Unrepentant Son (Updated 4/29)

[Andrew J]

As everyone else has said very good. I like your story more than Legion of the HH series which I just read.

[Algorithm]

Thanks everyone for the feedback! It's appreciated.

 

Lsyimachus: That was actually the point. Depril has the illusion of being a kindly old man, but he is a ruthless puritan. His nice demeanor is only the carrot instead of the stick during an interrogation. All the same, valid criticism. If that didn't come through that way then I didn't communicate it well. Thanks! :)

[Algorithm]

The sword-class frigate Dynasty drifted lazily through realspace, as it had been doing for weeks now. No warp jump had been made following the attack on the prison complex. No warp jump would be made for weeks yet. Those that hunted the Dynasty and those aboard would be looking for the signature of a warp translation. Such things were traceable.

 

The Alpha Legion left no trace.

 

Durmanhoth stood in silence, regarding his collection within his own private sanctum aboard the hip. His quarters were spartan, consisting of a number of workbenches and a single, albeit massive, cot in the corner. Across each workbench were strewn stacks of dataslates and papers. Each of these contained meticulous plans for future and ongoing operations, all of which were written in a code language that only Durmanhoth could decipher.

 

The wall holding his collection was the first thing any visitor would notice, if the Alpha Legionnaire ever allowed a visitor to enter. Along the wall were over a dozen astartes shoulder pads from as many Chapters. Some of these were from loyalists, others bore the symbols of renegade factions. He took a step forward, placing shoulder pads belonging to both the Deathwatch and the Dark Angels into blank slots in the bulkhead. The rest of the armor, still clad against his body, could be repainted as he saw fit using the extensive array of military-grade paint that sat atop one workbench.

 

The Alpha Legionnaire began to remove the rest of his armor, regarding the other shoulder pads as he did so. He had not only collected these pieces of armor for use in impersonating others, but each of these pieces represented an enemy he had personally slain. Each one told a story.

 

The Lamenters.

 

The Raven Guard.

 

The Dark Angels.

 

The Death Watch.

 

The Marines Malevolent.

 

He removed his gauntlet, placing them reverently on the armor rack before him. He grimaced as his hands ran over the never-closing wounds caused by Heartrender each time he drew the cursed blade. That blade. If it weren't for Heartrender, he might still feel pride in his collection.

 

The Sons of Guilliman.

 

The Purple Stars.

 

The Red Corsairs.

 

The Silver Skulls.

 

The Extinction Angels.

 

The greaves and his chestplate came away last, and Durmanhoth made a conscious effort not to look down at his exposed body. In areas the black carapace was pocked with ugly stains of mutation and corruption, the unavoidable consequences of his life of rebellion. He replaced these pieces of armor on the rack beside his helm and gauntlets, and covered his muscled frame with a plain black robe. He pulled the cowl up over his bald head.

 

Durmanhoth had long since stopped considering what his own face looked like. His natural face had long-since been altered before the days of the heresy, changed with complex surgeries to more closely mimic the twin primarchs. Since those days it had been altered again and again, each time after an operation or whenever the Alpha Legionnaire could find someone with the requisite level of skill. He had never worn the same face for long. As he ran his fingers over the tanned flesh of his face, he knew he had had this one for too long already.

 

The only item that remained on his body was Heartrender, belted to his robed waist by a length of silver chain. He ran a hand over the scabbard.

 

Draw me, and I will let you look upon your treasures with gratification. We shall share in that pleasure.

Durmanhoth glanced back to the wall.

 

The Angels of Caliban.

 

The Cerberus Knights.

 

He drew the sword before he could resist. The sword squealed with joy, the black metal pulsing as it was torn from it's scabbard. Thick, purple tendrils pushed from the hilt into the old wounds in Durmanhoth's hand, interfacing with his nervous system, tapping into his memories.

 

The Cerberus Knights.

 

Flash.

 

Their lair was found. They had a traitor on their hands.

 

No time to worry about that now.

 

Durmanhoth snapped upright, his bolter firing as he charged forward towards the near-berserk squad of astartes that poured into their mountain dwelling. Red clad with helms trimmed in bone-white, the Cerberus Knights were a loyalist chapter renowned for their ferocity. Two of his brothers were dismembered by whirring chainswords within the first moments of the attack, diving headlong into the gathered Alpha Legionnaires and their operatives.

 

He swept his bolter back and forth as he fired at the charging enemy squad, looking to pick out weak spots in an armor joint. He was rewarded as a Knight staggered backwards at the critical moment before swinging his weapon, tumbling off-balance into Durmanhoth. The Alpha Legionnaire caught the enormous weight of his enemy, shifting his stance to use the momentum of the Knight's charge against him. The Knight went down in a heap, and Durmanhoth leapt down on his back before he could rise again. He wrapped one blue-armored arm around the Knight's gorget, holding tight as he drew his combat knife with his free hand. The knife punched sideways again and again at the weak point in the Knight's armored abdomen, blood spattering the floor each time the knife was withdrawn. The Knight thrashed and howled, pitching his body and trying to dislodged the Alpha Legionnaire. He grabbed Durmanhoth's knife arm as it came down again, and rolled his body over it, causing both warriors to tumble over.

 

As the weight shifted, Durmanhoth's arm was snapped at the forearm and the Cerberus Knight quickly darted to one side to pry the knife from his injured hand. Durmanhoth growled in pain, his other hand reaching out for something, anything, on the floor.

 

He found his bolter.

 

The Cerberus Knight roared, rolling back against Durmanhoth to face him, the knife now coming down at the Alpha Legionnaire. Durmanhoth's bolter lined up and shot the Knight point blank in the face. Brain matter and skull fragments blossomed from the back of the Knight's head.

 

Durmanhoth lay there panting as battle raged all around him, and felt-

 

Elation! Another enemy slain!

 

Durmanhoth grinned, regarding the shoulder pad and licking his lips, remembering every sound of the battle. Every emotion he felt. He could remember others too, he could-

 

He shook his head, some sense of himself returning. He felt the daemon snarling threateningly in his mind as he pushed her back, forcing reason back into his sensation-rattled brain. Angrily, and with some difficulty, he slid the blade back into it's scabbard. Heartrender's frustrated screams were audible until every inch of steel was put away.

 

"Stupid." Durmanhoth said to no one in particular. "Careless"

 

He walked out of his private sanctum, but left Heartrender belted at his waist.

[Aqui]

Rather an apt name, Heartrender :rolleyes:

 

Looking forward to seeing more ^_^

[Kol Saresk]

I was also expecting her to get a lasbolt or a solid round to the back of the head. Then when I saw the hands jump forward, I expected a garrot wire. Not bare hands. Nice twist on showing how the Inquisitor really doesn't care about the Imperial citizenry despite his facade(unless it was supposed to be otherwise interpreted). Keep up the good work.

[Olis]

I'm liking these little snippets about Durmanhoth - they allow the reader to become more invested with the character. Good stuff. :P

[Brother Ambroz]

Love the way the inquisitor killed her. Shows he doesn't care. Seems to embody the very imperium he serves..

 

Well done indeed.

[Algorithm]

Kylone Vex felt better. He felt better than he had felt in years.

 

He knew this was mostly due to the rich food he was given aboard the Dynasty, in addition to the exercise he was now permitted at regular intervals. Large swathes of the frigate had been forbidden to him, and for weeks the only person he was exposed to was the one who called himself Balchus. The man spoke little, only identifying himself by name and refusing further discussion as to all the "whys" Vex had floating through his head. One moment he was a prisoner, and the next an astartes had freed him without explanation and spirited him away. He could hardly believe his luck, if it could be called that.

 

Now he found himself on a deck of the ship he had never before been given access too. He sat in a small, upholstered chair at an oblong table in what he assumed was the ship's strategium. In the center of the table, a hololith projector sat deativated, itself embedded in the table. Chairs lined the table of the claustrophobic room, a dozen in all. Vex sat in one, Balchus in another, and at the head of the table sat the cowled astartes who had liberated him. Balchus had brought him here, and despite several attempts to engage the astartes in conversation, the warrior had said nothing, his face masked by his hood.

 

The space marine was unarmored now, sitting him a plain robe of black. his ornamental sword attached to his hip by a length of knotted cord. He was utterly motionless, as though waiting for something. Whoever he was, Vex owed him, he knew that. Still, he found the stillness and the air of mystery around the astartes disconcerting.

 

Balchus, for his part, sat quietly consulting a dataslate, not looking up at Vex since he had brought him here.

 

Vex didn't care. He sighed, relishing the feeling of a full belly. He sat clad in the clothing of what appeared to have once been the blue uniform of an Imperial Navy ensign. The aquila had been defaced, however, and any designated of rank or identity had been removed. He felt his face, still unused to the smooth skin he found there. Shaving, bathing, all of these things had been an unexpected joy when he had been able to do them again with regularity after his long stint in Armillo North. Life was good again, he thought. He was no longer a young man, but he still had his guile. He would build himself up again as one of the slickest smugglers the galaxy had ever seen.

 

The door at the far end of the strategium slid opened, and in walked a man who likewise wore a defaced uniform. With dark eyes and pale skin, the man wore the uniform of a Navy captain, his uniform likewise bereft of Imperial iconography that had not in some way been defaced. He stood rigid as he entered, bowing his head respectfully at the astartes.

 

"My Lord Durmanhoth, Ave Chaotica." He said, his voice cold and his speech methodical.

 

"Hydra Dominatus, Captain Devlin." The astartes said. "Please sit, we will begin."

 

The captain nodded again, moving to a chair across from the astartes. He gave Vex a glance as he sank into the chair, his posture rigid.

 

The astartes looked up at last, turning his weathered face and dark eyes upon Vex.

 

"This is my inner circle." He said, gesturing to Devlin and Balchus. "They are the only two who know that I am the true master of this ship. You now know. You are now a part of this circle. Anyone else you encounter on this ship is not to know of my existence. Captain Devlin is master of this ship as far as they are concerned. The penalty for disobeying this one rule is death." Durmanhoth said.

Vex didn't know what to say, so he just nodded.

 

"I am Durmanhoth, and I am also Alpharius. We are all traitors to the Imperium, and now so are you. Do you understand?"

 

Vex had been a criminal his whole life, but a traitor? He nodded, because he did not know what else to do.

 

"If you do as I ask, I will reward you with freedom when this is all over. I will take you to your system of choice, and I will let you continue your life as a smuggler and black marketeer." Durmanhoth said. "Your crimes rot the Imperium from within. The galaxy is thus more interesting with you in it."

 

"Erm, lord?" Vex spoke up hesitatingly. "I don't even know why I'm here. You are a space marine! You talk of rotting the Imperium!"

 

Durmanhoth sighed. "Many of us have realized the Emperor is an absentee father. Some corners of the Imperium do not tell our story. Suffice it to say that some of His angels of death have turned against him, and for good cause. You are now in the presence of one of these angels. I am a part of the Alpha Legion, and you will be also." Durmanhoth pointed to his left. "You have already met Balchus. He is formerly an intelligence officer for the Inquisition." He gestured across that table. "Captain Devlin was formerly a naval officer, and deserted to the cause of Chaos and the Alpha Legion, for personal reasons. I'll let him regale you later." Durmanhoth leaned forward. "You are one of us now."

 

"I see." Vex replied, anything but certain he knew what this "angel" spoke of. Chaos? Wasn't that some metaphysical garbage the Ecclesiarchy always went on about? Surely it wasn't real? "What do you want with me?"

 

"Three solar years ago, you sold a missile guidance system that was unlike anything ever seen before. Any ballistic missile that was guided by it's programs was virtually immune to countermeasures. The Rampant, it was called."

 

"I remember." Vex smiled proudly. "It made me a fortune. STC bought from an explorator team and resold at a huge profit margin."

 

"You will help us locate it." Durmanhoth said simply.

 

"Why?" Vex asked. "I'm not even sure I can find it again. The buyer-"

 

"Do not ask why." Balchus interrupted. "Free advice. Aboard this ship, secrets are currency."

 

Vex sighed. "I'll need a reason to help you."

 

"Apart from the fact that I freed you from bondage?" Durmanhoth asked, his tone like that of a tutor with a petulant student. "Apart from the fact that if you refuse, I will tear out your heart?"

 

Vex grunted, shifting uncomfortably. "Yes, apart from all that, if you'd indulge me."

 

"Because giving to it to me will injure the Imperium that has shackled you for years. I will give you the means to strike back at the bureaucrats that destroyed your livelihood. And then," Durmanhoth waved a hand, "I'll set you free to begin anew."

 

"Well," Vex said, his easy grin returning after all his years in confinement, "Lord Durmanhoth, I believe we have a deal." He bit his lip, thinking a moment. "Hydra Dominatus, is it?"

 

Captain Devlin sniggered mirthlessly. Durmanhoth said nothing. Balchus smiled and nodded once.

 

"Hydra Dominatus it is then." Vex smiled. "Payback is hell."

[Dosjetka]

"Erm, lord?" Vex spoke up hesitatingly. "I don't even know why I'm here. You are a space marine! You talk of rotting the Imperium!"

This is the only sentence that bothers me in this part of the story. I'm not too sure why, but it may be the way it's punctuated.

 

Otherwise, I really liked it and I'm looking forward to reading the rest :tu:

 

Ludovic

[Brother Ambroz]

Yeah I agree with Ludo, maybe "You talk of the Imperium rotting!" instead?

[Kol Saresk]

I think the phrasing is in reply to Durmanhoth's phrase "You rot the Imperium from within." I could be wrong since I am not the author. Very good addition. Although towards the end, there was an extra "to" when Durmanhoth tells Vex why he should give him the Rampant.

[Algorithm]

"Are these coordinates accurate? I'm reading these correctly?" Captain Devlin murmured, clearly displeased. His helm officer stood at attention before him, holding the dataslate out to his commander and glancing dubiously at Vex.

 

The old smuggler grinned and nodded, rubbing a shock of graying hair from his face. "I would assume so. You graduated from the Imperial Navy Academy, did you not? Navigation is still a part of their curriculum, yes?"

 

Devlin's frown deepened. "No need to be a cheeky bastard. The question was rhetorical." He got a glance across the bridge of the Dynasty, watching as his crew prepared the frigate for a warp jump after weeks of idle drifting through the system. "I ask you to plot our destination, and the place you send us lies at the core of the Imperium. The preparation we'll have to undergo will be considerable."

 

Devlin sighed inwardly. He wasn't in control of this ship, he was merely pretending for the bustling crew, hiding the true master. Were it up to him, he'd happily join a pirate fleet at the galaxy's fringe, and live out the rest of his life as a mercenary. This looked more like suicide.

 

"I'm not on this ship to tell you what you want to hear, old boy. You want to know where to find the Rampant, I'm pointing you at it."

 

Devlin had disliked Vex since the moment he had laid eyes on him. They could not be more stark opposites. Devlin was a military man at heart; rigid, punctual, and used to being obeyed. He may be a traitor, but he still ran his ship like a military vessel. When Abaddon's Black Crusade had begun, the Dynasty had been a small part of Battlefleet Cadia. The Archenemy fleet had delivered a message: it was not too late to change sides. You were either an ally of the Warmaster, or his enemy.

 

Devlin was a pragmatic man. In Battlefleet Cadia's first engagement, he had seen the sheer scale of the Chaos fleet. He knew how to pick a winner. It had simply been a matter of creating a plan to get his crew to see things his way. There had been many dissenters, and there had been a purge. In the end, it was the Dynasty that had relayed to the enemy the position of Battlefleet Cadia. The resulting surprise attack by the Word Bearers had devastated the Imperial Navy and sent it into retreat. The Dynasty had allowed itself to be "captured" by the Archenemy. For his betrayal, Captain Devlin had been allowed to live and retain the captaincy of his vessel. It was not long before the Word Bearers had seconded him to Lord Durmanhoth as payment for some debt.

 

This entire course of events had occured because Captain Devlin was three things: he was cold, he was calculating, and he knew when to switch sides.

 

Kylone Vex was all opposites. He may have been a criminal, but he had an infuriating warmth and affability that the other crew members seemed to take to. It was the charm of a charlatan, but infectious, it seemed. Devlin had always been feared as a commander, but never possessed or utilized any sort of charm. Where Devlin was disciplined and serious, Vex was antagonistic and incessantly mocking.

 

And now he had to trust the destination of his ship to him. All because Lord Durmanhoth needed what he had.

 

Moving this close to the core of the Imperial domain was insanity. There would need new ident codes, sophisticated ones, to move unchallenged through any systems near the Segmentum Solar. They would need to move from one place to another quickly, never lingering long. If they encountered an Imperial battlefleet, they were dead, plain and simple. Any naval commander would insist on boarding them and conducting a full inspection. They would be exposed.

 

"Hello?" Vex said, cocking his head to one side. "Don't be rude, we were talking."

 

Devlin looked at him again, scowling. The helmsman seemed shocked to hear his captain spoken to in such an insubordinate manner. "Take me through it again. Why are we going to the Yulais system." Vex had never told him why in the first place. He had only told Durmanhoth, but it would be unacceptable to mention the astartes in front of the bridge crew.

 

Vex for his part, seemed to catch on quickly.

 

"As I told you before," he winked at Devlin. The moron. "I sold the Rampant to a rogue trader in the Damocles gulf. I believe it was his intention to keep it for himself. He was wealthy enough to last several lifetimes, but he was a collector of unique items. And what is more unique than an STC?"

 

"Quite." Devlin answered, absent-mindedly signing his approval on an order an ensign brought him. "Go on." he urged, flipping pages and not looking up.

 

"Many don't know that possession of an STC without promptly submitting it to the Adeptus Mechanicus or reporting it to them is an offense punishable by death. I know that, because I bought it with no intent to turn it in, and I pay attention to Imperial laws that might result in my death. If someone with the clout and privileges of a rogue trader is not exempt, then I would be a dead man for sure."

 

"I'm sure there's a point coming?" Devlin sighed, looking to Vex again as the ensign scampered back to his station.

 

"The point, captain, is that the rogue trader, Jouras was his name, couldn't keep it in his personal vaults for fear of someone tipping off the Imperium at large. Instead, I believe he will have hidden it in plain sight, where no one would ever look. A safe deposit box, in a legitimate bank."

 

Devlin looked doubtful. "How do you know?"

 

"Because it's what I would do." Vex answered, as though it were obvious. "Yulais Prime is where Jouras does his banking. It's where the payment for the Rampant came from when they were transferred to me."

 

"That doesn't mean that he keeps a safe deposit box there." Devlin pointed out. "Sounds thin, Kylone. Very thin."

 

"It's the best I can do, and it's more than you had before you sprung me out." Vex smiled, pointing out the occulus at the front of the bridge to the stars beyond. "We have to take a chance here. If you want the Rampant back, we're going to have to head deep into the Imperium. We're going to have to land on a heavily populated hive world. And this is the really fun part: we're going to have to rob a bank."

[Kol Saresk]

Haha! Yes! Bank robbery gone 40k! I cannot wait to see where you take this!

[Dosjetka]

Haha! Yes! Bank robbery gone 40k! I cannot wait to see where you take this!

Same here :)

 

Ludovic

[Brother Ambroz]

I love this story. For some reason it reminds me of an Inquisitor and his retinue, the way they work together and the tensions between the different operatives.

[Andrew J]

Love it! You have formed a real story here! I cant wait to see what comes next!(besides bank robbery!)

[Aqui]

I can imagine the scene at the bank now....

 

"I told you to blow the bloody doors off!" :P

[Algorithm]

Chapter Four: The Suicide Run

 

"Man is what he believes." -Anton Chekhov

 

They were all dead.

 

Inquisitor Depril could smell the cordite reek mixed with the stink of spilled blood. He ducked his head, avoiding an overhanging piece of rebar as he entered the ruined tenement building.

 

"Well," He sighed, straightening his spectacles with a gloved hand. "At least the Warhawks were thorough." He wrinkled his nose, his eyebrows knitting together as he picked his way carefully though the devastation.

 

"The Emperor rewards diligence." Sister Autoria remarked, a faint smile on her lips. Seeing traitors brought low always filled her with pride.

 

The pair moved through what had once been a hab block housing dozens of seemingly loyal imperial citizens. Loyal to untrained eyes, that was. Inquisitor Depril knew things. He had the most valuable of sources, and this source had helped him smash cell after cell of the hated Archenemy terrorists. Now, the information contained in the source's mind had led him here, to Kexia, a thriving agri-world and home to the Imperial hero Andrick Caspian.

 

It was the breadbasket of the Ultima Segmentum, and at the very periphery of the Inquisitor's normal theater of operation. But his purview was the destruction of the Alpha Legion, and all of it's assets. The source had been instrumental in this, and it was his greatest boon. Even at his old age, Inquisitor Depril's star was on the rise within the Ordo Hereticus. Using the source, he had been able to uproot and eliminate close to a dozen Alpha Legion cells throughout the galaxy. This was a significant number. Such cells were notorious for their ability to hide, and typically were only known once they surface to wreak their damage on the Imperium. Their operatives were loyal, professional, and highly resistant to interrogation. The fact that Depril had located and destroyed so many of them before their plots had come to fruition was nothing short of incredible.

 

And he owed it all to the source. It was his, and he would share it with no one. Not with his retinue, and not with his ordo.

 

Now the source had identified another cell, here on the birth-world of the great Imperial hero; the Colonel who had orchestrated two consecutive defeats of the Tau Empire in the Eastern Fringe, one resulting in the liberation of a world, the other resulting in the death of the wretched alien leader. Depril wondered what the great Caspian would think about the fact that the Archenemy had wormed it's way into the heart of his beloved homeworld.

 

Kexia. A world of farmers, famed for it's high Imperial Guard tithe, and now also for it's association with some Alpha Legion plot. A plot that now would never happen, thanks to Depil..

 

As Depril and Autoria entered a shelled-out courtyard in the middle of the hab block, they came upon a platoon of Harakoni Warhawks at rest, cataloging a host of enemy dead that lay strewn about the area. Body lay twisted and mangled. Some had been riddled with lasfire, others shredded by shrapnel or other debris. Most, Depril noted, had been crushed when the west end of the building itself had collapsed. Damned Warhawks. So zealous. He noted that a separate array of bodies were positioned at the far end of the dingy courtyard, more respectfully arranged with their arms crossed across their chest. These people were collateral damage, victims of the bombs that had been dropped on the block by the squadron of marauder bombers. The bombing run had ended the battle here, but killed so many that had been unaffiliated with the Alpha Legion.

 

Some in his ordo would say they were innocent, and Depril reflected that in a way they were. He knew, logically, that they did not necessarily associate with the Chaos-sworn operatives simply by their proximity to the vermin that had bedded down in their tenement. The Alpha Legion were unique in that they recruited mortal operatives selectively. They would use those adept in obtaining information, staying unseen, or penetrating the high strata of society. The cultists that served them did not bolster rebellions, they instigated them. No, most of these people were innocent. Of heresy? Certainly. However, Depril did not mourn their loss. With time, they would be poisoned by their proximity to such verminous scum. He had sent the Harakoni Warhawks here because he knew they would be thorough. They would kill the traitors, but also the Emperor's faithful while they remained innocent. Pure. What greater gift could he give them?

 

Although the Warhawks had called in a strike by the Navy prematurely, such a thing was only excessive because this was a firmly compliant Imperial world. The use of such tactics sent the wrong message. It was unnecessary. Kexia was not at war. This was simply a sweep ordered by Inquisitor Depril once the source had identified yet another nest of heretics. The Warhawks themselves had only been utilized because they were part of a Departmento Munitorum muster already taking place in orbit. But, in typical Guard fashion, give them a job, no matter how controlled, and they would treat it like a full deployment. Depril supposed he had only himself to blame.

 

The Harakoni warhawks straightened as he entered, their pierced faces turning towards him and the bulky form of Sister Autoria as he entered the courtyard. Inquisitor Depril's eyes picked out Lieutenant Fultus hurrying towards him. The junior officer had a dark complexion, his face covered in the ritual piercings and tattoos of his regiment. His eyes regarded the inquisitor beneath pierced brows.

 

"My lord." He intoned, snapping a sharp salute. "The area has been secured, and the enemy neutralized, as ordered."

 

"Yes, I can see that, lieutenant." Depril said dryly, regarding the smashed building all around him. "Casualties?"

 

"The traitors fought like hell. They fought like two hells. Four of my platoon were hit. Two of them are dead." The junior officer grimaced. "They were prepared. They had prepared promethium charges in their dwellings. Most of the evidence of their activities was burned when the fighting began."

 

Depril sighed. "Typical. I notice none were taken alive?"

 

"No sir." The lieutenant reported. "Two were wounded and captured prior to the air strike, but they bit down on capsules hidden in their mouths when captured. Some sort of poison, both died."

 

The inquisitor nodded, suppressing his irritation. "Any indication at all in this...this mess as to what was being planned here?"

 

"Conjecture." The warhawk shrugged. "Two of the insurgents killed were identified as bio-chemists in the employ of the Administratum. You don't have to be a genius to figure that maybe they intended to sabotage the planetary crop somehow. There may be more on the planet."

 

Inquisitor Depril smiled. "There are no more."

 

Fultus blinked. "As you say, my lord. If you're certain."

 

"I have my sources, lieutenant." He answered, his smile widening.

[Kol Saresk]

Yet another great installment.

 

On a side note, I'm starting to feel like a crack head because every time that I see you posted, I have to rush on over to read your update.

[Azekai]

Just read this in one go- riveting. Algorithm, your characterization is quite good- I feel like I am getting to know these rebels, heretics and the Imperial lapdogs that chase them. Ave Chaotica!

[Brother Ambroz]

I hope Durmanoth gets that Inquisitor....

[Dosjetka]

I think I know who that "source" is and what he's up to :)

 

Great stuff and I look forward to seeing what comes next!

 

Ludovic

[Algorithm]

"Do you think we could have this meeting without the goon squad?" Balchus asked, waving a gloved hand at the trio of armed, visored mercenaries flanking the Paymaster that sat across from him. "I'm unarmed. If you really think I came all the way here to attack you, and likely die messily in the attempt, then you are more paranoid than your reputation would suggest."

 

The Paymaster didn't smile. His seemingly default scowl only deepened. They sat across a table from one another on one of the dozens of docking orbitals that encircled Yulais Prime. The conference room was lavishly furnished, with imported Terran rugs stretching across the floors and rich tapestries hanging over unsightly bulkheads. Massive sheets of shielded glass were positioned from floor to ceiling at Balchus's left, offering an impressive view of the planet itself. Yulais Prime spun lazily down below them, it's cities picked out in twinkling swirls of light, clustered tightly together and covering most of the visible continent. Where lights came together towards a single bright point, Balchus knew a hive was located. He briefly wondered which point of light was Gravus Hive, the location of the Imperialis Donativum, the target bank.

 

Balchus sat in a dark grey civilian clothes, covered by a black greatcoat. His dark eyes roamed over the three mercenaries and the Paymaster before him.

 

The Paymaster wore a dark green robe, his eyes hard and his face that of an old man. He represented the Black Coats, a mercenary outfit with a professional reputation in this sector. Officially, they often provided protection for Imperial and planetary dignitaries, carried out sanctioned attacks on criminal strongholds, and staffed starship security teams. Unofficially, Balchus knew from his contacts that they often took illegal contracts, if the money was right.

 

And Balchus had an obscenely large sum to offer.

 

"Your correspondence identifies you as Maximilllian Schrader." The Paymaster said. "That is a cover ID. That much is suggested, since your electronic communique was routed through several cogitator servers throughout the system. It was impossible to source. You are secretive."

 

"I am." Balchus nodded. "I understand that your organization has no difficulty dealing with those who prefer to remain functionally anonymous?"

 

"True enough, but we are not stupid either. Your message indicates you wish to hire five Black Coats, and you want our best and most experienced operatives? Whatever you want, it is going to be ambitious. When you mix secrecy, a demand for high quality and the level of deception you have already brought to the table, it makes me curious."

 

"Then I will sate your curiosity. I need these men because I intend to rob a bank, one insured by the Imperial Administratum."

 

The Paymaster laughed, his expression rueful and bitter. "You ask too much, I fear. That is a high profile target, and the risks are considerable. If such an attempt were to fail-"

 

"Then your license to operate within the Imperium would be revoked." Balchus interrupted. "There would be an investigation, your chief executives would be arrested, and your contracts with every politician, ecclesiarch and petty bureaucrat would be suspended. In short, it would financially destroy you. The risks, as you say, are considerable. But this is economics. Higher risk only means a higher reward"

 

Balchus reached into the inner pocket of his jacket, and the three mercenaries immediately pulled and aimed laspistols at him. Balchus chuckled, holding up his free hand defensively. "I'm retrieving a dataslate. I've already been subjected to a pat-down. Tell your flunkies to ease off."

 

The Paymaster set his jaw, giving a curt nod to his men. The pistols came back down.

 

"Thank you. Great reaction time your men have." Balchus smirked, retrieving the dataslate. He activated the screen, tapping his way over to the desired screen and then sliding the slate across to the Paymaster.

 

"There's the fee I am willing to pay. That's for a single day's work."

 

The Paymaster took the slate, his craggy face glowing in the screen's backlight. His eyebrows knitted together as he saw this figure.

 

"This is in escrow already?" He asked with disbelief.

 

"It is. The account will be paid out into your general operating fund, or an ancillary account, if you desire, when the operation is concluded. The price is high because of the risk, but also because there is no cut to be divided after the robbery. We are not after credits. I desire an object from a safe deposit box. It is mine, and mine alone upon conclusion of the operation."

 

The Paymaster kept looking at the enormous figure on the screen, seemingly deep in thought. "What is in the box?"

 

"I'm secretive, remember?" Balchus answered. "That kind of money wasn't easy to come by. This is the contract of a lifetime." That much was true. The sum was enormous. Balchus knew Durmanhoth was draining his considerable resources, and stealing from some very dangerous people to make this deal. The Alpha Legion's operatives raised money by laundering the credits of numerous criminal enterprises throughout the galaxy. Durmanhoth, at any one time, made only modest amounts from the cuts his operatives took from their client's laundered funds. The money earned in this way was typically used to arm dissidents and rebels in various war zones, but now Durmanhoth had authorized an altogether more dangerous gamble. He had authorized Balchus to steal the money he normally laundered for his clients, and use the massive stockpile of illicit credits to pay off the Black Coats.

 

It was dangerous, but it was also a stroke of genius. The obvious danger lay in ripping off the most dangerous, vile and ruthless criminals in the galaxy. The genius lay in the duplicity. The ultimate betrayal of the Black Coats was inevitable. They were being hired because they would be allowed to see the Alpha Legionnaire in person during the operation, whereas the Dynasty's armsmen could not. It was for this reason that the Black Coats could not be allowed to tell the tale. The funds would be transferred as promised, but the credits were still dirty, and would be traceable by the Arbites to dozens of criminal rackets throughout the galaxy. The Black Coats would be taken down for their connection to criminal conspiracies that they never even knew existed. As a result, they would be unable to take revenge on Durmanhoth for the betrayal.

 

On the one hand, Lord Durmanhoth was only trading one enemy for another. But on the other hand, he knew the criminal societies because he had dealt with them. Consequently, he better knew how to elude them, or if necessary, destroy them.

 

The Paymaster saw none of these machinations. He saw nothing beyond the massive figure on the screen, already waiting in escrow like a fruit to be plucked from a tree.

 

"Five men, Paymaster." Balchus said, leaning forward. "Five of your best. I need a demolitions specialist, a pilot, a forger, and two others of your choosing. All five must be top-tier killers, prior Guard service is preferred. They must remain calm under fire, because there will be fire. They must not ask questions, and they must adhere to a carefully laid plan. Give me these men, and the funds will belong to your organization the morning after the bank is hit." Balchus met the Paymaster's eyes as he glanced up. "Do we have a deal?"

 

"Five men. Five of my best. Yes, we have a deal. What bank and when?"

 

"Details will be forthcoming. Have these men selected and ready by the end of this solar week."

[Aqui]

Short but very sweet :woot:

 

I do love duplicity in a story :lol:

[Kol Saresk]

Short but very sweet :woot:

 

I do love duplicity in a story :lol:

Ditto!