main DeCora estate, whatever it is called."

"Vancin House, my lord. Should I signal our escort?' The Vulture gunships were heavily armed, but lacked the stealth modifications.

"Yes," replied Gix as the strapped himself in behind the pilot. Hethor hung onto a ceiling strap on the opposite side of the inquisitor.

"You think someone knows something," Hethor stated.

"Odds are the conspirators either left people in the know behind or weren't as successful at keeping secrets as they thought they were. Somone in that house should know something."

"Crime scene latter?"

"Psychometrists and forensics already went over it. I doubt we will get anything new. Better to corellate their data with the answers we get from the DeCoras and see if we find some interesting matches."

Hethor grunted in affirmation. The stealthed gunship flew on.

"We're coming up on them now lord. We're giving them Arbites pass codes and they are confirming. Air defences are not tracking us."

The fields and forests rolled away to reveal a maze of lush garden hedges that radiated forth from a sprawling complex of manor houses. They were long, rectangular buidings of white marble with fabulous Revival Era columns. Ariel walkways connected the manors to each other and beautiful courtyards had been crafted to fill the spaces between them.

There was a blinding flash. The polarized cockpit window saved their vision and a moment latter a shockwave buffeted the craft. Warning glyphs flashed and alarms howled as the pilot fought to keep the flyer airborn. In front of them, a mushroom cloud climbed high into the sky.

[Cynical Cat]

"You were fortunate Inquisitor Gix. A little closer and a craft with inferior shielding and you would have gotten a serious dose of rads."

"Thank you chief medicae. But I'm alright?" Gix sat up on the table.

"You should be. A marginal increase in the chance of developing cancer. Avoid anything like a rad source for a while, if possible. I can't overestimate-"

"How lucky I was. Yes, I know." Gix stripped off the gown and began putting on his clothes. "However, a bunch of potential witnesses got vaporized or blasted to ash. I'm not feeling particularily lucky."

The elderly medicae shrugged. "I'm sorry for your loss inquisitor. I wish you good hunting."

"Thank you," said Gix on his way out. Hethor waited outside, leaning against the wall.

"He's a bad one boss."

"How did you get finished first?"

"Inquisitor's get more thurough look overs than grunt troopers. Priviliges of rank and all that." Jolan nodded. Hethor continued. "We'll need someone local to help us nav this mess."

"Yes. Got any ideas?"

"Cop. Not an enforcer or Arbites. Someone who digs up bodies, not cracks heretics kneecaps."

"The Arbites have people like that."

"They're still politicos. And they're already workin'."

"Point. Interesting choice to nuke the main house with a baby bomb and not the lodge."

"Clean swept the lodge, 'cept fot the 'ssassin. But there must have been someone or somethin' really worth wasting in the big house."

"Yes. I've had the Arbites round up any survivors, those out of the house and so forth. Maybe we'll get lucky."

Hethor grunted.

"Yeah, I don't think so either. You goy see if you can find a local that fits our needs."

"Sure. And you boss?"

"I'm going to talk with our assassin friend."

----------------------------------------------------------------------

"It makes . . . . no sense," hissed Keys. "Everyone who knew . . . was there."

"Are you sure?" pressed Gix.

"Can't be . . . . one hundred percent . . . . sure," responded Keys. "Nature . . . of . . . . the . . . . . beast."

Jolan began to pace. The killers had taken the payment, slaughtered everyone, and then smuggled in a baby nuke to the estate. An expernsive operation just to seize a case full of sapphires.

The killers had left no data trail to the lodge. Private transport or public could have gotten them out there, but so far they had avoided doing anything that made them stand out. Everyone known to be in the region at the time was being checked, but Gix had little faith in the effort.

To do this much damage for so little gain had to make it not about profit. Only revenge made sense. Lure of the Lord of the DeCora's, kill him, and then annhilate the family. Gix stopped. He turned back towards Keys.

"Tell me all about your lords obsessions, those who were his personal enemies, and about the enemies of the DeCoras."

[Cynical Cat]

Keys limped into the room. Gix sat at the his desk in a sparsely furnished room. Hethor was reassembling a broken down rifle that lay on table of to the side. His eyes flickered up and then back to his weapon.

Three different data streams were floating in the air as Gix reclined in his chair and contemplated the numbers. The virtual slabs of cyan gyphs rotated slowly in the air. "Hello Danell."

"Lord," the assassin said. He was like Gix, a wiry, dark haired man of average height. But while the inquisitor was a medium brown colour, the assassin was pale with green eyes. But with skin dye and coloured contacts, they could pass as brothers.

"Anything new?" Jolan asked. The assassin had been quite helpful over the course of the investigation. He had provided an exhaustive list of enemies, rivals, and petty jealousies. In the process of investigation they had burned out a Slaaneshi cult, two embezzling rings, and an illegal blood pit. They had also solved two murders and seven rapes unconnected to the other crimes.

But they had gotten nowhere on the original crime. Somewhere out there a mastermind with access ogue psykers, exotic tech, and baby nukes had evaded Jolan Gix and the might of the Inquisition.

"No lord," the assassin replied. "Nothing."

"Told you," said Hethor. "We've gotten' nothin'."

Gix nodded. "They've either buried themselves or left the planet. It's been more two months since the bombing and we have nothing." He clenched his jaw.

"Easy boss," Hethor rumbled. "This guy is good. We got to think how to beat 'em."

"And we have nothing to go on to track him. Vanished, leaving no traces at all." The inquisitor stood. "The trail has gone cold," he said decisively. "Whatever clues there are, the have eluded me. Time to move on. The planetary office will take over the case. We'll move to Drexia."

"Okay," said Hethor. The big man shifted his bulk as he slung the now reassembled las.

"Lord," said Keys, "may I make a request?"

"Yes," replied Jolan.

"You believe that the killer has gone off world."

"I think the possibility is rather high that he has left, yes."

"Despite the screeing of outgoing passengers."

"Yes."

"Take me with you. Allow me to avenge my master and House DeCora."

Jolan looked at Danell for a moment. "The mandate of the Inquisition supercedes vengeance."

"I understand. But I can be useful to you lord."

"Yes," said Gix, "you can. Consider your request accepted."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

The rumpled figure hefted his travel bag. "Well, I should get going."

Gix nodded back. He was dressed like a laborer. "Be safe. You've got the access and contact codes?"

The former detective nodded. "Yeah. I'll got everything. Always wanted to travel."

"Be careful," said Gix. "They won't show you any mercy at all if you slip up."

----------------------------------------------------------------

"I wonder how long it will take them to figure it out? They must be tearing their hair out in frustration?"

"I really can't say."

"Don't be so modest. Let them run around for a while and then we'll put in the next stage into motion."

"This one, Gix, he is a less than optimum choice. I've read his file."

A raised eyebrow. "Really? How enterprising of you? On what does his secret Inquisition file reveal?"

"What you know already. He's smart and mentally flexible. His record is quite impressive. He won't forget this and he'll look in directions that might lead him to us."

A shrug. "Unlikely. And if he does, we are ready for him."

[Cynical Cat]

The rain sizzled and popped above Danell's head. The shield awning flickered on and off, producing a flickering emerald glow. Keys sat unmoving in the shadow on the crumbling balconey. Generations ago the inhabitents of this tower had possessed money and status. Now they clung to what was left and they did so ferociously. Pathetic tech toys and booby traps were the hallmarks of the remainder, who guarded themselves against crimminal gangs, rogue skavs, and cannibal covens.

It was a thirty meter drop to the alley below. It was eight meters to the next tower. Keys had been here for three hours without moving. His camofibre made him blend in. The malfunctioning awning helped shield him from auspexes. He waited. Patience was essential for an assassin.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Do you have what I asked for or not?" said Jolan Gix, letting a dangerous edge slip into his voice. He wore a broad brimmed hat over a slick rain cape and descretely armoured body glove. A long knife hung on his left hip, his bolt pistol on the right. He packed no other weapons or defences. They were even rarer and harder to obtain than what he was suppossedly buying. That would generate questions.

The small man on the other side of the room smiled. He was pale immaculately groomed. In this case that meant he wore the natural fibres, silk and wool, of the moneyed elite. A dark overcoat over a shirt coat over shirt of shining white silk. Comfortable trousers, a platinum buckled belt, and a refractor field of local origin completed the ensemble.

He had a shooter in every corner of the room. Two big men, one averaged sized man, one woman. They didn't bother with rain capes in doors, but had the rubberized bodygloves of professional muscle. They had big bore stubber carbines, just like the one Hethor was packing.

"Why so brusque, Mister Zred?" said the small man "There is no need for such suspicion."

"You're not the one in someone else's turf surrounded by his shooters," Gix replied.

"My business is based on delivering results and I have done so for nearly a hundred years," said Riccos Malza. "You, on the other hand, are a player from off world who I know far too little about."

"Is that a problem?"

"The items you want come with considerable heat attached. Not just local, but Arbites."

Gix shrugged. "Point taken. Do we have a problem?"

"No," said Malza, "but I do need some verification." He touched his platinum chronomiter. A young woman, twenty tops, in a tight rubberized body glove that made her seem almost naked walked in. She was blonde and delicate looking. Gix could feel the turbulent emotions she projected. Resentmen, resignation, and mounting excitement. A rogue psyker.

"A witch," said Gix and spat on the carpet. He looked up. Three people had been broken to learn that this was the room that Malza liked to hold his clandestine meeting in. It was swept and shielded against com traffic. None of them mentioned psykers, but none of them had posed as shadowy off worlders of unknown extraction.

One side of the room was a window of polarized armour glass. Ten meters down and ten meters across lurked Danell Keys. Gix triggered his electoo, lying dormant an invisible in his palm. There was a faint and very specific transmition. Too weak to be registered as anything but electronic noise by most equipment, but specifically attuned to the tiny relay unit attached just outside the window.

"Now now," soothed Malza. "Your clients desire the- ehm, product, and I desire verification. This way we both win."

"If the Arbites suspected you, they would just swoop in and grab you." Gix had considered this too, but there were too many problems. The locals were clumsy, shot through with corruption, and Malza's network was too strong. It was too likely than even a small strike force would be noticed or that Malza would be tipped off and go to ground. Using his authority to grab men and resources was likely to also cause him to go to ground. Malza's men used look outs and auspex sweeps constantly. So Jolan had decided to go undercover.

The blonde came closer. Gix sneered at her. "Okay, let's get this business over with."

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Keys received the signal. He raised the grapple gun and fired it. The disc coated hyper adhesive struck next to the window. Keys tightened his grip and triggered the reel. The reel spun and pulled Keys across the gap.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

The witch furled her brow. It was almost as if he was a psyker. Maybe he-

Gix spoke three words in Cryptia. "Miles sentry silence."

Hethor raised his stubber in one smooth motion and fired. His bullets may have been relatively low velocity and high calibre, but they were tungsten tipped and gel slicked. They tore throught the shooter's light armour, blew off his left arm halfway through his upper arm, and punched huge holes in his torso.

It would take most telepaths a few seconds to seriously damage his mental defences. As he drew his bolt pistol he lashed out with his own powers. Gix ignored the psyker and extended the palm of his left hand towards the window. With a pop if leapt from its frame and fell into space. Hethor touched Gix's shoulder. Bullets flew towards them as Malza dived behind his couch.

Slugs bounced telekinetic shell surrounding Gix and D'eckor. He smiled fiercely. The blonde smiled back. Hethor groaned and fell to his knees, despite his conditioning and being covered by Gix's defences.

Keys pulled himself into the room with a single swift motion and tossed a bruiser twice his size after the window pane. He screamed as he fell. The psyker turned towards him. A small blade was already spinning through the air towards her as he summer saulted forward into the room.

The blade stopped centimeters from the psyker's nose. She turned back towards Gix. Too late. Light blazed through the room as the witch was transformed to a blackened stick figure in the heart of a column of green witchfire.

Keys shot the closet shooter with his laspistol as he came out of the roll. A blue-white beam from the compact weapon struck him in the face and hell fell. Keys's moves had placed Gix's shimmering cocoon between him and the other two thugs. Loud thumps sounded as Gix's pistol sounded out and blew open the chest of the woman shooter.

Another burst of bolter fire finished the other. Hethor was getting back to his feet, blood trickling from his ears and nose. "Rape it!" Gix cursed.

Keys came around the couch. A trap door was clearly visible. Gix spun as the door to the room exploded inward.

[Cynical Cat]

A telekinetic shield abated the explosion, stopping the door fragments a meter from the Gix's people. Smoke gushed into the room. Hethor fired the rest of his clip blind into the doorway. Key's sprung to the side. Three grenades bounced in.

Hethor laughed as he switched magazines. It echoed throughout the room as the grenades flew back into the new room and detonated with dull cracks. Keys charged after them.

Two men were down on their knees, bleeding out from multiple shrapnel wounds. Two others were bringing their guns to bear. Keys shot one twice in the chest with his las and jammed a blade into the other's forhead and twisted. Hethor slipped into the room behind him.

"Boss," shouted Hethor as he covered the doorway with his stubber, "we need a plan. He's got a few floors full of his shooters and he'll be bolting."

"He leaves, the auspexes will pick him up. They're in active mode now." Gix strode into the room. He telekinetically stripped the autocannon from the dying thug. "Nice door killer. The floor around the trap door is probably a death trap but a couple of rooms over-" The gun followed Gix into the next room.

Slugs bounced off his shields. This was getting tiring fast. Two shooters were pouring slugs at him from the doorway of the barren room. Gix blew off the right arm at the shoulder of one of them in a spray of blood. The other dodged back behind the wall. Gix raised his free hand. A cloud of crimson flames swirled in the general area of his target. An anguished scream errupted. The flames faded away as Gix stopped feeding the warp fire.

"Get ready," Gix called.

"Ready," said Keys. He pointed the autocannon at the floor ahead of and pressed the trigger. The explosive shells remaining the gun blew a hole in the floor. Blind grenades preceeded the assassin down the hole.

The room below was a shabbily finished living room furnished with a pair of chairs of recycled plastic and metal. There was no one else here. A stroke of luck. Keys moved forward. They had studied the blue prints of this ancient structure. Malza would be moving towards exits. The lift or the stairs were where he would head. The sound had attacted attention.

A compact woman with short read hair stuck her head in. Same rubberized body glove as usual, but a long barrelled autopistol in her hand. Keys shot her in the face. He could hear Hethor fall behind him, landing in the blind cloud.

They needed to be fast if they wre going to catch Malza. "You take right, I'll take left." Hethor nodded as Gix landed. Keys triggered his locally made refractor field and dived into the central hallway, facing left.

The forcefield hummed softly around him, outlining him in a green glow. Two goons covering the opposite end. His laspistol hummed and the bolts cracked in the air. He caught the dark one in the head and the gigantic pale one in the chest with a double tap. Slugs began to slam around him. He grunted as one impacted on his shoulder, but fortunately the refractor field robbed it of most of its energy. It didn't penetrate his sneak suit, but it still hurt.

Hethor leaned out the door just in time to see the lift doors close on Malza and two gunmen and and fired. He was an old hand at gunning down armed men. He drove one gunman back into a room, tore through the chests of two standing sentinel at the lift and firing on Keys. They fell with through and through wounds. "He's in the lift," he said changing clips.

Keys was up like a shot and sprinted full tilt forward. He rolled past the door with the survivng shooter and dived for the lift door. The doors popped open, courtesy of the inquisitor, and Keys was into the shaft and falling.

Hethor was a few steps behind Danell. He came through the gunman's door as he was was angling in the other direction for a shot at Keys. A pull of the trigger and the thug's chest blew open.

The lift was only just picking up speed and so the fall was a mere five meters. Keys landed easily, flicked on his power knife, and punched it in through the roof. A stun grenade followed. He waited two seconds for detonation, sliced out a chunck of roof with four quick cuts, and shot all three men with anesthetic slivers from his needler pistol. He tripped his vox. "Jewels encased."

[Cynical Cat]

"My lord, Malza has been taken."

An eyebrow twitched. "Really? By whom?"

"Jolan Gix."

He moved a piece across the regicide board. "Results?"

"Net work collapsed and purged. Hundreds of arrests. Decline of theft and increase in efficiency in a number of industries. For a while, a more active and attentive police force. A number of heretical cults found and expunged. The cannibal clans have been decimated. And Gix now knows it could have been Malza who supplied the nukes, scan blockers, and rogue psykers."

"Ahh, but he doesn't know to whom or why."

"My lord, he has another piece."

"To no one. To no plan. To no location. And he has succeeded at the task set for him. We'll be leaving this sector soon."

"Lord?"

"We've accomplished our mission. Whatever Jolan Gix finds, it will be useless. We'll soon vanish out of his reach and all knowledge, to begin again."

"Why?"

"Because we have won. There is no point is staying, unless you want Jolan Gix to have a chance of catching us."

[Pcm979]

Orbiting Adraxis

Pater stood in one of the Starfort's kilometres-long hangars, watching as a magnetic crane jerkily manouvered a 10-foot cube into his ship's cargo hold. The device was festooned with wires, tubes and other paraphenalia, and long cables dangled everywhere. He turned to the Techpriest standing next to him, whose Mechadendrites were writhing with barely controlled anxiety.

"Isn't it rather large?" He asked, with the slightest of smiles.
"Frm? My lord." The Techpriest was a twitchy fellow, with an odd way of speaking, as though punctuation marks had been fired into his speeches with a shotgun. "Ah. Yes, yes I suppose it is. But then you requested, quite a lot of information on the Archaeotech. All of it. In fact, in fact. Before we, eh, discovered, it the data would requide a Cogitator, larger than your ship. We burned several stacks, that were larger than the average spire when we first processed the information."

"It's all there, though?" Pater gestured. "Lasgun blueprints, Plasma containment device specifications, Predator plans?"

"Yes in fact, in theory if you wanted to you, could build an Emperor-class battleship." The Magos sniggered, a wet clicking sound. "Of course you could not do that. Without a ship yard."

"One step at a time, Magos." Pater said, with a faraway gleam in his eye.

[Cynical Cat]

"Your mightyness, we got something!" came Elzan's whoop. Herican smiled and loped over to where the scholare was crouched over some extremely expensive and powerful scanning equipment.

The small man looked up as Herican approached. The scholar was short and wide, barely able to fit into the enviro body glove. He had an uneven beard and glare goggle perched on the top of his bald head. "Look at this Herican!"

Herican stooped down to examine the screen. The heretic was tall and bird like, with a big head, lean body, and long neck. He was also incredibly fast. His eyes remained blank as he examined the screen. "Is that them?"

"They have to be," Elzan explained. "Take a look at the readings! We've done it! We've found them!"

A smile touched Herican's face. "Good." He looked up at the auspex. When it had finally been assembled it had formed a pyramid four meters tall and almost as wide. Antennas and horns projected at various angles. It had been extraordinarily hard to obtain and he had ended up paying Malza a small fortune for it.

And now it was worth it. Every bent decicred. The Neghan had once had a civilization that spread to a dozen worlds, but that was no longer the case. Sometime in the Age of Strife someone had tried to exterminate them and came close to succeeding. The Neghan had fallen to chaos at some point in their history and that taint remained with them. They survived on only two worlds as viscious bands of mutant raiders that were being pushed back towards the edge of extinction by human colonists.

Incatrix II was the third world. It was outside the area catalogued as formerly being part of Neghan space. The savages had a superstitious dread of the artifacts of their former civilization, which meant the large number of guards that Herican had brought mostly served to keep the diggers in line.

The few artifacts that the Neghan had left behind indicated that they possessed a warp tapping technology which utilized specific crystals. With those in his possession Herican's power and influence would increase by an order of magnitude. He would surely attract the attention of the Eye of God and ascend.

Herican looked around. Test and excavation pits scattered the plain, along with the tents for his guards and laborers. His guards lounged on duty and his involuntary contract laborers that he had purchased on Nictar trudged away. They didn't know that this trip had been a one way ticket. He would sacrifice them all to Tzeentch before he left in his ship Wings of Glory, which at the far side of the camp.

He yawned and looked around. The cellar was right ahead. It had been a promising find, a pit that lead to intact chamers. There had been scan interferience and so they had methodically excavated the whole thing to find only crystal fragments in dense alloy vaults. But Elzan's new readings were far more promising. Soon-

Elzan's head exploded. Herican immediately dropped and rolled down at the base of the scan tower. Blue-white bolts were raining down on his guards from the hills. Several of them were already down. The others were returning fire or taking cover in the excavation pits.

Five combat servitors came down one of the hills in an arrowhead formation. The lead unit was two and a half meters tall with a thick body. Fire poured from its heavy bolter arm. The flanking units had rapid fire heavy stubbers and hellgun/grenade launcher combinations.

The servitors were hit several times but kept coming. Out of the corner of his eye he could see a howling flyer dispersing a squad of men by the Wings. The troopers were black carapace armour and quickly stormed on board.

Time to change the odds. Herican gathered the warp around him, weaving a shell of eldritch energies. He stood up to get a better view. Two demi-squads of stormtroopers were charging down from the hill tops, firing from the hip as they came. Frag grenades were bursting all over the camp. Herican assumed a stance and spoke an incantation.

A gate of blue mist appeared in the sky above one of the demi-squads. Fleshy tentacles of warp matter armed with terrible barbs that were as hard as steel and as sharp as broken glass rolled out from the hole and grabbed the stormtroopers.

Arms and legs were ripped asunder. Heads were pulled off. Armour was breached and bellies were opened. Blood and visceria rained down. Herican can laughed. The victorious had become the victims, the living changed to the dead.

A lance of blue-white fire struck his warp tentacles and they withered and vanished. Herican snarled. The other squad and the servitors had reached the camp and were killing everything that moved. Most of his gunmen were already down. Their was an intense blue-white flash and his ogryn bodyguard Kreel fell, minus his head.

Herican howled and sent whips of fire at the stormtroopers. Dust exploded into the air where they touched ground. One trooper was caught full on and a strand of pink fire burst through the front of his helmet while a tendril of blue flame burrowed into his chest. The plasma gunner was only nicked and the tendril was repelled by the blue glow of an active refractor field.

A lance of blue-white fire smashed into Herican's shields. He turned to confront his attacker. A dark skinned man wearing a storm coat over carapace armour. He had used the servitors as cover for his own advance. A gold and ebony rod glinted in his hand. Herican snarled. He would show this insolent puppy what true power was.

He thrust out his hands. A wave of force knocked the servitors to the ground. The psyker dodged and blasted him again with the force rod. Herican diffused most of the energy. This one was strong. Not strong enough.

He sent a splinter of pure malice at the other's mind. It was imprinted warp energy and would burrow through the psychic defences and then shred his mind. As an after though he mind blasted the stormtroopers near him. A bolt round exploded off his defensive shell.

The psyker didn't try to defend against his splinter. Instead, he had simply unwoven it, reducing it to fragments of stray energies. Nice. A very hard trick requiring considerable mastery of daemonology to accomplish. Herican began to syphon away the psyker's energies. In a few moments, he would be nothing.

The psyker didn't counter. Instead, he telekinetically leapt across the interviening distance. He would be powerless in moment. The hand with the force rod swung as the psyker landed. Herican's shell collapsed momentarily and his skull exploded. Jolan Gix was splattered with the blood and brains of his enemy.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The stormtroopers saluted the inquisitor. "The ship is secured as you ordered."

"Thank you," replied Jolan Gix. Hethor and Danell followed him, the latter with his custom sniping rifle slung over his back. "Anything notable?"

"Heretical apparatus and idols. Books in the captain's cabin."

Gix nodded in acknowledgment. "Heth, let the Invidious know that they can come out of hiding behind the second moon. The area is secure."

"Will do boss."

"Danell, do a sweep. Make sure that no one escaped."

"Your will, inquisitor."

As his companions receeded, Gix strode into the ship. It was a good one, solidly designed. If it could be purified he intended to keep it and have it refitted at the archeotech yards in Adraxis. He hesitated for a moment in front of the captain's cabin and then touched the control. The door slid open.

It was a surprisingly simple room. A luxurious bed, a desk and cogitator, trophy case, and secured bookshelf. He examined the books carefully. All non-proscribed works. He opened a few at random and looked inside. They were what they were suppossed to be. He examined the bookshelf again.

The back was surprisingly thick. He looked closer and found a hidden catch. Three thin folios were revealed. Gix removed them and examinded them.

They were thin, but tall and wide. They were bound in red dyed human skin. The paper was metallic and covered in tiny print. Gix put them down on the desk and began to read.

[Cynical Cat]

Trelin watched as the flyer touched down at the top of the hill. It happened several times a year now as the Imperial presence got stronger and stronger. More and more equipment was mustered for more recent purge missions against the orks of the far islands. The orks kept coming back, but they were fewer and weaker every time. Of course, the Imperial weren't always passing through to fight orks. Sometimes they delivered medicine and sometimes their purposes were far more sinister.

Trelin headed up the hill past the log cabins of his people. They were sturdy buildings, much better than their predecessors. A glass maker had emigrated to Longshore Isle five years back and glass windows had become an affordable improvement instead of a foreign luxury. Running water had been a nice improvement as well.

Three men exited the flyer. One was a big man, dark enough to be an islander, but built like a bull ork. He was wearing a temp controlled body glove and had the aquilla tattooed on his forhead. Another man, slimmer and short, also wore a bodyglove as well as a long coat. A pale man with dark hair wore sand coloured long sleaved baggy tunic and pants. His flesh gleamed with sunshade oil.

The big man had some kind of rifle slung over his shoulder. Both of the darker skinned men had weapons on their belts. Not soldiers, at least not any more, and mercifully were to few to be witch hunters. He had lost a brother and a sister to them and at nights feared they would come for his own children. He did not know how his parents were able to bear such their loss with such dignity.

The one in the coat stepped towards him and extended his arm, with his hand and forarm extended up, islander fashion. Trelin grasped it. The foreigner was about his size, with fine bones and a firm grip. His eyes were a smokey grey and his black hair was cut short. A faint scar marked his left cheek. "Welcome to our village," Trelin said.

"Thank you," said the stranger. "I'm looking for Venor and Selina Gix."

Trelin's eyes widened fractionally. "Why?"

"They are well?" the stranger pressed.

"Yes. Who are they two you?"

"My parents."

Trelin looked at the man, really looked. His age was right and the face was that of his father's as well. Jolan Gix gasped as his brother embraced him.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

His mother had wept when she saw him. His father had not, but had embraced him with the fierceness that belied his age. The news spread like wildfire, of course, and the village wasn't particularily big. Soon everyone was stopping buy to provide a piece of food for a welcome feast.

They talked around the table as his mother prepared the food in the adjacent kitchen. A rotating gaggle of girls and women came in to help and eavesdrop.

"So my son, you have become a great lord in the Imperium?"

Jolan smiled. "Yes. An inquisitor. I search for problems and I solve them."

"Like a sheriff."

"Yes, except I don't deal with murders or stolen catches but revolutions and treason."

His father beamed. "That sounds important."

"Of course it is," his mother said back.

"Yes, it is," Gix replied. "My duties took me past this world, so I decided to stop in and make sure everything was alright. And to visit you."

"You do not know what a burden you take from the hearts of your mother and I," said Venor.

"I am glad I was able to," Jolan said.

"Are you married?" his father asked.

"Of course he is," his mother replied. "He's a lord and past thirty. How could he not be married."

Jolan smiled. "Actually I'm not. Things are a little different up there and my duties keep me busy. There is a woman who is very special to me." Actually, more than one, but he wasn't likely to end up married to either Kyra or Severa. But the full truth of an inquisitor's life was not something they needed to here. Sometimes lies were best.

"And your sister?" his father asked. "Do you know of her?"

Jolan's face clouded for a moment. "She died honourably, using her gifts in the service of the Imperium." There was moment of akward silence. That was true as far as it went. Jolan had looked up the younger sister he had never known in the logic engines of Schola Psychia. Her gifts had been strong, but her control of them had been weak. She had burned herself out in a month maintaining the Astronomican.

"Let us speak of other things, my son. It is good to know that you prosper. How long can you stay?"

"Only a few days."

"Then we shall make them memorable," his mother replied.

[Josh]

"Come in, Ristani," the vox ordered him. Prius entered, dressed in his full uniform for the first time in two years. He'd undergone the grueling training at the Schola Psykana, honing and refining his abilities. What had been raw talent and power before had been sharpened into... somewhat less of a blunt force.

And now, he had been detached to the Inquisitorial Schola, hidden away in a secure fortress-moon at an undisclosed location. He'd been ordered to attend the headmaster of the schola in full dress. He had put on the now slightly-unfamiliar uniform, and with it a rush of memories came back to him. Parting with Varian, Pater, and Jolan, receiving their well-wishes and final words of advice and encouragement. He had spoken a small prayer to the Emperor for their success and well-being, as he'd adjusted the deaths-head medallion on his breast. A new diamond adorned the medallion, the sign of a second award earned for his actions on Cyrus Gamma.

He marched into the office and snapped to attention.

"Commissar-Colonel Prius Ristani, reporting for duty sir!" he said, snapping off a parade-ground salute. The headmaster, a wizened, scarred man of indeterminate age, stared at him with intense, dark eyes.

"Very good, Ristani," he said. "Now... at ease, or whatever it is you have to do to relax."

Prius paused briefly, then slackened his posture. He knew that a formal 'at ease' posture wasn't being ordered here. The headmaster studied him for a moment, then nodded, looking down at his dataslate.

"You are an unusual case, Ristani. You are highly trained, a veteran who has served with distinction, and you've worked with Inquisitors in the past. In the two hundred years that I've been teaching here, you represent perhaps the most unusual student I've had. Oh, we've had veterans pass through before, even the warlord of a planet that was brought to the Imperium, once, but... nothing like this. I've read through the reports written by Inquisitors Gix, Varian, Novum, and Adivan. Impressive body of work you've accumulated. And for the next four years, you're going to have to forget about it."

"Sir?"

"Remove your ranks and awards. Put them on the desk."

Prius hesitated for a moment, then began stripping the decorations and insignia from his uniform. He placed them in neat, segregated lines on the desk, awards to the left, insignia to the right, even lining the medals up in order of precedence. The headmaster watched him do it, and when he had finished, lifted a wastebin to the edge of the desk, casually sweeping away all the ornaments.

"That was your previous life, Ristani. Your previous accomplishments, your rank, your position. What are you now?"

"I am..." Prius started hesitantly. "A servant of the Emperor."

The headmaster nodded. "That is what you are. For now, that is all you are. And I will make an inquisitor of you, or I will break you completely."

[Cynical Cat]

Gard's mechadendrites shifted. He looked up. A matte black flyer was descending from the night sky. A little early. A smile split her dark skin, revealing pearly white teeth. He touched a control. The automated weapons continued tracking the ship but did not fire. The lighter touched down with a thud.

Steam blasted out from vents and the cargo door descended. A slim man wearing a dandified officer's uniform and a bruiser wearing a rating's coveralls came forward. Gard gestured to several of his muscle. The wearily advanced with their master, their autoguns ready in their hands.

Violence was an unfortunate adjunct of this business. It was necessary to achieve some proficiency with weapons and employ those who made their living by violence. There was no helping it. Under his robes, Gard wore mech armour that covered his sleek form. A dark eldar splinter pistol was also holstered, ready to use.

The slim man was as pale as Gard was dark. "You Doctor Vikal?"

"Yes, I am," Gard replied. "Do you have the goods?"

"Straight from Tau space. They have some nice toys. You have the payment?"

"Yes, I have the agreed upon payment. Sapphires and rubies."

The officer smiled. "I was hoping you would say that." He turned and gestured to his cargo servitors. They picked up two crates and began to carry them down the ramp.

One of his servo skull's beeped. The readout was displayed on the stacked crystal lens of his contacts. Psi reading surge. Gard opened his mouth to shout and the chaos errupted.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

One of the crates exploded and both gun platforms were upended by telekinetic blasts. As Jolan Gix emerged, Danell stabbed Gard Vikal in the face with a small needle. He slapped the splinter pistol away and used him as a living shield. In a few seconds the paralytic would take hold.

The muscle hesistated, which cost them time they didn't have. Hethor refractor field had been activated by the trigger they had rigged in his mouth. His empty hands dipped into the bulky pockets of his overalls and came out full. There was an incandescent flare as one shooter was blown in half by a plasma burst. Another was torn open from navel to breast bone by the bolt pistol in Hethor's other hand.

Keys speared another man with a las pistol shot to the forhead. He flicked on his refractor field, which screamed target, but he was out in the open with a valuable commedity in his hands. He dropped Vikal's body and ran forward. Several autogun slugs slammed into him but the field and the woven armour stopped most of it.

Men exploded into pyres of green fire and chared flesh as Gix struck. Servitors blackened and toppled. Hethor gunned down another and Keys claimed to as Gix strode across the clearing. There was nothing left to opposse him. He swept the area with a hand held auspex and then turned to his men. "Well done."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Vikal recovered consciousness soon enough. He looked around. He naked on surgical bed, covered by a sheet. Three men were there. The officer, now wearing simple black; the rating, now wearing a weapon harness; and a brown skinned man wearing dark tunic, breaches, and a ribbed leather coat. "I don't appear to be restrained," Vikal remarked. His throat was dry. A squeeze bottle of water was nearby. How thoughtful. He took a sip. That was better.

"No, you aren't," replied Jolan Gix. "Your history is quite interesting, Doctor Vikal. A practitioning medicae who clashed twice with the Adeptus Mechanicus over trying to obtain augmentation secrets. You then gave up your practice and disappeared. Well, not quite."

"Over the next one hundred years you've been over half the galaxy. You've repeatedly engaged in illegal clandestine trade and have probably been involved in three raids against the Adeptus Mechanicus. I think the number is higher. How many times have you plundered xenos for their tech?"

"Fifty-seven times inquisitor." He could only be an inquisitor. Nothing else made sense. "I prefer to trade, when possible."

"Impressive. I don't have a problem with you Vikal. In fact, I have a use for a man of your talents."

"I'm a scientist inquisitor. I don't know what use I can be to you."

"I have a use for scientists, even those who stray into forbidden xenos lore and the domains of the Adeptus Mechanicus. Especially those areas. And there is something else I want from you."

"Yes?"

"Your clients. Most of all, I want your clients."

[SirNitram]

Let's Make A Deal...

Rogue Trader vessel 'Accounting Irregularities'

For a Marine without a Chapter, it is like living without a purpose, without a soul. And into the void, any service to Mankind seems to fill up the gaping, yawning hole. At least for a little while. So it was that somehow, he found himself on the only method a disgraced Marine could find for getting out there into the Galaxy, into harm's way to make the universe a little safer. He had signed on with a Rogue Trader.

It had proven to be underwhelming. Nine months into the journey, and they had only just left Imperium space. The holds were all but bursting with the best Humanity had to offer, after a long and, when the Exile-Captain was alone in his quarters, meditating on his purpose as the Emperor's chosen warrior as the Codex Astartes demanded, he occasionally admitted had to be illegal, set of deals, the ship was loaded with what would be traded with those beyond Humanity's borders. It had been depressingly dull. For all the talk of the dangers and mysteries around the Rogue Traders, so far the most dangerous thing was when a gang leader had tried to interrupt things with a few Ogryn goons(This had ended briefly thereafter; Ogryns, though huge and dumb, are not huge enough nor dumb enough to tackle what could only be a Space Marine, even without his armour on.

The armour... The Artificer suit and the Servo Arms looked almost alien when they remained off this long. There was a sense, growing in the Captain, that maybe he could just walk away. In the past year, he had seen more than in two hundred years of service. Humanity existed in varities he had never imagined. Yes, much of it was run down, or badly goverened, or corrupted. But it was there.

But he always saw something that turned him back. It was always there. Excess. Excessive force in an Arbites capture. Excessive lust in a supposedly respectable businessman making a covert rendevouz with a lover. Excessive sloth in the nobility. Excessive suspicion in the upper ranks. Excess was the path to Chaos, wasn't it? Moderation was Mankind's way. Or so he had always thought.

He steeled himself for the next Warp Jump. On the other side, they would be making contact with Xenos. Meeting them without killing them would be a unique experience.

[Pcm979]

Pater felt the Blank's arrival before she entered the room. Lillith, former member of the Adeptus Sororitas, entered the room behind him.

Lillith. Not a physically imposing specimen. Still in her teenage years, with bright red hair cut into the traditional Sororitas bob. Quiet, reserved, and anathemia to anyone with the slightest trace of Psychic power. He felt like he had suddenly lost his sense of hearing as the currents of the warp died around the diminuative girl.

"Sister Lillith. What do you want?"

"A job, Lord Inquisitor."

[Pcm979]

Pater sat down in the pilot's seat, feeling the cracked leather give underneath his weight. His fingers hovered over the startup controls, but he hesitated. It had been months since he had piloted the Stellar Concorde into the Starfort, when he was a senior Interrogator. He had lost friends and colleagues, gained power and knowledge. He wasn't sure it was worth the price.

He sighed and snapped out of his reverie, his fingers dancing across the dials and buttons, switches and levers. His voice crackled over the ship's intercom. "All hands, prepare for free flight. Get to your assigned G-couches and lock yourself in. Gyllia, are the new components functioning properly?"

"Within a 73.59684% tolerance level."

"Is that-"

"Yes, it's acceptable."

"Good. Novum out."

[Josh]

It hadn't been entirely true, that he had to abandon everything of his former existance. The instructors of the schola were wise enough to leave alone those things that were fitting to his new life, such as his mastery of hand weapons. In fact, at the end of his first year, he had been made an instructor in various blade weapons for his fellow students, a task he took to with the same fiery dedication as he approached all other aspects of his training.

It was in his second year that he began to truly appreciate some of the larger designs in what was being done to him.

By age and experience, he related more easily to the instructors than the students. However harsh their experiences at the scholas, few students had actual battle experience, or had faced down daemons. And the instructors treated him somewhat like a peer, going so far as to discuss his fellow students with him. In fact, they did so quite regularly, pressing him for opinions, thoughts, and suggestions. At first, he had found it hard to break away from the modes of thought his commissarial training had given him with regards to how best to teach and inspire. But they guided him away from dogma and encouraged flexibility.

For the longest time he hadn't realized that it was intentional.

Once a week, he personally reported to headmaster Cardenas to discuss his progress and learnings. He confronted him with his deduction.

"Adequate," Cardenas had replied, as they walked along the observatorium that looked out onto the stars. The view was incredible, breathtaking, marred only by the turbulent menace of the Eye of Terror, clearly visible in the distance, a pox on the stars themselves. "But merely that. If you are to be an inquisitor, you must ferret out such designs more rapidly, more efficiently. Worlds, sectors, the entire Imperium may turn on your ability to perceive these things." Clasping his hands behind his back, he looked out at the stars and changed the subject. "In the end, what rules an inquisitor?"

Prius opened his mouth, then closed it. It was too simple a question- the Emperor sprang easily to his lips. But he knew that with Cardenas, the simple answer was never the answer.

"Come now, answer me," Cardenas said, putting an edge of command into his voice.

Suddenly, the answer burst upon him. "In accordance with the Emperor's will, an inquisitor rules himself."

He saw the corners of Cardenas' lips turn up in what could possibly be a smile, if the headmaster ever actually smiled.

"Dogma is necessary for our survival, Ristani. The masses must move in unison, working by rote, an endless stream of interchangeable components that make the vast machine of the Imperium function. They are to think for themselves no more than a servitor or a cogitator, lest the whole system collapse. But an inquisitor must be something more. An inquisitor must not be slave to dogma."

"So when, then, do we know if an inquisitor has gone astray, fallen to temptation?" Prius asked.

"When next we meet, we will discuss matters of judgement and absolution, Ristani. Now, you have a class to teach. Get on with it."

He left Cardenas staring out into the infinite void.

[Cynical Cat]

Lord Carrel rose. "Jolan Gix, please come in."

"Thank you," Gix replied. The Lord Inquisitor's office was homey as oppossed to palatial. A cogitator was perched on the desk, but the two side walls were lined with three meter tall bookshelves. The carpet was a thick rich red, but one that any artisan family could have afforded. A big window, armoured by necessity, allowed a view into the city behind the inquisitor.

"My congradulations on your recent successes," said Carrel. He was an unpreposing man who wore a simple black robe and his rosette. He was taller and heavy than Gix, with a short but thick beard. He looked like someone's friendly uncle.

"As oppossed to my recent failures."

Carrel waved his hand away. "Your performance in the Adraxian affair will become legend in the sector, among inquisitors at least. As for the DeCora Incident, the planetary office also came up blank on the perpetrators. Although you found just about everything else there was to find on three planets in the process. There is no shame in that many successes. Every inquisitor has failures on their record."

"It galls," said Gix.

"Of course it does," Carrel replied. He motioned for Jolan to sit and he did so. "Getting thrown down that elevator shaft enraged your mentor Kyra Neven and she never forgot. The great Eisenhorn suffered defeats and setbacks. They overcame them and triumphed. In fact, you were their when Neven's nemesis fell. Patience inquisitor. We cannot save the Imperium single handedly."

"Thank you for the words, Lord Inquisitor. They are wise and I will remember them."

"Good, good. Now, I am sure you did not come here to listen to an old warhorse speak. How can I help you inquisitor?"

"I wish to transfer from the Ordo Malleus to the Ordo Hereticus."

"Ahh. The DeCora incident?"

"In part," said Jolan. "To be blunt, I've been doing more of this kind of work for various reasons in the last few years. I have a better feel for it than for Malleus work." That was partly true. The other part of the truth was that as a member of the Ordo Hereticus who could better spread the occult art of science.

"Ahh. You have found your true calling. That is a different matter. Well, to be blunt, you do good work and changing Ordos will not affect that. I am proud to sponsor your application to our Ordo."

"Thank you, Lord Carrel."

"Good hunting, Jolan Gix."

----------------------------------------------------------------------

"He's quite good."

"For an outsider?" Jolan Gix asked.

"No, by our standards," the Shrine Master responded. He was wiry brown man of medium height. "Considering that he wasn't trained until he was what . . . . ten?"

"Twelve," Gix replied. He looked down through the window at the the assassin's sparing below.

"Yes, pity that. He has a lot of native talent and high quality augmentics. His trainers were quite good. Trade Combine?"

"Noble house."

"Ahh. In any event, he's quite good. He lacks the specialized skills, training, and equipment of a member of our Officio, but he is a capable agent nonetheless. A lot of native talent, honed to a razor edge by experience. He can't compete with a shrine in their area of specialty, but he is otherwise quite capable by our standards."

"You can help him?"

"Indead. A few new techniques, some additional equipment and training, a few augments."

"Thank you Shrine Master."

"It is pity he did not come to us as a child. He could have been spectacular. But it is always a pleasure to assist Inquisition."

"Thank you. I have a gift for you."

The Shrine Master turned. Gix handed him a thin stack of flimsies. "Both the Inquisition and the Officio know that the Adeptus Mechanicus guard their secrets with a greater ferocity than is good for the Imperium. And both are institutions need the best technology. You should find these helpful."

The Shrine Master looked through them. "These are in High Gothic!"

"Yes, I had an agent of mine transcribe them into a format you would find more useful. These plans won't allow you to produce C'tan Phase Swords, but they should allow you to increase you stocks of Dark Age era equipment."

The Shrine Master looked up. "If the Officio can be of any assistance to you in the future inquisitor, know that you have friends here."

[Josh]

"It is entirely too common for fledgling novices to enter burning with a zeal to correct all the ills of the Imperium. This is not our task."

Senior Instructor Zatelli circled the group, walking with the assistance of a cane, her breath coming in mechanical rasps.

"PRIORITIES!" she bellowed suddenly, eliciting a few flinches in the group of Novices. "Novice Ristani! Your zeal is admirable, and the projected death toll of seven hundred and forty million is quite impressive indeed. I had not thought you capable of such restraint." Her voice dripped acidic sarcasm.

She waved her cane through the projected image of the fictional hiveworld Machorlax Tertius. "Machorlax Tertius quite likely will be well in hand and well run, possibly even for a century or more."

Another image flickered to life, triggered by Zatelli's augmetic cogitator-link, displaying an image of the sub-sector on the wall. "And as a consequence of the demographic shift and additional garrison force requirements brought on by the purge your group agreed was the best action," As she spoke, four stars shifted color from gold to red on the display "Four systems will fall to the Orkish waugh in twenty years, due to the inability of Marchorlax Tertius to meet its pre-purge levels of supply for manpower for the Guard and the materials lost when your assigned units destroyed crucial manufactorums. In exchange for the removal of one corrupt planetary administration, you may well have cost the Imperium an entire subsector in fifty years. You wish to speak, Ristani? Speak. Justify your loss of a crucial portion of the Imperium. Justify the sacrifice of countless humans to the xenos for no good end."

"The scenario indicated deep levels of corruption on the part of the government, a lack of zeal and piety at the highest levels of the administration of the world." Prius said evenly.

"The scenario described the government of a significant portion of the worlds in the Imperium," she fired back. "Corruption, so long as it is not the corruption of the alien, the mutant, and the heretic, is not our purview. A lack of piety is the business of the Ecclesiarchy. You were presented with a scenario you will see time and again, my precious novices."

She leaned heavily on her cane. "Assuming any of you empty-heads actually manage to graduate." she grumbled. "An inquisitor must bear in mind at all times that the consequences of any action they take could ripple far beyond the present moment. If a world must die so a score of other worlds may live, so be it. And if a world must totter along under the guidance of fools so that it may continue to prop up its neighbors, so be it as well!"

Swiveling, she spitted the group on the hostile red glare of her augmetic eyes. "Now! Your objectives have changed. Rather than simply being presented with a hypothetical world and no external pressures, you charge is to deliver a new plan of investigating this world and rooting out the potential xenoist influences that brought you here in the first place, adding the equation the intelligence information that indicates potential ork incursions into the sub-sector. You will root out heresy, and you will determine a way to bolster the production of Machorlax in both men and material, without bringing mass death to the hives. Your slates have been updated with the new material, and your basic plan of investigation and operation is due within 72 hours."

======================================

The table was piled with dataslates, food containers, empty cups, and pages of scribbled notes. That the original scenario had not made any reference to the overall situation in the subsector had been entirely, deliberately unfair. Time and again, they had been reminded that inquisitors worked in the dark.

"Manpower consumption should have been the clue," Terris said, gesturing at her slate. "Machorlax wasn't near redlined capacity for Guard tithes, but they did have a steady growth in demand for troops. Following that trend, it would have redlined in twenty-seven years. They were undergoing a massive buildup in weapons production as well."

Prius looked over the slate. "Which would have served to stall out the waughs long enough to fortify the rest of the subsector," he agreed.

Kendar leaned back, rubbing his eyes. "We can't just shoot the bastards," he lamented. "Surgical fear is the approach."

"Token executions?" Terriss suggested. She shifted in her seat, arching her back until it popped.

"'Rule by fear only lasts...'" Kendar started, running his fingers through his fire-red hair.

"'...so long as the instrument of fear stands ready and present to deliver upon the promise of punishment.'" she finished. "I know the Principles of Good Governance as well as you do."

"So the instrument of fear must be intrinsic to the society," Prius concluded. He pondered on that for a moment, remembering the example of Jolan Gix, who he often took for inspiration in such matters. Whensoever possible in their brief time together, Gix worked through local instruments to achieve his objectives, rather than simply utilizing fear and brute force.

"So if possible, the threat of the xenos menace should be brought home to the levels of power on the world," Terriss said.

"And in the process, failures on the part of the planetary government will provide the pretext for removal of certain officials whose laxity allowed such a state of affairs to occur," Prius said, leaning forward to get another dataslate. "While certain other officials will be empowered. Surgical, in its way. And of course, since no plan survives contact with the enemy, this will all change over the course of the investigation, dependant upon what, exactly, we're dealing with."

Kendar stood up to stretch, letting loose a truly magnificent yawn. "And you still get to shoot people," he said. The boy had an irreverent air about him, but Prius had larger matters to consider than jocular impertinence. The other novice nodded toward the couch in the corner of the room. "I'm going to get an hour so I can come back at this with a clearer head."

Prius and Terriss got back to work.