Disclaimer: I do not own anything of any sort or kind – original fiction ideas go to their respective owners, crossover idea goes to Bombsquad.
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The ring-world spun slowly, a slow pirouette in the dance of the cosmos, partnered with two blue suns, tingeing the surface with an aquamarine glare. Hidden from prying eyes by the two stars, the Halo hung in space, dormant and inactive, doing nothing but spinning in the never-ending midnight sunlight, asleep…
…but now, awoken.
The Merciless Purge pointed it's prow at the alien world, like a dagger towards a heart. Escort ships swung below and around it as they scanned the system for threats, finding none.
Telepathic calls resounded throughout the Immaterium, their siren song beckoning the Crusade to the Halo, to its doom…
Private conference room, The Merciless Purge, in orbit around Xenos Artifact 011057, Diabolis system
Grigor chewed on a candied date lightly, a glass of Terra brandy untouched on the desk on front of him. He swallowed guiltily, reprimanding himself for unnecessary self-indulgence. Pleasures were not necessary here, he told himself, sipping the brandy and letting the taste envelop his senses. He shut his eyes, concentrating solely on the experience.
Footsteps, a dull chime, metal sliding on metal…
Grigor opened his eyes to the sight of Tyrus, and shuddered.
"It is time." Tyrus intoned silently. "Have you made peace with the Emperor?"
Grigor nodded, fingers tented and eyes on the armoured boots on the iron deck below him, trying to avoid the gaze filled with emotionless determination.
"Why do you hesitate, Grigor?"
Teeth masticated his lower lip as he forced himself to meet the Inquisitor's gaze. He composed himself.
"I fear our course may be… a reckless gambit."
A brief silence, then:
"You had plenty chances to protest beforehand. Why now?"
Grigor breathed in, then out. "I do not protest with your plan. If we can perform an overload loop throughout the Halo network using this junction Halo, then so be it. But do we have to sacrifice…"
"You knew from the start that the Crusade would be destroyed in performing this duty."
A leather-coated finger circled the table unconsciously, forming spirals in the dust. "Is there no alternative? I know that the teleportation device must be actived to perform the overload, but why can we not, say, send in a probe of sorts, claiming it to be a…"
Tyrus shifted his weight, his power armour grinding to accommodate the change in posture. "We have already taken too many risks shadowing this Crusade. If we influence the invasion in what could be considered a suspicious manner, we risk being detected. The fleet must be sacrificed for the Imperium's protection." Tyrus leaned down, his face level with Grigor's. "Do you have any misgivings about this?"
Grigor looked into Tyrus' eyes. Dark pupils retorted silently, looking through him. Grigor had heard the old tale that the eyes were the window to the soul, and Tyrus was no exception. When he looked at someone, he didn't see a person. He had no misgivings about killing people, because he believed the Emperor guided his hand. He would slaughter children without motive, burn schools to the ground and inflict misery on countless millions for the only reason that he believed they did not apply to his beliefs. Such reckless fanaticism, such unhinged hatred… what could be done against such inhuman hatred?
Grigor gazed back at the table, the iron bolts softer than Tyrus' gaze. "None, Tyrus."
"Then we shall proceed."
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Destroyer The Saviour of the Lost, orbiting secondary sun of Diabolis system.
Captain Grünweld walked across the bridge smartly, his polished boots ringing off the floor like cannon fire. The Acting-Captain jumped to his feet when he saw Grünweld and saluted, the rest of the bridge following suite. He dismissed the Acting-Captain and put the rest of the bridge at ease, then sat on the command-throne, feeling wires burrow into his MIU, linking him to the main ship controls.
While this ship was used primarily as a Destroyer, it had been called off recently in order to escort some Inquisitors. While Grünweld was glad to think that the Imperium was gradually fighting fewer wars, he did not think this was the most suitable job for a warship. Still… the Inquisition was still the Inquisition. He checked with the navigator and ship's physicist, checking the electromagnetic field from the binary stars was hiding them, then stared at the viewscreen, thinning his eyes against the fiery halo of the suns and instead concentrating on the small fleet around the alien device.
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Private chamber 05, The Saviour of the Lost.
Aberfeldy looked up at the sound of the door opening, and smiled upon seeing his rag-tag group enter, Thelonius's brow creased into its usual worry lines, Styx rubbing a fresh bruise on the side of his face and Ibrahim looking impassive as usual. He hastily apologised for their detainment, offering them the view rich foods and drinks on the table as a form of penitance. Styx began wolfing down spiced meats and mead, complaining about his mistreatment at the hands of the guards while Thelonius poured the largest, strongest spirit he could find. Ibrahim had nothing, leaning against the wall as if in a sulk.
The door opened again, this time allowing entrance to the regal figure of Eisenhorn, who waited for some acknowledgment from the motley crew in front of him. When it became apparent that only Aberfeldy was willing to show any respect to him, he quickly sat at the head of the table, tenting his fingers in front of his face.
A pause, then: "As you are no doubt aware," Eisenhorn cleared his throat loudly, "This ship is currently shadowing the Crusade of Light." He tapped a small button on the table, and a holographic schematic appeared, their ship circling one of the blue suns. "Currently we are hiding in the electromagnetic field of one of the stars in this system while the preliminary scout force of the Crusade inspects the area for any hostiles. They will of course, not notice any."
New shapes appeared in the fake system. "The Crusade will arrive soon after the preliminary check, and The Merciless Purge will send ground-troops to the surface to activate the trans-dimensional teleporter." Coloured dots swarmed to the light-Halo. "Once the teleporter has been activated, the fleet will pass through the Halo, and into the nearest dimension we have been able to discern from the dimensional static."
"Hold on," Thelonius pointed an unsteady finger at the ceiling, "why exactly are we hiding behind this sun? Doesn't that seem, well, a little suspect?"
"A pertinent query, man. We are hidden from view because the Crusade has been given orders – orders that supersede all others – to treat any foreign ship emission as an enemy encounter. We do not want to risk our crusade at this moment, they must be at maximum vigilance. Don't worry about any other Imperial ship, all shipping in this area has been delayed."
"So…" Styx asked slowly, wording the words in his head. "If we are at risk of being smeared across the cosmos just by being here, then why are we here?"
Eisenhorn raised an eyebrow, lines creasing his forehead expansively. "Being the suspicious person that I am, I wish to observe the Crusade's departure with my own two eyes. You," Eisenhorn indicated the entire group, "are here by fortuitous chance (Styx laughed hollowly at this point) and can watch this momentous occasion with me."
Thelonius shrugged. "As long as we don't get detected by the Crusade, sure. How long will it be before the Crusade reaches here?"
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Xenos Analysis Orbital Station no. IV, high orbit of Mars.
Youngman cursed silently as the ship slowly disappeared into warp space, taking those unscrupulous liars away with it. He disconnected from the external sensors and stomped down the corridors, two lobotomized servitors in his cloaked wake.
His constitutional took him invariably to the observation deck which overlooked the alien craft. His metal hands clasped around the guardrail as he leaned forward, artificial eyes shifting and twisting in their sockets, prying and searching or an inefficiency he could vent his rage at. They had been within his grasp… and the damnable Inquisition snatched them away from him!
"The Imperium would be better off without them!" he snapped out loud, then quickly looked around to see if anyone heard him. Only the deafened servitors, standing on either side of him, were present. Youngman continued his self-pitying brooding.
His eyes slowly roamed the Xenos spaceship, when a thought entered his mind, fleetingly, but enough to catch his attention.
Access to Mainframe Computer requested, Identification code; Youngman, Priest order of third-class. Password: Deus ex Machina.
Access granted.
Search for data files containing words "new", "Xenos", "threat", "Halo"; search guidelines to be extended to all available databases outwith Mars.
Searching…
1,560 data files found, list files – query?
No.
Cross-search data files for military passwords or encryption.
Searching…
250 data files found, list files – query?
Find most recent file.
…
File found, Identified as 'Crusade of Light, Final orders.'.
Access file.
Access denied, insufficient clearance to access file.
Youngman paused, thinking quickly. Something was rotten in the state of the Imperium, and the Adeptus Mechanius were being used as pawns in a convoluted chess game. All he needed was to access this file, but he couldn't…
…But what if he didn't represent himself?
The thought nearly staggered him for a second. He had accessed Inquisitor-class pass codes, codes which superseded all others. He could create a new identification code… access the files…
But what if he was caught?
He would undoubtedly be executed. But the takings… No true member of the Adeptus Mechanius was wealthy if he knew nothing. This knowledge would be a kingly coin… a valuable piece of data which could put him on top of the entire Adeptus Mechanius cult.
And only he had the faintest inkling about it!
Slowly, surely, he activated the link-up to the database again.
Make new Identification file.
Guest or permanent?
Guest.
Please list details of Identification file.
Name: Guest
Identification code: Skeletonkey(contents of Youngman/Personaldata/Inquisitorprofile)
Creating…
Profile made.
Now Youngman had his head in the lion's mouth. He could only count on his reflexes to snatch himself to safety now…
Log-out.
Tech-Priest Youngman has now logged out of Mainframe.
Access to Mainframe requested, Identification code; Guest, Skeletonkey.
Welcome Guest.
What is needed?
Search for data files containing words "new", "Xenos", "threat", "Halo"; search guidelines to be extended to all available databases outwith Mars. Search also for most recent military file concerning search words above.
Searching…
Search complete.
Access file.
Double-checking clearance…
Access granted.
Elsewhere in the station, a small, silent alarm was sounded as security programs realised that while no Inquisitor was present on the station, Inquisitor-class clearance codes were being used.
Final orders of the Crusade of Light:
Proceed towards enclosed coordinates – see file attached. Act with extreme caution. All unexpected ship-based energy emissions are to be treated as hostile enemy and should be dealt with accordingly.
When destination has been reached, Xeno-experts will activate the teleporter of the Halo device, which shall be used to get to these dimensional coordinates – see file attached. Once in new dimension, establish primary base, and await further orders.
Glory to the Emperor!
Youngman quickly read the attached files, knowing that any second he would be detected…
So, these ships were on a new crusade concerning these Xenos… Aberfeldy had tricked him because of this ship… Youngman grimaced. He must have unwittingly help Aberfeldy in overthrowing these orders! Quickly, no time to lose…
Request comm. line to coordinates – see attached file.
Nearest ship in proximity to coordinates – The Merciless Purge.
Commence comm.
Alert! Warning! Alert! Warning! There is a risk of outside influence in your mission! Repeat, enemy forces may try to subv-
Comm. line interrupted – system shutdown initiated.
Service has been halted due to illegal identification code use.
Perpetrator located.
The two servitors stepped back from Youngman as sentry guns swung down from the ceiling at him.
"Tech-priest Youngman," an artificial voice grated, "Surrender immediately."
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Immaterium space, Flagship of the Crusade of Light, Smite Thine Enemy.
Oran Mor jerked himself up from his seat on the bridge of the Smite Thine Enemy as he heard his name being called. Blinking his eyes rapidly to lift the heavy weight of sleep from them, he heard the bridge telepath call his name from the awkward-looking cradle.
"Commander Mor."
"Yes, what is it?"
"There is an incoming transmission from Mars, set at a priority level, concerning fleet integrity."
Mor frowned slightly, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Play it."
Youngman's message flowed from the telepath's mouth, and Mor felt lethargy lift from him like a veil. Here was a problem worthy of his talents.
"Bring up a schematic of the system, open hailing channels to all ships in the Crusade." He turned to the navigator to his right. "How long before we leave the Immaterium?"
"About an hour."
His jaw shifted from side to side as he thought furiously. Images appeared in front of him as a hologram of the Diabolis system shimmered into view. The suns, the Halo and the scout force were displayed. Nothing else.
"Send a message to the scout force telling them to raise their void-shields and prepare for an ambush. Get the remaining ships in the Crusade to prepare their munitions." He peered at the schematic again, thinking.
"Sir, message has been received from the scout force, they report not detecting any ships in the sector."
Mor acknowledged the ratings' comment, and added it to the various situations running through his head. He looked at the positioning of the scout force compared to the remainder of the system. He chewed on his inner cheek and thought.
"Tell me. Would radiation given off from the suns mislead scanning?" Mor asked the nearest crewman. The moustachioed man paused, then said; "Normally most suns would not effect our sensors, but with young stars, such as the ones present in the system we are heading towards, large proportions of ultra-violet would deflect certain scans…"
"Good." Mor cut him off sharply, then looked at the schematic with renewed insight. Now if I were attacking this position, where would I hide… His eyes scanned the bridge, looking but not seeing. The secondary sun is currently two billion miles away, too far for a sudden strike… He looked at the other sun. That one is closer, easier to go around… there's the roost…
"Change course to heading…" Oran calculated it, reading out each digit as it came into his head "0…5…7…92…31. Hail our two sister ships, and have them prepare for battle and head to the same coordinates. The rest of the fleet is to come out of the Immaterium as planned." Ratings scurried around as each order was issued. Mor looked at the schematic one last time, then deactivated it.
"Prepare for war."
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One hour later, the Diabolis system.
With a silent scream, the Crusade of Light tore out of the Immaterium into real space, substituting the multi-coloured void of chaos for the monochromatic world of actual space. Accompanying the innumerable and just as varied human platoons were over three thousand Adeptus Astartes, all from differing chapters. Supporting the soldiers were tens of thousands of tanks. Supporting the ground troops were the hundreds of fighters, bombers, troop transport jets… all contained within the shells of the most awe-inspiring fleet ever assembled post-Golden Throne era.
As the crew of The Saviour of the Lost stared at the unfolding spectacle in front of them, they failed to realise that the crusade was not fully arranged. Also, that there were three new ships that had appeared directly behind them.
Two torpedoes from the Emperor-class battleship glided into the engine banks of the destroyer, annihilating them instantly. The remaining two capital ships delivered broadsides into vulnerable systems, disabling the ship before the crew had even realised what had happened to the engines.
Grünweld grabbed onto a handrail, pulling himself off of the floor as fires and sparks flew from nearly every panel. The navigator and telepath were both dead, their cribs making a bath from their blood. The vox-com crackled.
"This is Fleet Commander Oran Mor. Surrender your vessel and prepare to be boarded."
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Commander Mor's hand lazily swung through the air as the sound of Prokofiev's Montagues and Capulets marched around his private quarters, the ominous sound of the violin section at full fortissimo. The door chimed, and he glared at it as if it were personally responsible for interrupting the music. He removed the arm from the gramaphone and opened the door.
Three men were pushed in, bruised and bloody. One was wearing an Imperial Navy uniform – he assumed him to be the captain. The other two were another story. Their clothing was not uniformed, but according to the interrogation results, they were the reason The Saviour of the Lost was shadowing the fleet. A Storm Trooper shoved each man onto a seat, then stood back, his shotgun slung lazily across his shoulders.
Commander Mor smiled benevolently at the trio and gloated inwardly. The first win for the Crusade! He could already feel the troop's morale grow as the rumours spread throughout the fleet. Of course, the slight dampener to the feeling of elation was that the ship belonged to the Imperium. Primary examination of the ship found that no corruption to any shrine had occurred, so that ruled out the possibility of traitors… still, one had to get to the bottom of this, and Mor believed he had the key in front of him.
"So…" his voice was as thick as treacle, as sharp as vinegar, "I believe you have some explaining to do?"
The oldest of the three spoke up, a gash across his brow splitting as he protested. "I can assure you, Commander, the ship you attacked was not a threat to your fleet-"
"If that was the case," Mor interrupted, "then why were you present in an area clearly declared quarantined from the Imperium?"
"Why were you?" The youngest of all three retorted. Mor stared at him sullenly, then gestured at the Storm Trooper. The soldier responded by swinging the rest of the shotgun into the man's face, breaking the man's already-wide nose with a bloody crunch.
"Please, allow me to continue," he admonished, pointing a patronising finger at the reeling man. "I am asking the questions here." He sighed and sat back from the table. "Keep in mind gentlemen, I am actually not following my orders. My orders were to destroy any foreign vessel found at our destination point. It was only the fact that your ship is – or rather, was – an Imperium vessel that stopped me from annihilating you utterly. So, revenons à ces moutons, eh? Why were you here in the first place? Captain, do you have an answer?"
The uniformed man jumped at being addressed, and looked at the armoured guard behind him nervously. "I am afraid I cannot answer that, sir."
Mor stared at him sullenly, then made another gesture. The guard grabbed Grünweld's hand and broke his pinky. Grünweld screeched in reply. "Care to elaborate, Captain?"
"Che khannot hctell gou…" the youngest groaned out, trying to stem the blood from his nose. "As che doezn't nowe."
Mor looked at the elderly man with the split on his head. "Would you care to translate for your speech-impeded friend?"
"Aberfeldy is pointing out the fact that Captain Grünweld was unaware as to why his ship was ordered to transport the two of us to this system because any explanation of his orders were classified, even to him."
"Explain."
The man breathed in. "You are not going to believe me when I say this, but my friend and I are both Inquisitors-"
"You're right. I don't believe you."
"-who have been sent to oversee the teleportation of the Crusade of Light into a new dimension."
Commander Mor paused, then dismissed the guard. When the door closed behind him, he pointed at Eisenhorn accusingly. "How in the name of the seven circles of Hell do you know that? Only the highest-ranking of this fleet know about out mission-"
"I also know that your mission details for you to establish a base at a suitable point and wait for further orders. These orders will be to-"
"How do you know all this?"
Eisenhorn awkwardly reached into a jacket pocket, and threw a small circular trinket onto the wooden-top table. Mor felt his heart in his mouth. He had seen the same symbol all too recently. He swallowed, and felt blood drain from his face. The three men suddenly had expressions that imprisoned men rarely had. The look of impending redemption upon their captors. Mor swallowed again, and noted that his body from the chest down seemed to have lost all feeling.
"Don't worry, Commander." The elderly man said in a patronising tone. "I have no intention to report you to the Inquisition. Not just yet, anyway. However, you may redeem yourself in our eyes." He smiled smugly. "I'll leave it to you to interpret that comment as you will."
Five minutes, a pair of restraining keys, a bottle of wine, promises to release the crew of the destroyer, medical bandages and a selection of foods later…
"Much better, Commander Mor," Aberfeldy said lazily, his nose held in a bulky cast. "I'll be sure to commend your methods the next time I see your superior."
"Thank you, sir." Mor said quickly, sweat forming opaque pearls on his forhead.
"The schnitzel is especially good, too." Aberfeldy popped a piece of breaded veal in his mouth indulgently, washing it down with rich red wine. "Be sure to send my compliments to the chef."
"Of course, sir."
"Now," Eisenhorn leaned forward, leaning his elbows on the table indulgently. I believe it is my turn to ask a few questions." Mor nodded rapidly. "Firstly, how did you know we were behind the sun's electromagnetic field? I know that our esteemed Captain Grünweld had us perfectly hidden from any sensor."
"We received a message from Mars stating that we were in risk of being attacked by-"
"From Mars?" Grünweld interrupted, taking the cigar out from his mouth.
Aberfedly grimaced. "Damn that Youngman! How in the world he managed to track us down, I don't know…"
"Youngman?"
Aberfeldy waved his hand. "An old – hah – friend of sorts. We left on a bad foot, and methinks he informed Commander Mor of our little escapade as a form of revenge." He ground his teeth together. "When I get my hands on him…"
"I think he was seen to, sir," Mor added. "His message was cut off."
"Good."
"And so from this tip-off, I calculated your likely hiding point and struck when I knew you would be over-whelmed by the sight of the Crusade making the approach to the Halo…"
Eisenhorn pursed his lips and nodded. "How pertinent, my dear Commander. Talking of which, how is the Crusade getting on?"
Mor jumped in his seat, and looked at a data panel imbedded on the desk. "Well, uh, everything seems to be going to plan, the primary landing troops are preparing the teleportation spires…"
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Xenos Artifact 011057.
Grigor looked up at the sound of Tyrus's armoured footsteps echoing around the circular room. He quickly looked over at the two soldiers working on the inverse-field projector linked into one of the spires. One noticed him looking at them, and nodded briefly before returning to the calibration of the device.
Tyrus stomped over to Grigor. "How is the mission progressing?"
Grigor wiped sweat off of his brow. "This appears to be the last inverse-field projector to be installed on the Ha- the Xenos artefact." He corrected himself quickly. "When the teleportation device reaches full charge – the point at which the Crusade will be inside undetermined temporal static – these projectors will activate, sending an energy feedback through all the Halos in the network, deactivating them entirely, preventing anymore teleportation from any dimension." He looked over the device again, and shuddered slightly. "What will happen to the Crusade is unknown…"
"It is a worthy enough sacrifice." Tyrus intoned, crossing his arms across the exotic power armour. "Remember, 'the Blood of Martyrs is the Seed of the Imperium.'" Tyrus intoned solemnly, bowing his head in reverence as he recited the Ecclesiarchy scriptures.
"Quite." Grigor replied hollowly.
"Remember, we protect the Imperium and the Emperor." Tyrus left sharply, his tall form eclipsing the lights illuminating the room.
A red light on the device turned green, and a handful of runes shimmered into existence on the side of the projector. Grigor closed his eyes, and tried to slow his accelerating heart-rate.
"Sir? The final projector is active. I repeat, the final projector is active."
Grigor nodded his head, and excused the two soldiers. When they had left, he turned to the inverse-field projector and sighed despondently. His hand reached the vox-unit hastily discarded. "This is the commander of the ground troops," he intoned to the fleet. "Begin the final approach."
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The Crusade slowly turned towards the Halo, waiting for the appearance of the Smite Thine Enemy and her two sister ships. The crew of The Saviour of the Lost were allowed to leave the lead ship and be escorted to the nearest naval base by The Merciless Purge.
Aberfeldy looked at the arranged fleet from behind the view-port and smiled slightly. The rest of his retinue were sitting around the observation deck, chatting and complaining to the naval personnel. Eisenhorn walked up to Aberfeldy and acknowledged him with a nod. He too stared at the fleet about to go through the Halo and smiled.
"Sir?" Aberfeldy turned to see a young ensign in immaculate uniform saluting him nervously. Aberfeldy returned the salute awkwardly, having never preformed one before, but the ensign seemed to relax upon seeing acknowledgment.
"How can I help you, ensign?"
The ensign coughed nervously and scuffled her shoes against the metal deck. "There was a rumour that a couple of Inquisitors were being returned to this ship from the Smite Thine Enemy. I was just wondering if…"
"If we were the alleged Inquisitors?" The ensign nodded quickly. Aberfeldy gave him a condescending smile. Normally he would deny such a claim, but he was too tired to lie to the woman. "I can assure you that we are."
Instead of the usual response to this news, the woman frowned slightly in confusion.
"Is something wrong?"
"Oh, it's nothing sir. I was just assuming that the two Inquisitors would be the two that joined us on the flight to the Xenos-"
"Wait," Eisenhorn interrupted, echoing Aberfeldy's thoughts. "The two Inquisitors that joined you on the flight here?"
"Yes sir. A bald-headed man and a tall, caucasian man with one eye and ear. I was assuming tha-"
"Did these men tell you their names?" Aberfeldy interrupted, feeling a slow burn of fear rise in his stomach.
"I'm afraid not sir. They just told us that they were required to oversee the calibration of the teleportation spires…" The ensign looked at the two men's face. "Is something the matter, sirs?"
"Open a channel to the Smite Thine Enemy," Eisenhorn ordered. "Tell them to abort the mission and pull back from the Halo immediately. Something is ami-"
"I'm sorry sir, but I can't do that. The Crusade is already going through the teleportation portal…" Aberfeldy followed the extended finger and saw with a sinking feeling that white, almost liquid, light was extending to the centre of the Halo, where the Crusade was already arranged.
There was a blinding flash of light, a light more powerful than any atomic weapon.
It dissipated.
The Halo was there. The Crusade was not.
Aberfeldy felt his heart in his throat. Have we been betrayed? Who were those two men? Why were they here?...
"Arrange a drop fleet to the Halo as soon as possible. Open a hailing frequency to the Crusade. Confirm their position!" Eisenhorn barked.
The vox-officer protested, then relented when he saw Eisenhorn's expression. The crew on the observation deck were deathly silent in the face of the two panicking Inquisitors.
A minute passed, two minutes… three…
The vox-officer held a headphone against his ear, then turned to the crew.
"Reports have just come from the bridge… The Crusade has sent a message saying they have reached their destination without err and are establishing their base. Mission successful."
All at once there was a flood of sounds as crewmen celebrated with whoops and cheers. Ale was broken out and a victory song quickly started. Eisenhorn looked at Aberfeldy knowingly and nodded.
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Grigor looked up at the sound of the door to the circular room opening and saw Eisenhorn and Aberfeldy enter, hands on their pistols. He raised his hands reluctantly but casually, showing he was unarmed. The two men lowered their guard, then noted the bound figure of Tyrus on the ground, knocked out.
Aberfeldy raised an eyebrow. "You managed to over-power him?"
"It wasn't easy." Grigor admitted with a grimace, examining the side of his hand with a wince. "Think he broke some of my ribs, but I'll survive."
Eisenhorn opened his mouth, but Grigor stopped him with a raised hand. "I know, I know. An explanation. Well, don't worry. I'll tell you exactly what happened."
So Grigor told them about Tyrus' plan. He told him about the meeting on his ship, the way in which Tyrus was convinced the Imperium would be threatened by foes innumerable. He showed them the last of the inverse-field projectors, now slightly hampered by the five bullet holes in burrowed into the interior, and explained what exactly would happen. He told them everything, then crossed his arms and stared at them defiantly.
The two men stared at him, silently agog, then stared at Tyrus. Aberfeldy whistled slowly. "Holy throne… He was really going to sacrifice…"
Grigor nodded.
"You mean he thought that…"
A nod.
"He was willing to…"
Nod.
Aberfeldy leaned against a wall, and slid to the floor, shaking slightly in relief. Eisenhorn breathed out loudly, then smiled. "Well, I'm glad to see you managed to apprehend this traitor before he managed to cause irreversible damage. He'll be put on trail soon enough." He offered a hand to Grigor. "You played a risky game of chance, pretending to agree with his ideals-"
"Pretend?" Grigor lifted himself off of the floor. "Whoever said I thought Tyrus was mistaken in thinking that this would result in an influx of new Xenos races?"
Aberfeldy looked up slowly, his forehead creasing. "What do you mean?"
Grigor smiled briskly. "I went along with Tyrus' plan because his ideals made sense. It seemed to me that Xenos would use this device as a gateway to our galaxy. I just went along to ensure he didn't do anything like destroy the Halo network."
"But if you thought the Halo would bring more Xenos, then…"
Grigor smiled enigmatically. "Do you remember the lesson taught at Istavaan IV?"
Eisenhorn nodded. "The viral bombing and the beginning of the Horus Heresy, but what does that have to…" His mouth dropped.
"Did not such a terrible event weed out those who were disloyal to the Emperor? What about the appearance of Sebastian Thor and the reformation of the Ecclesiarchy? Was that time not too heralded by a time of great oppression?"
Grigor walked between the two Inquisitors. "The Imperium of Man proves itself in times of oppression and pain. Too recently we have become weak-willed and tolerant. We need a new time of strife and pain." He smiled again. "What better opportunity than this?"
The door to the corridor opened and Grigor left, leaving the apprehended Tyrus with the two Inquisitors.
Aberfedly looked at Eisenhorn, who returned his gaze silently.
"I think…" Aberfeldy began, slowly, "…we have made a slight mistake…"
The End.