One would not be wrong in saying that the Inquisition and the Adeptus Mechanicus worked together as well as an Ultramarine instructing a pack of Space Wolves. The Tech-priests of Mars and their mysterious Machine Faith were heavily scrutinized by the Emperor's Inquisition, but were considered useful enough to the Imperium that they kept their distance. Should the Mechanicum prove wanting, no doubt a bloody affair would be raged ever so close to Terra.

However, Magos Errant Eideard 5573-1111 was willing to give them the benefit of the doubt.

Of course, the Inquisitor took his time arriving. The din of Hangar Bay #12 ground about him as Guardsmen and fellow Tech-priests attended to the fighter squadrons stationed within. Eideard himself felt somewhat nostalgic at the thought of being surrounded by such a bustle of activity. To think he had risen from such a lowly position himself so many years prior was almost unbelievable.

A scowl. Eideard took the sharp prick of pain from his neural cogitator without rebuke. Progress and achievement could only be acquired through providence of the Machine-Spirit and hard toils in the name of the Omnissiah. What's done is done, and such things shall lay in the past. Technology shall be the light that illuminates the way of man, not memories.

"Are you well, Lord Magos?"

Now, the Magos was by no means a welcoming figure. His face was an amalgamation of metal and flesh, metal plate, beady cybernetic eyes, and a square-ish vox-grille taking up his features. Beneath his billowing red robes, a similar philosophy was practiced, where most of his flesh was replaced with churning machinery. From his back sprang great mechadendrites of multiple varieties, from great, looming arms to blackened plasma torches.

So, it was somewhat of a surprising sight when Eideard looked toward the being who had addressed him.

Or rather, looked up at them.

"I am in an adequate condition, Tech-priest," the Mechanicus representative replied somewhat indignantly as he addressed the speaker. "I assume you are to be my assistant for the duration of my stay?"

She was lithe, yet could withstand the weight of the servo-harness, itself hidden beneath layers of red robes bordered by a white cog pattern. Her face, largely unblessed with machinery, was of pale skin framed by locks of reddish hair. Eyes were set back in her skull, one a cerulean prosthetic, and the other a vibrant emerald orb.

A whirring mechanical limb brought the Enginseer's hand to her own trapezoid-cast vox-grille in embarrassment and gave a curt bow. "Y-yes, my lord. Tech-priest Enginseer Rei Kostanian, at your disposal."

Eideard grunted, internal systems running through subroutines and software. "I was told you would be at the ready before 0700 Martian time, Enginseer Kostanian. Yet, I arrive and find you nowhere in sight."

"A-a thousand pardons, my Lord Magos," Rei started, bowing lower this time to just at height with the Magos, "I was at the utmost alertness and readiness for your arrival, but there were...d-difficulties in locating you..."

"Did my height play a factor in this endeavour?"

Kostanian did not budge. "...Yes, Lord Magos. I was expecting someone...of somewhat greater stature."

'Not a half-pint bean-sprout midget?'

A sigh escaped the Errant's vox-grille. Credit where credit was due, the Enginseer proved a courageous servant. "Such an implication," Eideard began, voice underlined with thin disappointment, "was to be expected. However, you have no less but failed an order. My servitors unload my belongings from the ship as we speak. In atonement, assist them."

No sooner had the Magos finished his order that a clamorous bang resounded through the din of the hangar bay, and Kostanian was sent scurrying towards the vessel with a tirade of apologies, prayers, and curses flooding from her vox-grille. Eideard merely buried his face in his clawed prosthetic hands and moved on. While he could request a more...competent assistant from the ranks of the lower Tech-priests, he had no doubt that such an action would probably topple the sloth and precarious hierarchy that had wormed its way into Argus' ranks.

To the Errant, such a thing was less than acceptable.

Moving farther into the interior of the hangar, the Magos let his mind wander once more. A foolish act, but he let himself commit to these thoughts. A sharp mechanical gaze fell upon the hubbub of the deck crews, Enginseers in their chants, Fury Interceptors and the larger Starhawk Bomber craft running their preflight checks, a hive of activity that was similarly practiced throughout Cadian space.

In the depths of the orderly confusion, the access lift opened up to reveal a bustling crowd of crewmen. As soon as the great bulkhead opened up, they came pouring out like ichor from some great plasteel beast. Either out of fear or respect, the lines of Guardsmen and pilots parted as Eideard advanced through the swarm. His cybernetics found his target easily, a figure distanced from the tide and avoided by other personnel like a festering infection.

The Errant was somewhat taken aback by him. Many of his ilk had come the Magos' company before, protruding enough ego and pride to send a servitor into sleep mode. Yet, here, as the Lord Inquisitor strode (more of a brisk lurch, from untactful eyes) out onto the hangar deck, The Mechanicus servant could describe him with but one phrase:

He looked like utter garbage.

He was a ragged man, this agent of the Ordo Hereticus, exhausted and brutalized by his work. Bags, not large but still evident, had formed beneath his eyes, themselves holding a tired expression. Unkempt stubble swept across hard features, joining with his mop of raven hair. His trenchcoat looked fringed, and the stylized black carapace beneath seemed to have been assembled in a hurry.

"My most sincere apologies, Magos," the Lord Inquisitor began with a respectful bow. "A number of complications kept me from attending to your arrival. Paperwork and the likes, as you know."

The Mechanicus agent waved a mechadendrite dismissively and replied with his own bow. "Think nothing of it. The Omnissiah's will is never ending, and his servants must be of constant vigilance. Your absence is of little consequence."

The Inquisitor nodded in understanding, but the Magos had his doubts. "You have been briefed upon me prior, yes?"

The Mechanicus representative gave a few rapid staccato clicks with his vox-grille and nodded. A Hereticus lacky; the worst. "Of course, Lord Inquisitor, but I do believe I have been acquainted with you before," the Magos said, drawing forth a hand from his billowing red robes, a metallic claw almost skeletal in nature. "Lord Magos Errant Eideard 5573-1111, representative of the Omnissiah, Mars, and the Adeptus Mechanicus."

The Inquisitor's eyebrow briefly raised, but he took the hand and hook it nonetheless. "Charmed."

The ragged agent then turned briskly and began to return to the access lift. Eideard blurted a short line in his Binary and moved to follow. At platform awaited two of the Inquisitor's party, Sororitas clad in the white-on-red-on-black ensemble of one of their Orders, furnished with Bolters and combat knives. At their head stood a Sister in slightly more ornate armor, her long silver hair flowing out behind her and framing piercing red eyes.

Had the Magos' spine not been replaced with crankin plasteel years prior, a chill would have traversed down it.

The Inquisitor's retinue and the Lord Magos took the ride up the lift in utter silence, saver few choice exchanges concerning the nature of the deployment. A Space Hulk was by no means a small matter, but Eideard could not remember a greater mobilization in the Cadian sector than this. Precautions had to be taken, he calculated. Even with the wealth of Dark Age technology no doubt within, a few lance batteries could save them all the trouble.

Then again, the Magos' unorthodox views weren't exactly the best, either.

Their desired level was reached, and a few short walk determined the distance to the Inquisitor's temporary headquarters almost lazily. Station personnel spared nary a glance in the direction of the party as they traveled, and then stopped coming down the corridor entirely. A single doorway appeared in the hall, surrounded by Guardsmen in armor as black as night and stock-still; the Inquisitor's personal Stormtroopers.

"And this," the Inquisitor stated, "is where I take my leave. Sister Hisau," he gestured to one of the Sororitas accompanying them, one of average height and completely encased in her armor, "will show you to your immediate quarters. If any problems arise, you know where to contact me."

The Magos let loose a few clicks and held up his hand. "There is still one more item we have yet to discuss, Lord Inquisitor."

"Oh?"

"The…'initiative' you so heartily displayed."

The Inquisitor's mouth twitched into a frown for a scant second, then returned to an impassive stare. "The mission was accomplished, and numerous archeological finds were unearthed. I see no foul there."

"Normally, I would agree," Eideard began with a wave of a mechadendrite. "However, you still overstepped the compromise agreed amongst the Inquisition and Mechanicum negotiators. The Ordo Xenos Inquisitor will no doubt be...displeased with your actions."

"He finds fault in my every move. I'd expect nothing less."

The Magos 'tched'. Either he overestimated this man's intelligence or underestimated his experience. "And then there is the question of the finds," the Mechanicus agent inquired. "I expect the Inquisition to hand over the investigation of the artifacts to the ranking Mechanicus representatives, which extends to myself and…" he paused, biting back a sigh "Enginseer Kostanian."

'For whatever the kook is worth.'


"ACHOO!"

The servitor turned about, it's pale machine-infused arms carrying with him several crates. "Are you alright, my lord?" it asked, the cyborg's voice monotonous.

Rei waved a mechadendrite dismissively. "No trouble, three-eighteen. Return to your task."

As the servant withdrew, Rei advanced further into the hold of the transport and put a whirring prosthetic hand to her vox-grille. "I didn't know I could sneeze with this on."


"That was the point agreed upon by our superiors," the Hereticus agent replied, hands clasped and tired eyes narrowed, "but the subject of your research has been changed; the materials have been placed under quarantine until deemed otherwise. None may touch them."

If it could, Eideard's eye would have twitched.

The Magos replied, keeping his voice level. "And under whose authority has this order been passed without my knowledge?"

"Officially, my own," the Inquisitor began, the faint spirit of a jovial tone in his hard voice. "However, if you request the full details and protocols associated with the command…"

The Lord Inquisitor motioned to the white-haired Sororitas at his side, who withdrew a roll of aged parchment from her side and gave it to her superior. The agent studied the scroll for a moment, as if questioning if this action was indeed the right course. It must have been in his mind, for the man then proceeded to roll out the piece of legislation.

And the spectators of the entire debacle watched as the end of the scroll bounced thirteen times along the plasteel tiles to a nonexistent melody, before finally ending in the access lift. Every blank space of the parchment was most likely deemed heretical, and as such the entire expanse was covered in a scandalous amalgamation of High and Low Gothic, local dialects of what looked like a bastardization of Valhallan and Vostroyan, and idle scribbles that some imaginative scribe must have thought would pass as Techna-Lingua. With his right eye, the Magos saw a flicker of a grin from the Inquisitor's aide.

It was that day that Magos Eideard 5573-1111 learned to never give anyone the benefit of the doubt.


The Inquisition had a multitude of tasks to fulfill in the Emperor's name. To those of the Ordo Hereticus fell the mission of rotting out the traitor and the heretic amongst the faithful, and to march upon the mutant with drums of war (or at least vox casters). To the Ordo Xenos came the task of warding off the foul alien from the blessed lands of the Imperium, and gather from them their technologies and biology. To the Ordo Malleus was given the order to purge the daemons of the Great Enemy, and to remove from the Materium traces of taint.

Severely pissing off a Magos of the Adeptus Mechanicus, the Sister Superior had long realized, did not fall under any of those directives.

Such were the circumstances the Sororitas found herself in that early morning (or evening, maybe; it had been a while since she had seen the sun). The Magos, "Eideard", had taken the Inquisitor's missive with the swipe of a mechadendrite and began to retrace his (or her, possibly) steps back to the access lift. A twitch asserted itself on the Inquisitor's face for a brief moment throughout the exchange, before he turned back to the entrance of his office and the two saluting Stormtroopers.

"Have I told how much I despise dealing with the Mechanicus?"

The Sister put a finger to her chin. "Yes, Lord Inquisitor. Three times, in fact."

"The Van Kaelin Campaign was the first incident, if I remember correctly."

"When the Tech-priest overseeing the camp motor pool tried to bludgeon you to death," the Sororitas replied with a poorly hidden giggle as the pair entered the Inquisitor's accommodations. "I do love his ring, by the way."

The "office" appropriated for the Hereticus Inquisitor was little more than a glorified storage space. The Stormtroopers had moved the majority of the crates that had dominated the room previously to the back, but a few still remained in their spots, or repurposed to the uses of the Inquisitor. A stack of dusty crates served as a makeshift desk, littered with piles of crumpled report papers, and in the rear sat a simple cot. Besides that, it was spartan in its design and decor, though almost lavish in comparison to other stations used by the Hereticus agent.

The bowels of a Hive sewer pump were not exactly the most comfortable of accommodations.

Sighing, the Inquisitor dropped into a bare metal chair behind the box-desk, glancing at reports with tired eyes. Following him, the Sister Superior enveloped the Inquisitor in a soft hug and placed her head upon his shoulder.

"Hugging an agent of the His Inquisition is considered high treason, Sister."

"Oh, somebody stop me!" was the mocking reply.

The Inquisitor patted a holster at his side with disguised reverence. "That can be arranged, Iri."

"Aw, Kiri-kiri," the Superior pouted, "you can be so cruel at times."

Silence reigned again in the small office-space, punctuated only be the muffled sounds of machinery in the bowels of the station and idle conversation from the Stormtroopers outside. The Inquisitor continued his vigil over the marauding stacks of AARs, noble invitations, and missives from the Inquisitorial representatives. To the Adepta Sororitas, he paid no heed, as the Sister was content to simply develop him in a gentle embrace. She shuffled in her stance and nestled her head into the Inquisitor's neck.

"Maybe you should take a break, Kerry," she started in a whisper. "All this work is gonna give you insomnia."

The Inquisitor simply grunted and began flipping through a red-lettered report. "I can sleep when I'm dead. I have more important things to do."

"But if you're dead, who will I sleep with?"

The Inquisitor needn't turn his head to see the Sister's small smile; it practically radiated off of her like heat from a plasma cannon. Another, much quieter sigh left the agent's lips as he set down the report.

"Any new information on the archeological finds?"

"Kerry-"

"New information?" the Inquisitor refuted.

A frown was the Sister's first response, letting go of her superior and rising to her full height. A small exhalation marked her disappointment, but said nothing more on the matter. "The Astartes Techmarine hasn't reported any new findings as of yet, nor have the sanctioned Tech-priests. No reports of xenos taint or heresy."

"And the live samples?"

"Sergeant Dionysia reports activity from subjects zero-zero-one and zero-zero-seven. However, the others are still comatose. The Dark Angels strike force lacks the equipment to bring the subjects out of hibernation."

The Inquisitor hummed appreciatively and brought out a lengthy piece of parchment marked with a wax seal and handed it to his subordinate, not taking his eyes off the reports and briefings upon his desk. "Give this to the Techmarine. Only the personnel listed may be allowed access to the materials or their items until further notice. Once the Excoriators arrive, we can begin proper analysis."

The Sororitas accepted the note, but stopped herself as a thought came to her mind. A grin eased itself unto her face

"And for the 'improper analysis?'"

The Inquisitor stood up from his desk, straightened his jacket, and gave the Sister a quick peck on the cheek. "How long do I have until the Sanctus Inferno docks with the station, Iri?"

The Sister's grin widened and returned her own brief kiss. "Do you promise to take nap afterwards?"

A grunt. "Yes."

"Thirty minutes."

In the time it took for those words to leave her lips, the Inquisitor had already booked himself a one-way trip out of the office-space, leaving in a flash of black followed by the knocking over of several crates and a flimsy door kicked off of its moorings.. From the other side of the now-unhinged doors, the black-suited Stormtroopers gave shocked expressions to the Sororitas.

Sister von Einzbern, Sister Superior of the Order of Our Martyred Lady and right hand of the resident Hereticus Inquisitor, could only laugh.


There was no light in the cell, but she could see. In spite of starvation, she did not hunger. In the face of cold, she did not shiver.

Such was it to be a Sword of the Imperium, one of its Angels of Death.

If the Imperium even remained. She did not discredit her fellow loyalists or the great Emperor himself, but the size and might of the Traitor Legions was daunting even to an amassed strike force of the Emperor's Angels. Her time in the Warp may too have played a part. Perhaps the Emperor and Imperium of her time was a fleeting myth of the universe of now, or a future yet realized.

She wondered her fate. Interrogation was a likely choice, then either execution or debasement by her captors. Either option would end her life similarly; honorable death in combat, breaking free of her chains to stand against the foe. A suitable redemption for her carelessness.

Such an idea could be fulfilled in her current form, however. Her captors had stripped of her possessions, leaving her all but naked. Though still a formidable combatant on her lonesome, she was but a common man to a seasoned Astartes of the Traitor Legions. She would need a plan, and allies to carry it out.

Her mind raced to her comrades. Were they alive? Had they sacrificed themselves in an effort to protect her, or were they still amongst the living, similarly chained and degraded to prison refuse? They would not have run, she knew. They would have stayed, so either they now entreated the holding cells around her, or now rotting in the corpse of her cruiser.

Not again.

She was being lax in her duties. She should have taken into account such a predicament, come the counter-assault at Terra. The Primarch would be most displeased no doubt, but a crusade of penitence could wait. She would make every effort to recompense if she got out, once this was over.

No…'when'.

For now, she would bide her time and strike once the odds were evened. She needed weapons and information, above all. A layout of this facility, guard patrols, security measures, escape routes. Then she would make for the other cells and find her comrades...or their corpses.

But now, she would have patience and wait.

To wait...just as she had for so long. For the first time in countless millennia, she stared into the darkness with the burning eyes, and felt her sword-arm ache in anticipation.

It will be good, she thought, to be His Sword once more. Perhaps this shall be my recompense to you, Lancelot...


A/N: So yeah, that took me a long good while to write. I've been swamped by school and family for the past few months so it took me some time to crank this out. Hopefully the next chapter can get out somewhat quicker, but with being swamped by other works of mine, I don't know. I'll just try and hope for the best.