As he regarded the swirling cloudscape of the hive world Atopos XIV through the view port of his personal stateroom, Inquisitor Valerian Ztern lifted an exquisite goblet of Jovian crystal to his lips, and drank a sip of wine.
His face twitched with displeasure, and he emptied the contents of the goblet on the floor with slow disdain.
"This vintage is not to my liking", he said. "Bring me another".
The Inquisitor's manservant bowed, and stopped polishing a magnificent suit of black and gold power armour. A crawling servitor began mopping up the spilled wine from the floor with a rag.
The manservant left through the hissing door to the magnificent stateroom.
Moments later a voxcaster crackled to life, and a distorted voice informed the Inquisitor that Veteran Sergeant Kartox of the White Guardians Space Marine Chapter requested an audience.
"Idiot!" the Inquisitor hissed. "You dare keep an Astartes waiting? Let the Sergeant in at once!"
With a steam-filled thud the door opened again, and the hulking form of a space marine clad in white and steel gray power armor negotiated itself through its frame.
The strangely pale and impassive face of the Astartes was a map of scar tissue, and his silvery replacement eyes of Archeotech design gave his gaze an unknowable quality.
"The Emperor Protects", rumbled the Astartes.
"Sergeant Kartox! What an unexpected pleasure. Although I doubt you have come here for a personal conversation".
Something that could almost be interpreted as amusement was visible on the face of the Astartes for a fraction of a second.
"No, Inquisitor. I have not".
"Well, how can I be of assistance then, Sergeant?"
"Inquisitor", said Kartox. "I am merely wondering if there are any additional duties that you wish my detachment to perform. My battle brothers have many skills and capacities that are not being utilized ".
"Your brothers have become impatient," said Valerian. "That is fully understandable, Sergeant"
"We ask only to serve", said the space marine.
"So... You do not regard keeping a whole squadron of Astartes in idleness aboard a star ship for two weeks as a misapplication of resources?"
The face of the Astartes made no movement.
"I do not question the will of the Emperor's Inquisition, Sir".
"Of course not Sergeant", said the Inquisitor. "But if you do wonder why, you are not alone. I have already made you privy to the details of of this investigation. The sub-sector commander is indeed planning a rebellion. He is in secret a heretic of a most vile and debased nature. But here is the tricky part, Sergeant. He should have set his plan in motion three weeks ago. All the intelligence gathered by my acolytes suggests this. Even the Emperor's Tarot corroborates it; a portent, which is ominous and puzzling at the same time".
"I do not understand, Inquisitor. If we know of this shocking treason, why do we not just transport into the heretics palace and make short work of him?"
The Inquisitor turned toward the door as the hunchbacked form of his manservant emerged through, carrying a tray with a dusty bottle of wine. Irritatedly, the Inquisitor urged him forward.
"Would you like some wine, Sergeant?"
"I do not care for such indulgences", Rumbled the Astartes. The manservant poured a goblet for his master, who impatiently snatched it from his hand.
"Well, as I was saying. The sub-sector commander should have acted three weeks ago, according to all predictions. But the course of action that you suggest Sergeant, would be premature. You see, Heretics are a little bit like ship-rats. There is always a big ragged beastly one that comes out of the nest first and sniffs around a little bit. Once the coast is clear, the rest of the wretched creatures come out of their hiding places".
"There are a species of predatory ringworms on our home world that act much in the same manner", said the Astartes. "It suggests a sound tactic, Inquisitor".
"Yes. I already have kill teams on dozens of worlds, standing by to execute the Sub-Sector commander's fellow heretics. We know that some of the planetary governors are in league with him. Then follows of course the regular purges and decimations. Its a plot of almost staggering proportions".
The Inquisitor took a sip from his new goblet of wine. For a moment, his face contorted into an expression of utter disgust.
"Günther – this wine has the bouquet of vat scrapings. Do you not keep the wine cellar in order? I should have you mind scrubbed and turned into a servitor, you useless slug!"
The manservant cowered in terror before the Inquisitor as a few pathetic, whimpering noises escaped his mouth. Ztern returned the goblet to the tray with a snap and motioned his servant away.
"Forgive me Sergeant", said the Inquisitor. "Is there really nothing I can do for you?"
The Astartes cleared his throat, displaying a rare hint of hesitation.
"Inquisitor. There is one thing that is affecting the morale of my battle brothers. It is this... half-xenos thing you use to carry out some interrogations and killings. They dislike it lurking around near their quarters."
"You are speaking of Gibarius, Sergeant".
"Indeed, Inquisitor".
The Astartes shifted uncomfortably in his power armor, as his lips moved in a nearly inaudible litany against corruption.
"Let me put your mind at ease, Sergeant. Gibarius is not a xenoform. He was experimented upon by Xenos, yes. Implanted. But he still remains genetically human. He has been tested for purity on numerous occasions".
"Xenotech implants", said the Astartes. "Is that not the same as carrying the Xenos taint? Forgive me for saying so Inquisitor, but you are splitting hairs".
"Gibarius destroyed thirteen kill teams that were sent out to liquidate him. That was of course only after he murdered the entire nobility of Hive Mortuus, who were known for their extreme defensive measures and paranoia. That process took seven years. When he was finally captured, it took the concerted efforts the Mechanicus and two Ordos of the Inquisition. Of course his mind has been scrubbed – he does not remember his life before he became my acolyte, or what the Necrons did to him. What I've related to you now is highly confidential, of course".
"I doubt that tale would set the battle brothers' minds at ease, in any case", the Astartes grumbled.
Ztern sat down in his elaborate command chair, and sighed.
"It can't be helped. His skills are just too valuable. But I will order him that he must steer clear of your section of the frigate. If he has been lurking around, its only because he is studying you. Its one of his quirks".
The Astartes nodded curtly. "I thank you for this, Inquisitor. Now, if you will excuse me. I must return to my quarters for Litanies of the Second Watch".
"The Emperor protects", said the Inquisitor.
"Be vigilant", the Astartes answered.
After the space marine had left his stateroom, Valerian Ztern felt an old and cold melancholy begin to creep into his bones. He knew was entering one of his choleric moods – common among those in the service of the Emperor who had seen to much, and knew too much.
He rose from his chair and left his quarters, entering a pillared hallway lined with statues of Imperial heroes. It was nothing like the enormous spaces he had seen aboard the great Battleships of the Imperial Navy, which could rival some cathedrals of the God Emperor's Faith. But it ended in a large reinforced window on the starboard side of the frigate where he could gaze into the cold empty void of space, and at the flickering stars beyond.
He sometimes thought he had too much time to ponder the vast conspiracy that he was about to uncover. It was an accusation years in the making, which had involved most of his enclave of Inquisitors at one time or another. The Sub-Sector Commander was a formidable foe, and not to be underestimated. But at times Valerian Ztern felt the clammy tentacles of doubt slither into his mind. There were moments, short moments, when he had misgivings about the entire conspiracy.
There had been strange signs and portents. Such grand heresies as this one almost always bore the slimy fingerprints of the Ruinous Powers upon them, yet the Ordo Malleus had shown almost no interest in it. The psykers reported that the Immaterium in the sub-sector remained strangely placid and stable, which was never the case when the gibbering chaos entities of the warp gathered to influence the minds of mortals. Yet the Emperor's Tarot showed mysterious omens and warnings, the meaning of which even the most accomplished sanctioned psykers failed to interpret in any meaningful way.
The Inquisitor pressed a few buttons on his com-sleeve and spoke into the device.
"Gibarius, report to me at once".
Moments later, the assassin materialized behind him, using the alien phasing technology implanted in his body by the Necrons. Valerian turned around and saw that the man was shrouded in his usual tattered gray robe, the stretched skin of his face barely concealing the xenotech implants beneath. He bore no visible armor whatsoever. On Gibarius' lips was his customary mocking smile.
"You wanted to speak, Lord?"
"I wish you wouldn't do that", said the Inquisitor.
"Duly noted, Lord".
"Now then", said Valerian. "There is an important new order for you".
"And what would that be, Lord?"
When speaking to the assassin Gibarius, Valerian often felt as though he was disciplining a child. One that could kill the entire crew of his ship in an hour.
"You must stop stalking the Adeptus Astartes who are stationed upon this vessel. Is that clear?"
The assassin gained a petulant look. Valerian wondered if it was ironical or not.
"But Lord, they have such interesting defensive capabilities. It is in your best interest that I study them, Lord. It will mean that I add new skills to my repertoire".
"The Astartes", said the Inquisitor, "are among the most valued and trusted servants of the God Emperor. They are not some kind of practice dummies".
"The God Emperor", said the assassin in a subdued voice. "Yes – surely".
Valerian didn't like the tone in Gibarius' voice. "Are you certain that your suppression caul is working properly?"
"As far as I am aware", said the assassin.
"Report to the Machine Priest at once for an adjustment ritual".
"As you have ordered, Lord", said Gibarius, and vanished at once in a shimmer of strange green static.
Valerian Ztern felt a sudden need to banish both his melancholy feelings and the cloying aftereffects of the assassin's presence from his mind. He pressed a miniscule button, hidden by a stealth-projector in the knee pad of the armor of an imperial saint's statue, and a secret panel slid aside. It led to a small elevator, lit by a soft orange light.
The Inquisitor stepped inside, and after the door had slid shut the clanking machine began conveying him down into the menial portions of the ship. He stepped out of the elevator into a cluttered corridor, lit by flickering lamps and filled with steam, smoke, hissing tubes and pistons working at a frantic speed. The noise was almost deafening, and the air had the musty, homely smell of the lower decks of a vessel of the Imperial Navy. Here lived and worked entire cohorts of crewmen and servants who knew little comfort except bland meals of nutria-slop and a few hours sleep snatched on heaps of oily rags, almost oblivious to the fact that they were aboard a mighty vessel of war.
Ztern made his way down the corridor; cowering and bowing servants and menials scurried out of his way. He turned right at an intersection and made his way up a rusting, clamoring gangway. A thick steel door led from there into the common areas of the crew.
As the Inquisitor made his way down another dimly lit hallway, he heard echoes of loud arguing among many voices, shouting in the ponderous accents of commoners. He slowed his steps as he entered a great mess hall filled with long tables and benches. The scents of stale food and sweat hung in the air, and a few cooking servitors were watching in blank incomprehension as a near brawl was taking place in front of their eyes.
"Inquisition eh", shouted a huge Errant Officer of the Navy, who's right arm was a cumbersome mechanical replacement. "Well, I don't see ye flashin' any rosette of the Inquisition, ye smelly, stinkin' hull mutant!"
The thuggish entourage of the Navy man roared with laughter, as a hulking Stormtrooper corporal tried a comeback.
"Mutant? I'll have your hide for that. By the Emperor - we didn't steel aught from you Navy rats. You had better say sorry or we'll have you thrown in the corpse grinder!"
Ztern saw the surrounding stormtroopers fingering improvised weapons and sidearms. He knew from experience that fights such as this one could easily lead to several deaths if a commissioned officer did not intervene. But none seemed to be present.
The agitated crowd of crewmen and stormtroopers was so worked up that none even noticed the Inquisitor pushing through. With two quick lashes of his hidden neurowhip he made the two main antagonists collapse moaning to the floor. He then drew his power rapier and leaped atop a table. A subdued hush spread through the mess hall.
"What is this", he boomed. "Infighting among servants of the Imperium? This is near treason! I should have you decimated".
"But Lord", complained a Navy man, "those dirty land lubbers stole from the- "
In one fluid motion, the Inquisitor had drawn his high powered slugthrower and placed a bullet between the unfortunate crewman's eyes. A stench of cordite hang in the air as he slumped to the floor.
"The next one who dares to raise his voice to an Imperial Inquisitor will face a punishment that is much more severe".
Valerian turned toward the stormtroopers.
"As for you – report to your respective company commanders at eight bells for thirty-three electro lashes. And don't believe for a moment that I will forget about this infraction!"
Valerian jumped down from the table, holstered his weapon and headed toward the officer's section of the stormtrooper barracks. The host of soldiers and Navy men divided in fear before him, bowing their heads in frightened submission.
As he entered the personal quarters of one of the officers, the man stood quickly to attention. His plasma rifle lay disassembled on a bench – it was obvious he was practicing a field-stripping ritual.
"Well, well Captain... While you are in here playing with your rifle, your men are almost causing a mutiny in the mess hall", said the Inquisitor in an icy tone of voice.
"Lord! Give me the names of the culprits, and I will execute them myself!"
Valerian started pacing back and forth in front of the Captain, while fixing his steely gaze on the officer's face. He was a sinewy, thin-lipped man with thick eyebrows and a prominent scar that ran from his forehead, all the way across the right side of his face and down the throat.
"The situation has already been remedied. Now tell me Captain Kerrigan: why I shouldn't send you straight to a penal battalion?"
The Captain swallowed. "There is no excuse, Inquisitor. I await your righteous judgment".
The Inquisitor gave a vry smile. "Never mind. It was actually quite refreshing – reminded me of my old navy days. But I do expect you to carry out the disciplining yourself. You see, I came down here to have a drink with an old friend, and I don't really like having my plans interrupted by a bunch of grunts. Now Captain Kerrigan – where do you keep that bottle of Somian Meltgut?"
In the Astartes section of the Frigate, the Space Marine detachment under Veteran Sergeant Wulliam Kartox were attempting to enjoy their daily half hour of personal time. One of the younger Space Marines was playing the Gnaagian blade dance with his combat knife, while Sargeant Kartox was seemingly immersed in the tome Studium Lateribus Circumfusi Contra Alienigenis by Rogal Dorn.
"Is there something you wish to share with the squadron, Battle Brother?" said Sergeant Kartox to Brother Klang, who was cleaning some heavy bolter shells.
"I do not know to what you may be referring, Sargeant", the junior Astartes replied.
"It is the third time that you clean that belt of bolter shells. Is there some litany that I am unaware of, during which the wrath of the Emperor is further invoked by cleaning the shell repeatedly?"
"No, Sargeant," Brother Klang replied.
"Then, in His name – out with it!"
Brother Klang abruptly stood up, his super human muscles flexing with barely contained rage beneath his black robe. "It is that Xenos thing! I cannot bear to be on the same ship as it. We should flush it into the vaccuum, or cleanse it with fire!"
"This matter", said Sargeant Kartox, "has already been explained to you in full, Brother".
"Abhor the alien. Purge the unclean! Have you all forgotten, Battle Brothers?"
Now Sargeant Kartox also stood to his feet, and delivered a sudden blow with the back of his hand to the face of Brother Klang. He fell to one knee, blood trickling from his mouth.
"Forgotten?" cried Sargeant Kartox. "I have been Sargeant for longer than most of you have lived. But you, Brother Klang, are guilty of the sin of pride!"
Sargeant Kartox sat down heavily, thoughtfully rubbing a scar on his right hand. His gaze seemed distant. All the eyes of the battle-brothers in the chamber were upon him.
"We all know the history of our company, Brothers. But it is a different thing entirely, having lived through a shameful event. You see I was there – at the Cleansing of Raygun's Rest, when the Fire Hawks chapter refused to fight beside us. Claiming that our gene-seed was impure. We nearly came to blows that day. Imagine it Brothers – Astartes fighting Astartes!"
"It is said by many that it was the Fire Hawks who were impure", said another Space Marine.
"You should not speak so of a chapter of Astartes, for whom the great bell of Terra has tolled a thousand times. Besides, it is also said that none are pure or truly whole anymore", said Sargeant Kartox. "But that is beside the point. What is important is that it nearly came to fraticide that day, between us and the Fire Hawks. Because of our mutual pride. We almost forgot our true purpose: to serve the Empire of Man. Who knows what use the Emperor may have for that assassin – be it half-xenos or not. Besides; we may not and cannot question the Holy Inquisition".
The Astartes sat in stony silence for a while. Then suddenly, the signal for General Quarters sounded. As one man the Space Marines stood up, and a host of servitors came scurrying with the different components of their power armour suits. As the Astartes clad themselves for battle, a voice resounded through every voxcaster on the ship:
"Attention! This is the Inquisitor Speaking! In three quarters of an hour this vessel will dock with Inquisition Barge Justificatum Dolor, the vessel of Inquisitor Lord Hansel Offenbach! All servants of the Navy and Inquisition must be to quarters until further notice! Be Vigilant!"