The Inquisition II

[Lady_Canoness]

This is the sequel to The Inquisition: A story of Secrecy and Intrigue and continues the story of Inquisitor Godwyn.

 

It is not necessary to read one before the other, but it might just help! As always, I will try to maintain a high standard of both story-telling and writing throughout the thread. I hope you enjoy reading as much as I do writing!

 

*Prologue*

 

He was getting too old for this.

“Lord?” the acolyte tapped lightly on the door before peeking into the Lord Magistrate’s office. “They are expecting you in ten minutes, Lord.”

The man behind the High Magistrate of the Inquisition’s desk grunted in acknowledgement, and the acolyte quietly closed the door behind him as he exited.

He was getting too old for this.

For sixty-three years, Simon Donovan had presided over the five-hundred-and-twenty-first Inquisitorial Conclave and had heard more arguments in this quarter of his life than he had when he was an active Inquisitor in the field. They were always the same too, like they were making the rounds because there was nothing better to do. Today it might be the heresy of hero-worship, and next week it could be daemon hosts and whether or not they were still just as blasphemous and unholy as they had been for the past ten-thousand years.

The Magistrate swallowed down what remained in the half-empty glass of water on his desk and belched softly in the privacy of his office.

No one ever learned, it seemed, and if they did they sure as hell didn’t pass that learning on as every new generation of Inquisitors brought with it the same problems that had plagued its predecessors.

He set down the empty glass on its usual coaster to the left of his desk and shuffled through the six files he’d committed to memory over the past fifty-seven days, picking one up at random and flipping open the cover with his thumb as he slipped his reading spectacles over his eyes with a shallow groan. The servo skull on the mantle behind him hummed to life and lifted itself to hover over his shoulder and shine its small beam of light onto the document in time with the movement of his eyes across the page.

Isaac Strassen.

Yes, he remembered him. Donovan tossed the file back down amongst the others and slouched deeper into his arm chair with a heavy sigh.

The Inquisitor Strassen had served for one-hundred and seventeen years, had been killed three years ago, and Donovan claimed to know him when all he’d even seen of the man was the picture on his file.

Four other files on his desk also bore the names of people he had never met in person: Lord Inquisitor Roth, Inquisitor Felix, Inquisitor Pierce, and Inquisitor Andovich. All dead – all no more to him that a picture, a name, and a record.

He picked up the sixth file on his desk and flipped open the cover. This person he had met, mainly because she was the one who had stood in the dock for the past fifty-seven days of the hearing. Not the best way to meet someone.

His eyes scanned the cover page of her file and over the picture of the severe-looking blond woman.

Kin-Slayer. That was what the Mono-dominants had taken to calling her, and truth be told they weren’t far off – she had admitted to killing three out of the five dead Inquisitors, which was more than enough for the Mono-dominant Inquisitors to bay for her blood, and Donovan had seriously considered giving it to them. Nothing was quite as despicable as Inquisitors turning on their own when there were so many enemies more deserving of the Inquisition’s wrath, but in her defence the killings were more than the mere murder the mono-dominants claimed them to be.

The Thorians had been quick to point out that the five dead Inquisitors had been involved in a conspiracy to commit treason against the Imperium, and that their deaths were both just and deserved. Debatable, but definitely not beyond consideration.

“Lord?” the acolyte tapped on the door before peeking into the Lord Magistrate’s office for the second time. “They are expecting you, Lord.”

Donovan grunted, and the acolyte quietly shut the door behind him as he exited.

For every day of the past two months this woman had sat under the scrutiny of the conclave and had weathered their merciless assaults and stinging accusations with a frigid veneer. She did not deny that she had killed three of the five, nor was she repentant of her deeds, and now – after two months of hearings, testimony, and argument in which all questions had been aired and answered – only one decision remained.

Was what she had done a crime?

If so, the mono-dominants would have their blood. If not, the woman whose picture he looked at on the file would walk free. Impartial, the decision fell upon the Lord Magistrate, as did the woman’s fate.

Donning his cloak of office, Donovan left his chambers with the files still open upon his desk.

“All rise before his Grace, the right honourable High Lord Magistrate of the Inquisition.”

Ninety-seven Inquisitors rose to their feet in the oval shaped conclave chamber as Simon Donovan entered with his acolytes in tow and mounted the steps to the high bench. There, before him in the lowest part of the conclave chamber with the bench and galleries rising above her on all sides, stood the accused: one Cassandra Godwyn – Imperial Inquisitor, confessed killer of kin, and (if the testimony he’d heard was of any indication) cold hearted b*tch to boot.

He looked over the rim of his spectacles at the accused as he took his appointed seat – the collective groan of the gallery benches filling the room as ninety-seven Inquisitors did likewise.

The room was silent.

From his left, one of his acolytes passed his written cues into his hand. The Lord Magistrate cleared his throat. He would make this quick.

“On charges of treason against the Emperor by way of willingly committing the egregious crime of murder against agents of His Holy Inquisition,” Donovan began, peering up from the proclamation in his hand at the young Inquisitor who waited silently before him, “I find the accused, Imperial Inquisitor Cassandra Pallas Godwyn…”

Every breath in the room was withheld as the Magistrate paused between words.

“… not guilty, and cleared of all charges.”

The Mono-dominants instantly rose from their seats and cried out in disbelief at the obvious miscarriage of justice.

The Thorians applauded the Magistrate’s wisdom and sensibility.

The Magistrate removed his spectacles and whispered to something to his acolytes before stepping down from the bench and returning to his chambers.

The accused said nothing, but with a simple nod of recognition rose to her feet and dismissed herself from the hearing.

[Papewaio]

YAY!

 

That was interesting. A trial for an Inquisitor, and giving her a reputation and nickname? I like it.

[Valek]

Can't wait for the next chapters, great story continued... and well written again.

[Lady_Canoness]

Correct Papewaio - the hearing acts as a bridge between the event of the Inquisition and what happens going forward into the Inquisition II. Part 1 reintroduces Godwyn, as well as new characters that will have important roles going forward. Hopefully, it will also set the tone for the sequel as being a darker story. Let's see if you agree!

 

*Part 1*

 

TWENTY YEARS LATER.

 

 

“Inquisitor?”

Someone was rapping on her cabin door. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes.

“Inquisitor, are you there?”

Part of her wished she wasn’t, but now that she was awake there was no escaping it.

“Is it time?” she asked, swinging her feet off her bunk and onto the floor with a groan. She’d fallen asleep wearing in her clothes again, and as she sat on the edge of her bed she could feel the uncomfortable sweaty warmth under her shirt and down the backs of her legs. Not the way she wanted to present herself to Inquisitor Brand now that they had been a day planetside on Penumbra.

“Yes, it’s time,” her Interrogator answered her through the cabin door, and she heard his footsteps walk away from her cabin back to the main hold of her shuttle.

Running her hands through her hair, Cassandra Godwyn heaved one last sigh as she blinked herself awake and stood up – stretching out her arms and feeling her back crack as she did so.

Her cabin aboard Meridian was small, much like the rest of the shuttle, and only seemed to get smaller over the years. Not that she didn’t like it or appreciate just how many times it had saved her life, but after living with her ship for the better part of thirty years it was as familiar as familiar could get.

Bending over she touched her toes, just to make sure she still could, and felt the welcome tug of the muscles along the back of her legs. The woman she saw in her cabin’s mirror looked no older than her mid-thirties with long blond hair tied up behind her head in a tight bun and striking eyes of light blue set into a severe face with long cheeks and an angular chin. Not bad for being in her mid fifties.

Pulling the blouse she’d slept in over her head and tossing back onto the bunk, she leaned closer to the mirror under the dim yellow light to inspect her left ear. She’d lost it twenty-three years earlier to the same plasma pistol she now carried as her own when she had killed the treasonous Lord Inquisitor Roth on Panacea, and now in its place was an intricate metal housing for a bionic replacement that was bolted into her head amidst a tangle of scar tissue that loose strands of her hair could only partially cover. It ached from time to time and was often at odds with its organic counterpart, but the alternative of a gaping hole in her head had been no more appealing.

Buttoning on a fresh off-grey coloured blouse and throwing on the shoulder holster for an inconspicuous machine pistol, Godwyn donned her armour-weave greatcoat and black-polished jackboots and marched from her cabin into the main hold.

Her cabin was one of four on the port-side living module which was attached to the main-hold, the primary operations space for Godwyn and her crew and comprised the majority of the ship aside from a cramped engine room, small cockpit, and a communications center called the nest. Normally the hold buzzed with activity, though, as she’d given her team a two-day leave, only Alexander was waiting for her as she entered.

“Inquisitor,” he waited attentively for her word and stood up a little straighter as she entered.

Godwyn’s first apprentice, Interrogator James Alexander was a promising young man on the cusp of his twenties who had come into her service little more than half a year ago. A psyker, Alexander was uniquely skilled in sensing the psychic presence of others – non-psykers and psykers alike – though he displayed promise in the more mundane arts of the Inquisition as well, and was a quick study in just about everything Godwyn could teach him. Of equal importance to his abilities, however, he was also professional in nature and displayed a sense of duty uncommon in most adepts his age. This, coupled with his tall slim build, dark hair, and dark eyes, made him look the part of a young Inquisitor trainee – something Godwyn had long ago learned to be of more importance than was often credited.

“Any word?” Godwyn asked, but Alexander quickly shook his head.

“No word,” he replied with a frown.

So Brand was still expecting them, Godwyn mused as she exited her shuttle and stepped into the Penumbra’s dark night with Alexander following wordlessly in her shadow. The meet was on.

 

Penumbra was a cesspit of a night world with its only claim to fame being that it was located at the crossroads of numerous warp passages that spanned the Ghoul Stars and thus acted as a hub for the rabble that could be washed up for lightyears in every direction. Mercenaries, merchants, vagabonds, and every other manner of space scum called Penumbra home and worshiped it as the planet of red lights where vice was cheap and fortune and ruin walked hand in hand through the lantern-lit streets. Imperial law was almost non-existent and the night-world thrived in some sort of natural order where the strong of today oppressed the strong of yesterday while watching their backs for the strong of tomorrow. Its cities rife with crime and warred over by guilds of merchants, gangsters, and thieves, it was a place where anything could be found so long as one knew the right person to talk to and the right palm to grease. Here, the power of the Righteous Servants of the Emperor was a myth, which made the work of an Inquisitor much, much easier, though it could get harder on the mere flip of a coin.

“Why would Inquisitor Brand call us here?” Alexander wondered allowed as their black service car raced down the winding lamp-lit roads of Hogshead, the largest, and thereby ‘capital’ city of Penumbra.

Godwyn, behind the wheel of the racing vehicle, answered the question from her student with a question of her own:

“Why are Inquisitors summoned anywhere?” she asked, her eyes the road instead of the blur of passing lights that hung threaded overhead from decrepit old buildings.

“To root out the influence of the alien, the mutant, the heretic, and the daemon and destroy them,” Alexander replied, his head turning instinctually as they sped past a foursome of bawdily dressed women who prowled on the street corners and flashed glimpses of their full bosoms to tempt passers-by. “But that is just to the point,” he argued; “this planet is a wretched hole that stains the Domain of Man. I could kill a man at random and be rewarded for having killed a sinner!”

“True,” Godwyn conceded her student’s point with a considerate nod, “but think of how a planet such as this can have a farther reaching influence than what merely meets the eye. What happens here rarely stays here…”

Alexander caught on quickly to the theory. “What starts here will end somewhere else, so it is within our interests to find whatever it is and stop it before it gets off world.”

“Exactly,” Godwyn nodded. “Our task is to find out what evils are likely to slip off world, and what evils are likely to stay.”

The glossed black-painted vehicle sped on through the lamp-lit warrens of the dismal night city until Godwyn brought the vehicle to a stop not ten minutes later in a deserted back alley of a decaying warehouse district.

“Stay with the vehicle and keep it moving,” she instructed Alexander as she pulled the car out of gear and opened the driver-side door to step out of the vehicle.

“Keep an eye on where you’re going as well,” she said pulling her greatcoat tightly around her as she closed the door and her student slid into the driver’s seat, “this place is easy to get lost in. I’ll summon you when its time to pick me up.”

He acknowledged and slowly pulled away; leaving Godwyn standing alone and watching the tail-lights recede into the distance before disappearing around a bend in the road and dropping the abandoned alleyway back into the darkness. Somewhere in Hogshead, a trio of starshells were fired high into the air to burn brightly through the drifting smog and cast ethereal rays of white-light across the shifting shadows of the city below. Godwyn watched them for a moment like silent stars falling from the sky back down to earth, and the light cast a ghostly pall across her face before she turned her back and disappeared into the darkness.

Inquisitor Brand, one of the senior Inquisitors operating within the Ghoul Stars and the reason behind Godwyn being on Penumbra, had summoned her to a secret rendezvous in a derelict stock-house in Hogshead several weeks earlier when she was still half a sector away. He hadn’t told her why, though he had transferred the message via astropath as being priority-level fuchsia (not the highest urgency, but high enough to attract her attention) and Godwyn knew enough about him to know that it was unlikely that he would be wasting her time. Like her, he was Ordo Xenos, and, though she had never worked with him, he had a reputation for a taciturn yet brilliant Inquisitor whose methods were beyond the grasp of most others in the Ordos.

Opening a side-door into the stock-house from a culvert between crumbling buildings, Godwyn was greeted by blackness as she closed the door behind her on creaking hinges. She drew her compact machine pistol just in case. It took several moments for her eyes to adjust to the gloom, but as her surroundings became more visible it was apparent that the stock-house had been used by no-one other than squatters for several years, and that a fine layer of dust covered everything from ancient broken open crates, to garbage and human waste. The smell alone was enough to deter most interlopers.

Fishing a laced handkerchief from her coat’s inside pocket, Godwyn covered her face with one hand while keeping the pistol steady in the other. Why would Inquisitor Brand have called her here?

“Who goes?” a sharp female voice demanded from somewhere in the darkness.

Godwyn froze, and slowly lowered the kerchief from her face.

“Inquisition,” she answered softly. “Who asks?”

A pistol breach was cleared in response. “You are expected,” said the owner of the voice, and Godwyn heard footsteps leading away in the darkness.

“I am expected by a man,” the Inquisitor replied, following slowly in the direction she interpreted the voice as coming from, “not a woman.”

The sharp sounding female did not answer, but a rectangle of light suddenly appeared in the darkness, and through squinting eyes Godwyn could see the woman’s silhouette pass through the door and descend into what appeared to be a staircase. Shielding her eyes against the sudden brightness, Godwyn walked towards the light, but when she came to the staircase it was empty and the wooden door leading into the basement level was closed.

Holstering her pistol and stifling a quick cough into her handkerchief, Godwyn followed down the stairs and pushed open the wooden door.

Inquisitor Brand was waiting in the room beyond with his back to her and his hand resting on the mantle of a wide-mouthed fireplace as he watched the dim glow of the dying embers and the last plumes of smoke escaped up into a hidden chimney pipe. He said nothing as she entered and closed the door behind her, but he raised his free hand in a recognizing gesture that said he would be with her in a minute and to make herself comfortable.

What he had in mind in the way of comfort was anyone’s guess, however, as the basement room was lit only by a pare of bare lamps suspended from the ceiling, and the only furniture – not counting the litter of old wooden crates that was scatter haphazardly about the room on the dirt floor – was a worn looking table and a trio of wooden chairs. Godwyn elected to remain standing.

To Godwyn’s left beside the door, the woman she took to be the one who she had spoken to earlier appeared to have come to the same conclusion, and was standing with crossed arms watching Inquisitor Brand’s back. The Inquisitorial rosette hanging from a thin chain around her neck clearly marked her as an Inquisitor and not an underling of Brand’s, though Godwyn had never set eyes upon her before. At first glance, her pale face looked as if it were chiselled from ice and topped with black hair was fully braided into ropes pulled back along the length of her scalp. Around her shoulders was draped a high collared black Inverness that opened at the front to reveal a silver breastplate with a crest that Godwyn easily recognized as the tell-tale mark of the Ordo Hereticus: a witch hunter. The woman regarded Godwyn with a pinched and irritable expression that suggested that she too been summoned with little knowledge as to why.

“Inquisitor Godwyn,” Inquisitor Brand began in his characteristically soft and distant sounding voice without turning to face either woman, “be introduced to Inquisitor von Draken. Inquisitor von Draken – Inquisitor Godwyn.”

Standing practically side-by-side, the Inquisitors looked at each other though neither one was in any hurry to proffer a hand.

“Cassandra Godwyn?” von Draken raised an eyebrow with a lisping drawl. “The Kin-Slayer herself?”

A Mono-dominant: the last person Godwyn wanted to find herself introduced to.

Von Draken’s thin lips curved upwards in a slight smirk. “Should I consider this an honour or an insult?”

Godwyn didn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing her take offence.

“As I’ve never heard of you, I wouldn’t dwell on it for long,” Godwyn replied flatly, meeting the woman’s dark eyes and daring her to strike back.

“That is enough to satisfy introductions, I think” Brand interjected softly – effectively partitioning the warring Inquisitor and bringing their eyes back to where he stood still watching the embers of the fire. Brand did not continue, but neither woman spoke; instead leaving the basement chamber in an uncomfortable silence.

Brand was odd – Godwyn had known this since the first time she met him. Behind his surface eccentricities and social awkwardness, however, was the mind of a genius, and, from what she had heard second-hand and experienced first hand through her brief dealings with the senior Inquisitor, Brand likely knew more about the Ghoul Stars than any other man alive.

“This planet is one unlike others, of which little is seen or understood,” Brand resumed talking to the fireplace. “True night worlds beyond the reach of a sun are rare, and rarer still if supporting an abundance of life. But here you are, on one such world that ignores what reason tells us must exist and damns our attempts at understanding like no other. It is a mystery to boggle the mind, I think, and I hate mysteries that I cannot solve, but that is not why I called you here.”

He stopped as if waiting for them to ask the obvious question, but neither Inquisitor in attendance said a word. Brand cleared his throat and straightened up before finally turning to face the Inquisitors. He was a tall man – a head-and-a-half taller than Godwyn, at least – and a statuesque face of black skin pierced with pearly white eyes sat imposingly in the middle of a large bald head. This was the face that had once ordered an entire grand cathedral burned to the ground along with all its occupants for practicing false idolatry, and would do it again without hesitation.

“I will tell you know why I brought you here,” he announced to the door behind them and not once making eye-contact with either of the women. “Several murders have occurred, unexplained, that have taken my attention by means perturbing. These deaths fester with corruption unlike – ”

“What evidence do your ‘perturbing means’ have to back up such claims?” von Draken interrupted the large Inquisitor’s meandering canto with a forward question. Evidently the witch hunter knew little enough about Inquisitor Brand to underestimate his quiet resolve.

The snap in his neck was almost audible as Brand wheeled about with his full attention on von Draken and stared her full in the face with his ghost-like eyes.

“These means of mine are beyond the doubting of your likes,” he reprimanded the witch hunter with staggering speed in a storm of silence that made the Hereticus Inquisitor flinch beside her.

“See images if you will,” Brand whipped a dossier from the inside of his coat and tossed it to the table before him with a small *fwap*. “Crimes of passion, random killings, acts of madness – tell me now if these things they seem to you! If by chance they do and your means are clear, then I kneel and offer you my apprenticeship. If not, then my words will be heeded and you will understand them!”

The images were gruesome, and if Godwyn had ever harboured any doubt as to Brand’s certainty in interpreting the murders her reservations now vanished. He had uncovered thirteen bodies, though on a planet were murder was common practice there could easily be countless more killings that went undiscovered. The bodies had been found alone, or in small clusters, in empty buildings throughout Hogshead, and had all started to smell and decay before they were discovered. The killers had obviously dumped the bodies with little fear of discovery, meaning that they were too deranged to imagine retribution for their crimes, or they thought themselves immune to whatever response came their way.

Godwyn was impassive as she pawed through the remainder of the pictures on the table. She’d seen things like this before, and it had been some time since she’d last felt shock at the level of debasement possible in human beings.

The victims appeared to have been chosen at random regardless of age, gender, or physical traits – people who appeared to be entirely unrelated save for the cruel fashion in which they were put to death, and that now they brought upon themselves the scrutiny they had never been afforded in life.

“Their wrists were slit and their blood drained,” Brand explained airily as the Inquisitors stepped back from the table and away from the morbid photographs. “What you see before you are acts of savagery wrought upon a cooling corps. Mercy in small measures for something so foul.”

Mercy, small or otherwise, was the last thing that entered Godwyn’s mind.

The people in the pictures had not just been murdered, but defiled in the most inhuman of ways. They had been sliced open from collarbone to pelvis and had their life-giving organs pulled out from underneath their ribcage. Eyes, ears, and tongues were missing, and their shaven scalps bore wicked gashes and cuts where hair had been artlessly hacked away. Some of the first corpses to have been discovered had even been entirely flayed of their skin.

“It is as if they did not so much want them dead as not alive,” Inquisitor von Draken remarked malevolently, and Godwyn nodded in silent agreement. To kill was one thing, but to utterly destroy someone in such a targeted and deliberate fashion was another.

“Who did this?” Godwyn asked, drawing Brand’s attention from Inquisitor von Draken to herself. “What do we have to go on?”

“Less than would be useful,” Brand frowned – the indifference in his voice was starting to get unnerving – “you will know where and when they were found, and who found them. You will not find witnesses, or any willing party to parlay of the crime.”

“Finding anything on this planet will be like finding salt in sand,” the witch hunter commented mirthlessly. “I’d sooner reduce the city to ash than waste my time with this.”

“Your time is the Emperor’s to use,” Godwyn retorted. She’d only just met her, but already she felt as if she’d found a hindrance instead of a help in Inquisitor von Draken.

“As is my duty,” von Draken shot back. “Putting this whole planet to the sword would be a blessing.”

“Enough,” Brand stepped in quietly, though his voice carried the same effect as if he had shouted. “Enmity winds you down the road of failure. Hereticus and Xenos – two Ordos side by side – will see your success. Your means alone are what you must use in this. I must depart.”

“You’re *leaving* after what you just told us?” the dark-haired woman glared at him in disbelief as if demanding that he correct the error he had just let pass his lips.

The speed at which he’d shifted from supporting the investigation to announcing his imminent departure was startling, and Godwyn found herself thrown off-balance with the need for more information.

“Inquisitor Brand,” Godwyn joined her fellow Inquisitor in asking for clarification, “is this not your investigation? Why are you leaving it then?”

“My council is not kept with you,” he explained to the wall. “Your role is here.”

 

* *

 

“Did he have any answers?” Alexander asked as the black service car slowed to a stop in the dark alleyway and Godwyn got in the passenger-side door.

She was still shaking her head from her meeting with Inquisitor Brand. The man was odd – yes, she knew that – but this had undermined even the most basic of her assumptions of the Inquisitor by a significant margin. A heretical cult was definitely at work in Hogshead and possibly the whole of Penumbra – the photographs had been evidence enough of that – but Brand’s sudden insistence of his own departure was still unexplained and unexpected. She had a few suspicions as to why he would leave (though admittedly they hinged on him being mentally unstable), but to handoff his investigation to another without good reason was beyond the excuse of madness. Godwyn would report him on this, though she imagined that von Draken would beat her to it. Whatever she thought of the witch hunter, there was no denying that they had found common cause spurning the senior Inquisitor’s actions.

“No,” Godwyn answered, shutting the car door behind her as the Interrogator accelerated down the dark alley and away from their meeting place, “no answers.”

Alexander shook his head as if he’d expected as much. “Only more questions,” he finished her train of thought.

“Call the others,” Godwyn instructed him. “We have a lot to do.”

[Lady_Canoness]

Part 2 of the Inquisition is hot off the press!

 

This part introduces Godwyn's team - some faces you may recognize amongst them. Unlike last time when Striker, Grant, and Aquinas formed the basis of Godwyn's team and were each solid and dependable characters, in the sequel I'm going for a more colourful pallet with characters coming from very different backgrounds and with very different motivations. We'll see if you like meeting them!

 

*Part 2*

 

So far as anyone knew, Penumbra had no recorded history that was widely accepted as accurate, and, depending who was asked, the planet could have any number of ‘official’ accounts as how it came to be in its present state.

The most believable stories typically involved the evolution of a smugglers’ port over many centuries until it became covered with the blighted city-states as it is now. Other reasonable accounts involved pirate bases, merchant camps, or an ancient mining settlement to explain the centuries old cities that were constantly being built and rebuilt in the remains of cities from an even older age. More outlandish claims involved merchant fleets unwittingly becoming trapped in the planet’s gravity well, crashing to the earth below, and building the first cities out of the salvaged hulls of their ships, though these stories were thought of being just that – stories; used to entice and excite minds otherwise unoccupied. Stranger still were the theories of how Penumbra was the center of power of an ancient alien race long extinct, and that men had stumbled upon the planet like rats stumbling into an ancient trap.

Ludicrous and baseless as most of these stories were, however, people would not be stopped in believing, disagreeing, and arguing over any old thing they might come across, though even with theories running rampant there were three things that just about everyone could agree on:

That Penumbra was many thousands of years old; that the populated cities were to the north, and that the uninhabitable sticks from which no man ever returned were to the south; and that Hogshead was the biggest city under the starless sky.

The ‘many thousands of years’ was anyone’s guess, but it stood to reason that it was true since people were often stumbling across things never seen before by exploring the vast deserted areas of crumbling city or simply taking a wrong turn in one’s basement and finding the remains of underground tunnels never known to exist.

All the cities being clustered around the planet’s northern pole, however, was fact. Ship sensors from orbit penetrated the atmospheric layers of smog and determined that the only sources of heat and power came from the northern hemisphere, and that the southern regions of the planet were utterly cold and lifeless. Whether or not anyone had ever been there and come back, on the other hand, was questionable, though those who did make such claims were often of poor repute and known spinners of tall tales.

Hogshead, as it were, stretched out for many miles in a carpet of urban sprawl that spread itself outwards in all directions from the mountain of twisted metal and crumbling masonry that called itself the ‘Capital Spire’ – though in truth it was the fortress-like palace of whatever crime-lord claimed it for his own. There was no formal authority or sanctified power in Hogshead, and the self-title ruler only remained so as long as he had the influence to keep his rivals from overthrowing him. The system of anarchy wove itself into and around the city almost like a living entity, and the city-life ebbed and flowed through it like an ocean tide over rocky shores. Swathes of buildings would be abandoned or repossessed for any number of reasons that would leave some sections of the city overcrowded and noisy while others would be nearly devoid of life for months on end as communities picked up and moved almost at random. With no regional governance or infrastructure, the abandoned places in the city were all but forgotten – havens for the lost, the desperate, and those people who preferred that their business remain unseen.

Being such people, the crew of the Meridian had brought the shuttle into Hogshead and rested it concealed in a crumbling courtyard between deserted hab buildings in an abandoned part of the city. Avoiding undue attention was a key factor in attaining success, Godwyn theorized, and she had took whatever means available to her to ‘deter’ prying eyes from getting too close to her base of operations.

 

Sudulus was waiting when they arrived in the service car, and no sooner had they stepped out of the vehicle into the brilliant glow of Meridian’s exterior floodlights then Godwyn’s trusted savant was hustling over to greet the Inquisitor with his usual idle-time briefing.

“Inquisitor, your team has assembled aboard and is awaiting further instruction,” the little man reported.

The savant was a long serving member of Godwyn’s entourage and had been with her since her earliest days as an Inquisitor. The years had not been kind to him, however, and his age was starting to show, but despite this Sudulus remained an asset to Inquisitor Godwyn’s staff as an expert on all things textual and was Godwyn’s primary point of reference in issues ranging from Imperial politics to micro-biology. Sudulus was a self-styled tinkerer and, thanks to his bionic forearms and hands, was adept at modifying and overcoming numerous security and lock-out devices – a skill that proved more than useful in an Inquisitor’s line of work.

“Where there any difficulties in recalling them?” Godwyn asked as they walked towards the shuttle hatches. Most of her team was still relatively inexperienced in working together and occasional misunderstandings were to be expected as they became more accustomed to each others company, but Sudulus shrugged off the question as being of little concern.

“Most hadn’t gone very far,” Sudulus replied, but added with a grumble; “though Lee made a point of taking his time…”

An ex-smuggler with an easy smile and a loose sense of humour, Lee Normandy had served with Inquisitor Godwyn for the better part of thirty years as Meridian’s pilot, and had proven himself time and again to be reliable and loyal despite his coloured past. More than just a pilot, Lee was also comfortable in the shady underbelly of Imperial society and possessed a keen sense of street-smarts that made him invaluable when it came to operating outside the sights of Imperial authorities. The price for his skills, however, came at dealing with his crude social demeanour, and – though friendly – he would often encroach on other people’s nerves.

“Sudulus,” Godwyn stopped him just before they boarded the shuttle.

“Inquisitor?” both the savant and her Interrogator turned towards her, but she ushered Alexander to go on ahead, leaving her alone with Sudulus underneath the empty windows of the hab blocks.

“There is something I need you to do for me,” she said after she was certain that they were alone and that Alexander was out of earshot.

“Anything that I can, I will,” Sudulus replied with a nod.

“Good.” It was not that Godwyn did not trust her apprentice, but there were some things that he should not hear.

“The Inquisitor I came here to meet is abandoning this planet and leaving me to take his place,” Godwyn explained in a hushed voice; “I want to know why he is leaving and where he is going.”

Sudulus’ eyes instantly lit up and a pensive frown crossed over his face as he started to play the tips of his bionic fingers over his chin and jaw.

“Interesting…” he said, pacing back and forth in front of the Inquisitor as if the gears grinding in his head were stirring the rest of his body into action. Sudulus relished a challenge, and often times would prepare reports on a whole host of information for the Inquisitor with or without her consent.

“Tracking an Inquisitor – Brand, was it? – will be very difficult, and doubly so given that we are not on an Imperial world in the strictest sense. Doable, I think, but by no means easy. Nonetheless, with any luck I should be able to pick up a trail.”

Godwyn nodded in approval. “Another thing – ” Sudulus inclined his head receptively, “ – there is an Ordo Hereticus Inquisitor von Draken who is also on Penumbra. Find out as much as you can about her.”

“Is she an ally?”

“That is what I am hoping you’ll tell me.”

 

Godwyn’s team was assembled in Meridian’s main hold when she entered with Sudulus, and as the savant took his seat there were seven pairs of eyes following her as she rounded the chamber and came to the head the large rectangular table at the center of the hold.

Immediately to her right was Alexander, sitting patiently at the table with one leg crossed over the other and a stylus and dataslate in his hands. The Interrogator would often take notes when she spoke, though he never asked for confirmation about what he had written, and never volunteered to show them to anyone – something Sudulus was quick to remark on in private.

Next to Alexander was Lee, who sat back with his arms crossed and his booted feet on the table. The pilot appeared to be in good spirits as the dark leathery skin of his face was stretched into a wide grin as he whispered a one-way conversation to the person beside him, though, by the looks of it, he wasn’t getting very far.

Brianna – or Sister Brianna as she introduced herself – was sitting next to the pilot with her arms folded tightly over her chest and her young face set like stone with her bright grey eyes looking purposefully away from the ex-smuggler. The newest and youngest member of Godwyn’s crew aside from Alexander, Brianna had approached Godwyn several weeks earlier on the shrine world of Salem Prima and offered her services. So far as she knew from speaking with her, the young Sister had taken the Oath of the Penitent Sinner, but instead of seeking absolution through battle with her Order Brianna had chosen the path of the Exile, and had been banished from her Order with nothing but an ornamental chainsword in her hands to seek forgiveness in the eyes of the Emperor and the hope of one day returning to the Sisterhood. The Inquisitor did not ask what crime she had committed to be banished forthright from her Order and Brianna did not speak of it to anyone. Her skills and training as a Sister of Battle were clear, however, and Godwyn considered her to be a welcome part of her crew.

The penitent Sister was not the only battle-tempered soldier on Godwyn’s team, and sitting next to Brianna at the foot of the table opposite from Godwyn was Nerf – an elite Catachan commando who had come into the Inquisitor’s service just over two years earlier on the recommendation of Inquisitor Brand. Like all Catachans, Nerf was a large and powerfully built soldier, though he also possessed a kind spirit and good nature that seemed somewhat out of place in a professional killer. Proficient in almost every type of combat imaginable, but neither boastful nor proud, Nerf got along with just about everyone and carryied himself with a calm confidence that most people found reassuring.

Nerf had not come into Godwyn’s service alone, however, and with him came the lithe assassin he called Mercy. A giant standing well over seven feet tall, Mercy was unlike any woman Godwyn had ever met in more ways than she could describe. She was almost feline in nature in how she would perch herself atop furniture or inside of confined spaces instead of doing so like an ordinary human being, and how her predatory violet eyes would watch and follow a person with an almost hungry glow. She never spoke either, and preferred to communicate through expression and poise instead of words or signs – something Godwyn had found irritating until Nerf explained that she was mute. When asked about how he and the assassin had come together Nerf was evasive, though he admitted that they had once found themselves on opposite sides of a conflict until chance brought them together, after which they became almost like siblings with the Catachan always looking out for her best interests while the willowy giant watched his back with a playful devotion.

Mercy never sat at the table, instead, when the team took their seats, she perched herself atop of the counter in the small galley at the back of the hold to watch the others attentively.

Illias, a tech-priestess of Mars, sat quietly next to the empty space at the table where Mercy would have been with her human arms folded neatly on her lap and her paired servo-arms folded neatly behind her back. Godwyn had encountered Illias about a year earlier working as part of a merchant fleet in the Ghoul Stars suspected of trafficking dangerous xeno artefacts, and during the length of the investigation proved her worth by disabling the fleet from within and allowing the Inquisition to take advantage of the chaos. As well as being gifted in the works of the Omnissiah, Illias was also highly proficient as a gunsmith and would regularly modify weapons for the Inquisitor and her team (except for the Catachan, Nerf, who was superstitiously protective of his guns and refused to let anyone service them). Skilled as she was, however, like most tech-priests Illias was more machine that woman, and disdained purely human practices, like socializing, as being pointless.

Lastly, sitting to Godwyn’s left, was Sudulus. For the most part, the savant was quiet during briefings and rarely voiced his questions before the rest of the team, though when called upon he would readily go on at lengths to share everything he knew about any given subject. Modest and never lecturing without invitation, he was well-liked by most of the crew, though Godwyn noticed that he harboured a resentment towards Illias that seemed to grow steadily over time.

“Right,” Godwyn overruled the silence as she took her seat at the head of the table, “I want to hear what you make of this;” she tossed the dossier she had been given by Brand and contained the images of the murdered victims into the middle of the table.

Contrary to many Inquisitors who dealt with their operatives on a strictly need-to-know basis, Godwyn liked to share as much as she could with her team and allow them to put their questions, thoughts, or concerns into the open. She believed it helped keep her team stay focused and in good spirit. She believed it was a strength.

Lee caught site of the first of the bodies and instantly recoiled with a groan of disgust. From where she sat cross-legged on the galley countertop, Mercy leaned closer to the table with a look of curiosity for a better view.

“Murdered. Butchered. Completely beyond what is necessary to terminate a human being,” Illias remarked as if she were looking at a disassembled machine.

Sudulus grimaced, and his eyes darted from the tech-priestess to the other faces around the room.

“Poor buggers…” Nerf voiced what the others were thinking as he slid several of the images closer and resigned himself to a rueful shake of his head before leaning back in his seat.

Godwyn was watching them closely. Behind the mingled pain and regret that surfaced on their faces was a spark of anger waiting to be nursed into righteous hatred – that driving energy that pushed men and women to carry out the work of the Emperor in an otherwise cold and unforgiving galaxy.

Nerf was rubbing the stubble on his square chin thoughtfully, and Godwyn nodded for him to speak:

“Is there something you would like to add, Nerf?”

The Catachan leaned his massive forearms onto the table and flipped through a few of the images with a furrowed brow and pursed lips.

“It looks to me like someone left these poor people where they thought they would be found,” he said with a shrug. “Where were they found?”

“Empty warehouses, mostly, where people rarely go,” Godwyn replied, though she was careful not to dismiss his idea.

“If I wanted to get rid of a body I’d burn it,” he continued. “So if these people were left lying around it would be for a reason. My bet is some way of marking territory.”

Godwyn nodded. Nerf could be right, and Emperor knows that the mutilated dead are often used as grim warnings to the living.

“Fear of death in an effective deterrence amongst most human beings,” Illias agreed with Nerf in her typical cold manner. “It is possible that the bodies were placed in areas in close proximity to a strategic location.”

Nerf nodded in agreement, but Interrogator Alexander was not so sure.

“Or it could be the opposite,” he spoke up against the growing consensus as multiple heads turned to hear what he had to say. “It is possible that these people were positioned as a distraction to draw attention away from their base of operations. People feel safer further from what they see is dangerous, so if you put danger far away, then they feel safer up close.”

“A diversion, you mean,” Nerf added.

“Yes,” Alexander nodded quickly, “more or less.”

The Catachan considered the Interrogator’s words. “That would mean the bodies would be concentrated in some way,” he glanced down the table at Godwyn; “Are they, boss?”

Reading a pattern into where the bodies were discovered was too much to hope for, but Godwyn had toyed with the possibility. The corpses were scattered, however, and if there was a pattern to their dispersal then it was not immediately recognizable.

Next to the Catachan, Sister Brianna reached into the center of the table and picked up one the photos – her eyes moving over the grisly image as if looking for a hidden meaning.

There were no markings on the bodies and nothing suggesting as to what purpose the bodies had served other than their harvested organs.

“It is a work of darkness,” Brianna snarled in righteous anger. “What meaning can we attribute to the deeds of heretics?”

“We’re not looking to understand why they do it,” Godwyn corrected the battle sister as she pitched the photograph back onto the table as if the image alone contained the same taint as the bodies; “We’re only here to find those responsible and put an end to it.”

The young sister did not appear appeased, but she remained silent as Sudulus spoke up from Godwyn’s left.

“Do we have access to the bodies, by chance?” he asked quietly, but Godwyn shook her head:

“I was told that the bodies were burned after these photos were taken,” she said.

For reasons unknown – and likely more complex than respect for the dead – Brand had disposed of the bodies before Godwyn had arrived on Penumbra. He had insisted, however, that all that could be discerned through closer investigation of the corpses had been transcribed for both herself and von Draken. She had briefly glanced over them on her way back to Meridian, but even though the dissection notes were thorough there was no accommodating for the absence of physical evidence. Senior Inquisitor or not, Brand was out of line.

“What we do have are locations and times,” Godwyn continued, “as well as the distinct possibility that there are bodies that have yet to be found…”

She looked over her team as they waited in silence for the Inquisitor to explain their course of action.

“Hogshead is a large city with more crime than I care to imagine, but somewhere out there are the answers we’re looking for, and I intend for us to find them before more people end up like this,” she waved towards the chilling photographs as if her team needed to be reminded of what they’d just seen.

“So where do we start, Inquisitor?” Alexander asked, looking up from the notes he’d scribbled onto his dataslate.

A fair question, and a question to which Inquisitor Godwyn only gave one answer.

“We start where the blood is freshest,” she said.

[Papewaio]

I like Nerf, but I would like to know how he came to Godwyn (and also what happened to Aribeth in the end). Subplot, maybe? I like the link between the stories though. Linking them together seems natural.

 

Sudulus didn't strike me as being suspicious or liable to dislike people without very good reason prior to the Inquisition II, so is it just Mechanicus rivalry, or more? Speaking of the Mechanicus, they keep their own agendas quite close, so Illias going into an Inquisitor's team just on a whim doesn't look likely. So why does the Machine Cult want to keep an eye on the Kinslayer?

 

I don't expect you to answer these flatly, but just my general impressions and possibilities on where this could go.

[Lady_Canoness]

Haha - good eyes Papewaio! I can't slip anything by you! What happened to bring Nerf and Mercy from one story into another will be revealed (though likely in little bits and at different times - I haven't decided exactly how) and every character will have their own subplots and issues. In the first story, characters were largely stable individuals who could be counted on - this time that will change, though you'll have to see how later on :P

Same goes for Illias and Sudulus. When the Inquisition is involved, things are rarely as simple as they seem...

 

Still, you are catching on very well!

[Lady_Canoness]

*part 3*

 

Fresh blood is not always clear blood, and upon examination each crime scene revealed the same thing.

“Nothing,” Sudulus said with a grunt as he pushed himself back to his feet after inspecting the entirety of the loft. “If a victim was indeed found here, there is no trace of them or whoever moved them, I’m afraid.”

Godwyn had suspected as much.

They were standing alone in the musty old attic of an abandoned hab-block in the very spot where Brand had reportedly discovered the first of the victims, but – like the five other crime scenes they had visited – this one was also devoid of any clues that might point to the perpetrators. A broken-down water pumping station, the basement of an abandoned garage, two empty warehouses on different sides of the city, a disused storefront, and now the loft in an empty hab-block: how Inquisitor Brand, or anyone for that matter, had discovered the bodies was as much a mystery as how they had gotten there in the first place.

“We do have the identification of the individuals who discovered the bodies,” Sudulus suggested, sensing that the Inquisitor was growing increasingly perplexed as they stood in the flickering lamp-light amidst the shadows of the cobwebbed attic.

“True,” Godwyn nodded, “but we also have no method of contacting them.”

Sudulus conceded the point with a disheartened shrug.

For the past three days, Lee and Nerf had worked through nearby communities discretely searching for those who had supposedly discovered the bodies, but despite Nerf’s subtlety and Lee’s quick wit they returned every day without success. Crime was rife in Hogshead, and it appeared that a particularly messy murder caught no more attention than any other of the frequent deaths that occurred day-to-day. If anyone in Hogshead knew about the killings, then no-one cared enough to talk openly about it, and without any means of identifying the victims there was no way Godwyn could determine if there was any relation between them. Had these people shared something that made them targets? Was there some way of determining who else would likely be targeted and where to find them?

Godwyn shook her head. Thanks to Brand’s insufferable nature she would likely never know.

“Sudulus, would you send for my Interrogator, please?”

The savant acknowledged and quickly hopped down the rickety staircase leading to the lower floors. Alexander would be elsewhere in the hab-block looking for corroborating clues, though Godwyn hoped that his otherworldly talents might prove of more use than his investigative capabilities.

“You called for me, Inquisitor?” the young Interrogator arrived in the dank attic several moments later.

“I did,” Godwyn replied, still staring at the filth-covered floor-boards as if visualizing how a flayed corpse might have appeared resting on it. “Tell me what you see.”

The second sight, as it was often called, was the refined use of a psyker’s innate ability to sense the extra dimensional presence of the Warp and use it in such a way as to perceive the passage of the Warp in real space. An old friend of Godwyn’s had once likened it as to watching ripples on water, and being able to determine the passage of a ship by its wake. Souls burned brightly in the Warp, and as such a trained psyker could detect the passage of soul in real space much like seeing the wake of a vessel in water. Time eroded the Warp-wake left by souls, however, as did the rapid movement of many souls – akin to many ripples breaking the surface of the water all at once – but in a place where few living things passed, the Warp-wake of a soul could be sensed for days, weeks, and perhaps even months after its passing.

At the other five locations the passage of souls had proved too tumultuous for her Interrogator to sense anything distinctive, though it was Godwyn’s hope that their luck might change.

Closing his eyes before opening his mind to the Warp, Alexander braced himself and swallowed a deep breath of air as his face screwed up in concentration.

Godwyn felt the instant he opened his mind to the Warp as the temperature in the loft instantly plummeted and shivers ran up and down her spine like icy fingers along her back. Alexander’s features became relaxed and trance-like as he stumbled about lightly on his feet. She didn’t dare speak or touch him though, as any sudden lapse in concentration could prove devastating, but only watched in silence as her Interrogator slowly turned about like a marionette suspended in a fluid medium and tottered away across the attic in pursuit of something she could not begin to grasp. Gradually, he staggered towards the staircase and Godwyn followed him down – her breath steaming the air in front of her face.

He made it the bottom of the stairs and then stopped – seemingly looking about into something she could not see. Godwyn waited several feet behind him. When he still didn’t move for several more seconds, Godwyn drew closer, thinking that perhaps her movement could jog him out of whatever mire he had become entrapped in. She was not more than two feet away from him, however, when suddenly he broke from the trance like a whale breaching the surface of the water. Instantly off-balance, he swayed and fell, though Godwyn stepped in and quickly caught him underneath the arms before he could hit the floor. He was cold to the touch, and through his clothes Godwyn could feel his thin frame shivering even as she gently lowered him into a sitting position.

“What was it? What did you see?” she asked as soon as he was on the safely on the ground and had caught his breath within his heaving chest.

Wiping a hand across his sweat-streaked forehead, Alexander’s dark eyes darted up to his master. “Something was wrong,” he said, biting his lower lip and cracking knuckles before laying the palms of his hands flat against the floor. “I could feel someone’s presence faintly beyond our own, and I tried to follow it…” he pointed towards the stair with a finger that he has having trouble steadying.

Fatigue, Godwyn reasoned, not fear.

“…but when I got there,” he continued, swallowing more air, “something happened. Something like… like nothing. I got there and nothing.”

Godwyn’s eyes narrowed.

“I don’t know if it was a person or what… but it was hollow – like nothing I’ve ever felt. An untouchable, I think!”

“An untouchable…” Godwyn repeated thoughtfully. Untouchables were rare. Every living thing, she had been told, has a presence in the Warp – some stronger than others – but untouchables (be they human or otherwise) were the opposite, and actively repulsed the Warp with their mere presence. They were difficult to be around for non-psykers, but for those with psychic talents they were nigh intolerable and left them feeling sickened and drained as if their very souls were being driven from their bodies. The rarity of untouchables also made them highly sought after by the Inquisition as well as other more sinister organizations that sought better means to combat psychic influence, as not only could untouchables overcome psykers, but they were also entirely immune to psychic power. To date, there existed no better means of psychic defence.

“Could you get any sense of what it was?”

Alexander shook his head; “Not for the life of me, no.” He swallowed again, and struggled back to his feet. “I’m sorry, Inquisitor. I haven’t been very helpful.”

 

* *

 

“On the contrary, I’d say that is quite helpful, Interrogator,” Sudulus corrected him when the three of them had returned to Meridian and Godwyn informed her savant of what had transpired.

Sitting at the table in the main hold, Alexander was still rather shaken and seemed to shrink in his seat while the Inquisitor and her savant talked to him. ‘It was like having the air pulled from my lungs and the strength sapped from my limbs,’ he had confided to his master when the service car pulled away from the abandoned hab-block not more than an hour earlier, ‘like feeling myself die.’

“If that’s true, then I’m glad I could do it,” he said, “but I’ll be glad if I never have to feel that way again.”

Sudulus nodded sympathetically as he fetched the young man a steaming cup of caffeine from the galley and set it down on the table in front of him. “Very understandable, dear boy,” he said as he sat himself on the table beside him and patted Alexander on the shoulder; “Very understandable indeed.”

Lee had just recently returned and was busying himself in the cockpit while the tech priestess Illias had silently disappeared into Meridian’s engine room, though with Nerf, Mercy, and Brianna still in field, the shuttle was fairly quiet and a sense of calm ruled the main hold as Alexander sipped noiselessly at his beverage and Godwyn stood with her arms crossed and her eyes staring ponderously into the distance.

“Even in a place like this, an untouchable could not go without being noticed,” she said after several more moments of silence.

Pursing his lips, Sudulus cocked his head back and forth to either side. “Quite likely you are correct, though even if there are witnesses we have no means to contact them.”

Godwyn shook her head, though her arms remained tightly crossed. “Untouchables are rare,” she said insistently; “only people with influence and power could retain one for exclusive use.”

“Like the Inquisition,” Alexander spoke up, looking from Godwyn to Sudulus to see if they had caught on.

“Are you thinking that Inquisitor Brand has an untouchable in his service?” Sudulus asked with a raised eyebrow, and the Interrogator nodded.

“It has happened before,” he continued; “Inquisitor Eisenhorn was said to have had an entire staff of them under his control.”

Godwyn stepped in before he got any further, however:

“No,” she said, “it’s not Brand.”

“Can you be sure?” Sudulus asked quizzically. Godwyn nodded in reply:

“James, was there any trace of an untouchable at any of the other locations?” she asked her apprentice.

Alexander shook his head; there hadn’t been.

“Untouchables are specialists within the Inquisition,” Godwyn explained, “and I think it highly unlikely that Inquisitor Brand would bring an untouchable with him to one crime scene but not to any of the others. I think that the untouchable is likely connected to whoever perpetrated these crimes.”

Sudulus was nodding in time with her words. “Yes, yes, I see where you are going with this,” he said, his bionic fingers once again tapping against his chin, “and the fact that the oldest crime scene was the one attended to by the untouchable? An overseer? Ceremonial guest, perhaps? Some other part of the ritual? Very interesting indeed, I say… though you think this will aid us in locating an untouchable here on Penumbra?”

Inquisitor Godywn was confident that it would.

“Lee,” she called over her shoulder towards the hatchway that led to the nest and the cockpit. “Would you come here for a moment?”

The pilot popped his head through the hatch a few seconds later.

“Somethin’ up, boss?” he asked. He was chewing on something dark and leathery that smelled incredibly potent on his breath.

“Who runs the streets in Hogshead?” Godwyn asked, trying to ignore whatever the pilot was voraciously chomping on.

Lee Normandy leaned his shoulder into the side of the hatchway. “Tha’ wou’ be th’ blokes call’d th’ ‘Brigade’,” he said between chews before fishing more of the mysterious food out of his pocket and spinning it about between his fingers.

“What the devil are you eating!?” Sudulus exclaimed from across the hold with a look of revulsion on his face and a voice that was a little too loud for the close confines of the shuttle.

“ ‘s local thing,” Lee replied innocently, “salt’d mea’ o’ s’m sort. Spicy too.” He took another bite. “Wan’ s’m?”

“Dear Emperor, NO!” he squawked back as if horrified by the very thought of it.

Lee shrugged nonchalantly, but Godwyn intervened before they could get even sidetracked.

“Have you spoken to the Brigade? Do they know what is going on in the city?”

Lee nodded. “I’d say so, yea,” he replied, shoving the spiced meat back in the pocket of his old flight jacket, “tho’ gettin’ anythin’ ou’ of ‘em might be a li’l bit mo’ of a challenge. Their lackeys act ‘ll tough n’ stuff, bu’ I doubt they know anythin’ t’all. You’d nee’ a cap’ain or somethin’ like one to ge’ anythin’, I bet.”

Just by looking at him, Godwyn could tell that Sudulus was not convinced, but, regardless of what she might think of his tastes, Godwyn had to admit to herself that she trusted Lee’s instinct for this type of thing more than anyone else’s: if Lee thought that a Brigade captain would know what was happening on the streets of Hogshead, then he was probably right.

“And where would I find one of these ‘captains’?” she asked next.

“O’ tha’s easy!” Lee chuckled. “Th’ Brigade’s fav’rit place t’ go is a club call’d th’ Lion’s Den. Th’ lackeys talk ‘bout it non-stop when they’ve ‘ad a few, an it sounds li’e the place t’ be for the mi’le men who kno’ wha’ is wha’ aroun’ ‘ere.”

“A night club?” Alexander asked behind a raised eyebrow.

“S’always bloody nigh’ ‘ere,” Lee corrected him with a grin, “so ‘s just’a club.”

“Y’ can’t jus’ walk in there though,” Lee continued, looking back at Godwyn. “There’s loads o’ pr’cedure n’ how y’ even approach ‘em.”

“But you can get us in, right?”

The ex-smuggler chuckled and made a show of an elaborate bow. “I’m your man, through n’ through!”

 

* *

 

Their course set, Lee slipped out into the darkness of Hogshead to find away into the Lion’s Den with the guarantee that he could get the job done. Godwyn retired to her cabin once the pilot had departed, but was alone for no more than two minutes when Sudulus was knocking at her door.

“A moment, Inquisitor?” he said through the door.

“Certainly.” Godwyn swung her feet back onto the floor.

She’d been about to fall asleep fully clothed… again. She should really stop doing that, though some hard-learned habits were difficult to break… and some scars cut too deep.

Clutching a dataslate to his chest, the little savant slid open the cabin door and quickly shut it behind him once he had entered, turning to address the Inquisitor in the cramped interior of her cabin with a conspirator’s glint in his eyes.

“Inquisitor Tanya von Draken, Ordo Hereticus,” he announced in a hushed tone, handing the dataslate to Godwyn. “It took time, but I managed to find some information about her that should prove itself quite useful in the days ahead, yes?”

Taking the offered slate, Godwyn scrolled through the contents. Service records, accolades – the standard information withheld by the Inquisitorial Archives and not available without the consent of a senior Inquisitor – not that it could stop Sudulus. According to the record, von Draken was forty-six years old – not much younger than Godwyn – and had a suitably uninteresting career that mainly revolved around persecuting heretical cults with extreme prejudice.

“She doesn’t exactly look like the helpful sort, does she?” Sudulus comment – showing that he’d taken the time to browse the contents of the witch hunter’s records before presenting them to Godwyn.

“And I am?” she asked mildly as her eyes continued to peel away at the other Inquisitor.

Sudulus made some reconciliatory remark that Godwyn didn’t particularly pay attention to. None-the-less, his observation had been accurate: von Draken’s records did not portray her as someone interested in co-operation.

“As you can see,” Sudulus continued, unable to restrain himself, “she’s taken to acting unilaterally with an exceptionally heavy-handed approach in most all of her dealings. As such, I would expect her to continue with her *blunt*” – he grimaced at the word – “approach to her duties here on Penumbra.”

“So my trusted savant is of the opinion that Inquisitor von Draken will be more hindrance than help?” Godwyn asked, handing him back the dataslate with a slight nod of thanks. “I notice that it didn’t say who mentored her either.”

“Hmm yes,” Sudulus scowled, the lack of information in that regard was a source of frustration to him; “we can only guess that some thick-skulled brigand was responsible for teaching her his ways, as crude as they are. Though as for a hindrance,” he shrugged, “one can only hope that she doesn’t blunder into our path.”

“Agreed.” With that, Godwyn made to dismiss him, but the savant seemed hesitant and lingered by the door.

“One more thing,” he said discreetly; “Lee’s suggestion of going to the Lion’s Den – are you certain this is wise? I fear it is great risk and not entirely necessary…”

“I don’t have much in the way of options,” Godwyn replied honestly, “though if I did I would certainly consider them.”

“But this is reckless!” Sudulus urged her to reconsider. “Lee’s confidence could easily be misplaced and you and everyone else could be walking head-first into a disaster!”

“It’s a risk,” Godwyn admitted, pushing the savant to become even more insistent, “but you’ll be overseeing the operation,” she smiled warmly at the old man, “and I have to trust that you know what you’re doing.”

With a tired sigh, her savant hung his head.

“I don’t like it, Godwyn,” he said; “in fact, I don’t like a single thing about this damned world, but I know my place and I know my duty. If you must go through with this, then I will see it done.”

[Lady_Canoness]

*part 4*

 

 

She called it control.

The light of a half-dozen monitors and shifting read-out displays flickered across the cracks in his face in the dark room and reflected in his watery eyes as they traced the outlines on the screen.

It didn’t feel like control.

Folds of loose skin hanging from his neck bobbed in time with his shallow breathing and wiggled every time he turned his head, while strokes of his fingers passing over plastic keys rattled like rainfall in his ears over the background hum of electricity coursing through the unlit room.

It felt more like watching a spectacle where the script depended on one’s level of concentration, and the slightest lapse in attentiveness could turn a triumphant masterpiece into an unforgiving tragedy with disastrous consequences that dominated the life of spectator even after the play was finished… or at least it felt that way to Sudulus.

“Control to all elements, check in,” he spoke into the comm. as all six screens cut into different images as if seen through the eyes of six different individuals.

“Firs’ check n’in,” Lee Normandy’s drawling voice slid into the dark room as if the pilot was within the walls themselves.

“Second, checking in,” the battle sister’s sharp voice quickly followed the pilot’s like an axe sinking into wood.

“Third and fourth, standing by,” Nerf said between colourful blasts of loud music and shouting voices that momentarily brought life to the darkness.

“Fifth, checking in,” Alexander said in earnest, quickly cutting the feed before taking too long.

“Six, ready,” Illias’ flat, lifeless voice said with perfect clarity against an utterly silent background.

Sudulus nodded to himself. All the actors and actresses were in position in the wings, and only one thing remained before the spectacle could begin. He swivelled round in his chair to the back of the small room where a dark figure watched the six screens in silence.

“Everything is prepared, Inquisitor,” Sudulus reported to his superior, “shall I give the order to begin?”

Her arms crossed, Godwyn’s blue eyes shifted between the flickering screens, studying each in turn.

The first, second, and fifth screens were all looking into the lamp-lit streets of Hogshead and watching the tides of people drifting this way and that. The third and fourth screens were somewhere inside a building with strobe lights, pulsing streamers, and hectic mélange of provocatively dressed revellers indulging in unadulterated ecstasy. The sixth and last screen showed no movement and no life, and fixated solely and an array of blinking panels, crossed wires, and metal pipes.

She nodded. It was time.

 

* *

 

The Carolingian. The name was like a rash through the slums of Hogshead.

One of the Brigade’s most notorious crime lords, the Carolingian was known throughout the night city for his obsession with wealth and profit, as well as his insufferable disdain for those below him. The only value inherent in human-beings rested in their exploitation, or so said the crime lord, and, while profitable individuals would be maintained and cherished, he made no qualms with exhausting less profitable sources. Permanently.

Hogshead, and indeed the Imperium itself, were filled with men like him, and while some would eventually meet justice by some blood-soaked turn of fate, most escape the wrath that haunts them and live on as if rewarded for their crimes. This man, however, would not be so fortunate.

As well as wealth, the Carolingian prided himself on information, and when Lee went looking for who might know the whereabouts of a mysterious and dangerous individual all answers came back the same:

The Carolingian was their man, though getting him would not be easy.

 

* *

 

As Interrogator Alexander understood it, his mentor’s plan of action was quite straight-forward: Lee, sister Biranna, and he would watch the Lion’s Den nightclub from outside, while Nerf and Mercy would infiltrate the Carolingian’s hideout and wait for Illias to cut the club’s power from the underground generators. With the power cut, Mercy would then find and subdue the target and bring him out with Nerf’s aid while Lee, Brianna, and Alexander himself provided support. If Mercy happened to get into trouble, then they were to withdraw with her to a predetermined fallback position and await further instructions from Sudulus and Inquisitor Godwyn. Simple really, and, as his first real operation, it was also quite exciting, though admittedly Alexander wished he could be inside the Lion’s Den for a better view of the action.

The streets outside the Lion’s Den were teaming with activity, and a fantastic contrast to the other parts of Hogshead he’d seen.

Everywhere he looked there all manners of people engaging in all sorts of activities: peddlers displaying all sorts of wares both bizarre and mundane while street-vendors canvassed their services with great proclamations to passersby; merchants dressed in exotic fashions while brutish-looking bodyguards cleared the way before them and urchins darted about and frolicked in their wake; the down-trodden poor who moved almost unnoticed beneath the crowds while temptresses and courtesans cooed and beckoned to passersby in caged scaffolds that dangled amongst the lamps overhead...

It was life, pure humanity, like nothing he had ever heard or seen. Both wildly exciting and frighteningly unnerving at the same time, and like a child at the circus Alexander found himself biting his lip in anticipation of what would happen next.

“Why do they keep looking at me like that?” Brianna hissed from somewhere beside him and pulled his attention away from the crowd.

The battle sister was standing a few feet away from him with her back against a building and her eyes looking upwards at something Alexander did not see. He hadn’t noticed her approach, but he was thankful for her company all the same. Having someone he recognized close-by amidst a sea of strangers was oddly reassuring in a way he couldn’t easily describe.

“Who?” he asked without thinking – only afterward realizing how foolish the question was.

“Who else?” she replied with particularly scalding look; “Them!”

She was talking about the harlots, and when Alexander glanced up towards their dangling perches he could see that several of the tawdry attired women were leering down at the sister with eyes that could rend flesh. A sharp contrast, the sanctified sister preaching her creed and the self-gratifying seductresses who tempted with every move, and one he’d entertain to explore if given the time, which at the moment he wasn’t.

“Maybe because you’re looking at them,” he suggested, hoping to remove her attention from the caged prostitutes and avoid a scene.

The sister grumbled something most likely involving the sanctity of chastity, but Alexander more pressing matters on his mind than listening to the sister’s sermons.

He liked the sister and she wasn’t much older than he was, but despite this he hope that being in the company of an Inquisitor would soon break her of her engrained prejudices before they got her into trouble. She was hardly inconspicuous as it was, what with her short white-platinum hair and her pretty features, but her many intolerances and choice of attire made her all the more obvious.

Denied her power armour, the exiled sister had pieced together a suit of black plate armour which she had adorned with a variety of hand-crafted holy symbols and seals. Crudely made but lovingly maintained, she had draped a crimson sash around her neck and shoulders as well as wound rosary beads around her gauntlets and held the whole thing together with a mishmash of belted straps. Alexander could admire her for her creativity and conviction, though at the same time he could bemoan her for her impracticality. The ceremonial chainsword slung across her back was thankfully covered by a drab cloak (for the sake of subtlety, she said), though the holstered laspistol that swung at her side was clearly visible with every clanking footstep she took.

“Remember to watch the street,” he reminded her somewhat brusquely. “We need to be ready to assist the others inside.”

In response, the sister seemed disagreeable at best, and Alexander found himself wishing once again that he was inside the Lion’s Den with Mercy and Nerf.

 

 

Nerf would sooner have smashed his head repeatedly into an anvil than willingly come in here, but then again being in the Lion’s Den night club would probably have the same effect. The flashing lights and pulsing strobes were making his eyes sting something fierce, and the noise – he could swear that artillery barrages were quieter than the Den’s so called ‘music’. He could hardly hear himself think, let alone hear what other people were saying.

And what was with all the dancing?

Standing at a small table while leaning against the banister overlooking a vast circular dance-floor beneath him, all Nerf could see through the flashing lights was an ocean of bobbing heads and waving arms that spun around and around and around through the half-light like the remains of a bad hangover.

He didn’t understand it, though across the table from the Catachan, Mercy was relishing every moment in the club as she immersed herself in the atmosphere and drank deeply from the thrill in the air. She moved the curves of her long body like a snake charmed by the rhythm, longing to give in to passion, while her face remained supernaturally serene and her violet eyes flowed over the muscular man who fidgeted opposite to her.

“We’ve got a job to do,” Nerf reminded her aloud, though even he couldn’t hear the words that came out of his mouth.

Her lips curved into a smile beneath her freckled nose, and she fluttered her eyes longingly as she tilted her head back to reveal the white of her long neck before curving her back and seemingly flowing forward towards the Catachan – drawing his eyes inadvertently down to the perfectly formed breasts underneath the killer’s form-fitting shadow-suit.

Damn her – why did she have to be so sensual?

Her smile deepened as her long, pink tongue slipped from between her parting lips and caressed the air just inches from his nose.

She was such a tease.

She knew they had a job to do, and she knew she was the one to do it.

The assassin drew back and fixed Nerf with her deep, enthralling eyes. He scowled. The sooner they could leave this place the better. What was taking that tech-priestess so long?

 

 

Backup systems were always the first to go. In this case, a simple diesel combustion generator. Her human hands working side-by side with her mechanical appendages, Illias had the primary ignition and fail-safe trigger dismantled to their component parts in less than two minutes. To be sure, she also sabotaged the primary combustion chamber to overload, and kill whoever tried to start it up again. Effective: it would take a day’s work to deconstruct the generator and repair the damage that had been done.

Her first task complete, the tech-priestess pushed herself upright and continued on to find the primary power-source.

As per her estimations, the Lion’s Den, like most of Hogshead, was powered from subterranean generators located amidst the kilometres of crumbling tunnels, ancient basements and sewers. Hazardous and foolish and just asking for catastrophe, the stupidity of the locals was much like she assessed, though more than stupid they were also woefully negligent, and as the tech-priestess wove her way through what reason would dictate should be heavily guarded she was greeted with no resistance of any sort. Out of sight, out of mind: did the people on the surface really think that no-one would attack what they so obviously left vulnerable? Perhaps they were counting on the equal idiocy of an invader, or that any interloper would be confused by the misdirection of the labyrinth of tunnels under ground? Yet what kind of imbecile would be misled by a pipe that held no charge?

Following the ionized piping along the dimly lit underground, through passages that looked to be millennia old, Illias found her way to through the silent catacombs of Hogshead in a matter of minutes, and was met with mild surprise when she found a rusted old security door standing between her and her goal. Perhaps these people weren’t so inept after all, for, while it was old, the door was sturdy enough to withstand the tampering of the unskilled and the inept – practically every inhabitant of this world, so far as she had seen.

Prying the face-plate from the locking-mechanism with her servo arms, Illias calmly disengaged the power-locks without incident and swung the door open on grinding hinges. How crude.

What lay beyond the door succeeded in catching her attention, however, as the stone and dirt of the previous tunnels was quickly replaced by the metal passageways of what appeared to be a ship embedded in the rock.

Very interesting; how, she wondered, had it ended up there?

The passages were in poor repair and wore their age badly, but at least they were mostly intact, and, seeing that the intrusive piping led inwards into the derelict, the hooded tech-priestess didn’t have to guess as to where the Lion’s Den drew its power. Sure enough, not two minutes later, Illias entered the wreck’s ancient reactor chamber and fount it illuminated by the bright glow of a single 64-di plasma reactor bound behind powerful void shielding.

Impressive. She took a moment to admire the sight of one of the Omnissiah’s most beneficent blessings. An inextinguishable power source, plasma reactors burned with the power of a miniature sun and could generate energy for thousands of years without fluxuation. Once initiated and properly contained, plasma reactors required little in the way of maintenance and could produce immense amounts of energy – even a 64-di (a relatively small model) could generate more than enough energy to power several dozen hab-blocks or a small space-faring vessel.

The difficulty posed by plasma reactors, however, was that once the chain-reaction in the plasma core was initiated it was impossible to stop. Entirely self-sustaining, a plasma core would burn indefinitely, and as such could never be shut down unless it was forced into overload through containment failure, though the resulting explosion from a 64-di core would vaporise the derelict and everything else within a half-kilometre radius. Shutting the core down was therefore not an option.

To deny the Lion’s Den power, the energy output of the plasma reactor would have to be rerouted into something else.

Severing the connection between the reactor and the Lion’s Den would deprive the night club of power, but would also overload the reactor through the gradual energy build-up, and was thus not a solution. Cycling the energy back into the reactor’s void shielding was a typical stalling manoeuvre, but wouldn’t be able to contain itself for more than a few minutes before needing an outlet for the energy build up, and thus was no more of a solution than severing the connection. Severing the connection and then dissipating the energy build-up into the ground could work, in theory, on a smaller reactor, but even with a 64-bi plasma core the ground would be ionized past capacity and would be lethal to Illias and just about everyone within a five-hundred meter radius, and thus was not a solution.

The derelict vessel, however, if still sufficiently intact, would likely be able to sustain the reactor’s charge. The ship’s systems were probably decrepit and would burn out in short order once the energy-flow was redirected, but even so the ship would be able to contain the charge better than anything else available.

Intoning the blessings of the Omnissiah over the venerable machine-spirits of the vessel, the tech-priestess set about the task demanded of her, and in a matter of minutes the lights on the streets flickered and died.

 

The lights went out, and, for a fraction of a second, Nerf was allowed to savour the welcome change of total silence in the Lion’s Den: as if the Emperor Himself had decided to cut him a break.

And then the screaming started.

The swell of panic rose through the Den at a feverish pace, and in no time at all hundreds of voices were screaming and shouting as people ran blindly through the total darkness.

He couldn’t see them running, but he could feel their terror as revellers were trapped in the darkness and trampled over people they could not see in a vain attempt to find the light. Soon there were shots like cracks of lighting and screams of pain as fearful patrons drew concealed weapons in a bid to defend themselves from the mounting chaos, but the panic was contagious, and in moments the struggle for escape became one of survival as the terror struck occupants of the Den clawed and tore at each other like rats in a trap. The Brigade guards fought to restore order, and lamp-packs flashed on as bursts of automatic-fire cut through the screaming. If it worked, however, was anyone’s guess as the suffocating blackness only seemed to compound upon itself with every passing moment.

Not having moved since the lights went out, Nerf calmly lit one of the huge cigars he kept in his coat pocket and planted it firmly between his teeth with a puff of sweet smelling smoke. A body came stumbling through the darkness towards the flash of the match, but quickly fell away with a gurgling moan as it collided with twelve inches of folded Catachan steel. Wiping the blade on his pant-leg, Nerf took another long drag on his cigar. Poor, dead idiot.

“Mercy – ” Nerf plucked the cigar from his lips; it was time to act “ – you ready?”

He didn’t need to see the murderess’ eager face and striking smile to know the answer. Reaching into the inside pockets of his dock jacket, Nerf retrieved the assassin’s weapons and placed the paired neuro-gauntlets onto the table between them.

“Good luck,” he said from behind another waft of smoke, but the assassin was already gone.

 

“Activate the infra-red,” Godwyn murmured from over the shoulder of her savant. “I want to see what they’re doing in there.”

As directed, Sudulus flicked two switches on the tactical display, and the previously black screens of the third and fourth elements were quickly plunged into a deep red.

The third element, Nerf, was hardly moving as people ran blindly by him in the dark, but the fourth element was moving almost too quickly to follow.

Flowing like liquid through the crowd, Mercy swept past panicking people with amazing agility while dodging wildly firing patrons and bypassing guards who were trying to form some sort of perimeter.

“My word, but she is good!” Sudulus exclaimed with a grin as the image on the screen sped past an oblivious Brigadier who was attempting to secure a door.

“She can see perfectly in the dark?” Godwyn asked, now curious as to just how far the killer could push herself.

“It would certainly appear so, yes,” Sudulus replied, still grinning. He liked the assassin, and little things like this made him like her even more.

Momentarily alone in what looked like a backroom corridor, Mercy paused, and on the edge of the wide-angled screen the onlookers in the nest could see the needle-like talons of the neuro-gauntlets slide out into place. The target must be near.

Sudulus wetted his lips, and glanced back over his shoulder at the Inquisitor.

Mercy was on the move again, up a narrow flight of stairs and through a door into what looked like a guard-room where the outlines of two armed men standing near a far door. Startled, they turned, but she was on them in a blink of an eye and both fell silently before they had time to respond.

The savant was shaking his head in amazement. “Incredible,” he said, “I never thought I’d see such a display!”

Godwyn wasn’t watching, however. Her attention was drawn to the first element’s tactical display, where a column of six armoured vehicles were pushing through the streets towards the Lion’s Den: six vehicles that bore the distinctive icon of the capital ‘I’.

 

Half the lights in the streets had flickered and died not more than two minutes ago, yet the madness unfolding in the Lion’s Den made the panic on the streets seem pale in comparison. Assuming nothing worse than the typical gangland foul play and caring nothing for the screams coming from within the Lion’s Den, most people on the streets made to quickly leave the area, while merchants and brokers did what they could to prevent anyone from carrying away their more valuable goods under the cover of the mass exodus.

Further down the street and a good distance from the sister and Godwyn’s apprentice, Lee had been eyeing a particularly attractive nude sculpt that he though would fit perfectly on the cock-pit dash, though unfortunately the peddler was paying too much attention for him snatch it just yet. The boss didn’t mind his petty theft all that much (though Sudulus usually made a loud display denouncing his latest acquisitions whenever he got the chance) and all was forgiven so long as he didn’t cause any trouble by getting himself caught.

Shots rang out somewhere overhead and sent people ducking for cover. Now was his chance. Swooping by the peddler’s stall amidst the confusion, Lee swept the sculpture into the breast of his flight jacket and ducked down with the rest of the rapidly dispersing crowd leaving the proprietor none the wiser.

All too easy, he told himself with a smile, and escaped further down the poorly lit street. He had not gotten far, however, when suddenly the darkness lit up as bright as day and he had to shield his eyes from the glare, while his ears filled with the snarling roar of powerful diesel engines speeding down the street towards him. Following the crowd, he dashed to the roadside just in time to watch as six black, armoured vehicles powered past at terrific speed.

“I ‘ope y’re seein’ this…” he whispered into the comm.

 

Alexander was relieved to find that Brianna hadn’t gone very far by the time the lights went out. He wouldn’t admit it to her, or anyone else, but having the battle sister close-by boosted his confidence a great deal.

“Remember to stick to the plan,” he said to himself as much as to the sister as he waded towards her through the rapidly dispersing crowd. A scowl told him that she knew, and she waited in silence with her hand planted firmly on the handle of her pistol.

Shots erupted from somewhere in the night sky and sent nearby people ducking for cover. From beside him, he felt the sister tense draw her weapon.

“Stay your hand!” he cautioned her with a warning hand on her armoured forearm. “Our orders are clear.”

His instructions netted him a contemptuous look, but she kept her weapon lowered.

“If we are attacked, I will defend myself,” she made it clear that she wouldn’t take orders from him even as panic gripped the shadow-filled streets.

He wasn’t about to argue, but Alexander sensed that his words would be heeded. He was a member of the Holy Inquisition after all, and that would likely ensure co-operation more-so than his inexperienced leadership.

He didn’t have time to dwell on it as a spear of blazing light accompanied by the roar of powerful engines yanked his attention to further down the street where the shape of numerous bulky-looking vehicles were growing ever larger behind the glare of burning headlights.

“Who – ?” Brianna began, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the intense brightness, but Alexander didn’t need to see the vehicles to know that something was wrong.

“Hang back!” he shouted, grabbing for the sister lest she make herself seen. “They’re not ours!”

He saw a question forming in her face, but the Interrogator pushed it away with an earnest shake of his head.

“They’re not ours!” he repeated, the sinking feeling growing in his gut as he beckoned the sister to follow him with the rest of the crowd that was rapidly scattering before the oncoming vehicles.

She followed somewhat reluctantly, but soon they were both running in time with the flood of people until they had safely turned into an alleyway and broken line of sight with the vehicles.

“Who are they!?” Brianna demanded once they had stopped and Alexander was gulping down deep breaths to calm the heart hammering in his chest. He couldn’t be certain but he had a pretty good idea, and with the tremor of dread building in his gut he could well guess that he didn’t want to be around when whoever was inside those vehicles did whatever they were intending to do.

“What about the others!?” the sister continued, her eyes digging into him as if searching for answers buried in his flesh.

James Alexander shook his head. Godwyn needed to know about this.

“Command,” he straightened up and called in with the comm. bud in his ear, “we’ve spotted – ”

++“I know,”++ Inquisitor Godwyn’s voice cut him off abruptly, ++“get to the rally point. Lee will already be there.”++

“Inquisitor?” he asked for confirmation, not sure whether he should believe what he was hearing. Were they aborting the operation?

++“We’ll salvage what we can,” she continued, “but right now I need you and sister Brianna to get to the rally point.”++

 

The armoured vehicles had pulled up at the entrance to the Lion’s Den and heavily armoured passengers were disembarking in rapid succession before massing at the doors. They had lost the initiative

“Inquisitor?” Sudulus asked again; “What are your orders?”

She shook her head: the operation had gone beyond her control.

“Call Nerf and Mercy back,” Godwyn instructed him. “Get them out of there before it is too late.”

 

“Understood,” Nerf replied into his comm. between the periodic screams and burst of gunfire that still tore through the inside of the Lion’s Den.

After a few minutes without power, the chaos was starting to die down, though only barely. There were still fights and mad scrambles to escape, but the Catachan imagined that most people were by now cowering in corners to try and wait it out – a particular luxury that was now gone to him. From what he had been told there was company outside, and armed troops and heavy vehicles could only mean one thing: the company was going to be coming inside, and, more than likely, they’d be shooting when they did. Nerf had to escape before that happened, but he wasn’t about to go anywhere without Mercy, and – if he knew her like he thought he did – Mercy wasn’t about to go anywhere without getting what she came for.

Groping his way through the dark, the Catachan fighting knife found the throat of someone carrying a lamp-pack and a stub gun. A good start.

Not knowing that their fellow guard was dead, Nerf shouldered his way through the packed night-club following behind the yellow lamp-pack beam with little trouble. He didn’t know where Mercy had gone, and since she couldn’t talk there was no easy way of reaching her.

It was time to do things the hard way.

No sooner had he slipped into a back-room corridor, however, then a tremendous explosion rocked the Lion’s Den as the front doors were blown open and tongues of glowing orange flame lashed out into darkness and lit up the shadows with a hellish glow. Behind him things were about to get hot.

 

She felt the explosion rumble through the walls, but deep inside the nightclub’s private lounges Mercy paid it little attention as she waited in dark.

Things were quieter here. The spaces were tight and the tone equally frantic. She could smell the fear amidst the sharper scent of desperation on every body that passed her hiding place. Already she could imagine the salty taste of their sweat on her tongue, the warm clammy feeling of their fearful skin on her fingers, and the rush of hot blood washing over her hands. The thought of so many being so close tugged at her mind and begged her to release control and give in to bloody sensations for which she yearned – to indulge herself in her gore-soaked fantasies.

Three men had already died at her hands, but they had not satisfied her. She did not feel them die. It had been artless, cold; a snapped neck – nothing more. Why she deprived herself so small a pleasure she did not know, but she was here to capture, not kill. Her prey was near, though as much as she desired feel his life slip away between her fingers she could not kill him. The Inquisitor had been very clear.

The sound of running feet drew her attention as a guard came dashing around a corner, following the beam of his bouncing lamp-pack, and tore past her – oblivious that he had passed within arm’s reach of the killer – before disappearing again through another door leading away from her.

By now they all knew that something was wrong, but had yet to clue into the fact that this was no mere gangland turf squabble, and that their leader was indeed threatened. Streams of chattering gunfire were starting to echo up through the walls and in the room beyond she could hear raised voices.

Melting back into the shadows, the assassin bided her time.

 

Events at the Lion’s Den had escalated rapidly to the point where they were now far beyond Godwyn’s ability to predict or control. The vehicles had deployed flamer teams, and as she watched the new arrivals launched an all-out assault on the Lion’s Den.

Appalled by what he was witnessing and his own inability to put a stop to it, Sudulus complained loudly while the Inquisitor, on the other hand, remained almost entirely silent as her eyes flickered across all six screens in rapid succession.

It had to be von Draken – only the witch hunter would attempt something so brazen – but how did she have the resources? What was she trying to accomplish?

A surge of anger fought its way upwards through her chest – What did it really matter? That thick-skulled bitch was in the process of burning down her best lead!

“Where is Mercy?” she snapped, her voice dropping dangerously low even though it nearly shook with anger.

Sudulus couldn’t say for sure. She wasn’t withdrawing, but she wasn’t advancing either; could it be that she was merely waiting for the opportunity?

“Impress upon her *exactly* how dire the situation has become, will you?”

The savant did not disobey. The attackers were pushing their way into the Lion’s Den and burning everything in their way. Waiting for the opportune moment was no longer a luxury they could afford.

 

Things were getting bad – real bad! Being turned around and around in the dark with a gun battle raging behind him, Nerf was starting to fear that he was looking in the wrong spot. Why couldn’t this building make more sense?

Pounding up a lopsided staircase, Nerf emerged into another decaying corridor with dust-caked windows overlooking an alley to one side, a rickety wooden wall to the other, and a closed door opposite to him. The further he went the more certain he became that Mercy wasn’t here. Losing the patience required for caution, he stormed the door and bashed it open with his boot – the lamp-pack underslung on his stubber sweeping room as he entered. A fire-escape; how ironic. He’d found a way out, at least.

The sound of boots racing up the staircase behind him jogged his attention as he instinctively spun with his back to the nearest wall and snapped off his lamp-pack just as an armed brigadier banged open the loose door and marched through without so much as passing his light over the rest of the room. He was breathing in gasps and muttering curses under his breath, but the Brigadier seemed to know where he was going, and that was good enough for Nerf.

Stalking after him like a ghost, Nerf followed him from a safe distance, though as it became clear that the man with the bellows-breath wasn’t about to lead him where he needed to go, Nerf decided to take drastic measures. He flicked on his lamp-pack.

“Hey!” he quickly shone the light up into the man’s face as he spun around. “What are you doing back here!? We have to get out! Now!”

The heavy breather sputtered something unintelligible in response as he quickly shielded his eyes from the light. “Get that sodding thing outta me face!” he shouted back, recoiling from the light like a slug from the flame.

“Sorry,” Nerf did his best to sound apologetic yet frantic at the same time, “This stuff’s getting real, y’know? W-why aren’t we leaving?”

In the pitch dark with their lights shining around each other’s feet, the Brigadier did not notice that he was speaking to a stranger.

“Run if you want, but without the boss and we’re as good as dead!” the other man growled reproachfully, turning his back on Nerf and continuing on in a direction away from the fire escape.

Keeping in his assumed character, Nerf copied the choice swear-words he’d heard his temporary comrade utter earlier and followed after him with plodding steps. With any luck this man would take him to the target, and hopefully right into Mercy.

 

“Lee, Interrogator Alexander, and Brianna have successfully reported without incident,” at last, Sudulus provided Inquisitor Godwyn with some reassuring news.

It wasn’t much, but it was something.

“Inquisitor…” the savant turned to face the Imperial agent who stood silently behind him. “What are we to do about…” his face contorted somewhat as he struggled to find the correct word, “… that *other* Inquisitor?”

The Kin-Slayer was silent. The demands of her role were clear and her course of action was set, though the consequences were still unforeseeable and would remain so until whatever was happened at the Lion’s Den was resolved.

“I want to meet with von Draken,” Godwyn replied, “alone and in private. Can you see that it happens?”

Sudulus nodded gravely. “That I can do,” he said, “though might I add that I dare to hope that this can yet be resolved without further conflict?”

“Conflict is upon us, whether we want it or not.”

 

In what seemed like no time at all the intruders had pushed through the Brigadiers guarding the Lion’s Den and were hurriedly setting the place aflame while rearguard units engaged disorganized Brigadier reinforcements in a bloody massacre in the streets where the fighting quickly spread as numerous armed factions to the opportunity to wage war for their own benefit. Inside, the Lion’s Den was in utter chaos as flames engulfed the ancient structure while the few surviving Brigadiers raced to escape the spreading conflagration through smoke-choked corridors, and with still no sign of Mercy or her target, Nerf was starting to get desperate.

“Where’s the Carolingian!?” he hollered as the heavy breathing Brigadier stopped a few paces ahead of the Catachan and was now coughing and sputtering as the smoke grew thicker around them.

“W-who!?” he managed to shout back, though he quickly doubled over into a coughing fit and braced himself against the wall.

“Right…” Nerf said mostly to himself – this was getting him nowhere. Sliding his knife free from underneath his coat, he slit the man’s throat in a single, decisive motion, and threw him to the floor. “You’re useless.”

He stepped over the gurgling guard and left him to die in the dark. He needed to find Mercy, and quick.

Keeping low with a handkerchief over his face to avoid the worst of the smoke, Nerf came across another suffocating guard not a moment later.

“Where is the Carolingian!?” he demanded again, but when the guard couldn’t answer him he finished him off in the same manner as he had the last and stalked off with blood on his hands.

His eyes were starting to sting. Nerf didn’t know how much more of this he could survive, nor did he know how much of it Mercy could take, but he knew that he had to get her out with or without their target. There was simply no way that he’d leave the assassin behind.

The rattling bark of gunfire shattered the smoke-filled air somewhere in front of him and Nerf threw himself flat against the wall as bullets scythed through the air and thudded into the corridor around him. Reversing the grip on his gun, Nerf flicked off the lamp-pack and returned fire with the stubber into the gloom only to be rewarded with… silence. Nothing.

Keeping low, the Catachan commando advanced in a crouch along the wall.

The smoke was getting thicker and his eyes stung to the point of watering, but even so he wasn’t about to give up now. He couldn’t.

Holding the handkerchief over his face with one hand and the stubber in the other, Nerf shimmied up to the corner, and after a brief pause gingerly poked his head around to look into the darkness. He couldn’t see much, though just at the edges of his blurred vision was the Brigadier’s corpse sprawled on its back.

Good enough.

He was just about to keep moving when a familiar shadow appeared in the corner of his eye.

 

Heaving a great sigh, Sudulus leaned back in his chair and passed his metal hands over his bald scalp.

“Nerf and Mercy are out,” he said, sounding relief at knowing that they hadn’t lost anyone. “A close thing, but they’re okay.”

Godwyn accepted the information with a nod.

“And the Carolingian?” she asked, but Sudulus shrugged.

“No sign,” he said; “it is as if he weren’t even there.”

[Lady_Canoness]

*par 5*

 

The black skies over Hogshead had long since grown quiet in the aftermath of the attack on the Lion’s Den when Inquisitor Godwyn and her student departed from Meridian several hours later in the sleek black service car, and a sense of order returned to the crumbling night city as the Brigade rallied to regain control of the streets. Mistaking the lack of gunfire in the air for calm was a stretch, however, as anarchy and chaos still swirled like whirlwinds through parts of the city, and though the mysterious forces that razed one of the Brigade’s most notorious strongholds to he ground had vanished as soon as the deed was done, there were no shortages of pretenders looking to take advantage of others when the opportunity arose. None-the-less, the fighting had been fierce for a couple of hours, during which time Godwyn regrouped with her team and decided to keep their heads down until the violence had washed over and they could once again move freely throughout the city.

During that time, Sudulus had managed to make contact with the Witch Hunter, von Draken, and Godwyn had arranged to parlay face to face in a private location. She suspected the Witch Hunter’s involvement in the attack, and with good reason: the emblem of the Inquisition was as plain as day on the insurgents’ vehicles, and the records that Sudulus had acquired showed that von Draken preferred obtrusive antics over the more subtle and delicate approach.

Was it enough for Godwyn to condemn her? No, though it was enough for her to enact of the Inquisition’s most ancient rites, and confront her in person while in the field.

Beside her in the dimly lit cab of the service car Alexander’s hands tightly gripped the steering wheel as his eyes darted between the road glowing in the headlights and the Inquisitor’s face reflecting the red light of the instruments. She had told him little of von Draken other than her name and that she was of the Ordo Hereticus, though quickly gleaning what was under the surface, he became perturbed at though of the Witch Hunter becoming a potentially dangerous adversary. Like most young Inquisitors, he had seen little enough of the Imperium to believe in the clear distinction of good and evil, right and wrong, and allies and enemies. Godwyn once believed as he did, but an agent of the Ordos would learn otherwise over time – the hard lesson of moral ambiguity – or not learn, and perish as a result.

He had asked her about it, why she was determined to meet the other woman alone without backup, but Godwyn had little to tell him.

“Feign weakness when you are strong, and appear strong when you are vulnerable,” she had told him as she checked over her heavy pistol and holstered it under her shoulder, “and in doing so you can learn to predict your enemy whilst you remain hidden from them.”

Nodding slowly with his eyes on the road as his master fastened the Icon of the Just round her neck so that it hung just beneath the Inquisitor’s rosette, Alexander could not help furrowing his brow as a frown spread across his face.

“What if she plans to kill you?” he asked, glancing at the Inquisitor as she prepared to stand without her allies.

“She doesn’t,” Godwyn replied. “If she did, she would have done it already.” The Interrogator gave her a questioning look. “She’s not that subtle.”

 

The meet was to take place in a small tavern in a grubby part of Hogshead called the White Heart. Crammed amidst the crumbling hovels and crooked streets deep within the lower regions of the city, the White Heart was agreed upon as a meeting place because it was far beneath the eyes of the Brigade or any other major gangs, and was off the radar for enterprising off-worlders or anyone else looking to cash in on information. Lee had heard about it almost by mistake, though once he’d taken the time to better acquaint himself with the area (something easily done through buying drinks and playing cards) he assured the Inquisitor that despite the rough edges there was no safer place to talk in private. Even so, however, Godwyn had come prepared.

Stepping out into the quiet avenue just up the block from the White Heart, the black service car pulled away and left Godwyn standing alone in a forest of desiccated buildings. Both before her and behind her the streets were empty and lit only by the occasional lamp or orange glow of a smoking torch, giving the impression of walking through a great cavern instead of underneath an open sky.

“Can you hear me?” she whispered, apparently to herself, for anyone watching would not see another soul to who she could be speaking.

“I can hear you, Inquisitor,” Sudulus’ voice answered inside her head from where he was waiting in the nest.

After losing her left ear and having it replaced by a bionic enhancement many years ago, Godwyn had implanted a uniquely crafted micro-bead into her head that, once activated by a wireless control in the ship-board nest, could allow Sudulus to hear as if through the Inquisitor’s own ear and speak directly into her head without being overheard. This allowed communication between the two even when the savant was not present, and, if coupled with a servo-eye, meant that the savant could essentially see and hear everything the Inquisitor could while remaining completely undetected. Naturally, the system had limitations, though they had yet to test the true extent of its capabilities.

“Good,” Godwyn replied, not needing to speak any louder than if she was speaking to herself; “I’m going in.”

The armour-weave of her coat shifted and flexed as she walked, and the mass of three pistols holstered and bound tightly against her body seemed to add extra weight to each of her steps, but Godwyn kept her calm and her wits keenly about her as she approached the White Heart. She was hoping to avoid any unpleasantness, but she was prepared in the event that it could not be avoided.

A plasma pistol, heavy pistol, and machine pistol were all primed and ready, as were the more covert trappings of the Inquisitor, though whether or not these tools would be needed, or even useful, was known only to the Emperor as Godwyn opened the rough iron door under the crudely worded sign ‘The White Heart’ and stepped through.

The tavern inside was gloomy as if carved from the walls of a cave, and she had hardly closed the heavy door behind her when her nostrils were assailed by the pungent reek of wood smoke and body odour. Seemingly unbothered by the smell, a motley collection of dishevelled patrons skulked around a clutter of rickety tables gulping down mouthfuls of putrid-looking grog under the flickering light of smoke-belching braziers, while a scarred and heavily implanted barkeep leaned his pock-marked forearms on a shoddy wooden counter and carried on a hushed conversation with a hunched, hooded figure that sat with his back to the door. None of them looked up as the Inquisitor entered, and, quickly scanning the room, Godwyn could see no trace of the Witch Hunter. It was the agreed upon time, however, and Godwyn suspected that she was already here… somewhere.

Keeping her coat tight about her, she approached the bar without drawing the eyes of its keeper and placed two gloved hands upon its rough wooden surface.

His eyes glanced in her direction from beneath his folded brow. “Whatch’u wan’?” his voice was a whisper but he threw it like a challenge, cutting open the stuffy silence like a blade puncturing a blister.

“I’m here to meet someone,” Godwyn replied, her voice both calm and direct – as striking a contrast from the barkeep’s slur as its owner was from the rest of the mongrel clientele.

The disfigured barkeeper gave her a long look with his muddy eyes lingering on the rosette pinned beneath her throat – a pause that indicated familiarity – before grunting something of an assent and walking round from behind the bar; beckoning her to follow as he did so. He led her up a creaking old staircase to a roughly circular loft forming a ring under the ceiling and looked down over the tavern floor below. Almost completely in shadow, it came as no surprise to Godwyn that she had not seen it when she first entered, and even as the barkeep led her across the worn wooden floor it took her a few seconds to notice that there were a half-dozen deep alcoves carved into the stone walls that were occupied by sturdy looking tables and padded benches. All these alcoves were empty, however, save for the one sitting opposite the stairs that had a clear view of the bar on the lower level, where a single figure sat waiting in the flickering light of a nearby torch, but even from a distance Godwyn could recognize the angular, pale face of the sole occupant as belonging to Inquisitor Tanya von Draken.

Following her through the gloom with dark eyes, the Witch Hunter said nothing as Godwyn took the seat across from her and sent the barkeep on his way.

“You wanted to talk?” the dark-haired woman began in a put-upon tone as soon as the barkeep was back downstairs and had resumed his muttering conversation with the haggard hunch-back at the bar.

“I do,” Godwyn replied with a confirming nod as she delicately plucked the gloves from her fingers and set them on the bench beside her before reaching into her coat pocket and retrieving a small, silver-coloured pyramid no larger than a walnut and placed it purposefully between them on the table where it hummed and puttered before falling silent. Sitting upright with one hand rested on the table and the other hidden in her lap, von Draken spared the tiny object only the most fleeting of glances before turning her attention back to the other Inquisitor. Maybe she knew what the object was, or maybe she didn’t, but the Witch Hunter made it clear in her features that she would entertain no trickery and expected to waste no time on frivolous pleasantries.

The aural disruptor being in place between them and ensuring that no one (other than Sudulus) would be able to overhear their conversation, Godwyn mirrored the Witch Hunter’s severe disposition and got right down to the reasons for calling her here:

“You attacked the Lion’s Den. Why?” Godwyn levelled the question like a spear towards her adversary, but the other woman wasted no time in responding;

“I didn’t, and I had no reason to do otherwise,” she answered, dropping the words with the same stiffness as throwing a gauntlet.

“Bulls**t.”

The word belonged to Sudulus and was only for Godwyn to hear, though the bluntness of the savant rivalled that of the Witch Hunter. “She is obviously lying, Inquisitor. I would suggest that you call her on it.”

A sound proposition, but Sudulus was not sitting at the table with Godwyn or looking at the shadowy face of the woman who sat across from her in the torchlight. The words alone sounded like a lie, and of all the people in the Imperium a Witch Hunter was likely a more capable liar than most, but something in her gut tugged her into believing that von Draken – an adept liar though she may be – was at this moment being completely truthful.

“You know who did?” Godwyn continued, careful not to reveal whether or not she bought the other Inquisitor’s answer and keeping her judgement hidden.

“No. What is it to you?”

Even if she was telling the truth, von Draken wasn’t selling herself in either direction, and was purposefully denying her questioner the means for further deduction.

“My agents were engaged in an operation at the Lion’s Den when the attack occurred.” Godwyn was the first to volunteer ground in the hopes that a displayed willingness to cooperate would cue her counter-part into doing likewise.

It didn’t, however, and Godwyn’s revelation was met with icy silence from the Witch Hunter. Von Draken was forcing her to further reveal her hand, or to abandon the parlay with nothing gained.

Her face like a mask, the Witch Hunter let the silence hang in the air for several moments more before levelling a further question to elicit a response.

“And the operation is of what consequence that you would blame me for its interruption?”

“It is at the consequence of the duty to which both you and I are sworn!” Godwyn retorted testily. “The Holy Inquisition’s investigation into the cultist activities on this world has been jeopardized by this act, and that is why, if you are not responsible for this act yourself, you will want to know who is just as much as I do!”

Again, von Draken was silent, but it was a silence more telling than words.

“She knows something,” Sudulus commented into her ear. “I dare say that if she was blameless she would have denied you already.”

Her savant was still convinced of the Witch Hunter’s guilt, but Godwyn did not think it that simple. Tanya von Draken knew something – with that Godwyn agreed – but, looking at Witch Hunter, she could not be convinced that the woman across from her had perpetrated the attack herself.

“Whatever it is you think you know, Inquisitor, would be of greater benefit to us both if it were in the open,” Godwyn attempted to persuade her with a more tactful approach, though the unchanging veneer of the ice-like woman made it impossible to tell if her words were having any affect.

Still looking at the Ordo Xenos Inquisitor sitting opposite her, von Draken reached a hand into the breast pocket of her coat and produced a single data-slate which she placed delicately on the table in front of Godwyn with a light *clack*.

“Perhaps you could then explain this?” she said, activating the data-slate with a flick of her finger before retreating her gloved hand back across the surface of the table.

Displayed on the screen of the data-slate was a single still image. Grainy and poorly focused, it appeared to be a motion capture frame taken from a surveillance camera, but regardless of its quality the picture captured the image of a poorly lit alleyway and a fleeting glimpse of an unmistakably tall woman almost invisible in the shadows.

“She’s one of yours, is she not?”

Godwyn looked questioningly at the Witch Hunter; “Where was this taken?” she asked, knowing that von Draken was not about to answer her question directly.

“My agents were involved in a reconnaissance operation on behalf of the Holy Inquisition,” the Witch Hunter replied coolly, “when they encountered this ‘unusual’ individual. Two of my men were killed, and I was left with no indication of their killer aside from this picture.”

Von Draken paused for a moment to allow the other Inquisitor to think over her words before continuing in a tone devoid of any hint of anger.

“You want to know if I am purposefully acting against you? I want to know if it is not you who are acting against me…”

Godwyn pushed the data-slate back across the wooden surface of the table and met the Witch Hunter’s eyes with a hard look.

“You expect me to believe that this image is genuine?”

“You expect me to believe that a slayer of kin would hesitate to strike against a rival when she has not done so before?”

Godwyn did not rise to the bait with anger, but kept her temperament in check. “So the short-sighted Inquisitor uses a den full of criminals as an excuse to act upon some deluded sense of vengeance?” she replied mockingly, and taking a glimmer of satisfaction when she saw that her words had punctured the Witch Hunter’s unflappable shell and caused her to bristle with anger.

“I know my duty before the Throne,” von Draken hissed with a threatening jab of her finger, “and if you think that I won’t be watching you, then you are gravely mistaken! If I see even the slightest hint – the faintest inkling – that the High Magistrate erred in his judgement of you, then I swear upon the mantle of the saints that you will see justice at my hand!”

“This is why you are here then?” Godwyn retorted scornfully; “To try and make a name for yourself amongst the Mono-dominants by killing an infamous villain? By seeing if you can’t gain some sort of recognition for an otherwise unimpressive career?” She folded her arms and shook her head contemptuously. “Find your reason, I dare you, and I’ll put you down for treason just like the others.”

The Witch Hunter had had enough. Rising from her seat, she shot the Kin-Slayer with a glare of utter loathing and stormed from the White Heart, leaving Godwyn alone with thoughts more distressing than she cared to admit.

“Sudulus,” she whispered into the dark, “where is Mercy?”

 

* *

 

“Tha’ is mos’ defina’ly cheetin’!”

Grinning wildly while her shoulders shook with silent laughter, Mercy plucked the queen from Lee’s side of the board and plopped it down in the every-growing pile of regicide pieces beside her. Shaking his head in amused disbelief but unable to keep his own face free from a wide grin as he filled his eyes with the striking assassin, Lee scratched his stubbly chin as a prelude to his next bone-headed move. He was letting Mercy win, and she probably knew it, but then again winning didn’t seem to be a high priority for either of them when Alexander stepped into the hold and draped his coat over the counter next to where the Catachan was idly swabbing the action of his sniper-rifle with an oil-stained rag. Lee and Mercy were sitting at the opposite end of the hold near the closed hatchway leading to the nest and had their game board sitting at the head of the table (though both players were actually sitting *on* the table when the Interrogator entered) and were giggling back and forth while Nerf only half paid attention.

Though he’d known her for half a year, the willowy assassin was still a mystery to him, and, try as he might to figure her out, Alexander never ceased to be amazed by how different she was. She was strange in the truest sense of the word, though at the same time that was probably what made her so fascinating to him – more-so than the obvious reasons that kept him awake at night. It wasn’t so much her body, he figured – though he couldn’t stop himself from imagining what it would be like to feel her warm skin against his – but more in the way she acted. She wasn’t human. Alright, maybe that was taking it a little far – she was obviously human… but part of her seemed more than that. The way she moved so freely and gracefully with even the simplest of motions, or how she reacted so emphatically to things that were otherwise normal or mundane… or how she was startlingly unpredictable and had a habit of showing up where she wasn’t expected.

He only noticed that he’d been staring at her when a large, callused handed was waved up and down in front of his face.

“Stare any longer and you’re gonna start dribbling down your front,” Nerf said with a sly chuckle as Alexander blinked himself back into the moment. Mercy and the pilot were still playing regicide without a care.

“Sorry…” he corrected himself while trying to regain a little of his composure.

The Catachan smirked nonchalantly and continued to rub away at the components of his rifle.

“I wonder,” Alexander began, turning to look at the muscular commando who regarded him with a slightly arched eyebrow, “how long have you known her for?”

Nerf shrugged. He’d known her longer than anyone, Alexander supposed, and probably knew just about everything there was to know about her considering how close they seemed.

“About four r’ five years, I guess,” Nerf replied with a non-committal sigh as he placed the housing of the rifle back down on the counter and picked up the anti-material rifle’s long barrel and started to run the rag up and down along it.

The young man nodded, running his tongue idly over his lower lip as he tapped his chin.

“Was she always…?”

Nerf gave him slightly curious look. No rush.

“Well… quiet?”

“You mean mute?” the Catachan tossed the term about like it was as subtle as a brick.

Alexander nodded again; yes, he supposed that was what he wanted to know.

Nerf shook his head. “No…” he said at length; “no, there was a time when she talked. Granted, I never knew her when she did.”

“Then how do you know…?” the obvious question burbled up inside him, but the Catachan didn’t really answer. He knew, and that was it: no reason, he just knew.

“I see…”

At this, Nerf raised an eyebrow, and his heavy jaw curved into a crafty smirk:

“Do you?” he said, placing the barrel of his rifle down on the counter, and leaning his hand against it before turning to face the young Interrogator in an engaged but non-threatening way. “Is talking that important, you think?”

His gut reaction told him to appease the Catachan and seek out a way to pick his brains later on the subject, but with a flash of what could have been intellectual intrigue the young man chose to take him up on it instead.

“I would say that it is,” Alexander replied confidently. He wanted to see where this went.

Nerf gave him an appraising look – something Alexander had not expected to see on the Catachan’s rough face – and gave a thoughtful glance in the assassin’s direction.

“I’ve met a lot of people doing what I do,” he said, looking back the Interrogator with long-seeing eyes that seemed to underscore the truth in his words, “but she’s more real to me than anyone else out there.”

“What do you mean?”

Nerf shrugged his heavy shoulders and frowned. “She doesn’t complicate things,” he said. “She never lies, or makes s**t up to tell you what you want to hear. She’s just there. Maybe happy, maybe sad, but she keeps you honest. Keeps you real…” he folded his arms across his chest and looked back across the room at her. “It’s a lot easier doing things like she does. Not over-complicated or filled with all the other things we like to fill our heads with. She takes it as it is. I like it that way. It feels simpler… better.”

Taken aback, Alexander raised his eyebrows. He’d been taught a lot of things in the academies of the Inquisition, and he had imagined that the wisdom taught in those halls would encompass the entirety of Man, yet here he was in the hold of shuttle with a man who’d probably never read a textbook in his life listening to something so simple yet so profound.

“If you ask me,” Nerf continued, watching the assassin with a look of genuine understanding across his face, “she can still talk, but she just chooses not to.”

What happened next could only be described as a moment of clarity, and Alexander found himself nodding along with the Catachan’s words as if they were something he’d known all along. Maybe it really was like that. Maybe it could be that simple.

“Why?” he asked the question without really thinking about it; “Why would she do that?”

Nerf sighed, and his face dropped in what may have been sadness.

“I didn’t meet her under the best of circumstances,” he said, “and I know that a lot of bad things happened to her before anything got better. Enough things to break a person – to change them.”

“What kind of things?” Alexander asked, knowing that he was prying but feeling as if he had to know all the same.

Nerf shook his head. He wouldn’t tell.

“Do you love her?” It was Alexander’s final question – a nagging in his chest that needed to hear the words from his own lips.

The commando surprised him with a laugh, however, and fixed him with a jovial look.

“There’s more to it than love,” he said with the type of grin that could draw a smile out of any audience, “and if your lucky enough to ever meet a person who means that much to you, then you’ll know that one word isn’t enough of a description.”

Nerf left it at that and went back to working on his rifle, while Alexander returned to his small cabin on the starboard side of the shuttle with more thoughts swimming around in his head than he’d ever expected to have after a conversation with the Catachan.