2
Solomon, Markayn Marches

Lamortes had a long, interesting history with the hives of Solomon. In the early years of his work as a fledgling Tech-Priest, he had been given numerous posts among the local nobility as a menial – as his reputation and experience grew, he began to gain favor among the houses. After the dramatic end of his tenure on Mars, he had known no better than to return to contract himself out to the nobility.
All he could do as he sat at the public tram terminal was reflect on his youth, and smile. Home sweet home, he thought, even if home was a smoke-blanketed decaying forest of old spires.
The Magos heard his vox ping, and took it out. "Max," he plainly said into the device.
"Everything fine? Team's repositioning, couldn't get a good look at you."
Commissar Audes. After the Lady and Freia's kidnapping on Fenksworld, Lamortes and Moerchen had feigned official Inquisitorial orders to relegate Audes and what remained of his regiment to their control, hoping to eventually use them to recover the Lady.
"Please, just because they lose track of me for a few moments doesn't mean I'm dead," Lamortes said into the vox.
Originally, the visit to Solomon had been made after Lamortes had swept for nearby Deathwatch teams at Moerchen's suggestion, in the interest of employing other Space Marines and whatever resources they had to track Vok. However, once the group was on Solomon, a message had been forwarded to the Magos inviting him to gain insight as to where Vok hid. Though well aware it could have been a trap, Lamortes was unwilling to let any such opportunity pass – there was simply nothing to be lost by investigating.
To that end, Audes had tailed Lamortes into Hive Gloriana with a team of Korpsmen in tow.
"That informant should be here any moment," the Magos announced, his voice low. "I know it's risky, but I don't want you following me. It could upset whoever this is."
"Understood," Audes said, and the vox went silent. Lamortes smiled, and put the machine away, content in knowing that Audes would completely ignore his request.
After a few minutes more of waiting, a fellow appeared, dressed in long robes and hooded such that almost all of his face was completely hidden – what Lamortes could see appeared augmetic.
"Magos Maddox?" the figure asked, its thick accent somewhat disorienting to the Magos.
"It is I," Lamortes playfully said.
"Come with me," the figure commanded, and then turned and walked. Lamortes got up and followed.
The robed man took Lamortes along the alleys – catwalks suspended within the abyssal crevices between spires. At one point the two passed a downed servitor, and Lamortes, intimately familiar with Solomon, stopped and made a brief prayer to the Omnissiah for the dead machine-slave before continuing on, warily watching the thing.
Deeper still into Hive Gloriana the two went, to places Lamortes had not even known existed against the thick walls of the noble spires: ghost-shanties populated only by feral animals, sites of fresh ganger conflict, and strange and quiet shrines to the Emperor bedecked with the Aquila.
Content that he had led the Magos far enough into the metropolitan hell, the figure stopped in front of a downward passageway carved into the side of a spire, and gestured inwards. Lamortes glanced over the surrounding garbage pit, and then entered.
The angled passage went down quite far, and the walls frequently opened up into spaces large enough for grown men to hide behind – defensive positions, which spoke volumes about the residents of wherever Lamortes was going. Suddenly, the Magos was worried about what he had gotten himself into.
Sure enough, when he went through a doorway at the very bottom of the passage, he entered into a room where a dozen alien weapons immediately turned on him.
Maddox Lamortes lifted up his hands in surrender, and weakly grinned.
"Well, balls," he said.

"This friend of yours is taking too long, Brother-Sergeant," Brother Argyros deadpanned.
Sergeant Guenther did not look to the Ultramarine Apothecary. "Patience, Brother. Patience."
"We have only waited a few minutes," noted Hrode, the Space Wolf. Even strapped into his power armor and jump pack, the bearded old Assault Marine looked like a harmless old man with his glinting soft eyes – a foolish notion, Guenther realized, for he was familiar with the wide range of specialties Hrode had practiced in his long service.
All of Argyros' complaints disappeared when Moerchen appeared across the bay floor. Guenther stepped forward to meet the Chaplain, hands outstretched in welcome. The two embraced, and then after stepping back shook hands.
"I see the Spirit of Death itself still reigns, Chaplain," Guenther commented.
"And I am glad to see it burns bright in you, Brother," Moerchen told the Sergeant. "I am glad to see you well, but this is not a simple visitation."
"I thought as much," Guenther said. "I would have been disappointed had it been anything less. What can my squad do for you?"
Argyros came forward. "I warn, honored Chaplain, that we are on short time here. We have work to do."
"I understand, but I come to you on a personal plea, brothers." Moerchen stepped back and looked over the three. "Is this your entire squad, Guenther? Surely the Deathwatch wouldn't insult you with such a small posting."
"No, no, we are joined by Lexicanium Aselmos of the Imperial Fists, and a Black Shield. They are… elsewhere."
The mention of the Black Shield piqued Moerchen's curiosity, but he ignored it. "I see. Then, I'll be quick."
The Chaplain paced along the decking. "The Chapter has allowed me to be attached to an Ordo Malleus Inquisitor for several years now. A matter of weeks ago, that Inquisitor was abducted by a renegade, who we've determined to be working for a Hereticus Extremis."
Moerchen kneeled, and bowed his head. "Brother-Sergeant Guenther, formerly of the Sixth Company, I plead to you as a fellow Death Spirits Marine, as your friend, and as a fellow Imperial servant: help me to save my Lady Inquisitor."
The group was silent, until Apothecary Argyros stepped forward.
"The Deathwatch has its own matters to deal with, Chaplain Moerchen," the Ultramarine said. "Your inability to protect this Inquisitor does not concern us, for we have higher tasks at hand."
"But it is a Hereticus Extremis I hunt!" Moerchen objected. "This is not some petty criminal, this is a monster which has plagued the good fold of the Emperor for generations! No doubt stands that if we were to raid his lair we would uncover enough evidence for the Ordos to elevate him to the status of Hereticus Terminus."
Hrode took a turn at questioning. "And what exactly is your plan for this one, then? Are you just going to save this Inquisitor, or do you truly intend to bring down the heretic as well?"
"I will save the Lady Inquisitor, and I will destroy this heretic's machinations in the act. I and my colleagues have already gathered a small taskforce for this endeavor – I wish for your Kill-team to be the spearhead which grants us victory."
Guenther grumbled, and folded his arms. "Argyros is right, though. We have come all this way from the Jericho Reach by way of the Jericho-Maw Gate, in pursuit of a very dangerous xeno."
"Xeno?" Moerchen lifted his head at this.
Guenther nodded. "The only one of its kind ever discovered. The Jericho Reach is full of those, really, but this one… we were meant to capture it, if possible, and take it back to Watch Fortress Erioch. But someone got to it first. We tracked them here to the Calixis Sector, and to this planet, but that is where the trail ends. Now that we are here, we must kill this thing. It is too risky to try to move it offworld. Were it not for that, and for the matter of tracking down whoever wanted this thing caught, then I would gladly help you."
"Let me assist you, then. You know I am no stranger to combat-"
Guenther scoffed. "Far from!"
Moerchen amusedly grunted, and stood. "And my colleagues and I can help you with any of the investigation that we Astartes would not be able to undertake."
Guenther rubbed at his chin, and smiled. "Yes… if we were to deal with this business together, then there would be nothing left for me to do, other than aid you in your cause, Brother-Chaplain. To be quite frank, though, I was counting on your willingness to assist me. I chose this meeting-place specifically for it."
Moerchen turned his head to the side. "What?"
"I had my reasons…"
"Come, we should get underway." Moerchen hoisted his crozius arcanum. "Any more time we spend here is time these smugglers have to hide this creature. Where is it hidden?"
The bay doors screeched as they began to slide open. "Funny you should ask about that…" Guenther said.
Hrode and Argyros both ducked into cover; Guenther slapped Moerchen on the pauldron before hiding behind a crate. The Chaplain, caught flatfooted initially, followed the Deathwatch into concealment.

"You."
Lamortes glanced around, attempting to ignore the kroot sniffing at his neck. One of the armored xenos pointed to him, and then patted its armored chest. The Magos beamed at him in mockery of the situation.
"You are Magos Maddox Lamortes?" the xeno asked, his accent rolling over the 'r' in the Magos's name.
Lamortes tilted his head from side to side like a fool. "Why, yes, that is me. I am he. He is I."
"Your wit will get you killed one day," the xeno warned.
"Why, that's what they tell me."
The others in the room chuckled at this, but the one speaking to Lamortes was not at all amused. "I am growing weary of interaction with you Gue'la."
"I'm sorry?"
The xeno grumbled. "Human. Humans. That is your word for your species, yes? Human?"
"Then I am terribly sorry to test your patience." Lamortes eyed the kroot as it squawked in dissatisfaction and backed away from him. "Kroot. I know them. They can be found in the few pockets of frontier-space around here, working as mercenaries for Rogue Traders and less legitimate business ventures. I know they originate from some other place, though, which implies…"
"Enough commentary." The xeno motioned to the guards to lower their weapons, then stepped out into the center of the chamber. "I understand a friend of yours has been kidnapped, yes?"
Lamortes narrowed his eyes. "How does any such business interest you?"
"Because from what I have heard, I suspect I know who did it." The xeno turned and walked up to the back wall – with a few pushes in proper places, the face of the wall slid downwards into the floor, revealing a holographic display – on the edge of what appeared to be the projector sat a data-slate.
"Yrtzen Vok. Is that name familiar to you?" Lamortes winced at this, which satisfied the xeno. "Yes, thought as much. We wish to see him dead, too."
"Why is that?" Lamortes asked.
"That is none of your concern. Know that he has betrayed us."
The xeno took up the data-slate, and stepped over to the Magos. "This contains a detailed list of locations where he might be hiding. We know he makes a circuit of them to ensure that he is never found."
Lamortes took the data-slate. "What is the cost of this information?"
"You will kill Vok. That is all we ask." The xeno folded its arms behind its back. "Do not even bother trying to inform your colleagues of us, either. We shall be gone from this world before the night is up."
Lamortes frowned, looked at the data-slate, then back up at the xeno. "Fair enough. You have my word."
"Good." The xeno looked up at the hooded one, standing in the doorway, robes lifted to avoid tripping - looking at him, Lamortes suddenly realized that the aliens all possessed hooved feet.
The lead-xeno ordered the disguised one in what Lamortes assumed was their language, and then looked back at the Magos. "You will be escorted back to your previous location. If he is harmed in any way, we will invoke a wrath upon you of immeasurable magnitude. Go."
And with that, Lamortes gladly left.

The bay doors slowly opened wide, shining the harsh light of the system's sun into the bay. A heavy cargo freighter hovered in, and put down in the center of the hangar. Moerchen could hear crewmen disembarking from the craft, shouting orders and directions as the craft's engines died down.
Then the Chaplain looked up: across the hangar, on a walkway connecting the bay's observation post to the neighboring hangars, a Marine clad in the black of the Deathwatch came up out of cover with a heavy missile launcher braced over his shoulder.
"Down!" Guenther shouted into his comm-bead. Moerchen dropped to the hangar floor as the Marine on the walkway fired the launcher.
The front of the freighter detonated, then the rest went up, pouring wreckage over the hangar. Guenther leapt from cover, unslinging his boltgun; Moerchen unholstered his bolt pistol and followed his comrade into the open.
What crew had survived the blast had been knocked prone, and were easy targets for Guenther while Hrode and Argyros rushed into the shattered fuselage of the craft, its remaining mass wreathed in black smoke.
As the smoke settled down to normal visibility, a massive shipping crate could be made out sitting in the midst of the wreckage. With his helmet, Moerchen could see far more detailed pictures of it, including "Turas-Hie" on the side. A thermographic view indicated the vast majority of the crate was extremely cold – cryogenics.
"Looks like the thing's containment made it out intact," Argyros noted. "How should we approach eliminating it?"
"An orbital bombardment would be attractive," joked Guenther. "But of course, that won't work. Perhaps we should contact a civilian freighter and have it lifted to a point where we can throw it into the local star?"
Hrode laughed at this. "We should have left the damned craft intact, then," he shouted.
All planning shattered when a section of the crate tore open from within, a wicked bone-colored blade as long as a Space Marine was tall protruding from the hole. Argyros and Hrode immediately backed off from the crate as an entirely different sent of blades began to cut the container down its midsection, creating a sizeable hole.
An insect-like head tore through the gap, hundreds of chittering mandibles squirming and clicking beneath a cone-like skull with a dozen glowing yellow eyes. The top of the abomination's cranium-analog was crowned with overlapping plates, atop which were a variety of long, blade-like protrusions. Ice sloughed off the top of its mass in vast sheets. The thing's maw was producing all numbers of horrible sounds. It squalled at the Space Marines as they opened fire on it, raining thick spittle against everything before it, including Moerchen and Guenther.
The thing ripped its way free of its imprisonment, sliding out a grub-like body upon two pairs of blade-like appendages used as stilts. The monstrosity's backside was covered in segmented, chitinous carapace, which brought Moerchen quickly recognized.
"A Tyranid!" he shouted, before going to cover to avoid a reaping swipe of the monster's scything limbs. As if to confirm its nature, it screeched at the group.
Argyros and Hrode's boltguns were having little effect on the beast – whenever a round exploded against its carapace, it failed to even leave a mark; where a bolt hit its flesh, the damage was almost negligible.
"Aim for the head!" Guenther shouted over his comm-bead. "Disperse your fire, keep it guessing what to attack! Arm Kraken bolts when your clip is depleted!"
Moerchen saw the Marine up on the walkway rearming his launcher. Another Marine, his armor painted the dark blue of the Librarium, rushed into the bay from a side-passage with an Aquila staff clutched in his hands.
Apparently aware that Guenther was the one commanding its attackers, the Tyranid lunged at him with its forward pair of scything arms. The thing missed an attempt to rake him in, but instead managed to graze his face with a second swipe – tearing one of Guenther's eyes from its socket and cutting deep into his nose.
"Guenther is down!" Moerchen shouted, and quickly began firing again to get the monster away from his fellow. The Chaplain gained the Tyranid horror's attention with a few shots aimed for an eye-cluster. The thing quickly decided Moerchen was a more immediate threat than the dazed and bleeding Guenther, and scrambled towards him on its legs.
The Marine on the walkway fired on it then, his aim intersecting with where the Tyranid's head would be as it clambered for Moerchen. The hit was direct, and the effects gruesome: the Tyranid stumbled to the side, howling, a large part of its left eye-cluster disintegrated by the krak missile. Alien gore dripped to the hangar floor, blue blood raining down from the wound.
Lexicanium Aselmos raised his hand towards the Tyranid. His eyes burned blue-white, he cried out in fury, and brilliant streaks of electricity arced from his palm to the abomination, contacting with its underbelly. The thing, already attempting to recover from the krak missile, fell over on its side.
Moerchen and Hrode quickly took the opportunity to charge the overturned behemoth, weapons raised to strike at the fallen creature.
While Hrode contented himself to assault the Tyranid's underbelly, Moerchen decided the best course of action was to take off its legs. While the thing twitched and shuddered, Moerchen took his crozius to its armored limb, and swung the powered mace in an executing motion.
The crozius simply bounced off the carapace, quite uselessly. A sheath of electricity licked the surface of the creature's plates, dying down as the Chaplain took his weapon away from its surface.
Astounded, Moerchen was caught when the thing lifted up its head again. It swept Moerchen's feet out from under him as it struggled to bring itself back upright. The Lexicanium launched another arc at it, but the creature seemed to be resisting the paralyzing strike, pushing against it. Another missile from the walkway struck its mandible-mass, destroying it and disorienting the Tyranid again.
When the Tyranid collapsed, Hrode charged for its head. He leapt with his jump pack, and landed square in the bloody mass of its ruined eyes. The Space Wolf stabbed his chainsword down into the hole, flecks of ichor spitting up along the teeth.
The weapon bit deeper and deeper into the thing's mass, causing it to writhe and flail, but Hrode was firmly lodged in between two sets of bone, and had little trouble holding while it attempted to get up. Finally, after much struggle, the Tyranid stopped squirming.
Hrode stepped down from the thing's skull, blue blood dripping from every edge of his armor. His grey-brown beard was matted with gore.
"That thing's plating… was energized?" Moerchen looked over the Deathwatch squad – the Apothecary was tending to Guenther, while the Black Shield was loading up his gear on the walkway.
"It is what made it unique," Lexicanium Aselmos said as he approached. "But it is dead now. Hopefully we do not see another strain like this again."
"Indeed. A creature which can shrug off power weaponry is a troubling prospect." Moerchen watched Argyros lift up the downed Sergeant. "What shall we do now?"
"Return to our vessel, the Grim Vigil, so that we may get the Sergeant the care he needs. You are welcome to come with us, especially after this."
"What of the xeno's corpse?"
"Brother Viktor – the 'Black Shield,' he will load it with explosives to destroy the mass. We'll inform the Inquisitorial offices here that this hangar needs to be sealed off and cleansed of the alien's taint."
The Lexicanium gestured to the others, and they left with their wounded Sergeant.

Hrode crossed his arms, and furrowed his brow. "You mean to tell me that this… Yrtzen Vok… was smuggling that disgusting creature?"
Moerchen nodded. "I saw it on the crate. Turas-Hie is one of Vok's front-agencies. We discovered this after one of their superfreighters turned out to be a warship under his command."
Guenther, sporting an augmetic preparation-patch over his eye, and a long suture-line across his scarred face, grinned softly – anything more hurt him. "Then I suppose we have no choice but to help you. This Yrtzen Vok is a menace."
Moerchen bowed his head. "I am in your debt, Brother."
"It is already repaid, Moerchen." Guenther looked over his squad: they sat, listening, amongst crates in one of the Grim Vigil's hangars. "I trust none of you will object to assisting the Chaplain and the Magos?"
Nobody said anything.
"Good to hear. But where do we begin to search for this Vok?"
Lamortes, squatting in the shadow of the shuttle from the Wrath of Justice, spoke up then: "I ascertained some information from my contacts as to where he might be hiding…" He held up the data-slate he had acquired earlier. "It's all here. A bunch of rarely-visited systems, several of which are uncharted, but can be located by a good Navigator…"
"Where did that information come from?" Guenther asked, astonished.
"No," Moerchen quickly said. "Better we do not know. All that matters now is that we have a means of hunting Vok down."
Hrode excitedly bellowed with hardy laughter, his voice voice ringing through the hangar. "Then let's get under way! There's no time to waste! This opportunity could vanish at any instant!"
"Yes, but we should make a small detour." Lamortes raised a finger. "We are two vessels, one little more than a heavily-armed frigate, the other a simple Astartes destroyer. Vok demonstrated enough firepower to annihilate a good half of Battlefleet Calixis. If we're going to go try chase him down, we should at least increase our chances first."
"What do you suggest?" asked Moerchen.
"I suggest it's time we get the Valkyrie out of drydock," Lamortes said.