Chapter 8
023.M42
Anaike, Vespor's prison moon, Huldah subsector, Syntyche sector
It was night time; the hallway lumen strips were dimmed, but enough light remained for the guards' patrols. Lights out was strictly enforced with truncheons silencing those who spoke. Yet it did not stop the convicts' whispering endearing threats to one another.
"Twist, are you listening? You know tomorrow's going to be a fun day, right?" Jaala's hissing voice reached Kelvenia's cell across the narrow corridor. Leaning against the plasteel bars of her cage, Jaala dangled something sharp in her thin hands. "I always wondered if twists have red blood. Tomorrow's gonna tell."
Other prisoners would have cowered knowing they caught the eye and temper of Jaala. Kel was one of the few who simply could not care. She gave no thought that she somehow angered Jaala, or she was a dead woman walking. She refused to panic about tomorrow's 'fight'. Kel knew, beyond a shadow of doubt, that his infernal luck would protect her. That was how it worked. The same luck had killed other would-be murderers in Anaike's crowded cells. Bad fortune was the only reason she had stayed alive for so long. While Kel guessed about Jaala's death tomorrow, her thoughts turned to more pressing matters.
Kelvenia envisioned how she would kill the person who put her in Anaike. His actions dropped her into this horrible pit. His motives garnered Kel's prison sentence. She hated him for it. Some nights she would remain awake pondering of toxins powerful enough to fell a gene-enhanced giant. Staring at the bare ferrocrete wall opposite her small cot, Kel fantasized magnetically locking a melta bomb against his armour and pushing the detonator. His luck, having bled off on to Kel, would not keep him from harm's way any longer. She hoped he would beg. A craven coward like himself would. There was even the slim chance he would be honest to save his questionable soul. Chuckling at the image and the flaunted lies he would craft, the woman thought knifing him would—
"Mutie! Did you hear me? I'm going to cut your wrists and watch you bleed on the courtyard tomorrow!" Jaala hit the bars of her cell, scraping her shiv against the metal. "You're going to crawl through your blood and I'll slit you from throat to gut."
"Shut up, Jaala." A rude gesture expressed Kel's defiance.
Mutant. Twist. Black blood. The Imperium had a dozen names for these anomalous citizens, holding contempt for them a hundredfold. There never came a word of acknowledgment for these same outcasts who helped grease the wheels of the Imperium. Kel seethed about this great injustice, even if half her heritage came from mankind. When people looked her, they saw someone no older than twenty standard Terran years, all awkward limbs, far too tall, and with oddly slanted eyes. A pity the better half of her mixed blood never wanted her around. While the humans jeered and laughed, the elder race who glided between the stars did not glance at something below their sight.
"Going to pray for luck from the Golden Throne?" Jaala's unimaginative taunts were beginning to wake the other inmates. "He'd never look your way. Not even the guards are gonna stop me tomorrow when I slice your fingers off one by one."
Kel chuckled. She would never call upon the corpse on a throne. Isha, blessed mother of life, answered all prayers. The Eldar goddess would grant her revenge against the liar and hypocrite who placed her in these grey walls. Why pray for luck when she had it in spades? The same foul luck a damned warrior needed to flee the worse situations had become her armour against the other convicts.
"Last I was told the Emperor doesn't look at anyone like us in Anaike." Kel's heightened eyesight found Jaala in the murky dark. "Maybe you should start praying and see if it pays off."
"Don't drop me in the same boat as you, twist."
"Tomorrow Jaala," Kel replied with a forced air of cheer. She brushed back her lank dark hair. "Everything's decided tomorrow."
With any luck, Jaala's shiv would turn on its owner and gut her. With greater luck and Isha's blessing, Kel might one day be free of Anaike. She crossed her fingers to the last, breathing a prayer to Isha, wondering if she listened to those sharing half the blood of a celestial race. Kel needed divine aid to track down that charlatan, then a little more to end his unnaturally long life.
"There was heavy digging in Krenzar's lowest levels. Recent surveys from Mechanicus teams believed that what the cultists were looking for never existed, or had been taken a long time ago. Undoubtedly this is what Mayun Dena attempted to hide before the Inquisition appeared." Sister Ursula's soft voice mirrored the calm atmosphere in the conservatory. Perusing the growing mounds of data-slates with the Inquisitor and Guardsman, she sorted and divided the relevant material into their respective piles. "A very large Dark Mechanicum undertaking was present. The number of bodies recovered, milady-"
"Showing it had been there for a time. Each corpse bore the same tattoo on their left foot. The same mark was found on the bodies at Isfarena. Before that, there was the excavation of Imperial colony 1034 with Chaos forces fighting the Eldar. No references to the Dark Mother were recorded then, but the colonial world was considered important to the Eldar. Enough for them to fight for what was hidden there." Kith entwined her fingers, leaning over the growing piles of evidence, wondering how it meshed together. All of the data, old and new, came from the cask Lord Saeger bestowed to her when she had become an Inquisitor.
Clad in loose fitting black fatigues, Dram drank a cup of stimm tea while trying to wrap his head around the Inquisitor's analysis. Initiated into the Inquisitor's warband, the man kept quiet until he could offer advice to the conversation. The knowledge granted to him made his head ache, with forces they followed only whispered about in the Guard regiments. The hunt for the Dark Mother appeared to be a personal quest for Amara Kith. Her reasons were unknown to the former Guardsman. Dram was not about to ask until she wanted to explain it to him.
Across the table sat Ursula, head bowed in contemplative thought. "The colony predates the other excavations by twenty years, milady. Perhaps the diggers were searching the rest of the Syntyche sector for the next link in the chain." Wearing her militant order robes, Ursula radiated a frigid attitude tempered in the supremacy of her faith. "A sordid trail we shall uncover in time."
"There's a thought." Amara began pacing the length of the conservatory. "Judging by the reports of colony 1034, it was important enough that the Harlequin attempted to stop the Thousand Sons from completing their objectives."
Docked at high anchor, the Dauntless-class warship Iridescent Blade was a fearsome sight. Proudly displaying the sigil of the Inquisition on its prow, the vessel turned aside the curious and less savoury ships in the space lanes. The Inquisitor rubbed her eyes. Beneath her hooded grey robe she wore a mail undersuit, her sword at her side, and her rank's burden heavy on her shoulders. Even in periods of rest Amara was ready for a fight. What clash she would find on her own vessel was baffling, another odd factor Dram attributed to the Inquisitor's mindset. Stopping at the great concave windows, Amara Kith regarded the planet Vespor with passing interest.
It was not the next step on their journey, not immediately, though its size dominated and demanded notice in the firmament. Vespor's polluted atmosphere wreathed the surface of the world in grey shadows and violet bruises. Towering hives, where sycophant lords and ladies of the Huldah subsector resided, dotted the bleak landscape as infesting sores. Antenna and satellite dishes jutting out from every angle on the hives, making each and its resident forges look akin to a madman's failed attempt at order.
Ursula recited the Prayer of Safety against the God-Emperor's foes. "Which immoral faction won?"
"Not the Harlequins. The Thousand Sons took something from the earth with them." Turning back to the table, Amara sifted through data-slates concerning colony 1034. "Inquisitor Gren of the Ordo Xenos is pursuing an on-going investigation into what the lost relic's origin is. I believe it ties into the workings of Saint Gilles, Isfarena and most recently, Krenzar. Any undertaking where the Thousand Sons are present should be treated with the utmost gravity."
"Plots within plots, convoluted stories and trails leading to nowhere," Ursula spoke the oft-quoted saying favoured by Inquisitor Amara Kith.
Downing the last of his tea, Dram shifted in his seat. His calf muscle ached. "All I know is this evidence was taken from two subsectors with years between one operation and the next."
"Chaos never sleeps," Ursula said. "It waits. Only with the Emperor's guiding light and divine intuition are we able to combat the darkness. We will not allow this plot to manifest."
"If that's the case, shouldn't we try uncovering the next link? Return to Isfarena; see how the evidence pulled from the crypts matches against Krenzar's activity? Do you even have a hint of what their master plan might be?" Dram directed the last question to the Inquisitor.
Amara Kith shook her head. "I will find the source. What is known is the Dark Mother has an active cult within the Syntyche sector. A very strong following which could be based in most, if not all, the systems. There's a high chance it's tied into the excavation of colony 1034 and the Thousand Sons. In turn, whoever this Dark Mother is has ties to the Traitor Astartes. Once we find the Dark Mother, the trail will lead further back to the originating source. From there it is simply finding out what was excavated at colony 1034 and why."
"Why not talk to the Eldar who're so intent on stopping them?" Dram leaned back on the couch.
Sister Ursula gasped at the suggestion. "We of the Emperor's work do not consort with xenos."
"The Harlequin talk only when they wish to," Amara answered coolly. "If they want to share what they know, they'll come."
Ursula's lips twisted into a scowl. "Consorting with alien spawn and their lies only weakens us in our cause. I would not trust the words of a xenos, Milady Kith. You would be better to not consider the thought of talking with witches."
Amara Kith's gaze moved beyond Vespor's swollen bulk. A small moon orbited the hive world. Anaike, the sole retrograde moon circling Vespor, shimmered in the distant light from the system's sun. Its pearl-grey surface was anathema to Vespor's uncleanliness; as rogue as the inmates housed on its surface. Amara doubted the enigmatic Harlequins had visited the prison moon or the overbearing planet it was chained to spin next to.
"Why are we going to Anaike? Are you expecting the Dark Mother's cult to have a following where all the inmates will revolt?"
"If that should happen, I welcome to chance to bring the purity of flames to those corrupt." The Sister of Battle reverently touched her rosary.
"We're at Anaike for one reason before moving on to Vespor." She smiled at Dram and Ursula. "I need a replacement for Fray."
"Fray was not contracted through the penal system." Ursula muttered.
"No," Amara agreed. "As I recall we found him about to run from the PDF because of his illegal cargo and half drunk. It was his good fortune we happened to meet. In any case, prison inmates have skills which the Inquisition can readily employ."
Uncomfortable with the thought of scum entering the Inquisitor's coterie, Ursula darkly muttered, "They are honest in their duplicity, Milady Kith. The moon itself revolves against the natural spin of the others. I do not like it."
"Now you're speaking like the soothsayers you hate. You insisted we find a pilot, Sister Ursula." Caught in the Inquisitor's word game, the Sister of Battle refrained from replying. Amara Kith looked at them. "I am going to Anaike. You two will stay here and continue to piece together the evidence. I require the Vespor Arbites files to be pulled for any suspicions of cult activity."
"One of us should accompany you, milady. It would be improper for-"
"Do as I say, Sister Ursula, not as I do." Her tone was reproachful. The Emperor's handmaiden returned to the data-slates. Dram helped himself to another cup of stimm tea, waiting until the Inquisitor left before starting a conversation with the battle maiden.
"Are you in the mood for a joke?" Ursula's deadpan expression failed to faze Dram as he launched into the story. "A Guardsman, an Arbites, and a Tech-Priest are about to be executed for heresy."
Kel fought for her life. Scuffling with Jaala on the hard grit of the prison courtyard, Kel's palms were shredded and raw. The blood dripping on the dry earth hadn't been taken by Jaala's blade; the half-breed's own actions had injured her. It was a dark wonder the shiv was still dry with the close proximity between combatants. Twisting under Jaala's arm, Kel scrambled to get away. Lithe for a human, Jaala darted after her intended victim with a viper's grace. Reaching the edge of the circle feet lashed out, kicking and pushing Kelvenia back. Driven toward to the insane prisoner, Kel hunched her body. Her hands throbbed in pain bunching them into fists.
The guards allowed the brawl while the convicts cheered. From their dreary outposts the sentries placed bets; on first blood, the initial lost limb, the expected fatality. In the prison square, criminals pressed shoulder to shoulder for the best vantage point. Encircling the combatants, the horde of men and women were heady with violence. They hollered like fiends, relishing the bloody entertainment. Many gambled on Jaala's assured win. Few risked their meagre possessions on the half-breed.
Jaala's blade would have caught Kel across her right arm... if the other convict hadn't been pushed. Through spite or the ever-shifting mass, the woman was pushed between the fighters. She caught Jaala's shiv across her throat. Choking on her own blood, the unknown prisoner went down under the feet of the others. People moved back at the misfortune. In the guard tower, money switched hands.
"Cowardly bitch!" screeched Jaala, rushing Kel in a frenzy. Slashing low, the movement turned into a high sweep, each time coming within centimetres of cutting Kel yet never landing. Kel would have refuted the insult if she had breath to spare. As it stood, she was thinking she should have prayed for divine luck. The cursed sort surely was not answering.
Kel dropped to one knee, heightened senses taking in the flurry of strikes from Jaala. Whistling through the air, the shiv passed over Kel's head. In that moment Jaala was open. Kel struck out with her right fist, connecting with Jaala's solar plexus. Following up with a weaker left jab to the woman's right knee, Kel threw herself sideways to avoid Jaala's retaliation. Jeers broke out at the spineless move. Fickle chance, absent from the fight, now presented itself.
Jaala slipped on the loose earth. Tilting like a drunk to the left, she instinctively raised her arm to cushion the blow. Her shiv flew from her hand as she crashed to the ground. Rebounding off the crowd's scuffling feet, the jagged blade found its way back to its mistress. Embedded deeply into Jaala's left eye, a raw, primal scream tore from her throat. Her whole body shuddered. Muscles seized, legs spasmodically twitched and still that awful, animalistic sound continued without surrender.
Stupefied by the turn of events, Kelvenia merely grinned, watching Jaala thrash. Some of the prisoners, their money lost, closed in on the half-breed. The resounding crack of a shotgun shell banged through the air, scattering them. Anaike's prison warden, clutching the indispensable weapon in his hands, descended into the prison courtyard. Dressed in a greatcoat of black wool, the warden was an imposing figure. Guards flanked him, each armed with power mauls and riot shields. They used the tools of their trade indiscriminately on convicts too slow to move from their path.
"Disperse," the burly man ordered. His voice was the iron rumble of authority, backed by an unbending will that would enforce every order issued. The convicts slunk away. His face a pox-marked canvas, the warden glared at Kel. "Prisoner seven-thirty-twelve, you will come with us."
"Like I have a choice," Kel replied. A swift blow from the warden's shotgun to her stomach made the half-breed fall. Retching on the stones, Kel's eyes watered.
"Your humour isn't tolerated. You're to be questioned."
Ordering the guards to bring Kelvenia into the complex, the warden turned to Jaala. The infirmary could see to the woman's traumatic injury, yet the warden was prudent. Why waste fresh bandages and antiseptic on an unworthy life? Many were in Anaike due to crimes against the Imperium and its citizens. None would notice the filth scrapped from humanity. A bullet to the head ended Jaala's misery.
Kel heard the single rapport of the shotgun as she was dragged down the concrete hall. Despite herself she flinched, yet glad she no longer had to deal with Jaala. Striding alongside the bruised prisoner, the warden stared at Kel with flint-like eyes. He questioned little, was even less curious to the reasons behind his orders, though this case was an exception.
"I pray on your filthy soul, prisoner seven-thirty-twelve, that you don't heed my advice. Perhaps the individual who's ordered your questioning will not tolerate your humour and kill you. Their ilk is the sort. I would allow them without interfering."
"Who would that be?" Kel's question was met with a cuff from one of the guards.
"None other than the Holy Inquisition itself."
A wave of nausea swept upward from her bruised stomach. Her paltry lunch spattered the floor, the guards dragging her feet through the liquid contents. No, Kelvenia realised. No, if she was going to meet her judge, jury and executioner, better she walk under her own power. She would enjoy what freedom she still held until the noose wrapped around her neck. She could imagine how he would hear the news and rejoice. That brought anger, enough for Kel to find her footing to match the strides of her escort.
Coming to the interrogation chamber, Kel was greeted by austere walls. Psalms written in white chalk covered the walls. The harsh canticles hemmed her in, just as the lack of windows kept out any true light. Only a single lumen, emitting its low buzz overhead, cast its unforgiving light on Kelvenia and the other occupant in the room. She was momentarily blinded. Pushed into the steel chair, Kel blinked quickly to bring the other person into focus. Sitting at the wide metal table in a simple chair, the woman wore an unassuming grey robe. Her white gloved hands rested on top of a folder. Hovering at shoulder level a servo-skull held a data-slate.
"Prisoner seven-thirty-twelve, Inquisitor. Emperor protects." Clicking his heels smartly, the warden saluted and left.
Fear left Kel's tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. Thank Isha she had nothing left to purge from her stomach. The last thing Kel wanted was to lose any remaining dignity. When the silence stretched out, the woman's green eyes judging her too long, Kel found her voice. "You're the Inquisitor?"
"Inquisitor Amara Kith of the Ordo Malleus." She took the proffered data-slate from the servo-skull. "Let us begin."
"Am I on trial here?"
"People in Anaike don't get trials. They get taken outside and have a lasbolt put through their head. Consider this an interview for a potential job, Kelvenia. You have an extensive list on what you're capable of flying. Aircraft for atmospheric and planetary deployment, as well as subsystem travelling. The Imperial Lightning, Avenger, Valkyrie. Even the Mark IX Inleron." Amara consulted the data-slate. "Dare I ask how you learned to pilot these crafts?"
"I-I have a lot of time on my hands."
"A great deal of time," the agent of the God-Emperor agreed. "The limited medicae test placed your physical age at just under a century. You certainly don't look it. The years must have been kind."
Kelvenia forced herself to laugh. "I'm lucky to have the proper genes."
"Eldar, am I right?"
Petrified, Kel's pupils dilated. Her mouth gaped. "H-how did you know?"
Amara gestured to the folder. "Everything you ever said since coming to Anaike has been faithfully transcribed. You mention your heritage with superiority several times, even if the chief medical officer wrote it off as delusions of grandeur." She leaned forward. "How did you learn to fly?"
Kel babbled when she was nervous. Now she blathered like an idiot, unable to stop the words. "I travel a lot so I have to keep busy or get bored. Some holo businesses allow training simulators. Find the right people who have the exact programs, you know? As long as you have the money to cover the rental fee, everyone ends up a winner. I used my skills to get a license. I made system runs and brought travellers to their destinations."
Pride traded out fear. The sense of accomplishment for having so little yet coming so far was obvious. Amara Kith nodded. Opening the folder, the Inquisitor selected a sheaf of papers. "I thought as much. Which makes me speculate how a simple-minded pilot like you-"
"Hey, being a pilot doesn't mean I'm stupid. There's the mathematics involved-"
"-is in here after found pillaging a museum. You were captured by Arbites outside the Gerlden Museum of Manuscripts. Why would a pilot be reading old books written in languages centuries old and tongues long since dead?" The half-breed said nothing. Amara Kith continued. "Your crimes continue. Though this unruly heist, others were soon discovered bearing your DNA. Lost artefacts from reclusiums, librariums missing data-slates, even the coffers of the Ecclesiarchy plundered. I admit," the Inquisitor chuckled, twining a lock of blonde hair between her fingers. "That takes daring to steal from the church."
Kel's anger burst out in a surging torrent. "Those crimes weren't done by me! How the hell do you know about those? I have rights to see that data-slate, I damn well do!" She slammed her fists on the table and rose, wincing from the pain. Her shouting brought a guard into the room, shock maul raised.
"You're not needed," the Inquisitor ordered the guard. With a bow he left.
Kel sat back down, the angry glow in her eyes remaining. "I was set up. I was damn well set up from the beginning."
"Yes, strange someone like you is intelligent enough to commit these crimes until one goes horribly wrong. Not even a case of poor planning as just bad luck. You shouldn't have been caught unless the true mastermind, afraid of capture, used you as an expendable asset to escape. Does this ring true, Kelvenia?"
Her sullen look turned into something else. "I can't say anything."
"You can't or you won't? There's a large different between the two." Irritated with the servo-skull hovering too close, Amara Kith dismissed it. Clicking something in binary, the automaton began circling the chamber.
"I can't." Kel's anger sluiced away. Her brown eyes brimmed again with fear, no longer for the Inquisitor but for something conceivably worse. Far, far worse than what the Inquisition could ever do.
Amara Kith steepled her fingers, knowing she had struck a nerve. "I think you can. You aren't elegant enough to hide a trail like this only to have it suddenly revealed. Who are you hiding?"
"No, I can't breathe a word." Kel furtively looked around the hymn-inscribed room. Minuscule shadows loomed. The lumen's drone sounded like a murmured death threat. Even the guards outside the door became suspect. Cautiously, Kel leaned across the table. "Not unless you promise to protect me."
"From who?" Keeping her face carefully neutral, Amara surreptitiously made a hand signal. Quietly the servo-skull began to record their conversation.
"Not until you promise. Swear that you can keep me safe from... him. From all of them. They're everywhere, except in here. But sometimes," Kel rubbed her nose, "I wonder if he knows where I am. Just to make sure I don't say a word of what happened."
Kith made the sign of the holy aquila. She declared, "I swear by the God-Emperor, your security is assured. Who is 'he', Kelvenia?"
"Belail." The name was whispered, as though speaking it too loudly would invoke the holder's wrath. Kel nervously tapped her feet together. "He's one of them. Those Astartes you hear about as nightmares, the ones who turned from the Imperium. He's as old as the Heresy if he wasn't lying. After what I've been through with him it's a miracle I have all my limbs. He's the one who put me in here, and if I get out I want to kill him." Her bitterness returned. "I know killing marines is difficult, but I've thought of ways it can be done."
The half-breed's ire convinced Amara of her sincerity. This is what she wanted to see. What she wanted to hear. From Isfarena to Krenzar, now to Anaike, the steps rose to lead Amara Kith along the spiralling path of her sacred undertaking. Reaching into the folds of her cloak, Amara proffered a holocube. One of the many from the chest Saeger bequeathed her, the information contained had been memorized and recited countless times. Activating its contents, she selected a specific image and let Kel see it.
"Do you remember this character?" An imposing figure rose up from the holocube. The small pict's edges were tarnished by static, but the integrity was conserved. Supreme arrogance and power masked the collector of knowledge behind his horned helm. Kelvenia recoiled from a memory made physical.
"It was twenty years ago on Maharra. There were others besides him. This guy," Kel tapped the image of Ahriman. "I remember him. He rummaged through my head without any thought for privacy." She keened slightly, holding her nose as if expecting it to bleed. "But the others... Belail was terrified of one. Or in awe. I can't remember it all, but Belail was definitely the bottom feeder in the group."
"Belail of the Thousand Sons." Letting the name roll over her tongue and seep into her mind, the Inquisitor put away the holocube. A name, a precious thing in times where records of the traitor Legions were heavily guarded or no longer existed. For Kelvenia to come into contact with more than one ancient Astartes, Amara Kith knew an opportunity when it appeared. Saeger's lecturing rewarded those who remembered what he imparted.
"If you're going to execute me, just take me out behind the shed and put that lasbolt between my eyes now. I'm dead either way." With or without the Inquisitor's help, Kelvenia knew she was running on days, maybe hours, until her demise. Maybe it would have been swifter to have Jaala bury the knife in her chest.
Folding her arms, Amara Kith reclined in her chair. "What I showed you could result in your immediate execution. The common person is not trusted with such knowledge, though I hold faith in you. With what you have experienced, I believe you appreciate the weight of this moment. Aid the Inquisition and you'll be released from Anaike."
Kel knew the deal was too good. "Promise you'll protect me?"
Amara smiled benignly. "In the service of the Inquisition, I will protect you and your interests as though they were my own. Tell me everything about Belail and what you've been through. I have a suspicion he's the crux on which many things pivot."
Kelvenia agreed. Pacts with the Inquisition were like making pacts with devils. Having made a pact with a particular one, Kelvenia would do what was required until her macabre dream became reality. In a matter of hours Anaike was a retreating sphere circling Vespor, the shuttle carrying Kel away a gilded chariot. Her fate tied to the Inquisitor's, Kel lowered her head to whisper thanks to Isha. Out of the prison fatigues and dressed in drab olive coveralls, wearing her battered flight jacket, Kel whistled appreciatively when she caught sight of the Inquisitor's vessel.
"Is that a Dauntless-class light cruiser?" Cutting through the void with the sleek grace of a predator, the Iridescent Blade beckoned the half-breed with its siren's song. Kel thought being a personal pilot and having authorization to fly what she requested as the icing on a very fine day. Not since a brief stint of corsair work had she been this giddy.
"Yes," Amara responded, not looking up from her data-slate. She sat opposite the half-breed, saying little after the interrogation room.
"I'm allowed to see anything I want inside?"
"You will have access to most areas aboard the vessel."
Sweeping under the prow of the stately vessel, the shuttle docked inside one of the cruiser's many bays. Taking her canvas bag, Kelvenia descended the ramp to meet the others in the Inquisitor's circle. Amara beckoned the new pilot to hurry. Kel plastered a good-natured smile on her lips. Amara Kith strode across the flight deck, nodding at two waiting individuals. One, a man dressed in Guard combat fatigues, saluted the Inquisitor while the other, clothed in black and white robes, inclined her head.
"Is this the new pilot?" the man asked, regarding Kel.
Amara Kith began introductions with no finesse. "Her name is Kelvenia. She'll become as much an asset to our team as Fray once was. Get to know each other and build trust. You will all be working together from this moment on."
"Dram," the burly man offered his hand. Kel shook it, smiling, liking the man instantly. When she leaned over to clasp the woman's hand, the other recoiled. Kel, seeing the Adepta Sororitas symbol, blanched.
"Mutant," the flung slur dripped with poison. "Milady, why did you choose this from the prison? Surely there was another more worthy to receive the Emperor's grace."
"Leave it alone, Ursula," Dram interjected before Amara spoke. "The fresh face's been here less than five minutes."
"You should not lax your guard," came the retort. "She's a filthy mutant. Look at her features, Dram."
"I see a pilot whose eyes might be a little wide set."
"I'm not a mutant." Kel dropped her canvas bag, defiant. She placed her hands on her hips. Amara Kith promised security from all potential dangers, real or imagined. Now it was time to put her pledge to the test. "Let's clear the air before anything else happens. I'm not a mutant, twist, or scummy bootlicker. I'm none of those. I'm half Eldar."
Ursula swore profoundly. Deckhands halted their work to watch the battle maiden call down the names of all the saints. Exaggerated curses laced within pious words rang across the grille floors. "This won't be tolerated. There is no room in the Emperor's host for mixed blood! Alloys are weak, only the pure are strong."
Vexation took the words from Ursula. If her weapons hadn't been in the armoury, something terrible would have happened. Dram positioned himself between Ursula and Kel, arms raised, body tense. A fleeting glance from the former Guardsman caught Kith's retreating back. Ursula, instead of raising her hands against the half-breed, turned and departed. The Inquisitor would know the new pilot was unwelcomed.
"I have that effect on most people," the half-breed replied. "Is she going to try killing me in the night?"
Rubbing the back of his head, Dram laughed. "Doubtful, but it's best to lock your berth door tonight, Squints."
"What about you?" Engines test-fired further down the hanger bay; servitors rolled past, carrying heavy equipment in mechanical arms. Kel wondered if she had made one of the biggest mistakes by working for the Inquisition. Some things were not worth risking her life for. The concept of freedom hinges on the individual, she remembered Belail once remarking.
"We're still talking, aren't we?"
"Good enough." Picking up her bag, Kel regarded Dram before asking, "Why 'Squints'?"
Vespor was one of the greatest planets in the entire Syntyche sector. Second only to Hyeinsa, Vespor's nobles once dreamed of dominating the sector until the ascension of the new Lord Inquisitor. Yet the dream lived on in the secret hearts of many, least of all in the subsector governor's palace, if not in the governor himself. Established in Pytren Hive, the subsector palace was a piercing construct of crystal and black marble. Rising up in defiance from the putrid collection of Pytren Hive, its presence served as a reminder to who ruled the masses and kept them safe. Secure against the mutant, the alien, the heretic, and most importantly from themselves. Subsector Governor Stym Atomy was not a cruel or wanton man; he controlled the Huldah subsector effectively, tithes were paid, ships constructed for Battlefleet Syntyche, souls given to the Black Ships and able bodies to the Imperial Guard.
Adjoining to his magnificent palace, the relic house was Atomy's only haven.
He spent hours inside the platinum vaults studying his collected treasures, much to his wife's chagrin. Time could slip away so easily from him in the relic house. It was his pastime to procure fine and exotic trinkets. His power as subsector governor allowed much to go unwritten in the financial ledgers. Gifts bequeathed as tribute, others from the nobility to ease the slights done at court. On plinths and inside stasis casks, the governor admired his material wealth. A man of his importance deserved at least one harmless dalliance. Tonight restlessness found the governor and, slipping from his bedchamber and Sabine, Atomy decided a midnight vigil to the relic house was in order. The warm floor beneath his feet comforted the man as he trod up and down the halls. Inspecting jewels taken from plundered xenos craft, tapestries depicting ancient origin myths, carved statues of long-dead heroes; each work of art wonderfully silent. They kept their unknown stories as the light from Atomy's lantern illuminated them briefly. A thick hush permeated the air, comfortable and familiar to the governor.
The past month had been a nightmare. Atomy was certain his insomnia stemmed from the endless stress his station afforded him. His latest acquisition waited for him on his desk. Having forgotten about the gift until now, Atomy felt like a child on a high holy day.
His thin frame dwarfed by his opulent chair, Atomy chortled as he picked up the small lockbox. Found within the caverns of a mining facility, the miniature chest's outward design was peculiar and unto itself unique. Crafted from a whitish material veined with faint traces of green, it felt warm when Atomy held it. The governor thought he detected a faint tremor emanating from the reliquary, similar to the beating of a heart. Shaking aside the thought, Atomy's fingers traced the curves and followed the whorls over its foreign surface. Surely whoever crafted this must have spent weeks coaxing the substance into this design.
Its design is older than you would know to count time.
The voice could have risen from his sleep-deprived brain. Atomy raised his head and peered into the shadows. "Hello?" Shrugging when no response came, Atomy sensibly placed the culprit as his overactive mind. Dark-eyed, the governor continued to caress the lockbox when a quiet snap echoed. A section of the box folded away to reveal a velvet lined interior. Curiosity stayed the cautionary voice; Stym Atomy peered in. His fingers reached in to lift out a thin arc of delicately carved metal. An image flashed in his mind to the origins of what he held.
"A diadem," the governor murmured. "This is part of a crown?"
Mere beings of flesh and blood would do best to not touch what is not theirs.
Atomy nodded absently at the voice, too entranced with what he held to pay attention. In the governor's hand, the metal pulsed in cadence to his heartbeat. Surely this treasure had to be alive. As the unknown alloy coiled and stretched in the governor's hand, its surface colour changed, the shifting hues showing images. Amazed, Governor Atomy brought it closer. Creation and destruction boiled side by side before a whirlpool of stars. A conflagration of scarlet; phantasmal screams of star flung empires across time reverberated in the treasure house. Atomy saw striding figures, behemoths that made Titans seem as toys, glide across the dark starscape. Minds given physical flesh, these beings created worlds only for their destruction when they became theatres of war. Through it all the diadem was present, bestowing power to those who held it, shackling those who birthed it.
This portion of the diadem was part of something greater, of that Atomy was certain. In the governor's haven, shadows twisted from the walls and rose from the floor. The lantern's light grew brighter. Or did the radiance spring from the treasure he held? Atomy decided he did not care either way, too captivated by the transmuting metal and its visions. An inchoate voice curled inside Atomy's mind. It asked for protection until someone worthier came to claim it.
"Of course," the governor spoke through gritted teeth. One of his molars cracked, blood and spittle dripping down his lips. "All you need to do is ask."
Clenching his most valued treasure in bloodless hands, Governor Atomy's lips pealed back in a joyous smile. He laughed quietly as unearthly light shone from the arched windows of the relic house, spilling across the palace and Pytren Hive. Something rippled in the still night air, flowing on the currents of half-formed dreams. The future was coming to Vespor, and it would not be kind.