When it rains....
Prologue
A man stood under a dim light post on the dark corner of a trash filled street. The moon overhead was hidden behind dark clouds that bore the signs of a storm. The night was hot and oppressively humid, yet he stood there in a heavy coat that fell
past his knees. He lifted a cigarette to his mouth and pulled out a small lighter. The soft click click click of the igniter switch broke the heavy silence. The cigarette caught and the man took a short pull. He savored the smoke for a moment and then blew
a nimbus of smoke into the air. Thunder pealed in the distance and the man glanced up at the ominous sky.
"Shit." he muttered. A raindrop fell to the ground beside him. Then another onto a tin roof. Then the rain started in earnest. "I hate the rain." he muttered with a sigh. He took another pull of his cigarette and then tossed it aside. He pulled the collar of
his coat up and continued to stand under the dim light post.
It was true; he detested rain. He couldn't remember if it rained the day he was born; it would've explained a lot. It rained the day of his third birthday; the day they pulled his father out of his well earned retirement and returned him to Commissarial
duties. He'd fought thirty-five years to earn his right to settle and they took him back 'cause he was a hero. Mother was sad. Two and a half years later it rained the day his mother had gotten that miserable telegram from an Imperial Guardsman. His
father had been shot by a nervous sentry who mistook him for an enemy infiltrator. "It was raining, we couldn't tell." he'd said. A few weeks after that it rained when his mother had gone into the room she'd shared with his father, taken his old,
battered laspistol and blown the contents of her head all over the ceiling. He'd watched her through the keyhole of the door. She had smiled and said "I'm coming!". Crack! New paint.
It rained the day the Schola Progenium people had come and taken him away. He wept. For three years they shuffled him through different scholas, never staying in one place for very long. They finally dropped him in a schola on a backwater
planet, seemingly tired of carting him around. The new kid in a competitive, hostile environment all over again. It rained the day the other kids decided to pick on him because he was small. One of them had called his mother a filthy whore, and when
the red haze cleared he'd broken the bully's jaw in three places and one of his hands. He was almost eight. After ten years of fake praying, singing, study, politics, training, fights, theft, and discipline he met Alyson. She was the new girl and they'd hit
it off right away when one of the bigger boys had copped a feel and had his eyes nearly clawed out. That had been gratifying to watch. They spent much time together; day and, when they could get away with it, night for almost a year. It rained the
day an Inquisitor had come and taken her away. He wept. It rained again not long after that when another Inquisitor came and selected him as an acolyte. He never fathomed why. The Inquisitor had taken one look at him and said "That one," and off
they went. The Inquisitor's name was Ursain and he'd made it very clear that he wasn't intent on taking any shit from his new protégé. He'd been bruised for weeks from that first beating. Once his new master had finished detailing his future role, his
slavery truly began.
Twelve years passed. Mental discipline, intrigue, etiquette, more politics, weapons training, demolitions, stealth operations, interrogations, wet work, firefights, murders, tortures, all in the name of an Emperor who had never been there. Now
this; a festering shit hole of city on some backwater planet he couldn't recall the name of, tracking a target for thirty-eight hours straight. And now it was raining? What the hell have I done to deserve this? he thought. He kicked the light post savagely.
The light flickered and then went out. It took all of his willpower not to scream. Just then his target walked out the bar he'd been languishing in for the last three hours.
The target was quite sober despite his valiant attempts at appearing otherwise. He stumbled about, crossed the street, and moved in to an alley. The man under the now dark street light followed. As he moved toward the alley he pulled an
autopistol from the recess of his coat and screwed a long cylindrical silencer to the barrel. He paused at the edge of the alley to consider the situation. The target was likely waiting for someone to step around the corner and the probability of there
being a particularly nasty consequence of doing so was not terribly appealing. The man holstered his pistol and walked to the opposite side of the building. He cast an appraising eye over the construction and noted that the stones were shoddily
placed, making ideal hand holds. After selecting his route he climbed the two story wall with an almost unnatural grace despite the heavy rain. Once he was on the roof, he moved toward the edge overlooking the alley. The ground was largely hidden
by the darkness, and the man reached inside his coat and pulled out a compact thermal amplivisor. Sure enough, his target was there waiting behind a refuse bin with a shotgun, poised and ready to make life miserable for anyone who followed him.
Without a second thought the man jumped off the roof. Depth perception was poor through the amplivisor so he had aimed of the crouching figure of the man. They collided with an audible thump. The man in the coat was up in a flash and ripped his
pistol out of his holster. He put a round in each of his target's knees and gave him a firm kick to the head.
With a grin he reached up to his ear and clicked his combead twice. "Roger that, sending pickup," a voice said in his ear. "ETA forty seconds." The man picked up the limp body of his target and strode toward the entrance of the alley. A flash of
lightning illuminated the city and he saw a small anti-personnel mine rigged to trip wire. He whistled under his breath. Had he stepped around that corner earlier, he would've been a charred smear on the side walk right now. He dropped the body and
moved to disable the mine. Fortunately it was one he was familiar with and had it disarmed quickly. He pocketed the mine and collected the body. A large ground car pulled up and the side door slide open. He tossed the body inside and stepped in
after it. It occurred to him that he'd avoided the traditionally bad luck that accompanied rain. He laughed and lit up another cigarette. Roric my boy, he thought to himself. Things are finally looking up.
Back at the safe house, he tossed the prisoner in the basement, and walked up the stairs to the main floor with every expectation of some cold food, cold beer, and a warm bed. As he opened he found Montrose and Nikki waiting for him, which was a
pleasant surprise.
Montrose extended his hand and congratulated him. "Nice work Roric." Roric gave him a firm shake and a smile. Montrose was Ursain's personal psyker, and while he seemed affable, the man was an absolute terror in combat. Roric had seen him
pulp men with a snap of his fingers.
"Yes, hurrah for little Rory." Nikki laughed. She knew that he loathed the pet name but she was gorgeous and the scandalous outfit she was wearing made it easy for him to forget his annoyance. She was, officially, Ursain's infiltration specialist.
Unofficially, she did... other things. With that body of hers, coupled with a stunning IQ, she had brought down quite a few very powerful men, and on a single occasion, a very powerful woman. The woman had turned out to be a Slanneshi cultist, so it
wasn't terribly surprising that Nikki had managed to lure her in. Nikki was also a murderer in close combat. She playfully ruffled his hair, and he gave her a pinch and they all laughed. Roric moved on into the corner of the room that was serving as their
kitchen. He grabbed a cold grox steak out of the refrigerator unit and ripped a chunk our of it with his teeth. He also grabbed a bottle of the weak local beer, which he drank regularly. He carried both of his acquisitions into the dining area where he
found Liam tinkering with his favorite bolt pistol. Liam glanced up.
"How'd the new gun do?" he asked.
"Only fired two shots, but the thing's light and it's easy to conceal. I still prefer metal though. The ceramite ones chip. Too delicate." Roric took out the gun and set it on the table.
"Well it's a stealth gun. Detectors won't pick it up, doesn't flash like a las, and you never have to clean it. You're gonna have to learn to deal with it, so quit bitching." Liam picked up the gun and ejected the magazine. He racked the slide and caught
the bullet as it came out. "How'd the bullets do?"
"Good; I checked the wounds. They expanded nicely on impact. That bastard will never walk again." Roric smiled. Out of all the members of Ursain's retinue, he was closest to Liam. Liam was Ursain's weapons expert, in every sense of the word.
There wasn't and Imperial weapon in the galaxy that he couldn't take apart, clean, assemble, and fire blindfolded. He also had a decent understanding of some Xeno weapons. He had "bullets on the brain" as Montrose liked to say. Liam was also an
excellent marksman and had been deployed on a number of assassinations by Ursain. When Roric had first joined the Inquisitor's retinue, Liam had watched out for him, and taught him everything he knew about weapons. Despite being twenty years
his junior, Roric had developed a brotherly bond of trust with Liam. The four of them, plus Ursain himself, made up the combatants of the team.
Inquisitor Alexov Ursain was a potent psyker capable of defeating most enemies with the powers of his mind alone, and if that wasn't enough, he had his artificer crafted hammer, Death Wreaker, to solve any problems that required a less
intellectual approach. Despite his prowess, his style of combat limited his number of options on the battlefield. He had trained Roric to avoid these limitations, creating a deadly "Jack of all Trades" in the process. Roric wasn't as good as the other
specialists, but he could do things they couldn't. Most things any way. Roric had little psychic potential, which was fine by him. He respected Montrose and Ursain, but he preferred to keep his mind warp-free.
Roric's train of thought was derailed as a loud klaxon went off in the communications room. Roric dropped his steak and Liam holstered his pistol as they both hurried toward the source of the noise. Montrose and Nikki were already in the room
when they arrived and Montrose was busy hitting buttons on a control lectern. The screen on the wall flickered to life and encryption codes began to flash across it. When the encryption sequence had finished the screen went blank for a moment and
then the words Priority Level: Vermillion filled the screen. A short coded message followed which Montrose read aloud. "Congratulations on wining the pot. Ten, Jack, Queen, King, along with Deuce, are being put back in the deck. Dealer will shuffle.
Players are ALL IN."
"Looks as if we're needed on the ship," said Montrose. "Nikki, call the spaceport and tell them we need our shuttle prepped for launch. You've taken ill from the close proximity of the swamp and feel that our vacation would be better spent
elsewhere." Montrose turned and addressed Roric and Liam. "You two gather our equipment and the trash in the basement. We've got fifteen minutes."
Roric nodded and gulped the rest of his beer and went with Liam to break camp. Nikki was already on the vox with spaceport authorities moaning about her condition and asking sweetly if they could prep the ship ASAP. Montrose wiped the data
from the safe house computers and went to collect the armored limousine they used as part of their cover. By the time Nikki had finished on the vox, Roric and Liam had packed the team's gear and loaded it in the limo. They turned and went back to
collect the prisoner. The prisoner was conscious now and not the least bit pleased about his treatment. He voiced his complaints and Roric gave him another firm kick to the head. The prisoner slept once again and they hauled him up the stairs and
tossed him into the limo's trunk. Montrose tossed Liam the keys, and Liam turned on the repulsers. They pulled out of the garage and sped off into the night. When they were a safe distance away, Liam opened his window, held out a remote, and
flicked a switch. There was a distant whump as the safe house disappeared in a ball of flame and pulled into the spaceport with four minutes to spare. Their shuttle was running its final takeoff routines and Nikki voxed in to the control
tower to thank them for their alacrity. Liam expertly sped up the ramp into the cargo hold, and closed the shuttle's ramp remotely. They pilled out of the limo and made their way to the cockpit. Montrose keyed the coordinates into the ships
navigational computer and the pilot servitors launched the ship. The four took their seats and exchanged pleasantries as the ship made its way out of the atmosphere and toward the dark side of the planet's second moon. They moved into the
Inquisitorial ship Invisible Hand and landed in the stygian darkness of its launch bays. The bay doors closed and the Hand, along with the team, sped away from the planet, whose inhabitants they had saved from a singularly awful fate.
