The Inquisition IV

[Aqui]

Happy new year, and thanks for for the update/teaser. :D

Great content and development of the story. As usual. And surprising twists! I hope the young desperados doesn't get too many new emotional scars. They could perhaps be good for each other? For as long as they serve in her inquisitioness secret service. Not many survive long enough to grow a beard. :)

 

Shes a great character that you have developed. In many ways, I miss the innocence she used to have.

 

It will be interesting to see what happens in the rest of this, and to the next one.

 

+1 to both posts. I also miss Godwyn's innocence, but one serving such an organisation are rarely given the luxury of having a blemishless conscience, or scars. Physical or otherwise. Looking forward to future updates as usual :P

 

I'm already thinking of what possible events could happen in Inquisitor V :) The mind boggles with all the possibilities! ^_^

[Lady_Canoness]

Godwyn still has a lot ahead of her yet, and IV and V likely won't turn out the way you expect them to...

 

I will say that developing the characters through numerous books has been a fantastic experience and a real joy (not to mention a well of inspiration for future characters in future works!) As a writer, being able to create one or more characters that people really enjoy is a great feeling :P

 

-L_C

[Lady_Canoness]

***I apologize for the funky format. How the feth am I supposed to get something that looks half decent? If you have the answer, for the love of the Emperor please let me know so I can change it!***
 

*Edit 1* Aquilanus has a found a way of making the format less sucky. Not perfect, but closer.*

 

*Edit 2* Better!*

 

 

 

Part 17*


Escape from her family’s estates had been more difficult than she had anticipated; five hours passing from when she pulled the trigger to cover up her mother’s murder and when she considered herself ‘safe’. The House guards had caught on quickly, though guardsmen alone weren’t enough to stop an Inquisitor, and someone in the House’s hierarchy had quickly dispatched more capable agents to
track her down. The pursuit carried her through busy city streets and eventually Godwyn’s hunters caught up with her. Shots were exchanged. The noble house’s agents numbered no more than five but acted independently and were well armed and equipped, and the fire-fight evolved into a running battle as the Inquisitor’s enemies sought to pin her down. She killed three of them before managing to escape – her power armour protecting her from numerous hits before she was able to slip away using the holographic device she had taken from her mother. She had laid low after that, avoiding the risk of further detection,
and exited the area surrounding the estates on foot.
Soaked, it was the slim hours of the morning before she finally reached the designated safe-house where Mercy and Zero had taken the prisoners. Checking over her surroundings one last time, the Inquisitor confirmed that she had not been followed.
The safe-house was located inside a defunct administratum processing house – one of numerous facilities belonging to the Imperial bureaucracy that proved completely redundant and had been closed down by city administration as a cost-saving measure. The large building was now boarded up, but its power supply and security system were still in place and perfectly exploitable by the Inquisition.
Stepping out of the rain into the darkness of an underground parkade, her footsteps echoed like drumbeats as she walked through the mausoleum-like stillness of the parking garage towards the solitary entry point left open for her use. Inside was a labyrinth of empty office-spaces, store rooms, and processing floors – the signage and demarcations on the walls being the only reminders to the hustle and bustle that once took place there – and Godwyn made her way upwards until she was three floors above ground.
At this level would have been the offices of low-level management and supervisors, and the added security reflected what would have been necessary precautions in handling sensitive documents. It was enough to keep away prying eyes, not a determined attacker, but the strength of a safe-house was secrecy and in that regard it was adequate.
Zero was waiting for her inside a secured perimeter, and, seeing the Inquisitor approach, the assassin rose from the dust-covered desk she had been sitting on with a slight bow. She was alone.
“Where’s Mercy?” Godwyn asked, unfastening the gauntlet around her human hand and setting it aside as she brushed wet hair from her face.
“My sister departed an hour and forty-two minutes ago,” Zero replied airily, “The driver
returned her to operations.”
The Inquisitor frowned; “I told you to wait here for me.”
Her honey eyes unassuming, Zero watched her without telling expression. “I am here. The
prisoners are secured in the next room.”
The giant didn’t point, but Godwyn followed her implication towards a single door at the far end of the room. Her bionic ear picked up the sound of soft voices comingfrom within.
“Have you spoken with them at all?”
“Not once.”
“Good. Wait here and I will see them.”
Zero did not object and sat back down on the desk’s top like she had been before the
Inquisitor’s arrival.
The room in which the prisoners were kept used to be some kind of storage room. Now empty, a few dusty shelves lined the walls and the dirt-encrusted floor was stained and scraped from years of use. The only light came from a pair of halogen glow tubes that ran the length of the ceiling, casting a grey light around the bare walls in such a way that the damp air felt even colder and more unwelcoming than it otherwise would. As Godwyn entered, the prisoners were talking quietly amongst themselves; the young man standing defiantly in the centre of the small room while his sister sat meekly on a discarded wooden chair. Both were dressed in the regal finery they had been wearing at their family’s estate, something that no-doubt made them quite uncomfortable given the drastic change of temperature in the safe-house. But even cold and confused there was no mistaking the noble hereditary in their features.
The young man looked to be in his early mid-twenties, had a sharp face, and his wavy hair was brilliantly blonde – a Godwyn family trait. He was tall – as tall as the Inquisitor when armoured – with naturally imposing posture, and deep and penetrating eyes. The girl – and she was just a girl, a teenager at most – shared a family resemblance with her older brother through her wavy blonde hair
and sharp nose and chin. She would be beautiful when she was older.
“Who are you? What is going on here? Answer me, damn you!” Not intimidated, and furious at his capture, the young man confronted the power armoured stranger the moment she set foot through the door, heedless of the fact that she was armed and he was not; a noble indeed.
The Inquisitor did not dignify him with an answer. He might bark, but he would not
bite. She turned to the sister: the young woman avoided her gaze.
“What are your names?” Godwyn asked. In truth, she had never been told. She knew the boy was a skilled pilot, her mother had emphasized that point, and that the girl was a gifted in her studies, but other than that the details she remembered about the two of them were scarce.
“Fergus Samuel Godwyn,” the brother responded immediately, as if the name itself was word to confound her, that she would realize her err, and everything would somehow be righted.
He was wrong.
“And you?” she turned to the sister.
“Matilda Patricia Pallas Godwyn.”
TheInquisitor nodded that she understood, and motioned that Fergus should back off and sit down. He did so reluctantly on a small table that he pulled away from the back wall.
“I am Inquisitor Cassandra Godwyn,” she told them simply, keeping her voice even and unchallenging, “and no, it is not coincidence. I am your father’s half-sister.”
Fergus was good at concealing his surprise and managed to maintain his aggressive appearance. His sister, not so much.
“Your grandmother, my mother, Lady Elisabeth Godwyn, placed you in my custody for your safety,” Godwyn continued. “She asked that I take you from Acre, and that is what I am going to do.”
The girl was speechless, and her eyes travelled the room as she hugged herself from thedamp cold. Her brother Fergus, however, would not hold his tongue:
“I don’t believe you!” he snapped back. “You have no right! Don’t believe her, sister – this is just a convenient lie!”
Standing in front of the door, the Inquisitor folded her arms across her chest. She was exhausted from the day’s events, but she could be patient, and, for the sake of whatever her name and family still meant, she would be.
“I am an Imperial Inquisitor,” she reminded her nephew flatly, remaining perfectly in control of the small room, “debate your ideas of truth if you like, but it makes no difference to the facts. Your grandmother has been assassinated by a conspiracy of a rival House, and your House is no longer safe. Feel free todoubt me if you will.”
Godwyn had expected some form of a rebuttal from her kin but to her surprise the siblings had nothing to say: Fergus sat in dumbfound silence while Matilda began to quietly sob into her hand.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and she meant it. “You will have time to grieve, then I will arrange to have you moved off world.”
When they said nothing in response, Godwyn turned to go and had opened the door when Matilda spoke up:
“Excuse me, Inquisitor… but can we see our parents? I don’t think they know what happened to us…”
“No,” Godwyn replied, “you won’t be going back to your family again. I’m sorry.”
She left without another word, locking the door behind her as she went. The siblings would be alone from now on. They could accept it or not, but in the end it wouldn’t a difference. It never did.




*



Lee was drunk.
He knew it and he accepted it. Drunkenness and he were old friends, and like old friends they never pushed each other around. Being drunk made him happy, and he never did anything he’d regret later (or at least he never remembered it) so he could keep getting drunk with a clear conscience. He’d always taken more out of the drink than the drink had taken out of him.
Stumbling out of the Night’s End at some unknown hour as the bar started to empty, Lee arrived at the penthouse without clearly remembering how he got there or how long it had been. There were signs that Meredith and the Mordian had returned when he opened the front doors, but Lee didn’t set about looking for them. Instead, smiling to himself, he half-jogged in the familiar direction the landing
platform where his beloved Meridian would be waiting, eager to see him again. Of course he didn’t actually believe that the shuttle would be looking forward to seeing him – he was drunk, not crazy – but the thought made him laugh all the same; Meridian was his girl, and she was always faithful.
Windwhipped the rain across his face and blasted his hair in great gusts as the pilot stumbled through the glass doors separating the cushy warm interior from the bitter cold where he’d left his baby, but the pleasant beer-fuel numbness in his face made it all but vanish. Ahead of him was Meridian – sitting comfortably in the spot-light between four flood-lights that illuminated herfrom every angle and cut a clean contrast between the rain-glossed platform and the infinite blackness of the night-sky that represented the sheer drop and
sudden death that waited at the edges.
Lee chuckled again – he wasn’t stupid enough to stray near the edge with this much beer in his belly, though he really did have to pee…
Turning his back on Meridian so that she would not be offended, her pilot let loose on the tarmac with a satisfied groan.
Back to business.
Doing uphis trousers, he mounted up through the lower hatches headed straight to the cockpit to run through the same meticulous post-flight drills he had done for years. First, he’d check her vitals – electronics, power, integrity – then he’d check her responsiveness to his slightest touch…
Once satisfied, he’d stroll back to the engine room and check her holiest-of-holies, getting his fingers wet in her oil. When he was younger, he used to wipe off the excess oil on his hair; a practice which after years was likely responsible for the thick, matted, impossible mop that parked itself atop his head.
Needless to say, he didn’t do that anymore. It was a fire risk.
Other tasks in the engine room were more complicated, taking up more time, but he needed to be sober for that, so he figured he’d wait. So long as he did it before the next flight everything would be okay, and he had time yet.
Once done with the engine room he was more or less through what he needed to do, all that remained was to make sure everything was where it should be – nothing was loose – and to give the hull good look-over to make sure everything was as it should be. Easy.
Stepping back into the rain with the wind roaring in his ears, Lee stuffed his hands in his pockets and took a casual stroll around the shuttle’s fuselage, whistling badly to himself as he did so. The wind was getting louder, and blowing directly in his face. It sounded like there were pilots out there, and the weather was likely giving them a bad time. He looked to the sky for a moment; the rain was too thick – nothing but blackness. He continued his walk.
He always liked to pay close attention the exhaust ports on his shuttled to watch out forrust or carbon build up, and after a day of hard flying the latter was particularly to his concern. The ports didn’t look too bad, however, and he was just about to turn back inside to the warm, dry penthouse when something on Meridian’s aft end caught his attention.
He went closer for a better look.
It was small, about the size of two closed fists, and domed like an overturned bowl. It was entirely back save for three blinking lights embedded into the surface in a triangular pattern, and when he touched it the lights seemed to flutter.
Not liking his discovery, Lee gave it a solid tug. It didn’t come off. It was magnetic, and it was transmitting.
The wind howled violently.
His eyes widened. That wasn’t wind.
If Lee knew anything ever in his entire life, he knew when the game was up. He knew when he’d been busted.
Spinning on his heels he saw the pair of blackened gunships rear out of the darkness not more than twenty feet off the landing platform. Red-light emanated from their cockpits as the ominous black shapes slowed one behind the other, rotating slightly like predators considering their prey and encircling the defenceless tower like mica sharks circling a cage. Inside the cockpit of the nearest gunship, the goggled head of the pilot was looking directly at him.
Lee started to run. It was a headlong dash through the rain – bolting towards the glass doors faster than ever before in his life.


The rain blocked out the sound of auto-loaders clicking into position, but even the roaring engines couldn’t blot out the sound of the paired heavy-bolters as the gunship opened fire.
Its partner engaged on the landing platform, the second black-painted gunship swung around the side tower with its guns trained on the penthouse suite. There was light coming from inside but the windows were designed so that was all the pilot could tell. Thumbing off the safety, the second gunship strafed the north-facing length of the penthouse with his nose-mounted heavy bolters – the plate-glass windows shattering into millions of tiny fragments as the heavycalibre rounds tore through them into the high-ceilinged lounge beyond.
Easing off the firing stud, the hull-mounted floodlights snapped on as the gunship slowed to a hover and inched closer to the devastation of smashed glass and punished furniture, shining its powerful lights into the opening it had savagely torn into the tower.
The pilot took a few seconds to confirm there was no movement. He then confirmed that the second gunship was in position, and was given the go ahead to deploy his team. Side hatches opened on the hovering aircraft and figures appeared against the red-lit interior, leaning out into the open air as they fired repelling lines into tower. Two at a time, one on each line, sixteen black-armoured figures crossed into the tower and secured their immediate surroundings under the watchful glare of the gunship’s headlights. Words were exchanged, and they moved out in two-man fire-teams into the rest of the suite. The gunship remained in position, bobbing in place as rain pelted off its canopy and the powerful backwash of its stabilising thrusters whipped and tore at the insides of the penthouse like a hurricane. Radio-chatter filtered through the pilot’s helmet as the teams cleared the area one room at a time.
Resistance was non-existent until the first fire-team went dark without a sound. The next closest fire-team was ordered to cover off on their position to ascertain their fate – the two men acknowledging and making their way, weapons raised, towards the last known position with deliberate precision. A third fire-team covered off on them, no-more than a corridor between the two teams at all times. The first team arrived on scene and confirmed that they had two men killed. They had not determined a source before they too came under attack – the first man cut down instantly while the second tried to withdraw only to be killed falling through a doorway right in the path of his cover-team. The covering team didn’t see the attackers, but switched to IR and noted a single withdrawing contact.
They pursued and flushed it out, eventually cornering it and putting it down with repeated fire until the long-limbed attacker crumpled to the floor – the wall behind it painted with bullet-holes and red blood. Confirming that the target was no longer moving the team pulled out, closing the door behind them and carrying on their sweep.



*


The unmistakeable roar of heavy gunfire shattered Meredith’s pleasant reverie and caused her to drop sample she’d be staring at – its petri dish smashing into tiny pieces and ruining the contents as it was crushed against the floor.
Frozen, she stared at it for a few seconds – her heart climbing its way up her throat as her brain made the necessary connections between what had just happened.
Gunfire!
Instinctively, the doctor dove behind a counter and covered her head. By the time she was ready to think clearly again the gunfire had stopped; everything was very quiet. She peered around her makeshift laboratory. The petri dish was still smashed on the floor. Was she hearing things?
She swallowed.
No, no she wasn’t – that was gunfire. The doctor may never have served in a warzone, but at the same time she knew that the gunfire you heard never meant that everything was going as planned. It meant close action, and, as a medical professional, that the s*** was about to hit the fan.
Jumping back to her feet, Meredith raced across her laboratory and snatched up her leather case of stimulants – quickly tucking them down the front of the evening gown she was still wearing from the soiree.
There was another blast of heavy gunfire – louder, longer, and sounding much, much closer. She gritted her teeth and instinctively ducked low a second time. She knew that the fire was still, relatively, far away, but that didn’t stop her from keeping her head down. When it stopped she was up again, running at a frantic rate through her laboratory – she needed some type of weapon, and somewhere she could hide! Her eyes fell upon a knife – actually it was more like a miniature sword – but it was sharp and as she held it up she knew
inherently that it would pass right through a man and then some. Yes, it would do, it would do. Knife in one hand, she headed for the door; she couldn’t stay here, she had to – Footsteps – someone was running.
The doctor threw herself behind the nearest counter and pressed her shoulder against the bare metal – the knife held so tightly in her hand that it felt like she was trying to crush the handle.
Whoever was running quickly stopped.
“Meredith!?”
It was Stone.
Relief flooded her like system like a drug as she heard the veteran’s voice. “Yes!” she said, momentarily resting her face on the cool floor before jumping back to her feet, “It’s me!”
The Mordian dashed through the open door and took cover beside her. He was still in his evening clothes as well – minus the dinner jacket that he hated – and had his riot shotgun gripped in both hands. Tucked down the front of his pants was Jack, and his knife Ripper was sticking out of his boot.
“Are you okay?” he asked the doctor.
She pulled the snub shotgun out of his pants and checked that Jack was loaded.
“Yeah,” she said, nearly breathless but feeling very much in control of herself given the situation. “What’s happening? What should we do?”
Stone, Emperor bless him, looked like he always did, pissed off – no difference there – and gave her a clear run down of the situation:
“We’re under attack,” he said, peering back towards the door, “I’m thinking one or two gunships. Given that they’re not shooting a lot, I reckon they’re landing troops. So this will probably get personal.”
Meredith responded with a grim nod. “So what do we do?”
“Normally we would go to a rally point,” Stone explained calmly, “but right now this is the rally point. So we hang tight, dig in our heels, and try to stay alive.”
“That’s it!?!” Meredith hissed in disbelief, suddenly not as confident as she had felt seconds ago. “We’re just going to wait for them to come and kill us?!”
“No,” Stone replied, as cool as could be, “we’re going to kill them. Kill them until they decided that it’s better to leave than hang around and get shot at.”
“And how are we going to manage that? Just the two of us?”
He looked to the door, then back at the doctor; “We need to get to the armoury. Are you good to move?”
She bit her lip and held Jack at the ready. “Yeah,” she said with determination.
The Mordian nodded. “Good,” he said, satisfied, “just don’t shoot me with my own gun.”
“Check.”
“Alright, let’s go.”
The ex-guardsman in the lead, they left Meredith’s lab in the direction of the weapon cash in the master bathroom. They moved quickly, physically, but progress was slow: covering every corridor they passed, avoiding open spaces, and watching their backs took time – as did the few incidences when Stone demanded a halt for seemingly no reason.
“Come on, we’re almost there!” Meredith hissed urgently in his ear when he’d stopped yet again and peered around the corner into a darkened sitting room. Without words, he big man told her to keep still.
From somewhere nearby a screaming tear of small-arms fire ripped through the silence. There were multiple short bursts of about six-shots each that lasted at least thirty seconds. Someone was getting killed just a few meters away.
The Mordian glared over his shoulder at Meredith; “Stay on this corner,” he commanded the doctor in a low growl. “I’m moving fifteen feet over there – ” he pointed to the opposite corner covering the dark sitting room from the other side. “We wait for them to get in the open, then at my signal we engage and keep moving. Got it?”
She nodded.
Not good enough: “Got it!?” he asked again.
“Got it.”
“Good.”
Taking a last peek around the corner, Stone glided across the opening of the sitting room and took position at the other corner – weapon at the ready. Holding Jack tightly in both hands, Meredith could feel a cold sweat building on her brow. She’d never been in a real gunfight before and she was scared – fortunately she had just the ticket. Tugging the leather case from the folds of her evening
gown, she flipped it open, and after a half-second search extracted a large syringe. The cap was off in mere moments, and she was injecting the substance into her blood-stream not long after. Hypex – a combat stimulant.
Illegal as s*** due to the dangerous and addictive nature of the drug, hypex set the nervous system alight and made the user capable of lightning quick reactions to even the most sudden movements. It was also known to increase aggression, cloud moral judgement, nullify pain and inhibit a human’s normal instinct for self-preservation, but to Meredith all its naysayers were full of s*** anyway: sure it wouldn’t be good to have half the population running about in a drug-filled craze, or having soldiers going berserk on the front lines, but
when her life was in the balance she needed every advantage she could get.
Noticing what she was doing Stone cast a dirty look in her direction, not that she cared– the drug hit her brain and she was very, very switched on.
Across the way the Mordian was pressed flat to the wall, listening, waiting; the enemy had just entered the sitting room. Two figures, bulky and dressed in black, were moving towards them in a covered advance. There were lights on the ends of their guns, sweeping the room as they advanced; resting on the pair’s hiding places…
They started firing.
Something must have given Stone away as the chattering sounds of both guns filled the tight room and chewed chunks of plaster from the walls – sending the Mordian reeling away from the danger as the corner edge disintegrated into dust inches from his body.
The shooting was louder than all sin – deafeningly so – but the hypex was coursing through her veins and Meredith wasn’t thinking anymore. She spun from cover with Jack raised and yanked the trigger. The two targets loomed up in front of her, flanked and caught unawares. The snub shotgun practically jumped out of her hands – a colossal roar erupting from the barrel – and without thinking she
shot again – blasting another shot into the black clad attackers. Neither of them went down, but a lamp exploded into shards and a painting was torn off the far wall.
Falling back for cover, the figures in black adjusted their points of aim and hosed down the doctor with bullets, or at least they would have if hypex hadn’t driven her back around the corner faster than her brain could process what was
going on.
Free from fire, Stone took his chance and dove into the sitting room, landing on his belly and blasting with his shotgun. He got off three shots then rolled for Meredith – one of the intruders was knocked down with a grunt a scream, but the other was unscathed; fire ripping back through the open air as the Mordian scrambled for cover. Meredith wasn’t going to wait, and seized the big man by the shirt and at tugged him in towards her.
“You okay!?” he shouted to her when he gained his feet – his voice barely registering over the gunfire.
She was, but there was no time to tell him that – a small, round object banked off the wall and skidded along the floor by their feet. Meredith was onto it in an instant, and punted the grenade back the way it came before Stone had so much as registered that it was there. Throwing her weight against him, she then pinned him to the wall as the grenade went off with a loud *BANG* a second later.
Smoke and dust billowed out of the room.
Meredith was around the corner in no time – Jack held a little closer to her body this time as she tried to control her fire. Stone followed her out, his own gun much more controlled as he pumped three more blasts into the swirling haze in the time it took the doctor to fire a single, wild shot. Fire lashed back at them but the duo kept shooting, and the return fire stopped abruptly.
This time it was Stone’s turn to pull Meredith along, and, with a fistful of her evening gown, pulled her into cover – the sudden tug followed by the loud tear of delicate fabrics.
“Come on!” he shouted, “We gotta keep moving!”
The doctor didn’t complain, she was ready to go. Go where? She didn’t know. But the hypex made her long for the next fire-fight with a crooked grin and wild eyes…



*


“I wish to keep them here for two days before moving them to off-world,” Godwyn explained to Zero, “you will stay and guard them until that time. Understood?”
Sitting cross-legged atop her desk with an empty silence surrounding her, the assassin nodded.
The Inquisitor was satisfied; “Good,” she said, looking over her shoulders at her deserted surroundings. There was nothing to keep her there – the safe-house being little more than a hiding place out of the driving rain – and, though it felt as if she had just arrived, she knew it was time to move on again. There was much yet to be done; her personal feelings would wait.
“I’ll have Constantine arrange for proper provisions in the meantime,” she concluded, and turned on her heel to return to the penthouse.



*



Maxwell Constantine entered the tower lobby looking like a drowned rat. He’d been in the night for hours, just walking, before he eventually wound up stepping into the elevator that would take him back to face his shame. How would he explain
it when they asked? Would they ask? And, if they didn’t, could he stand to see the look in their eyes?
Was it really all that bad?
A tiny voice inside his head asked him that, and every time he answered ‘yes’, but if he was right then why did he keep asking himself the question? She wanted it. She was drunk. So were you. That’s no excuse. It’s only natural. That doesn’t make it right. But was it really that bad?
Yes.
He should have had more control. He was better than that…
Half-way up the tower he had the sudden urge to turn back and flee into the rain, but he didn’t. He had to face the consequences of his actions; it was the only way he could try and make things right.
The numbers on the lift ticked higher: 25… 26… 27…
He swallowed and steadied himself with a deep breath. His head felt heavy, numb even; like it wasn’t really his own.
30… 31… 32…
Something outside the elevator banged and rattled. He looked up – he’d never heard that before. It was a sharp noise, but distant – almost like –
He heard it again. Suddenly there was no mistaking what it was.
Gunfire.
There was more of it, loud thundering retorts, and he threw himself against the back wall of the elevator just as numbers glided up to 40. With a fateful chime, the doors opened.
The landing outside was clear, but the doors to the penthouse proper were ajar. Gathering his courage after the initial shock subsided Constantine drew the sword from his side: suddenly he was grateful that Stone had been so insistent that he wear it. He’d been in life or death situations before, but that had been with the Navy, on ships with crews of thousands, never all on his own with only his wits to protect him.
The logistician winced involuntarily as another blast of gunfire shredded the air, then another and another. It sounded different this time – small arms – and came in rapid succession one after the other.
Pressing his back to the wall, Constantine edged closer to the door, opened it wider with the tip of his blade, and peered inside. To his surprised the suite’s foyer looked normal, save to his left where a table had been overturned and its contents dumped to the floor. Someone was behind it, crouched low near the floor and not moving. He recognized the soaked green cloak, the blacked leather
boots, the mousey brown hair that seemed to have a will of its own, and the tattoos.
Flinging open the door, he dashed across the foyer in two bounds and threw himself down beside her. Spider looked at him with an annoyed air, but didn’t say anything.
“Are you alright?” Constantine asked, breathless as his heart slammed against his ribcage while his eyes shot around their surroundings. The cold he’d felt moments ago had thawed, quickly replaced by the numbing heat of adrenaline setting all his senses on edge.
“Follow me,” she hissed, and rose to her feet before creeping across the foyer and into an adjoining corridor leading away from the dining room and lounge before turning around and motioning for him to hurry up.
Maxwell hesitated. It felt almost like the Interrogator had been waiting for him arrive, but Constantine banished the thought a moment later: now was not the time. Sword in hand, he followed her across the foyer and placed a hand on her shoulder when he was ready for her to lead on.
More gunfire erupted from somewhere else in the suite, followed by the booming roar of a shotgun. Stone had engaged – Constantine wished him the best.
Spider paid no notice to it, and kept low as she darted behind furniture and crept forward with nary a sound marking her presence. Constantine was always a few paces behind her, and making considerably more noise.
The lights were off in most of the penthouse making it dark, shadowy and difficult to see, but Spider seemed to know where she was going with a certainty that Constantine didn’t know if he shared. What was happening? Why were they under attack? Where was everybody? Fanciful questions, but sadly irrelevant given their current situation.
Ahead, Spider drew her knife.
“What’s your plan?” he asked in a whisper when he caught up to her at the edge of a small sitting room with a nice view of the nighttime cityscape.
“Go behind that couch,” she indicated to leather loveseat a few meters to her right that faced the windows.
“What is your plan??” Constantine asked again.
The Interrogator gave him a hard shove; “Move!”
He did what he was told and crouched down behind the loveseat. His heart was thundering in his chest but he managed to control his breathing – an act alone that gave him a moment to consider his situation. Rain – or perhaps sweat – clung to his moustache and his groin felt raw, though otherwise he felt nothing at all. His mind was racing as well, but it wasn’t fear that gripped him; it
was more like… anticipation. His fist tightened around the sword in his hand and he watched the long steel blade rise and fall in time with his breathing.
Further away was still the sound of gunfire, but otherwise he heard nothing at all.
What was Spider waiting for?
He peeked out of his hiding place and noticed a yellow beam of light sweeping into the sitting room. Constantine ducked back down before it swept over his hiding spot.
S***. S***!
He didn’t know where Spider was, but he certainly hoped she was well concealed.
Biting his tongue he waited and listened.
There were footsteps for about two people wearing heavy boots and armour, Constantine reckoned from what he heard, and by the sounds of their movements they weren’t in any hurry.
His sword arm tensed. Any second now they would be found.
Somewhere in the dark Spider shouted and there was a short burst of automatic gunfire, then more shouting and shooting.
Constantine sprung from hiding and vaulted the loveseat without looking – slamming feet-first into an attacker that had been standing right in front of him. The enemy was knocked off balance and logistician ended up upside down on leather
sofa, though he somersaulted into action just as his opponent brought his weapon to bear: tempered steel contacting blackened gunmetal with jarring force – two rounds thumping into the floor as Constantine’s sabre bounced back in his grip. The naval officer lunged again without pause, though his blade struck ballistic armour and was redirected awkwardly. His attacker fought back –
thumping something hard into Constantine’s side with tremendous force and sending him sprawling to a knee. There was screaming and a loud crash from somewhere else in the melee, but Maxwell Constantine was still alive to slash at his opponent and blindly parry a blow before the unknown attacker fell upon him and wrestled him to the floor. A gloved hand closed on his windpipe, but
his sword was still free and he pushed it between them – brutishly shoving the blade wherever he thought it might do some damage and bashing the pommel into unarmoured flesh as they struggled. The man strangling him let go with a groan and Constantine felt blood on his hand. He kept fighting. A fist contacted painfully with his left eye, but he felt the weight lift of him as his attacker reeled back. Taking his chance, Constantine swung blindly, felt his sword hit,then swung again and again, using the elegant weapon in two hands like a crude bludgeon as he bashed at his opponent from his back. When he felt his legs free themselves he kicked out hard and jumped to his feet, swinging and hacking madly at an enemy he could only half see.
It took a moment to realize that his adversary wasn’t fighting back.
Blood painted the floor and the black form of a man was propped against the leather loveseat. With a snarl, Constantine speared him through the base of the throat. The man didn’t budge – he was dead already.
Pulling his sword free, Constantine staggered backwards and suddenly found himself out of breath. He checked himself for holes that weren’t supposed to be there but didn’t find any. He was alive, and everything was suddenly quiet.
Spider.
His head snapped up as he remembered her, and scanned the room in earnest for the Interrogator. She was standing not far away, bent double with a hand held to her face while another gripped a captured submachine-gun: whimpers and curse words were escaping her lips.
“Spider!” he rushed over to her on legs that felt surprisingly heavy. Her face had been badly split on the right side and was coated with blood, but she didn’t resist as he held her shoulders and sat her gently against a wall.
“Let me see,” he said, and gently pried her hand away, scooping up an enemy’s fallen lamp pack as he did so. She winced with the light of her eyes and saliva bubbled from her lips as Constantine looked at the numerous small lacerations that had cut up her face.
“You’ll be fine,” he said, knowing that the wounds wouldn’t be life threatening andweren’t deep enough to be permanently disabling. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”
“My chest hurts…”
She wouldn’t let him look, but her ribcage felt intact; “Probably just bad bruising,” he deduced, and helped her back to her feet. “We need to get out of here. You’re in no shape to fight.”
Still hunched from the pain of her injuries, Spider glared at him. “I’m fighting,” she said vehemently. “My weapons are nearby in my room.” She thrust thecaptured SMG into the logistician’s hands; “Here… gather up some ammo off these a**holes… There are more of them in the penthouse.”
Spider broke free from Constantine and stiffly walked from the sitting room.
The young man looked after her for a moment then ripped a pair of full magazines from the nearest corpse. The Interrogator’s blood-coated fighting knife was lying nearby and he picked that up too.
“Do you know why they’re here?” he asked when he caught up with her a second later.
“Other than to kill us?” she groaned, “Nope… no idea…”



*


Inquisitor Godwyn did not need to see the open door of the suite to know there was trouble. The penthouse communication beacon been inactive for a couple of hours, and while it could have been due to operator insufficiency Godwyn had her suspicions. The ominously open door only acted as confirmation.
Walking from the elevator, she drew her pistol and stepped inside. The foyer was empty, though a table was overturned and there were water droplets on the floor leading away to the left. Interesting.
The sounds of intermittent gunfire and occasional shotguns blast rang through the penthouse – somewhere Stone was fighting – but the distortion from the plaster walls made it difficult to detect an exact direction.
Taking a knee, the Inquisitor examined the water more closely. There wasn’t enough for more than one person – two at most – so any attackers would have gained access another way. Standing, she moved in the direction of Meridian’s landing platform, carefully thumbing her mother’s holo-device as she did so – her own power armoured form disappearing into thin air while two uniformed officers appeared on either side to mimic her movements. It wasn’t perfect, and the close quarters of the penthouse made it awkward as the holographs moved through furniture and walls, but it would give her an edge in combat and that would
likely be enough. She wouldn’t need it immediately, however, for while the gunfire continued elsewhere in the penthouse her own route was strangely clear, and she approached the doors to the landing platform without incident
The glass doors were closed, they closed automatically, but the floodlights illuminating the platform clearly showed Meridian sitting quietly in the midst of the rain. No other shuttle had landed and there was no sign of anyone having entered. She turned to leave, but a sudden movement caught her eye. At first she didn’t know what it was, but when she saw it again became clear that it was a light – a
running light – and that there were more of them, moving slowly around the landing platform as the barely visible black silhouette of a gunship stalked the night-sky. And it wasn’t alone.
Careful to stay behind cover, Godwyn deactivated the holo-device and edged closer to the door. She’d seen at least two gunships, and so long as they were airborne there was no doubt that any intruders would have a distinct advantage in firepower. If she could get to Meridian’s hold, however, she knew she could level the playing field.
Waiting until the running lights disappeared from view, Inquisitor Godwyn activated the doors and dashed into the rain, though she stopped abruptly when she practically tripped over someone who was lying in a pool of blood-filled rainwater.
It was Lee, and he was quite obviously dead.
Lying face down, his eyes and mouth were agape and the rainwater had flatted his greaty hair against his blanched skin. The stubble on his chin – so often blending right into his leather, weather-beaten visage – looked suddenly black against the appalling grey of his face.
Wiping the hair from her eyes, Godwyn paused momentarily over the corpse.
Gunfire had cut him nearly in two, and large portions of his midsection had been blown out in bloody chunks of meat so that his legs fell about a foot short of the rest of his body with only a few strands of stringy muscle and sinew held them together. It would have been a painful but mercifully quick way to go. He would have bled out in under a minute, and if he was lucky he would have lost consciousness before that.
Stepping over the body as the rain mixed the blood, the Inquisitor left Lee where he lay and ran to Meridian, where she opened the side hatch and stomped into the hold. Her bionic ear was picking up the approaching rumble of a returning gunship, and Godwyn closed the hatch before spinning into the hold to look for the crates she knew were surely there. They didn’t take a moment to find as there wasn’t much else in the shuttle’s lower level, and she quickly threw open the lids and unfastened the secured contents.
The first crate contained a pair of pristine hellguns. She loaded one with a charge pack and grabbed a couple more that she fit into the carrying compartments of her armour before slinging the powerful assault rifle over her shoulder. The second crate carried the weapons that would make the difference, however, and she hoisted one of the meltaguns from its protective casing. It’s weight was unfamiliar,
even with her armour’s servo-assistance, but she quickly familiarized herself with it in the few seconds it took to install an energy core and activate it.
The weapon hummed to life in her hands and several dials lit up along the side in a state of readiness. Holding it under one arm, Godwyn returned to Meridian’s hatch.
Meltaguns were bunker-busters – exceptionally deadly weapons that fired a beam of super-heated particles at a target in a wide dispersion for maximum damage against men and machine’s alike. They were popular assault weapons amongst most militaries and had a reputation for ease of use and reliability, and, while they lacked the long-range accuracy of plasma and las weapons, melta-based
weapons were unchallenged for close range destruction: they could burn a hole through a reinforced concrete wall, disintegrate a tank’s hull, and vaporise a man where he stood.
Godwyn was willing to bet that it would be equally devastating against a gunship.
Steppingfrom the shuttle, the Inquisitor hugged Meridian’s flanks. The gunship had already passed by and was now hidden from site behind the rest of the tower. She would have to wait for another pass.
Holding the hellgun against her hip so that it wouldn’t bounce, Godwyn dashed through the rain away from the shuttle and took up a kneeling position out of the light on the periphery of the tarmac. Doubtlessly the gunship pilot would have some form of night vision and would see her as soon as he was clear of the tower, but he wouldn’t be expecting her – something that would give her the all-important first shot in any engagement.
Resting her left elbow on her knee, she pointed the meltagun skyward into the night and looked over top of the rudimentary battle sights. She could hear the gunship coming around again with a slow, methodical rumble of powerful engines. Rain droplets sparked off the weapon’s large, cylindrical muzzle.
The rumbling grew louder. The Inquisitor moved her finger to the trigger.
About sixty yards out from the edge of the tarmac, a black-bodied gunship slid out of the darkness like a beast from the night – first the tip of a wing, then the edge of fuselage, then the rain-glossed cockpit glass and a pair of swivelling gun-barrels emerging from the nose.
Godwyn held steady.
The pilot may have seen her ­– a small figure sitting alone in the night – he may have even registered her as threat – his hand moving to the fire-control and tracking her in the sights – but not before the Inquisitor had her all-important first shot.
She squeezed the trigger.
The melta-gun fired with almost no recoil and hit the gunship with a wide blast of energy – flash igniting the font-half of the fuselage in an orange fire-ball that lasted less than a second.
Godwyn didn’t actually know what to expect when she pulled the trigger. Would it hit at that range? Would the damage be enough to kill in one shot? How long would it take to fire again if she failed? In truth was that the weapon was far more devastating than she had anticipated: the front half-of the gunship disappeared in a fireball that ignited the aft portion in a swirling cloud of mist from the evaporating rain before plummeting out of the sky like a stone.
Steam rising from the barrel, the meltagun hummed as it charged up for a second shot while far below the twisted crash of metal crumpling on the street confirmed the kill.
Leaving the landing platform, Godwyn swapped the charged meltagun for the hellgun on her shoulder and activated the holo-device – two mimetic officers jumping into position on her either side as she stepped through the automatic glass doors back into the penthouse proper.
It would be a miracle for gunship’s destruction to go unnoticed and the sounds of gunfire had intensified from what she remembered, including the rapid-fire thunder of what could have only been another gunship punishing her team’s positions.
A spray of bullets ripped her way, thudding into the wall behind one of the holo-images with a drumming *thunk-thunk-thunk*. Instinctively she dropped – the two officers doing likewise on either side of her – and clambered out of the line of fire behind a half-wall while another burst of fire tore into the wall behind the second officer. She didn’t see the shooter, but she didn’t have to wait for him to reveal himself as more fire shredded the plaster ahead of her – blowing white chunks through the air – and the clunk of footsteps signalled someone coming closer. Leaning from cover, Godwyn sighted her weapon and fired, catching a black-garbed soldier by surprise with a vicious burst of las-fire that nearly cut him in two. He fell with a crash to the floor, but he wasn’t alone – his backup, a few feet behind him in a covering position, shot back at the las-beams with three quick bursts. Two whizzed by her ears, but a full burst of five rounds smacked hard into her chest – knocking her backwards off her feet. Not meant for battle, the holo-device fizzled and deactivated – the power armoured Inquisitor reappearing where before there had been nothing but air.
The second soldier fired again – wilder this time – and more rounds sparked off the Inquisitor’s armour as both parties scrambled for cover in the close range gunfight. A bullet tore through the wall in front of her face and clanged loudly against Godwyn’s throat armour, a mere few centimeters from her uncovered head. The screaming wail of the hellgun answered as the Inquisitor shot blindly around edge of her cover and sprayed the area with rapid fire lasers. Again the soldier answer back as the fighters dug in their heels and
blazed away at each other until the twenty-foot no-man’s land between them was littered with pulped furniture, blasted plaster, and burning chunks of fibre board that had been shot out of the walls.
The fire from her enemy dropped off abruptly, but Godwyn didn’t ease up on the trigger as she rose to a knee from her shelter and burned more holes through the wall her adversary was hiding behind. A grenade answered her – thrown high and
banking off the ceiling before landing with a thud not more than a few feet away from where she was. She shielded her head just as the thrown grenade went off – a storm of shrapnel blasting against her armour like a cannon.
Her human ear ringing and her bionic strangely silent, Godwyn got up just in time to ram the stock of her hellgun into her attacker’s covered face as he closed in. Turning the tables, she followed up her blow with a quick right hand to the neck – dropping him to the floor in an awkward fashion – and finished him with a volley from her hellgun.
The smell of blood and burnt meat filling her nostrils, the Inquisitor gingerly stomped off past the corpses into the rest of the penthouse.
All around her, Godwyn’s base of operations was in ruins, but she didn’t let herself get distracted as she heard more gunfire coming from somewhere else within the suite. Her people were still fighting and it gave her hope – hope that her enemies on Acre wouldn’t defeat her so quickly and easily. Her people were cornered and dying, but they would draw blood before being put down. Mercy
would reap a fearsome tally, and the shotgun she heard from time to time meant that Stone wasn’t out of action either.
Reaching a room adjacent to the main lounge, the roar of engines filled her recovering ears and beams of light from a second gunship traced through the holes in the bullet riddled walls. Double checking that she was alone, Godwyn placed her hellgun on the floor and reached for the melta. It was at full charge, and all she needed now was a clear target. Chunks, some as large as her head, had been
torn from the plaster to leave large, gaping holes. At the nearest one she thought she could get a clear shot.
She was just about to sight the weapon when something gave her away and the nose-mounted heavy bolters started to spit in her direction.
A thunderous roar accompanied by wicked flashes of light filled her world as geysers of white plaster erupted from the wall and scythed towards her in a line of destruction. She felt something slam into her chest with sledge-hammer force and was thrown to the ground, stunned with wind knocked out of her lungs.
Reaching one end of the room, the fire quickly swept back – blowing more holes and collapsing entire sections of the wall as heavy rounds smashed and exploded furniture and fixtures in eruptions of torn leather and shattered glass. Godwyn covered her head as dust and plaster rained all around her.
The noise was too extreme to hear if she was screaming. Her armour had not been breached, however, and under sound of cracking shells and explosive gunfire she managed to crawl like an animal on all fours away from the destruction.
Eventually the gunship’s pilot let up and the hail of bullets ceased, but Godwyn had already escaped and was deftly manoeuvring through what was left of her base of operations with her pistol held in both hands.
She came under contact again when the gunship spotted her at the top of a staircase above the lounge and sent her spinning to the floor with another scything storm of explosive rounds. The meltagun still where it had fallen in the other room, the Inquisitor had lost the ability to fight back and had no choice but to cower in fear for her life as the twin heavy bolters destroyed yet more of the penthouse.
“Godwyn!”
She turned her head as she heard her name called above the deafening roar of the gunship’s heavy weapons. Iliad Stone was sheltering in a crumbling archway not more than fifteen feet away, his shotgun firmly in hand behind a bullet-riddled mahogany table that he had overturned for cover. Peeking out beside him was Meredith, and she was frantically waving for the Inquisitor to join them.
Crossing the floor in a crawl, Godwyn threw herself into cover beside them just as a section of wall came crashing down and chunks of plaster and fiber bounced off her armour.
“What’s your status!?” she had to scream in Stone’s ear to make herself heard.
“We’re okay!” the Mordian hollered back. “Killed three – think we wounded two more! The doc’s a little f***ed though!”
Godwyn looked sideways at Meredith – she was twitching and had an oddly vacant look about her.
Stone put his hand on the Inquisitor’s shoulder to get her attention; “She took some kind of combat drug!” the ex-guardsman explained, “don’t know what it is, but it’s kept us alive! Still f***ed though!”
“Where are the others!?”
Stone looked confused; “What!?”
Godwyn leaned in closer; “Where are the others!?”
He shook his head – they both ducked as section of wall two feet above them exploded and showered all three with dust and splinters –
“I don’t know! Haven’t seen any! I think these guys are pulling out though! Aren’t pushing us as hard, and that f***er with bird seems intent to pin us down!”
The Inquisitor nodded to show that she had understood. “Lee’s dead!” she added after a moment.
The Mordian swore, but didn’t look surprised. It was the Inquisition, and no-one expected there to be no casualties.
“Stay here!” Godwyn told him, “I’m going to find the others!”
“Roger that!” he said, and clapped her hard on the shoulder.
She waited for a break in the fire before making a run for it, and dashed from cover into the ruined shell of what had once been the penthouse’s dining room. In a few strides the room was behind her, and she leapt down a small flight of stairs into a small sitting room beyond the gunship’s line of fire. There she paused, pistol raised, and listened for any sign of the enemy.
Small-arms fire had altogether stopped, but the second gunship’s continued presence told her that her team wasn’t out of danger yet.
“Mercy?” she tried without raising her voice. The assassin had exceptional hearing, and if the giant was nearby Godwyn had no doubt that the lithe killer would hear her. She waited for a few moments, but when nothing happened she continued onwith her pistol raised.
The lights were killed in this part of the suite, but even in the darkness the scars of battle were plain to see. Bullets had destroyed furniture and riddled walls, and at times spurts of blood decorated the floor. The first body she found was of an enemy. Black clad like all the rest, the corpse was missing its head, and had flooded the light-coloured carpet with dark, sticky blood. A second body was not far from the first and had fallen so that it sat up against a wall. The wound that killed him wasn’t evident but it had shed a lot of
blood.
Inquisitor Godwyn recognized the assassin by her handiwork.
“Mercy?”
No reply.
She tried again, louder; “Mercy?!”
“Inquisitor?”
The voice that answered her belonged to Maxwell Constantine. Up ahead, the logistician appeared around the bend in a corridor with a captured submachinegun clutched in his hands. He looked relieved to see her, and a little worse for wear.
Godwyn moved towards him at a slow walk to avoid making too much noise now that everything was quiet.
“Status?” she asked once she was close enough not to have raise her voice.
“The Interrogator is with me,” he said, “we’ve killed two, but haven’t seen any more since. The Interrogator suggested that we don’t advance any further into their guns.”
Godwyn nodded; “Good. Are those your kills?” she asked, motioning with her pistol to where the bodies of the two intruders she found earlier lay.
Constantine shook his head. “No. We came across them just like that. There are a couple more just further up.”
“Have you seen Mercy?” she asked next.
Again, Constantine was shaking his head. “We’ve only seen you so far, Inquisitor,” he said in a low voice. “Have you found anyone else?”
“Stone and Meredith are taking cover in the dining room, but Lee is dead,” she admitted.
The young man cursed and bowed his head. Looking at the floor he asked; “Who are these people? Why are they here?”
Godwyn had no answer, but she was certain to find out. Underneath their black armour she fully expected to see pale, bald men.
“Godwyn,” rounding the corner, Spider had decided to join them. Her face was bloodied and she moved with difficulty, but the look in her eyes was murderous and the Catachan auto-carbine was held firmly in both her hands. “The gunship just left… I think we’re in the clear.”
“You’re certain?”
The young woman nodded.
Her bionic ear must have been malfunctioning, but her human ear picked up no sound at all; she would have to trust in Spider’s feelings.
“Are you alright?” the Inquisitor asked her apprentice. Spider did not answer; she only half-shrugged. The blood on her face was clearly her own, but the young womanwas cleverly concealing any pain she might be feeling.
“Clear the area behind me,” Godwyn instructed, waving them past her with her pistol, “I’ll take up ahead. Make sure there are no surprises. Gather what you can and prepare move out. We leave in fifteen minutes."

“Understood,” they both replied, and let the Inquisitor pass them before moving in the opposite direction. The penthouse had been compromised once, and Godwyn was not willing to risk a second attack. Lee was dead – a blow that could already be crippling if she didn’t manage to find another pilot in short order – and doubtlessly there was more damage that she had yet to assess. Whatever their objective, the attackers must have accomplished it, or why else would they withdraw so suddenly?

Again getting nearer to the enemy’s point of entry in the lounge, the damage caused by the gunship’s heavy weapons became more and more telling. Walls were completely demolished, lavish furniture had been turned into indistinguishable piles of rubble, and layers of plaster dust coated every surface. And amongst it all there were more bodies.

In the low light, Godwyn counted three in total. The first two she came across were
very clearly killed by a sword, and the other… ?

She drew nearer for a better look. Lots of blood was spattered against the wall near where it had fallen, but chunks of broken plaster made it hard to see. Getting closer, it looked bigger than the others… longer.

Godwyn felt her heart begin to slowly drag down into the pit of her stomach.

It had fallen facing away from her, but even so she could tell the corpse was female. Exit wounds dotted its back: it hadn’t been wearing armour enough to stop them.

Next to it, she sank to a knee and turned the body’s red-haired head towards her. A pair of violet eyes stared up into hers.

“No…”

Something inside her gave way, and Godwyn felt herself crumble onto the floor, suddenly weak and tired. The fight in her was gone, the drive to survive… gone. It felt as is something had just opened her stomach and torn out her bowels, leaving her hollow. Leaving her empty inside.

She was gone.

There was no warmth, no tenderness, no knowing that a silent eye was watching over her. It had been stolen, broken down, and left bleeding amidst the ruins of her life.

She tried to cry but found she couldn’t; all she could do was breathe and wonder why.

But then her lover blinked – slow, weak, but a blink.

“Mercy?”  

The assassin was breathing. Slow and shallow, but breathing.

Godwyn took her hand and squeezed it tightly – the giant didn’t squeeze back, but her eyes flickered with life.  

“Doctor!” she screamed over her shoulder into the broken penthouse, “DOCTOR!!”

 

[Olis]

I suggest Pming one of the Lexicanums about this if you're having a problem with posting here. I would try to help more directly myself, if I had any jurisdiction here.

[Aqui]

I've noticed that if you cut and paste a lengthy piece of text in the reply box at the bottom of the page, it tends to remove any and all formatting.  If you used the "More reply options" and this is the result,  then I'm at a loss as to what's happened :(  It's not happened to me thus far...

 

The story is a pleasure to read as usual ^_^ , although as soon as I started reading about Lee, I knew his goose was cooked :lol:

 

But Mercy?  Smeg, I really didn't see that coming :(

[Lady_Canoness]

Drives me nuts it does! There have been a couple ideas on how to fix it, but I won't have the option to do so until next monday at the earliest (uuuugh...) Or I could go through and manually change it all in the edit screen. It would probably take hours :(

 

I like to keep the surprises coming (story-wise, not format-wise)!

[Aqui]

Drives me nuts it does! There have been a couple ideas on how to fix it, but I won't have the option to do so until next monday at the earliest (uuuugh...) Or I could go through and manually change it all in the edit screen. It would probably take hours

I like to keep the surprises coming (story-wise, not format-wise)!

You have a PM Ignore the first one, as the second one should work ^_^

[Unknown Chronicler]

Wow I just went through reading all of the stories so far and they are just amazing! I have to say this is the best Inqusition stories I have ever read in a long time and if anything should be published! Great work Lady Canoness, I hope to see more and just beautiful!

[Azekai]

Yee-haw! More material!

The emotional connection you are able to evoke continues to do you credit, Lady Canoness.

[Brother-Sergeant Bohemond]

another excellent update, but I did not see that coming to Mercy...

 

Pity about Lee as well, though nice to see Constantine coming into his own. Stone was as badass as I expected him to be as well :)

[Lady_Canoness]

Thank you, Gentlemen, I am honoured.

 

I love building characters, as well as making some twists and turns; seems like it shows ;)

[Lady_Canoness]

Hi guys,

Sorry about the delay (I know, I know, this is a really long delay) but unfortunately life-circumstances are meaning that writing time is becoming harder and harder to come by

No, I haven't forgotten about this (kinda hard to do that after I've been working on with Godwyn for more than 2 years of my life ;) ) and I am *about* 2/3 of the way through the next part.

Thank you for your patience, and I hope to keep long pauses between parts to a minimum.

Sorry!

-L_C

[Aqui]

Hi guys,

Sorry about the delay (I know, I know, this is a really long delay) but unfortunately life-circumstances are meaning that writing time is becoming harder and harder to come by

No, I haven't forgotten about this (kinda hard to do that after I've been working on with Godwyn for more than 2 years of my life ) and I am *about* 2/3 of the way through the next part.

Thank you for your patience, and I hope to keep long pauses between parts to a minimum.

Sorry!

-L_C

I can relate to this. I've said it before, but we'll be here when you're ready to post the next part ;)

[Lady_Canoness]

*Part 18*

 

 

Mercy survived.

Her breathing was irregular and slow, her heart-rate almost non-existent, and she would not respond to stimuli in any noticeable way. Yet despite her condition and terrible wounds, the assassin was not dead when the doctor came to her side, she was not dead when the Inquisitor called for an emergency casualty evacuation from orbit, nor was she dead when the casualty evacuation team arrived an hour and forty-five minutes later. As emergency response servitors rushed the gurney with Mercy’s body into the well-lit hold of an idling shuttle, the chief medicae on scene called it a miracle that she was still alive.
It was a thin ray of light in an otherwise darkening city.
In the days that followed the assassination of Elizabeth Godwyn, her mourning House closed its doors to the outside world, and while the nobles hid their heads the city burned. Spurred by agitators and the increasing influx of off-worlders who still streamed to the planet despite the authorities’ attempt to stop them, refugees and citizens alike took to the streets in violent riots that pushed against the Adeptus Arbites, and in places overwhelmed them. Anarchy ruled the streets. The dissidents became armed, and what started as unrest threatened to erupt into civil war. The Planetary Defence Force was mobilized, and the situation became worse.
Within a week the city was engulfed in chaos, and word from around Acre suggested that it was starting to spill into other cities.
No-one seemed to question that the strife came from off-world. Indeed, it made sense that the refugees from one warzone would bring the disturbance with them to another – too much sense. No-one seemed to notice that it was all too predictable – all too perfect.

+“If I understand you correctly, Cassandra, you’re suggesting that the assassination of Lady Godwyn – in which you believe the nobles from Styme to be involved – was the trigger for what we’re seeing now.”+ 
Sitting with her arms crossed in the back of the black Arbites car as it sat in the darkness of the safe-house’s underground parking garage, Inquisitor Godwyn nodded. The grainy outline of Inquisitor von Draken shifted and tensed its metal jaw.
+“After which you were attacked and your base of operations destroyed. An action made possible by a tracking device on your personal shuttle…”+
Again, Godwyn nodded.
+“Do you think Styme knows your identity?”+
“I think it’s possible,” Godwyn replied. “Before her untimely demise, Lady Godwyn disclosed to the nobles that an Inquisitor was present. After that Styme just needed to look hard enough for my team’s surveillance. They found it, and countered. There is no guarantee that they knew who it was they were hitting when they arrived at the penthouse, but they captured a lot of my data during the raid, so if they didn’t know before they probably know now.”
The image of Draken cursed softly and worked its brow. +“F***. Cassandra, this is serious.”+
“That’s what I’m telling you…”
The Witch Hunter continued; +“If they overcome the failsafes and encryption on even a small fraction of that data, this entire operation is at risk of being compromised – not just your activities, but mine as well!”+
“I know.”
+“You know I’m not willing to risk that, Godwyn.”+
“And what are you going to do?”
+“You aren’t going to like this, Cassandra…”+ von Draken sighed, her face darkening even in its holographic representation.+ “I am going to recommend that this world be purged. Essential personnel will be evacuated, and then the cities will be razed. When it’s done Acre will be recolonized and can start anew.”+
“Tanya, that’s insane,” Godwyn snapped, “this planet can still be saved!”
+“I don’t share your optimism, and I am not willing to risk the alternative of a full revolt.”+
“Damn you, Tanya, listen to yourself!” Inquisitor Godwyn jumped forward in her seat, shouting despite the closed confines of the empty car. “You’re talking about the slaughter of billions for what!? The slight possibility that your operations get compromised!? This is insane! You are reacting exactly as if the world was already lost!”
+“The Imperium does not want another war here, Cassandra!”+ the other woman responded forcefully. +“My mandate is to stop that from happening by whatever means necessary. I was willing to cut the heresy out at its roots, but that is no longer an option. You know that my hand is forced!”+
“That’s bulls***. You’re more concerned with saving your own ass than saving this planet!”
+“Bulls*** is waiting until it’s too late! This is the only action that won’t fail! This is the only action that will guarantee that no heresy will escape from this world to infect others!”+
It wasn’t something Godwyn wanted to admit, but ultimately she knew that the Witch Hunter spoke true and, that at its heart, it was her own fault. She had been responsible for the death of her mother, and now she would be responsible for the eradication of her family, her history, and her world – all of it would burn because she had not been careful enough. How steep was the price of failure: her lover, her mission, and now an entire planet?
“You’re a real b****, you know that Tanya?”
Resigned to the Witch Hunter’s course of action, Godwyn sank back into the leather back seat of the loaned Arbites car and looked anywhere but at the holograph’s uncompromising face.
“How much time can you give me?” she asked.
+“Don’t be stubborn Cassandra, there is nothing you can do. Pull out your team and withdraw!”+
“Aquinas is still here!” she shouted back. “Give me time to find him – that’s all I want, and damn you Tanya, I f***ing know you can give me enough time for that!”
+“If he is even here, he’ll die like the rest. There will be no escape.”+
“I don’t believe that. Give me time!”
Inquisitor von Draken did not rebuke her immediately – something in and of itself that was a good sign – but instead gave the other Inquisitor’s request some thought. +“I’ll give you ten days,”+ she said at last.+ “Don’t ask for more – waiting for Acre to get even worse is something I will not do.”+
“Ten days could see an improvement…”
+“It won’t,”+ the Witch Hunter replied with a certainty that sounded all too suspicious.
“What do you mean, Tanya? What do you know!?” Godwyn asked, but the conversation was over; Inquisitor von Draken would say no more and the display went blank.

 

Alone, Inquisitor Godwyn sat for a few moments in silence. Ten days until she was out of time.
Draken would not back down, and given the scope of her operations she would not be one to be reasoned with. The Witch Hunter had already invested much in Acre, and if she was willing to throw it all away then there was little anyone could do to change her mind. She would sooner put the planet to the sword than gamble on letting its secrets slip through her fingers.
Ten days.
Godwyn stepped out of the parked car and slammed the door behind her. She would have to get started.

 

Outside, miraculously, the rain had stopped, inside the safehouse, however, the gloom had yet to lift.
Godwyn had never intended the safehouse to be a permanent base, and though it was secure the cold, water-stained walls made it painfully clear that the comforts of the penthouse were long gone and forgotten. There was no heat and mold grew in corners and on window sills. Furniture was dilapidated or missing altogether and the rooms themselves were agonizingly bleak. Even the air felt heavy, and moisture clung to the skin in such a way that one couldn’t help but shiver with every passing moment.

“Inquisitor,” the doctor found her the moment she returned from the garage and quickly waved her closer for a word. “My contacts have gotten back to me, earlier than expected too. I have results.”
There was a hint of conspiracy in her voice, the kind that motivated people, and Godwyn motioned that the stout woman should show her what she had found.
Thanks to their position in the relative bowels of the penthouse, Meredith’s labs had survived the attack unscathed. Her research data, therefore, was intact along with her contact network. It was the only asset the Inquisitor possessed that had not in some way been compromised, though she had forced the doctor to burn most of it when the penthouse was abandoned – an act the other woman had carried out without protest. All that now remained of the doctor’s laboratory were two large crates – each about four feet long and four feet deep – that contained everything she was able to salvage.
Resting on top of one of the crates was a dataslate, and it was this that Meredith handed to the Inquisitor when they approached. Activated, its glowing surface was covered with data – a veritable orchard of information – but without context the Inquisitor could make neither heads nor tails of it.
“What am I looking at?” she had to ask – sounding more irritable than she felt – and the doctor picked the slate from her hand, scrolling through some of the data herself with flicks of her fingers before returning it to her superior;
“First part are the results from the samples taken from the refugees. Cutting to the chase, it’s Genestealer.”
Godwyn narrowed her eyes. “You’re certain?”
Meredith nodded; “Yep. Wish I wasn’t though, believe me.”
Genestealer – the simple word displayed on the dataslate didn’t do the creature justice. Vicious six-limbed aliens from beyond the outer reaches of the galaxy, Genestealers they were known for their ferocity and their frightening ability to adapt and survive in the most adverse of conditions. Originally believed to be a quasi-intelligent race that had managed to spread by means of stowing away in the holds of unsuspecting freighters, the aliens had been spotted across the length and breadth of the Imperium before an even more terrifying truth became widely known in the halls of the Inquisition. The truth was that Genestealers were a vanguard organism for an alien race known as Tyranids, and that where Genestealers appeared a swarm of even deadlier creatures would someday follow. Instead of being mindless beasts, Genestealers possessed a diabolical predatory cunning, and were able to infect the local populace with their seed in order to sow confusion and protect themselves from discovery. So adept were the aliens at infiltration that finding a single Genestealer was practically impossible, and their presence only became known once they had already subverted a portion of the population and established a fortified nest protected by swarms of Genestealers and their followers. General orders were therefore that any Genestealer threat be stamped out with extreme prejudice as soon as it was detected, and that allowance of the alien to escape was punishable by death.
Genestealers: if Draken knew of them, then her decision to purge the entirety of Acre was completely justified.     
“I thought you said that Genestealers would have been one of the first things tested for?” Godwyn asked the doctor. “Why are we only finding this out now?”
“Because it’s not pure Genestealer,” Meredith explained. “The samples you gave me weren’t the result of alien infection… more like alien ingestion.”
“What?” 
“Like eating,” the doctor pretended to shovel food into her mouth with her hands, “the distribution of the infected tissues weren’t consistent with typical infections. These were distributed randomly, like the body redistributing the alien tissue around the system.”
“You’re saying that these refugees were *eating* aliens?”
“No, no-no-no,” Meredith shook her head several times in quick succession. “I think it more likely that alien tissue had been dissolved in liquid and then consumed over time. Also, the samples themselves aren’t pure Genestealer.”
“What do you mean?” the Inquisitor demanded.
“I mean that this tissue is modified at a genetic level, and before you make any assumptions I can tell you that the modification was artificial: someone altered Genestealer DNA prior to distributing it. The alterations are too perfect and too radical to be natural.”
“You are certain of this?”
“Yes. Completely.”
Godwyn looked back at the dataslate, tapping it between her fingers: things were much more dire than she had anticipated, and this was just the beginning.
“What else have you discovered?” she asked.
“The samples taken from the bald brutes that have been attacking us,” Meredith replied, “they’re not Genestealer, but I have reason to believe whoever is modifying the alien tissue is also responsible for their modifications as well. It’s a sloppier, faster job, but some of the changes are far too similar to be chance.”
“So the bald men are definitively linked to the refugee problem – I guessed as much.”
“Yeah, I know,” the doctor agreed, “at least we’ve got proof now, eh? But there is more.”
“Lay it on me,” the Inquisitor said, her voice dry.
“That mystery substance,” the stout woman replied, “the stuff we found up north at the comm. relay… it is the most alien s*** of the lot. The elements aren’t even the same.”
Godwyn gave her a sceptical glance. Meredith nodded with a large shrug that showed she understood where the Inquisitor’s doubts came from;
“I know – but there it is. Half of the stuff that makes up whatever that stuff is are *completely* unidentifiable – like, completely! My people didn’t even know where to start with it!”
“Do you think there is a connection?”
Meredith shook her head; “Not even a f***ing clue.”
Great. Genestealers, genetic modification, and now something that defied the greatest minds at her disposal. She was beginning to doubt that there was an answer that could be found.
“Do you have anything else for me?” she asked.
The doctor said there wasn’t, and the Inquisitor turned to leave – handing back the dataslate.
“Oh, one last thing,” Meredith said before the Inquisitor could turn her back.
Godwyn indicated she should speak.
The stout woman chewed her lip, her eyes looking somewhere other than Godwyn’s face; “Sorry about Mercy,” she said. “I wish I could have done something to keep her here with us.”
Godwyn nodded slowly, but said nothing in response. They parted ways in silence.

 

*

 

“Are you awake?”
It sounded like a stupid question.
“No, I’m dreaming.”
Halfway through the fog, sitting on a fallen log between a pair of mossy trees with his face obscured by shadow, the figure chuckled – a soft gurgling sound covering the silence as his chest and powerful arms heaved up and down with. “Fancy that…”
Bending a branch out of her way, Spider stepped closer to the figure. Sticks and twigs snapped underfoot. Leaves rattled as they brushed against her cloak. The figure did not stir. The orange glow from the tip of a cigar caught the sparkle of liquid in his eyes.
“I’m dreaming…”
A puff of smoke rose up the shade covering his face, and a hand plucked the cigar from his mouth, flicking it instinctively before resting against his thigh. “About what?”
“About us.”
A tangle branch caught in her cloak and she had to tug herself free – the shrill snap of wood disturbing the silence.
“Not this time.”
She was closer now and the voice sounded different; soft as if coming from a great distance, and twisting like the tongue of a serpent. From another angle she could see that the figure had only one arm.
His face still in shadow, the figure rose up to his feet and towered over the young woman.
She stopped, no longer trying to go near him. “No, impossible… I would have known!”
The giant man took a single step towards her – one pace covering the distance of two by any lesser man – so that his face was no longer obscured and she looked up into ice-blue eyes set inside a massive, bald head.
“Find me.” His words struck her like a hammer-blow.
“No!” Spider shouted back at him. She tried to recoil, but her cloak was caught in the clutches of the undergrowth and wouldn’t let her escape.
“Find me,” he said again, his tone commanding. “I am here. You must find me.”
“No!” she turned from his face, willing herself to put something else in the giant’s place. “You’re dead! You’re not part of my life anymore!” A branch snapped, and she felt her leg come free – she could move again!
“Find me,” his voice rang out even as turned and fled, “You know where I am. I am waiting for you.”
Running blind, she crashed through the woods in no particular direction. The fog was blinding and the branches were treacherous, but as far as she ran the giant’s voice still followed her.
“I am waiting for you…”
“No! NoooOOoo!” She woke up just in time to see the metal deck of the cabin floor racing up to meet her and landed with a crumpled thump. Her feet were still tangled on her cot. No more fog, no more voices, just silence – silence and the stinging pain spreading up her arm from where her elbow bashed into the floor; “ooooow…”

 

*

 

Constantine had lost just about everything the night the penthouse had been hit.
Material data. Gone. Communication logs. Gone. Confidential passcodes. Gone. Everything down to his damned requisition list had either been stolen, damaged, or altogether destroyed beyond any chance of recovery.
He was partially surprised one of them hadn’t tried to make off with the kitchen sink.
In retrospect, however, he knew he had been lucky. He was still alive and in one piece, which was more than could be said for all of their number. He should be thankful, and he was: it had been a close call – closer than any so far. He’d killed a man and it weighed on his mind, but not as much as the sudden awareness of his own mortality.
It was a funny feeling, to knock on death’s door.
To say he was new to battle would be a lie, but every battle he’d experienced involved massive ships, countless souls, and the knowledge that he really didn’t play that big of a part in the outcome. Logisticians weren’t gunners after all. To fight a foe face to face, to get his blood on your hands, to steal his life with your own sword… that something else entirely. It was terrifying, yet billions of people across the Imperium did every day, and some even got really good at it. It’s what it took to win – what it took to survive – anything else was just a pleasant delusion.
That was the scary part.
With a purposeful shake of his head, Maxwell Constantine forced the thoughts from his mind… at least for now. He had a job to do.
Sitting in Meridian’s nest, the logistician was going over every scrap of information stored in the shuttle’s cogitators in effort to recover something of value in the absence of, well, just about everything. He’d backed-up some of his work aboard the shuttle for simplicities sake when they were travelling, but it wasn’t nearly enough and it left him with only fragments of what had once been a very comprehensive cache. It was like trying to piece together a painting with only a few scraps of torn canvas. It was impossible and he knew it, but at least it was something he could focus on to keep him busy.
The nest’s comm. unit was abuzz with activity. He’d left it on purposely to scan the Arbites channels he had not lost the encryption codes for and get a sense of what was going on in the rest of the city while he and the Inquisitor’s team were effectively grounded and in hiding. The news wasn’t good. The Arbites were hammering the riots with everything they had – arresting hundreds with every passing hour – but ultimately they were losing ground. The newest reports were of a prison break at an inner city detention centre when the guards had split ranks and defected, throwing their lot in with rioters. Where was the House army? Why weren’t all available troops being pressed into restoring order? It was the question everyone seemed to be asking, but no-one ever answered. Calls for reinforcements went unheard, and eventually stopped altogether.
Constantine could only take so much before he flicked the dial to ‘off’, and carried on with his work in relative silence.
‘Relative’ because the constant stream of sounds coming from the cockpit as Meridian’s new pilot settled-in kept ‘quiet’ out of the question.
“What kind of man keeps that there to begin with? … are those undergarments?”
Upon consideration, settle-in ought to be supplanted by *upset*tle-in as the newcomer trashed Lee Normandy’s eclectic collections of various odd and ends and piled them in an unceremonious heap on the deck.
The logistician did his best to ignore him for obvious reasons.
This newcomer was a Godwyn – the Inquisitor’s nephew to be precise – but more than that he was a senseless brat and the air of entitlement seemed to ooze from his every pore. Clearly his bloodline made him better than everyone and his noble status made him untouchable; therefore he would make his own rules and obey his own commands… or so he likely thought.
From the cockpit came the sound of crumpling paper, followed by a soft thud as it was discarded.
The young noble was named Fergus, and though Constantine made no effort to speak with him he knew that the young man and his sister were under the Inquisitor’s charge. That, and Fergus was apparently a decent pilot, which was what saw him roughly disposing of Lee’s old possessions at Meridian’s helm. How and why Godwyn had selected her nephew as a pilot when there were numerous other qualified pilots available was unknown to him, but the logistician felt a stab of anger in his chest every time something else of Lee’s was thoughtlessly ruined.
“Do you mind!?” he snapped through the cockpit door, suddenly flustered and blinking as if to calm the sudden outburst of rage.
The noble stopped; hands frozen half-way through overturning a footlocker stuffed with Lee’s prized clutter; “What?” he asked in a defiant challenge.
“That belonged to a man who gave his life for the Imperium. Show some respect!”
Fergus looked at what was in his hands. Fortunately, he did not continue with overturning it. “This is garbage,” he replied. “Who keeps these kinds of things?”
“A man who has served longer than you’ve been alive,” Constantine replied hotly. “You’re not in your manor anymore – get used to things changing.”
The exchange was over.
Constantine went back to what he was doing in the nest, and Fergus didn’t dump anything else on the floor. No more words were spoken.
After ten minutes of silence, the young nobleman had finished what he was doing and carried Lee’s possessions out the cockpit in several armfuls. Constantine did not ask what he was doing with them – he didn’t want to think about it. Afterwards Fergus left, and the silence resumed as the logistician continued his search for information with an increasing sense of angst. The feeling grew and soon it became unbearable. Cursing himself, Constantine got up and went to the main hold to make himself a strong cup of caffeine. Spider was already there, waiting for him:
“What have you found?” she asked without premption.
“W – ? Nothing,” the young man said, stopped in his tracks by Spider’s sudden interrogation. The anger and helplessness he’d been feeling earlier was suddenly joined by a hefty wave of guilt and confusion. He didn’t know where he stood with the tattooed woman, nor did he know where he wanted to. In a way he felt close to her, but at the same time very, very far.
Her features cold, she strode past him into the nest without a word. After some hesitation he followed her in.
She was looking through maps at a mad pace – tracing the contents with her eyes before franticly flipping to another page. How it could mean anything to her with only a cursory glance was anyone’s guess, but Constantine wasn’t about to interrupt. Soon she’d gone through ten charts, then fifteen, and then twenty.
“Spider…” he tentatively tried to move her attention away from whatever she was trying to do. Maybe she was as hurt as he was, and this was her way of showing it.
“Here!” she ignored him, thrusting a finger onto the map and tapping it repeatedly.
Leaning forward, Constantine looked where she was indicating: her index finger – the letter ‘N’ tattooed across the knuckle – pointed at a small smear on the map. It was up in the mountains far the north of Acre, and a label read ‘Helios N1 Mining Facility’.
“What’s there?” he asked.
“This is where we have to go!” she said, suddenly very animated, and dashed past him out of the nest.
Constantine stayed with the map. A dull thump from below indicated that the Interrogator had exited the shuttle. Helios N1 Mining Facility – he knew nothing about it, but that would soon change. Accessing local records, the logistician pulled up everything he could find on Helios N1. 

[Aqui]

Worth the wait! ^_^

[Taranis]

Indeed. Good reorganization after some major disruptions. It sounds promising for the story with the introduction of Godwyns family on the team. :)

[Aqui]

Indeed. Good reorganization after some major disruptions. It sounds promising for the story with the introduction of Godwyns family on the team.

And the hint of a "blast from the past" ^_^

[Taranis]

 

Indeed. Good reorganization after some major disruptions. It sounds promising for the story with the introduction of Godwyns family on the team. :)

 

And the hint of a "blast from the past" ^_^

Most definitely. I'm mentally comparing this hunt with the hunt for the mirror.

[Lady_Canoness]

You'll be interested to see how this all wraps up - and what is in store for V. You won't see it coming, for sure ;)

[Taranis]

I have no doubt. That's the feeling I've had for the inquisition for many months. And It's a good feeling. :)

[Brother-Sergeant Bohemond]

more twists? excellent! Wouldn't be the same story without them :P

[deathspectersgt7]

Wow very intense .you got me enthralled.

[Lady_Canoness]

Wow very intense .you got me enthralled.

Thanks :)

Through all the Inquisition stories I aim to give believable, compelling characters, vivid descriptions of the 40k universe, and interesting, immersive plots.