Caran strolled down the corridor of the ship, and thought about his
departure from the amity of Inquisitor Eisenhorn. After Eisenhorn lying and
tricking him, it seemed only fitting for Caran to remove his assets, and
gun him down in his own base, using his own turrets.
And then there was Gorsch. The furious young Inquisitor had come as quite a surprise to Caran, and had revealed some very important facts about Eisenhorn that he was glad for knowing. Such a fanatical young man would prove useful, if a sufficient truce and companionship could be achieved.
Caran smiled at the irony of their method of departure from Eisenhorn's base. The young enthusiast had been transported out by the equally enthusiastic Blood Angels, whereas Caran himself boarded the tactically driven Aurora chapter gunship very calmly by the main loading ramp.
Coming to a halt, he punched a number, and entered a room. Caran stood in front of the foot-wide tube filled with clear amniotic fluid. In it was the source of discord between himself and Eisenhorn. The shape of the container and the viscous fluid masked to true appearance of the alien arm, but the bone, muscle, sinew and fingers could clearly be seen. As could the opposable thumb.
A vid-screen next to the tank showed a representation of the arm, and data and statistics flashing up in gothic. Cruftan stood peering at it through mechanical eyes, his mechanendrites waving hypnotically.
"What do you make of it?" the Inquisitor asked his long-term associate.
"This is unlike what I have seen before," he replied in a voice overlaid with mechanical synthesisers, "This equipment is quite poor."
"Indeed it would be, Magos, the Adeptus Astartes have photographic memories of the information they are taught, and have no need to dissect captured enemies."
The magos nodded his agreement, but added:
"Still, it will be interesting to inspect this sample under a state of the art set of the equipment."
Caran smiled a rare smile, and strode from the doorway. What to do now? Eisenhorn had used some trick to escape, and Gorsch, after scanning the planet for some time, had bolted in a seemingly random direction. Caran could follow him, or he could return to HQ and receive a new assignment.
Seeing sergeant Tririon, his imperial guard bodyguard in the hallway, Caran asked his opinion, as a form of amusement in the long hours of space travel.
"Well," replied Tririon, scratching his unshaven chin, "I reckon we stay hot on what we got, and that's this boy. But don't follow too close, or you might just find you've stepped on a grakja's tail."
"Ah, my dear Tririon, what would I do without you?"
Buy another forty, exactly the same he answered himself silently as he strolled down the corridor.
And then there was Gorsch. The furious young Inquisitor had come as quite a surprise to Caran, and had revealed some very important facts about Eisenhorn that he was glad for knowing. Such a fanatical young man would prove useful, if a sufficient truce and companionship could be achieved.
Caran smiled at the irony of their method of departure from Eisenhorn's base. The young enthusiast had been transported out by the equally enthusiastic Blood Angels, whereas Caran himself boarded the tactically driven Aurora chapter gunship very calmly by the main loading ramp.
Coming to a halt, he punched a number, and entered a room. Caran stood in front of the foot-wide tube filled with clear amniotic fluid. In it was the source of discord between himself and Eisenhorn. The shape of the container and the viscous fluid masked to true appearance of the alien arm, but the bone, muscle, sinew and fingers could clearly be seen. As could the opposable thumb.
A vid-screen next to the tank showed a representation of the arm, and data and statistics flashing up in gothic. Cruftan stood peering at it through mechanical eyes, his mechanendrites waving hypnotically.
"What do you make of it?" the Inquisitor asked his long-term associate.
"This is unlike what I have seen before," he replied in a voice overlaid with mechanical synthesisers, "This equipment is quite poor."
"Indeed it would be, Magos, the Adeptus Astartes have photographic memories of the information they are taught, and have no need to dissect captured enemies."
The magos nodded his agreement, but added:
"Still, it will be interesting to inspect this sample under a state of the art set of the equipment."
Caran smiled a rare smile, and strode from the doorway. What to do now? Eisenhorn had used some trick to escape, and Gorsch, after scanning the planet for some time, had bolted in a seemingly random direction. Caran could follow him, or he could return to HQ and receive a new assignment.
Seeing sergeant Tririon, his imperial guard bodyguard in the hallway, Caran asked his opinion, as a form of amusement in the long hours of space travel.
"Well," replied Tririon, scratching his unshaven chin, "I reckon we stay hot on what we got, and that's this boy. But don't follow too close, or you might just find you've stepped on a grakja's tail."
"Ah, my dear Tririon, what would I do without you?"
Buy another forty, exactly the same he answered himself silently as he strolled down the corridor.