Silver Lining (1.1)
What if everything wasn't a lie? Beyond yourself, what else is there but the God-Emperor and the destiny held before you? Faith and fury; warfare boundless and eternal. Your fate; helpless or chosen -upon which will you embark? Homo Sapiens against those that would challenge its supremacy, without, beyond, and within.
I bid thee welcome, Agent of the Throne. Facts alone are not a story. Without perspective, soul, and emotion, there can be no truth. Let my story be the epitaph to my clan, and discover who served the will of the God-Emperor from those who laugh and thirst in darkness.
Chapter One - Homecoming
Consciousness returned as the bulk dropship sank into Scintilla's atmosphere. It was a soft shudder, the chassis of the heavy vessel flexing with the impact as it entered a fluid environment from the void. Within the carapace-reinforced voidsuit, Venator Argentum initiated a familiar ritual. "Protect me, God Emperor, as I enter into your world's embrace, and guide our loyal souls to a safe landing. Allow us to progress Your great work."
"Praise be," a contralto voice replied, its dusky timbre making it through the comlink that was active between suits. He looked to his right and regarded his comrade, her face opaque through the lenses of the Sororitas power armor. Well maintained, it showed its age through previous users; newer patches, welds, bolts, and patches marking its dutiful service over the decades. Aglaia Adamo had been with him since childhood, his baptism through fire. A teenage novitiate when he had met her, she had been his family's guardian through the years the Argentum line had been exiled from Hive Tarsus. "Any concerns coming home?" she inquired.
"Yes, Aglaia." Performing a patdown of his suits pouches and of his armament, Venator fell back into repose. "Thank you for staying with me to see this through."
Her gauntleted fingers drew over her fleur de lys, tracing the scarred flower along its furrow. "Until we meet at the Emperor's right hand side."
The touchdown was brisk, but smooth. Before the dropship could complete shutdown procedures, Venator and Aglaia had already freed themselves from their crash restraints. The luggage remained packaged with them within the cargo compartment the skipper of the dropship had allocated to them; using the crew's facilities as required, the two had remained isolated from the rest of the vessel's passengers, but politely conversed with the cargo crewmen and security personnel.
Venator left Aglaia to change behind a modular container. Disengaging the seals on the voidsuit, he clothed himself in middling finery; the semi-formal/semi-field uniform of the Elysian Drop Troops. After the honorable discharge and reassignment from the Elysian, he had elected to continue bearing their uniform with pride.
Dressed in gray and green wicking fibers, the field trousers, blouse were of clean, utilitarian lines, with only enough creases to pass military standards. The buttons were tarnished silver, the trim and piping on his uniform matte black thread. It fit him loosely, cinched around the waist, shoulders, hips, and calves; a forced cavalier effect sought by units believing themselves mavericks but still above the common cut. The pockets were utilitarian, the folds disguising their capacity, concealed pockets in the loose spaces.
What the deliberate loose fit hid were the segmented light carapace cuirass covered by a vest along with several smaller plates woven into the swells of his thighs and biceps as well. Beneath the wicking weave, specifically to keep the wearer cool, was the thicker mesh and flak-lining, expertly tailored to him in sets. Venator affected a sash reinforced with metal fibers, a dark canopy shade with gunmetal highlights where the light caught the particles. It presented him as a stout individual, belying his dimunitive size. To complete his appearance as a military-retiree pursuing the freelance life were his 'ceremonial' weapons. The only thing marring the effect was a distinct lack of augmetics and aging barring rejuvenat treatments.
The blade was of folded adamantine alloyed with titanium to reduce weight. Industrial diamond-dust within the compressed layers caused a wavy distortion effect on the blade. Its shape was a recurved saber; a heavy jutting forte, a pronounced recurved taper and an angular heavy tip with a light set of adamantine finger guards and extended grip was worn defiantly on a frog along his left hip. The circuitry that ran Hugging along on his right in its own thigh rig was a rare enough sight, as close to brazen tech-heresy as possible.
The archaic laspistol he wore in a molded leather holster drew its own share of inquisitive attention; whenever asked, he simply referred to it as a compact hellpistol; one that happened to shoot plasma as well. The technonical feeding mechanism altered along with the grip, contoured to his grip and loaded with double-capacity overcharged laspistol cells. It raised the focusing and cooling mechanisms, enabling them to be longer, thus more precise. The offset in balance was the blatant companion weapon. The bottom of the weapon system was a miniaturized plasma pistol, the bottle being shielded and laid laterally underslung the barrel. The weapon was heavy even with all the lightening, fusing, and simplification of common structural parts, but practice made perfect, and even pre-apostasy wonder weapons could be surpassed by a maximal plasma blast. With its firing mechanism restructured, the 'PlasmaLas' had a shared trigger group, the fire selector choosing between precision and devastation.
From a canteen over his hindquarter, he gargled and rinsed his face, taking a look in the mirror and seeking affirmation. Brow cocked in mischief, always the hint of a smile, his green eyes encouraged him between the bridge of a scarred nose that never set right. It was a jocular appearance that hovered between mocking and bemusement. It was truth, and it was a lie.
Replacing the void equipment into its locker, he emerged from the makeshift boudoir and pocketed a dataslate into the field jacket. Aglaia had just disconnected from a power terminal, obtaining the last amount of charge her suit would require as it went into minimal draw -a practice that had helped them survive on more than one occassion during protracted campaigns amongst the Elysians. With her bolter magnetically secured across her abdominal plates, She had locked in a shorter box magazine for convenience. Its attendant sarissa retracted, and she wore an assortment of polymer magazine pouches that likewise girded her armor and her hips. Wishing he could see her eyes, Venator addressed her beneath the facade of the Sabbatine helm. "Backbrief," he intoned.
With that statement, the odd couple began their movement out of their private hold and into the ship's primary cargo corridors, Venator obtaining his first direct glance of Scintillan sunlight in two decades, causing him to wince slightly as he repressed the feelings and memories that began to stir.
For his convenience, she had switched to her speaker system, not registering the brisk winds that had entered the ship. "Upon arrival, secure belongings onto personal transport and report to Arbites Precinct IX Court Fortress; establish formal contact with the Tricorn for introduction." As the two debarked from the dowdy lander, Aglaia's armored countenance intimidated the customs personnel from even approaching them. This close to the seat of Inquisitional authority, even the dourest of Munitorum peons would take exception to Sororitas presence. Once free of the port drones, the two leaned back against their fresh-stacked belongings and idly observing the crew servicing the lander on the platform.
Aglaia glanced through the hive towers, monitoring an entity beyond Venator's vision. "Confirm sighting of single Arbite vehicle..." she trailed, "Enforcer six-by-six with trailer," she continued the report, using the sensors inside the Sabbatine helm to identify the only combat vehicle on the artery approaching the spaceport. Taking her gaze from the Enforcer, she lowered her head to hold his stare. "It appears that the Arbites have pre-empted our arrival."
With a slight shrug, Venator replied, "That bears a good impression for this precinct." He turned to forestall the cargo hauler and its crew that was approaching them. "well, it saves us a fee, so I suppose I am quite grateful for their welcoming hospitality."
The Enforcer smoothly sidled up to the pair on the pad with a sharp fanfare of air-brakes screeching and the well-worn chassis' muted groan. The gunner within the armored cupola had raised the heavy stubber high in the six o'clock position, and lowered its scark enough to light up a lho-stick on its short break -between the flak helmet and the goggles, its gender was difficult to ascertain.
The truck commander's armored door opened ponderously and the pair saw an average female figure, rendered sexless by the light riot carapace remove her judge's helmet and disengage her headset. Quickly releasing her harness, she swung her legs out from the truck and precariously her feet found the step-rung. She half-ambled, half-leapt onto the ground, and Venator analyzed both the impatient driver as well as the sheathed shotgun where the TC had just vacated.
The Arbite cut a rookie composure. Rejuvenat would only affect appearance, not bearing, and there was an eager, almost optimistic quality from their welcomer.
A sing-song voice with the local hive accent spoke, "Welcome to Scintilla, Sage Argentum," she emphasized, extending her reinforced gauntlet to Venator's own in a firm handshake, "and..."
Returning hospitality with courtesy, Venator supplied her. "Sister Aglaia, Familius, raised from the Order of Our Martyred Lady. My conscience," he gibly spoke, "if you will."
It raised a strawberry blond eyebrow only a shade darker than the Arbite's hair. She coughed, nodding out of politeness as the Sororitas continued to regard her helmed, the opaque lenses revealing nothing, nor did the matte-black armor and deep red fabric other than an animate construct of the God-Emperor's wrath. "I am Arbitrator Mika Silesia, Precinct 0, Headquarters Calixis Sector. We can talk en route to Precinct IX, meanwhile," she motioned for the driver to get out, revealing a hiver in ill fitting Arbite trappings, which drew a curious look from Venator, as did the Carnodon worn prominently across her abdomen, "my 'associate' Kix and I can help you get your luggage stowed."
Taking a moment to stand aside, Venator pulled own his own mentholated lho-stick, and examined the small Inquistional seal that she had palmed him. "Pardon my disregard for procedure, much less intrigue," he continued as he went to stack their belongings in the squat quad-wheeled trailer that Kix unlocked. "Has there been any changes to our reception plans between my last contact at the lagrange point and touchdown here?"
He took a moment as the first hit of lho hit his lungs to gaze over his childhood hive. He had been so young during his family's flight. He appreciated the moment, before blinking away the smoke that the shipmaster's rules had denied him through the landing transit. Maintaining a civil and from what he could see behind hazel eyes, mischief, Kix spoke to them for the first time. "Pardon, governor," playing every bit the part of eager assistant. "We wouldn't want to miss Arbitrator Mika's timetable, would we? Best we embark as soon as possible to get you right proper accomodations."
Within their closed vox-link Venator heard Aglaia's query, but decided to play along. Engaging in the facade, he played the part of a gullible adept. "We've rested enough, and I would like to meet the timetable."
After a brusque, but charmed piling of travel and combat worn containers, Venator keenly aware of Aglaia's suit making her the most prodigous worker, and the demographic he was now surrounded by, the quintet boarded the Enforcer, and drove out the spaceport.
His feet dangling off the floor in a riot-configured guntruck, Venator took a pair of headsets mounted from the ceiling and initiated his questioning. "Compromise? Or change of plans?"
"Not your fault," Mika assured him, taking back the seal that Venator handed her. "Seems someone at the Tricorn took alarm when they finally took a closer look at your dossier. Not quite your time there I was told." She looked back over her shoulder at the two of them in the back seat. Aglaia behind the driver finally unsealed her visor and lifted it upwards. Storm-streaked eyes framed by black bangs peered out. It had been quite evident that the Sororitas had only been a moment away from eliminating their three welcomers since they had gotten in range of the Mars-pattern Scourge. "Relax sister," the arbitrator coolly warned her, "our meeting was to happen later on -after your establishment on Scintilla, but recent events have hastened this. We have a couple of hours to our next destination. Sit back, and I'll fill you in."
To be continued
*~* Author's Notes *~*
Based on Dark Heresy, and will expand to incorporate Rogue Trader and Deathwatch. I will make the effort to stay faithful to the source material, and I look forward to this 'grimdark' challenge, hoping to convert some of that into 'grimsnark'.
My strength is in narration, though I'm working to keep a lot of the purple in out. Wish me luck!
Also, this is the v1.1 of this chapter. I chose to retcon several scenes and perform some editing.