A/N:

Story is picking up momentum again. Time if flying so fast (work is steady and busy) that I feel like I turn around and far too much time has passed without me writing. Had a bit of inspiration tonight to get this one finished up though. In a sleep-deprived-happy-mood so I thought I'd share a fun Dark Heresy story.

Story goes like this: Party is on a jungle planet. Psyker climbs tree, falls into lake. While trying to get help, Perils of the Warp happens, switches minds with Tech Priest (yours truly). Tech priest finds himself drowning in water, assumes Psyker is trying to murder him. Minds unswitch, Tech Priest shoots Psyker in head with plasma cutter when Psyker gets out of water. Manages to not kill him, because party won't let him coup-de-grace. Another Perils of the Warp throws Tech Priest back in time. Tech Priest discovers that it was an accident, apologizes. Next day, party finds a cave filled with strange crystalline formations. Crystalline formations prove to be hostile creatures that drop Tech Priest to 0 wounds in one shot. Fearing imminent death, Tech Priest throws melta bomb and obliterates 2 of 3 creatures. Melta Bomb causes tunnel collapse. Arbiter knocked unconscious by falling rocks, Tech Priest also knocked unconscious dragging out Arbiter (who had threatened to shoot him for causing cave-in). Assassin and Priest assume that Tech Priest is going insane and cut off Tech Priest's head with his power axe. Assassin, Priest, Medic, Psyker, and Scoundrel all terribly wounded, all in critical condition. Arbiter burnt last fate point to stay alive, is now 50% cybernetics.

Enemies-0, Party-0, Tech Priest- Finally got to commit Tech Heresy and nearly wiped party!

Best night of Dark Heresy ever. Got to royally screw with GM, Arbiter (bit of a turd), and had the rest of the party laughing their bums off all night long.

For my reviewers:

Disciple of Ember- Don't worry, Chaotic Neutral isn't going to stay around long. But I promise you, he isn't going any sort of Lawful, and he won't be staying in any one place one the chart for very long. Louk has plenty more to come.

drSpliff- reviews like yours keep me pumped for writing. Now I just need the discipline to keep this as part of my daily schedule.

89- thanks for the encouragement. Been playing against/with a Sisters of Battle 40k player recently. Gotta say, never underestimate the Sororitas. 33 melta guns in a 2k game makes everyone cry. Penance is going to channel some serious Sororitas rage before this story is completed. And maybe after, too...

BIBOTOT- Glad that the scene with the witch went over well. I need to find a good lady friend who's into Sci Fi, because I feel like I'm swinging blind with this whole 'female emotions' thing that I've heard about. Also, did that story you were trying to co-write ever kick off? I haven't seen if it's gone up yet, and was interested in reading it if you guys get it rolling.

And finally, time for more of Louk's Shanneghnegans... (it's punny, hah! I'm going to bed now)

The Hound's Call

The ship launched into the Warp with little fuss, as far as Louk knew. He didn't know that a minor power fluctuation in the geller field resulted in the total collapse of three decks in the aft portion of the Dregs. He didn't know that two hundred and fifteen unlucky sods were sucked out into the Warp, and another eight possessed by demons that raged for an hour and a half before being put down by Captain Miracu's stormtrooper contingent. The battle was short but bloody. Twenty-three stormtroopers and thirty naval armsmen died before the demons were put down. A thorough sweep of the breached portion of the ship by combat teams backed by adepts and engineers sealed incursion points and secured the ship against further invasion by Warp denizens.

Lieutenant Eulogy's Praetorians and Sergeant Nicolai's Thracians deployed to protect the the rest of the ship, but little occurred for note. One rampaging demon-host managed to tear through the armsmen cordon and reached the stairs that led up to Glory Road. Furious volleys of autogun fire and krak grenades obliterated the beast before it could reach them. One of the Thracians caught a third degree burn on his scalp from scalding residue, but that was the sum of the matter.

Louk missed all that, of course, because he was busy sleeping off one hell of a hangover. Getting sloshed with Gutterball never proved to be a good idea. He regretted it every time, like this time, when he woke up on the floor of Anna's room surrounded by empty bottles. The odorous stench of the mutant filled his nostrils, its snoring pounded through his skull like banging drums. A small foot rested just inches from his face. Anna's foot?

"Feck me," he grumbled, rolling onto his back and sitting up slowly. Keeping his eyes closed, he took several shallow breaths and waited for the pain to fade. He still had his clothes on. That was good. Peeking to the side, he confirmed that everyone else was similarly draped. Praise the Golden Throne he hadn't gotten that drunk.

"You wish" Anna groaned. Her head poked up from the mop of black locks and she shot him a very cross look. "Throne, I like that liquor. Wass'its name again?"

"Bloody headache, I think." He pulled himself to his feet and glanced around to ascertain what he had lots. Scooping up his coat, and a generous helping of thrones from the pile that had accumulated on the small nightstand they had used as a card table, he nodded to them both and slipped out even as Gutterball began to stir. Anna half-heartedly shouted after him about the thrones belonging to her. Not that he cared. He couldn't remember a thing from the night before, and he was betting she couldn't either.

Holy hell, he could hardly see straight. Leaning against the bulkhead for support, he made his way down the passage in the direction that probably was towards the Dregs. Idly pulling his jacket on, he tried to count the coins in his hand, but he was too off to count higher than… feck it. He pocketed the change and kept stumbling onwards, hoping to find the stairs before he tripped on something hard.

"Reaper!"

Penance stood in front of him, and it looked like she was swaying from side to side. Or maybe he was. He wasn't quite sure. Given that the former Sister had no sense of humor, and was not given to consuming the drink, it was probably him. Her customary frown of disapproval read clearly enough. That was an unmistakable sight that he had grown used to a long time ago.

"'sup, Pen'ce?"

"Inquisitor Helsing requests your presence immediately." Her nose wrinkled as he drew nearer, gracing her with the stink of liquor and sweat. "Clean yourself and present yourself to him within the hour."

"Will do." He nodded and yawned. "His lab?"

"Yes."

"Understood. See you there."

Penance took a step back and gave him a curt nod of dismissal. It was clear even to his hungover mind that she was not keen on remaining in his presence.

"Reaper."

"Yup?"

"I considered the events of yesterday." Her frown softened. "I believe I my actions were uncalled for. The scuffle between yourself and Anna was not of your making. I believe that the stress of our current mission is affecting my temperament. In such I was harsher than necessary, and spoke unjustly."

"Um… sure." He shrugged, uncertain of what to make of her statement. It sounded dangerously close to an apology. Before he could mull through it, the woman disappeared up a side passage. Mumbling quietly under his breath, he continued on his way back towards the Dregs. He sniffed his shirt and swore when he realized just how badly he reeked. When he finally got to the his room, after bypassing several armed checkpoints and a pair of armsmen patrols scouring the Dregs for any remnant trouble. It took a good, long shower to clean himself off, then some more time to find appropriately clean clothes. When he was finally ready, and only a little buzzed from his hangover, he made his way back up to Helsing's laboratory.

A fully armed squad of Praetorians guarded the elevator entrance. Louk greeted them cordially enough, one eyebrow raised in wonder at the heavy escort. Helsing rarely called on troops to guard his laboratory. He had plenty of his own defenses to bring to bear.

"Heard you boys had a fight this morning."

"Hardly a fight, it was" Sergeant Harps replied, grinning cheekily. "Gave the bastard a right thrashing with little fuss. Only trouble was that the lieutenant wasn't able to lay into it. She was a mite riled up after that scrap."

"I can imagine." He could picture her standing alongside her ordered ranks of Guardsmen, her rune-etched saber waving about like a battleflag. Lieutenant Eulogy had a passion for the drama and excitement of battle. She had a damn good head on her shoulders when lasers were flying, too.

"Pity you missed it. Would've finally met a mug uglier than your own."

"Eh, feck you too, Harps." Louk nudged him as he strode past. "What're you doing up here? Shouldn't you be helping Miracu's troopers or something?"

"Sure, sure. But the boss-man's called us up here to do some escorting, so he has."

"Escorting who?"

"Why, that bloody Eldar lass, of course."

As the Praetorian sergeant spoke he turned and gestured down towards Helsing's laboratory entrance. Lieutenant Eulogy stood outside, her hands clasped behind her back, her posture straight as a Guardsman's bayonet. Her head turned slowly in his direction, taking his arrival in with a single, uninterested glance. Offering a slight tilt of her head, she acknowledged him once before returning her attention to whatever occupied her thoughts.

"Which bloody Eldar lass?"

"The one that's got you all hot and bothered, or so word is."

"What?" Louk rounded on the man, frozen between fear and alarm. The Praetorians were doing a bad job of hiding their smiles. Harps was just screwing with him. It took a particular kind of fearlessness to throw out an accusation like that. The large brogue-spitting Praetorian sergeant had taken a double portion of the Guard-issue balls of steel when he signed on to army life. He was uncouth but respectful, by and large, and his natural charisma had helped forge the Praetorian Rifles into the crack unit they were today. It spoke volumes about the state of the men that they were willing to joke about something so serious.

"The fiery one, Reaper. Lidrana, or whatever her name is."

"Oh. That one." Louk growled at them, silencing a few, but the rest kept chuckling. "What's she doing up here?"

"Not a clue in the galaxy. We're not paid to know things, just to kill them."

Excusing himself with an exaggerated bow, Louk moved past the Praetorians and headed for the entrance to Helsing's laboratory. Lieutenant Eulogy turned to face him, masking her displeasure at the sight of him with a grimace directed at his clothes. Clean enough for Louk's tastes, but still unkempt and humble.

"Hold a minute. The Inquisitor is entertaining a guest."

"So I heard." Louk jerked a thumb in the direction of the squad. "What conniving scheming is our fearless leader up to this time?"

"What our Inquisitor does it none of your business" she snapped, her irritation plain on her face. She rarely appreciated his wit, and certainly never did when he poked fun about their master. "My guess would be that he is smoothing things over after you decided to chain up the Eldar like they were slaves."

"I feel like everyone's forgetting that they're xenos" Louk grumbled. "And bitchy ones at that."

"Did I say I disapproved?" She reached over and rapped on the hatch. "Wait here."

She refused to say anything more while they waited for the hatch to open. Five minutes passed, then ten. Louk's stomach growled noisily, reminding him that he had not eaten since early the day before. The faintest hint of a satisfied smile threatened to spill across the lieutenant's mouth at his discomfort. He weathered the silence with a stoic grimace, focusing on anything that wasn't his stomach. The Praetorian officer had a heavy jacket wrapped over one arm. That was interesting. Well, for a minute. He exhausted all attention on the jacket after deciding that it was not her own. She was holding it for someone. Not Helsing, because it was far too small for him. But it also was not hers. She would have set it down or had one of her soldiers carry it. It belonged to someone else.

When the hatch finally slid open, Lieutenant Eulogy and held out her arm with all the measured certainty of a woman who knew her role in things. Louk knew who was about to step out, but it still unnerved him to see Lidrana exit Helsing's laboratory in ordinary, fashionably cut civilian attire. Whoever had picked it out knew tailoring. Knowing the myriad of eccentric pursuits that Helsing entertained, he would not have been surprised to discover that Helsing had spun the dress himself.

To say that the dress fit her well would have been a travesty. In much the same way that the ancient skald Shakespeare crafted his three supreme plays, the tailor of the Eldar's dress had created a masterpiece that drew the eyes in all the right ways while deflecting curiosity from the wearer's true form. Ribbon-silk flowed down from Lidrana's shoulders like a waterfall, covering her body in a formless grace, leaping and kicking ahead of her movements as if it had a mind of its own. It was pleasantly eye-catching, but not close-fit enough to overtly remind the passerby that she was not, in fact, human. It hid her unnatural physique beneath an indistinguishable softness, eased the sharp lines of her angular and stilted form into something more human. A carefully wrapped shawl covered her fine-tipped ears and her dazzling red hair, muting her exotic features enough that a casual glance would evoke nothing more than a passing wonder at her tailor's skill.

A more dedicated stare… that was what the jacket was for. She slipped into the suffocating black jacket silently, regarding Lieutenant Eulogy with a derisive sneer as she did. The Praetorian matched her gaze fiercely, her own disgust open to any observer. They were pretty similar, Louk mused. Both were stubborn as an Ogryn with its head stuck in a rubbish bin, intelligent as Abbadon himself, and beautiful in a condescending standoffish way. Just the kind of woman to get a sane man's head all in a tizz. Thank the Throne he was not sane.

"Morning, darlin'." Louk winked at the Eldar, though he did not feel any mirth in the gesture. Her burning gaze rotated to lock with his eyes. She did not say a word. Sniffing dismissively, she stepped past him and headed straight for the waiting Praetorian soldiers. The lieutenant's squad stood to at her approach, snatching up their weapons with languid urgency. Sergeant Harps reached over to summon the elevator that would take them back to the Eldar's quarters. "Got places to be, I see. Catch you later."

"Reaper!" Helsing's voice rang out from inside his laboratory. It was amazing how far his voice carried with just a little bit of emphasis. He hadn't even raised his voice. "Inside, now."

"Say a prayer for me, Ell-Tee. I think I'm about to get spanked."

Eulogy's eyelid twitched and she strode off to join her men. Chuckling to himself, he stepped inside Helsing's laboratory and began steeling himself for whatever was about to get shoved down his throat. If he had any guess, Helsing had most likely just reversed the decisions he had made, and then fired him from the position. The thought stopped him cold. If Helsing removed him from the position, he would not be able to see the witch again. The realization bothered him more than it should have. He gulped down the uncontrollable shiver that wanted to ripple across his spine. His back was hurting again. Throne damn that blasted thing.

The inside of Helsing laboratory looked less like a functional office than it did something out of a bizarre xenos-hunter flick. Helsing was many things, but at the core of it all he was a man blessed with divine curiosity and a heartfelt appreciation for the weapons, physiologies, and cultures of Mankind's numerous enemies. This passion of his reflected itself in the oppressive business of his laboratory. Every inch of bulkhead had a map, a chart, a hanging bag filled with innumerable herbs and chemicals. Every desk and table, and there were many, held piles of books and remnants of some dissection or autopsy. Louk spied several items of proclaimed heretical value within arm's reach of the hatch. As a member of the eccentric Ordo Xenos, Helsing had an undefined amount of leeway in dealing with said heretical objects. Sometimes Louk wondered if his interest was purely academic, or something more. There were some things in Helsing's possession that even Louk questioned the legitimacy of.

Things like the blocky, cobbled-together monstrosity that had been the rifle of an ill-fated Ork Warboss called Yargh One-Eye until Anna decided she didn't like his name. His skull, now a gigantic fire-washed ornament over one of the many examination tables, creeked noisily as the laboratory reasserted its internal atmosphere. A glimmer of light reflected from the two crystal plates that occupied its empty eye sockets. The one socket bore scratches and deep furrows in the bone from the cannibalized cybernetics that had replaced the creature's original lost eye. The other was pristine and undamaged by the hotshot las round that had incinerated his brains. It had taken Dunk'er to lift the monster's head and carry it back to the Imperial lines, Anna skipping alongside him with glee as she made sure everyone in earshot understood that he was now to be called 'Yargh No-Eyes'.

The skull was an easy enough to understand trophy. The rifle though… he didn't know what to make of that. He had stood present as Helsing took the weapon apart with mechanical and holistic precision. Roughly the size of an Astartes missile launcher, the weapon had been wielded one-handed by the warboss. It spat dozens of shells a second, each powerful enough to rock a Chimera on its tracks. Surely there had to be some infernal mechanism inside that granted the shells such power. That's what any man would have thought. But no. To Louk's surprise, and a bit of rational horror, the internal components of the weapon were nonexistent. Just a slot for the Ork's ammunition to feed into the firing chamber, a hammer, and a trigger. No more complex mechanisms than that. It didn't even have a firing pin, or a bolt, or… anything that was supposed to be there. It didn't make any sense. The weapon wasn't functional. It shouldn't have been functional.

That battle had been years ago. Since then Helsing had tried numerous times to replicate the weapon's effects. He had studied it for signs of unusual magnetic properties, tested the metal components, even tried replacing individual parts in the vain hope that he could understand how the Ork rifle worked. In their hands it hadn't fired a single shell.

Louk stepped past the rifle, eyes lingering on it for a moment too long. That had been first encounter with Eulogy's Praetorians. He still remembered how disheveled and dirty her company had been. Ordinarily reserved for more commando-style missions, they had found themselves deployed to the Ork frontier after the then-Captain Eulogy slew an allied officer in a duel of honor. Louk still wasn't sure of the whole details of the matter. The lieutenant was held in near-reverence by her soldiers, and they zipped up tighter than a Sister's power armor whenever he asked. What happened in the Guard, stayed in the Guard. Just another reminder that he was an outsider in Helsing's merry band of misfits.

"I am in the back, Reaper." Helsing's voice carried as clearly as if he stood beside Louk. Turning to the sound of his voice, Louk pressed on through the barely navigable mess, stepping over denounced historical texts, slipping around a Loxatl flechette blaster, and resisted the urge to pocket a glittering crystal taken from a Tau commander's personal belongings. If a shrewd buyer tried to sell a fraction of the things Helsing had in this laboratory, he'd be set for the rest of his life.

And hunted by a good hundred of the Inquisition's most zealous agents.

There were some experiments and research that Louk was allowed to participate in. Usually as little more than a fetcher, but on rare occasions he got to experience first hand just what it was that Helsing did. He'd held down a thrashing gretchin as Helsing applied various concoctions to its skin to see their effects. The had discovered a few kinds of alchemical compounds that worked marvels against the supernaturally redundant Ork biology, but so far they had not had a chance to test it on a large scale, or so Helsing said. Personally, Louk did not mind if it stayed that way. He had fought against Orks once. Never again would be too soon.

The musty, rank stench of one of Helsing's newer experiments greeted him as he stepped into the inner room of the laboratory. This was the second of four. The third was a clean room, designed for more discrete and dangerous matters. The fourth room contained Throne knew what, and Helsing wasn't keen on anyone finding out. When asked, Helsing had given him a steely expression that threatened immediate execution should he attempt to breach the armored bulkhead that protected the fourth room.

The second room, though. This was the room he detested. Not because it was filled with jellied Ork heads kept in glass containers, nor because it carried the constant aroma of xenos organs, nor even because this was where Helsing kept his most dangerous artifacts. He hated it because he was only ever invited into this room when things were bad. This was the room where he had been formally conscripted into Helsing's services. This was the room where he had been told they were going to Gaull. This was the room where Helsing had asked him what he knew of a backwater world known as Tenea.

Compared to the first room, the second might as well have been a quarantine room. I was white and spotless, apart from the collection of xenos odds and ends, and held no furniture beyond a simple steel-framed desk and a pair of cushioned recliner chairs. Inquisitor Helsing sat in one, idly sipping from a glass of amasec as he perused a well-used copy of Inquisitor Gideon Ravenor's Spheres of Longing. Probably one of the most popular books known across Imperial agency. It seemed like everyone had a copy of it tucked somewhere in their possessions.

Waiting respectfully to be summoned inside, Louk tucked his hands in his pockets. He remembered with more than a bit of relief that the Xenos spirit stone was truly gone. Remembering the quiet grimace on the witch's face, the silence of her tears, it made him nervous to stand in Helsing's presence. He didn't care much for the rules, but he knew that small interaction had crossed some severe boundaries. Rule number one when guarding a prisoner: do not establish any sort of relationship with the prisoner. Do not smile at them, talk to them, do not allow oneself to be vulnerable. Right now, he was pretty sure he was vulnerable. He didn't like that. He didn't like knowing that someone else could get him killed. And he didn't like the fact that he could not speak to Helsing about such matters. If he told Helsing what he had done, there was a good chance he wouldn't have time to beg for forgiveness before he got a bullet in the brain.

Brain. Psker. Shit.

"Something the matter, Reaper?" Helsing's eyebrow arched imperiously, his only hint of command to enter. Stepping quietly into the room, and feeling much less sure of himself than he had a moment ago, Louk went to stand beside the other chair. He waited until Helsing shot the empty seat a pointed look before sitting down. Closing his book, Helsing set it on the desk and reached for an unused glass. There were three in total: one in Helsing's hand, one full and untouched, and a third that now received amasec from a curve-necked bottle. Louk resisted the thoughts that sprang to mind. Lidrana must not be a drinker. That was another point not in her favor.

"The matter? Life's about the same" he told the Inquisitor, thinking quickly to steer his words away from anything incriminating. "Had a bender with Gutterball and Anna last night. Still a bit sore from that."

"You do appear a bit under the weather" Helsing agreed. He offered Louk the third glass, and the rogue accepted it gratefully. High class alcohol was not his thing, but Helsing had a good eye for his spirits. "Though I was not referring to your post-inebriated state. You are… exhausted, my friend."

"Eldar are hard work."

"So they are." Helsing knocked back his glass and set it aside. "I just had an interesting conversation with Lidrana, about many things, in truth. But I must say, you are taking your job more seriously than I had initially thought you would."

"In a good way or bad way?" Louk sniffed at the amasec, a habit he had picked up from watching the elite of society at the numerous functions Helsing had attended, whether formally or under cover. Hadn't a clue why they did it, except maybe their spoiled noses could tell the difference between yearly vintage. His repetition of the quirk amused Helsing, who allowed a slight smile.

"You made efforts to make them comfortable, to attend to their needs. I understand that they are stubborn and proud beings. While I do not condone all of your actions, such as they are, you are proving to be more than capable."

"And here I was thinking you were going to toss me out an airlock" Louk chuckled, his nerves calmed by a sip of the deliciously smooth drink. It had flavorful touch, backed with a buttery-soft aftertaste that sent a pleasant tingling through his lungs. Excellent, as he had expected.

"If I had not thought you capable of handling the Eldar, I would not have given you the position." Somehow Helsing managed to not make the comment seem condescending. "You are impulsive and headstrong, a quality that can add or detract from your value depending on the circumstances. Training you to temper that quality, that is the real test."

"And you're willing to everything that could possibly go wrong because you want to test me?"

"Naturally." The Inquisitor placed a hand on the Spheres of Longing. "Through fearsome trial, the will of the faithful is forged into the Emperor's Will. Pity the man that knows not his limits, for he is no true man."

"Ah." Louk nodded knowingly. "So what the hell does that mean?"

"It means," the Inquisitor said with an amused chuckle, "that you may well be destined for greater things. Before you can reach your full potential, you must stretch yourself towards your goal. Or should I say, simply put, iron sharpens iron."

"Okay, you've that part before." Draining his glass quickly, he half-stood and placed his glass on the table. "Still, you're putting up with one hell of a risk, trusting me with the Eldar. I know I wouldn't trust myself with them. Too many ways this could go sideways."

"Which is precisely why I chose you. You are fully aware of the horrible things that might go wrong. That makes you cautious. And caution leads to details. And details lead to success."

"I think there may be a few more steps in there" he muttered.

"Point aside, I must also admit that I find some entertainment in your work. You have finally found someone with a skull as thick as your own."

His last words were clearly spoken in good humor. That helped put Louk at ease, and he wondered for a moment if he could risk telling Helsing about the Eldar's spirit stone. He still didn't know what it was, or what it even did. As far as caution went, he might have royally screwed the pooch.

"What was she doing here, by the way? If I'm allowed to know?"

"I am curious about them" Helsing admitted. He relaxed in his chair, crossing one leg over the other, and resting a hand on his knee. This position, Louk knew, meant he was safe. Helsing was being open with him right now. Those times came few and far between. It was a subtle indication of complete trust.

"Curious how? I mean, besides the fact that they're xenos and dangerous and all sorts of wigged."

"Certainly." The Inquisitor fixed him with a bemused grin. "There is much we can learn from them. The Eldar race once ruled the galaxy, you know. Far before the time of men. They too have lost much. But they remember more. I have heard rumors of Eldar so ancient that they saw the Emperor on the field of battle."

"I'd hate to be in that bastard's family reunion." Louk bared his teeth in a feral grin. "Be one hell of a one-upper."

"Amusing thought aside, the Eldar possess technology that is quite honestly far beyond the ability of mankind. We work wonders through brute force and calculation. The Eldar can tap into the very nature of the galaxy and mold it to their will. On a more practical note, in this instance their knowledge is singularly valuable."

He gestured to the wall to their right. A vast chart of data lay spread from the ceiling to the floor, all connected by light-lines and marked with indicators. Louk studied the chart for a long minute, taking advantage of the silence that Helsing offered. It did not take him long to realize the meaning of it.

"You've been burning the midnight glow lamp" he said, rising from his chair to more closely examine the charts.

"Getta has been incredibly helpful in compiling data" Helsing told him. "She is a tireless worker and an adept scholar."

"Huh."

"I sense something behind that" Helsing observed. The clack of his boots on the tiled floor alerted Louk to his approach. The Inquisitor appeared at his side, intentionally not looking at Louk.

"Oh, I just heard that you'd made a move on her, is all."

"You realize you are possibly the only being on this ship who could say that to my face and walk away unscathed" Helsing told him. Louk shrugged. "No, I am not engaged in extracurricular activities with Getta. She is a… wonderful woman, to be sure. Very beautiful and intelligent. I am growing fond of her. But no more so than I am fond of any of you."

Louk shot him a sidelong glance. "My apologies then. I'd thought you two a good match."

"No, Reaper. I am not so proud to say that I am impervious to the charms a beautiful woman."

"Bullshit. I've never seen you so much as wink at a woman before when not playing a winner. If I knew you any better I'd swear you were a Throne-damned celibate monk."

"Poor monks" Helsing replied. "I'll have you know that there is a woman in my life."

Louk hesitated. He had no idea if the Inquisitor was screwing with him or not. As long as Louk had known him, he had never known Helsing to get it on, not even when one of those smoking hot nobilite practically threw themselves at him. Geneviere MonDuclair, a sector-renowned opera performer, had all-but begged him for a shag once. The man had an excuse a day to get his game on, but he never did. Either he was a blasted diag or he had the Emperor's patience. Not that Louk complained. He'd enjoyed the company of more than a couple frustrated damsels who failed to get into the Inquisitor's pants. No, Louk decided. Helsing was screwing with him.

"This mystery woman got a name?"

"You would not have heard of her" Helsing told him.

Louk stared hard at him. The Inquisitor showed no hint of dishonesty. "You're playing me. There isn't a dame in the 'verse good enough for you. You're one of them weird ones that tells love to go hang itself."

"Because you are such an expert on love" Helsing shot back. He stretched out a hand and tapped one of the image papers on the chart. It was a pict of the witch's face. "But we are digressing from the point of this conversation. This is why I called you in, Reaper. As I was saying before you drove us down this silly hob's trail, I have been studying this rumored prophecy. Though we have practically nothing to work with, between myself, Getta, and Abara, we have pieced together enough details to have an idea of what we are facing. There is much we don't know, but one thing we do. She is the focal point of this… issue. Something about her is important. And we need to discover what that is."

"Why don't you ask her?" Louk tapped his head. "Sure she's not a talker right now, but she's a psyker. So are you. I'm sure if you put your heads together, you'd get this all figured out."

"Please, never say that again." Helsing's grimace was nearly comical. "And yes, that would ordinarily be the way to go about this. I am afraid, however, that communication with the witch is… difficult. She lost more than her tongue on the torturer's rack."

Louk frowned and thought back to his time with her. He hadn't noticed any other parts missing.

"I mean that her mind was subjected to unthinkable depravities. She was not just broken in body, Reaper, but in the mind too. Her mental state is delicate, to say the least. And her control is, well, not there."

"What do you mean?" Louk remembered how she had frozen the hatch, and how she had sent ice spilling up his arm. She certainly seemed in control of her powers.

"You understand how the eye works, don't you? Light comes in, is reflected to the nerves in the back, and transmits itself to the brain where it is then reinterpreted into the correct orientation? Consider the witch's mind an eye. She has lost the ability to reflect what comes in, to shape it. What power she currently has is instinctual, imprecise. I tried speaking with her, but she lacks the coherency to properly communicate. Instead of words, she transmits in…"

"Colors?" Louk nodded. "When she took a walk in my brain, she did that. Just a big ball of light that reflected her mood, or something."

"Yes, that is what I saw as well. She is unable to fully communicate, nor is she willing. I spoke to Lidrana, she is not telling me either. The Eldar are reluctant to divulge her name. That in itself is more than enough to pique my interest. For now, it is a mystery and one that we need to solve."

"And we so love mysteries." Louk cracked his knuckles for lack of something better to occupy his hands. "So do we even know what this prophecy is about?"

"We're learning, but no, we know very little."

"Not even a hint?"

"That is your job." Helsing patted his shoulder. "You have established a reputation with the Eldar. I want you to see what you can find, try to get them to open up."

"You want me to make them talk? What are my limits?"

"Being friendly" the Helsing admonished. "The Eldar will not break, and even if they could, there is too much to gain by remaining in their good graces."

"I think that good graces went out the window when I ordered them locked up."

The Inquisitor offered a noncommittal grunt. "You action seems to have improved your standing in their eyes. They respect measured force. And though I doubt she will admit it, Lidrana seems to think that your decision is justified. She has given her word that they will behave."

"Oh, that's nice. She gave her word."

"The Eldar do not break their word. Honor is very important to them."

"Sure. And how do I go about doing that? Making friends?"

"I'm going to assume that you mean specifically relating to the Eldar."

"Touche, boss."

"Don't worry, I have a plan." Something that appeared dangerously like a smirk crossed his face. "You are going to go apologize."

"What?"

"You heard me." Helsing's mirth vanished, replaced by his authoritative scowl. "I need you to smooth things over with them. Your authority will not be countermanded, but I do not want this to spiral out of control. You must reestablish the relationship lest it become damaged."

"You're fecking kidding me."

"No" he commanded, his professionalism reasserting itself. "I am not. You will go, and take Dunk'er with you, and apologize for the scene you caused with them. It will be an honest apology, not some grumbled excusal of your decision to allow an Ogryn into a room of Eldar. For Throne's sake, he might have killed one of them purely on accident."

There was no counterargument to that. Louk knew well enough, had known, that it was a terrible idea to bring Dunk'er along. At the time he hadn't really given a damn. Hindsight was such a bitch.

"So I've got to go grovel to the Eldar?"

"An apology is not an act of grovelling. Should you choose to make it so, it can quite easily become that, however."

"Understood, boss." Louk turned away so the Inquisitor could not see his scowl. The thought of apologizing to any Eldar was an insult. To apologize to Angry Eyes… shit this was going to burn.

"Also, Reaper." Helsing's voice turned him back around. "Do not take this entirely as a reprimand. I believe you are doing quite well."

"That so?"

"If I had a problem, I would have you removed in a second. Do not spoil my trust in you."

"Got it" he said, and slipped out of the room. He grimaced at the thought of what he had been ordered to do. "Boss?"

"Yes, Reaper?"

"You said you don't even know her name?"

"No, Reaper, I don't." Helsing regarded him seriously. Louk could tell, under the careful layers of collected subterfuge, that Helsing was bothered by this mysterious Eldar witch. When an Inquisitor got bothered, shit go real.