"Exterminatus, Captain. I will not repeat myself again."
"Y-Yes, My Lord Inquisitor," the captain stammered. He hurried away to give his orders.
Dovator watched him for a moment, then quickly left the bridge. He turned a nearby corner and stopped a short distance away, out of sight of the captain and crew. The Inquisitor closed his eyes and hung his head. There was no other option left, he told himself, not for the first time. The cost to retake this world has already been more than should have been spent. You were tested, and you were found wanting. You know we cannot risk further daemonic incursion.
The Inquisitor continued down the corridors, working his way toward the medical bay. All the Guardsmen that had returned from the surface had been treated and released some time ago, but there was still one patient there that he wanted to see.
He had spoken with the surviving Guardsmen on the way back to the Redemption. They had seen the horrors of the Warp up close and in the flesh; it was enough to break the minds and spirits of all but the strongest of will. There was no question: they would have to be tested for corruption and watched carefully to ensure that they remained loyal servants of the Imperium and had not fallen prey to the insidious whispers of the Great Enemy. But the Inquisitor felt indebted to them, and so he had given them a choice: join him, understanding exactly what the future would hold, or take their chances. Most of them had chosen to join.
Those that had died on Gaea Prime, including Borglyn, had been left there with whatever remained of its accursed population. Dovator had tried to remove the colonel's body from that blasphemous monument, but to no avail: the force with which the daemon had slammed his friend into the marble had interred him there.
Dovator had just arrived outside the medical bay when he felt the ship shudder beneath his feet. It was a gentle feeling, the kind of subtle vibration that the Inquisitor usually associated with the thrum of the engine on smaller ships, such as his own. But this was not the vibration of an engine. This was the beginning of a sustained, large-scale orbital bombardment. On his orders, the Redemption would live up to its name and cleanse Gaea Prime of heresy once and for all.
Weiss awoke to the rhythmic vibration of the ship. He sat up slowly and looked around, feeling a little disoriented. The medical bay lights were turned down low. He could just make out the shape of Dovator seated in the corner of the room, the silhouette of his wide-brimmed hat unmistakeable.
"What happened?" Weiss' croaked. His mouth felt very dry, and his head was still foggy.
"What do you remember?" The Inquisitor leaned in closer. Weiss could see his eyes now, filled with concern.
"I remember… the daemon… I pushed you out of the way. And then… "
"You saved my life." There was a melancholy to Dovator's voice that Weiss couldn't quite understand. "For that, I am eternally grateful. But… there is something that you should know. You were badly injured. Your left arm and left eye… "
Panic gripped Weiss' chest. He flexed his left hand. It felt like it was still there, but somehow, also not. The tech adept closed his eyes for a moment, working up the courage to look.
When he finally looked down, his fear was confirmed: the spindly fingers of a bionic hand closed and opened as he flexed it. His eyes traced the machinery up his arm, all the way to his shoulder.
"Turn up the lights. And hand me a mirror."
The Inquisitor did as he was asked.
Weiss raised the mirror with his right hand and looked at himself. His reflection stared back, the pupil of his right eye dilating as his pulse quickened. His left eye quickly matched the movement of its organic partner, the barely audible whirring of the servos hammering home the reality: the upper left side of his face was a horrific mixture of scarred flesh and bionics.
"Why didn't you stop them?" Weiss asked, his voice barely above a whisper. He already knew the answer.
"There was no other way."
The tightness in his chest continued to build, his panic slowly merging with anger and despair as he tried to process his new augmentations. For years, he had made a point to avoid such things, convinced that the Imperium's understanding of technology was too incomplete, too intertwined with mystical fanaticism, to risk integrating with his own flesh. And now, here he was, made whole again by the very same.
The tumultuous storm of emotion in his heart came to a boil, the pressure building and building until he couldn't contain it any longer.
He laughed.
It started as an uncontrollable giggle, slowly growing in intensity to a cacophonous explosion that left him doubled over and struggling to breathe. The sheer absurdity of his situation fueled his hysteria. Tears welled up in his organic eye. He dropped the mirror on to his lap and held his aching sides as his entire body seemed to convulse with fits of laughter that took his breath away.
As the laughter subsided, Weiss lifted the mirror again, this time with his bionic hand. He gripped it tightly, staring at his new face. The glass shattered under his grip, and a hundred Weisses looked back at him, some big, some small, each as foreign to him as the last.
Those fools on Mars may have no idea how this stuff really works, but I'm going to figure it out. I'm going to learn how to repair myself, customize my new parts to my liking. I'm still me, and as long as I'm piloting this body, I can fix the machine even if I am the machine.
Weiss lowered the mirror and took a quivering breath. He turned back to Dovator. "Okay. Time to play."
Kraken walked down the corridors of the Redemption, working his way slowly to the docking bay. He had heard that Dovator was last seen heading back to their ship, and he needed some closure. He had been briefed about what had occurred on the surface while he had been unconscious. He knew about the daemon, the ensuing battle, and the resulting destruction of the world. But a question still remained, eating away at him, a small voice in the back of his mind asking over and over: how am I alive?
Inside the docking bay, Collins was leaning on the railing of the catwalk near the door, lost in thought. He glanced back for a moment, barely acknowledging Kraken before returning to his thoughts. "If you're looking for the Inquisitor, he boarded his ship about ten minutes ago."
"Thanks, I am. I… I wanted to ask him how I survived."
Collins laughed, a bitter laugh, and turned to face Kraken. "Really? You don't have a guess? It took three of us, all injured and barely able to walk, to carry your immaculate body out of that graveyard. We stepped over and around what little remained of the brothers and sisters that I've bled with for years. They're still down there, dead for no reason since we're killing the planet anyway. You survived the same way we lost. It was that witch of yours, whatever its name was."
"Watch your mouth… "
"Or what? I'm not the one in the wrong here. You, the Inquisitor… You're all insane. I respect the colonel's memory too much to report his childhood friend without actual evidence of heresy, but I'm done with all of you. You know how we win wars? Iron discipline and sacrifice for the greater good. Everyone is expendable, one of a billion cogs in the Imperial war machine. It's always a numbers game. Nobody is above that. If you want to go off and play hero, I want no part of it. You'll all be dead soon, anyway. Killed by your own misguided compassion."
Scoffing, Collins pushed past Kraken and left the docking bay, shaking his head in disbelief. The veteran let him go. Nothing good would come of prolonging the altercation. The man's mind was made up, and nothing would change it.
Kraken made his way through the docking bay and boarded the ship, Collins' words playing over and over in his mind: 'It was that witch of yours.' Could it be? Had Lucia saved him? He was certain he had seen her before the explosion, but he still wasn't sure how that could be possible. And, as far as he understood, her psychic powers were offensive in nature. He was hardly an expert on such things, however. Yet another question for Dovator.
Sara was standing outside the door to Dovator's quarters, her hand hovering over the chime. She looked up as he approached and pulled her hand away sheepishly.
"You need to talk to him too, huh?" Kraken asked.
"Things happened down there that I'm having trouble understanding. I thought maybe… But it can wait."
"You and me, both. We could go in together, if you like."
"I… Okay." Sara pressed the chime, and the Inquisitor invited them in.
Dovator was seated in the corner of the room, watching them as they entered. He gestured to the bed opposite himself and they sat, none of them sure where to begin.
Kraken broke the silence.
"I need to know… How am I still alive? Was it… Did Lucia do something?"
"I believe so. It is not unheard of for powerful psykers to be able to manipulate the Warp in multiple ways. Without years of formal training, I doubt she was even aware she could manifest a psychic shield before the moment came. I can think of no other explanation, however."
Kraken nodded. If that's the case, then…
"Did she bring the daemon? Is that why you had to… "
Dovator was silent for a moment. When he finally spoke, he spoke slowly, deliberately.
"The taint of Chaos on Gaea Prime was greater than any we have previously faced together. There were no innocents left. The entire world had given itself over to the Great Enemy. The risk of daemonic incursion, and the risk of corruption spreading, were high before we even set foot on the ground. I did not realize until it was too late."
"Is she… ?"
"Alive? Yes, and lying in her quarters. She is still in there somewhere, her soul detached from her body. It is rare, but not impossible, for a psyker to survive the horrors of the Warp in such circumstances. But only through sheer strength of will can she hope to find her way back."
"I need to see her."
'Go deeper,' Dovator had told her long ago, when she had asked him what to do if she got into trouble in the Warp. He had tried to explain further, give examples of what it could feel like, what she should look for. None of his explanations really resonated with her, but she remembered those words.
So, when all those awful eyes were upon her, Lucia had held on to Kraken for as long as she dared, and then she had gone deeper. She hid herself away from the tempest and the voices, constructing a chrysalis to shelter her vulnerable soul from the horrors of the Warp.
"Lucia?" A voice came floating through the raging storm.
"Kraken?" Lucia listened carefully, straining to hear that voice again. Am I imagining things? "James?"
"I don't know if you can hear me — "
"I can! I can hear you!"
" — said that you might still be in there somewhere. I wanted to… "
He paused.
Lucia waited, excited to hear his voice again. It had worked! He was alive, and so was she. She would just need to find some way to get out of this horrible place, and she would be able to see him again.
"I think something you did brought the daemon. Do you know about that? There was a Bloodthirster on Gaea Prime. Dovator killed it but… We lost the planet. Exterminatus. Maybe — "
"No! No, no… I didn't mean for… But I couldn't let you die! I'm… "
" — happened anyway. I feel guilty — "
"Please don't say that… It was my choice, not yours. I was ready to make the trade."
Lucia waited for him to speak again. After what felt like an eternity, Kraken spoke slowly, earnestly.
"Thank you. For saving me. Whatever else happened, I'm still alive because of you… I just wish you were still here with me."
Kraken paused again.
Lucia smiled a sad smile.
"I'll be back to check on you again later."
"Wait, don't go! I don't want to be alone here… Please… "
But he was gone.
Outside her chrysalis, the raging storm continued to howl, carrying her along like flotsam adrift in an infinite sea. Safe inside, Lucia sat in darkness, with only her thoughts to keep her company. She buried her head in her hands and wept.
"Is it true?" Sara asked once Kraken had left the room. "What you said about the daemon? Would it have come anyway?"
Dovator removed his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
"I… do not know. Lucia may have provided the remaining energy required to tear the veil, but it truly was very weak. The sacrifice in that courtyard was… significant."
Sara shook her head slowly. If that was the case, then it was their love for each other that had led to the destruction of Gaea Prime. The thought horrified her. Does that mean…
"Was Lord Braxxus right that we should all be tools in service to the Imperium? That we're all disposable? Is that what we need to do to win?"
The Inquisitor replaced his hat on his head and closed his eyes for a moment. Finally, he spoke.
"We cannot win. Not in any absolute sense. We fight our fights and sometimes we tip the scales in our favour, but we will never vanquish the Great Enemy. The only victory in this eternal struggle is personal: will you let it destroy you? We all have to choose, at one time or another. We must answer the question: what is a soul worth? Perhaps your own, perhaps that of someone you care deeply for, or that of an entire world. Most importantly, we all must live with those choices. And so the war continues."
Sara considered his words. She reflected on everything that had happened over the past few months, from her first encounter with Dovator to the death of his home world. For years, she had believed the strength of the Imperium to be beyond compare, but here she was with an Inquisitor, one of the Imperium's finest agents, in his darkest hour. He had just consigned his entire world to oblivion, and it had not been the result of some noble sacrifice, or some brilliant plan that she was just too stupid to comprehend. They had simply lost. The death of Gaea Prime was not a strategic victory for the Imperium against the forces of Chaos. It was a tragedy, and many more like it probably happened every day all across the galaxy. The Imperium was fallible after all.
She stood slowly and removed her greatcoat. The purity seals and scrolls covering her body shifted and rustled softly with her movements. Slowly, and with hesitant hands, she unraveled one. She folded it carefully and placed it reverently on the corner of the bed. Then she removed another. And another. She would keep them and wear them proudly into battle. Her faith was still important; after all, it had helped her save the man sitting in front of her. And there was certainly no question that faith in the Emperor had a tangible effect on daemons. But her faith was just one facet of the woman she now was. It no longer defined her.
Soon, she stood naked, her scarred skin the only remaining testament to the fanaticism that had been so brutally beaten into her. She covered herself again in her coat and sank slowly back into her chair.
Sara gazed at the Inquisitor and his eyes met hers, those blue eyes under the wide brim of his hat more ambiguous than she remembered.
Dovator smiled, a tight smile that did not reach his eyes. She returned the gesture, her smile every bit as hollow as his.
They sat together in shared silence.
