GUNS of the IMPERIUM
Prologue: An Isolated Incident
"From the memoir of Commissar Tarkus"
There are men in the Imperium that are naturally above the rank and file, men of valor and courage whose dedication to the Emperor Of Man has been measured in deeds worthy of legend. And it is these men who shall sit at the side of his most holy worship's hand in the afterlife in payment for the service they gave. That being said, there are also men whose insanity is so boundless and destructive that there is no choice but to unleash them upon the enemies of man and pray that they kill some of them in the process... Inquisitor Dante Ignatius was one such man.
Over time one became accustomed to the constant and penetrating hum of machinery on an Imperial vessel. Inquisitor Delphios had been aboard more ships through out his life than he had bothered to count, but still he found the sound nerve grinding. And his current predicament did nothing to aid in the stretching mental discipline of the seasoned old man. Over the holo projector Delphios's contact repeated himself, trying to get Delphios out of his silence.
"How long do we have?" He asked again, grave voice crackling over the holo display. Inquisitor Delphios sighed wearily and rubbed his eyes with one gloved hand. He sat alone, the oppressive office lit only by the pale blue light of the holographic form of his contact on the specially encrypted holo com station. The depressing taste of the room's previous owner wasn't helping his mood any. The hologram grimaced and nodded curtly at the unspoken answer, his battle scarred face not covered by an obscuring hood for once.. "Is there really so little time left?" The Inquisitor nodded and looked over the data slate in his hand briefly before setting it back on the desk once more.
"Less than a week," He responded with a groan. The information he had received was irrefutable, and of the bleak nature. He had seen more battle fields over his very long life than could be counted but this was worse, so much worse. To know that something catastrophic was about of happen and knowing that no one was going to be able to stop it in time. Delphios listened to the annoying hum of the ship for a moment, trying to guess how far away he was from where he needed to be.
The ship felt tired to him, tired and ready to break. It too had served for a long time, far beyond what was expected. Perhaps he was simply projecting though. He had been serving the most holy Emperor for damn near three hundred years, and serving well. But what did he have to show for it? He had the next in a series of impossible situations to solve as a reward. Delphios let the thought slip away with a bit of effort, no time for such petty thinking.
"The Astartes have no forces within a week of that system," The holo stated flatly. The Inquisitor ran a hand through his close cut, greying hair while he thought deeply. "Is their nothing that could be sent in time?" He asked, not even expecting an answer that time. He knew for a fact that neither the Navy or the Machanicus had any ships in that sector, now he had received the last bit of bad news in the puzzle.
"Only one," He answered, and Inquisitor Delphios could swear he almost saw a smirk on his old friends crude features. "I've been informed that a medium scale civilian transport vessel is within a day of the system," The Inquisitor's mouth tightened in a scowl. Where was he going with this?
"Are you suggesting I send a few civilians to deal with this?" He asked, his voice brimming with anger and frustration. The man smiled openly now, a small smile but more than The Inquisitor had seen from him in decades. Inquisitors in general tended to be a bit on the grave side, Delphios noticed. He knew for certain that he himself was more than a bit morose.
"The vessel is confirmed to be carrying three non civilian passengers." He continued, ignoring the angered comment from The Inquisitor. "Inquisitor Dante Ignatius is on board," Delphios blanched at the mention of the notorious Inquisitor. He could feel his stomach going sour, knowing where this was going before his contact could go any further.
"I didn't even know he was," Delphios quickly stuttered.
"There?" His contact finished for him.
"Still alive," Delphios corrected and let his scowl drop back into its accustomed frown. "Emperor only knows what he's doing on an unremarkable civilian transport, can't be anything good though." Delphios stroked his chin thoughtfully, letting the hum of the ship speak for him momentarily. "Has he commandeered the ship by Inquisitorial right?"
"No, he is only listed as a passenger," The answer came after a brief pause and the sound of buttons clacking away unseen. "Though a passenger who reserved half the damn ship for "personal living space" it says," Delphios sighed and nodded, that sounded a lot like Ignateus. A man of flamboyant taste and borderline psychotic demeanor, Inquisitor Ignatius.
"Even if we could insure that he didn't solve the problem by blowing up half the damned planet, how can we expect one man to stop what is to come?" He cursed fate for the hundredth time for not delivering him a chapter of Space Marines or a Navy fleet, anything close enough to that Emperor damned nowhere system.
"He has been listed as saving almost a dozen systems single handed," The marine reminded him. Delphios banged his fist on the table suddenly, causing the shaky image of his contact blink out for a moment.
"That is just another reason I detest him!" Delphios shouted, pale face going bright red. "How many Inquisitors can you name who's deeds have become public knowledge? The role of the Inquisition is secrecy and control, not public specter and false heroism! That man has been investigated for charges of compromising Imperial operation confidentiality enough times to merit his own department of court!" The contact didn't bother with an answer, only waited for Delphios to finish. After a few deep breath Delphios gestured for him to continue and swallowed his wrath for a better time.
"He is all we have," he stated simply. Neither spoke for a while, but Delphios knew he had no choice. Ignateus was one of the most effective if not most respectable member of the Inquisition. How he had gotten so close to Delphios's operation area at all without someone finding out about it first was beyond Delphios.
"Send word to the ship," He relented. "They are to redirect to the system under Inquisition order, and get me a private vox line to Iqnatius." This was going to be tricky, Delphios knew. Strictly speaking, no Inquisitor had the right to impede the operations of another without the permission of the high council. Delphios's contact saluted and signed off with a final prayer.
"Emperor protects," The image dissipated, leaving Delphios alone in his dark and stale smelling office. His joints popped painfully as he stood from his chair. He shuffled slowly over to the pricey polished wooden liquor cabinet he had moved into the office to house his personal collection. He tried hard to keep the possible repercussions of what he had done out of his mind. His wrinkled hand skimmed over the stock and stopped at one dust covered bottle of dark amber liquid, laying a finger on it with a nostalgic smile.
The man he had just unleash had been called up for more Inquisitorial investigations than half the traitors they had ever killed. But controversial as his methods were, they had yet to fail. And if worse came to worse and they did fail, blame would rest with Dante. He shook his head roughly, such morbid thoughts were best left to the Ordos Hereticus. He missed the days before he had been privy to such troubling situations.
"The Emperor protects..." Delphios repeated the ancient saying thoughtfully as he poured himself a glass of his favorite year. "Let us hope so," He added, draining the glass and pouring a replacement with practiced ease. As he drank himself to sleep the Inquisitor's head filled with dreams of his rest house on Menzoid Beta and the month he had spent fishing there on the planet's tropical sea. Good times...
-
The room was larger than most he was usually blessed with by his "leader" while they were traveling. To best take advantage of the rare situation, Commissar Nathaniel Tarkus immediately plopped comfortably on the plush and overly decorative bed of the room. it wasn't often he was given time to simply be alone with his thoughts, his job being as filled with mortal threats as it was. Within moments he had shucked off his uncomfortable uniform and boots, sighing in contentment at the feeling of being free of that damnable suit. Not for the first time, Tarkus wondered whose idea it had been to make the standard uniform of the Commissariat so maddeningly stiff and itchy.
Two months without accidentally being shot, stabbed, slashed, blown up, lit on fire or forced to do paper work by his boss. Tarkus shivered a bit at the thought of paper work, that was the worst of all his many dis-pleasures. His mind came back to the present fast enough though, at the realization that the room had its own bar! He almost skipped across the room in his war torn underwear, pushing the mini bar open with a sigh. Something must have put Ignatius in a really good mood to give his flunky so good a living space for such a long trip. Usually Tarkus found himself in the most cramped bunk on the ship, despite the availability of larger rooms. Ignatius found it endlessly amusing to spite his followers like that.
"Must be poisoned," Tarkus muttered, taking a long draft of the most recognizable alcohol he could find. The thought sank in as he savored the taste. It wasn't likely that the Inquisitor would go so far as to kill him, but slipping a laxative into each of the bottles was right up his alley. He decided that he should invite one of the other passengers over for a drink, mostly to test his theory. He re-corked the bottle and grudgingly donned his dusty old uniform, ruing once more leaving his clothing cases unguarded at the port. The Inquisitor had found them before departure and sent them out an airlock with his typical screeching laughter.
The door slid opened with a groan and Tarkus almost yelped as he ran face first into another person. The two bumped off one another and Tarkus realized it was Twerp. The mute girl nodded her apology and tilted her head questioningly. She wanted to know why he was leaving his room, he knew. Over the years sense Ignatius had saved the girl from a Tyranid Hive Tyrant and allowed her to become part of his entourage he'd gotten used to using her body language to translate.
Her name had come the word Ignatius had invoked as she clung to his leg for a week after the battle, refusing to let anyone pry her off until he had her tranked. We never did find out what happened to her parents, probably dead like most of the other civilians of that world after the Tyranids were done with it. he had never bothered to question Ignatius as to why he had allowed her to follow him, wouldn't have gotten an answer anyway. Tarkus had noticed though that no matter how bad his mood swings got, the Inquisitor's wrath never found its way to Twerp. Usually it found Tarkus, and had him locked in a dark room just to hear his screams of panic after a few days.
She was wearing a ship mechanic's jumpsuit today, no telling where she had found it or anything else she was ever wearing for that matter. Twerp seemed to cloth herself exclusively in stolen clothing, but the Inquisitor allowed it so no one ever gave her any flak over it. Loath as he would be to admit it, Tarkus knew the Inquisitor thought of her as his daughter.
"Just looking for a drinking buddy," he explained, shrugging and trying not to let on that he suspected anything was wrong. Much as Tarkus liked her, he knew Twerp was Ignatius's number one agent when it came to pranks. Twerp shook her smooth shaved head and crinkled her head in disgust. None for me, she was saying.
"Ya, I know," He laughed at her reaction. "Not after last time!" Back when Twerp was around fourteen the Commissar had allowed her a cup of amasaac. She found a taste for it and stole the whole bottle, drinking it all in a few gulps. Ignatius hadn't been happy to find her hurling her guts out, curled in a ball on his favorite rug. Tarkus hadn't much enjoyed his next few days after that incident. Suddenly he was snaped out of his revery by an all too familier sound.
"Ah good you're already up!" Tarkus didn't need to turn to know who had spoken. The owner of that reedy and infuriatingly up beat voice had made his life hell for longer than Tarkus cared to think about. Twerp smiled her agreement at Ignatius's comment and Tarkus finaly turned around. Inguisitor Dante Ignatius of the Ordo Malleus was dressed in his accustomed great coat of crimson leather and dark black breeches and shirt, his tall and sickly thin frame made all the stranger by his constant wearing of a wide brimmed red hat. The Inquisitor was smiling as though he had just seen someone he hated beaten to a pulp, which often happened to those he disliked. Even through his coin shaped smoke colored glasses, Tarkus knew his eyes were gleeming with that light that always made his skin crawl.
"Something wrong sir?" Tarkus asked, swallowing a grimace. He was almost a full head shorter than the Inquisitor and had to crane his neck a bit to make eye contact, a fact that he was reminded of often to make him feel short.
"Why does something have to be wrong when I come to chat?" Ignatius asked, his smile widening and looking more and more like a shark's by the minute. Tarkus grummbled out a half answer, hoping that Ignatius would simply continue with whatever he was going to say. This time luck was with him, the Inquisitor simply shook his head a bit and kept talking as though he had never been asked a question.
"Coinsidentaly there is something rather odd going on," Ignatius said, his tone on the thoughtful side. Tarkus steeled himself for the next in a long line of bad news. "The ship has been redirected to a nearby system," Ignatius informed him. Before Tarkus had a chance to ask anything else, Ignatius added. "Under Inquisitorial athority..."
"Did you do it sir?" It was just the sort of thing Ignatius would do, even if he had nothing to do in that system. The inquisitor paused, actualy considering the question for a moment.
"No, I rather think not." He said, his answer less than sure. "I would have had the common curtesy to inform myself before changing the destination of the ship." The statement wouldn't have made sense had anyone else said it, but Tarkus had grown used to such things when it came to his boss. "Also Inquisitor Delphios informed me that he did it..."
"I would have thought that would be the first point you'd make," Tarkus said dumbly. Ignatius only shrugged and went on.
"Said there was something really really bad going on there," The Inquisitor had a habit of using such childish terms when he wasn't paying atention, which left many high ranking officers under the belief that he was doing it to annoy them. And for all Tarkus knew he was doing it specificly for that reason. "Said he'd explain the rest when I got there, wonder if it's good knews?"
"I don't think it..." Tarkus didn't get any further, clutching at his gut and wincing as a deep groan bubbled out. "What the?" He felt like his insides were about to ram out his backside!
"Ah, those would be the laxatives," Ignatius commented idly as Tarkus rushed back into his room and slammed the bathroom door with a stream of curses. "Wouldn't have used triple the safe dose if I'd known we would have important buisness so soon." He and Twerp shared a ruefull head shake and then burst out laughing at the disturbing noises coming clearly through the bathroom door.
"Come now, the Commissar will join us in a few hours," Ignatius told Twerp as they left the area of Tarkus's room a few steps ahead of the stench. "And a few pounds lighter I imagine."