Chapter 2
The Road of Glory
Fortuno's savant, Havelock, quickly provided the Arbites with all of the details Tristan had agreed to disclose. It was just enough to ensure that Investigator Dariel was appeased, without giving him any information that would let the the Arbites interfere with Tristan's investigation and the hunt for Xanatov. The rented speeder carrying Tristan and his cadre slipped through the smoky, polluted air of the massive forge world. Plumes of yellow-brown smoke, full of noxious chemical fumes spewed forth from hundreds of exhaust stacks from the manufactora below.
Dock 194-B was a fairly long ride from where they'd originally encountered Xanatov and his ilk. Tristan reasoned that it was only logical to assume that Xanatov and his Frateris Militia followers had kept a speeder of their own somewhere nearby, thus allowing for their hasty escape. For when the Arbites had shown up to clean up the warehouse and any stragglers that remained, there was no sign of Xanatov or his brethren.
"What d'ya think we'll find at the dock?" Sawyer asked, running his fingers gently along the Voss-pattern grenade launcher.
"With the likes of Xanatov Victris? Who knows? But it's sure to be trouble in any event." Tristan answered, pulling his auto-pistol from the shoulder harness, checking the magazine. Just talking about the apostate made Tristan uneasy.
The speeder pulled up to spaceport block 194, owned entirely by Brassus shipping. Tristan ordered the speeder set down between block 193 and 194. The Inquisitor and his Acolytes exited the speeder and headed to the main entrance of Brassus Shipping. Everything looked normal. Tristan noted nothing out of the ordinary from the outside. That only served to make him all the more nervous. Steeling his nerves, he nodded to his companions and withdrew his auto-pistol. Sawyer stepped forward and kicked in the front door. The heavy metal door screeching open on rusty hinges and slammed against the ferro-crete walls of the industrial shipping building. As Tristan and his followers burst in, terrified screams and shouts echoed around the room as people saw the heavily armed group.
"Don't shoot!" Cried a balding man behind the front desk, his hands in the air. Others cowered beside walls and behind chairs.
Tristan stepped forward, his auto-pistol readied, though pointed toward the ceiling.
"I am Tristan Fortuno of the Holy Inquisition. Cooperate and none shall be harmed. Impede my investigation and none shall be spared. Step forward." The Inquisitor commanded, flashing his rosette. Tristan glared at the man who'd begged them not to shoot.
The balding man stepped forward, his thinning wispy grey hair tossing about as he moved as swiftly as his old bones would carry him. The mottled skin of his scalp was visible as he bowed before Tristan and company.
"We are simply a shipping facility my lord Inquisitor. We have always been upright in our reportings to the Administratum!" He blubbered as he barely kept himself together.
"The Inquisition does not care about your shipping manifests. We have reason to believe that a dangerous heretic and murderer... Xanatov Victris and his accomplices, may be using one of your docks as a base of operations. Dock 194-B. You will grant us access immediately." Tristan ordered with a cold stare.
"Wha? What evidence? We have never heard of such a person? We will comply surely, but please explain so we may better help the Inquisition. None of us desire to run afoul of the Inquisition." The balding man said with a quick nod and a pleading tone.
Tristan fished around in his pocket and pulled the Ident badge from his brown overcoat pocket, tossing it to the man. For a moment the man just stared, but he quickly scooped up the badge and moved behind the desk. Tristan followed. Running the badge through a security scanner, the older man, obviously a supervisor or manager from his desk, frowned at the readouts.
"Very disturbing my lord Inquisitor. This badge belonged to Thalo Narson... He was fired some weeks ago. He was caught using Obscura on the job. He was a loading supervisor in Dock 194-B." The man told Tristan.
Tristan frowned at this revelation.
"Then he is either dead, or in league with Xanatov. Get us into that warehouse. We require access to ensure a thorough search." He ordered sharply.
"Y-yes sir. Of course." Said the man, stuttering a bit as attention was turned off of the fired employee and back onto him. With a quick few taps on the keypad of the security cogitator, a loud buzzing was heard over the loudspeakers. "The tram just down the hallway will take you to Dock 194-B. Search as long as you like my lord... And let me know if you require anything further." He said with a nod.
Tristan turned and led his crew down the hall toward the tram station that would take them through the massive dock complex and loading facility.
"I don't trust him." Sawyer said.
"I don't trust him either my friend. Which is why we must be careful here." Tristan said as they boarded the tram car. Once aboard, the tram slid almost silently along the rail, bringing them through the warehouse complex and toward Dock 194-B. It took only moments to arrive at their destination and they stepped off of the tram onto a platform that led to a catwalk over the work floor. Large crates and boxes and sealed shipping containers littered the floor. Not a worker or machine was in sight.
Tristan once more drew his auto-pistol.
"Something isn't right here." He muttered. Sawyer and the rest armed themselves as they made their way down to the work floor and began moving around the boxes, checking corners and searching through the massive shipping dock. Tristan stepped around a shipping container and pressed a hand against the door. The door of the container squealed and he blinked to find it unsealed.
Fortuno opened the box and stepped inside, letting in the light from the warehouse dock. As he stepped in, a light within the box flicked on. A large stone statue lay on its back inside the shipping container, packed in a foam substance to keep it from jostling about. He frowned a bit as he looked over the discovery. Upon first glance it looked like one of the angels that typically decorated the Cathedrals and Temples of the Ecclesiarchy. But there was something... off, about this one.
Tristan brushed his hand over the sheer plastic, ripping it away to examine it closer. As he pressed a hand to the stone, he withdrew it in shock. The statue was warm to the touch.
In the cool open atmosphere of the warehouse, the creation was easily body temperature if not warmer. Tristan looked over it as the hairs on the back of his neck pricked up. The angel's face seemed to flicker under the light. Tristan shook his head as if shaking off a dream and did a double take. No... It wasn't sparkling and flickering.
'Must be the light playing over the imperfections in the stone it was cut from.' Tristan thought as he pulled back more of the plastic. In the angel's hands it held a skull with the sign of the aquila. The double-headed eagle of the Imperium, and an oddly curved dagger. Tristan frowned at that. He could remember no such symbolism that was attributed to any saint, which the Ecclesiarchy typically modeled their angels after.
'The dawn of awakening has come.' A voice seemed to echo around the container. Tristan jumped back in surprise and slammed back into the metal wall of the container. He raised his autopistol and pointed toward the entrance. Stepping out, cautiously, he looked around, moving around the corner.
"Fortuno to Sawyer. Report position." He said warily as he continued searching about, stepping back into the container. A minute passed.
"Fortuno to all. Report positions." He tried once more. Again there was a long and eerie silence over the vox.
'Your ascension is at hand.' The voice echoed once more and Tristan turned to face the odd statue. He stepped around the edges of it and stepped away from the statue. There was something very... very wrong here. As Tristan stepped away, he called to the vox once more.
"Fortuno to all... Report positions." He said, an edge of panic entering his voice.
"Tristan? Where have you been? We've been calling for you for some time now." Sawyer's voice responded, worry evident in his tone.
"Praise the Emperor. Regroup at the tram station. Now." Tristan ordered and jogged toward the tram station. Very few things caused the Inquisitors of the Holy Ordos fear, but that stone angel, the voice, it was all too surreal. It gnawed at his heart and sapped the courage from his breast as he jogged through the artificial alleys made by stacks of crates and boxes. As he regrouped with his squad at the tram station, they looked at him oddly.
"You all right boss?" Sawyer asked.
"You look as though you'd seen a ghost sir." Added one of the other Acolytes.
Tristan reached up and ran his fingers through his hair. He blinked in surprise as his hand came away wet from a cold sweat. He realized he was panting.
"There is something very wrong here." Tristan echoed his earlier feelings. "Come on... There is something more here than simply a cult using a warehouse supervisor's Ident badge to gain access to this shipping dock." He said as they stepped onto the tram.
When the tram slowed to a stop by the Brassus Shipping main office, Tristan stepped out into the hallway. His group piled out behind him and stepped along the corridor. The only sound aside from their boots clattering on the tile floor was the soft clinking of a metal tube as it bounced and rolled down the hallway toward them.
Tristan was barely able to begin shouting a warning when the grenade exploded with a loud crack and a blinding flash. It disoriented him and he turned about, flailing with his arms clumsily as his eyes struggled to adjust to the changes from light to bright light and back again. His ears were ringing and no matter what he did, it wouldn't stop. A pair of rough, large hands grabbed him. A heavy blow to the back of his head stole his consciousness.
Hours later, Tristan awoke. He grunted and opened his eyes. The lights were so bright they were disorienting. His limbs ached and felt like lead. Twisting his arm and shifting about, he felt the bindings cut into his wrists and his ankles as he leaned against a table, strapped up to the table.
"Wha-Where am I?" He croaked out as he groggily shook his head. The dull throbbing ache in the back of his skull reminded him of what happened.
"Xanatov..." He muttered. He didn't know how he knew, but Tristan just knew that the apostate had to be behind this.
"Ahhh... You are roused from slumber. Good." Said the silky voice of Xanatov Victris.
Tristan fixed his eyes upon him and snarled.
"You will die heretic! I will see you burn!" Tristan gnashed his teeth as he spoke the threat.
"Empty bravado from a daemon tainted cur. One of the un-ascended cannot possibly understand the work I do." Xanatov said, delivering a fierce open backhand to Tristan's cheek.
"Where are my companions, dog?" Tristan asked, growling a bit and glaring at Xanatov while he did his best to suppress the stinging sensation on his cheek. He looked at the wild-haired heretic and Xanatov grinned in return, stepping aside out of Tristan's view.
"They have ascended..." The heretic muttered and swept his hand around the room.
Tristan blinked a bit and took in the scene. He was in a large circular chamber. Nailed to the walls, on large wooden flats, were the bloody remains of five of his companions. Their skin and ribs peeled away and broken behind them, so their destroyed backs were splayed open to look like angels with their wings unfurled. The skin was stretched unnaturally.
"You... SON OF A BITCH!" He shouted in rage as he twisted once more against the bonds.
'This one's ascension will be sweet indeed.' Clamored a voice.
The voice snapped his attention to the center of the room. The voice that he'd heard in the shipping container. It was here. He looked and his eyes fell upon the stone angel. The face sparkled, though it was not from the light playing across the stone... Something inside the angel was glowing. Tristan suddenly felt like a mouse caught before a very large... very hungry cat.
"The time of your ascension... Is upon us." Xanatov cackled as he drew a blood-caked dagger from his robes.
