by S P Cawkwell
‘I’m still in control, if that’s what you mean.’ Nathaniel took a sip of the drink, welcoming its warmth, and looked forward to the caffeine hit that would follow soon. It would deaden the worst of the headache.
‘You know that’s not what I meant.’ De Corso was actually wearing his uniform for once, but even so, his was cut from the best cloth and he had re-tailored parts of it to fit him even more flatteringly. For Harild de Corso, image was nine-tenths of the impression he made. Nathaniel had scorned his obsessive attitude to his appearance once. Why would a sniper care about how they looked?
‘The victim doesn’t know if their killer is immaculately dressed.’ Nathaniel’s argument had been reasonable and rational, as it always was. It didn’t bother de Corso.
‘Perhaps not,’ he said. ‘But I know, and I like to think of it as a courtesy.’
Nathaniel bit back his sharp words. De Corso was harmless enough and other than Isara and the inquisitor, the only one who ever so much as spoke to him when it wasn’t absolutely necessary. Nathaniel held up the mug and shot a brief glance sideways. ‘I apologise. Thank you.’
Harild nodded. ‘You’re welcome.’ Nathaniel studied the sniper. Tall, slender, effortlessly handsome and with an even-toothed smile that he knew women fell for every time it was switched on, de Corso was excellent at what he did. And what he did was kill anybody he was told to, as long as they were a long way away.
‘So. What’s the word then, psyker? Did you get anything useful out of your… meeting with the inquisitor?’ De Corso’s eyebrows waggled in a decidedly suggestive manner that Nathaniel didn’t like one little bit. He found the implication that his interest in the inquisitor was anything beyond professional to be insulting.
The fact that his interest did go beyond professional was not the point.
‘When the inquisitor and I spoke,’ he replied, a haughty tone coming into his voice, ‘she told me nothing more than we already knew. And you should know better than to show such disrespect for her position. Or mine for that matter. You may be one of her retinue, but you’re still new.’
De Corso held his hands up in mock surrender. ‘I’m just making fun of you, Nate.’ The psyker narrowed his eyes at the diminutive. He hated it. ‘Try relaxing a little, would you? You’ll burst something…’ He tailed off, realising just how close to ‘bursting something’ the frail psyker had come in the past. ‘I’m sorry. That was unnecessary.’
Nathaniel’s cold blue eyes stared at de Corso for a few moments longer, evidently trying to decide if he was being mocked. Finally, he turned back to look out of the viewport again.
‘We are heading to Varsavia. The inquisitor is confident that we will not be there for long. I hope not – I’ve read up on the place. It sounds horrible.’
‘Ice world, right?’ De Corso grinned, but there was no humour in the expression. ‘Those places are about as grim as they come, Helbron reckons.’
‘Helbron finds everything grim.’ This was true enough. Curt Helbron was the inquisitor’s pet bounty hunter and it was widely known that he hated everything and everyone.
‘He doesn’t find your sister grim,’ teased de Corso gently. He was rewarded with the kind of look that could kill. Curt Helbron was a persistent thorn in Nathaniel’s side. The man was virtually silent most of the time unless he was addressed directly and although evidently proud to be a part of the inquisitor’s retinue, did little in the way of getting to know his companions. Apart from Isara, much to Nathaniel’s disapproval. To his further disapproval, he understood that Isara didn’t find Helbron grim either.
Were things different, he would have spoken to Isara about it. But she knew her own mind and didn’t care who knew it. On top of which, she necessarily avoided Nathaniel unless they had no choice but to be together.
Nathaniel reached up and toyed idly with one of the many rings that were pierced through his right ear. A Siculean tradition, each ring was meant to represent a personal mark of shame.
Nathaniel had a lot of them.
‘Please do not speak of my sister in such a disrespectful way,’ Nathaniel said disdainfully. ‘She has devoted her life in service to the Emperor. Helbron distracts her from that purpose.’
De Corso thought better of his response and simply nodded. The two lapsed back into silence again, Nathaniel sipping on the recaff and staring at the shapeless things that leered through the viewport at him, defying him to lose control and join them. This was the lot of the psyker. The desperately important need to control themselves at all times and not to let that control waver, even for an instant. Nathaniel was concentrating so hard on this that it was a moment or two before de Corso’s voice seeped into his consciousness.
‘…ever dealt with the Adeptus Astartes before?’
‘What?’
‘I was asking, what’s your experience of the Space Marines?’
‘Limited.’
‘Indeed. Well, do me a favour, would you? Do try not to be your usual forthright self. They can be pretty literal at times and frankly, some of the things you say would insult even the most forgiving saint in the chapel.’ Nathaniel had a habit of speaking his mind without any intervention from his brain. It was a quality that his companions occasionally admired but more frequently dreaded. ‘I enjoy working with you, you know. And despite being such a miserable bastard, you’re quite good company. I’m fairly certain that none of us want to end our working relationship by scraping what’s left of you from a Space Marine’s boot.’
‘I’ll keep your advice in mind.’ Nathaniel drained the last of the recaff and hugged the mug to his thin chest. De Corso watched him for a few moments longer and then quietly took his leave.
Isara Gall was a stately woman of forty-five. Tall and with neatly coiffed auburn hair that showed only the earliest hints of grey, she held herself with the pride of the nobles of any world. She had come into the inquisitor’s service long before any of those who travelled with them now and as such considered herself the senior serving member of the retinue.
There was a fleeting resemblance to her brother across the brow, but those who didn’t know their familial relationship would never have suspected any kind of connection other than the coincidence of their names. Isara was charming, witty, well educated and the inquisitor’s closest confidante. She stood near the pulpit of the bridge, idly watching the hive of activity that buzzed around the consoles and workstations in the tiers beneath. She wore a finely tailored dress of shimmering scarlet, in stark contrast to the formal uniforms of the officers who occasionally hurried past. A few of them had thought to approach her, but had swiftly changed their minds with an obvious grimace. She forgave them. They could not have had any experience with her kind, or the unnatural sense of contempt that surrounded her. At least she supposed that was the reason for their reluctance. The presence of her companion could have been another.
The bounty hunter leaned on the polished brass railings and glared malevolently down at the mass of humanity and machines below. His face was a knotted mass of scar tissue and stubble, with a deep pucker running from his forehead to his chin. De Corso liked to joke that he was only an inch away from an augmetic nose, but Helbron didn’t find it funny. He puffed on the stub of a battered lho-stick in open defiance of the bosun who had ruled that narcotics had no place on the ship, let alone the bridge. Curt had told him to come and take it if he wanted it and the topic had been abandoned.
‘You look pensive, Curt,’ Isara observed. ‘Are you troubled by this visit to the Space Marine home world?’
The bounty hunter made a noise that suggested he didn’t care either way. Isara gave him a warm smile. Sometimes getting an opinion out of him was like pulling a tooth.
‘The hive world then. Has the inquisitor heard anything new?’
Helbron shook his head and spat the mangled remains of the lho onto the deck far below.
‘N
o. But then you knew that,’ he rumbled. He was a big man, with a voice like crushed gravel. Nathaniel had said openly that he couldn’t see what Isara found so fascinating about him.
Helbron scratched at his jaw line and glared down at the bridge below. ‘Just something not sitting right about this job.’
‘You have said that about every mission we have ever been on and everything has always worked out.’ Everything hadn’t always worked out. Helbron and Isara had seen the end of more than one friend during their Inquisitorial careers, but they never spoke of the departed. You did not dwell upon the dead in their line of work. It would take too long.
Curt grunted his agreement.
‘One of these days it won’t, though.’
‘Unknown vessel has translated into the system.’
It had taken only seven words relayed to the fortress-monastery from one of the orbital defence platforms high above Varsavia to generate a surge of activity. Servitors and Chapter serfs began the job of ensuring that access to the armoury was clear whilst the Silver Skulls currently in residence at the fortress-monastery began mustering. Such preparation was necessary, for although more often than not such breaches of planetary security were nothing of consequence, there was always the chance that this might not be the case.
Lord Commander Argentius strode towards the central control room where the message had been received.
‘Report.’ He bellowed the single word through the vox that connected the fortress-monastery to the skies above.
‘Sword class frigate, my lord.’ The officer’s voice was broken and distorted through the distance and thick walls that separated them. ‘Translated fifteen minutes ago. There has not yet been any response to our hails.’
‘Threat assessment?’
‘Just the one vessel, my lord, and she is old. Threat assessment minimum.’
‘Transmitting?’
‘Old codes. Not so old that they are out of date, but it suggests that they have not been in this sector for quite some time.’ Argentius nodded. That explained why the intruder vessel had not been simply vaporised the moment it had appeared. Still, there was no need for complacency. He transmitted through the vox, hailing the ship directly.
‘I am Lord Commander Argentius of the Silver Skulls. Your ship is in danger of trespassing in forbidden territory. I suggest that you identify yourself within the next thirty seconds.’
A new voice was heard above the discordant noise that reigned supreme and it cut through the chaos like a knife. It was a female voice, smooth and lightly accented. Every syllable was as clear as crystal.
‘…old codes and even old systems. Get this thing working, now!’
Argentius arched one eyebrow at the imperious tone and a few seconds later, the voice adopted a much less irritated and far more pleasant level. ‘This is the Inquisitorial vessel Callimachus. Please accept my apologies for the delay in responding to your hails. Stand down your defences…’
‘You will respond to my query before I do any such thing.’
‘My name is Inquisitor Liandra Callis of the Ordo Hereticus,’ came the reply. ‘I am here on a matter of grave importance and request immediate audience with you. You need not scramble your fleet to meet me, Lord Commander. I assure you that the Callimachus represents no threat.’
Argentius did not let his surprise at the announcement change either the expression on his face or the stern quality that resounded through his words. There had been a situation in the Silver Skulls history where a lone ship had been seemingly without threat and had resulted in the near-decimation of Fourth Company.
There would be no repeat of such mistakes. Never again.
‘Your arrival has caused quite a stir, Inquisitor Callis. Whilst you may give me your word that your vessel poses no threat, I am sure that you understand we have many protocols on this world. I will send out an escort vessel to bring you to the planet. However, I would ask you to wait until I have arranged this.’
‘I did say “the utmost importance”, Lord Commander.’
‘Yes,’ replied Argentius. ‘I heard you. And until I am ready to receive you, I would request that you enter orbit and hold there until sent for.’
The vast distance that separated the Chapter Master and the inquisitor seemed to spark with the unspoken battle of wills and finally, the woman’s voice came again, amusement evident.
‘As you wish, Lord Commander. Just a question for you, though. Why didn’t your Prognosticators foresee my coming? I hear that their gift of foresight is arguably the best in the galaxy.’
Argentius bristled a little at her implication and replied with the utmost politeness.
‘Inquisitor, it is probable that my Prognosticators did foresee your arrival. I simply hadn’t thought to ask them.’
There was a pause and the lightest of laughs before the communication was broken off. The Chapter Master shook his head grimly. The woman was yet to set foot on his world and already he did not like her attitude. Nonetheless, protocols were to be observed. ‘Platform Theta, this is Argentius. Stand down the security alert, but keep a close eye on them. I don’t imagine for one moment that they are not who they say they are, but I would rather that we take every possible precaution against surprises.’
The fact that the Ordo Hereticus were coming into orbit around his Chapter’s home world was unsettling enough, and most definitely not something that pleased him. The Silver Skulls had known only minimal contact with the majority of the Inquisition. Their history with the Ordo Malleus stretched back a long time of course, but they were still wary of the other ordos.
‘Send word to Vashiro that I wish to see him,’ said the Chapter Master as he strode from the control room, his expression grim. ‘And make preparations to receive the inquisitor, I have no doubt she will wish to conduct a full inspection.’
‘Yes, my lord.’ The Chapter serf bowed his head and scurried to carry out his lord and master’s orders.
‘The Inquisition does not simply arrive on a whim,’ said Argentius as he paced the length of the War Room. Vashiro sat watching him thoughtfully. The Head Prognosticator had said very little since arriving at the Chapter Master’s request, but had sat quietly. The bag of silver runes that he used to divine the most important threads of the Chapter’s fate sat on the heavy wooden meeting-table in front of him. He had not even opened it.
Argentius dropped down heavily into the chair at the head of the table. He laced his hands together and leaned forward onto them. ‘I am made… most uncomfortable by their presence. Particularly in light of the mission report filed by Kerelan and Bhehan on their return from Lyria.’ Speaking of the younger Prognosticator gave Argentius a brief, welcome distraction from the matter at hand. ‘How is he?’
‘Bhehan? The boy has done countless hours of penance for what he sees as an unforgivable lapse of judgement,’ noted Vashiro in his whispering voice. ‘He strongly feels that he is irreversibly contaminated.’
‘Because of the necessity of sharing minds with the eldar?’
‘Precisely, my lord. As vital as it was to the success of his mission, by allying their forces and joining his Throne-given powers with the eldar witch, Bhehan claims he has opened his mind to forbidden knowledge.’ Argentius sighed. ‘He finds little peace in his decision to terminate the xenos. He questions his actions.’
‘He is young,’ Argentius said. ‘Emotional. Easily swayed from his course. He did what he had to do for the necessary survival of our Chapter.’
‘I agree,’ said Vashiro nodding his head. ‘He is beginning to see things far more objectively now. Kerelan has spent time with him and some of the heat of his shame is beginning to dissipate.’ Vashiro paced slightly. ‘Bhehan is a promising young Prognosticator, my lord. I am firmly convinced he is blessed with True Sight.’
Argentius pictured the youth: fair-haired and eager the first time he had been
clad in his blue Librarian’s wargear. Wary and noticeably more suspicious now. The loss of such energy to the realities of life as a Space Marine was something that Argentius expected but which never grew any easier to witness.
‘He should take comfort from the fact that his direct decisions and actions led to the recovery of one of our most precious relics,’ Vashiro added.
‘The war banner is being carefully restored by the most practised and skilled artisans as we speak,’ said Argentius, his back straightening and a glow of pride coming into his eyes. ‘Even the corrupting touch of Chaos could not destroy it. Its presence amongst our warriors will inspire them to acts of glory and honour.’
‘You think the Inquisition is here for Bhehan.’ It was not a question and a brief change in Argentius’s face was all Vashiro needed to confirm his suspicion. ‘I do not believe that to be the case. They have not been back on Varsavia for long and the report has yet to be committed to the records. I cannot fathom any way the Inquisition would have heard of what transpired.’
‘They are the Inquisition, Vashiro. Who knows how they do anything?’ The Chapter Master ran an agitated hand across his hair, standing once more and resuming his pacing. ‘Well, if they are not here for him, then what in the Emperor’s name could possibly bring them here?’
‘You speak like a man with a guilty conscience, my friend.’ Vashiro’s heavily tattooed face crinkled into a smile. ‘Guard your thoughts as best you can. It is possible that this inquisitor will have a psyker or two amongst her retinue and it would go poorly for us if the things that are going through your mind were on display for all to see.’
‘I have nothing to hide,’ retorted Argentius immediately. ‘The Silver Skulls are loyal to the Throne. My warriors are stalwart defenders of mankind. They uphold the Imperial creed with honour and dignity. This Inquisitor Callis will find no heresy here.’
‘Better,’ said Vashiro with an approving nod. ‘Now say it like you genuinely believe it.’