The circle of light and its contents remains, but the darkness beyond is replaced by a hundred million bright points of light, wrought into the shape of a disk of twisting firmaments cradling a central, fiery orb. You recognize it readily enough. The Galaxy of Man, as seen from a distant location, high above the galactic plane.
"Akakios. Segmentum Obscurus," Haxtes says. "More specifically the Calixis sector, located rimward of the Finial and Ixaniad sectors, and trailing of Scarus sector, pushed right up alongside the unbeholden reaches of the Fydae Great Cloud." The view zooms in towards the northern fringe of the galaxy, zipping past the baleful stain that is the Ocularis Teribus - the Eye of Terror - on the way there.
"Akakios. Drusus Marches sub-sector," he continues. "I would not expect you to have heard of it. It was a small and unimportant world, located in an unimportant subsector of a very distant and equally unimportant sector, at the very edges of Imperial space, right where the authority of the Segmentum Obscurus battlefleets whittle away into nothingness." Haxtes makes a small gesture for emphasis; coming from a man with such muted body language it feels quite dramatic. "Out where the Astronomican is just a pale flickering candle, oft hidden from view by the baleful emanations of the Eye. Beyond lie the vast uncharted regions of the Koronus Expanse and the methuselah stars of the galactic halo. Beware the edge of the galaxy, or you might fall off. There be xenos. Astra Incognita. That kind of remote."
He's right. You cannot recall ever having heard of a planet called Akakios, which is slightly odd, since your memory is practically flawless.
Haxtes has risen from his seat, amasec in hand, but leaving Blood on the table. Death is still in the shoulder rig. A well-worn utility belt is strapped around slender hips. There is a scabbard with a short, straight powerblade fastened on his right side. On the other hip, hidden beneath the cloak you can see the contours of a slender pistol holster. Possibly a sliver gun, but you cannot be certain.
His voice is level when he continues. "Akakios. It was the site of a great heresy, and as a result the world was rigorously scoured of taint, and official records adjusted or repressed in line with the normal modus operandi of the Adeptus Terra. So not only was Akakios physically remote, it was thoroughly expunged from all branches of galactic lore. It no longer exists - and according to the records of the Administratum, it never existed at all."
"You mean your homeworld - this Akakios - was subjected to an Edict of Obliteration?" you ask.
It would certainly explain why you haven't heard of it. The Inquisition will go to great lengths, not just to fight heresy when it rears its ugly head, but also to supress any knowledge of it ever having taken place. The worse the heresy, the more rigorous the suppression of information will be. Up to, and including, striking entire worlds and their histories from Imperial records.
"Yes," Haxtes answers curtly and tosses back the rest of his drink with the practiced ease of one who knows his liquor. "The Calixian Ordos decided that it would be for the best for the Imperium if no one remembered my homeworld."
"Akakios. The world of my birth." He pauses for a moment, lost in thought. "I hated my memories of the place for many years. Hated them because they reminded me that I had been soft and spoiled once. Hated them because the stigma of heresy by association was upon me, for reasons of my birth alone. But most of all I hated them because it was on Akakios that the betrayals began. It was there I learned that no bond of family or friendship is strong enough to stave off the inevitable perfidies."
There is a certain regretful undertone to his voice. Not much, but enough that someone like you can pick it up. 'Someone like you' meaning a highly skilled telepath - with emotional receptors ramped up to max.
"Those memories of loss and betrayal stung worse than any pain of the body or spirit later inflicted upon me." There is more emotion in Haxtes' voice now, relatively speaking. "It is not without reason that the wise counsel us against such things: Frivolous joy instead of hard work. Hope instead of duty. Love for anyone but the God-Emperor. All signs of moral weakness."
You consider interrupting him, to tell him you've no need to know about his childhood traumas, but decide against it. Let him speak. It gives you time to observe, analyse, and understand the tome's workings. Focus and clam. Let patience guide your actions.
He clears his throat. "The weaknesses borne to me by my homeworld rode me for many years. Until one day I laughingly realized they were the least of my failings. The daemons of my birth had been banished by far darker and more insidious creatures." His voice trails away.
The scenery shifts again. The great orb of a planet seen from space soars towards you. White clouds over blue oceans. Continental landmasses, primarily in the southern hemisphere. Varied topography. Swathes of green in coastal areas and along waterways, but otherwise borderline arid climate. Extensive, but not excessive signs of human habitation.
Haxtes resumes talking. "Akakios' single sun, named Aethyr, meaning Pure Light in our forefather's tongue, was a yellow main-sequence star a fraction less luminous that Sol; just barely enough of a difference for the human eye to register. Akakios orbited rather closer to Aethyr than Holy Terra does Sol, but its albedo was higher and the greenhouse effect not as pronounced as the Terran standard."
Haxtes looks at you intently while speaking, trying to determine whether or not you follow him. Seeing that you do, he makes a vague motion with his head that could be a nod of acknowledgement.
"The actual energy retention was about the same, but differences in orbital eccentricity, axial tilt, topography and other factors conspired to make Akakios a borderline arid world. Seasons were also more extreme than the Terran norm. But with a little effort and basic irrigation techniques Akakios could be - and was - made into a human paradise."
The terms are known to you. You are an educated man. But you are more than mildly surprised by Haxtes' knowledge of such arcane lore. Many of the servants of the Inquisition are both learned and eloquent, but few would deign to study the arcane mysteries of planetology to such an extent. Usually they leave it to their savant staff to fuss over such niceties. Haxtes never struck you as the type that might have an interest in such fields of knowledge. You file the information away; it doesn't appear relevant at the moment, but you do not wish to discard it entirely.
"That is how I recall the world of my childhood. It was paradise. My paradise." Haxtes dismisses the memory with a flick of his wrist. "Before the snake entered it anyway," he says.
His voice is oddly bereft of emotion, indicating that the memories of childhood are indeed no longer bothering him. Either that or he's lying to you in a very convincing manner. But you've detected no physical or psychic signs of deception, making that an unlikely scenario. Consciously lying to you is next to futile given your unique skill set - psyker, telepath, and interrogator. So he's either telling the truth or he's the most masterful liar there ever was. You dismiss the notion; he might be a good liar, but he's not that good.
"My family lived in a largish country residence in the hills south of Thira," Haxtes says. "At least I remember it as being very large. It was probably rather modest by Akakian standards, for my family was, if not exactly poor, then not particularly rich."
He wasn't exaggerating when he said you would be going back to the beginning, to his childhood. You're vaguely intrigued, but mostly you're bemused by this rather unexpected turn of events. Why in the deepest pits of the Empyrean did Melbinious chose to put this into his tome? It makes absolutely no sense, unless it is some form of obscure test or esoteric security measure.
"Jaxel, Jax for short, was six years older than me." Haxtes continues to keep your under close scrutiny as he speaks. "He had his own room and was better than me at everything. He was always smug and superior in the way of older brothers across the galaxy. I envied him, wished I was he. He rarely deigned to acknowledge my existence. When he did, I often regretted drawing his attention."
Hardly exceptional behaviour for an older brother. You had three, two of whom were decent, but the third was a right monster. You haven't thought about any of them for years; you dealt with those memories a long time ago, burning them to cinders as part of your psychic training.
"My sister Eleena was four years my senior," Haxtes explains. "We shared a room my sister and I, an indication that our country house was not all that big. She was very shy and mild-mannered. And beautiful. She had the face of an angel, and her glossy black hair was the envy of all the girls at school. She was often lost in her own inner world. We rarely played and almost never spoke."
You never really connected with your own sisters. In your humble opinion all girls are lost in their own world. A world of unfathomable female memes and mannerisms. A world filled with things man was not meant to know. Not that you do not enjoy female company - you're quite fond of it in fact - rather it is a realization that men and women aren't really compatible, intellectually speaking.
Thus far you've only listened to Haxtes, but for a while now you've been aware that the narration is overlaying a sensory information stream. You decide to extend a mental probe into the stream, to ascertain if there is anything worthwhile to see. You are rewarded with flickering images from Akakios. They play out before your eyes, like a string of still picts.
The country house nestled comfortably among heath covered hills. A vast azure lake, gently wrapped in white drifts of mist. A range of mountains in the distance, capped in pristine snow. Everything is large and grand and tinged with a hint of mystery. The world as seen by a child before it is weaned to the unpleasant realities of life.
The probe provides Haxtes' tale with additional texture, but little additional substance. You'll leave the probe active, to see if it picks up anything useful. Even if it doesn't, the imagery is still a welcome supplement, much preferable to just listening to the monotonous drone of Haxtes' voice.
"I didn't really mind," Haxtes continues. "More often than not I was busy with my own affairs. I didn't have many friends as a boy, but there was no shortage of things for me to do. I spent hours wandering and exploring the hill-lands. I would do my homework. I'd read a book," you get a glimpse of young Haxtes with a physical book cradled in his lap, "or watch a holo-show. In essence I was alone, but not feeling lonely. Some people - my brother included - need to be with other people to feel whole. I always felt best when alone."
Man is not an island. In your experience the loners are loners for a reason. They are challenged in some way, damaged even. You've been something of a loner at times - people in your line of work often are - so you know what you're talking about. But you've always managed to maintain a healthy dose of human interaction in your life.
"Speaking of homework: We children went to school every workday. All Akakian children were required to go to school for at least ten years."
"Ten years? For all the children?" you reply. "Why would all children require such a lengthy education?"
"That right," Haxtes confirms. "At least then years. For the boys. Girls were only required to complete seven, but I think the majority did the full ten."
"But why?" you press.
Haxtes makes a minute shrug. "It was customary. And Akakians took great pride in their institutions of learning. Unlike most Imperial worlds being a wise and learned man was a source of status."
You shake your head in a mixture of disbelief and disinterest.
