Call of Justice
Comptroller Fergo Malik leaned back in his chair and sighed in contentment. The supple leather fitted his stout frame perfectly, matching the luxurious décor of his office. Fergo had much to be happy about, a tumbler of rich Cibus' Amasec rested in his right hand, the peaty aroma filling his sinuses and its strong taste lingering on his tongue. His robes of office were fine indeed, worth more than a labourer's family could earn in a hundred years and his extensive gut showed a fondness for Glaeban Grox-meat. On his fingers were golden rings, gifts from the Archmagos of Crux Lapis, in exchange for certain off-the-books favours and his night were spent in the arms of concubines purchased from the flesh-markets of Pascum. Yes, Fergo was content with his lot, he had earned it after all.
Before him numbers crept up Hololithic projections from a varnished Tealwood desk, imported from distant Junthos. On the left official cost-estimates rolled by, expense reports from his armies of labourers. On the right the real figures scrolled past, weighed heavily in his favour. It was amazing how the numbers could be made to dance. Expenses padded here, costs cut there, all resulting in fortunes pouring into his personal coffers. The Administratum expected embezzlement from its sub-contractors but even Fergo was amazed how much he was getting away with. He'd always had a gift for hiding figures, a talent that had seen him outpace his cousins to become head of the Malik household.
A frown crept over his brow as a small light blinked on his desk, an alert from his secretary. He elected to ignore it, the man was paid handsomely to make sure nothing interrupted Fergo's enjoyment of his daily routine and had wide leeway to deal with problems. Fergo typically ignored his calls for the first ten minutes, anything that kept him calling longer was a matter of urgency, anything less and it wasn't worth his time.
Fergo wheezed as he lifted his bulk from his chair and strolled over to the glassic window. Beyond was a vista of beauty. A gas giant, vast and dark in the faint sunlight, turning eternally in the star-spackled ocean of space. Various points of light picked out moons and space stations and shuttles, all flitting to and fro. Further up auroras played over the gas giant's poles, radiation belts refracting off magnetic fields, beautiful but deadly. This was Lesser Tectum, the smaller of the pair that dominated the Tectum system.
Greater Tectum was the largest naval base in the Saint Karyl Trail, Sector-capital and economic heart of local Imperial space. Mere months before the base had been ravaged by an attack from the Traitors of Chaos, an assault beaten back against all odds. The Great Refusal, some were already calling the battle, painting it as a glorious victory for Terra, that glossed over the billions of deaths, shipyards destroyed and industries laid waste. Despite the death toll Greater Tectum stood, which was more than could be said for Lesser Tectum. The smaller Gas giant had been obliterated, its population slain to a man, its industries smashed and atmo-domes cracked by missiles of boiling blood. Nothing remained, which meant someone had to rebuild it all.
Fergo chuckled as he slugged back his Amasec and reminisced on how he had won the rebuilding contracts for his family. Bribes galore and no small amount of blackmail had seen him scoop up this rich prize and now he was gouging the rebuilding budgets for all they were worth. He'd started with the rad-shielding, skipping most of the baffles and armour to keep Lesser Tectum's hard radiation at bay. Then he'd started selling equipment on the black market, substituting it for decommissioned machines the Tech-Priests had laid to rest. Naturally he'd kept his own residence's shielding intact, he wasn't about to be poisoned along with the rest of the proles. He could see it now, sitting in a lower orbit, a private orbital mansion, his castle in the sky and he'd spared no expense on making his home luxurious.
"Fergo Malik," came a call from behind him, predatory and hostile.
"Throne!" Fergo yelped as he spun about, only to find a Space Marine in his office.
His shoulders hit glassic as a Transhuman loomed large, coal-black eyes fixed upon his jugular vein. Fergo had seen Space Marines from afar but never one like this. His plate was stripped down and lighter than the Mark X in fashion these days and the lower half of his face was hidden by a grinning skull-mask. His eyes and scalp were left exposed, ghostly pale with jet black hair, swept back into a ponytail. His plate was dappled grey, easily merging with the shadows of his room and upon his shoulder rested a cyber-eagle, with metal lurking under tattered feathers.
"Proctors!" Fergo yelled.
Yet the intruder leaned forward and growled, "Your guards can't help you Malik."
"You… you killed them…." Fergo breathed in terror.
"I am not so sloppy. They live, though they'll wake up with headaches that will make them wish they hadn't."
"Who are you?!" Fergo cried.
"I am Xama Ek, of the Smoke Jaguars," the intruder hissed, "And I am here to bring justice for your crimes."
"My crimes?!" Fergo spluttered, "I have done nothing."
"We know about your embezzlement, we know you cut funding for rad-shields. Thousands of workers have already been exposed to lethal levels of radiation; millions more will suffer the same fate."
"But that's nothing, just numbers that's all it is… numbers."
Xama Ek snarled, "You speak of people's lives! You think because you commit murder from an office, with the stroke of a quill, that you do not have blood on your hands?! The Smoke Jaguars see your sin, we see the secret murder in the dark and the blood of your victims call to us. Blood demands blood."
Fergo fell to his knees and pleaded, "Please, it was only embezzlement, everybody does it. There are far greater crimes among the stars, killers who put me to shame. Why pick on me?!"
"You are not alone, all must face justice but we seek the hidden criminals , the ones who hide under greater masters and dwell in obscurity."
"Don't kill me," begged Fergo, "Please don't kill me."
"Kill you," Xama Ek sneered, "Too quick and too kind, we have a better punishment in mind for you."
Fergo's eye was caught by a flash of light and he half-turned to see his mansion exploding. His private residence and castle in the sky was being torn apart by internal explosions. Raging fires erupted from the airlocks and docking ports, ripping it to pieces, and then the reactor detonated and his home was reduced to floating motes of dust.
Fergo's jaw dropped as he gasped, "You destroyed it… my home… my servants."
"Worry not, they got out in time. A plasma-reactor breached, but there was plenty of warning. Your aide tried to call but alas you were out of reach."
Fargo yelped, "I am loyal imperial servant, you won't get away with this! The Smoke Jaguars will be cast out, I'll see to it everyone hears what you have done!"
But Xama Ek merely scoffed, "We did nothing, your mansion suffered a mishap with its reactors. A shame, but any investigation will only find a series of breaches of safety protocols and extensive cost-cutting. The Mechanicus will not be pleased to find you have insulted the Machine Spirits by skipping proper consecrations and whipping retired devices back into service."
"The Tech-Priests," Fergo gasped, "They'll turn me into a servitor if they find out."
"You have more immediate concerns," Xama Ek hissed, "Your expensive home is gone, so now you will live among the resident workers, in the same unshielded compartments you condemned them to."
"But the radiation…" Fergo gasped.
"Concern at last," Xama Ek sneered, "Here is your punishment: you shall live as your victims do, sharing the same fate as those you stole from and die as they die. Of course, you could try to purchase proper shielding off the black market. Expensive, but if you move fast enough you might just manage to cobble together a means to avoid lethal doses of radiation. Time doesn't favour you though."
Numbers swam in his head and Fergo looked out to the stars. In a hurry he estimated what it would cost to buy enough shielding and fit it to the orbital habs in a hurry. Staggering costs, everything he had embezzled and more, but he knew if he didn't he was dead. The Smoke Jaguars had torn his life out from under him, leaving him with no other choice. He almost wished they had killed him; it would have been quicker and cleaner. Poverty loomed and Fergo had no option save to dive headlong into it.
"You've ruined me, ruined you hear!" Fergo cried but when he turned back Xama Ek was gone, leaving no trace the Smoke Jaguar had ever been there.