AUTHOR'S NOTE: It's been a long, long time (practically another life) since I've touched this, but I've finally felt inspired to write again and wanted to finish this story. It's changed a bit from my original vision for it, but I believe it's a better story for those changes. If any fans of the story from way back are still out there, I hope seeing the story in its entirety doesn't disappoint. And for you new readers, enjoy, safe in the knowledge that I won't leave you hanging for decades.
She screamed again, louder this time as she collapsed to her knees, soft sand shifting under her weight. Tears streamed down the smooth skin of her face, hidden behind her long, dark hair. She was almost completely naked, body wrapped in pieces of parchment, each bearing ancient scriptures ranging from psychic wards to litanies of purity. Her skin was cut in a multitude of places, the result of self-flagellation and ritual cleansing, and anointed with consecrated oils. Signs of her dedication to the Imperial creed, they highlighted the zealotry and fanaticism often present in those that fought to safeguard the galaxy for humanity.
Sunlight filtered through the rafters of the ruined building and was reflected by the oils, giving the pain wracked figure a soft, surreal glow. Inquisitor Alexi Dovator watched her carefully, blue eyes narrowing in the shadow of his wide-brimmed hat, wishing the demonstration of her abilities would stop. He felt awful for being a part of her pain, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself that she wasn't human, wasn't like him. She's a witch, he told himself, an affront to the Emperor, no matter how repentant she may be. Not human at all. It wasn't working.
Dovator looked up from the convulsing woman and examined the face of the fat man conducting this "demonstration." The man had given her to Dovator as a gift, his own personal psychic ground, bound to his mind for life. Her sole purpose, the gleeful tormentor had explained, unable to hide his excitement, was to fall victim to whatever psychic attack was directed at her master and dissipate its effects into the Warp. A wonderful gift, Dovator had thought, thanking the man for his generosity. Then the bastard had decided a demonstration was in order, and with a wide, sadistic grin on his face, channelled his psychic energies into an attack on Dovator's mind.
Still smiling, the man chuckled softly to himself, almost as if the screaming, crying figure before him was some sort of joke. Dovator had seen enough.
"Stop!" he shouted, surprising himself as much as the quivering hulk of a man standing before him.
"What? Why?" The fat man sounded disappointed, his three chins vibrating with each syllable. "We have yet to reach the most interesting part of the demonstration. A little longer and I can show you its safety mechanism. See how the thing actually renders itself unconscious in an attempt to escape death? Once the convulsions begin, you know you have reached the limits of the protection it affords."
"She," Dovator muttered.
"What?"
"She," he repeated, louder this time.
"She? It is a freak. A bolt magnet. A witch. Its one value to the Imperium is as a shield for us worthy servants of the Emperor. Or do you believe it to be… human?" he added with a sneer, spitting at the crumpled form lying before him.
"More so than you," Dovator replied, immediately realizing that his mouth was about to get him into trouble again. It was a bad habit of his, speaking before he thought out the consequences. And in his line of work, even the smallest thing had consequences.
The fat man's eyes bulged out and his face turned bright red, his entire mass shaking with rage. "I give you such a wonderful gift, and you repay me with such blasphemy? I had heard your views were radical, but this… " He gestured toward his gift, lying unconscious near Dovator's feet. "This is heresy! Emperor damn your soul!" he howled, reaching for his laspistol.
The man was fast. Dovator was faster.
The console flickered briefly and went out with a loud crack that filled the compartment with smoke and showered sparks on the man lying underneath it. He cursed as he removed the damaged components from the underside of the console. "When will they learn," he muttered to himself. "Outdated technology won't save the Imperium." Carefully, he replaced each component he removed with a newer one, each lovingly crafted or modified. If those fools on Mars could see me now, the man thought to himself, a smile spreading across his grease-stained face. It had been at least a decade since he had last set foot anywhere near an Adeptus Mechanicus outpost. His ideas for improvement of existing technology had been called "blasphemous," sins against the great Machine God, offensive to the sacred Machine Spirit. He had refused to follow the proper rituals that had been passed down for centuries, tried to prove that they were nothing but the result of centuries of ignorance. The Tech-priests didn't take kindly to his accusations. They had given him a choice: cease his heresy or die. He chose to run.
"Weiss!" A voice shouted from the other side of the ship. Weiss had heard that tone before. Dovator was in a hurry, and that was never a good thing. The tech adept sat up quickly, forgetting that he was underneath the console. He swore loudly as his forehead met its metal casing.
"Yeah?" Weiss called back as he exited the engine room, rubbing his head. He was fortunate to have found Dovator. Any other Inquisitor would have had him executed for speaking in such a tone. Dovator chose to keep a retinue of close friends rather than fearful and fanatical servants. He strongly believed in giving people a reason to be loyal, rather than forcing them into it, and in having them use their own judgement instead of blindly following orders. Weiss had concluded that Dovator's attitude was what had kept them together the past eight years. Neither one of them conformed to, or had much love for, the debased standard the Imperium had set for humanity. Blind faith over human values is more evil than Chaos, Dovator had once told him. And from what he had seen over the years, Weiss knew that this was a fair assessment.
"Get us out of here," Dovator ordered. Weiss grinned knowingly as he headed for the bridge.
"How did your meeting with the High Inquisitor go?" Weiss asked as he settled into the pilot's seat and began pressing the activation runes. He always found it amusing how much faster he could get a ship off the ground compared to a Tech-priest. While they were busy anointing the consoles and filling the bridge with incense, he was activating ship systems. Granted, many systems tended to be very temperamental and take time and finesse to work with, but that didn't mean there was an angry spirit within in need of placating. Some of these systems were even beyond modern human understanding, the ancient knowledge of their correct operation lost to time. Weiss had learned which technology he could make use of, and which was a waste of his time; no amount of prayer would change that.
"We had a small… disagreement," the Inquisitor replied as he entered the bridge. Weiss turned around and studied him, still grinning.
"You shot him, didn't you?"
Dovator was silent for a moment. He took off his hat and ran his hand through his greying hair. It was another one of his habits. Weiss had learned that it meant the Inquisitor had gone and done something stupid. And that usually meant trouble wouldn't be far behind. Dovator sighed as he placed his hat back on his head.
"Figures," Weiss said with a laugh as he manipulated the controls, taking the ship up through the atmosphere. He was used to it by now. Dovator had an uncanny ability to find trouble more often than it found him. The ship shook violently for a moment as they broke through the upper layers of the atmosphere and pulled away from the planet's gravity. Weiss pressed a sequence of runes on the console, laying in a course to rendezvous with the other two members of their group.
"Come with me." Dovator turned to leave the bridge. "There is something you should see."
She moaned softly as she regained consciousness. Gradually, the fog that seemed to envelop her mind lifted. She opened her eyes, blinking to clear her vision. Cold metal bulkheads surrounded her. She sat up slowly. A heavy blanket had been carefully wrapped around her almost naked body. There was a doorway across from where she sat, perhaps five metres away. She rubbed her eyes with shaking hands and rose to her feet, pulling the blanket tightly around herself for warmth. The screech of metal on metal echoed through the room as the bolt on the door was drawn back. She glanced around nervously, pressing herself against the far wall. The door swung open, and two men entered the room. She recognized the first man: the image of his blue eyes, greying hair and wide-brimmed hat were still fresh in her mind. She was his now.
"My Lord," she whispered as he approached, quickly averting her eyes. Silently, she berated herself for speaking without first being spoken to. Her previous master, High Inquisitor Braxxus, had often reminded her she was to remain silent, usually through flagellation. She had learned that such punishment was required to save her immortal soul. Many times, she had whipped herself until her skin broke and the blood flowed freely. The pain would serve as a powerful reminder to avoid making the same mistake twice. Yet here she was, speaking out of turn once again.
"Please forgive me for speaking." She fell to her knees before her master. His forgiveness, coupled with the pain she would inflict upon herself would absolve her of this indiscretion. She bowed low, forehead to the cold metal floor.
The other man stared at her for a moment with a bewildered expression on his kind face. Gradually, his surprise turned to amusement, and he grinned widely. "Unbelievable," he muttered. "So, this is what they're giving out as gifts nowadays."
"You would not be smiling if you had seen the 'demonstration,'" the first replied, disgust in his voice. His name was Dovator. She remembered High Inquisitor Braxxus calling him that when they met. "She is… a psychic ground. Her mind is a sink for any malign Warp energy directed at me. I had heard stories of individuals with her abilities, but to see it in person was… something else entirely."
She raised her head slowly and allowed her eyes to meet Dovator's. "Are you unhappy with me, my Lord?" she whispered, immediately fearing she may have offended him. It was not her place to ask questions. When will I ever learn? She lowered her head again and pulled her blanket tighter, making a mental note to double her number of lashings.
"No," he replied, much to her surprise. "I disapprove of what you have been forced to endure." He crossed his arms and tilted his head slightly to one side as he considered the situation. Nodding slowly to himself, Dovator spoke again. "You have been bound to me for life?"
"Yes, my Lord. You and Lord Braxxus."
"Just me now." He thought for a moment longer, then continued. "I suppose there is really only one way to ensure your freedom," Dovator said as he drew his pistol. The woman rose to her feet slowly, her eyes widening with fear at the sight of the weapon. 'Just me now' he had said. Dovator had killed Lord Braxxus, she was certain of it. And now he would kill her too.
You will remain silent, she told herself. The Emperor has judged you. Accept your fate.
Ignoring the shock on her face, the Inquisitor continued. "I would leave you on whatever world you desired, but I suspect you will be bound to my mind regardless of the distance between us. I can only hope you outlive me, so that one day, you may truly be free. And the first step is to make sure you can defend yourself properly." He spun the pistol on his finger, holding the grip out for the terrified woman to take. "Do not be afraid," he said as she took the weapon from him with trembling hands. "You are free to stay or go as you please. If you stay, you will fight with me, not for me."
"Thank you, my Lord," the woman mumbled, staring at the pistol clutched to her chest. Her mind was a jumble of confused thoughts. None of this made sense to her. She was his property; a servant whose sole purpose was to please her master. Not even a servant: war gear. And yet his behaviour seemed to indicate otherwise. It was as if he were treating her as a human, as an equal.
"You need not refer to me as 'my Lord,' either," Dovator added. The woman's confusion increased. High Inquisitor Braxxus had always demanded she refer to him as her 'Lord', but now this man didn't seem to care for the title. This wasn't the way of things.
"What's your name?" the other man, who had stood silently until now, asked.
"My… name?" the woman repeated, meeting the man's gaze. She closed her eyes and thought hard, sifting through years of memories. It's been so long since anyone cared what my name was. And why should my name matter anyway? People have names. I'm not a person…
"I'm sure it'll come to you." The man smiled reassuringly, seeing the confusion on her face. "I'm Weiss. Used to work with the Tech-priests on Mars, but we had a… difference of opinion."
"A tech adept?" the woman's face revealed her surprise and interest. Again, she cursed herself for speaking out of turn. These men didn't seem to mind, however, so she decided to take advantage of the opportunity. "But you haven't got any… "
"You mean I don't look like a damned servitor?" Weiss laughed. "You can't fix the machine if you are the machine."
The woman's brow furrowed, and she stood silently for a moment. There was an odd logic to his remark, but she had a strong feeling that it was against the teachings of the Adeptus Mechanicus. Granted, she was no expert on such things, but from what little she had heard of Mars and the Tech-priests, machinery was sacred: a gift from the Machine God to be embraced and cherished. A lowly creature such as herself would have no hope of ever being worthy of receiving blessed augmentations, but surely a tech adept would not pass up such an opportunity?
Her mind drifted back to his original question. My name. If these men preferred to call her by name, who was she to deny them that right? A memory came bubbling up through the fog of her mind, from a time before High Inquisitor Braxxus. "Sara," she blurted out suddenly. "I remember now. My name… it's Sara."
Dovator nodded. "Welcome aboard, Sara."
