The Worldwounder burst out of the Warp, leaving a trail of debris and venting atmosphere in her wake.
Within a few moments, her pursuers emerged from the Warp behind her. Seven ships in total, of various classes and states of disrepair. One-on-one, the Worldwounder would have crushed them, even in her wounded state, for she was as mighty as she was ancient, a cruiser built more than five thousand years ago using techniques since lost to the Imperium, and further improved by generations of her masters since. But together, not even the skill of her shipmaster would suffice to see her victorious. The doom Worldwounder had fled into the Warp to avoid had followed her all the way here. Her engines still had enough strength to keep running for a while, but if nothing changed, then the only thing her flight would have achieved was to delay the inevitable.
On the bridge of the Worldwounder, Areelu Van Yastobaal, Rogue Trader, holder of the Van Yastobaal Warrant of Trade by virtue of being the one left to climb over the bodies of the other claimants at the end of the bloody succession conflict which had followed her predecessor's death, watched the occulus open to reveal the black void of the Adumbria system.
Worldwounder hadn't wanted to run. The ship was a bellicose beast, her machine-spirit shaped by the deeds of her infamous ancestor Jan Van Yastobaal, who had given the vessel her name, and it irked her to retreat from any fight, even one they couldn't possibly win. But Areelu hadn't survived for a hundred years as a Rogue Trader by letting others dictate her actions, even her own ship.
She had ordered the Worldwounder to run for the Warp, but now it seemed it had been for nothing. But she couldn't die, not yet. She still hadn't fulfilled her promise. She had to find a way out of this. There had to be one : in her experience, there always was, if you only had the wit to see it. Of course, she was smart enough to realize the survivorship bias of such reasoning, but she didn't care – if nothing else, it kept her from despair, which was a victory in itself.
"Auspex, report," she ordered, her voice cold and collected, forcing her own outward calm onto the rest of the bridge crew. Panicking at this stage would achieve nothing but lower their chances of survival even further.
"We're getting multiple ship signatures close to Adumbria Prime, my Lady," replied the Master of Auspex, and Areelu turned toward him, barely keeping her mouth from opening in shock. "There are also signs of vox-activity on the planet, although on a much smaller scale than would be expected of a planetary population like that recorded on this world. I'm seeing some structures in orbit, too, which don't match with the orbital stations on the records either."
Areelu couldn't blame the man for sounding so perplexed at his own words. Like the rest of her crew, he'd known that Adumbria had been declared Perditia by the Imperium seven years before, due to some kind of virulent plague which had spread through the once-prosperous system, defying all efforts to cure or contain it. She herself had expected to find a dead system, populated only by ghosts and automated warning messages.
Fleeing to this place had been a desperate gambit, one she'd only taken because there had been nowhere else to run when the pirates had cornered her. They had needed to escape the Torredon Subsector and get back to stars more firmly under the Imperium's control, and the Warp route leading to Adumbria had been the only one left open to them.
Areelu had hoped to shake off the pursuers, and make use of the Warp routes that crossed at Adumbria to get to a safer system, gambling that her Warrant (and, if need be, some suitably impressive bribes from the Worldwounder's vaults) would be enough to ensure nobody asked where they had come from. As for the plague which had led to the system's quarantine in the first place, as long as her crew remained onboard, it should have been safe.
But instead of a silent graveyard, they had found … this. Areelu didn't know what it meant, but she was sure she could take advantage of it somehow.
"My Lady," called the Mistress of the Vox, "we're being hailed by one of the ships orbiting Adumbria Prime !"
"Put it on speaker," she ordered. "Let us see if we can learn what is going on here."
"Unidentified vessel, this is Adumbrian SDF command," came the static-filled voice over the bridge's vox-speakers, sounding as surprised as she was and not quite managing to hide it. "State your name and intentions immediately."
"Adumbrian SDF command, this is the Worldwounder," replied Areelu, drawing on her decades of experience to avoid letting her surprise color her voice. "I am Rogue Trader Areelu Van Yastobaal, of the Van Yastobaal Dynasty. Our pursuers are members of the shadow cartels of the Torredon Subsector. In the name of the Emperor, I ask for any assistance you might be able to give."
There was a silent pause, which stretched just long enough to become nearly unbearable, then the vox-speakers crackled again :
"Worldwounder, your request has been received. The ships pursuing you are registered in our data-stacks as pirate vessels. We are moving to engage them."
Within moments, the Master of Auspex reported that the ships anchored in orbit were accelerating in their direction. There were twelve of them : from so far away, it was difficult to identify their exact types, but at least a couple were around the same size as Worldwounder. Predictably, as the lumbering behemoths began to move toward them, the pirates saw the writing on the wall and began to turn back.
They had chased the Worldwounder all the way here expecting to finish off a wounded prey, not fight a squadron of fresh foes in a system they had every reason to think would be empty. Reporting on what they had seen to their masters would be enough to avoid punishment for failure, or so the pirate captains probably hoped.
"Worldwounder, power down your shields and weapon systems, and make for the orbital docks," returned the voice of the unnamed SDF commander. "We are transmitting the coordinates of an empty berth where your vessel will be able to dock. Lady Van Yastobaal, the Vice-Queen would like to meet you in person once you're docked at your earliest convenience. Welcome to Adumbria."
The vox-link went dead. In the silence that followed, the bridge crew looked at one another, still not quite believing they had survived after all.
"Get back to work, everyone," Areelu ordered once she had recovered from her own sudden rush of relieved exhaustion at the realisation that she was going to live after all. She stood up from her command throne and continued : "Follow the instructions of our new friends, and prepare a report on the ship's damage for them as well. Suture, with me."
"Where are we going ?" asked the scarred Space Marine clad in power armor painted the purple and red of the Van Yastobaal Dynasty. He fell in step behind her as she left the command deck in the hands of her subordinates, his gaze moving around as he searched for any potential threat to the woman he'd sworn to protect in order to repay the life-debt he owed her for stitching him back together.
"Back to my quarters," she answered. "If I am going to talk to this 'Vice-Queen', then I want to look presentable while doing it."
They may have escaped from certain death, but she still had more questions than answers, and that was a state of affairs Areelu disliked greatly. This call with the Vice-Queen (whom she guessed was the local Governor, though from what she remembered Adumbria had used the standard Imperial title for the office until recently) was her chance to change that. There was a story here, and she was determined to learn it.
Fortunately, diplomacy was an arena in which she was even more experienced than that of the void.
For seven years, Slawkenberg had been at peace.
Mahlone would never have accused the Liberator of going soft, but he'd wondered, sometimes, whether Cain's love for his people had eclipsed his desire to spread the ideals of Liberation to those who so desperately needed it.
Now, the General of the USA realized how foolish these concerns had been. The last seven years had been peaceful, yes, but the Liberation Council hadn't been idle during them. All that time, they'd been training, preparing, growing. Cain had known that a conflict would come – Mahlone didn't think he'd known it would come from the Torredon Gap, though that wouldn't surprise him – and made sure the Protectorate was ready for it.
All members of the Council, along with other individuals of note, were gathered in the war room, where the ansible link between Slawkenberg and Adumbria had been redirected by the borgs. Cain had summoned them early in his conversation with Vice-Queen Kasteen, once it'd become clear the situation warranted their presence.
All of them had changed since the Uprising, twenty-four standard years ago, in one way or another. But age had so far spared them, thanks to the regular Panacea injections they all enjoyed. Nobody was quite sure how much the miracle substance would prolong their lifespan, but Mahlone was determined he wouldn't die of old age, not when there were so many threats to the Liberation left to face.
The hololith projected the image of Regina Kasteen in the air so that she was facing the Liberator, with the rest of them watching, ready to interject if needed. The Vice-Queen couldn't see them, but she'd be able to hear them, and that was all that was needed; really, it'd have been childish to ask for more. In the Imperium, such a conversation would've been impossible already. But thanks to the wonders of the ansibles, the Council could speak with the Vice-Queen as if she were on the same planet, rather than an unimaginable distance away.
"From the entire Subsector ?" asked Cain, reacting to the surprising news Kasteen had just delivered. "You're certain ?"
"Yes, Liberator. The Imperium has pulled back the Navy battlegroup tasked with protecting the shipping lanes of the Torredon Subsector," said the projection of the Protectorate's first (and so far, only) Vice-Queen.
"But why ?" questioned Cain, sounding appalled at the Imperium's decision – which Mahlone could well understand. "Who would do something so short-sighted ?"
"No one Lady Van Yastobaal spoke to was sure : apparently, the reassignment orders came all the way from the top, and all attempts to argue the order were swiftly crushed," answered the Vice-Queen, sounding even more disturbed by the implications as they all were. Which was understandable, given how she and her Regiment had been abandoned and left to die by the Imperium.
"As you would expect," she continued, "this has left the Subsector at the mercy of the shadow cartels which already infested it. The local SDF are only barely capable of protecting their own systems from raiders, and not even that well. Trade across the Subsector has collapsed as a result, and if people haven't already started to riot over lack of food it's only a matter of time. Lady Van Yastobaal apparently made considerable profits by providing her services as a pirate-huntress, but eventually the cartels had enough and gathered together a force large enough to force her to flee."
"And you trust this Rogue Trader's word on all this ?" asked the Liberator.
"Aside from the fact that her pursuers definitely intended to kill her, I was able to convince her to give us access to her ship's cogitators as part of the price of entrusting the Bringers of Renewed Greatness with the repairs," she explained. "It is possible the records therein were fabricated well enough to fool them, but Magos Tesilon-Kappa's brethren assure me the probability is minuscule."
"I see. You're certain these pursuers will make it back home in a state to deliver the news of Adumbria's current state ?"
"Nothing is certain where Warp travel is concerned, but regardless of the pirates' lack of proper maintenance, if they managed to make the journey in one direction …"
"I know," sighed Cain. "I was just entertaining a vain hope. So, we must assume that the shadow cartels of Torredon will soon learn that Adumbria isn't the plague-ridden graveyard they believed it to be. The question, then, is : how do we think they will react to that information ?"
"Lady Van Yastobaal believes that they will try to add Adumbria to their sphere of influence by force," replied the Vice-Queen. "The Adumbrian experts I've talked to on the subject tend to agree with her interpretation, especially if the Imperium did withdraw its protection."
Cain's gaze swept the rest of the Liberation Council. "Thoughts ?"
"This Rogue Trader is almost definitely correct," said Hektor. Nobody interrupted him : he had, after all, spent centuries as a raider himself while his mind was mercilessly shredded by those grotesque implants of his. "Unless the situation in Torredon changes dramatically – something like a civil war between the cartels to see which one gets to inherit the Subsector – they won't ignore such a juicy target right on their border. It's possible they'll think Adumbria was turned into some kind of secret Imperial base, and the edict of Perditia was just a cover, but that would require the kind of high-level thinking I wouldn't associate with pirates."
"Alright." Cain returned his attention to the hololith. "If the cartels mount a coordinated assault, can you see them off ?"
"Not with what we have in the system at the moment," replied Kasteen. "Even the ships which pursued the Worldwounder would have been a challenge, if they hadn't run. I think they were intimidated by the size of our refitted crafts, and ran away before realizing that they're all merchant ships. If a proper armada, even a piratical one, shows up, it'll be bloody."
"Don't worry," the Liberator reassured her with a smile. "We'll send you reinforcements. Since they need to get back home first, we should be able to arrive before them. You just need to hold the fort until we get there. As for the Lady Van Yastobaal, how much does she know about the Protectorate ?"
"Not much, but she's curious, and digging like a snow leopard. She knows that we managed to survive the Infection with help, but not where that help came from." The Vice-Queen appeared mildly embarrassed as she continued : "I had no choice but to tell her that much, to convince her we weren't cultists of Nurgle in disguise waiting for a chance to infect her crew."
"Perfectly understandable," Cain told her, nodding in approval. "What else ?"
"We've distributed doses of Panacea aboard her ship, so she must be aware of it by now. But she does not know of the ansibles' capabilities. I let her believe I needed to contact my 'benevolent backer' by using an astropath."
"Keep it that way for now," commanded Cain. "Continue the repairs on her ship, but make sure she cannot leave before I arrive. We need to ensure she understands her position and the risks of revealing too much."
"Understood." It was good to see that, despite the somewhat familiar way in which the Vice-Queen addressed the Liberator, she still knew her place in the Protectorate's hierarchy. "Another thing. When Lady Van Yastobaal came to visit, the magi of Change claimed that they were able to sense what they described as 'the touch of power' on her. They aren't sure whether that means she is a psyker or a practitioner like them, though."
"Interesting," mused the Liberator. "Then again, I have no idea how common either of those would be among Rogue Traders." His gaze swept the room. "I don't suppose anyone here has any experience with them ?"
"Some visited Slawkenberg for one reason or another over the last centuries, according to the records," offered Jafar, frowning as he dredged the details out of his impressive memory. "Either they wanted to sell something to the Giorbas, or they wanted to enjoy the touristic facilities themselves. But none had visited in a hundred years at the time of the Uprising."
And a damn good thing too, thought Mahlone. The presence of a real warship in orbit, with no borg presence aboard to seize it, would have made their revolution considerably more difficult, although the General didn't doubt for a moment the Liberator would have found a way.
"Since she was willing to break the edict of Perditia, it's possible she isn't completely loyal to the Imperium," Krystabel pointed out. "Especially if she dabbles in matters the Imperium has forbidden."
"Possible," conceded Cain, "but even if that is true, it doesn't mean she'll be willing to join the cause of Liberation. Rogue Traders are legendary for their independence, after all, and even if they stand outside of the Imperial hierarchy, they still consider themselves above the rest of Humanity."
There was a chorus of disapproving whispers across the table. One of the core tenets of the Liberation was that all human lives were equally important and deserving of happiness, regardless of the circumstances of their birth. The tyranny of the Imperium, where something as asinine as bloodlines were used to determine one's station, was one of the many things they'd rebelled against.
"For what it's worth, Van Yastobaal hasn't shown any sign of such prejudice so far," offered Kasteen. "Of course, I haven't talked with her much."
"That's something I'll need to look into once I arrive," decided the Liberator. "In the meantime, however, we have more important things to worry about. How quickly can reinforcements leave for Adumbria ?"
From there, the meeting moved on to logistical matters, as they discussed at length the question of how much of the fleet assembled over the last seven years should be sent, and how much should be kept in reserve to see to Slawkenberg's own protection, along with the myriad other matters which needed to be dealt with before such a large undertaking. They needed to bring the USA along, of course : if the pirates managed to land forces on Adumbria Prime, the local forces (undoubtedly brave and skilled as they were) were simply too few in number to repeal them. That meant bringing troop transports along, which also required support crafts, and on and on.
With a sigh, General Mahlone took a sip of his recaf. Boring as this all was, he told himself, it was also necessary, and he could endure through this if it was for the greater glory of the Liberation.
After several hours of debate, with the sun having long since set over the horizon, it was finally over. I checked one last time with everyone that there wasn't anything else which needed my personal decision, then made my way back to my quarters, where, after going through my hygiene routine, I collapsed on my bed, utterly mentally exhausted.
At least Jurgen had made sure we were all fed and watered throughout the meeting, delivering water, recaf, and snacks for everyone as we drew up our plans to go to the aid of Adumbria. Much as I would've preferred, there was no avoiding it : Slawkenberg needed to send reinforcements to Adumbria, and I needed to be there, ostensibly leading them as we sailed to the rescue of our … ally ? Vassal ? Partner in heresy against the Golden Throne ? The relationship between Slawkenberg and Adumbria was a tangled mess of diplomacy, paperwork, and mutual dependency which only a Tzeentchian could make sense of. In any case, we had to go help them.
Oh, sure, from a strictly military perspective I'd be absolutely useless in Adumbria as anything other than a mean of propping up morale, but I hadn't even dared suggest that I could remain safely on Slawkenberg. Not only would it destroy my undeserved reputation for leading from the front, but it'd also mean that supreme command of the fleet would be left into the hands of the Khornates, which was something I wanted to avoid at any cost.
Besides, my presence aboard the fleet would ensure smooth passage through the Warp, thanks to Emeli watching over me. Which wasn't quite as reassuring as it sounded, but apparently was regarded as a good omen by the lunatics around me. The Tzeentchian magi (whose numbers had also increased in the last seven years, though either they had followed the restrictions I'd placed on sorcery or, more worryingly, they'd gotten much better at not being found out) were competent enough that they could manage the regular trips between Adumbria and Slawkenberg without issue, but the Warp was the Warp, and we couldn't ignore the possibility of Nurgle intervening directly in the matter.
For practical reasons, the bulk of the Protectorate fleet was stationed at Slawkenberg. We had all assumed, quite reasonably I'd thought, that since Adumbria was supposed to be a plague-ridden graveyard and Slawkenberg was a world known to host a rebellion against the Imperium, any threat to the Protectorate was much more likely to strike here.
Upon completion of their refitting, all ships reclaimed from the Adumbrian graveyard had been sent to Slawkenberg with a minimal crew, due to Adumbria simply lacking the population to sustain them. Fortunately, merchant ships were far simpler than their Navy counterparts, and once the borgs were done installing their dubious automation upgrades, the crew requirements diminished dramatically. Even so, tens of thousands of Slawkenberg natives had taken to the stars aboard the growing Protectorate Navy (and, once again, it had been a struggle to keep my own name out of that appellation, but by the Emperor, I had prevailed).
A smaller but not insignificant number had also joined as pilots for the Cainwings, whose squadrons made up the better part of our navy's offensive power. After seven years of running the training programme, we had enough of them for all the ships which had been converted into carriers
Truth be told, this growing navy hadn't been that much of a strain where it came to people. In the last two decades, Slawkenberg's population had grown considerably. Predictably, there'd been a number of births nine months or so after the Uprising as a result of people celebrating their new freedom from the Giorbas, but the natality rate had only slightly gone down since, especially once the Panacea had made such things much safer. Already, the oldest members of the post-Uprising generation (who only knew of Slawkenberg's time as part of the Imperium through their parents' tales and visits to the House of Remembrance) were slowly trickling into the pool of available manpower.
I had tried to delay that as much as possible by making schooling mandatory and encouraging the creation of multiple universities, thinking that it would slow the economic growth of Slawkenberg. Under the Giorbas, children had been inducted into the workforce almost as soon as they could walk, with all the deplorable consequences you could imagine. As a result, the new parents were determined to give their children the opportunities and lives that had been denied to them (not that plenty of adults hadn't taken advantage of the education made available to them by the Liberation Council, if only out of the desire to spite their former masters).
Unfortunately, my training as a Commissar hadn't included being taught planetary economics. I had ordered every aspect of education be made free, but while that had put a dent into our finances it hadn't been nearly as large as I had expected, especially compared to the resources allocated to building up our fleet. And with the borgs working hard to reduce the Protectorate's reliance on manual labour, skilled workers were much more in demand anyway. According to Jafar's latest estimations, Slawkenberg was on the verge of yet another economic boom. I had only barely been able to swallow his lavish praises of my long-term policies without shooting him when he'd explained this to me in great detail.
This time, unlike during our first military expedition to Adumbria, General Mahlone would accompany us. Colonel Ygdal, his second-in-command, would be in charge of Slawkenberg's defense in his absence. And, because leaving a Khornate in charge of the planet unopposed was a recipe for disaster if I'd ever seen one, Jafar would also stay behind. Ostensibly, he'd run civilian affairs while Ygdal ran the military, but in truth I was counting on them keeping each other in check to make sure there was still a planet for me to return to once this errand was over.
Apart from that, Krystabel and Tesilon-Kappa both expressed their intention to join, while Jafar announced that Harold would represent the Tzeentchian faction of the Liberation Council as he had done during the Adumbrian campaign (the fact that he wasn't present at the meeting, and presumably hadn't agreed to this, was apparently of no concern to the Chief Clerk, although to be fair I doubted Harold would feel any reluctance). And, of course, both Jurgen and Malicia would accompany me, as would Hektor, whose experience of war surpassed that of the entire USA's top brass combined, very much including my own.
The World Eater's presence was something of a mixed blessing. On the one hand, disregarding his strategic input, having a transhuman killing machine at my side could only be good for my survival prospects. On the other hand, I knew that the only thing keeping Hektor from turning back into an uncontrolled, indiscriminate killer were the constant injections of Panacea into his system. Sure, those hadn't malfunctioned even once in seven years, but that didn't mean I wanted to be anywhere in the vicinity if it ever happened.
There was nothing I could do about it, though, so I would just have to deal with it. Even if nobody had said so out loud, I wasn't blind to the reason why so many members of the Council wanted to come. They saw this not just as our duty to go to the aid of our sworn ally, but as an opportunity to spread the cause of Liberation and expand the Protectorate beyond two worlds. It was why Mahlone had been so insistent on bringing so many USA troopers, 'just in case'. I could have overruled him, and probably gotten away with it, but there was always a chance we'd actually need them in Adumbria.
While the entirety of the Council seemed convinced our victory against whatever fleet the cartels sent to pillage Adumbria was guaranteed, I was far less confident that, if it came to an outright void battle, our untested carrier doctrine would work against experienced raiders who'd run circles around Battlefleet Damocles for centuries. Simulations and training exercises were all well and good, but they didn't measure up to a real fight.
After all, there must be a reason the Imperial Navy, to my (admittedly limited) knowledge, almost never used carriers and focused instead on the awe-inspiring power of large guns bringing the wrath of the Emperor upon His foes. And if the cartels had to survive centuries of harassing the trading routes without being wiped out, then clearly they knew their business. Certainly better than the Protectorate's navy, which was made of refurbished merchant ships with inexperienced crews.
Maybe we could bluff the pirates into retreating through sheer numbers ? It would depend on the character of whoever was in charge, I supposed. On the one hand, pirates were mere criminals, and unlikely to want to risk their lives in an uncertain fight. On the other, the shadow cartels were probably riding high over the Imperium's retreat from Torredon, and the commanding officer might not want to appear weak by turning tail and running.
I couldn't fault Kasteen for how she'd handled the situation, of course : the moment the pirates had arrived in Adumbria, them bringing knowledge of the system's survival back to their cartels was inevitable. That Rogue Trader was a bit worrying, but maybe I could use her to deliver the secrets of the ansibles to the Imperium. Unlike with Inquisitor Vail, I couldn't rely on Van Yastobaal to use that technology for the betterment of Mankind, but sheer greed should ensure she sold the tech to somebody once she left the Protectorate. Unlike with the Panacea, though, I wouldn't be able to paint that as striking a blow against Nurgle, so I'd either have to keep it secret from the rest of the Council (which was unlikely to work in the long term) or convince them she'd stolen the technology (which wouldn't work on Emeli).
Oh well. That was a problem for later. Now, I had to figure out a way to tell Zerayah that I had to leave the planet for an indeterminate amount of time, without her deciding to accompany me – regardless of how powerful she might be, I had no intention of dragging her into a war zone, as that was all but guaranteed to lead to her nature being revealed, which would bring the Assassinorum right onto our heads. If anything, that should make the rest of the expedition look simple by comparison.
Of course, I had no idea at the time of what exactly I'd end up facing before making it back to Slawkenberg, which was for the best, as otherwise I'd have needed to be dragged aboard the Fist of the Liberator kicking and screaming.
Inquisitor Lorquai watched through the occulus with a deep sense of relief as Simia Orichalcae finally broke apart under the Exterminatus, destroying the Necron tombs that laid hidden beneath its surface. It had taken several years and entirely too many lives, but at last the Necron threat had been dealt with, at least in this particular corner of His domain.
The final battle had been very difficult, with the troops she'd gathered launching a planetary assault spearheaded by a Deathwatch contingent in order to disable the Necrons' planetary shields before the bombardment could begin. The stocks of Panacea she had made sure to acquire before the expedition would ensure that the survivors who had managed to get off-world (of which there were punishingly few) in time would heal, physically at least. But the Panacea could do nothing for the ships lost in the engagement with the Necron fleet. Despite having double their numbers at the start of the fight, less than on in ten of the battlegroup she had summoned for the task had survived, and those who had bore the scars of the xenos' techno-sorcery. Based on the first estimates of the tech-priests, it would be years before they were fit for duty once more.
Leaving the Torredon Subsector vulnerable by stripping it of its assigned battlegroup like this had left a bitter taste in her mouth. She had been well aware of the consequences of such an act even before the Navy's headquarters had sent her a sober report on the expected impact of the battlegroup's removal. But making such heavy decisions came with the rosette. With Adumbria lost and quarantined, Torredon had become almost more of a burden than an asset to the Imperium. Whereas, had the Necrons been allowed to spread from Simia Orichalcae, they could have emptied God-Emperor knew how many worlds of life before finally being stopped (if they could even be stopped, something Lorquai, to her shame, was beginning to doubt more and more as her research into these ancient monstrosities progressed).
Since Battlefleet Damocles was already stretched far too thin fighting against the Tau, the Orks and the Tyranids, Lorquai had judged this to be the least bad of all the options available to her. Which, of course, would be little consolation to the billions of Imperial citizens living in the Torredon Subsector, now at the mercy of the pirates which had haunted the region for generations.
It'd have been much better to stop the Necrons before they had fully awakened, of course, but you might as well wish for the Emperor to step down from the Golden Throne and lead Humanity directly once more. From what she'd been able to piece together, the Necrons had been awakened by the Warp signature of the brutish Ork raiders which had arrived in-system some years ago, and proceeded to kill the greenskins before turning their attention to the miners, who'd just barely managed to get an astropathic message out before being slain to the last.
Now, with nothing but the clean-up left to do here, it was time for Lorquai to depart, and go ask pointed questions to the Mechanicus about what exactly they had been doing on the ice-world. Her analysts, working with surveys extracted from the empty remnants of the mining installation, had told her that there had been promethium deposits on the planet far richer than the one atop which they'd built the mining station – and which, by the greatest of coincidences, had just happened to be located atop the Necron tomb closest to the surface.
It didn't take a genius to put two and two together. Unfortunately, this wouldn't be the first time that the Martians' greed for the Necrons' incredible technology drove them to forsake all common sense and ultimately unleash them upon the rest of the galaxy. Heads would roll for this, Lorquai swore to herself, and to the Warp with the political consequences. It was the least she owed to those brave souls who had perished to check this rising threat, and to those who would suffer as an unintended consequence.
"Tell me you're frakking kidding me," deadpanned Major Ruput Broklaw, unable to believe what the cogboy in front of him had just said. "Please. I am begging you."
Broklaw had seen a lot of things since he'd been 'recruited' by Inquisitor Vail along with the tattered remnants of his Regiment. At the top of the list was that time a group of Custodes had come to take the original Panacea STC and bring it safely back to Holy Terra, but the rest of his time in the service of His Most Holy Inquisition hadn't been boring either.
In the last few years, the 301st had fought against a bunch of xenos (some of which he'd never heard of before), along with pirates, heretics, and people who were supposedly on the side of the Imperium but objected to spreading the Panacea STC for some unfathomable reason.
This, though. This still surprised him. And Major Broklaw did not enjoy surprises. He hadn't enjoyed them before working for the Inquisition, and he enjoyed them even less now.
"I'm afraid I cannot do that, Major," replied Cogitator Yanbel. "The gene-scans are clear. These individuals are entirely free of the Genestealer taint."
"We've been chasing the tracks of these xenos smugglers through five star systems in the last two years, ever since one of the Inquisitor's agents found out they were trafficking Genestealer purestrains," Broklaw said slowly. "I've myself had to lead the rescue of the investigation teams fourteen times. This operation alone involves all that's left of the 301st, along with the entire local Arbites and three PDF regiments which were judged trustworthy enough. All of that, while the entire Sector is gearing up for the war against the Tau on the border. And now you're telling me that all of this was because some bored spire-born frakheads wanted to have Genestealer purestrains fight hivers in their private arenas ?!"
"Exactly, Major." Unlike most cogboys Broklaw had encountered, Yanbel didn't make a point of being as expressionless as possible (which probably had something to do with why he was working for Inquisitor Vail in the first place), making it easy for the Major to see he was as infuriated by the whole situation as him. "My best guess is that they really only thought the purestrains made their 'game' more interesting."
Broklaw didn't bother trying to suppress his scowl. The two of them were currently standing inside a hive district that had officially been abandoned several centuries ago, but which had instead been secretly refitted to serve as a grotesque arena. Here, the lords and ladies of Kiltor had watched as hivers kidnapped from the streets by their thugs, or promised monetary rewards that were life-changing for them but less than petty change for the nobles, struggled for their lives in a series of gruesome contests designed to whittle down their number until only one winner was left.
Elsewhere in the complex, he knew, medicae were tending to the traumatized men and women who'd just been rescued from the 'games'. They had fought for their survival (the 301st had arrived in the middle of the latest round), had watched others die in front of them, and in some cases had been forced to kill to survive. It was monstrous; it was inhumane; it was wrong.
And, Broklaw knew, it also wasn't illegal under Kiltorian law, which made sense given most of the people involved in writing said laws were in the room. If not for the fact the nobles had tried to get Genestealers in their sick games, it was doubtful they'd ever have been stopped or punished : even the local division of the Adeptus Arbites had been wary of going after them until Inquisitor Vail had shown up with her rosette and a bunch of armed troops. But then, people like that would always go further and further into depravity, until they inevitably did something to draw the attention of greater powers. If not the Genestealers, it would've been something else.
At least this particular affront to decency and the God-Emperor would end today, the Major told himself as he took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. Inquisitor Vail was many things, a hard woman prominent among them, but she'd even less patience than him for fools.
"You can't do this !" brayed one of the fools in question, adding one more mistake to the long list which had brought him here as he drew Broklaw's attention to himself.
Like the rest of the twenty-two men and women who'd been watching the arena from a room dripping with excessive luxury, he had enough fat on his body to make even walking a herculean effort. His clothes were covered in enough precious metal to pay the 301st' wages for the next year, and a jewel-incrusted mask in the shape of some long-extinct bird of prey hung around his thick neck after having been removed from his face during the raid.
The soldiers tasked with watching the prisoners moved to intercept, but Broklaw stopped them with a raised hand. Partly, this was out of morbid curiosity; partly, because he was starting to get really angry and could use an opportunity to vent some of his frustration.
"Do you know who I am ?!" the man blustered as his waddling came to a halt in front of Broklaw.
"Magos ?" asked the Major, his voice calm and cold.
"This is Akalepsi von Lolligo," Yanbel obliged. "Head of House Lolligo, who owns approximately fifty-three point eighty-nine percent of all industrial plants on this planet."
"That's right !" blabbered the fat man. "And I demand that you –"
"Shut up," Broklaw interrupted him. The man's face reddened : it had probably been years since the last time anyone had talked to him like that, if ever. "There's nothing you can say that'll get you out of this."
When the man opened his mouth to complain again, Broklaw drew his laspistol and shot him in the leg. He immediately collapsed, whining and groping his cauterized wound. Broklaw wished he hadn't enjoyed that as much as he did – he might need to visit a chaplain after the operation was complete.
Suddenly, the door slammed open, and Inquisitor Vail stalked into the room. Everything from the way she moved to the look of utter fury on her face reminded the Major of a predator on the hunt, and he was very, very glad that he wasn't her prey. Her golden power armor was covered in guts of various colorations, none of it looking like it'd belonged to a human being.
Oh, Broklaw was going to enjoy this, he thought as Yanbel muttered something about needing the special unguents to clean that mess. It took a lot for Amberley Vail to lose her temper, but when she did, it was a thing of beauty to behold – although, like the storms of Valhalla, that beauty was better appreciated from a safe distance, and preferably with thick, solid walls all around you.
"The menagerie has been purged," she declared. "Yanbel, please go check there isn't anything among the corpses susceptible to fire before the troopers cleanse the area with their flamers."
"As you wish, my lady," the cogboy replied, before promptly getting out of the room.
"Now," said the Inquisitor, turning her burning gaze onto the wounded man, who was still moaning in pain. "You."
To Broklaw's faint surprise, the son of a gretchin had enough survival instincts left in his trembling body to freeze under the weight of the Inquisitor's displeasure. Slowly, he turned to face the woman who held his life in her power-armoured hands.
"I am Inquisitor Amberley Vail of the Ordo Xenos," she declared, her voice carrying through the room and to the rest of the captive nobles, who reacted to the announcement with predictable terror. "I've been investigating your activities for the past two years, tracking down your agents as they smuggled forbidden xenoforms into the God-Emperor's domain. And I am not pleased by what you've been doing here."
"They were only hivers," protested the spire-born man. "We made sure not to take anybody who mattered ! Our competitions didn't affect this world's productivity at all, I swear it on the Golden Throne !"
The absolute sincerity of the statement – the fact he genuinely believed this made all the difference – disgusted Broklaw to his core.
"Life is the Emperor's currency," quoted the Inquisitor. "Which means that He alone dictates how to spend it – and it is spent on things far more important than your pathetic games !"
Akalepsi tried to say something, but no word left his mouth as he looked up into the Inquisitor's cold fury.
"You've failed in your duties to the Golden Throne. You've betrayed your oaths and your stations. By your deeds, you've endangered this entire world. For that, and for your many other sins, you will pay. I've already lost too much time dealing with your mess," she spat, her voice leaden with contempt. "You will tell me the names of your accomplices. Then you will die, and your assets seized by the Holy Inquisition so that they might be put to better use."
"P-please …"
"Come to think of it," the Inquisitor suddenly added (although Broklaw was certain she'd always planned to do that, and was just playing it up for the audience), completely ignoring the spire-born's pleas, "I know the first thing we'll do with those assets. You promised coin to these poor souls if they won your vicious game, didn't you ? I think I'll make sure each and every single one of them gets the prize in full. Even those who died before we arrived will have it delivered to their families."
The noble stared up at her with dumb incomprehension in his gaze. She sneered, then turned away.
"Take them away, Major," she ordered Broklaw.
"Yes, ma'am," replied Broklaw with a sharp salute before turning to his men : "You heard the Inquisitor ! Get those frakheads moving, on the double !"
Within moments, the nobles had been escorted outside at gunpoint, including Akalepsi, who'd needed to be carried by three of Broklaw's men despite their excellent physical conditioning, such was his mass. The Major remained standing at attention next to the watching Inquisitor. Once the last prisoner was outside and the gates had been closed, she sighed.
"I can't believe this was the reason for all this mess," she complained. "I expected a Genestealer Cult who needed more purestrains immediately instead of patiently waiting for more to be born, or maybe some demented Drukhari scheme to get exotic beasts for their arenas. Not … not this."
"I don't either, ma'am," replied Broklaw. One of the few things about his assignment he resented was that he'd been read in on the Genestealers' reproduction cycle enough that he understood what she meant – he'd much rather have remained ignorant of that particular piece of nightmare fuel. "Nor did Yanbel, for that matter. It seems so … stupid. And these people are supposed to be the leaders of this world ?"
"Careful, Major," said Lady Vail with a tight smile. "I might have to execute you if you go further."
"You know what I mean, ma'am. What if one of the purestrains had gotten out ? Frak it, how do we know it didn't happen already ? If they've been doing this long enough …"
"I know," she sighed again. "The team I'll leave behind to clean up this mess will need to investigate the possibility, run some random gene-screens across the population, follow-up on mysterious disappearances and other suspicious activities, that sort of things. It'll require more assets I can't spare, but it needs to be done."
"Are we really stretched that thin ? What about your friends ?" asked Broklaw, carefully wording his question to avoid directly referring to the Panacea Cabal.
"They're all just as busy as us, I'm afraid. We've already lost far too many border worlds to the Tau, and the rest of the Imperium is too busy with its own threats to send reinforcements of the scale we'd need to break the xenos' spirit." She took a deep breath. "Well, there's nothing for it. We'll just have to do the best we can and leave the rest to the Emperor, won't we, Major ?"
"As you say, ma'am," Broklaw dutifully replied. "As you say."
As the two of them walked out of the room and back to work, he heard the Inquisitor mutter under her breath :
"At least that mess on Slawkenberg has been quiet so far."
AN :
Random Acolyte : "My lord, should we inform the rest of the Concilium that Adumbria has fallen under the influence of the heretic Cain ?"
Inquisitor Tannenburg : "Sharing information with my peers so that we can all work together for the betterment of the Imperium ... at the cost of revealing my sources to them ? HERESY !" *BLAM*
So, yeah, neither Amberley nor Lorquai have any clue that Adumbria is now part of Slawkenberg's sphere of influence, and, in Lorquai's case, that the Torredon Subsector isn't as isolated as she thinks. Tannenburg may not have killed anyone for suggesting sharing the information, but that may be only because nobody was suicidal enough to suggest it to him. The Imperium is the Imperium, after all.
Areelu Van Yastobaal is an expy of Areelu Vorlesh from Pathfinder : Wrath of the Righteous (the videogame version, not the tabletop pen-and-paper one, as there are significant differences between the two). You don't need to know the lore of the latter for this story, don't worry : I just needed a personality for the Rogue Trader, and she fit in perfectly with what I've in mind for the Torredon Arc.
I wonder if anyone will catch on what I mean by that. You do have all the pieces of that particular puzzle, after all.
Meanwhile, the Van Yastobaal Dynasty is reference to the very first Rogue Trader ever created, Jan Van Yastobaal. His backstory has changed since the days of the original Rogue Trader : Warhammer 40000 book, but I just had to use it once I found out about him.
Also, like with Sectors, the size of a Subsector is very much variable in the 40K lore. But, on the map of the Scarus Sector on Lexicanum, one of the Subsectors has five marked planets, and another twenty. Basically, I am going to have a lot of freedom as to what Cain is going to find in Torredon.
So, if you've your own suggestions for things you'd like to see in this new arc, then now is the time to propose them. I already have a list that will most definitely make the Liberator's existence more complicated - I mean, GLORIOUS.
As always, I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter. I'm probably going to focus on the next chapter of the Roboutian Heresy for the foreseeable future, as it is about 3/5 complete at 20k words, but we'll see what the Muse dictates.
Zahariel out.