A/N: Chap 4 review responses are in my forums as normal. This is the first of 2 posts today, so if you finish this keep reading on to Chapter 6. I recognize that with weekly posting, the beginning of this story is taking a long time. So, with this and Chapter 6, hopefully you'll get a clue as to how the first Book unfolds. Thank you for reading.
Chapter Five: Tenebras Noctem Factumque
When she was a little girl, Lyta's father let her sit on his lap in his solar, and would read to her. Her favorite book was a reproduction of an ancient text with images from Terra-that-was. There were picts of vast oceans and forests, and scenes of snow and mountains.
She often went to sleep on nights like that, dreaming of little flakes of frozen water falling from the sky like gentle tears. Who in heaven was crying for her, she wondered?
She blinked away the memory and roused herself from her light nap. It was a two-hour journey by groundcar from the Dalet to Gimel Spires, all within the vast hive city that covered the entire northeastern escarpment of the Merican continental plateau. Beyond, the sulfur-yellow gray of the pollution layer scattered and diffused the sunlight into a dull, constant glow, almost like weak phosphorescence. The heat was oppressive enough to be felt despite the armored car's air circulators.
The light was brief as they once again moved into the relative dark of the hive interior.
The six spires of Botan Hive, on any other world, would each be considered Hive Cities themselves. Each spire alone held easily hundreds of millions upon millions of humans within their vast, towering walls. The dense structures that rose up between the far more ancient spires eventually merged over the millenia to form one mega structure of over a billion human souls.
It was not the largest hive city on Terra. The Imperial Palace alone easily held ten billion souls within its walls, with far more surrounding it. Terra as a whole held quadrillions of humans.
Lyta's ocular implant responded to her thought-pulse command and brought up their relative position. While she rested her organic eye, they cleared the Dalet Spire and were now inside the older Gimel Spire, making their way up an arterial ramp spiral toward the upper levels.
Artigan sat across from her in the otherwise empty hold of the transport. He held a palm-sized data slate that he appeared to be reading intently. "We should arrive in twenty," he said without looking up. "We had to detour due to pilgrim foot traffic."
"So far from the palace?"
He shrugged. "It's still Terra."
"Yes, of course."
Abruptly, the yellow-gray sunlight returned, leaking like sludge through the windows of the transport. Lyta turned and saw they had emerged onto an exterior transit artery that ran along the outer curve of the spire. From her limited view, she could not see where on the spire they were, but it must have been high because she could see the vast, unending city scape stretching out into the gloom kilometers away. As the vehicle curved with the artery, their destination came into view.
The skull and I-shape of the Inquisition dominated the hab spire walls, which rose from the steep slopes of the upper spire in dark, majestic glory. She saw odd streaks of color–blues and whites–stripped by the constant grit-storms of Terra and never repainted. Her implant immediately started inventorying the las cannons, missile launchers and void shield generators that bristled along the edges of the hab spire, which itself was easily as large as the Arbites Fortress in Dalet.
"Does it have its own gravitics?"
"Fairly certain it could fly into orbit," Artigan said. "It was a gift from your grandfather, if I remember correctly."
They passed through three well-staffed security checkpoints, and her initial supposition of a lone, poorly staffed Inquisitor was quickly adjusted. He was a Lord Inquisitor. Disgraced or not, the title meant something.
The transport passed through a final security cordon and entered a spacious, well-equipped hangar. She spotted a dozen nighthawk gunships, one larger Thunderhawk transport, as well as several more of the armored ground transports similar to what she had ridden in. There were spaces for even more. Menials, servitors, tech adepts and enginseers buzzed like insects around the various pieces of equipment to keep them in prime condition.
She glanced at one larger ground transport that opened up its side ramp just as Artigan led her into the interior of the hab. Stormtroopers in Ordos colors moved down the ramp and then escorted a line of prisoners in shackles. One of them wore a suppressor color and glared about them.
"Looks busy."
"Sanguinala's tomorrow," Artigan said. They stepped into a wide hall. "Top five floors are residences. Lord Moro occupies the penthouse level. Only go there by his expressed invitation. You'll be housed on level twenty-four. Levels ten through twenty are working levels. Interrogation rooms, training facilities, barracks for the troops. Levels five through ten are research and admin. Lower five are mechanicals and systems. We're to go straight to level twenty."
"What's there?"
"Briefing room. Lord Moro begins every day with a briefing."
It was morning. Early morning. The sunlight was that of early morning. In her exhausted state, Lyta hadn't realized.
The hab spire had all of the earmarks of a military installation. She counted over two hundred men at arms, mostly stormtroopers like Artigan, but also several auxilia in guard uniforms. What struck her, though, were the menials.
They were fed. She could tell just from their slightly taller than average stature. They still had the ashy complexion of Terran natives, but some of them were almost as tall as she was, and many still had their hair. They kept their eyes down, and wore livery not of the Inquisition, but of a stylized tree, but it was mute, striking evidence that her new Lord treated his menials far better than most would.
The lifts took them quickly from the hangar level, which occupied a portion of the tenth and eleventh floors, until the rune in the lift display marked the twentieth level.
Artigan led them into a hall with ancient wood paneling of a type she could not identify, but darker than what Rassilo used in her chambers. The floors were carpeted in a dense layer of red and gold that silenced her boots. Artigan turned left from the lift and guided her down the passageway. Sconces lit their way, each holding static lumens. Portraits on the walls captured scenes of alien worlds. She quickly saw a common theme–forests and sunsets.
They turned into the first door on their right, and she was immediately confronted by a tall, muscular woman wearing the black power armor of an Adepta Sororitas. But rather than the typical fleur de-lis on her chestplate, her armor bore stylistic crimson boughs. In the center, between the stylishly exaggerated breast domes of her armor, she wore a rosette of a clenched fist crushing a ruby-eyed serpent. This was one of Lord Moro's interrogators.
"So the runaway has arrived," the woman said.
Lyta instantly tensed, quickly shunting her emotions from her face.
Beside her, Artigan shook her head. "Sister…"
"Those who run in fear deserve neither sympathy nor forgiveness," the battle sister declared in a ringing tone. "Those who get their masters killed deserve far less than that."
"And those who single-handedly kill a chaos sorcerer deserve the benefit of the doubt."
The battle sister looked at the new speaker just over Lyta's shoulders. Lyta, too, turned and saw her new master had entered the room.
Lord Moro looked ancient. A bulbous, scarred head on a stylus-thin neck, he projected centuries in his expression and movements. In an age where life could be elongated like taffy, for him to appear so old in spite of rejuvenate treatments spoke of a long, hard life.
The power armor he wore was of a Martian variant she dimly recalled reading of once–so ancient as to almost be archeotech. It had immaculate styling and hexagrammic runes inlaid between images of trees and suns. She wondered how much of his stride was due to his own body, and how much was his armor.
He wore his Inquisitorial rosette mounted in the center of his armor's chestplate. It was an exquisite piece, just as Rassilo's had been. Where Rassilo's had an ocean theme, his seemed inspired by a forest at sunset, with golden boughs forming the clefs of the I-shape. The traditional inquisitorial skullform had been skillfully shaped around what looked like the shell of a large seed or nut.
"We have a busy day," Lord Moro said briskly. "Grab some food to break fast while we wait for the others. You as well, Amelyta."
Lyta still had her tac pack. She looked around for an empty spot against a wall and placed it there. Only with the mention of food did she realize why her mouth was watering. She followed the scent to a buffet with porcelain plates. It was almost a full day since her last meal, and even if not, she was too professional to turn down an opportunity to eat.
It was good food–grox bacon strips, real fruit. Juice, real butter and fist-sized rolls of thick, dark starch grain still warm from preparation.
She looked to the oval table–it had a smoothed marble top set on large, gnarled tree trunks shaped and stained as stands. Lord Moro already had his food–a simple pastry and, oddly, two cups of steaming tea. He caught her eyes and motioned to the seat in the middle of the longer side of the table.
With a nod, she took it and settled in.
A large man in Ordos armor, also wearing an interrogator's mark, stepped into the room. Heavy set, muscular with a thick beard and hard eyes. He scanned the room quickly, pausing only upon seeing Lyta, and then only for a moment, before making his way to the food. Almost right behind him came a pale, sickly-looking woman with clouded eyes and white-blond hair. She didn't appear to look anywhere but walked without issue to the seat right next to Lord Moro.
Without a word, the ancient Inquisitor Lord passed one of his two cups of tea to her. Artigan sat beside Lyta on her left, while the Battle Sister chose the seat to her right. The far end of the table blinked as a high fidelity hololith appeared of a hairless, ancient face.
"Who are we missing?" Moro asked.
Knows the answer. Knows where every one of his people are at all times. The little factotum from her power felt redundant. She didn't need her power to know this man kept control over his entourage. The fact that a Sister of Battle stood down with a mild statement was proof enough of that.
"Kotran is overseeing the Aleph Blue 552 quadrant purge. Gamet is conducting an operation in the Black 299 Quad 4 section here in Gimel." The speaker was the hololith at the end of the table. "He took serious injuries in the uprising and is requesting assistance, Lord."
Moro simply nodded. "Yes. After our meeting, Rael, you and our newest interrogator are to relieve Gamet so that he can visit the apothecary."
Once again, Lyta used cantrips and mental training to shunt any emotional reaction from her face. Newest interrogator?
The Lord Inquisitor was not done. "Which is a good enough point to introduce our newest Interrogator–Amelyta Rothid. Yes, that Rothid. Whatever else you might have heard, she killed a traitor marine on Luna last month. No matter the circumstance, that is not something to be dismissed or disparaged. And the fact that she heeded the Emperor's call rather than accept an empty throne of a nobleman's life is a point of honor, as far as I am concerned. Are we clear?"
He pointedly looked at the battle sister.
"We're clear, Lord," the sister said. She turned to regard Lyta. "I was not aware of your feats, sister. Welcome. I am Zhaena."
"Thank you," Lyta said.
"Now, on to business. Sister Zhaena, your report. What happened yesterday in the Gamma spire?"
~~Revelation~~
~~Revelation~~
Moro ran the meeting quickly and efficiently. The Lord seemed to desire concise reports, and in every case the agent doing the report summarized the problem, what they did or were doing about it, and plans to complete their tasks. The meeting finished within an hour.
"Amelyta, remain. The rest of you are dismissed."
The other members of the Lord Inquisitor's staff left the room. Without the Sororitas, only two chairs separated her from Moro. He placed the interrogator's mark on the table and slid it to her.
"Thank you, Lord."
He had very dark eyes; almost a psyker's gaze from his aged, scarred face. "You have no memory of how you killed that traitor marine, do you?"
She opened her mouth to demand how he could know that, but then thought better. "No, Lord. I assume he opened himself to harm, and in my delirium I was able to kill him with my power blade. But I have no memories of it."
"As reasonable a supposition as any." He stood, but motioned her to remain seated. "I'm nearly three hundred years old. The rejuvenats treatments only work so long before joints just don't recover. Sitting too long pains me." He paced slowly as he spoke. "Do you remember me from before? I know the psykana and Ordos conditioning try to drive out any traumatic memories if they can."
"I remember you, Lord. Uncle Moro."
The man smiled, briefly. "An affectation that, while not technically correct, was appreciated by an old man. Your father's and brother's deaths were a tragedy. In a long life of wonder and horrors, I am not ashamed to admit their deaths struck me harder than most. I also know why you ran, child. So I shall not speak of it further. Instead, I wish to discuss your psyker rating. It's not unheard of for psykers to have unique and very specific powers. In your file, yours is listed as enhanced intuition. Describe it for me, if you please."
She had the exact same conversation with her first master. "I receive factotums, Lord. Rarely more than could be obtained through more diligent study. For example, I know your senior interrogator, the bearded man, has a wife and children. I gathered that from a stain on his carapace armor. Artigan is almost eighty years old, and has fought Chaos as part of a Cadian militarum regiment before you recruited him. He has seen actualized demons and lived. And you are not nearly as disgraced as Lord Rassilo led me to believe."
Moro burst into sudden laughter. "Oh, how delightful! Adamara. She calls me a Gallentist, while she's likely Xanthist in her views. Still, she has influence over a large body of our fellows and hides her inclinations well. If she has ordered you to make reports on me, do so truthfully. I serve the Emperor in all things."
He motioned to her. "Come, let's get you to your chambers so you can prepare for your day. Your first assignment is far from easy. These past few weeks, since news of the Black Crusade that assails Cadia reached us, we have seen a surge of heresy the likes of which I've never experienced on Terra. It has grown exponentially in the past few months. I have only seen such activity on worlds close to the Eye of Terror. We have much work to do."
She scrambled to her feet, retrieved her tac pack, and followed her new master down the hall. He spoke lightly of the facilities, giving her a tour that Artigan did not have time for. He pointed out the training facilities, and the kitchens.
"You feed your people well," she noted as they left the busy kitchens.
"It is immoral to starve those who serve," Moro said. "Your father gifted me this and another hab spire. I converted the second one into an agri-hab. The Emperor spoke of helping humanity rise to a higher state. He would not be pleased with what ten thousand years of poverty, starvation and brutal work has done to the humans of Terra."
She felt his statement to be an odd one; a statement she had no doubt the Ecclesiarchy would take issue with. "You feel that the Imperium has strayed from the Emperor's path?"
"I feel like you would find it interesting to talk with an Adeptus Custodes about what the Emperor truly desired for humanity. Speaking to a thousands-year-old chosen companion of the Emperor makes for a refreshing perspective."
They reached her quarters. He motioned toward the biometric lock–she set her gene sequence and watched as the door opened.
The quarters were surprisingly spacious–like the rest of the structure, the walls were lined in wood paneling. "What is the wood, lord?"
"Nalwood," he said.
She entered her new home. A bed rested against the far wall, with a secured wardrobe to one side. She saw a separate ensuite hygiene chamber, and a workstation large enough to hold several picture screens, as well as what she presumed to be a cogitator.
What truly got her attention was a stand that held a suit of power armor. Ignatius-variant, of the finest crafting. She drifted closer to it, and traced with both natural and mechanical eye the hexagrammic runecraft that covered the armor. "Lord?"
"Not from me, Lyta," he said. "From the Archduchess of Botan Hive. I may have added the runes–we are witch-hunters, after all–but the armor itself was commissioned by your sister as a Sanguinala gift for you. I made my request for you almost as soon as I heard of your injuries on Luna, and Norquis' passing. It is likely you will need to see her at some point."
Lyta struggled with the odd emotions she felt, shunting them back as best she could as she examined the armor. Instead, she held up the interrogator's mark. "Lord, may I ask…I am so young for such responsibility."
"Twenty-two," he said. "It has been ten years since you left. Three years of schola psykana, another four years of schola progenium, and then three years of Ordos training and psycho-conditioning. It has not been easy for you. But that hardship has made you strong, I believe. And you will need that strength, Lyta, for what lies ahead."
He turned to leave the room. "Change and prepare. Gamet executed the purge well enough. He is good at the tasks assigned to him. I want you to oversee the interrogations and find the vector of heresy that led to the tainting of forty thousand of Gimel's citizens. I believe that will be better suited to your skillset"
"I will, Lord. Immediately."
"Good. We shall speak again soon."
~~Revelation~~
~~Revelation~~
Black 299 Quad 4 in this 999th year of the 41st Millenium boasted a population of 48,245 souls before the taint of Ruinous Powers. It was one of 50 such sectors on the 299 level of the Gimel Spire of Botan Hive, out of 400 such levels that reached down into the very bowels of Terra. Some levels and sectors held far more, the further down the levels went.
In the course of the 12 hours between when Father Hausen Colindaus opened himself to the demons of the Chaos Realm to Interrogator Gamet's intervention, that population dropped to 2,000 humans and four hundred demons and demon-possessed. The humans hid fearfully in their hab chambers while the demons hunted them, one door at a time.
Every moment of the horror was caught on auspex and picter scanners, and played before Amelyta's eyes as Artigan drove her and a squad of almost two dozen Ordos troopers toward the sector in question.
"Demon taint," she whispered. She didn't need her power to see it; the images she watched were clear enough that this man, Colindaus, had his soul consumed entirely by the dark powers of the Warp. "I have never heard of such open demon-taint on Terra," she admitted. "This…this was a full incursion!"
"Yes. Until a few weeks ago, it would have been unthinkable," Artigan said as she drove. "It's been getting worse."
"Gamet has isolated the surveillance?"
"Restricted to Inquisitorial eyes from this point forward. All those exposed have been dealt with."
It was the greatest, most terrible truth that demons existed. That there was a vast hell just on the other side of reality shaped by all the dark emotions of a beaten, crushed humanity, just waiting to pierce the barrier of the materium. Most demonspawn could not manifest on their own power outside of the Warp, but if an unsuspecting mortal opened the way, the demon could feed on that mortal's soul and shape the mortal's flesh into something monstrous.
As witnessed by what Father Colindaus became.
It just wasn't supposed to happen under the Emperor's aegis. It was not supposed to happen on Holy Terra itself.
They reached the Ordos cordon after an hour's transit through the heart of the vast spire. Arbiters and twenty hive auxilia helped maintain the security of the sector. It was a hab sector, but also a market for the local residents.
She and Artigan entered without challenge with twenty-two new stormtroopers in formation behind them.
Gamet, a junior interrogator fifteen-years older than herself, sat on a electro-gurney. The shattered remnant of his leg had been secured in a medicae-cuff. His head was wrapped in bandages, and his carapace armor looked scarred and dented. When he turned to see their approach, Lyta immediately saw the dilated pupils of heavy stim and pain medicants.
"Lord, the new Interrogator," Artigan said before Lyta could speak. "She is to relieve you."
"By the throne, she's a gakking child! Why would Lord Moro throw a child into this hellish place?"
The potential sting of his words was offset by the fact the man was drugged out of his mind and slurring his words.
"Because anyone older might know better," she said. "Gamet, I'm Lyta. I've been where you are not so long ago. Get your treatment, Lord. You've earned it."
The man sighed explosively. "It's contained. All footage seized, all witnesses in custody. I haven't had a chance to do interrogations. Good luck, Interrogator."
"You as well, Interrogator."
A pair of servitors took the gurney and led the wounded man away. She watched long enough to see him safely back through the cordon before turning her attention to her job. The entry to the sector had three independent doors, each large enough to admit a Leman Russ tank. The drop doors were designed to withstand heavy artillery bombardment, but were thousands of years old.
"The first and third drop doors failed," she noted.
Artigan consulted his datapad. "That's correct, lord. The tainted were able to tear the first door from its tracks; the third door failed to drop properly. If Gamet hadn't arrived when he did, the taint could have spread to other sectors."
She made a mental note to interrogate the sector administrator for the failures as she made her way into the sector itself.
The walls and floors were covered in blood and viscera. The smell struck like a fist–of loosed or ruptured bowels; of rot and degradation, mixed with the faint scent of sulfur. The few thousand survivors were held in electro-pens in what had been the open market that served as the center of the triangular sector.
Mentally bracing herself, Lyta approached the nearest pen. She flicked her fingers at her side, and was pleased when Artigan acknowledged the battle hand sign she'd learned during her own Ordos training. It was a man less experienced than Artigan who'd trained her.
She opened herself up, and immediately felt inundated by the rage, hatred and despair that permeated the air. She focused on the first person within the pen–a juvenile. The girl barely stood over a meter, with her hair already thinned like most of the menial class. Slim, with an ash-pale complexion that had never seen natural light, she stood with brittle bones and a bent posture despite not yet having fifteen years to her name.
It cannot be true. It cannot. But I saw it. I saw the truth. It cannot be true. I saw the truth. The truth shall free me. The gods will free me.
Lyta signaled for termination and moved on. Some she signaled for advanced interrogation, but most knew nothing or were too far gone to Chaos taint. One of the first, most harsh lessons the Ordo taught their agents was that even just seeing demons opened the door to weakened souls to fall.
She continued her grim work, selecting who would die quickly, versus who would die slowly under interrogation. That progress slowed when she reached the very last pen, and the one individual there who did not belong. The outlier stood a head taller than the menials, with a headful of blonde hair that had once been styled, but was not loose and in disarray, and skin less pale and healthier than anyone else in the pens. She wore plain robes, but of a higher quality than anything seen in this sector.
Blue eyes stared back at her with a shock of recognition. But of more importance was what Lyta's power told her. This person carried no taint–their soul was pure in a way not even most priests could claim.
Neither spoke, though Lyta could see words hovering on the woman's lips. She signaled Artigan for a high-level interrogation. Behind, those she selected for interrogation were being pulled from the pens–few fought. Those that did were treated roughly for their efforts. The size and strength difference between the Tempestus Scions and the menials meant the stormtroopers were in little danger.
The rest were going to die–it would be a mercy to them. A quick, clean death over the slower soul-rot of possession and madness.
With the survivors sorted for further action, Lyta began her physical examination of the area. Since the most egregious taint began with a priest, she chose to start with the sector chapel.
The chapel was typical in both function and design for a small, underhive sector. The sacristy held an alter set before a stained-glass window of the Emperor himself, standing gloriously with sword raised and the light of heaven shining about his head. Outside of the market itself, the chapel was the largest single space in the sector. It also served as a schola for some select children in the sector.
The air within stank of demon-taint. A smell of iron and blood and sulfur.
The back offices of the chapel provided the hab chambers for the priest and the three sisters who assisted his work and teaching. The hab chambers of the sisters spoke well of their piety. Small, empty rooms with only a narrow bed, a wardrobe for their habits, and a night stand that held a handful of sacred texts. The Book of Atticus. The Gospels of Saint Sabbat. The Scrolls of Sanguinius. The last two had been read many times, Amelyta could see.
Sanguinius, the most perfect, angelic and selfless of the Emperor's sons, was more venerated by the people than any save the Emperor himself. Amelyta picked up the book and saw on the title page that most famous painting-of the Emperor facing dread Horus over the body of his fallen, favored son. Tomorrow would be among the most holy of all days, commemorating his death.
"No taint here." She spoke the words aloud, as if testing their veracity with her ears.
The sisters likely did not die by possession, but rather were murdered by those possessed. The demons Amelyta faced under Lord Norquist had been summoned by witches, but were not powerful enough to exist outside of the Immaterium for long, not unless they had mortal flesh to inhabit. That was truly the greatest danger of heresy. Once a door was opened to the Ruinous Powers, they could easily spill into the realm of reality if they found enough willing flesh. For it to happen on Holy Terra, though, was a thing of great concern.
When she stepped into Father Colindaus's chambers, her breath billowed in a cloud of vapor at the sudden cold. The ward runes on her armor sparked against the thick presence of the warp in his place. Like the three sisters, the priest's room looked small and spare. A bed, wardrobe and nightstand with sacred texts. He had additional space they did not, however. Space enough for a work desk with data slates for his students and thick, leather-bound rolls for the schola itself.
And on every inch of space across all four of his walls, he'd etched a symbol. Contrary to Lyta's expectation, it was not a symbol for any of the four Chaos Gods that opposed the existence of Man. She dared not utter their names, but she knew the signs for each of the four Ruinous Powers just because it was her job to hunt down those who sold their souls to the Great Enemy.
The symbol she saw could almost have been Imperial. Though many were crude crosses, some he'd put more effort into, and of those Amelyta could make out a feminine figure with legs pointed down. Instead of arms stretched out, he'd drawn what looked like wings. In truth, it looked almost like a depiction of a Living Saint-a being made holy and powerful by the Grace of His Light.
It should not have been a sign of Ruination, by itself. And yet it was obvious that Father Colindaus's heresy was driven by it, somehow. She could feel hatred in the air, as if the Ruinous Powers were drawn to the signs. That did not explain how he was exposed to Chaos, though.
Her ocular implant scrolled down through his records. He was a righteous man, if his file was to be believed. A humble man, dedicated to the word of the most holy God Emperor. It was his prerogative to provide teaching to the residents of the sector. Most priests did not, leaving that task to the sector trade scholas.
Most children finished their basic training by ten and were immediately put to work, and would work in that appointed job until they died after thirty or forty years.
She searched the room quickly, gathering up the dead heretic's data slates and books. She carried them back out into the chapel itself, then returned to take visual uploads of the symbols with her personal data slate-a device etched in wards and sanctified against the Ruinous Powers.
Nothing was left unsearched. Only when she was sure she had everything did she toss a plasma grenade into the chamber. She walked back out into the chapel as the heat of the grenade vaporized everything within the room, melting the walls and forever purging the symbols that seemed to fuel the warp's hatred.
She settled into the chapel as the sector's fire suppression system contained the sterilization measures. She used a votive table as her desk. Through the windows, she saw the steady line of unfortunate souls being led to their deaths. Did the people realize that there would be no mercy? Some actually looked impatient, perhaps thinking that those that were taken away at her direction would be the only ones purged, and that they would be released when all was done instead of being shot in the head by a laspistol.
Only a few hundred remained. Artigan was efficient. Like cattle to the slaughter, he made sure those still living did not see the servitors piling bodies untold onto the Crematorium sleds, hundreds of them at a time. The bodies of the attainted would not even be recycled, for fear of the seed of Chaos somehow being transmitted through that process. No, these bodies would be incinerated to ash. It was a terrible burden to consign so many souls to death; and yet it was a kindness compared to what the corruption would have done to them otherwise.
Her single organic eye stung, and old feelings threatened her psycho-conditioning. Prayers and cantrics helped return her calm. For the sake of all, the tainted had to die. She could not save them, she could only ensure they did not suffer.
Amelyta began her work in researching the man who opened the door to an entire sector's death. What she found was that Father Hausen Colindaus was not a pysker. Though the taint found purchase in him, he was but the fertile ground, not the seed itself. This meant he fell either through exposure to a person, or an artifact.
His data slates held only records-of the menial's monthly tithe of labor or funds. Of expenditures for food for himself and the three nuns. He ate better than those he served, but not extravagantly so.
She combed over a life of simple piety. He wrote prayers daily, all of which were heart-felt if plain spoken. It was not until the very last day that she saw a break in his faith.
The angel is looking. She is lost in the trees. She comforts me in my dreams. But I fear it will not be enough. Saint Elosia preserve me, it is cold this morning.
The words chilled Amelyta.
The next dataslate, however, caused her to freeze.
OETer-CCR10M31
PostACT Transcript
Stein, Renald, Maj.
Rec. G. Sid. Elucidatum
Omega-Omega-Black Clearance Only
Unauthorized access TBPWP
The dataslate looked ancient, like something out of her family's old historical archives. If she was reading the High Gothic code correctly, she was looking at something from the time of the Great Heresy itself, when the Emperor still walked among his people. She recognized the acronym at the bottom since it was still used to that day–To Be Purged With Prejudice.
Her power, though, refused to acknowledge any taint. This was obviously the vector, it had to be.
"My power failed before, too," she muttered.
She had to know, though. Perhaps it was in the opening of the dataslate that the taint was released. With that determination made, and acknowledging the need to be able to show actual results to her new master, Lyta opened the dataslate.
She had a brief sensation of falling, and her power vibrated with a silent scream….
An unfamiliar voice called… "Major?"
A/N: Chap 6 was posted simultaneously.