The Inquisition

[Lady_Canoness]

My newest project after dabbling in other topics, we'll see how this turns out.

 

*Prologue*

 

Forty feet below her the man did not look like a heretic. Spread-eagled in the snow, his eyes staring upwards into the sky and his mouth slightly agape, the man known as Rosilus Spect looked like any other man who had been shot through the chest and fallen to his death.

They’d found him after a four month pursuit here on Vosk attempting to sabotage the water pumping stations and cripple the off-world water export. It hadn’t been much of an attempt. Other than smuggling himself and his entourage of another half-dozen now stiffening corpses planetside – not a remarkable feat given that Vosk was a sparsely populate ice-world that’s only redeeming feature was fresh water – this man Spect had done nothing worthy of attention aside from being a homicidal fanatic with a bent for killing on a large scale, and even then he was below the curve: killing tens of millions through dehydration was not only slow, but also very avoidable. More of a headache than a catastrophe so far as the Administratum was concerned, though none the less it was essential that such a scheme were not allowed to see fruition, and which was why Inquisitor Strassen had killed the man.

Lowering his still smoking heavy pistol to his side, Inquisitor Strassen gave one last glance over the heretic’s still body before turning away from the railing and marching from sight, his heavy footsteps trailing after him.

Twenty feet below him, Interrogator Godwyn watched the Inquisitor go, before peering over the edge at the dead man. His skin was quickly whitening in the cold and was starting to collect snow, but from where she stood Spect could have been anyone. No diabolical eyes or glinting sigils of chaos or even any cult tattoos. For her first look at a supposed heretical mastermind, Cassandra Godwyn was disappointed.

She tucked her own pistol back inside its fibre holster on her belt.

Together with her mentor Strassen, she and twelve Inquisitorial storm troopers had arrived via monorail at the remote pumping station. The sentry that was supposed to have been on the look-out for their arrival had frozen to death before they got there and had turned blue after apparently slipping down an iced gang-way and smashing his ankle: one less heretic to deal with. After wisely avoiding the front door (the storm troopers later confirmed that it had been crudely booby-trapped with enough explosives to have vaporised the lot of them had it gone off) they had infiltrated the pump station’s lower levels by way of maintenance hatches and taken the heretics by surprise in the main filtering chamber. The result was a massacre as the elite and heavily armoured storm troopers easily overpowered the rag-tag heretics, though Spect himself managed to escape to gantries running along the exterior of the station. Leaving the storm troopers to mop-up, the Inquisitors had pursued the fleeing heretic and had all but cornered him when he chose to resist the inevitable. Naturally, he failed.

With a dull creak, the access hatch nearest to the young Interrogator swung slowly inwards.

“Spend too much time dwelling on the dead, and you might find yourself joining them,” Inquisitor Strassen said in a cautionary tone as he stepped through the hatch and onto the iced metal grill of the gantry. His hands held loosely behind his back, the elderly Inquisitor ambled over to the guard-rail and stood beside his student.

Isaac Strassen was not an imposing man in by any common standard. He was an old man built on a lean frame with deep, penetrating eyes and well groomed silver hair. In his prime he would have been handsome, though now, with most of his life behind him, wrinkles of weathered skin clung to his gaunt face and his breath rattled in his throat. Despite his age and faded vigour, however, Isaac Strassen commanded respect and maintained a well earned reputation for a calm severity and implacable resolve. During his long-serving career, Inquisitor Strassen had persecuted scores or heresies without fail and had personally overseen the execution of numerous purges. He was a man known for possessing the patience of a hunter and the surgical precision of a tactical mastermind. His wisdom and foresight were well-known, and numerous men of high stature deferred to his judgement. He was a modest man, however, and refrained from the political manoeuvring of the Inquisitorial Orders and the Imperial elite. He did not possess an extensive staff or personal army; neither did he hold numerous properties throughout the Imperium. Many young Inquisitor Adepts and Interrogators held him as the model for the Inquisitorial ideal – a servant of the Emperor who was selfless in his duty, cunning in his means, and to whose loyalty was attached no factional strings. He was an icon – revered for the man he was above the feats he performed.

Many young acolytes fresh from the academies had petitioned to study under him, though Cassandra had been the lucky one who was chosen. Unlike some of the Emperor’s Holy Inquisition, Inquisitor Strassen did not believe in swaying the younger minds of the Orders into duplicating his methodology. He only ever took one pupil at a time and would only agree to act as a guide until he believed the student prepared to take the mantle of a fully-fledge Inquisitor themselves. One day it would be Cassandra’s turn to be granted the title of Inquisitor, and one day Inquisitor Strassen would add his seal of approval as her mentor to the seals of the Inquisitorial Conclave in recognizing her as such, though not this day – not for many days to come.

“He doesn’t look like much,” Godwyn mused as she looked up from the dead heretic to her mentor.

Hidden behind insulated masks to protect them from the biting cold, neither could properly see the face of the other, yet even so she felt as if the venerable Inquisitor was quietly studying her as if measuring how she held herself now that the heretic was slain. She tried to relax, to loosen her nerves and open her mind: Strassen, like many Inquisitors, was a man from which nothing could be hidden, though with his guidance she felt as if she better understood the value of honesty and secrecy, and when to utilize both.

Seemingly satisfied, Strassen gave a slight nod of his masked head before peering over the edge as well.

“They never do,” he said softly.

The heathen fanatic, Spect, was likely frozen solid by now, and, given a half-hour, would be buried and forgotten beneath the snow.

“We look into the abyss,” he continued, looking sideways at his pupil, “and what do we see?”

Godwyn held his gaze momentarily, then looked back at the heretic, stripping away what she had read of this man and what she saw in her mind – instead looking at him with just her eyes.

“A person,” she said at length, “just a man.”

Strassen nodded and gently beckoned her to return with him inside. “We do battle with monsters of men, though even so we must recognize what ties us to those we despise.”

[Inquisitor =D=]

:mellow: Good read. No typo's, grammatical errors, nor overly fantastical theme. ;)

 

If this were a novel, I'd buy it. Well done.

 

=]D[=

[Lady_Canoness]

Thanks D!

 

The story's not over yet (otherwise you'd be buying a very thin novel) so I hope you like where I take it :ph34r:

[Lady_Canoness]

*part 1*

 

(Ten years later)

 

Flying into Cornice before the setting sun is a sight few will ever forget. Her white towers of marble and glass sparkling like crystals outstretched to the sky in the radiant ochre light as the shuttle draws near, Cornice, the capital city of the planet Panacea, sits like a jewel above the gentle violet of the mid-summer clouds. A beautiful city for a beautiful planet, the climate of Panacea is temperate and warm, the skies a bright blue, and the oceans a deep green. Steeped in mineral wealth, the planetary governors expend great resources to preserve the natural wonders of Panacea and promote a culture of well-being and beauty, and, by their success, Panacea is known across the subsector for light-years in all directions as being a place of wonder, wealth, and restoration.

Many travel to Panacea year-round, and many more desire to do so, but as her shuttle slowed in its advance towards Cornice’s skyline of glittering marble, Cassandra Godwyn felt the beauty diminish beneath her duty.

“Welcome Inquisitor,” the automated female voice of the Cornice port authority sounded over the comm. before the transmission of landing vectors; “on behalf of Cornice and Panacea, we hope your stay is a pleasant one.”

 

Officially the Emperor’s Holy Inquisition had little business on Panacea: the threat of sedition was low, no alien influences had been detected within sector, Imperial tithes were consistent, and even the Ministorum reported the number of faithful as being in the ninetieth-percentile of total planetary population.

Unofficially, however, the Inquisition had much more business on Panacea than would normally be granted to a planet of its geo-political stature. Strategically, the planet was vital to Imperial influence in its portion of the galaxy. Relatively distant from Holy Terra and sequestered in the galactic North East, Panacea was an exemplar of how the Imperium could create and maintain an almost perfect world. The stability and wealth of Panacea reflected onto dozens of other worlds, and, so long as Panacea remained peaceful and productive, it was projected that numerous other worlds would mirror its success. Should catastrophe strike, however, and its balance be disrupted, then it was feared that instability would spread throughout the neighbouring systems like ripples through water.

It fell to the Inquisition, therefore, to maintain a silent vigilance upon Panacea and uproot the seeds of disaster before they were allowed to spread. An unknown number of Inquisitors guarded Panacea, though the supreme authority of the Emperor’s Holy Inquisition fell upon one man: Lord Inquisitor Praetor Vance Helmi Roth.

Inquisitor Roth, as he was commonly known, was a man of many subtleties in both manner and practice, and thus was a natural choice for overseeing the invisible hand that guarded Panacea. He held his thoughts close to his chest and his feelings closer still, though he was also personable and approachable, which – combined with his average build and stature – made him a very dangerous man indeed, for while many Inquisitors pursued their quarry with unremitting force and ruthlessness, Roth manipulated and undermined his quarry until they suffocated under the weight of their own actions. He’d overthrown cults from within, watched tyrants cut their own throats on the blades of their allies, and outmanoeuvred terrorists so their own strategies undid them. Never had so dangerous a man been so cleverly disguised.

Keeping with his persona and with his reputation, Inquisitor Roth occupied a small office and sat behind a modest wooden desk, and this was exactly how Inquisitor Godwyn found him when they first met.

“Come in,” he called, standing at his desk as soon as Godwyn knocked.

Swinging the wood-panelled door inwards and stepping into the Lord Inquisitor’s humbling decorated office, Cassandra was met warmly yet professionally by Roth himself, as well as by a tall astartes who stood respectfully as she entered but said nothing.

“Inquisitor Cassandra Godwyn, might I introduce you to Brother Librarian Orion Aquinas of the Deathwatch Chapter?” Roth said genially as he stepped around his desk to introduce the two.

Standing at least a full two feet taller than the young Inquisitor, the space marine’s features remained cold and almost motionless as if set in stone, though his bright blue eyes did flicker somewhat in her direction.

“An honour, Inquisitor,” he said in a disarmingly hushed yet serpentine voice for one as large as he.

“Likewise, Brother Librarian,” Godwyn replied, though her voice could neither convey the frigid tone or mysticism of the space marine psychic.

Returning around behind his desk, Inquisitor Roth bade them sit – Godwyn to the thin-framed yet elegant wooden chair across from his desk, and Aquinas to a thread-bare sofa that (surprisingly) did not sag beneath the weight of his fully armoured frame.

“Right,” the Lord Inquisitor began once both his guests were seated, “down to the business of why you were summoned here, Inquisitor, as I am aware that my missive requesting your presence was airing on the side of cryptic.”

“Yes, Lord Inquisitor,” Godwyn replied with a slight inclination of her head as she sat with her legs crossed and her hands resting loosely in her laps. “The missive was suitably urgent, yet somewhat vague on detail.”

“Indeed,” he replied with an emphatic raise of his eyebrows beneath his short-cropped brown hair, “one might wish we could dispense with procedure and protocol when dealing with purely internal matters.” His glibness affording him a slight smirk from his fellow Inquisitor.

“Regardless, you were a student of Inquisitor Strassen for a number of years. Four, is that correct?” he made a show of consulting one of the numerous data-slates on his desk, though Godwyn had no doubt that he had already memorized the contents of her files.

“Yes, that is correct,” she said.

“I had the privilege of meeting him on several occasions” he continued conversationally, still holding the data-slate in one hand while generally articulating with the other, “though I never did get the chance to work with him. I hear his methods were both masterful and very effective.”

“Has something happened to him?”

Roth placed the data-slate back on surface of his desk and gave Godwyn his full attention as he arched his fingers tips.

“A very astute deduction,” he said at length, “and yes something has happened, though we don’t know what. Your being here will hopefully help us in that regard.”

“What can you tell me?” Godwyn asked, uncrossing her legs and shifting her wait forward in her seat. Behind her, she sensed the space marine doing likewise.

Inquisitor Roth swivelled somewhat in his chair – the sun setting behind his shoulders – and leaned forward on his desk to meet Godwyn’s gaze.

“About two years regular contacts from Inquisitor Isaac Strassen ceased – ”

Godwyn raised a questioning eyebrow.

“ – not something unusual from an Inquisitor actively pursuing a case, so at first we ignored it. As time wore on without hearing from him, however, we began trying to reach him from our end. At first we tried our regular channels, but as those failed we moved further and further afield. Dead-drops, assets, anything we would normally do to contact an Inquisitor in the field. Given his stature, it should not have been difficult to get a message to him.”

“What if he’s dead? His staff was always kept to a minimum. It is possible they could have all been killed or captured.” Godwyn suggested as her mind began to turn the lessons and actions of her former mentor over and over in her head.

“A slim chance, but possible,” Roth admitted, “but, as I’m sure you know, our emergency contact and recovery fail-safes are substantial.”

He leaned back from his desk; “That, and we have reason to believe that he is still very much alive.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re suggesting that he’s cut off contact or is purposely making himself untraceable?”

Inquisitor Roth shrugged. “That we cannot confirm or deny,” he said with a bewildered wave of his hands; “however, there are reports of as-of-yet unclaimed instances pending investigation that bear similarities to his modus operandi.”

“What do you mean?” Godwyn quickly cut in.

“Well, it’s circumstantial at best – and the best explanation is not the right explanation – but certain occurrences throughout the sector bear resemblance to the past operations of Inquisitor Strassen.”

“Are these acts treasonous?”

Roth shook his head vigorously. “Dear Emperor, no,” he said, “though they often straddle the line of the law and reach onto both sides. However, you’ll agree with me that that is not a lot to go on, and that this information is hardly worth pulling you across the sector even if I wanted to inform you of your mentor’s disappearance myself.”

Cassandra Godwyn pursed her lips and sat back in her chair. “You’ve got something else?”

With a slow nod, Roth picked up one of the data-slates on his desk. “That we do,” he said, “and I think you will agree that it more than warrants your being here.” He held the slate across his desk for Godwyn to take into her hands.

“What is it?” she asked, giving the slate a once over before looking back at the Lord Inquisitor. “It’s blank.”

“That arrived not three months ago,” Roth said with a nod towards the slate as he turned his chair sideways and folded one leg over the other; “It came from Strassen through one of his old channels – one we presumed inactive – and though it was sent to us, it was addressed to you. It’s heavily encrypted with a tamper-proof code, as such we don’t know what message it contains, though it clearly states that your active DNA is the cipher.”

The slate in her hands suddenly seemed that much heavier, and, with a slow exhalation of breath, Inquisitor Godwyn looked down at the slate once again. The plain, common data-slate suddenly felt very, very cold to her – sending a shiver down her spine.

“What would he tell you that he would not entrust with to the rest of the Inquisition?” the soft voice of Librarian crept up from behind her, and she could feel his eyes prickling against the back of her skull.

“I don’t know,” she said truthfully, making a point of turning around and meeting the space marine’s gaze.

“There is only one way to find out.” Roth turned his chair back towards his desk and pulled it up abruptly. “Place your thumb on the identifier pad and let it scan you.”

She did what she was told, and with hum, buzz, and a pop followed by a tingling in her hand, a small green light was activated on the side of the slate.

“That seems to have done it,” the Librarian said from outside of her vision.

The slate, for its part, gave another little hum as the screen built into its surface lit up, but instead of text it produced a holographic image of an old, familiar face.

Hovering several feet in the air above the data-slate was the enlarged image of Inquisitor Strassen, her old mentor, and as she looked upon him Godwyn felt as if she could feel his reassuring presence once again. The image smiled, much like he used to, though this time his warm smile was mixed with a sense of weariness, as if it were the smile of a tired old man who longed for nothing more than rest after a long day, and when he spoke Cassandra felt as if she could hear the very same weariness in his voice – something that she had never heard from him before.

“My student,” he said with almost palpable warmth in his eyes, “I have no doubt that this message will have forced you to travel great lengths space and time to hear my voice. For this I apologize. Please forgive an old man. While what I say is for you, I understand that others will hear it as well, thus I make no concession in what I say. This is for your ears. This is my confession, from master to student. Don’t repeat the mistakes of an old man swallowed by his years.

“I have served to the best of my ability and with the best of my judgement. I have looked into the abyss long enough for the abyss to have looked into me. I see now that I am mistaken, and that what I tried to teach you is wrong – though to my salvation I could not engrain you with the flaws that are so inherent in me. I see now why I am weak. I am weak because I did not shut my eyes to the abyss – I did not hide the monster from my sight. I looked upon it – looked upon that which I sought to destroy. Fool that I am, I believed it strength to see and to wield the knowledge I gained from my sight, though in truth it has undone me. Monsters are not born – they are raised. Not raised in fires or dens of heathens, but in our cities, our streets, and our homes. We breed the creatures to hunt them for if we did not hunt them they would destroy us, though we are too blind to see that if we did not breed them we would not need to hunt them. I have seen, but I am old. Far too old to change what I am. I am a hunter, and thus I must hunt with all my life. Yet in my weakness I will not suffer others to my fate. I will change this. I must. If I must hunt, I will hunt that which breeds these monsters, for if I do not then you and I will forever be forced to hunt until our strength gives way and we too are consumed by the abyss.

“I know you will follow me, my student, for you will be compelled to do so by yourself or others. For that I am prepared. You must follow me – no one else – for it is only from the student that the master can learn…”

For a moment his face looked as if he was about to say more, then suddenly the screen went dark, and Strassen’s face disappeared into thin air leaving behind it a cold silence.

Inquisitor Roth, leaning heavily on the left arm of his chair, tapped his index finger thought fully against his lips – eyes passing back and forth between Godwyn, Aquinas, and the silent data-slate. Both guests were silent – dumbstruck as they digested the Inquisitor’s words.

“He’s gone mad!” Godwyn managed, looking across at Roth with a horrified gaze; “Clearly mad!”

The senior Inquisitor did not answer, but kept his lips tightly pursed as he kept his own counsel.

“Brother Librarian?” he finally posed, causing Godwyn to also turn towards the giant.

The Librarian furrowed his brow and shifted his armoured weight on the sofa – the furniture meant for a man of half his size visibly shifting under the strain.

“I have little doubt that his demeanour has changed,” Brother Aquinas said at length, his blue eyes seemingly twinkling to match his softly spoken words, “though with our current knowledge we cannot say for certain what has befallen him…”

Both Inquisitors continued to look at him, but it was Roth who spoke first.

“What do you believe has befallen him then, Brother?” he asked with a tinge of curiosity playing in his words; “You knew him throughout his career, did you not?”

Godwyn looked from one to the other but said nothing; she had never known of any friendship between her former mentor and a space marine… surely Isaac Strassen would have mentioned something?

“I did at that,” the space marine replied with a slow nod, before his eyes quickly shifted to Godwyn and held her tightly in their gaze, giving her the sudden impression that – like Strassen – he could perceive her thoughts, “though it seems that I did not know him well enough.”

Stifling her discomfort, Godwyn did not waver from looking at the space marine psychic, but also relaxed her mind, hoping to alleviate the psyker’s scrutiny by showing that she had nothing to hide. It seemed to work, as Brother Aquinas shifted his attention back to Inquisitor Roth and continued to speak.

“Isaac Strassen was an intelligent and resourceful man who never acted without thinking. Whether or not he has changed is impossible to tell, though it is prudent to assume that he has not changed, and if that is the case than we must also assume that we know only what he wants us to know: he is missing, likely somewhere in the sector, and wants his former pupil – ” both he and Roth looked momentarily at Godwyn, “ – to be the one that finds him. Other than that we are left with his words, which may or may not be fabricated to mislead us.”

“Are we to consider him a threat?” Gofwyn asked either of them, quickly discarding the data-slate back on the Lord Inquisitor’s desk as if it were some loathsome talisman.

“Threat is too definite a word, I think,” Aquinas replied with a considerate frown.

“Indeed,” the other man quickly agreed, standing up from his chair and beginning to pace back and forth behind his desk as the sun slowly disappeared from view through the window behind him. “Regardless, this matter must be investigated, and we have to find him before his intentions do become more definite.”

“It’s clear that he wants me to go after him,” Godwyn posited as she watched the senior Inquisitor, “but this could be a trap. If he wants me to go after him, it could be because he believes I’d be easily manipulated for whatever he has planned.”

“That *is* more than likely why he asked for you,” Aquinas’ snake-like voice replied from behind her, in no way helping the mounting angst the young Inquisitor could feel turning in her gut, “but a trap can be sprung both ways, and could be the opening needed to bring him in.”

Roth was already nodding in agreement, but Brother Aquinas had not finished. “It would be unwise to send you alone, however, and – as I knew him and counted him as a friend – this matter of retrieving Isaac Strassen is important to me. If you would allow it,” he motioned to both Inquisitors in the room, “I would accompany Inquisitor Godwyn as she looks for him.”

They looked at each other – Roth seemingly acquiescent while Godwyn found herself teetering apprehensively either way.

“I think that would be a good idea,” the senior Inquisitor replied; “two familiar faces instead of one could prove decisive in any negotiation.”

Inquisitor Godwyn, however, was not convinced. “You’ll pardon me, Brother Librarian, but isn’t it possible that your presence could drive him further from us?”

She thought she had a valid point – space marines were rarely known to handle matters delicately – but none-the-less Aquinas did not shy from making his offence at the question known.

“I know Isaac Strassen,” he said calmly, though his voice was frigid; “You will find that will counter-balance whatever other disadvantages my presence might entail.”

Godwyn made to apologize, but Inquisitor Roth motioned for their attention.

“It’s decided then,” he said clearing his voice and taking his seat behind his desk before looking at both his guests in turn.

“Inquisitor Godwyn, with the assistance of Librarian Orion Aquinas, you are to uncover both the location and motivation of Inquisitor Strassen, after which we will ascertain the necessary course of action in dealing with him. This matter is to be classified on a strictly need-to-know basis – meaning that no-one aside from the three of us and our immediate support staff need know that this is taking place. Isaac Strassen is resourceful, and as such he will likely have numerous eyes and ears throughout the sector. If anyone should find out about your objective they must be dealt with either by being sworn into your service,” he paused for emphasis, “or terminated.”

Neither Godwyn nor Aquinas protested, thus queuing Roth to continue:

“To aid you in completing your objective, I will make available all records pertaining to Strassen’s past actions, operations, and personal history in an effort for you to uncover some clue as to where he is located. Similarly, I will also make available the situation reports recently filed that we believe are linked in some way to Strassen’s activities. If you need any other resources, skip the due process and come directly to me.”

He paused to study both his guests once again before continuing.

“Now, is there anything I can help you with before we begin?”

“What is our method of transportation?” Aquinas asked in his usual mystical tone.

Roth looked questioningly at Inquisitor Godwyn.

“I have a system orbit and sub-orbit cargo shuttle refitted as my base of operations, though it lacks a warp-drive,” she replied quickly, looking at both Aquinas and the Lord Inquisitor.

“That’s good enough,” Roth cut in, just as it looked that the Brother Librarian was about to reply; “I can arrange for passage with a rogue trader. He is loyal to me and won’t ask too many questions.”

“Also,” he added as an after-thought, “I can assign you a personal body-guard – someone who will fit in with your team and provide you with invaluable support should your mission prove difficult.”

Cassandra Godwyn nodded appreciatively; “Thank you, Lord Inquisitor. My crew is quite small – only three of us in fact – so your aid is very welcome.”

At that Inquisitor Roth offered a weak shrug. “Finding Inquisitor Strassen will prove difficult, I think, thus the more you are prepared and the sooner you start the better.”

 

* * *

 

Returning to Inquisitor Godwyn’s shuttle Meridian docked inside a sealed hangar reserved for Inquisitorial use, the young Inquisitor and Brother Librarian found themselves swamped with files, letters, and data-slates almost instantly upon their arrival as all of the material unclassified for their use by the Lord Inquisitor Praetor was made available to them. The paper-trail covered the entirety of Isaac Strassen’s career with the Inquisition, including case-reports, conclave transcripts, personal records, as well as countless other documents of more questionable relevance.

Together with Sudulus, Godwyn’s savant and resident expert on all things textual, the three sat together around the long table in Meridian’s main hold between stacks of records for hours on end sifting through the veritable mountains of information looking for whatever connections they could make between documents both old and new. The process was long and often arduous with numerous records being re-sealed and returned to the secret Inquisitorial archives as being irrelevant, and every so often another Imperial courier would arrive with yet another case of encrypted documents to be added to their workload.

Through hours (and soon days) of research, however, the three were beginning to piece together a more complete picture of the man they were hunting, and soon they became confident that it would only be a matter of time until they found something to put them on his trail.

“Ah! See here, look at this!” Sudulus exclaimed excitedly at some point during their second day of research, grasping three separate pieces of parchment and one data-slate together and hurriedly comparing them before passing them into the middle of the table for both the Inquisitor and the Librarian to see.

Other than Meridian’s pilot, an ex-smuggler by the name of Lee Normandy, Sudulus was the only permanent member of the Inquisitor’s staff, and had been with her the longest. He was a short, cheerful fellow with a penchant for knowing more than he should, and as such proved quite valuable as an aide. Everything from planetary geography, to Imperial politics, to mechanical locking mechanisms were things he considered to be in his forte, and he took every opportunity he could to apply his vast knowledge to the happenings around him.

“Oh yes!” he said, rubbing his bionic hands together in anticipation as the extra skin hanging from his face wobbled as he looked from the Inquisitor to the space marine and back again, “I do believe we have found something!”

Brother Aquinas reached over into the middle of the table and retrieved the documents in his large hand; holding them out for both he and the Inquisitor seated at the head of the table to read. Sudulus was still looking excitedly from one to the other.

“I think there is a connection!” he blurted out before either one had finished reading. “Same world, same parties involved, even a similar method though the outcome was reversed!”

Godwyn eyed the separate reports carefully and compared the two. Sudulus was right: twenty-five years prior Inquisitor Strassen had planned and executed a series of very thorough raids on a number of inner-city slums on the planet Tenantable in coordination with local authorities. Supposedly the raids had exposed numerous dens of heretical activity, though in his reports Strassen did not seem entirely convinced and hinted that – while the raids had gutted numerous criminal elements within the cities – the benefit to the local authorities had far outweighed the nature of the exposed crimes. Then, just under a year ago, it was reported that a similar pattern of raids had been conducted on Tenantable though on a smaller scale. This time, however, the raids backfired, and not only were the forces involved routed, but the setbacks to the local authorities had been tremendous. Granted, Inquisitor Godwyn realized, the events on Tenantable could easily be a fluke and entirely unrelated to Inquisitor Strassen’s involvement. Sudulus had then found two supporting documents; one being a transcript of a meeting between Strassen two other Inquisitors – an Inquisitor Peirce and Inquisitor Andovich, neither of whom Godwyn was familiar with – dated three years after the events on Tenantable during which Strassen briefly expressed discontent with the operation after one of the Inquisitors, namely Peirce, brought it up; and the other being the transcript from Strassen’s address to a conclave during which he labelled his operation on Tenantable as ‘poorly conducted’.

“Hardly compelling,” Aquinas said grimly as he passed the documents back into Sudulus’ metal fingers, “however, further investigation could provide us with a lead – something we are otherwise without.” He looked purposefully at Godwyn;

“Your thoughts, Inquisitor?”

“I think it’s relevant,” she said after some reflection, placing bother her hands palms-down on the table and looking back and forth between the men on either side of her. “Even if Strassen himself didn’t orchestrate the events on Tenantable, I think it is safe to bet that it wouldn’t pass him by unnoticed. We should start looking for trace of his whereabouts there, and in the meantime research the other Inquisitors who mentioned this – Peirce especially: if that was on record, than it is more than likely that there is something between them off the record.”

Sudulus nodded encouragingly; “An excellent plan of action!” he said with genuine enthusiasm, though across from him Librarian Aquinas looked less than convinced, whatever his thoughts, however, he kept them to himself as he turned back to the documents he had been reviewing. For a moment Godwyn considered challenging him on it – asking if the space marine had some better idea he was withholding – though ultimately she ruled against such a confrontation: his goals were identical hers, after all, and there was no question as to who was in charge. More than likely space marines were simply unaccustomed to working with normal human beings, and were commonly of a severe disposition regardless of their company.

She would have wasted more time dwelling on it had, at that moment, Lee not poked his head through the access way leading up to the cockpit.

“Ai, boss, there’s some soldier boy waiting outside for ya,” he drawled in his thickly accented voice as he wagged his head over towards the aft end of the main hold. “Says ‘e was sent as some sorta guard.”

Lee Normandy, the Meridian’s pilot and Godwyn’s other long-serving companion, was a typical good-for-nothing smuggler who had sought to change his ways after business had started to go belly-up. He was Strassen’s man in that Godwyn’s mentor had given him his first chance at reformation and had effectively turned his life around, though when it came to taking sides Lee had always been very clear: he flew the ship and that was all – politics and right-versus-wrong could burn for all he cared. Dark-skinned and wiry with a knack for getting in-and-out of trouble, Lee knew the Imperium as only a smuggler could and was Godwyn’s go-to-guy whenever she needed to slip something by unnoticed. He was far from infallible, however, and as Godwyn exited Meridian through the shuttle’s lower storage deck, she could see why, by looking through Meridian’s security feeds, Lee would have thought the new arrival was a soldier ‘boy’. Short cropped red hair, a strong brow above green eyes and high cheekbones with a blade scar running from the tip of the ear down to the chin: she wasn’t exactly womanly.

Snapping her heels and flashing a sharp salute as soon as Godwyn stepped clear of her vessel, the soldier stood rigidly to attention with her eyes fixed directly ahead.

“Captain Victoria Striker, Inquisitorial Storm Troopers, Commonwealth Brigade, Panacean Regiment, reporting for duty – sir!” the soldier almost shouted – her voice reverberating around the quiet hangar and Meridian’s angular hull.

“At ease, Captain,” Godwyn replied, her own voice much quieter.

The soldier relaxed somewhat and dropped her arms behind her back though her eyes still remained locked on the portion of Meridian’s hull directly facing her. She was dressed in pressed ash-black combat fatigues and wore black combat boots that were polished to the point of being mirrors. With her was a large black plastic hard-case, which Inquisitor Godwyn assumed carried her weapons and armour, and a duffel back the same colour as her fatigues – likely personal affects. Both the soldier and the luggage were spotlessly clean.

“Orders?” Godwyn asked, trying to keep some measure of procedure before blowing it all out the window once they got on board. Wordlessly the Captain produced a folded paper from her left breast pocket for the Inquisitor to examine.

It was a brief letter from Inquisitor Roth written for the sake of record-keeping outlining the captain’s duties and little else as well as an attached personnel record of Captain Striker’s career. She didn’t need to read it to know that everything was in order: Inquisitor Roth had sent one of the best soldiers he could.

She folded the paper and handed it back to the captain.

“This isn’t a military operation, Captain, and I am not a military officer,” Godwyn began what she hoped would be a very short introduction, though she noted somewhat despairingly that the soldier was still acting as rigid as iron girder. “So you can drop all the military formalities and address me like you would any other human being.”

Striker looked at her, and Godwyn was doubly surprised to see the soldier airs slough off almost instantly.

“Okay,” Victoria said with a half-smile, visibly relaxing as she reached down to retrieve her bags; “Where can I put my things?”

[Pulse]

Great stuff, very much liking this story so far. There is a good bit of intrigue and the characters are quite likeable so far, although personally i find Godwyn a bit iffy but that doesn't take anything away from her as a character!

 

Also the descriptions of places and events are all solid, great start! :)

 

The only thing i didn't like was the Storm Trooper acting and sounding like a US marine - that could be though as i am a British soldier and we tend to find all that shouting and posturing as pointless. ;)

[I-Seek-Knowledge]

After reading both parts so far. I'm very intrigued, this looks like it will shape up to be a short story. although you could surprise us!

[Lady_Canoness]

Even the iffy characters have a place, eh Pulse? :)

 

Thanks for the comments guys! I'm definately hoping to deliver something worth reading with every addition!

[Pulse]

I said that i found her iffy, other people might not! I am sure she will grow on me though! :)

 

Looking forward to the next installment!

[Lady_Canoness]

*part 2*

 

After three days groundside on Panacea the Meridian and her crew were ready to lift-off. The research had been done, relevant files had been duplicated, Inquisitor Roth had been informed, and contact had been made to high-orbit where the rogue trader Patroclus lay waiting upon their arrival; now all that remained was to see if their efforts would bear fruit.

“Everythin’ s’ green, boss. We’re flyin’ smooth,” Lee drawled with a self-satisfied grin as his hands moved over the cockpit controls with effortless ease before casting a sideways glance over his shoulder at the Inquisitor; “Travel time t’ the Patroclus should be a fine ten mins.”

Godwyn nodded agreeably as Meridian sailed smoothly between the bases of Cornice’s white towers before gracefully gaining altitude and rising higher into the sun-filled sky.

“Take the scenic route, Lee,” she said as an after-thought, giving the pilot a warm pat on the shoulder as he grinned back.

It would doubtlessly take the Patroclus an hour minimum to weigh anchor and get her engines primed for the voyage, so why not let Lee stretch his wings while they wait? Besides, Godwyn thought as she backed out of the cockpit, traders waited for Inquisitors, not the other way around. The craft dipped momentarily followed by a ‘woop!’ from the cockpit: Lee was taking full advantage of the scenic route and putting Meridian through her paces.

Originally designed as a system shuttle for orbital and sub-orbital flights between nearby planets or moons, Meridian had been recommissioned and repurposed by Inquisitor Strassen as his mobile base of operations several years before, though he had gladly passed the shuttle and its pilot onto Godwyn when she came into her own as an Inquisitor. At about thirty meters in length and with a wing-span of twenty-two meters, Meridian made up for her relatively small size by having a surprisingly spacious interior for her crew, and as Inquisitor Godwyn made her way to her cabin on the port side of the shuttle she noted that the crew were already preparing for the task at hand.

Just aft of the cockpit, Sudulus was already busying himself in the nest – Meridian’s central security and control room – where he’d assembled a powerful communications relay and security hub that allowed the operator to communicate, coordinated and oversee numerous agents while in flight over real-time with minimal delay. Surrounded by cogitator banks, monitoring devices and display screens in a cramped room no more that six-feet by eight-feet, Sudulus had once referred to it as the ‘logicians nest’ and the name had stuck.

Past the nest was the main hold, a large rectangular space within the fuselage that mirrored the cargo hold below and had been converted into the principal living space for the crew, where, at that moment, Brother Aquinas was still seated at the table with his back to the small galley at the end of the hold and shuffling through several loose sheets of parchment as he quietly jotted down notes on a data-slate. He did not look up as the Inquisitor passed through to the adjoining cabin module, but once again the Inquisitor had the feeling that he was well aware of her presence. It was not something he did purposely, just like one did not see or hear ‘on purpose’, but regardless his psychic presence left her uneasy and gave her the distinct impression that he was continuously aware of everything on the Meridian.

Stepping through the hatchway that connected the main hold to the port-side living quarters, Godwyn left her thoughts of the Librarian behind and opened the door to her cabin.

Like the three other cabins in the port-side module and the cabins in the starboard-side module, Godwyn’s cabin was as small and compact as one would expect to find on a shuttle-class vessel. Narrow enough to touch both walls with the tips of her fingers, the cabins contained a deep (and surprisingly comfortable) bunk built into the bulkhead with storage space both above and below, a tall locker fastened next to the pocket-door, and a built-in set of hangers from which one could suspend clothing or toiletries for using the sanitation facilities that were located at the end of each module.

Closing the door of her cabin behind her and illuminated by the cabin’s single yellow light, she looked into the mirror she’d installed onto the back of the sliding door. ‘First impressions are lasting impressions’ she remembered her mentor Strassen saying as she examined her appearance from one side and then the other in the mirror’s reflection before sweeping several loose strands of her long blond hair back behind her ear and making sure that the rest was up for added emphasis on her strong posture and high-collared neck. Professional, she thought to herself. The master of the Patroclus would probably be expecting someone both dignified and severe – not to mention older as well – but Cassandra wasn’t about to give him the opportunity to second-guess her purpose or authority. She had to look the part, she told herself, fastening the Inquisitorial rosette just below the embroidered collar of her fitted black over-coat and looking her reflection keenly in the eye: she was just a stripling by the standards of the Inquisition, but she was an Inquisitor none the less.

Satisfied, she opened the door just as Captain Striker was stepping out of the adjacent cabin. After their somewhat rigid first contact in the hangar bay on Cornice, Striker had surprised the Inquisitor by falling completely into stride aboard Meridian over the course of less than a day. Roth had been right in saying that she’d fit in with the team, and, while it was apparent that she was serious about her duties, she had managed to engage and befriend both Sudulus and Lee, though admittedly she hadn’t had much of an opening with the space marine.

“Captain Striker,” Godwyn greeted her in the awkwardly close confines between the cabins, “I hope you’re finding everything okay?”

“I am thank you, Inquisitor,” she replied warmly, though at the same time showing that she understood the discomfort of being in extremely close proximity to someone one did not yet know – the hall leading from the cabins to the main hold only being wide enough for one person at a time. She motioned for the Inquisitor to precede her down the hallway; “I’m also looking forward to seeing what this rogue trader vessel has in store for us. I hear they can be quite a sight.”

“How do you mean?” Godwyn asked, curious as to what a storm trooper Captain from a peaceful world would think about freelance merchants. She’d heard the rumours of wealth and luxury about their type, though in reality most were simple entrepreneurs undeserving the romanticism too often attached to them groundside by fawning star-gazers. Then again, Victoria Striker hardly seemed like the fawning or star-gazing type.

“It’s nothing really,” Victoria said with a dismissive tilt of her head as she stepped into the main hold after the Inquisitor, “but when I was just starting out as a young Lieutenant leading my first fire-team we boarded a rogue trader vessel anchored illegally off one of Panacea’s moons that wasn’t responding to hails. We got on board and the entire ship was empty, but all the airlocks were sealed from the inside and the ships logs showed that there had been people onboard just the day before,” she frowned thoughtfully and shook her head; “We never did find out what happened.”

 

Only a few short minutes later they caught their first glimpse of the Patroclus, and the closer they drew the more beautiful and enchanting it became. Suddenly the fawning star-gazers didn’t look completely baseless.

A giant slumbering between the stars, Patroclus listed gently at her anchor as light reflecting off the planet below coloured her hull with a soft silver while picking out her glittering galleries and highlighting the elegant ribbing that ran her length.

“Now she’s a beauty,” Lee admired as Meridian rounded her gently sloping prow, stealing glances towards the massive space-faring vessel between checking his instruments and course adjustments.

“I’ll never get tired of seeing these up close,” Victoria added in quiet awe, looking past the pilot and out the viewing ports as rows upon rows of glowing lights and flickering windows zipped by as they passed along Patroclus’ starboard side.

Indeed, the scope of the star-ship was beyond all reckoning as Meridian settled into one of three hangar bays along Patroclus’ starboard flank and rested her landing struts upon the deck as massive hangar doors ground shut behind her; sealing the shuttle and her crew within the larger ship with an audible groan that all aboard could hear. No sooner had the doors closed than warm, hissing air was vented into the massive chamber, and when the dials finally levelled out Lee gave the all clear to open the hatch.

A welcoming party of two well dressed men and a host of uniformed crewmembers waited upon them as Godwyn set foot onto the hangar deck.

“The Patroclus welcomes you, my Lady. We are most honoured by your presence,” an older man with a silver goatee and silver hair strode forward from the entourage with the other formally dressed man at his heels to welcome her.

“And again to you, sire,” he said as Aquinas emerged after her.

The man was dressed exclusively in black from his blouse and his waistcoat to his trousers and knee-boots, and presented himself with a low bow before proffering a well-manicured hand in greeting.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” he said as Godwyn accepted his surprisingly firm handshake, “I am Hercule Columbo, Master of the Patroclus, at your service.”

“Inquisitor Cassandra Godwyn,” Godwyn introduced herself in turn with an elegant curtsy. “We are honoured to be so welcomed aboard your ship.”

“I see now that your superior Inquisitor Roth did not speak idly of you, Lady Godwyn, for you are the image of the nobility and grace of your order,” Columbo said with a wide smile that revealed perfectly aligned and whitened teeth. “I would be greatly honoured if you would dine with me tonight at my table.”

Cassandra Godwyn returned his warm invitation with a slight smile; “I would be delighted to accept,” she said.

Beaming, Columbo introduced the man beside him as his First Officer Michael Brent. Dressed in a sharp yet heavily decorated military uniform that she did not recognize, Brent offered a thin smile in greeting but did not speak, leaving her to guess that he was a man of limited importance who wanted to present himself otherwise.

Taking the opportunity, Godwyn introduced each of her staff to the Ship Master, from Brother Aquinas in his ornate power armour to Lee who was still wearing his worn old flight jacket. To his credit, however, Columbo greeted each with as much respect and sincerity as he had the Inquisitor, and had made each feel most welcome.

“Aboard the Patroclus you are our honoured guests,” Columbo addressed them graciously as entreated them to follow him from the hangar and the attendants stepped up to carry their things, “and throughout our voyage together my crew and I shall ever endeavour to be your gracious hosts.”

“I must apologize for not being able to escort you to your quarters in person,” Columbo continued as the attendants carried out their duties in silence, “for I must see to the preparations for our departure. My stewards, however – ” he indicated towards the uniformed attendants, “ – have my full confidence in seeing to your every need.”

Even before the Ship Master had finished talking, Sudulus was finding it hard to contain his excitement as his eyes darted back and forth around the hangar and he nearly hopped from foot-to-foot as he ever-so politely told the ship’s attendants that no, he really didn’t have anything that he needed carried. A cleric all his life, Sudulus was hardly experienced in receiving the attention he considered worthy of the Imperial elite.

Brother Aquinas, on the other hand, did not seem pleased at all, and made little effort in masking his displeasure.

“He is purposely trying to mislead us,” she heard Aquinas whisper from beside her as they were escorted to their quarters while one of the lead stewards regaled them with facts about both the Patroclus and its Master that no-one other than Sudulus was particularly listening to.

Godwyn had been toying with a similar idea, though she had considered it to be mostly posturing on the Ship-Master’s behalf, however, a quick sideways glance at the Librarian told her that he thought differently. She considered this as they walked with the escort of ship’s stewards, yet outside of the Meridian there was no telling what could be overheard or by whom. Was the Librarian aware of something she had missed? Regardless, Godwyn resolved to let it be until they were alone in their quarters, and walked on as if listening to the lead steward’s rambling most intently.

 

When at last they reached the guest rooms, the stewards parted the wood panelled doors to reveal a room of stunning opulence.

“Oh this is most agreeable!” Sudulus exclaimed once the doors had closed behind them and there was no danger of being overheard by the stewards outside, “Most agreeable indeed!”

Much like the rest of the tenth deck (which, they had been told, was designated the ‘habitation deck’) the guest chambers had been beautifully finished to hide all traces of bare metal behind an altogether more pleasing exterior.

Rich wood of exotic origin and magnificent colour replaced metal stresses and beams, and provided elegant panelling along many angled surfaces to conceal otherwise intrusive piping or vents. Sheets of cream-coloured plaster had been fitted into place to cover the walls and deaden any echoes or vibrations from the metal beneath. Even the floors had been redone with patterned hardwood and inlaid carpets that quieted the sounds of their feet.

The chambers themselves, of course, were even more exquisite.

A large common room – easily four times the size of Meridian’s main hold – greeted them upon entering, and was decorated with luxurious furniture and priceless antiques. Directly opposite the main door was a wall-spanning viewport from which they could see the vast expanse of Panacea below them and the glittering heavens above. The walls flanking this magnificent chamber were richly decorated with paintings, tapestries, and shelves lined with books, and cut from each side were four separate doorways leading to the individual bedrooms and their adjoined lavatories.

To Lee, standing by the door with a wide-eyed expression on his face, ‘agreeable’ was the last word on his mind:

“Holy - !” – though the latter part of his outburst was thankfully muffled by the sound of Sudulus flopping himself down on one of several leather-finished sofas arranged in the middle of the common room.

Not allowing herself to be long waylaid now that they were rid of the Patroclus’ stewards, Inquisitor Godwyn quickly dumped the few things she had brought with her from Meridian in the room farthest from the door on the right-hand side and returned to address her team.

“Sudulus,” she said with sufficient snap in her voice to make the savant bounce back up off the couch and onto his feet, “make sure this room is clean. Until then, everyone is quiet.”

Bugs – as an Inquisitor she had learned to expect them everywhere, and doubly so when staying somewhere as a guest. Fortunately, in addition to his other duties, Sudulus was also a more-than proficient bug-hunter, and, with the aid of specialty implants in his bionic hands, the cheerful savant was Godwyn’s first line of defence against unwanted eaves-droppers.

The Patroclus was not heavily infested, however, and upon the conclusion of his sweep Sudulus only had three bugs to show for it – all located in the common-room and all supporting video-feed without audio: standard surveillance models, not espionage. An interesting choice in equipment, the Inquisitor figured, and one that was more telling than expected.

“I think we should talk,” Godwyn approached the Librarian as he stood silently at the view-port watching the planet below.

He looked at her sideways.

“In private,” she added.

“Yes,” he agreed, his serpentine voice sounding far off and distant, “I think that would be wisest.”

 

“Why would he be seeking to mislead us? Do you think it is more than mere posturing on his part?” Godwyn asked as Brother Aquinas closed the door behind him.

They were standing in the Inquisitor’s room – a large, spacious, and comfortable room by any standard with a four-post bed that was larger than any one of the Meridian’s cabins – she, standing with one arm behind her back and one at her side while giving the space marine her direct attention, and he, walking to the opposite corner of the room before turning to face her.

“He is hiding something,” he replied flatly, “and that is what we need to discuss.”

“What makes you so certain?”

Aquinas was momentarily silent, but when he spoke he did so in his same frigid, emotionless tone:

“I do not mean to instruct you,” he said, “but how you act now could have severe repercussions.”

She folded her arms and tilted her head sideways to give him a curious look; “How do you mean?”

“I sense much apprehension on board this ship, Inquisitor. The manner with which he approached you was to gauge your willingness to adapt and react to him – flexibility, you could say. He is attempting to discern – and I believe will continue attempting – whether or not you will be a threat to him.”

“How do you know this?” Godwyn asked.

Aquinas narrowed his blue eyes down to slits. “Do you believe me blind?” he asked coldly.

“No,” Godwyn replied apologetically, “but your certainty is… unusual, I would say.”

With an escape of breath that may have passed for a chuckle, Aquinas’ mood somewhat lightened.

“I *am* unusual, I would say. Regardless, you must be on your guard. He is interested in you, of that there can be no doubt, though I cannot yet tell as to why.”

“But you have some ideas?”

“Many…” Aquinas admitted, but then rounded on the Inquisitor with a cautionary tone; “though just because he is hiding something does not mean that it is up to you to find it,” Aquinas warned. “Our task of finding Inquisitor Strassen must take priority above investigating the Patroclus and its master. This ship is our best medium of travel, and we must endeavour to keep it as such… by whatever means possible.”

“You’re suggesting that I turn a blind eye to whatever is going on here?”

Aquinas slowly shook his head: “Not blind, but hidden: that is what I am suggesting.”

Her gut churned at the very thought of it, but at the same time she heard the wisdom in his words. Strassen must be her focus. If a reckoning lay in wait for the Patroclus and its master then it would come soon enough, but not by her hand.

“Fair enough,” she conceded with a sigh, “we’ll keep an eye out, but that is all.”

Aquinas seemed appeased and dismissed himself from her chamber; though Godwyn still wrestled with the thought of what other concessions she would have to make in order to find her old mentor.

 

 

“You will be with the Master shortly,” the steward said as they stepped off the lift into a tapestry-lined corridor and were ushered along towards a pair of closed wooden doors.

The servant had arrived several minutes earlier to collect her at the guest quarters. Obviously the Ship-Master was used to his own agenda and setting his own times, yet Godwyn was not averse to making Columbo wait or having him realize that he dealt with someone who could not be manipulated or marched around. Needless to say, the steward became more and more anxious as she drew out her time getting ready, and then became doubly so when the Inquisitor announced that her bodyguard would be accompanying her.

Even aboard his own ship, Columbo did not carry all the cards – she would not allow it.

Still dressed in her long overcoat with her hair up and the Inquisitorial rosette pinned at her collar, Godwyn had declined wearing one of the numerous dresses or other regal attire that had been delivered to her by the ship’s stewards in preference of keeping her appearance professional. Likewise, Captain Striker had opted out of the Patroclus’ lavish gifts to keep true to her duty, wearing a dark, undecorated dress uniform with a stiff cap typical of Imperial Special Forces.

She was armed, though no-one would have guessed by looking at her. Tucked in the small of her back, concealed by both the cut of the coat and her ram-rod-straight posture, was a snub-nosed pistol packing a six round mag. They weren’t expecting any trouble, and Victoria admitted that she taking precautions, but to be safe she’d stuffed an extra magazine in each boot; uncomfortable, but she refused to have it any other way.

“Do you think that will be necessary?” Godwyn asked, eyeing the pistol Striker was tucking away under her jacket while the Inquisitor stood in Victoria’s room with her back to the closed door and the steward that waited anxiously outside.

The Captain’s green eyes flashed her way from under the peak of her cap. “I hope not,” she said, folding the coat over the lump above her buttocks and standing up straight with her shoulders back – perfectly concealing the fire arm. “The First Officer didn’t look like the understanding type, and I don’t think shooting his boss would improve him any.”

Godwyn didn’t laugh.

Now, standing outside the double door alongside the steward, neither one did so much as smirk.

With a slight *click* the doors opened almost noiselessly, and they were invited into a room of incredible scope. Laid before them was a room of immense size that stretched out in a large circle and opened upwards to the starry heavens under a dome clear glass uplifted upon golden pillars. Numerous chandeliers floated midair above rich antique furniture of mahogany and velvet gathered in separate arrangements that orbited around a small table in the center of the room, from which the Master of the Patroclus rose to meet his guests.

“Inquisitor Godwyn! Captain Striker! Welcome! Welcome to the seigneurie!” Hercule Columbo, still dressed in black, welcomed them most warmly and offered each a drink from his private reserve before supper.

“I am sorry,” he said with a slight look of sadness on his face after they had exchange pleasantries over their first drink and he had shown them the more notable pieces of his collection, “but, my dear Captain, I must trespass upon your good will, and ask that the Inquisitor and I be left in private. I have no guards, and upon my word I swear to you that I shall by no means betray your trust.”

Columbo seemed earnest, but Striker hesitated, looking at Godwyn for instructions – the Inquisitor nodded.

“As you wish, sir,” the Captain gave the Ship-Master an apologetic nod, then looked to Godwyn; “I will be just outside should you have need of me,” she said, and smartly turned heel and marched from the room.

“And admirable soldier,” Columbo nodded after the Captain as the doors closed behind her, “you are blessed to have such a woman under your command.”

He indicated that they should sit, and no sooner had they done so than attendants bearing plates of delicacies appeared through the doors to serve them.

It became apparent that Master Columbo did this quite a lot and enjoyed entertaining, though the more they talked, and the more they ate and drank, the more it seemed to Godwyn that the Ship-Master didn’t have an agenda, but was simply an old man who enjoyed the company.

They talked for what could have been hours – long after the servants had stopped bringing food and they were left drinking from Columbo’s reserve as the chandeliers faded to an orange glow under the starlight.

“You know,” Columbo began, staring at the amber liquid in his glass as he swilled it about, “I briefly considered denying Roth’s request when he asked me to work with you.”

Sitting back in his chair with an un-stopped bottle of Brebrand’s Rum between them, Hercule Columbo took another generous sip from his glass. Together they had exhausted almost every topic they could think of from sector politics to why confessors wore those silly hats, yet even as the rum neared its end neither one had deigned address the other as to their business; though, sitting up in her seat, Godwyn felt that would soon change.

A wide smile crossed her face as she found her elbow resting against the table. “Really?” she said, raising her glass back to her lips, “Why would you have wanted that?”

Columbo shrugged, his eyes going fuzzy as he looked at the young woman across the table.

“You see…” he said, a hand reaching to the stars above as if he were about to start a grand speech.

Godwyn’s grin stayed buoyantly fixed to her face even as she rested her chin in her palm.

“You have the unfortunate co-condition of being an Inquisitor,” he said, part of him looking confused at what he was saying even as the worlds were dragged out of his mouth.

“Hmmm… tell me more about this condition I have,” she said, drinking again, but keeping her eyes fixed on Columbo.

He slumped back in his chair with a sigh and put his glass down with a bit too much force so that some of the rum slopped onto the table. “Oooooh… Inquisitors can be bad for business, you see. Not you though – no no, dear Lady, you are quite fine, quite fine indeed… but some Inquisitors can be bad for business.”

“Why?” Godwyn pouted mockingly, giving the Ship-Master a hard look before cracking another smile.

He grinned but shook his head as if to clear it. “Ooh I do think I am drunk, I’m afraid. My apologies, dear Lady, for being such a… miserable host, I’m sure. Now I’m talking too much.”

“Come now, Hercule,” she said, drawing out the ‘l’ in his name and sliding her hand across the table to pat his; “I’m quite enjoying this, and I think we’re becoming fast friends… we should do this more often.”

He blinked, then smiled broadly. “Two weeks until we reach Tenantable!” he exclaimed, standing up uncertainly in his chair and prompting the Inquisitor to do likewise. “In that time I am sure that we’ll be the best partners in the sector!”

 

The hour was obviously late as there were far fewer staff in the Patroclus’ upper halls, yet Captain Striker had waited regardless.

“How long was I?” Godwyn asked, gently shutting the doors of the seigneurie behind her.

“By my estimation,” Striker reported, “just shy of four hours.”

Cassandra nodded: her bodyguard had likely been standing stalk still – with a gun in her back and magazines in her boots – for nearly four hours.

“Thank you,” she said, though she felt she owed more than that.

Victoria made no mention of it, however – as always, her focus was her charge: “Can you walk?” she asked, approaching the Inquisitor as if she suspected the other woman to suddenly over-balance face-first into the wall.

“I’m actually okay,” Godwyn said truthfully, “not much more than buzz, though I’m lucky he was drinking too much to notice how bad I am at playing drunk.”

Impressed, Striker left it at that, and they made their way back to the guest chambers unescorted.

[Azekai]

Hercule Columbo, eh? He must have great deductive skills. :)

 

Really enjoying the story- the dialogue is good and the discriptions are concise but rich. I hope more is forthcoming!

[Skyhawk]

Write a book please! I'll buy it.

[Inquisitor =D=]

Ooh! Ooh! He almost said it! Bad Rogue trader... *slaps the man's hand* Bad.

 

;) couldn't help but comment. I'll be watching this story closely.

 

=]D[=

[Lady_Canoness]

Thanks gents!

 

I really like that you like the story ;)

More will be on its way.

 

...and for you, Skyhawk, I might just do that ;)

[Pulse]

I added this reply in the other post in the story story section - but i will post it here as well. :)

---

 

Interesting reading your take on Rogue Traders - you seem to have a very... stylish view of them. It certinately adds character to Colombo. :)

 

As for the Librarian - he seems a bit.. well not Astartes enough, and comes across as almost too polite. As for his powers, he would i am sure be slowly easing himself into peoples minds, to read them - gaining an idea on hidding motives and such but so far he has done nothing of that. The other thing that i found slightly odd was that you wrote Godwyn and Aquinas as having a private convo in a room - why not just allow him to use his powers so they can have a chat through the powers of telepathy? It seems to be a common trait for Librarians to use in Astartes novels. :)

[Lady_Canoness]

Good points, Pulse, and I had been toying with all of them, actually (crazy I know!)

 

My views on psychic powers in general is that 1) they are almost limitless, but 2) they are not always subtle - non-psykers can feel them in use and find it un-natural and uncomfortable.

 

So about Aquinas:

-When it comes to being too polite, I see Librarians as being a breed apart from other Marines in numerous ways. First of all I wanted him to come across as being a character who is always in control of the situation and thus has no reason to ever lose his patience. He sees in the long term, and is both wise and powerful. Making him less polite, I think, would lower him somewhat from his elevated status of being 'super-human'. To make him more space marine-ish, I wanted to show him as polite, but not kind.

-For his powers, he is a subtle character - he is reading people (Godwyn, a non-psker can feel his presence) but he doesn't go around mining information from peoples heads... yet. Once again, he is a character of such power that he doesn't need to go about flashing it around.

-I did consider the telepathic conversation in their minds for a good long time, and I haven't completely ruled it out. The reason I didn't add it here, however, is tied in with Aquinas' character, and that psykers are rare and people are uncomfortable with the thought of psykers. If he did it alot, I think it would be an abuse of his power and likely worsen his relations with the Inquisitor and her team, as I do not imagine it as being a comfortable process.

 

Good points though Pulse, and I like that you've brought them up!

[Pulse]

So about Aquinas:

-When it comes to being too polite, I see Librarians as being a breed apart from other Marines in numerous ways. First of all I wanted him to come across as being a character who is always in control of the situation and thus has no reason to ever lose his patience. He sees in the long term, and is both wise and powerful. Making him less polite, I think, would lower him somewhat from his elevated status of being 'super-human'. To make him more space marine-ish, I wanted to show him as polite, but not kind.

 

I don't think it would diminish him in any sense. He is not bred to think or talk in ways normal humans will find agreeable. Astartes are bred for war and when they are not training for it they are actually in combat. They are used to continually talking in clipped, straight talking convos, thats why people in novels and fluff find them hard to talk to due to their mannerisms.

 

Saying that though i am very much in favour of Astartes having a sense of humour - something which a few people on this forum, stupidly, find disgusting - but again it would be a very odd sense of humour to you and me, but amoungst his battle brothers it would considered normal.

 

-For his powers, he is a subtle character - he is reading people (Godwyn, a non-psker can feel his presence) but he doesn't go around mining information from peoples heads... yet. Once again, he is a character of such power that he doesn't need to go about flashing it around.

Oh i definately agree on this, he doesn't need to show off in any sense of the word.

 

He would be a huge source of fear though, not just from his baring as an Astartes but because is he a psyker. One of the most feared things in the Imperium. His power would exude naturally, the fact they pretty much bend the warp around them causes the warp to be almost tangible closer to him, and would literally cause people to feel fear around him, even "mortals" who he would consider a friend. Mirrors and metal surfaces would frost over and such as he walked past.

 

So far in the story people haven't even really regarded him as anything to worry about.

 

I think it would be an abuse of his power and likely worsen his relations with the Inquisitor and her team, as I do not imagine it as being a comfortable process.

I don't think that is true. If Aquinas were to ask permission to use his powers in certain situations, i am sure she would be decent enough to know that skill would be very handy, even if it made her awkward. She is after all an Inquisitor who no doubt has worked with psykers before. :P

[Lady_Canoness]

I'm pleased that you're giving this some serious thought, Pulse!

And you make some very good points for me to consider - the "omg you're a space marine!" reaction is definately something I'll think about including. So far he's only been around Inquisitorial types, but once the team is planet-side we'll likely see different reactions from common folk.

 

As for the manifestations of psychic powers, you may be familiar with my other works (under the 'Fallen Saint' header) in which I did use the 'frosty' approach of psychic ability. This time I'm holding back on it for various reasons, one of which I'll admit is that he'd be a bother to be around if he was constantly rippling with power.

 

He's a subtle character despite being a space marine, but he definately has a part to play in things to come. :)

[Papewaio]

I think you've managed to hit Aquinas right on the sweet spot, actually. He radiates a sense of power, and yet is unpredictable. However, I get the sense that because of his single-mindedness in finding Strassen, he has a certain naïveté towards other things that Godwyn might pick up on later on.

 

Overall, doing very well. I need more! :)

[Pulse]

I'm pleased that you're giving this some serious thought, Pulse!

I am glad you think so, i am not trying to belittle your work, just friendly critiquing! B)

 

And you make some very good points for me to consider - the "omg you're a space marine!" reaction is definately something I'll think about including. So far he's only been around Inquisitorial types, but once the team is planet-side we'll likely see different reactions from common folk.

I suppose around Inquisitoral circles, Astartes would be seen more often but certainly not commonly. I think it was said by GW once that seeing a Space Marine in the flesh was 1 in a billion, so if you take that statement as true then you can see why a normal person, even an Inquisitor, would be pretty fearful before a Space Marine. A god of war, a mythical being, the direct genetic legacy of the Emperor - literally standing infront of them.

 

As for the manifestations of psychic powers, you may be familiar with my other works (under the 'Fallen Saint' header) in which I did use the 'frosty' approach of psychic ability. This time I'm holding back on it for various reasons, one of which I'll admit is that he'd be a bother to be around if he was constantly rippling with power.

Unfortunately i haven't read that, i tend to go on the fluff for that sort of information. It tends to be something a Librarian cannot help and is more often than not is a natural occurrence because of the power that exudes from him. Although that can go the other way and things melt due to the heat coming out if the Librarian is angry. :P

 

He's a subtle character despite being a space marine, but he definately has a part to play in things to come. ;)

An Astartes Librarian, subtle? Who would have thought?! ;)

[Inquisitor =D=]

I think Aquinas is just right.

 

As for the power emanations thing I don't believe space marine psykers would suffer from that, being master's of their minds and all. If anyone in the galaxy could contain their minds it'd be them.

 

And about the telepethy thing... Inquisitors wouldn't allow it save for members of their retinue. And not initiated by anybody outside said crew. Inquisitors are burden with information and passcodes, secrets that could validate the execution of even a space marine. Just think about it. Aquinas would realize this I think.

 

Your story though. :lol:

 

=]D[=

[Pulse]

And about the telepethy thing... Inquisitors wouldn't allow it save for members of their retinue. And not initiated by anybody outside said crew. Inquisitors are burden with information and passcodes, secrets that could validate the execution of even a space marine. Just think about it. Aquinas would realize this I think.

Depends on how far the Librarian delves, he could only use telepathy to speak to her. Generally Astartes are honest and so if he said he would only use it for that, i am sure that is what he would do.

[Lady_Canoness]

Part 3

 

 

Strassen was gone with a head-start of several years, that much was clear, and, no matter what Godwyn tried, there was no way that looking for him like any other missing person would reveal his whereabouts. He was cautious, cagey, and extremely methodical with forethought that traced years in advance to wheels that had not even begun to be set in motion. She would catch him only if he let himself be caught and no sooner.

Knowing him as he did, however, Aquinas believed that while they could not contact the rogue Inquisitor, they could send a message to him: show him they were following in the footsteps of his past and confronting the challenges he had faced, Aquinas believed, and they could draw him out. He wanted to be found, otherwise he would not have contacted them, but how much did the Imperium stand to lose if they found him later instead of sooner?

To that end, on Tenantable, they would speak to those he spoke to, walk where he walked, and try to assemble the pieces of Inquisitor Strassen’s past.

 

*

 

“Actually, I do know quite a bit about Tenantable!” Sudulus replied enthusiastically from where he stood in the galley mixing himself a cup of steaming caffeine.

After two weeks aboard the Patroclus enjoying the leisurely pace of interstellar travel spent in comfort, it felt invigorating to be back on Meridian descending to a new world in pursuit of their quarry. To Godwyn, time spent in idleness too often felt like time doubly wasted as both mind and body forgot their purpose while drifting through space. She’d kept busy the best she could, and had endeavoured to keep her team occupied as well.

To some extent her plan had worked.

Sudulus had spent long hours studying the records they had brought with them as well as studying Patroclus’ cogitator banks researching the news and events of the sector within the past century. Most of what he found he kept to himself, though at times he would consult with Aquinas or Godwyn concerning certain details.

Brother Aquinas had also remained busy despite suffering from the headaches of warp-travel, though his temperament had worsened over the past two weeks to make him brooding and irritable – a side-effect of the Warp’s predations, he’d told her – but back in real space he was starting to improve.

Lee and Victoria probably enjoyed the trip the most, however, since neither considered scholastics within their forte and spent most of their time enjoying the amenities that Columbo’s ship had to offer. Though it later became obvious the Captain was slipping when, back aboard the Meridian, she made the mistake of asking Sudulus a question to which he could factually answer.

“Yes, yes,” he said again, tapping a small teaspoon dry on the side of his cup and depositing it in the small galley’s sink before turning to face the Captain, “I do know quite a bit about this world we’re headed to, indeed. I wrote several treatises upon it, in fact, when I was a young man.”

Godwyn, sitting at the table in the main hold with the Brother Aquinas, looked up from her data-slate. Victoria was standing against the wall nearest to the port-side cabins, and obviously had no idea what she had just walked into. Sudulus could – and would, if he got the chance – go on for hours about a subject until he had relayed everything he knew about it. A small part of the Inquisitor thought that he even did it on purpose.

“The first thing to know is that Tenantable is, politically speaking, an old world – quite old – dating back to before the founding of the Imperium I believe, though it was always considered a backwater planet – never had much more than a few outposts on it until this sector became more populated after the success of Panacea a couple thousand years ago.” He took a drink from his caffeine. Looking perfectly relaxed, there wasn’t a hint that he intended to carry on talking for very long.

“Though, of course, that all changed with the discovery of vast quantities of natural fuels underneath Tenantable’s poles. The indigenous population – they had been quite tribal you see – were quickly recruited as a mass labour force to work the oil-fields around both poles and industrial cities were quickly established. In itself, this is the most contentious issue to date, you see, for it was Imperial colonialist masters who dominated the fuel trade at the expense of the pre-Imperial human population. This took place about a thousand years ago, mind you, so now the industry is quite well developed planet-side. The interest in tenantable, well, my interest, and dare I say ‘our interest’ – the other interest being the lucrative fuel trade as I mentioned – revolves around the societal issues surrounding Tenantable. Well, there are geological interests as well as geophysical interests concerning the irregularities with the magnetosphere which prevent ships from landing at the poles – which is why administrative cities, and our destination, the capital city of Sable, are all located around the equator for minimal magnetic interference – and why the planet itself is so flat and largely arid, but that is not our concern.”

Turning her eyes back to the data-slate she was holding, Godwyn would have been surprised if Captain Striker could even recall their concern with the planet after Sudulus’ enthusiastic tirade.

“… a culture of subjugation and racism, I’m afraid,” Sudulus was saying while Victoria bobbed her head up and down like a cork floating in water, “… what we are witnessing now are the results of generations of ethnic conflict…”

Godwyn had heard it all before and was familiar with the situation on Tenantable. Twenty-five years earlier, Inquisitor Strassen had made a profound impact on the planet when he orchestrated a series of raids against the indigenous labour populations of the industrial city slums. It had been said that the ancient indigenous religion was a heathen creed, and that its followers had started to crop up amongst the poor of the inner cities. Whether or not Strassen had believed this at the beginning was unclear in his reports, though after the raids he had expressed doubts as to the authenticity of the heretical threat, and had even hinted that the indigenous religion had been conjured as an excuse for local authorities to crush troublemakers and avoid lengthy due process.

Godwyn didn’t know what to believe so far as her mentor was concerned, though the most recent civil upheaval looked as if it could fit perfectly within mantra of Strassen’s repentance for past wrongs committed. It had used the same tools as before, though this time the guiding hand had delivered victory to the victims of the past. Could this have been Strassen’s doing? Again, she was unsure, though, even if it was not his doing, there was no way Godwyn was willing to believe that he did not watch it as it unfolded. Part of her mentor must be here, and – even if that part was a trail long gone cold – she would seek it out.

“Landing in five!” Lee’s voice called from the cockpit, giving Striker the excuse she needed to escape from Sudulus.

Deactivating the data-slate with a flick of her thumb, Godwyn handed it back to Aquinas – momentarily catching the space marine’s eye. He didn’t say anything, but the look in his eye told her of an anticipation that he himself did not.

“They’re askin who we are!” Lee shouted from the cockpit – ending the moment as Aquinas stood and ducked into the starboard cabins – “Wha’ should I tell them we’re this time?”

Striker, at that moment, returned to the main hold with her black hard case and opened it, removing the matt-black carapace armour of a storm trooper and strapping it into place. Aquinas emerged from the opposite side of the hold carrying a long ornamented force staff in his armoured hands which he set down with due reverence and care before gently murmuring canticles of enkindling over the sceptre. Even Sudulus set down his caffeine to straighten his robe and approached the table to organize some records into his travelling bag.

Seeing the three of them ready and willing as they were drew forth a flame of pride Godwyn’s chest – a pride not of who they were, but what they were doing – what they were prepared to do.

“We are the Holy Inquisition,” she called back to Lee, “let them know we are here!”

The pilot’s laugh rang back through to the hold. “Look out folks!” he shouted riotously; “Here comes the Inquisition!”

 

To identify oneself as of the Holy Inquisition, Inquisitor Strassen had taught her, was a mixed blessing.

An Inquisitor brought fear, respect, and co-operation. An Inquisitor could go almost anywhere, do almost anything, to almost anyone, and do so with the complete authority of the Emperor. No one man, it was taught, could contest the right of an Inquisitor, and no body of men could over-rule the judgement of the Inquisition.

Yet to declare oneself an Inquisitor also brought attention, from allies and enemies, and both could be equally destructive.

Already as they touched down in Sable’s star-port complex a small delegation of local officials were hustling into Meridian’s landing bay with a put upon air like men who had been disturbed from a pleasant slumber. The leader of the paltry group, a short, balding man with a square jaw and a thick build dressed in a wrinkled duster, came forward the instant the Inquisitor set foot on solid ground. His brow was already sparkling with sweat.

“Inquisitor,” he said almost breathlessly, his square jaw wobbling out of synch with his words, “had we known of your arrival beforehand, we-we would have made the proper arrangements!”

Godwyn looked at the man: he was out of breath and the sweat on his forehead was starting to bead, and not because of the planet’s dry climate; more than likely this man had hastened to grab whoever was at hand as soon as he’d heard of her arrival to toss together this measly welcoming brigade. She smiled inwardly, but outwardly she regarded the man with a steely gaze.

“I’m not here for a ceremony,” she rebuked the man as her team exited the shuttle and gathered behind her; “I’m here on business, which,” she added for emphasis, “does not concern you.”

A momentary lapse in better judgement saw the sweaty man look at the Inquisitor incredulously, though he quickly recovered and pasted a menial smile on his face.

“Yes, yes of course,” he said quickly, bowing repeatedly as the Inquisitor brushed past him towards the exit of the landing bay; “Is there any way I can be of service?”

She stopped and looked at the man considerately.

“Yes,” Godwyn said with a nod, “can you arrange transport for us while we are planet-side?”

The man blinked; “T-transport?” he almost blurted, quickly dabbing his forehead with a stained kerchief.

“This is a city, isn’t it? It has transport that a city official, such as yourself, could arrange for us?” she spelled it out for the man.

“Oh right…” he said with an apologetic smile. “Right – right, yes of course! I’ll see too it straight away!” he managed before quickly bowing and bustling from the landing bay with his entourage following closely on his tail.

“Right,” Cassandra Godwyn turned to her team now that they were alone again under Tenantable’s dimming sun; “We have work to do.”

 

*

 

To his credit, Strassen had detailed little more than the most mundane of his dealings on Tenantable, and listed very few names. The first act in their investigation on Tenantable would therefore be a simple one: they would gather what information that could from the capital’s archives and use Tenantable’s records to make up the difference in their own.

Sudulus was already itching for the challenge.

 

*

 

 

Despite her first impressions of the planet and its populace, the sweaty man proved quite efficient, and had a rugged yet dependable-looking vehicle waiting for them as they exited the sizeable space port complex.

“My apologies, Inquisitor!” the sweaty man appeared from around the vehicle where he had been hissing something at the driver, and she quickly noted that his entourage was nowhere to be seen. “This is the best vehicle I could procure at this time,” he said between gulping down mouthfuls of air and wiping the kerchief around his collar.

From where she stood next to the Inquisitor, Captain Striker gave the vehicle cursory look-over and muttered her approval, while Sudulus, standing further back with Brother Aquinas, looked as if he was making mental notes of the vehicle to record later.

It wasn’t much to look at in terms of style or aesthetic appeal, but judging from what she had seen inside the space port, and what she could tell by just looking at her surroundings in the capital city, art and design were not amongst the things the people of Tenantable were particularly good at. The vehicle was block-like and low to the ground, though its unfinished gun-metal exterior spoke of a powerfully built frame and Spartan construction. From looks alone, Godwyn could imagine a vehicle like this lasting for decades with minimal need for repair even when used regularly.

“Not much to look at,” he said with a nervous glance towards the Inquisitor as if seeking her approval, “but it works very well! I like these vehicles because… because they never break down – very well made.”

“It’ll do,” she said with a nod of thanks in his direction as the man continued to smile weakly and shift awkwardly from foot to foot until he realized he was no longer needed and hastily bowed and withdrew.

“I supposed it will take me to the archives in one piece.” Sudulus approached the vehicle as soon as the sweaty man had re-entered the space port. He didn’t look nervous, but then again he wasn’t fond of surprises either.

“Are you certain you don’t want to come with me, Inquisitor?” he asked, seating himself one on of the sparsely cushioned seats in the passenger compartment of the car.

“Afraid of being alone with the Captain?” Godwyn asked with her eyebrows raised in mock surprise, though Sudulus only snorted in reply. She’d asked Striker to go with her savant both as company and for the man’s protection… that and she didn’t trust Lee not to jostle him, and Brother Aquinas would draw far too much attention.

Armed and armoured as she was, Victoria Striker was the best for the job.

 

*

 

The second act in their investigation on Tenantable relied on Sudulus and Striker being successful and finding correlations between Strassen’s records form twenty-five years earlier and Sable’s records of the recent civil conflicts. As he was Inquisition and beyond the scrutiny of local law-bringers, Strassen would not be referenced in any archives by name or title, thus Sudulus’ only hope was to match local records to the names of men who had worked with the Inquisitor during the raids twenty-five years prior in hopes that the same men who had worked with him before would have worked with him again. If that proved to be the case, and there was reason to believe that Strassen had operated through the same channels on each occasion, Godwyn and Aquinas would commandeer local authorities to take suspected conspirators into custody for further examination. The likelihood of planet-side conspirators to be directly linked to their quarry was slim-to-none, yet it would be the chance they desperately needed to get themselves noticed by the rogue Inquisitor.

All of this, however, depended on Sudulus, yet the wily savant was rightly optimistic about his chances…

 

*

 

“Inquisitor, I would speak with you.”

Sitting in her usual spot at the table in the main hold and half-between taking a sip from her caffeine while re-reading medical and psychological assessments of her former mentor, Cassandra stopped, and glanced over the rim of her cup towards the power-armour giant across from her. He’d wasn’t looking at her, and he hadn’t moved from the spot he had taken two and a half hours previously when he first sat down – neither had she other than to reheat her caffeine at the galley. Why he’d chosen now to break the silence was beyond her.

She lowered her cup. “Yes, what is it?”

He lifted his head – looking at her with his piercing blue eyes that seemed to burn within him. Carefully, he set the data-slate he had been reading down on the table and rested his hands one atop of the other before him.

Sensing this was no idle chatter (though then again it never was when Aquinas was involved) Godwyn set down the reports she had been reading and gave the Librarian her full attention.

“Despite what you may or may not believe, or come to believe for that matter, I do not question your authority in this task presented to us,” he began speaking in a way that was slow and measured, but very clear. “I know my place,” he said, “yet I also know my responsibilities to provide council whenever I deem it necessary.”

His eyes never wavered from the woman across from him. “I believe it necessary now.”

She nodded. Aquinas had served with the Deathwatch for longer than she had been alive, and though her pride often waned under his indisputable assessments, Godwyn had quickly learned over their short time together that the Librarian’s wisdom was not something to be lightly cast aside. His presence was, without a doubt, her greatest asset on her search for Strassen, and would prove even more so as their task progressed.

“At this time I would like to impress upon you the absolute need for clarity in our purpose: the apprehension of Inquisitor Strassen must come before all other matters – our own survival included.”

Pausing, Aquinas knew that the Inquisitor would question him on this, and he respectfully waited for her to do so.

“How do you mean?” Godwyn asked under a furrowed brow. “The mission must come first, but how can we accomplish anything if we’re dead?”

“I am not advocating suicidal recklessness,” Aquinas explained passively much as if he were instructing a student; “This task will not be a bloodless one, and I believe we will have to come to terms with confronting and overcoming conflict instead of evading it if we are to succeed in our goal. The application of force, and the risks such an application entails, will be necessary. It must be clear between us that you accept and understand this.”

“I do,” Godwyn assured him; “I never expected this to be easy.”

Somewhat satisfied, the Librarian nodded.

“I also must impress upon you that we are likely to be faced with difficult decisions and the necessity of performing what would otherwise be considered terrible acts in pursuit of our target.”

Godwyn frowned as she stood up and leaned against he back of her seat. “What kind of terrible acts are you referring to?” she asked. “Mass murder? Wanton destruction of Imperial property? I will not be party to committing the crimes I have been sworn to protect against!” she stated emphatically. “I won’t go so far as to let planets burn for the sake of one man!”

“And no one is suggesting that,” Aquinas said in a voice that was almost a whisper as the Inquisitor grew more animated. “I am implying that third parties – innocent parties – may likely be put in our path to deter us from achieving our goal. Falter in confronting them, and it will be our undoing.”

“There is no such thing as innocence, only degrees of guilt,” Godwyn quoted gloomily – the Librarian’s faultless reasoning leaving her cold.

“I’m not asking for you to believe in that,” Aquinas spoke up, fixing the Inquisitor with a gaze that was both rebutting yet consoling, “but do not doubt that Inquisitor Strassen, if he has gone rogue as we justly believe, will inflict more harm uncaught that we will in catching him.”

A bitter consolation if she had ever heard one.

“Do we understand one another as to what must be done?” Aquinas asked sharply.

She glanced at him sideways – looking deep into ice blue eyes that had seen things she could only imagine. “We do,” she said. “I will do what must be done.”

At that moment, Lee, standing unnoticed in the hatchway leading forward to the nest, cleared his throat somewhat noisily.

“S’cues me, boss,” he said apologetically as both the Inquisitor and the Librarian turned to look at him, “but while you’se were talkin’ I got word from Sudulus n’ Vicky,” he gave his head a jerk back in the direction of the nest. “Says they’ve foun’ somethin’. Three names ou’ o’ seven match. Says we’re in luck.”

 

 

Twilight had descended upon Sable in the few yours since Sudulus and Striker had left for the city archives, and as daylight retreated into the shadows so to did the local populace. No city was this where people remained outdoors after dark. No city was this where life continued at night like it did during the day. No, as their vehicle sped through empty litter-strewn streets, neither Godwyn nor her companions saw a single person on the road-side.

Garbage and graffiti were everywhere, and, even in the half-light, the buildings they passed by were all covered in layers of dust and grime. Streets were in ill-repair, and along the road-sides many ramshackle store-fronts had sprung up at the feet of concrete buildings like fungus leaching off the roots of a tree. In his report, Strassen had mentioned unrest in the industrial city slums – though if the capital city on Tenantable looked like this, then what did the slums of an industrial city look like?

“Not particularly pretty, is it?” Sudulus mumbled, his nose close against the glass and his face dimly reflected in the moonlight from outside the vehicle. “It wasn’t much more of a sight in the daylight…” The world outside his window depressed him and left a hollowed look in the savant’s usually chipper face.

He and Striker had returned to Meridian not a half-hour after making contact with Lee Normandy to discuss his findings. Like Lee had said, Sudulus had uncovered three of seven names mentioned by Strassen to have been repeated in the most recent incident reports from the polar industrial cities.

The names were:

-Hazen: a Gas Baron from City 13.

-Obberstein: an industrialist with a monopoly on heavy machinery in City 8 and 9.

-Andov: a Gas Baron from City 4.

Alone, the names meant almost nothing as there was no evidence showing that any of them had even made contact with one another. The industrial cities in which they operated, as Sudulus had pointed out, were either on opposite poles (13 being at the northern pole while 4, 8 & 9 were at the southern pole) or miles apart with no direct lines of contact.

Taken together, however, each name represented extremely like-minded men with vast amounts of localized wealth and power who had been active in both Strassen’s raids twenty-five years earlier and the more recent events of civil unrest. If Strassen was involved in Tenantable’s recent troubles, these men might know about it.

Be that as it may, accessing three wealthy business men on an industrial planet with no special avenues and no allies was asking for the impossible unless the planetary governor could be persuaded to act on their behalf.

 

 

The Governor’s Palace on Tenantable hardly deserved the name. Built in the middle of the city behind massive, four-meter thick concrete walls, the palace looked much more akin to a giant bunker with dust-stained sloping concrete walls and a squat over-lapping design. It was big and blunt; no finesse or majesty, just an air of raw, unmoving authority. Imperial dominion over this world was as refined as a brick sitting on dirt, and, as night had fallen across the capital city, the governor’s palace was now a very well illuminated and heavily guarded brick.

Instructing the driver to park across from the main gate on the far side of a deserted thoroughfare, Godwyn, Aquinas, Striker, and Sudulus approached the well-fortified palace on foot.

“Halt! State your business!” an armed guard dressed in a distinctive blue great coat called out as soon as they had come within thirty yards of the gate-house and were well within the range of the floodlights atop the walls.

“Holy Inquisition!” Godwyn shouted back, squinting to keep herself from being blinded by the over-anxious guards many the lights.

The lights abruptly moved off and the gates were quickly opened; on either side of the gate the guards seemed to relax, and a man wearing an officer’s cap hastened out to meet them, flashing a quick salute as he did so.

“Good evening, Inquisitor,” he addressed Godwyn politely, though he promptly fumbled his words when attempting to greet the space marine, and ended up offering an awkward bow while mumbling something about ‘humble servant’.

Aquinas ignored him.

Recovering, the officer waved them though the gates.

“Governor Assada has been expecting you,” he said, falling into stride beside the Inquisitor as they passed into the palace courtyard and past yet more guards. “He has high hopes that you will be able to resolve the problems on Tenantable.”

 

 

Tenantable was a world of anguish: the bulk of its people were miserable and poor, its cities were decaying, its infrastructure was decrepit, and sector-wide it was known only for its reserves of fuel tucked under an otherwise uninteresting shell. Yet even here, where the land was hardly worth the dirt that covered it, the hubris of the Imperial elite was evident.

Standing in the governor’s sitting room and having dismissed the pale-skinned servants, Godwyn felt as if she could see the man she was dealing with imprinted upon the room around her. Off-world art, off-world plants, even trophy heads of off-world beasts and a large glass aquarium filled with off-world fish, combined with not a single piece of paraphernalia to suggest any connection to the fuel industry told her one thing about this man. She shook her head in the reflection of a polished brass urn: off-world governor.

Across the waxed marble floor, Sudulus was watching closely as Victoria tested the firmness of a plush sofa with her foot: the armoured boot sunk into the cushion up past her ankle - Sudulus was flabbergasted.

With staff in hand, Aquinas paced the circumference of the room, looking it over with an unreadable expression.

“This man is a leech upon the backside of the world,” he confided to the Inquisitor when he had finished his scrutiny of the governor’s trappings. “He is here to grovel for the table-scraps left by the industrialists and nothing more. Do not expect this man to help us willingly.”

Godwyn was about to agree with the Librarian’s dry assessment when he unexpectedly motioned for her to be silent and his eyes flashed towards the door. “He comes.”

“Aaah Inquisitor!” Governor Assada sauntered into the sitting room not a few seconds later with a quartet of stooped, pale-skinned servants following closely at his heels carrying all manners of delicacies and refreshments; “I trust Tenantable hasn’t been too inhospitable for your tastes, mm?” he quipped, obviously trying to impress the young Inquisitor as he seated himself into a deep armchair and sent his servants scurrying to attend to his guests. “And a space marine!” he noted, giving the Librarian an approving look; “You are most welcome, master space marine! I am very pleased that you have come.”

A man of moderate build being neither too heavy nor too thin, Governor Assada was well groomed with clear skin and his hair in tight circlets that fell around his ears. As might be expected of a governor, he was also well dressed in fine clothes of leisure that displayed his wealth as well as his carefully maintained physical form. Proud of his possessions, proud of his person, but – from the telling bulge of the codpiece between his legs – clearly compensating for his potency, Assada was just the type of slime Godwyn had expected him to be.

“I’m not here to take advantage of your hospitality,” the Inquisitor stated pointedly as she brushed away the servants and approached the governor from an angle with her hands held loosely behind her back.

“Aah yes – always business first with you Inquisition types, mm? Just as good!” he helped himself to several of his servants’ refreshments before shooing them from the room with a wave of his be-jewelled hand. “I assume it’s that damnable Montero that’s brought you here, mm?” he spat the name as if it were foul taste upon his tongue. “He’s been nothing but wretchedness and trouble for this planet, and has set profits back a decade with his rabble rousing!”

“Montero, you say?” Aquinas asked from half-way across the sitting room. “Who is this man and why is he not in your records?”

Baffled, the Governor looked from one to the other as if assuming they were already briefed on the matter in question. “He’s a filthy urban legend, that’s why!” he barked incredulously before a look of smug superiority crawled onto his face for knowing something they did not.

“No one’s ever seen the bastard or even knows if he is real, but when troops entered into the rot infested holes those things call home they were repelled ferociously by men shouting the name of Montero! Cities 2, 4, 8, 9, 13 & 18 have all been shut down by the bastard and his fanatical flunkies!”

He cleared his throat and took a long drink from the crystal glass clutched in his hand as his eyes wandered. Obviously Montero had caused him a great deal of stress.

“And no one has ever seen this man Montero?” Aquinas posed, looking sharply at the Governor from where he stood.

Assada snorted. “Of course not!” the he retorted in a scornful voice; “He’d be bloody dead if we had! That much should be obvious!”

With a thoughtful nod, Godwyn turned her back on the governor and made a show of strolling pensively in the direction of a mural displaying a stylized rendition of some battle scene, though she discreetly caught the Librarian’s eye. The presumptuous windbag that called himself the Governor was most definitely a leech feasting off the planet’s industry, but at least he was a well informed leech, and, whether or not he meant to, he was already proving useful. Without words the two agreed that, for the moment, the Governor should be indulged.

“Would Hazen, Obberstein, and Andov know anything about this Montero, since it seems he is active in their cities?” Godwyn asked in passing as she let her eyes roll over the mural as if inspecting it.

“They’re responsible businessmen!” the Governor’s pitched voice followed after her. “It’s more then likely that they’d keep an eye on how he’s ruining their profits!”

“I’d like to speak with them,” Godwyn spun on her heels to face the Governor with an earnest look painted onto her face, though a similar look was not to be found on Assada.

“Why speak to them instead of going after Montero!?” he erupted noisily; “That bastard is the reason Tenantable is in the mess it is in!”

Hardly, Godwyn thought, but for the Governor’s sake she nodded her head in agreement.

“Exactly,” she said, “yet your own attempts of using force to bring down Montero seem to have failed, haven’t they? I would have more luck by investigating this man and bringing him down through careful planning than rushing in with more of your men for him to kill.”

Begrudgingly, Assada seemed to agree, though it was clear he wished he had come up with the idea instead of his guest.

“Keep in mind that these men are powerful people on Tenantable,” the governor warned, crossing one leg over the other while jabbing a cautionary finger at the Inquisitor and space marine, “they do not suffer lightly the interference of outsiders – even outsiders as renowned as the Inquisition.”

“Lightly or not, they will suffer it,” remarked Aquinas matter-of-factly, “though if the Governor wishes to minimize any disturbance that our investigation might cause, I would advise the Governor to summon these men to the capital in order for our investigation to proceed quickly and painlessly.”

Grumbling resentfully, the Governor downed the last of his drink and glared at the space marine with a sour eye. “You know this will go badly for me!?” he protested. “I know it is well within your right to demand such things of me, but you don’t bear the consequences of this like I do! No one likes to be hoodwinked into an interrogation!”

Without looking, Godwyn could tell that Brother Aquinas’ patience with the man was starting to grow thin as the very air in the room seemed to tighten around her and press down on her skin.

“I grow weary of your griping,” he said in a terrible whisper as he bore down upon the Governor with heavy strides until he was towering over the seated aristocrat like a battle tank looming over a babe. “You will help us – willing or otherwise. Do you understand?”

 

They did not leave the Governor’s palace until they had obtained his promise that he would aid them. With Aquinas’ help, it had not taken long.

[Lady_Canoness]

Part 4.

 

“How long has it been?”

“About… forty minutes now. Long enough, do you reckon?”

“Let’s find out.”

With a grating clang of metal against metal the door of interrogation room four swung outwards with a waft of stuffy air. The man occupying the solitary chair in the center of the small room looked up with a start. A cold sweat clung to his face and neck, and the radiance of his rich clothing was diminished by the restraints that bound his wrists and ankles against the chair’s steel frame. A bruise on his left cheek and a split lip indicated that he had struggled against the guards as they’d arrested him, though the fear in his eyes betrayed the surrender of whatever fighting spirit remained.

His name was Hazen.

“Who-who are you?” he asked with a sputtering cough as Godwyn entered the room with Sudulus close behind. “My name is Hazen – Geoffrey Hazen from City 13 – this has to be a mistake! I am here at the invitation of the Governor!”

A flash of reflected light drew Hazen’s attention from the woman’s face to the collar of her coat where a badge in the shape of an embossed skull superimposed upon a capital I was neatly fastened above the subtle curves of her chest.

He swallowed hard, and his eyes found his way back up into those of the Inquisitor that was standing over him.

“Wh-why have you arrested me?” he asked shakily, his voice cracking; “I’ve done nothing wrong!”

Arresting Hazen and the other two men mentioned in Strassen’s report had not been part of the original plan, though after witnessing the stringent dichotomy between the rich and poor on Tenantable, Godwyn thought it to her advantage to remove them from their comfort-zones. She didn’t plan to detain any of them for very long, though she had ordered for each one to be left in a subterranean interrogation cell to persuade them to be more cooperative during their questioning.

“Say something!” he almost pleaded with her as she slowly walked around behind him to where he could not see her.

Sudulus, in the corner to the right behind Hazen in the tiny room, waited in silence: the sleeves on his robe rolled up over his metal arms, and his right hand hovering over the keyboard built into his left forearm in preparation to record a transcript of the interrogation.

Godwyn stepped back in front of the man strapped to the chair and leaned closer to him until they were eye to eye and she could count the drips of sweat running down his nose and feel his hot breath on her face. His eyes were moving rapidly, and his heart-rate was increasing. The veins in his neck and forehead were thick with blood.

“Tell me of your involvement in the inner-city raids twenty-five years ago,” she said, breaking eye-contact and slowly turning her back on the man.

“I-I was asked to lend my house-troops to the PDF-corps. W-why?”

“How many troops did you send?”

“A-all that I had – two hundred, I-I think.”

“Who asked you to do this?”

“The l-late governor – Governor Van Andhra.”

“Why did you agree?”

“H-he told me I would receive Imperial subsidies and profits would increase if we held our gas stocks in surplus and used rebellion as an excuse to drive up the prices.”

“No mention of heresy?”

“What? N-no! He said that I could use my house guards to quash unionist descent in the labour districts, and that I would benefit from it.”

“Who were your allies?”

“Other private security forces, PDF, and… and an Inquisitor was involved, I think!”

“Did you ever see this Inquisitor?”

“N-no, not really. Only during strategy briefings, though I didn’t pay much attention. I was younger! I didn’t care so long as it paid off!”

“And this past year? Why did you commit your troops to more raids?”

“I-I heard that City 2 and City 4 were planning to raid again – to repeat the process of driving up the price of fuel and using rebellion as an excuse. I-I thought I could do it too, and I could profit from it.”

“Who advised you to do this?”

“Some of my staff – my economists – they advised me to do this! My profit margins were decreasing! I had to do it!”

The man was leaning forward in the chair and looking imploringly at the Inquisitor with fear-stricken eyes. “P-please…” he blubbered, but Godwyn was done listening to him.

She nodded to Sudulus. “We’re done here,” she said, and opened the door for her savant before giving the man one last look and following Sudulus out. The door banged shut behind her, leaving Hazen to his grief.

“See that he’s prosecuted by someone not on this planet,” she ordered, as her savant continued to make additional notations; “I don’t think the corruption and greed on this world ends with him.”

“Oh I do agree indeed, Inquisitor,” Sudulus said with a disappointed sigh. “The selfishness of men shames us all.”

Godwyn opened her mouth to reply but instead doubled up with a series of dry hacking coughs. The basement level of the Sable Adeptus Arbites precinct which Godwyn had commandeered for her interrogations was inundated with dust and mould which combined to wreak havoc on the Inquisitor’s chest and give her the constant sensation that her mouth was drying out. She was beginning to regret not bringing one of the re-breather helms from Meridian when last she had the chance.

“There, there Inquisitor,” Sudulus took her arm and gently kept her walking down the sparsely lit hall even as she washed spit down her dust-coated throat. Sudulus, for some reason, seemed impervious to the dust in the basement, though he made a point of soothing the Inquisitor with kindly words whenever the dust assailed her.

“Are you okay, Inquisitor?” Captain Striker came striding up the hall from behind them in the direction of the precinct. Striker, dressed in full combat armour had been standing guard at the basement entrance for the past hour, and had wisely elected to wear her fully sealed helmet which included an internal re-breather.

“She’ll be alright, Victoria,” Sudulus assured her just as Godwyn gave a final, deep cough, “she just needs to take things slowly from time to time.”

Striker shook her head. “Dammit Sudulus, she shouldn’t be down here…” she said in a muffled voice.

“No, I’m fine,” Godwyn insisted, righting herself and wiping a hand over her face and eyes before giving her head a shake; “A little cough isn’t enough to stop me from doing my duty.”

Behind her helmet she probably looked sceptical, but Striker didn’t contest the Inquisitor’s decision and returned to her post back down the hall, leaving Sudulus and Godwyn to proceed to interrogation room five. Their next person of interest was waiting.

 

Brother Aquinas was off to the side in a small observation room with his attention focused on the man on the other side of the glass when Godwyn entered. Being a space marine, Aquinas, like Sudulus, was untroubled by the conditions in the basement, though, unlike Sudulus, he wasn’t at all supportive when Godwyn succumbed to a coughing fit.

“This one will be less than cooperative,” he nodded towards Obberstein – the man strapped into the steel chair was glaring furiously towards the glass – “his arrogance has blinded him to reality.”

Obberstein had not resisted arrest, though Godwyn had been informed afterwards that he had not cooperated with the arresting officers and had done his utmost to belittle them as he was taken into custody. Like Hazen, he had no idea why he was here.

“With your permission, I think it would be wise if I conducted this interrogation,” Aquinas suggested; “I do not think we will get anything from him willingly.”

“What do you intend to do?” Godwyn asked as she studied the man on the opposite side of the glass. He was powerfully built and well dressed, with a crop of receding dark hair that rested above a tall forehead and a cruelly set face. He looked like a bully – a man used to getting his way and had enough wealth to prevent people from teaching him otherwise – and though she had only just set her eyes upon him, Godwyn could feel her own resentment for the man rising within her chest the longer she looked at him.

“I will draw out whatever information I deem necessary for our investigation to proceed,” Aquinas stated matter-of-factly in a quiet voice.

“If he resists?”

“He cannot.”

It was the answer she had been expecting. She nodded, stifling another dry cough as it rose in her throat. “Do what you will, Brother Librarian,” she said knowing full well that Aquinas would likely break the man during his interrogation: the first casualty in their hunt for Strassen.

 

Predictably, Obberstein had known little and resisted much. Last Godwyn saw of him, he was slumped over and drooling down his front with all light gone from his eyes. He had known nothing of Inquisitor Strassen’s involvement on Tenantable other than volunteering his private security forces, and knew nothing of Montero aside from the name.

“He was scum,” Aquinas said remorselessly as he shut the door on the broken man, “and his fate was justice delivered.”

Justice or not, Godwyn found her hope quickly fading. Strassen may well have had close ties to Tenantable a quarter-century ago, but she was finding nothing other to suggest he had set foot on the planet since then. The civil upheaval of the past could be just as it seemed: a repeated attempt by the ambitious and greedy that backfired on a large scale. Hope now rested in interrogation room six, strapped into a steel chair with her last lead from Strassen’s own records.

 

The man who was called Andov looked up with tired old eyes as the door to his cell creaked open. Unlike the other two, Andov was noticeably wizened, and carried none of the swagger that the others had. When the Arbites had surround his car on the way to the Governor’s Palace, he had come with them willingly and made no protestations of innocence as they locked him into the basement cell, and, other than dry coughing, had made no sound.

“Inquisitor,” he greeted her in a feeble voice as she entered, and tried to better straighten himself in the steel chair.

“You are well informed,” Godwyn replied, stepping aside from the door to let Sudulus pass and take up his position behind and to the right.

Andov seemed to shrug, though it was difficult to tell as he was tightly fastened to the chair. “I’ve had my share of interviews over my life,” he said, coughing slightly between words, “and the locals lack subtlety. I could only deduce that this meant someone else of high enough standing had ordered my arrest. Though I admit I don’t know why. Is my profiteering so well known as to draw the attention of the Inquisition?”

Godwyn wasn’t about to answer the question, and she doubted that he really expected her to, though wealth and power were known to draw one’s attention inward.

“Tell me about the raids twenty-five years ago,” she asked, ignoring the man and moving to his left where he could not properly see her unless he looked all the way around.

He coughed. Sudulus glanced over at Godwyn: this was going nowhere fast.

“I saw the opportunity to profit,” the man croaked between bursts of coughing, “and I took it. Dare-say I benefitted, as did my family on Panacea. I do not regret my participation despite what you must think of me. My family is well off because of it.”

“You assisted in the slaughter of thousands just for profit?”

Andov shook his head. “I siphon fuel from the planet’s crust. It is not my place to moralize of the lives of labourers. Their deaths were assured regardless of whether I abstained or participated. Either way their blood would have been on my hands, so I took the chance to benefit my family. Everyone on this planet is here to make as much money as they can to send home, and then leave as fast as they can afterwards. Everyone is after fortune. No-one wants to be trapped here.”

Eyes narrowing, Godwyn folded her arms and leaned her back against the concrete wall.

Unlike Hazen and Obberstein, who had maintained themselves through charisma and ruthlessness, Andov was quite intelligent and had likely maintained his business on Tenantable through cunning. Anticipating an Inquisitor who expected a resistant subject – and knowing that resistance would prove useless to him – Andov had done the opposite and presented himself as open and cooperative. By volunteering more information than was asked, he hoped to overwhelm the young Inquisitor’s questioning with unrevealing answers, and hopefully be released as having answered all questions satisfactorily. Unfortunately for Andov, Inquisitors were much better prepared than Arbites interrogators, and Godwyn knew what he was trying to do.

She decided to play along.

“If that is the case,” Godwyn frowned at the old man, “why are you still here after twenty-five years?”

“I’ve been here for eighty-four years,” Andov replied wearily. “Why stop now when there is still money to be made? My heirs will live well because of my being here.”

“What do you know of Montero?” Godwyn quickly changed the subject, stifling a cough in her hand and changing the subject to keep the Gas Baron off balance.

“Nothing about the man,” Andov admitted after a reflective pause, “but I think I know *of* him.”

He left it hanging, waiting for the Inquisitor to retrieve it.

“Go on,” she said.

“The courage to fight for our humanity – it’s what we all aspire to, isn’t it?” he continued, gently coughing as the Inquisitor circled behind him.

“I would hardly call that knowing him, Andov.”

Coughing again, Andov sputtered several words in agreement. “I know, Inquisitor,” he managed, “though unlike my contemporaries,” he looked up at the Inquisitor as she came round to stand in front of him, “I pay attention to the local culture. Montero is the name given to a great leader in the indigenous creation myth.”

Hoping that he’d found some purchase in the Inquisitor’s interest, he stopped and looked up at her almost expectantly with his ancient face.

“A story and a revolutionary that so happen to share the same name is hardly compelling,” she chastised him, “I need more than that.”

For a minute Andov said nothing, and Godwyn fancied she could almost see him turning the thought of bartering with the Inquisitor over and over in his head – whether or not he should try to use his next words to secure his release – though ultimately, and wisely, he decided against it.

“The priesthood of City 4 started a program of using indigenous imagery to inspire the labour population,” Andov explained. “I don’t know the details of their teachings, though I do believe City 4 was the only city to attempt such a practice…”

From the corner, Sudulus caught the Inquisitor’s eye.

“… could be one of the Ecclesiarchy clerics in City 4 would know the man himself. So far as I know, the priests did not abandon their flock when the PDF cordoned off the labour districts.”

Moving closer to look the man dead in the eye, Godwyn asked her next question: “Did you know of anyone else who may have entered City 4 for reasons other than business?”

Andov’s eyes were steady. No fear. No emotion. No haste. “I do not pay attention to such things.”

 

* *

 

While Andov’s answers had not been particularly forthright or helpful to Godwyn’s investigation, less than a day after being in the dusty Arbites basement they found themselves out in the brilliant Tenantable sunshine with a strong wind blowing in their faces as they set out in a commandeered PDF chimera to cross the southern flat-lands on a five day journey to City 4.

The facts were unclear, but Andov suggested that City 4 could have been the site of initial problems on Tenantable and cause the escalation of violence a year ago. Sketchy at best, but they had already exhausted their scant resources on Tenantable and needed to pursue every lead possible unless they were willing to restart their search from scratch somewhere else. It was a desperate plan, but desperate was better than no plan at all.

Naturally, Governor Assada had been beside himself with rage when Godwyn had approached him with the request for transport and a liaison in City 4. Word of Godwyn’s arrest and extradition orders for two Gas Barons and the brain-death of a prominent industrialist had obviously filtered back to him.

“You said you were going to bloody talk to them!” Assada had bellowed, his face pink with rage as he smashed his balled fists into the various items arranged across his desk and sent them flying about his office. “But instead you bloody ruined them!”

“They were criminals under Imperial Law and deserving of their fate,” Godwyn had calmly informed him as the Governor continued to demolish his office possessions. What she didn’t tell him was that, as soon as she had no more use for him, she fully intended to have the Governor investigated and found guilty as well.

Despite the Governor’s protestations, however, he had acquiesced to her will and arranged the transport and provisions for her journey to City 4, as well as supposedly sending word to the PDF forces deployed in City 4 to arrange a liaison for her arrival. The chimera had not been the ideal choice of transports, but given the difficulties of flying to the poles and the fact that most of the infrastructure of the polar industrial cities was largely inoperable due to sedition, a direct rout across the flat-lands was the most reliable choice.

So it was that Lee, Striker, Godwyn and Aquinas spent five days forging across the endless plains and five nights sleeping under the stars until, on the dawn of the sixth day, they saw the low-lying silhouette of City 4 rising over the horizon.

“I bet Sudulus wishes he was here now,” Striker, sitting on the cabin-top of the chimera with her legs dangling over the side, half-shouted across to Godwyn who was leaning on the side of the vehicle’s turret. “He’d finally get to actually see what he studied.”

Taking her eyes off the first thing they’d seen on the horizon in days, Godwyn walked back to her bodyguard and sat down beside her on the roaring and shuddering tank.

“I think that’s why he didn’t come,” she shouted back, thinking of Sudulus’ request to stay in Sable with the Meridian instead of accompanying them to City 4. She had honoured his request as her savant shied away from the threat of danger, but also because she thought he didn’t want to see all the human tragedies he’d read about with his own eyes.

“What do you mean?” the Captain asked, squinting against the rushing wind and brilliant sun as the shirt of her grey fatigues flapped around her.

Godwyn looked towards the city. “I think he knows what we’ll find there.”

 

 

Their chimera ground to a halt at around noon local time in the base camp of the City 4 North Gate Garrison in what appeared to be a repurposed parking-lot surrounded by run-down residential blocks.

‘Welcome to C4NGG’ a makeshift sign proclaimed from where it sat at the foot of a hastily erected perimeter fence, though some scoundrel had crossed out the base’s designation with an ink pen and scrawled the word ‘s***-hole’ in its place. Unfortunately the artist’s assessment wasn’t too far off, and the designation ‘army camp’ didn’t make as much sense as ‘refugees-with-guns camp’.

After a year of running skirmishes with no support and no orders other than to sit and wait for Emperor-knows-what, the camp had turned into a staging ground for anyone who didn’t want to be in the slums with the rebels, and didn’t want to flee into the flat-lands and get shot as a deserter. Tanks, portable field guns, light recce units and a mishmash of everything else seemed to call C4NGG home, though there didn’t seem to be any uniform or organization to the camp; simply bedraggled looking men wearing whatever they wanted wandering around carrying autoguns, while vehicles that hadn’t moved in months were piled high with sand-bags, corrugated metal sheets, and other odds-and-ends to turn them into a cross between living-spaces and static defences against the foreboding greyness of the smouldering city beyond the wire. Morale was so low Godwyn figured she could dig it out of a puddle with a cup, and not a single word of greeting met them as they dismounted from the chimera onto the rubble-strewn ground.

“Bloody ‘ell,” Lee mumbled as he stepped out of the tank and straightened-out his trousers, he was looking around the camp in wide-eyed wonder. A maniacal smile spread onto his face; “jus’ add a lil’ mo’ cheer and this is my typ’a place! Fine upstandin’ gents all ‘round – my kinda people!”

Climbing out after him, Captain Striker, clad in her black storm-trooper armour and with her hellgun tucked under her arm, gave the camp the type of look one would typically reserve for a trash heap.

“I’d be careful with your ‘type’ of people, Lee,” she warned the pilot as he stood by the tank and admired the view, “these guys look like they’ve seen a lot of s*** in the past year.”

Unfazed, the pilot gave a little shrug. “So? I’ve seen m’ share of you squattin’ besi’ the tank,” he said, looking over his shoulder at her and cracking a defensive grin; “figure I’ve seen s’m s*** too,” he snickered.

The storm trooper Captain flicked the activation rune on her gun, making the high-powered tri-beam hellgun emit a menacing hum as it powered up. “Just remember who’s going to be watching your back, huh?” she hissed at him, flicking off the weapon and shoving him back against the tank before stalking away towards the towering form of Brother Aquinas.

“Oh I do, Vicky,” he murmured after her with a smile as he straightened his flight-jacket. “I do.”

 

The command post of C4NGG was as deserving of the title as the camp was of ‘garrison’. Built into a repurposed parlour-space with torn-shag carpets and stained, peeling wallpaper, it was obvious that officers of the camp had not suffered like their men, simply because there weren’t any. The command post was deserted. None of the equipment was turned on or perhaps even functional; papers were scattered about the floor – though it was apparent that someone had been trying to tidy them up into neater piles – and numerous chairs had been overturned and upended. Walking around, it felt as if the men outside were mere stand-ins, and that the real forces had retreated months ago.

“This planet is hopeless!” Aquinas spat, sounding genuinely annoyed as nearby Captain Striker dipped her gloved finger into a cup of caffeine and felt it against her cheek: stone cold. “This world would be done a favour if it were scoured clean and allowed to start anew!”

Aquinas’ disgust at what he was seeing was not lost on the Inquisitor. Suddenly Strassen’s motivations seemed that much clearer: he had resolved to set this world right in whatever way he could, though, pitiably, his madness prevented him from doing it effectively.

The Librarian promptly batted a chair across the room with end of his staff so that it crashed against the far wall.

“Can I help you?”

A man’s voice made the three of them turn to where a tall man in a sullied commissar’s coat and tall officer’s cap stood in the doorway with an autogun slung over his shoulder. Like the men outside, his face was dirty and his clothes hadn’t been properly washed in weeks, yet the man still held himself with dignity and pride which shone through to the surface regardless of how unkempt he appeared.

“Who are you?” Godwyn asked, slowly walking in his direction from across the room.

His eyes flickered away from the space marine and black-armoured storm trooper towards the Inquisitor.

“Commissar Markus Grant, attaché to the Commanding Officer of the City 4 North Gate Garrison,” the Commissar replied, removing his cap to reveal the head of slicked-back sand-coloured hair that sat atop his long, angular face, and placing it on a nearby table.

“I’ll assume that with a space marine in your ranks that you are friendly” he said, laying the autogun down beside his cap, “and that you’re new in town,” he briefly removed his blue eyes from the Inquisitor as he drew an ornamental and lovingly cared for sabre from its scabbard under his coat and placed it beside the autogun, “and that you’re looking for someone in charge of this pithy slice of paradise.”

Several paces away, Striker rested her heavy weapon against one of the tables scattered around the parlour with a loud thump and cocked her eyebrows in an impressed motion.

“And where is your commanding officer?” Godwyn asked as the Commissar folded his coat over the back of a chair and proceeded to wash his face and hands in a metal basin of water that sat against the wall.

“Might I ask who is inquiring?” he splashed more water on his face and rubbed his long-fingered hands over his cheeks.

“The Holy Inquisition. I am Inquisitor Godwyn.”

He stopped and let the water pass from his hands back into the basin. Still stooped over, he looked at her. “There is no commanding officer, Inquisitor – the last commander, Lieutenant Spiel, resigned his commission.”

 

Commissar Grant invited them into a small courtyard behind the command post where he said they could speak without risk of being overheard. Strewn with rubble and debris and overlooked by three levels of clearly looted residential suites, the courtyard looked as hopeless as the rest of the camp.

“When the raids first started everyone thought it would be a short operation over in a matter of days,” Grant began, finding an overturned refrigerator unit to sit on and motioning the others to do likewise, though Aquinas remained standing. “The rebel counter-attack caught us by surprise and rattled a few nerves, but at that point field commanders still had the stomach to fight.”

“So what went wrong?” asked Striker as she sat herself down on an overturned flower-pot and rested her hellgun across her knees.

“The enemy was a lot better equipped and prepared than expected,” Grant explained, “they were good at ambushing our armoured vehicles and disabling them, and the field commanders were cowed by the thought of more casualties. Orders told us to withdraw and hold a perimeter, which we did, though soon the senior officers started to be reassigned by their friends in high places to other cities, and soon after that the orders stopped all together.”

“And you did not seek reassignment?” Aquinas enquired in his usual hushed tone though it was the first time he had opened his mouth to the Commissar.

Striker looked put-off by the question – as if Aquinas was second-guessing Grant’s soldier’s honour and by extension questioning her own – yet Godwyn knew his question was genuine: it took a man of exceptional courage to spend a year in hell when safety was just words away.

“I was assigned to this world only weeks before the raids started and didn’t have time to make friends in high places,” the Commissar replied in a steady tone and meeting the Librarian’s eyes defiantly, “something of which I can assure you I am now thankful for. I associate myself with this planet by duty, sire, not by choice.”

“That is commendable,” Godwyn inclined her head towards the Commissar, stealing his gaze back from the Librarian, “though I’m afraid there will be no more orders. The situation is deteriorating planet-wide. You and the men with you are on your own with whoever else is in this city.”

If the news surprised him he hid it well. Tilting his cap back, the Commissar rubbed his forehead and sighed. “I suspected as much,” he said despairingly, looking briefly at the ground between his feet before pursing his lips and looking back at the Inquisitor; “the men here are mutinous at best, though if you’re here,” he looked at each one as if confirming that they were really who they appeared to be, “I will do whatever I can to be of assistance.”

Aquinas was clearly not convinced by the Commissar’s offer, though Striker glanced from the Commissar to the Inquisitor agreeably, and rose to her feet as if Godwyn had already accepted his invitation for air and was ready to move.

“Why do you want to help me?” Godwyn asked, ignoring her companions and giving the Commissar the focus of her attention.

Grant levelled with the Inquisitor. “It’s my duty,” he said, “and I would do myself dishonour by refusing aid to the Emperor’s servants in a place like this.”

 

The Commissar’s duty aside, Grant had operational knowledge of the city’s layout and knew exactly where they could go safely and where they could not. While the rest of the men of C4NGG sat around waiting for an attack, Grant routinely patrolled several outlying areas, alone and with no way to call for back-up, to watch for enemy movements.

Bringing out a well-worn map of the city and laying it flat across one of the tables in the command post, he then pointed out the Inquisitor and her companions how best they could infiltrate the slums of City 4.

“If you want to look for a priest, you’re best bet would be at the church, though taking your chimera into the city would be suicide,” the commented; “they’ve destroyed armoured vehicles here – here – and here,” he pointed to three separate southbound roads leading from C4NGG, “and the untested roads are all well within audible range of these locations.”

He turned the map ninety-degrees and drew their attention to a small ink-marked structure to the west. “This is a small sewer outlet not a kilometre west of here,” he tapped the map with his index finger. “I’ve been down here several times and never seen any evidence of enemy usage.” He traced his finger down the marked sewer line into the city; “And it can take us a lot deeper into the city that we could otherwise go undetected.”

Captain Striker was already shaking her head, however. “It’s too obvious,” the storm trooper said, looking around at the others; “they will have it staked out meter by meter and be expecting an attack.”

“I appreciate that you’re an elite operative, Captain, and that these tactics are second nature to you, but these people aren’t soldiers” the Commissar explained; “They know about it, true, but they never go down there if they can avoid it. If anything, they’ll be keeping an eye on some of the exits.”

Unappeased, Striker was still shaking her head. “Even I can’t fight my way out of a killing ground like that, soldiers or no,” she protested; “its way too exposed.”

“The Commissar’s plan is sound,” Aquinas interjected, running his own gauntleted hand along the map; “we face one potential killing ground, or scores.”

“We’re not space marines – ” the Captain began to protest earnestly, but the Librarian cut her off:

“No, but you can still trust a space marine,” he said with finality.

“Brother Aquinas is right,” Godwyn added, overruling the concern’s of her bodyguard. “If we exit the sewers here,” she pointed to the another marker on the map deeper into the city, “we can make the next three-hundred meters under the cover of these warehouse districts, and approach the church from the east,” she double tapped on a small icon four kilometres from their current position.

“Exit strategy?” the Commissar proposed.

“If all goes well, we won’t need one,” Godwyn replied.

[Lady_Canoness]

Hot off the press (meaning there may be typos that slipped the net) comes part 5 of the Inquisition!

 

*part 5*

 

A blanket of cloud had slipped over the sky and smothered out the sun by the time Godwyn, Striker, and Aquinas followed the Commissar out of camp and into the tangle of shattered homes, twisted ruins, and abandoned lots of suburban City 4. Six hundred thousand people used to call the city home, but now the only sound came from the wind gusting through broken windows and smashed walls of ruined lives. Four kilometres in the distance, far and away from the low-lying remains of the outlying habs, were the ominous shadows of the industrial slums, where the lowest of the low on Tenantable had lived and died for years before making it their strong-hold. Grant guessed their numbers to be in the tens of thousands for armed resistance, though he thought it likely that many more were simply trying to make a life for themselves free from the back-breaking labour they had been born into.

After fifteen minutes of setting out they found the sewer entrance: a large uncovered concrete basin set into the ground with a tunnel large enough for a stooped man leading away from it was what City 4 called a sewer system. No one seemed to care where the garbage went so long as it wasn’t in plain view.

Jumping down into the filth-stained basin amidst scattered piles of dried garbage, Striker flicked on the lamp-attachment of her hellgun and shone it down the tunnel. After a couple moments she signalled that it was clear.

Jumping in after Striker and drawing her heavy pistol from its holster, looking down the sewer tunnel gave Godwyn the distinct impression that she was looking into something’s intestines, which of course brought on another thought that she quickly dispelled as distasteful.

“Mind your footing and the smell,” Grant gave them a heads-up, “this is the last place you want to trip.”

“Yes,” Godwyn agreed, wrinkling her nose, “it certain does have a distinctive odour.” Distinctive was an understatement: she’s smelled field latrines better than this.

Captain Striker, wearing her heavy armour and full helmet that thankfully negated the majority of the sewers unpleasantness took point with her hellgun. The storm trooper’s commando training meant that she was adept at fighting in close-quarters environments, and her weapons and armour were ideally suited for taking foes head on in confined spaces.

Second came Commissar Grant with his autogun un-slung and held at the ready in a covering position. He followed Striker closely and, still wearing his brimmed cap as well as his storm coat, offered advice as was needed, though he was careful in not telling the storm trooper how to do her job.

Godwyn followed the Commissar by a few paces with her pistol drawn but otherwise was unarmoured and wore her long, black coat with her badge of office pinned to her chest. The pistol itself was formidable and boasted six magazine-fed large-calibre bullets and an eleven inch barrel for increased accuracy at longer ranges, and had proved its worth numerous times. Like most of her prized possessions, however, the pistol was a gift from her former mentor, and so far as she knew he still carried the weapon’s twin.

Behind the Inquisitor, Brother Aquinas, barely managing to fit through the sewers in his bulky power armour, brought up the rear. Since leaving the camp, the Librarian had said virtually nothing, though Godwyn saw this as a good sign as he was no doubt using his other-worldly senses to detect any danger they might face.

 

“Hold!” Striker hissed and held up a clenched fist.

“What is it?” the Commissar looked over her shoulder as the Captain knelt to inspect something in the light from her lamp.

The four of them had been walking through the sewers following Grant’s directions for about forty minutes, though the Commissar had initially estimated it would take them twice that amount of time to reach the exit near the church.

“Trip-wire,” Striker held the light down to a thread that stretched across the tunnel between two unremarkable lumps of garbage.

“Good catch, Captain,” the Commissar gave her a congratulatory pat on the shoulder-plate of her armour, then reached past her into the small heap of garbage and extracted a soda can with several pebbles inside. “I put that there to make sure no one came down this way – and to scare them into going no further if they did.”

“You’d find a mine a little more effective,” she replied, her helmet vox giving her voice a particularly blunt edge as she stood back up.

“I’ll keep that in mind. Lead on.”

“Wait.”

It was Aquinas who had spoken. Crouched behind them in the tunnel with his eyes closed, the Librarian held up the palm of his hand and motioned for them to stay where they were.

“Forty feet forward, turn to your left, sixty feet down, turn to your right. Someone is there.”

The rest of them looked back and forth between one another in silent alarm.

“I thought no-one was down here?” Godwyn murmured, looking through the darkness at the Commissar.

He shook his head, at a loss.

“He is armed,” Aquinas continued his voice perfectly calm as he consulted his second-sight. “I will keep him occupied for as long as I am able. Whatever you do, do quickly and quietly.”

“Striker!” Godwyn whispered, and jerked her head down the tunnel.

She nodded and gently clipped her hellgun into a fitting on her backpack before drawing a black-bladed combat knife in a silent motion and setting off down the narrow corridor at a quick pace.

Forty feet forward. She disappeared to the left. The tunnel was a blur in the green tint of her visor as her feet carried her forward one well-placed step at a time – the knife steady in her hand and her heart beating in her throat as every nerve sharpened to a keen edge. Pressing her back to the wall sixty feet down the left-hand corridor, she peered to her right.

A man sat huddled against the sewer wall, a weathered rifle held loosely in his hands, and his face turned up towards Striker. His eyes were blank and his stare was empty as his lips gently moved between shallow breaths.

She cut his throat without a thought.

Aquinas opened his eyes. “It is done. We can proceed.”

Striker reappeared up ahead, her hellgun once more in her hands.

Grant looked back at the Librarian. “I’ve never seen anything like that…” he said breathlessly with a look of wide-eyed amazement written all over his face.

“I am no common soldier, Markus Grant,” the Librarian shrugged off the attention, “let us move on.”

 

 

They made good time through the rest of the sewers, and it was not long until the Commissar consulted his map in the lamp-light and announced their exit was near. Carefully they drew closer until, around a bend, they saw a shaft of white light penetrating the darkness.

“Here we are,” Grant stated in a low voice, crouching to one side of the fork in the sewer-tunnel so he, Godwyn, and Striker could all clearly see the exit and the light coming from the city above.

Behind them, being unable to squeeze closer like his lightly armoured companions, Aquinas closed his eyes and stretched out his perceptions.

“There are people up above,” Aquinas murmured, “though I cannot tell if they can see the sewer exit from where they stand.”

“How many are there?” Striker asked, peering down the tunnel though all she could see was the trash-littered basin at the terminus.

“Twenty-three within my sight against the background of the city… their minds are moving quickly… I will not be able to control them all.”

“How many could you control?” Godwyn turned to consult the Librarian.

“A few… perhaps a dozen…” he opened his eyes, the otherworldly light fading in them as he did so, “though it is not worth the attempt.”

“Then we do this the old fashioned way,” Grant said biting his lip. “Good.”

“I’ll go first then,” Godwyn proposed, netting a questioning eyebrow from the Commissar, “I’m the least conspicuous of us.” She made to step past her three uniformed companions, but Striker caught her arm.

“Inquisitor, if you die this mission is over. I’ll go first.”

Creeping towards the opening, the storm trooper Captain checked her corners and stepped out into the garbage pit – her black armour suddenly visible in the daylight as she looked up and around before signalling the all clear.

Advancing, Godwyn saw that they had emerged onto a shaded dead-end street flanked by a broken-down warehouse on either side. Grant pulled out a pocket compass and consulted his map – turning it a few times to get his bearings.

“We’re about three hundred yards east of the church,” he looked up at the surrounding warehouses and stabbed his hand to the right. “That way!” he said in a hushed voice.

Stryker vaulted up onto the curb and scanned over the road with her hellgun. They were in the slums alright. Garbage and shattered debris was everywhere in such quantities that it would likely prove good cover in a fire-fight, and the stain of desperate living was obvious on the poorly maintained brick buildings around them. Godwyn climbed up after her and took partial-cover behind a bullet-chewed dumpster that looked as if it had survived numerous engagements.

“Where are these people, Brother Aquinas?” Striker asked, still sighting down her weapon to where their road opened into a larger street. “Didn’t you say there were more than twenty up here?”

As if to answer her question, they heard the low rumbling of a diesel engine growing nearer in the road ahead.

“To cover!” the Space Marine hissed and ducked behind the dumpster with Godwyn as Grant laid himself flat amidst the loose trash along the pavement.

“I don’t see any doors into this building!” Striker snarled about the warehouse beside her from where she hid behind the rusting hulk of a civilian automobile. They were about forty feet from the main road, but Striker was right; the westward building had no doors – windows on the third floor, but no ground-level access. Looking behind them, Godwyn spotted a large sturdy-looking double-door another sixty feet back, but would they have time to run to it?

The noise of the engine grew louder, and with it came the sound of voices shouting, and a very distinctive girl’s scream.

“Stay hidden,” Godwyn heard Aquinas say from beside her in a cautionary tone.

She thought not, and trusted the Space Marine’s confidence in remaining hidden.

The sound of shouting grew closer and the girl screamed again, suddenly appearing into view as a blur as the young woman dashed into the alleyway at full speed. Three armed men came running after her, shouting and menacing her with weapons. At her frantic pace she tripped and stumbled – one of the men grabbing her and pinning her to a wall as the others looked on with raucous shouts.

Grant cautiously lifted his head for a better view of the unfolding violence. “Oh Emperor no…” he mouthed.

Pleading, the woman tried in vain to defend herself as the man tore at her clothing and forced himself against her as the other two shouted and jeered.

Striker tensed behind her cover – her fingers gripping at her hellgun and almost shaking in anger as the woman screamed and screamed.

“Godwyn…” Aquinas was cautioning her, but it was too late. She’d seen enough.

Standing tall and stepping out from behind her cover, Godwyn’s pistol was drawn and sighted, and the two onlookers barely registering her as the pistol roared in her fist. The gun jerked back against her outstretched arm as the heavy bullet caught the beater sideways between the shoulder-blades and cannoned him off his feet.

Striker opened up fast – the distinctive wail of the her hellgun shattering the air as burst of energy beams tore open the chest of one of the onlookers and dropped him to the ground before she pulled her aim over the other and took his head off in an explosion of red.

Grant was on his feet, autogun raised and ready.

The girl, painted in the blood of her tormentors, screamed and made a mad dash for the street.

Aquinas was livid, but towards what he did not say.

The diesel truck suddenly appeared in the opening of the alley – armed men piling out as a crude pintle-mount swivelled in their direction.

“To the wall! Go!”

With the force of his mind, Aquinas punched a hole clean through the brick wall of the building beside them in a burst of psychic energy. Striker opened up down the street – a burst of fire tagging the gunner off the vehicle as he brought his weapon around.

“Inside! Inside!” Aquinas bellowed at them, forcing Grant, Godwyn and finally Striker through the breach as enemy fire began to rain and ricochet around them. “Leave these ones to me!”

Stumbling through the breach, the warehouse was a hollow expanse with three levels of bare-metal catwalks reaching up from a main-floor cluttered with scrapped machinery to the bare-rafters of a decaying ceiling.

“Up! Up!” Striker shouted as her armoured boots pounded up a caged stairwell with Godwyn close on her heels.

Outside, Aquinas blasted the truck end-over-end into the street and charged after his companions into the breach.

“Enemy contact at the door!” Grant’s cry of warning carried up over the machinery as he threw himself flat behind an overturned section of conveyor belt as the large front door of the warehouse was flung open and a flurry of shots screamed over his head and crashed into the debris around him.

From above, Striker returned fire – shredding the wooden door off its hinges and blowing chunks out of the brick as the firer disappeared back outside.

Grant was pumping fire from his autogun blindly over cover in the direction of the doors and sending chunks of brick cascading to the ground as another enemy snapped blind shots back at him with a pistol.

“I have them now!”

His eyes burning with power, Aquinas pulled both enemies in the doorway clear of their cover and floated them into the open – Striker ripping into both and sending them to the ground like torn marionettes.

In the street, the rebels had somehow recovered their truck, and with a tremendous *smash* rammed it through the doorway and sent bricks and dust flying as it cleared a path for the rebel fighters to pour onto the warehouse floor.

Striker was firing instantly and tore two rebel fighters to ribbons as they dashed through the open before ducking back behind the scant protection of an iron girder as bullets screamed back in response.

Reloading his autogun, Granted quickly popped back up and fired off a burst – catching a rebel in the arm and spinning him to the ground before the Commissar threw himself flat to avoid the retaliation.

From above him, Godwyn pinged a heavy bullet off a skewed metal table as an enemy fighter ducked behind it. The pistol roared again and cleaved his head in two as he tried to return fire.

At the door, the truck exploded back into the street and caught fire as Aquinas unleashed his psychic might once again and finally destroyed the ramshackle vehicle.

“Keep moving! Keep moving!” Godwyn heard herself shouting as she dashed across the overhanging catwalk to break line of sight with shooters below. Grant was firing off more bursts from his autogun as he fell back towards the Librarian who was sending the rebels ducking for cover with shots from a bolt pistol.

Striker stepped back out from cover and mercilessly gunned down a rebel cowering by the doorway before spraying fire over the heads of the last two rebels that sheltered behind the conveyor belt that Grant had previously abandoned. Losing their nerve, and likely their bowels, the remaining two rebels tried to bolt – only to be cut down by all four guns trained on their position.

After just over a minute of intense fighting the weapons-fire suddenly dropped off.

The silence was deafening.

Godwyn lowered her pistol, ejecting the spent mag with and pocketing it before loading another. It was only then that she noticed her hands were shaking and that her heart was still hammering in her chest. The flow of adrenaline was beginning to abate, leaving her head and body with a fluttering sensation as if she had just sprinted a mile. It never got any easier… at least not yet; part of her didn’t know if she ever wanted fighting to feel natural.

She didn’t see Captain Striker standing in front of her until the storm trooper’s hand was holding her tightly by the shoulder.

“Inquisitor, are you alright? Are you hit?”

“I’m okay,” Godwyn said as her body guard gave her a cursory look over before nodding and clapping her on the arm.

She wasn’t about to explain to the veteran how she quailed in a fire-fight, at least not yet.

“We’ve got to keep moving,” Striker said, leading the Inquisitor back down to the warehouse floor, “otherwise we’ll have the whole damn city coming down around us.”

 

Breaking open a boarded door, Aquinas led them from the corpse-strewn warehouse and further into adjacent buildings. The brief fire-fight had stirred up a whole nest of activity in the slums of City 4. Using his psychic awareness, however, the Librarian was able to guide them through the dilapidated slum buildings and down decaying side-streets to avoid the scattered rebel search parties.

Following close behind the Librarian, Grant was diligently checking his map and keeping them moving in the general direction of the church, though between weaving down long detours and sitting tight as the slum-dwellers searched high and low through the buildings around them, it was taking them far longer to reach it than anticipated.

 

“It should be just down this street and to the left at the corner,” Godwyn speculated as she checked the map before carefully peering through a smashed window at the now quiet alleyway outside.

They had been sheltering in a dusty old repair shop for several minutes now as everyone took a well earned breather and waited for the cover of nightfall before pressing onto the church. They hadn’t seen any armed rebels for a while now, and Aquinas had confirmed that the fever-pitch of activity was starting to die down as most of the slum dwellers assumed their unknown attackers had made good on their escape, yet it was still a couple hours from nightfall and the danger of being spotted was great. One yell, gunshot, or cry of alarm and the city-center would likely come alive all over again in a search that would not end for hours.

“What are the rules for engagement when we do reach the church, Inquisitor?” Grant asked from where he sat behind the service counter in an old wooden swivel chair as he folded up his map and tucked it back in the pocket of his storm coat.

Sitting on the stairway to an upper floor with her helmet removed as she cleaned her hellgun, Captain Striker also looked up; the same question had been on her mind for some time.

“We’re trying to avoid another fight,” Godwyn explained to them, though from where he stood against the back wall Aquinas appeared to be listening too. “We’re looking for a priest who might know about Montero, and with that in mind we should be avoiding conflict where possible.”

“What happens if they won’t cooperate?” Grant asked in a concerned tone.

“They will cooperate,” Aquinas whispered from behind them.

“Are you implying that – ?”

“Yes.”

The Commissar looked aghast. “Against a member of the Imperial Ecclesiarchy?”

“As is warranted by the Inquisition, yes,” the Space Marine fixed him with his penetrating eyes. “Remember that the foes of the Inquisition cannot be fought by regiments of men, and that all that is done in the name of the Emperor is justified.”

Grant shut his mouth, though he still looked highly perturbed. “I never thought of it that way,” he said, rubbing his forehead beneath the brim of his cap as he looked at the floor.

Godwyn wouldn’t have put it quite so bluntly, but at the same time she knew that Aquinas was right: the duty of the Inquisition must supersede all loyalty and morality in the pursuit of the Emperor’s will – it had to be done that way no matter how difficult it was to accept, or how difficult it was to enact.

 

The two hours to nightfall passed quietly with no disturbance from outside their hiding place, though the cover of darkness was not as welcoming as Cassandra Godwyn would have liked it to be. The two hours had seen her alone on the upper level, sitting on an old mattress and staring into the darkness as her companions remained below, whispering amongst themselves.

For the most part she thought of Strassen, her old mentor, and relived the memories of the time she had spent studying under him. He had been kind in his own way, and fair and just: she’d looked up to him the moment she’d heard of him. To think of such a man going mad was… unbearable. He had been wise, cunning, and brilliantly intelligent. Nothing escaped his notice, and no reasoning was beyond his comprehension.

She found herself asking how it could have happened: how could it be possible that her mentor had succumbed to a madness that made him turn his back on his duties and responsibilities? Turn his back on her.

Last time she had seen him they had met as equals – Inquisitors both; guardians of the Emperor’s realm. The look of pride she’d seen in his eyes had been so intense that she had felt as if she could almost feel it growing inside her.

Could that man really be gone?

What if she found him here?

No, she shook her head at the thought; he was not Montero, but if he wasn’t did she really want to keep looking for him? She had to. It was duty, nothing more.

She stood up, pulled on her coat, and fastened the Inquisitorial rosette.

Time to go.

 

Asking Captain Striker and Commissar Grant to remain behind and keep watch for them, Inquisitor Godwyn and Brother Aquinas crept into the darkness of City 4 only to find the streets empty, and that no-one answered at the door to the Imperial Shrine.

“It looks abandoned, and I sense no-one inside,” Aquinas mused as he inspected the church and looked both ways down the empty streets.

Godwyn backed up a few paces and craned her neck to look up at the church’s steeple. It was customary in Ecclesiarchal practice to proclaim the Faith so long as an edifice was sanctified for worship by the Emperor’s faithful so that all might know when they set foot upon holy ground. This was typically done by hanging the crest of the Imperial Eagle – the Aquila – from the church’s steeple, and removing it only when the ministorum priests no longer considered the ground sacred. She had heard of priests sacrificing themselves to leave the Aquila in place, and likewise refusing to abandon a shrine until the Aquila was removed. Indeed, the tenets of the Imperial Creed did proclaim that it was the holy duty of the faithful to see that the Aquila was never falsely represented, and never defiled.

Looking now up at the church’s steeple, Godwyn could just see the Aquila amidst the darkness – its golden winds catching the last of the light like a beacon of hope, and Godwyn found herself smiling as she saw it.

“No,” she said as much to the Librarian as to herself as she pushed on the door, “someone left the Aquila here.”

The heavy wooden doors of the church were unbarred and swung slowly inwards with a low whine, but the interior of the church was pitch-black and released a foul waft of stale air and rot.

The Space Marine wrinkled his nose distastefully, then stepped inside and motioned for the Inquisitor to wait behind. Making nary a sound as he walked over the threshold, the Deathwatch Librarian whispered a few words and tapped his force staff against the flagstone floor; calling a thin blue light to the eagle head of his staff that cast a faint glow into the darkness around him. In casting back the darkness, however, the Librarian’s light revealed the same extent of decay nesting in Imperial shrine as was found elsewhere in the slums. Dust-covered pews were scatter haphazardly around the nave as if a great deluge of bodies had forced its way through the holy edifice, and dirt and grime coated the floors to show the continues passage of feet down the now defunct aisle. Waste was everywhere and looked as if it had been deliberately cast about, and, walking towards the alter side-by-side with the Librarian, Godwyn could see that even the pulpits had been ransacked and the lectern was overturned. Human filth and excrement was everywhere.

Aquinas stopped before the alter, noticing that the Imperial Aquila placed upon it was now lopsided, and turned towards the young Inquisitor. “You still think men of faith tend this shrine to the Immortal Emperor?” he asked.

Godwyn had no answer for him.

Rebellion? That she had accepted to believe. Civil upheaval? Revolution? That too she could see at work on Tenantable. But heresy?

“This is no revolt against the Emperor’s Will,” Aquinas corrected her, as if reading her thoughts, “for as you can see they did not dare defile the Emperor’s Aquila.” He stepped up to the alter and gently set the icon upright, then stepping back and inclining his head towards it. “This is a heresy born of ignorance and anger. They do not understand the magnitude of their crime.”

“Come,” he led her to a small stair-well behind the chancel, “I believe we will find more answers further inside.”

Aquinas likely knew what he was looking for – records or remains of some kind – for he led the Inquisitor past numerous closed doors and dark corridors into the basement of the church until he came upon a door partially open and ducked inside. Godwyn followed only to find a long-dead priest lying in what had likely been his room.

“It is as I suspected,” Aquinas said as if confirming some earlier perception as Godwyn joined him in the tiny room. Apparently shot in the throat and left to rot, the priest had likely been dead for months and at the mercy of the flies and the maggots and the other critters of City 4.

“He died opening the door,” Godwyn commented, examining the position of the body on the floor as the Librarian moved around the desiccated corpse to inspect the rest of the room.

“Not what one would expect from a looter, is it?” he said, flipping through a small leather-bound book that he had picked up from the bedside table.

It wasn’t, and, taking her attention off the body, Godwyn noticed that the priest’s room didn’t look disturbed at all. She mentioned this to the Librarian.

“Very curious, isn’t it?” he nodded, flipping through the book in the light from his staff. “This is the late brother’s diary,” he commented; “it looks as if he kept a daily journal.”

“When was the last entry?” Godwyn asked, gently closing the door to the room behind her.

“Dated about seven months ago,” Aquinas replied, then looked at the Inquisitor, “and he makes no mention of the sacking of the church.”

“So he was killed before the church was sacked?”

“It would appear so.”

“And from the method of his killing, it doesn’t look like the work of a heretic,” Godwyn knelt by the body to look again at the single bullet hole torn in the parchment-like skin of the neck. “A targeted killing?”

“My thoughts exactly,” Aquinas agreed, “very professional looking as well.”

“Do you think it could be linked to Montero, or Strassen?”

Aquinas shook his head. “The diary makes little mention of ‘Montero’ other than as a popular icon for revolution, and there is no mention of Strassen or an Inquisitor.”

“I sense a ‘but’, Librarian.”

Aquinas smiled – a genuine, toothy smile – the first such look she had ever seen on the Space Marine. He had definitely found something that excited his sense of intrigue; something that moved him like nothing else had. “We have in this book the name of a man who, so far as we know, has no reason for being in this book.” He flipped a few more pages and began to read aloud:

“The off-worlder, of whom some of my congregation had spoken, arrived today quite unexpectedly. He was not what I expected him to be, and I do not know what the others see in him, for I myself found him to be a blunt and secretive man who shared nothing with me aside from the most basic of details. He believed it necessary to arm (something I strictly disagree with and told him as much) as he thought an attack similar to the atrocities twenty-five years previously was imminent. I dismissed him without my blessing, and will keep my eye on this man ‘Pierce’ in the future. I think he is trouble for us.”

“Pierce?” Godwyn repeated once the Librarian had finished, “as in the Inquisitor who was on record speaking to Strassen?”

Aquinas nodded, closing the book and fitting it into one of the pouches he kept handing from the utility belt of his armour. “One and the same, I believe.”

“We know almost nothing about Pierce, but if he’s working with Strassen…”

“Before jumping to any conclusions,” Aquinas cautioned her, “remember that this priest was murdered, yet his diary was conveniently undiscovered.”

“So it could have been planted,” Godwyn mused, suddenly feeling her own heart start to race at the first new clue on the trail of her old mentor since Panacea.

“Very possible,” Aquinas agreed, “though either way, Inquisitor Pierce is now a person of interest to us – either he is connected to this world, and likely Strassen as well, and the diary was an unfortunate oversight on his part, or the diary is a plant, and Strassen intended for us to find it and Pierce’s name.”

Godwyn considered his words for several moments as she dissected the reasoning behind such actions.

“Why would it be a plant?” she asked. “The probability of us finding it would be very slim.”

“We discovered it through reasoning and careful planning,” Aquinas corrected her; “it is not impossible that our actions could have been predicted by someone familiar with how you think. Though you are right in that it was taking a chance – just like it was a chance coming to this world – we may never know the answer.”

“Well,” Godwyn stood up, “we now have somewhere to look. We have Pierce.”

“That we do,” he stepped around the corpse as she opened the door to leave, “and we have what we came for. I think it is time we left this planet.”

“Soon enough,” Godwyn assured him, “though there are some things I want to see to before we leave.”

 

* *

 

Seeing Inquisitor Godwyn again was likely the last thing Governor Assada wanted to do considering the last time they had spoken it had been because she had effectively terminated the careers of three of Tenantable’s more successful businessmen, yet not wanting to further sour his relationship with the Inquisitor he reluctantly granted her an audience.

“Inquisitor Godwyn!” he rose from behind his desk and welcomed her with a pasted on smile as she was admitted into his office. “I am very pleased hear that you have returned from City 4!”

The Inquisitor smiled in response and sat in the comfortable chair that was offered.

“Pray tell, Inquisitor,” the Governor began, retaking his seat behind his desk and delicately arching his fingers while maintaining his forcedly cheery disposition, “are the problems in City 4 resolved?”

“I did what I set out to do, yes” Godwyn replied, politely waving away the refreshments offered by Assada’s servants.

At this, the Governor seemed pleased.

“I must admit that I am duly impressed, Inquisitor,” he commented, accepting a drink from the servants’ tray. “I did not think it possible that anyone could kill Montero – especially in so short a period of time. You Inquisitor’s are most surely masters in your trade.”

Godwyn waved down his compliments, however.

“I deserve no recognition,” Godwyn interjected; “I didn’t kill Montero, if indeed he even exists as a person.”

The smile slid off the Governor’s face.

“Then why are you here?” he asked, forgetting to paste it back.

“Just to tell you that I am leaving,” Godwyn replied simply.

The false sincerity instantly returned and he opened his mouth to speak, but with a raised voice Godwyn made sure to cut him off before he got two words out:

“And that I am requesting a full investigation of your dealings and the dealings of your planet, Assada. Tenantable will be torn asunder and brought to heel.”

The colour drained from the Governors face and his mouth hung open in shock as Godwyn rose from her chair, and purposefully spun on her heel and strode from the room. He recovered by the time she was half-way to the door and started shouting in protestations of both innocence and defence.

Godwyn kept walking.

“The Imperium has no need to suffer the likes of you!” she yelled over her shoulder, opened the doors, and was gone – Assada still shouting in the background.

 

_____________

 

At this moment in time I would appreciate some feedback on how the characters are thusfar coming across. Your thoughts are welcome :)

[Inquisitor =D=]

Ask and ye shall receive.

 

That character development to this point seems to be solid to me. Each is staying true to themselves, I actually started chuckling at Lee's joy of returning to a slum. :D

Though it does seem to me that you perhaps underplay on Aquinas' biggest feature... Himself. Marines are generally eight feet tall without power armor on. So you can imagine a fully armored marine trying to squeeze into a chimera let alone a sewer that normal mortals have to crouch in. For storyline purposes I see it being absolutely necessary though, if the rebels can disable tanks with contemptuous ease than a marine is surely not gonna go walking about in broad daylight.

And can you imagine the firestorm he would ignite if the rebels were to see him AND survive to tell others? "The Emperor's own Angels come to our slum? Oh... We screwed up BAD haven't we? Quick! To the church! Prostrate yourselves and beg forgiveness!" Especially since he's also a psyker. "He just crushed an APC by staring at it!?!?!" Whew it'd be UGLY for the rebel command...

 

All in all though I'm enjoying this read immensely. (I'm currently re-reading the Ultramarines omnibus to waste time till I can afford a new book so this is much more enticing. {its a compliment!})

 

=]D[=