En Route to the Legacy of Vengence in Orbit

The silence between them in the shuttle was icy. The background noise of the thrusters muffled by high quality soundproofing was a barely perceptible drone. Carpeting of a deep red damped down the sound further. Under other circumstances the plush seating and polished wood furnishings would have been convivial but Kryn's continued smouldering anger overwhelmed the comfort of the surroundings. Tarik was slouched in a relaxed posture in one chair. He gazed absently at a data slate then back at Kryn waiting for her to break the silence. Both Inquisitorial and Arbites training devoted much time and effort to interrogations and obtaining information from people who did not wish to share it. Kryn fixed he eyes on him and waited watching him switch back to the data slate and tap a few keys before looking back her way. She suspected he was making notes on her. An hour into the flight when it was clear he had no intention of breaking his silence she switched tactics.

"You're a Tetran." She stated.

"Born here yes."

"But you can only trust the Arbites as anyone born here is potentially tainted. That would include you!"

"Potentially. If a few decades working for the Inquisition has not revealed any problems there are no problems to find. My companions have worked with me for years. Two of them worked for Inquisitor Belash before that. They know what is in and out of character."

"Liar."

"Again. How have I lied?"

"Tarik. I study names. My first name is a diminutive that traces back to Old Earth itself meaning pure. My family name comes from a mechanicus outpost where some of my distant ancestors were based. But Tarik. That is not native to Tetran. There is no record of any Tarik ever being born here. When Inquisitor Belash was here he worked with the Arbites. He took 5 people offworld. The records of who he took into custody were available to me as Marshal. None of them match the age you claimed to be, none were called Tarik."

Tarik looked bleakly amused.

"Target. Intercept. Capture. Tar I C. When Belash's men caught me they dragged me to his headquarters. There was a poster on the wall. Somehow they had a picture of me. Maybe from a street camera or something. Underneath was written TarIC. It was just a code they used, developed over years of working together. I didn't talk much so that's what they called me. It was a joke. They knew I was an untouchable. Belash knew that if he made my imprisonment official then I would be an asset of the Ordo Malleus turned over to them and like the other five he found, probably dead within a couple of years. So he put me down as ancillary equipment and dragged me off around the galaxy. Changed the spelling to Tar I K. It's not a common name but still used on a few systems. Mourning Star... Or dark star in ancient Terran."

Kryn paused.

"Marshal we are going to my ship. Once there we are going to go into battle with a necron force of unknown size and resource, so you have any more problems or can we just deal with the threat at hand?"

"So if Tarik is a nick-name what's your real name? What do your friends call you?"

Tarik laughed, a harsh bitter bark. "Marshal, I am Inquisitor and an untouchable. That is a question that will never need an answer."

The shuttle landed in the cavernous docking bay of the "Legacy of Vengeance". A lone Astartes and a pair of stormtroopers awaited the Marshal and Tarik as they disembarked. The Astartes was unarmoured but still towered head and shoulders above the two guardsmen. His face was a mass of scars made uglier by a scowl of hatred.

"Syrano."

"Tarik. Are we past the need for deception?"

"Never. But the Marshal is well aware of my rank. Are you and your team prepared."

"Inquisitor we are Astartes."

"I'll take that as a yes. We have a probable location on the necron central crypt. Expect incursion via teleporter. I would recommend standard power armour rather than terminator plate. The loss of mobility seems a poor trade as it seems to provide little protection from gauss flayers."

"Are you intending to recommend which weapons we use?" Syrano sneered.

"I assumed you would be capable of working that out for yourself. Ask Gottries for assistance if you need it."

For a moment it seemed Syrano would attack the diminutive Inquisitor but then he just turned on his heal and stalked away.

"Is Baelin ready to fight?" Tarik called after the retreating space marine.

"He is Astartes." came the snarled return. Syrano not even bothering to look back as he answered.

The two stormtroopers surreptitiously relaxed their grip on their weapons, as if they would have been able to do much more than die honourably when faced by an enraged marine, especially a Librarian.

"Is it wise to provoke a Space Marine?" Kryn asked only stepping off the shuttle when she was sure there was to be no violence.

"Syrano... Syrano has more reason to hate me than most, but I'm not the real target of his anger."

"I'd hate to be that target."

"Don't worry, you won't be. I keep him irritated at me so if he snaps I will bear the brunt." Tarik looked thoughtful. "So far his conditioning and duty have carried him through, but he is ever closer to the edge."

"You sound remarkably calm about the prospect of bearing the brunt of a Space Marines anger."

Tarik looked at her eyes as cold as she had ever seen them. "His powers are of no use against me and I can face an unarmoured astartes if I have to." The words were not said boastfully but simply as a statement of fact. Then he grinned eyes flashing. "Armoured he'd snap me in half in a heartbeat so I'd be a lot more careful then. "

"You could face an astartes and live?"

"Possibly even win."

"So you were humouring me in the sparing match."

"Far from it, I just limited my speed and strength to high end human normal. This body can match a marine in strength, but the power source can't do it for long. To keep up with their reactions also requires the use combat drugs that are less than healthy and highly addictive. But yes I have sparred against marines. Their decades, or centuries, of combat experience and extra reach generally prove sufficient to win. Then again any psyker facing an untouchable won't be at anything like their best."

They walked together out of the landing bay the two stormtroopers following at a respectful distance. A young girl of indeterminate age met them.

"Ianthe. This is Marshal Sodor. Show her to the guest quarters, find her clothes and see to her needs. Her armour must be taken to the armourers and the appropriate wards and seals added for teleportation. Marshal, with the exception of C deck where the Astartes train you have free run of the ship, but we will be assaulting the necrons as soon as Cormack arrives and gets us a target so I suggest you rest while you have the chance."

The girl curtsied and gestured for Kryn to follow her. Kryn stared at Tarik then gave a short nod and followed.

The stone lined floor and black painted walls lent the ship a gloomy air and the few lumen globes merely seemed to highlight just how many shadows the corridor contained. Here and there on the walls were paintings of men engaged in combat with various of mankind's enemies. Presumably commemorating the feats of past Inquisitors. The paintings appeared hundreds of years old. Given the age of the ship and the fact some were behind a shimmering stasis field many may have been older still. The girl led her into quarters that were considerably more comfortable than her own. A pair of overstuffed leather easy chairs were next to a low table covered with fruit and various delicacies. A pair of more formal chairs were arranged by a desk. There were two doors, one leading to a carpeted bed chamber where a huge four poster bed waited, large enough to sleep half a dozen people simultaneously. In the other a bath was sunken into the floor, already filled with steam gently rising from the water. Everything looked well made, tasteful and very expensive.

"I took the liberty of running a bath for you ma'am. You have an invitation to dine with the senior command crew or I if you prefer I can have food brought here instead. "

Kryn weighed the politics of dining in company or alone, grudgingly deciding politics trumped preference.

"I'll eat with the command crew. How long do I have?"

"Two hours. Do you have any dietary preferences?"

"Kettlefish with buriyyni dressing." she replied sourly.

"I'll have the chef prepare some. I believe Naptha wafers would be the appropriate accompanying dessert, shall I add that to your request?"

Kryn stared for a moment trying to work out if Ianthe was having a joke at her expense.

"You have Kettlefish?"

"Yes ma'am. At our last stopover we picked up cargos from Perlia and Hydrophur of the main local delicacies."

"For me?"

"I assume so. Inquisitor Tarik is not always open about his decisions. But there is no one else on board from either system."

Kryn considered the difference between an Inquisitor's life and her own. The shear expense of flying out perishable foodstuffs for someone who might be a guest at a later date was unfathomable and not something she would ever contemplate. It did raise some troubling questions about the importance Tarik was assigning her.

"Will you require help with your bath ma'am?"

Kryn shook her head disturbed from her reverie. "No. I think I remember the basics of washing." She put her weapons pointedly on the table shoving the fruit to one side in the process. Hating herself that she did it gently to avoid scratching the well polished wood. She pulled out a slim needle gun from an ankle holster and a stiletto from her boots and added them to the collection. Then she began to strip off her armour. "Do you mind?"

"I need to take your equipment to the armourer. But I can wait outside if it troubles you."

"No. Whatever." Kryn grumbled as she struggled with a recalcitrant strap.

"If you have any needs or desires then I will be happy to serve."

"Nothing you can help with."

"If it isn't then please let me know the details and I will bring someone who can."

Kryn shut her eyes and gritted her teeth. The girl was undoubtedly trying to be helpful but it was grating on her nerves. She dropped her boots and bodyglove in a pile on the floor deliberately suppressing her instincts to carefully fold everything away to avoid making a mess in such an elegant room.

"Just come back when it is time to go eat." Kryn paused and sighed. "Thank you."

It was not the girl's fault. She was acting under orders. And probably most guests had not spent the previous decades in the Spartan training and living conditions of an Arbites and would appreciate the comforts on offer.

Still grumbling to herself she slipped into the hot water and tried to analyse her feelings. Tarik owed her nothing. As an Inquisitor he could do what he liked and she was obligated to obey. That he seemed to be going out of his way to explain himself was a show of trust on his part. That he had gone to such lengths to try and make her comfortable on his ship when he could have just ordered her and left her to share bunks with the stormtroopers suggested he was trying to ingratiate himself. That she would much have preferred to join the troopers was not his fault. It was the sense of being manipulated that annoyed her. That and the feeling there were still things she was not a party too. The Arbites also worked on a policy of need to know and that had never grated on her this much before.

She reached for one of the many bottles, finding it to be bath scent she hunted through a few others until she found a body wash. Responsibility. That was the problem she realised. She was responsible for protecting Tetran and its inhabitants. The Inquisitor knew of dangers to them and if he did not pass on that knowledge she could not do her job. Tarik's responsibility was to protect the Imperium and that could easily involve the sacrifice of individual people, planets, even sectors if it preserved humanity. And until she knew Tetran was not to be the sacrifice in a greater gambit she would never be able to trust him.

Body cleaner and mind clearer she grabbed one of the overly large towels and found that Ianthe had removed her armour, bodysuit and underwear. But at least her weapons were where she had left them. She glanced into the bedroom to find an outfit had been laid out on the bed ready for her. Complete with new underwear, still in the box. There were no obvious alternatives as the drawers and cupboards were all empty. It was the dress or the towel. Sighing she unboxed the underwear somewhat troubled when it turned out to be a perfect fit. While the Inquisition had full access to every form of information the Imperium possessed knowing her measurements seemed unnecessarily intimate.

The dress was a soft blue that complimented her complexion and not entirely to her surprise fitted perfectly. It could have been any formal dress for any occasion. Nothing she would have looked at twice in a shop, had she been in the habit of frequenting up-hive tailors. But as she was wearing it she examined it critically in the full length mirror that dominated one wall of the bedroom. It billowed and wafted in a way that struck her as impractical and the material seemed like it would tear at the slightest opportunity. While the neckline was respectable there were a pair of slits in the side that exposed glimpses of her ribs or stomach as she moved and while it was surprisingly comfortable for a formal dress there were bands around her thigh and ankle that were a little too tight. Then she stopped and examined the dress with an Arbites' eye. There were actually two parts an inner lining that was non-restrictive and comfortable and the outer frippery that was literally held in place with a handful of stitches. The inner part actually reminded her of a training gi and would give her full freedom of movement. The outer decorative part would tear off if anyone tried to use it to grab hold of her. And the bands around her legs gave her space to conceal weapons which would be totally disguised by the flowing nature of the material while the slits in the side would let her get to them unimpeded. It was not body armour but it was obviously designed to allow someone to attend formal occasions without leaving themselves defenceless.

The one choice she did seem to have was with shoes. There was a pair of fairly sensible blue shoes that from the weight when she picked them up seemed to have a concealed steel toecaps and a lethal looking pair of heels. She smiled some things even the Inquisition did not know. She realised she also had a second choice. Whether or not to go to dinner armed.