On Slawkenberg, news of the great victory won by the Protectorate fleet against the Bloodied Crown were being broadcast across the entire planet. Footage of the battle had been sent back through the ansibles, and already the military strategists who had helped develop the USA's void doctrine were furiously analysing every bit of data to learn all they could from it.
The victory against the pirates had been overwhelming, as befitted a battle led by the Liberator, but there was always more to learn. Especially since, as Cain himself had warned in his personal dispatches, the next enemy the Protectorate fleet would face was unlikely to be as debased and incompetent as the pirate lord they had faced this time.
The names of the brave pilots who had laid down their lives in defense of Adumbria had also been sent home. A ceremony honoring them had taken place in Cainopolis, with their relatives being honored by the Chief Clerk himself in the Liberator's absence, until such time as their mortal remains (those which could be recovered from the void) were returned to Slawkenberg, there to rest forever among the other heroes of the Liberation.
As the sole member of the Liberation Council left on Slawkenberg, Chief Clerk Jafar was nominally in charge of running the planet's affairs in the Liberator's absence. It was a responsibility that could only have been bestowed upon one whose skills and loyalty were held in such high esteem by the Liberator as Jafar, and one which he would have to bear for longer. For, having defeated the enemy's first attack, the Liberator had decided to pursue the foe into its lair, and wipe out the threat of the shadow cartels which had plagued the Torredon Subsector for centuries.
Not all were so delighted at the prospect of spreading the glorious ideals of Liberation even further, however. It was rumored that Zerayah Cain, the adopted daughter of the Liberator (and, though it wasn't spoken aloud often, presumptive heiress of the Protectorate should the unthinkable come to pass), had been in something of a funk at the news, already missing her beloved father. There were whispers that some kind of party was being prepared in the Palace to cheer her up – for, despite her apparent maturity, she was still a child at heart, and as attached to her adoptive father as one would expect of a child of the Liberator.
If I was to name one good thing about this entire foolish journey into danger I had found myself cornered into, it was that the Worldwounder's hospitality left nothing to be desired. Areelu's chefs were masters of the culinary arts, the quarters assigned to me were comfortable without veering all the way into decadence, and the service was impeccable, despite the ship having been mauled by the Bloodied Crown not so long ago.
My presence aboard the Rogue Trader vessel, rather than the Fist of the Liberator, had been the subject of some debate before our departure. There had been no question of refusing Areelu's offer to guide the fleet to Torredon : even the Tzeentchian magi had to admit that leading the fleet into the Warp Storms of the Subsector was an entirely different proposition than the regular trips between Adumbria and Slawkenberg. Theoretically, we could have just relied on Emeli's help, but I felt reluctant to do so for obvious reasons (well, not so obvious to everyone else, who thought I simply didn't want to bother my beloved Daemon Princess too much, which really said everything you needed to know about the kind of lunatics I'd found myself surrounded by).
In order for the rest of the fleet to keep up with the Worldwounder once we were all in the Warp, a significant number of Tzeentchian and Slaaneshi cult magi needed to be on board, synchronized with others scattered across the other ships through constant rituals, who would be performed in relay by several teams. This included Krystabel and Harold, and by that point it made more sense for me to be there as well, keeping an eye on them to ensure they didn't do anything stupid (or, as I had told them, being in position to intervene should something unexpected happen).
Basileus-Zeta had come with us to monitor the health of the magi and provide assistance when required. At the time, I had thought it overkill (we had the Panacea, after all), but I would soon be more grateful for his presence than I could possibly have anticipated.
I couldn't have avoided bringing Jurgen and Malicia with me if I'd tried, but I'd left Hektor behind, to continue training the troopers in anti-piracy operations. While nobody had been so uncouth as to say it out loud, we all knew he had plenty of experience pillaging himself from his time in the Ravagers (although to be honest, I suppose he had been more interested in slaughtering people than plundering their possessions, due to these grotesque implants of his).
We had debated taking the Murderous Jest with us : the firepower of a cruiser was nothing to sneeze at. But we didn't have the crew to spare for it, and even if we had, no one in Slawkenberg's navy had any experience with that kind of ship. Well, I suppose Areelu's people did, but they had taken losses during the battle which had led to their flight to Adumbria in the first place, and didn't have the manpower to spare either. So, like the rest of the captured pirate ships, we had left Jeremiah Smile's flagship in Adumbria, much to the enthusiasm of the reclamation crews.
I had eventually decided that the ships would be made part of Adumbria's own defense fleet, partly in case someone else decided to take a trip to what was supposed to be an interdicted system, partly to make it up to Regina for saddling her with a bunch of former pirates as prisoners, and party to get the question solved once and for all and get a meeting that had already run entirely too long over with.
We had also left the unfortunate wretches Smile had filled with chems and unleashed on the boarders behind on Adumbria Prime. Somehow, the USA troopers who'd accompanied Hektor had managed to take down several times their number of frenzied civvies without inflicting anything worse than broken bones and concussions, which a few doses of Panacea had promptly taken care of. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn't much to be worried about, but I couldn't help but dread how terrifyingly effective the Khornate soldiers had become since the days of the Uprising.
The rescued civilians, along with the others we'd found aboard the captured ships (I tried very hard not to think about the vessels which had been destroyed with all hands during the battle) were in the care of the local hospitals. The medicae were confident that with enough time, food and Panacea, they would recover from the damage their bodies had suffered – though they were less confident about their mental states. The pirate lord's prime enforcer, whose drug-fuelled strength had impressed even Hektor, was also among them, though he had yet to wake up from his coma by the time we had left the system.
The same was true of the Murderous Jest's Navigator. Smile's flagship had been the only vessel of the pirate fleet to have one of the three-eyed mutants on board : they had been part of the crew back when the ship had sailed under the banner of the Imperial Navy, and were one of the few who had survived his takeover. Apparently, even the Laughing Fiend (and Throne, what a stupid nickname that was) was sane enough to realize the value of a Navigator – though while they had survived, they hadn't done so unscathed, far from it. Smile had made the consequences of disobedience very painfully clear : the poor mutant was a wreck, terrified of their former master even now that he was safely in our custody. They were still aboard the Murderous Jest, refusing to leave their quarters, and it was clear they would take as long as the ship itself to be functional again, if not longer.
All that, however, had been taken care of before we had entered the Warp, and all contact with the rest of the Protectorate had been cut off. This, for the first time in quite a while, had left me with a lot of free time, which I had decided to use familiarizing myself with the Worldwounder. Unlike the late and unlamented Giorbas, Areelu (or whichever of her ancestors had commissioned the decor) clearly had taste : most of the ship looked like a cross between a fortress and a palace lifted straight from some technologically advanced, prosperous Imperial world – although, to someone with my suspicious mind and inside knowledge, the conspicuous absence of any clear emblems of the Ecclesiarchy and the Imperial Creed was quite notable.
I was presently touring a section of the ship dedicated to the history of the Van Yastobaal Rogue Trader Dynasty. While it was obvious that the accounts presented here would be heavily biased, I was confident I could parse through the self-aggrandizing exaggerations and extract some valuable information as to our illustrious host.
According to the plates describing the deeds of each holder of the Warrant of Trade in excruciating and hagiographic detail, the Van Yastobaal Dynasty had come into being over five thousand years ago, at the closure of the Age of Apostasy. Jan Van Yastobaal, then a minor noble of the paradise world of Chiros, had led the resistance against the forces of the Apostate Cardinal Bucharis, eventually defeating them and forcing them off-world, even as the rest of Bucharis' short-lived empire fell apart.
For this, Jan Van Yastobaal had been granted a Warrant of Trade. Reading between the lines, it was clear that this decision had been motivated partly to recognize his genuinely heroic deeds, partly because Vandire's Reign of Blood had led to the extinction of several Rogue Trader lineages and the Imperium was looking for replacements at the time, and partly because the Planetary Governor of Chiros hadn't exactly covered himself in glory during the occupation and wanted to get a potential rival for his throne safely out of the way.
The rest of Jan's section of the museum spoke eloquently of the many worlds he had discovered for the Imperium, and of the enemies of the Throne he had slain, but no amount of flattering language could conceal the truth that, over time, the founder of the Dynasty had become more and more unhinged. The wealth and authority of an Imperial noble was as nothing compared to the power of a Rogue Trader, and it had clearly gone to his head. Jan's followers, many of whom had been with him since the war on Chiros, had deserted him in droves, while those who remained had become pillagers rather than explorers, little better than pirates themselves, until Jan's death a couple of centuries later.
Predictably, two hundred years of carousing across the galaxy had resulted in Jan fathering a number of children, all of whom had been eligible for succeeding him as holder of his Warrant. Equally predictably, a bloody free-for-all had ensued, until the Administratum had decided on the one true heir.
From there, the fortunes of the Van Yastobaal Dynasty had waxed and waned over the millennia, with some Rogue Traders being better at upholding their duties than others. I was approaching the end of the section, and looking forward to learning more about Areelu herself (if nothing else, what she'd allowed her visitors to see could let me get a better read on her, which would help me keep up the image of the all-knowing mastermind she'd apparently deluded herself into thinking I was), when the sound of heavy footsteps drew my attention to the gallery's entrance.
Suture was approaching, still wearing his battle-plate. He didn't seem hostile, but I still suppressed my entirely human reaction of fear at the sight of a Space Marine walking in my direction. Malicia was here, of course, looking supremely unimpressed by the epic deeds being depicted around us, while Jurgen was off taking care of some minor supply business with the ship's quartermaster. Having seen my bloodward spar against Hektor, I was confident that, if things turned violent, she could at the very least buy me enough time to escape.
"Lord Cain," the Astartes greeted me after stopping at a distance that would've reassured me had he been mortal.
"Yes, Suture ?" I replied. The nickname should have sounded silly, but I have found there are very few things you can call a two-and-a-half meters tall transhuman killing machine to his face and not take seriously. Besides, it did fit him, though my paranoia kept wondering what reason the renegade had to hide his past from his employer.
"Lady Van Yastobaal is inviting you to join her in her private laboratory," he told me. "She has something she wishes to show to you."
My palms began to itch, but I didn't really need my subconscious to tell me that the laboratory of a Rogue Trader who was secretly a Tzeentchian heretic was a dangerous place to be. Unfortunately, I couldn't think of a good excuse to refuse, and even if I had, letting Areelu do whatever she was doing unsupervised was unlikely to be a good choice anyway in the long run. Blessed might be the mind too small for doubt, but from my experience what you didn't know was much more likely to get you killed.
"It would be my pleasure," I lied, hoping Suture wasn't any more immune to my talent for shameless deceit than Hektor.
Fortunately, if he was, then he showed no sign of it this time.
When Cain arrived in (one of, though this one was the most important) Areelu's laboratory, he brought his aide and bloodward with him, of course. Areelu hadn't expected anything less. They might be allies, but she would have been insulted if he had simply followed Suture into her lab without backup : it would have implied he thought so little of her, he didn't need either his combat psyker or pet Wych. That he brought both was, in a roundabout way, a compliment to her.
After thanking Suture for bringing him here and asking him to stand outside and make sure they weren't disturbed, she let the galaxy's youngest (as far as they knew) Warmaster take her lab in. Bookshelves covered every wall, filled with recorded knowledge taken from all across the Segmentum. Banks of cogitators hummed gently, running through calculations of unimaginable complexity, taken from the ruins of a dead human world and repaired by tech-priests more interested in credits than theology. Arcane sigils were carved into the marble floor, along with the burning traces left by the daemons Areelu had summoned in her vain attempts to gain the answers she needed. And, occupying most of the space, were the alchemical and medical devices with which she had spent the bulk of her time in this room.
"While most of the things in this room are beyond my ken, I think I recognize that," said Cain, pointing at a particular device on her workshop. "That is a Panacea maker, isn't it ?"
"Indeed," Areelu confirmed. "The STC copy Tesilon-Kappa gave me contained everything I needed to build one here. It is, admittedly, small, but it suits my purposes for now. I intend to have bigger ones assembled later for the rest of the crew, of course."
"Did you doubt the integrity of the data we gave you ?" asked Cain, smiling. "I would be hurt, but I would have done the same in your place. It is such an incredible piece of technology that it makes it hard to believe it's real, isn't it ?"
The way he'd phrased that … did he know already ? No, surely not. Although he did have access to the services of powerful cultists of Tzeentch, who, based on the few conversations she'd had with Sir Harold, specialized in divination rituals.
It didn't matter, she decided. Whether he knew or not, her next move remained the same.
"It is incredible," she admitted. "That our forebears possessed such capabilities, only for it to be lost for so long … it is both humbling and infuriating. A feeling which, I expect, you understand all too well."
"Ah." Cain's smile tensed slightly. "You heard about that, then ?"
"About you declaring war on the Ruinous Power of Decay ?" she asked, amused despite herself. If he was faking his embarrassment, then he was an excellent actor. "It came up in my conversations with your subordinates, yes. And that is why I wanted to talk with you now."
Areelu pressed a series of runes on her control panel, and a whole section of the laboratory turned, revealing a stasis casket. Within the casket, kept frozen out of time, was the small figure of a little girl, wearing the same medical gown Areelu had dressed her with after the incident, stained with sweat and other sickly secretions. Her hair was pink and shoulder-length, and a pair of small horns, which had always reminded Areelu from the ears of a felid, protruded from it.
Despite the painkillers Areelu had made sure her little girl was on before putting her in the stasis field, her expression was still twisted in discomfort. Areelu knew exactly how much pain she was in despite the painkillers, but she had always been so brave, trying to keep her from realizing the true extent of her suffering.
"This is my daughter, Lucia," she introduced her child to the Warmaster, who walked to stand by her side in front of the stasis casket.
"She looks adorable," said Cain softly, not mentioning her horns at all. "How old is she ?"
"Six years old," replied Areelu, her voice nearly breaking as she added : "She has been six years old for over ninety years now."
"What happened ?" he asked.
Areelu took a deep breath to steady herself. Revisiting it all wasn't going to be pleasant, but it was important Cain got the full context, so that her request had all the weight behind it she could muster.
"I was not born Areelu Von Yastobaal," she began. "Once, I had another name, and no idea I was related to the Van Yastobaal bloodline – indeed, I didn't even know it existed."
"In those days, I lived on one of the Imperium's many worlds, one untouched by war or strife beyond the petty games of power that occupy the nobility. I was a medicae of some renown, and, secretly, an occultist. I had not then learned of the Powers : it was mere curiosity that saw me gather tomes of lore that, looking back, were almost complete nonsense written by conmen and madmen."
"Eventually, I decided that I wanted a child, so I made it happen. But when I performed an echograph on myself late in my pregnancy, I saw her budding horns. I immediately realized she would never be safe in the Imperium. You know what they do to mutants, don't you ? Every hospital I knew of had an incinerator to dispose of them right after birth. I couldn't accept that."
After all, it was her child, and even back then Areelu had been sure it had been her dabbling in the occult which had caused the baby's alterations.
There was no judgment in Cain's eyes at her confession. Then again, given what he had already done himself, she hadn't really expected any from him.
"I retreated to a small house in the countryside, claiming I wanted to focus on my daughter. I gave birth to Lucia on my own, with a couple of medicae servitors' assistance. For the next six years, we were together, and we were happy."
Areelu paused, nearly overcome with the flow of memories her story was bringing to the surface. To her surprise, Cain moved next to her and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, anchoring her in the here and now. She smiled at him, though she knew the worst part of her tale was next.
"Then the last holder of the Van Yastobaal Dynasty's Warrant of Trade died, and once again the heirs began to kill each other to secure the legacy for themselves. One of them decided to wipe out as many possible claimants as possible by tracking down the bloodline, and hired numerous mercenaries to wipe them out. The first thing I knew of this was when a team of ruffians broke into my property and attacked me and my daughter."
"We would both have died : back then, I had next to no experience with violence. But Lucia had begun to exhibit telekinetic abilities. My precious little girl protected herself and me, until one of the mercenaries threw some kind of glass flask at her. I never learned where he had gotten it, but it contained a Nurglite poison. It didn't save him, but Lucia fell very ill immediately after, and nothing I could do helped."
"I was forced to place her in the stasis casket I kept in the house for emergencies, to buy time while I looked for a cure. But nothing on the planet could help. It was then that I realized that I needed more resources to do what I had promised her and bring her back to health."
"Is that why you became a Rogue Trader ?" asked Cain.
"Yes. It wasn't easy : it took years of toil, of gathering allies and assets. I played the other claimants against one another, letting them exhaust their resources while I slowly built up mine, until I alone remained victorious, crowned by the Administratum as the lawful holder of the Van Yastobaal's Warrant of Trade."
"Being a Rogue Trader opened a lot of doors to me. I consulted with Magi Biologis, but none of them had the slightest cue as to how to cure my daughter's affliction. I turned to more esoteric means, which was when I learned of the Primordial Pantheon, and the true nature of Lucia's sickness. I confess, my alignment with Tzeentch was at least partially done out of spite."
She left unsaid the fact that, at some point during that hopeless period, she had considered going to the Inquisition for help. She knew now that, had she done so, she would be dead, along with her daughter, her assets either destroyed or claimed by the Ordos, and her Dynasty's Warrant either voided or handed over to some distant relative who had managed to stay undetected during her bloody rise.
"For nearly a century now, I have kept playing the part of a Rogue Trader, searching the galaxy for the means to save my daughter. I have done many things, great and terrible alike, in pursuit of that goal, Cain. And I would do a hundred, a thousand times more if that is what it takes. I would give up everything, every coin and weapon, all the prestige and power I have gathered, if only I could see her smile again."
"And now, you have the Panacea, which proved capable of curing Warp-touched diseases during the Cleansing of Adumbria," finished Cain.
"Exactly. I have tested it on cultivated cells, and it worked," said Areelu, gesturing at the now healthy samples laying under her array of microscopes, and at the images being displayed on the screens above. "It might work on Lucia. Everything I know about medicine and about the Empyrean tells me it should. But … I am afraid. And so, I ask for your help."
"I understand. We should call Basileus-Zeta. He is our expert when the Panacea is concerned, and he has experience working against Nurglite contagions from the Cleansing of Adumbria. I'm sure he can check your tests and find out if there's anything you missed, then help you in the procedure itself."
Areelu blinked. She'd expected Cain to ask for something in exchange for his assistance, to seize upon the glaring weakness she'd just revealed to ensure she remained in his debt for the rest of her life. It was a price she'd have paid willingly, for the Liberator was far from the worse master she could imagine. Instead, he'd just … offered his help, without demanding anything in return.
"You would go that far ?" she asked.
"This is your daughter we are talking about, Areelu. Of course I would." He sounded genuinely offended that she'd even thought he would demand payment for his assistance. "Didn't you know ? I have a daughter too. Adopted, but as precious to me as if she were of my blood all the same. Of course I'll help you. The fact that assisting you in this will anger Nurgle is just a bonus. Besides, I think Basileus-Zeta will relish the challenge."
Perhaps this was all a manipulation tactic, Areelu thought. Maybe Cain thought this approach was the one most likely to make her truly, completely loyal to him, beyond even what a willing agreement could achieve.
If so, it was working.
They had set up no less than five loaded Panacea injectors, with an additional three as backup. Two of Basileus-Zeta's colleagues had spent an entire day studying the stasis casket and comparing it to the smaller fields Lady Van Yastobaal used to preserve her samples, and were ready to perform immediate repairs should the injection fail to cure the young girl only for the casket to fail. Lady Krystabel and Sir Harold were also present in case of an accident of an Empyric nature, as was Sir Jurgen, ready to intervene if the child lashed out with her telekine abilities to prevent accidents. In addition, this entire section of the ship had been emptied of non-essential personnel, and all those present were wearing void-suits, to ensure the contagion didn't jump to another host.
If everything went well, then all those precautions would end up being for nothing. But the Liberator had insisted they do everything in their power to make this as safe as possible. And besides, there was no such thing as being too careful where the vile afflictions of the Plague God were concerned.
This was good, righteous, holy work. Of this, Basileus-Zeta was utterly certain. No just god could possibly argue against the healing of a sick child, and any that did deserved only scorn, not worship. The cause of the Liberation demanded that all human beings be freed from the curses of the God of Decay, that they might then pursue a better future unburdened by the twin poisons of apathy and despair, and today, he would strike one more blow toward that distant but ever-worthy goal.
"Begin the procedure," he intoned, and, on the other side of the stasis casket, Lady Van Yastobaal entered a lengthy code onto the device's control panel, initiating its shutdown sequence.
The stasis field went down, and the coffin opened in a gust of steam and cold air. Basileus-Zeta's ears, which he had subtly augmented, immediately picked up the new sound of labored, pained breathing emanating from his patient.
"M-mommy ?" the girl said groggily. Her gaze was unfocused, clouded by fever and painkillers.
"I'm here, sweetheart," Lady Van Yastobaal reassured her child. Her voice was muffled by her own suit, but it was still recognizable, and her daughter turned toward its source on instinct. "Everything is going to be okay. I promise."
Despite the warmth of the void-suit he was wearing, Basileus-Zeta suddenly shivered, without any idea as to why. A quick self-diagnosis returned no issue with his personal biology : most likely he was just nervous, which made sense, since this was yet another battlefield in the long war between the Protectorate and the Rotting One.
"Who … who are these people ?" asked Lucia, blinking as she tried (and failed) to clear her vision.
"They are friends," replied the Rogue Trader. "They are here to help you get better."
"Hello, Miss Lucia," said Basileus-Zeta, with the best bedside manner he could muster while wearing a void-suit. "My name is Basileus-Zeta, and like your mother said, I'm here to help with your treatment. I will now begin with the first injection," he continued, carefully bringing the injector down to the child's neck. "You might feel a slight pinch, but this shouldn't hurt."
The child didn't move as Basileus-Zeta injected the first dose, whether because she didn't feel pain, because she was too exhausted to struggle, or because she was already suffering too much, he didn't know.
"First injection successful," he declared, before glancing at the screens which displayed the child's vitals, as observed by a dozen medical devices surrounding the three of them – the mother, the child, and the magos. "Life signs are improving. Beginning second injection."
With each successive injection of Panacea, Lucia became healthier and healthier. By the time the third had done its work, she came up as the picture of health to Basileus-Zeta's senses, although she was still a little too thin for her age – but nothing good nutrition couldn't solve. Just to be safe, Basileus-Zeta still injected the last two doses.
"All symptoms have disappeared," the magos announced. "No Empyric manifestation, and the air is clean of contaminant. Miss Lucia, how do you feel ?"
"It … it doesn't hurt anymore," she whispered in a disbelieving tone. Next to her, Lady Van Yastobaal let out a strangled noise.
"Good, good. We need to run some tests to make sure the infection has been completely cured and the Panacea isn't simply suppressing the symptoms. If it is, then I will have to prepare you some kind of injector like Sir Hektor's … ah." He realized she wouldn't know what he was talking about. Then again, she was a child, regardless of how brilliant her mother might be, so she probably didn't understand anything he was telling her. "Right. Let's just say that no matter what, you won't fall sick again, Miss. The procedure was a complete success. Congratulations."
Lucia turned her head to look at her mother, who was crying openly.
"Mommy ? Is that true ?"
"Yes, my treasure," Von Yastobaal managed to say between her tears. "It's all true, I promise."
"Oh." Lucia looked back at Basileus-Zeta, and smiled. "Thank you very much, Mister !"
Though nobody could see it, the borg smiled under his suit.
"You're welcome."
"How is she ?" I asked as Areelu emerged from the chamber where her daughter had been relocated after the procedure. From what I'd glimpsed, it had been kept ready for her for years, if not decades, never used until today.
Areelu had gone in with her daughter around an hour ago. I had spent that time waiting outside, sitting on a chair and enjoying a glass of excellent amasec, to make sure nothing had gone wrong. Regardless of the tripe I had managed to sell her, I couldn't say I understood what Areelu must be feeling, but it was clear this whole situation had taken a toll on her. And since I needed her help to have the best chance possible of surviving this whole expedition, I thought it best to check on her mental well-being.
"She … she fell asleep. She was exhausted, but … but that's only to be expected."
Suddenly, the Rogue Trader threw herself at me. I tensed reflexively, nearly drawing my weapons, before realizing she was hugging me, shaking with relieved sobs as she buried her face into my chest – making quite a mess of my uniform in the process, but I wasn't so gauche as to mention it.
"Thank you," she hiccuped. "Thank you. Thank you …"
I had attended enough ceremonies paying homage to the victims of the Giorbas to be at least somewhat familiar with crying civvies. As gently as I could, I hugged her back, whispering reassuring nonsense at her. In truth, while self-preservation had definitely been the decisive factor, I would probably have offered Basileus-Zeta's help even without that consideration.
Sure, Lucia was a mutant, but honestly, her horns weren't much to talk about … Throne, I had really become used to heresy, hadn't I ? Still, I refused to believe that the Emperor cared if a child was born with a small pair of horns. After all, Ogryns and Ratlings were much more divergent from the human baseline than the young child I had seen in the stasis casket, and they were still welcomed in the Imperial Guard.
I had been more worried about her being a powerful psyker infected by a Nurglite contagion. Now that she was healed, there was less chance of some daemon using her as a vessel to kill me in revenge for everything I had done that might have gotten the God of Decay angry at me. Also, had Areelu tried to heal Lucia with the Panacea and failed, there was no telling what her reaction might have been, especially if, Gods forbid, her daughter had perished in the attempt. Given that I was stuck on a ship with her, however large the Worldwounder might be, it was definitely safer for me to ensure the healing went well.
A better, more faithful to the Imperial Creed man than I might have pointed out that Lucia was hardly innocent, having killed an entire team of mercenaries by herself according to Areelu's tale (which, to be fair, might or might not be based on reality, though I suspected in that case at least the Rogue Trader had been honest with me). But, despite everything, I was still a child of the underhive, and could hardly throw stones at someone for making their first kill at a young age.
And besides, not only had they been assassins, they had been carrying a Nurglite poison.
In the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Krystabel glaring at Areelu, who was still clinging to me, and held back a sigh. I couldn't exactly describe Krystabel or Emeli as jealous, given how many Handmaidens had been involved in the 'communion rituals' I had taken part in since the Uprising, let alone whatever was going on between me, Krystabel and Regina. However, it seemed Krystabel was regarding Areelu as a potential threat to her position. Which was patently absurd, of course : Krystabel was the one with the connection to the Daemon Princess waiting for my soul in the Warp, and was thus of far greater concern to me than the heretical Rogue Trader.
But it is a foolish man indeed who claims to be able to understand the heart of a woman, nevermind that of a cultist sworn to the service of an ascended servant of the Dark Prince of Pleasure. I'd just have to be careful, so as to avoid two of my supposed allies going for each other's throat in the middle of a Subsector-wide campaign.
We weren't even in Torredon yet, and already complications were appearing. I dreaded to imagine what else I would face before this whole enterprise was over. Not that even my wildest imaginings could have measured up to the reality, of course, which was for the best, as, had I any inkling of what awaited me in the Torredon Gap, I would have spent the entire trip emptying Areelu's amasec cellar.
One of the main benefits the Bloodied Crown had gained from Killian joining them was that, among the psykers produced by his research, a small number were capable of using the Warp to communicate with one another across interstellar distances. They weren't true astropaths, of course, but they were still able to send short messages across the Immaterium within the Subsector (although they tended not to live long, their lifespan burning with every message sent or received). It'd been thanks to these that Jabbus had been able to summon the cartel's board of directors without the weeks it'd have taken for messenger boats to reach them.
And it was through them that the message Killian was presently considering had arrived, sent by Jabbus. The missive was short and to the point, as trying to get more details across this method of communication was futile :
'Smile's attack on Adumbria failed. Fleet destroyed by a non-Imperial force under the command of Ciaphas Cain, the Liberator of Slawkenberg and self-proclaimed Warmaster of Chaos. Prepare.'
That was it. Killian would have loved to have more details, but even that little was cause to worry. While Killian hadn't been involved in Karamazov's disastrous 'crusade' against Slawkenberg, he'd heard about it and the consequences it had brought about for the Sector – he'd have needed to be blind and deaf to miss them.
After receiving the message, he'd woken up a few other successfully awakened psykers and questioned them on the currents of the Warp. It had cost him two of his supply, but he'd managed to learn that Cain's fleet wasn't staying in Adumbria, but had instead begun the crossing through the Empyrean toward Torredon. From this, there was only one rational conclusion to draw :
Cain knew. Somehow, the renegade Commissar knew about Killian, about the Shadowlight and his ongoing research to unlock its secrets. It was the only explanation that made sense, that explained why Cain would dare challenge the might of not just the Bloodied Crown, but every shadow cartel in the Subsector by charging straight in. It was one thing to defeat Smile's horde of looters and savages, and another entirely to seek the conquest of a whole Subsector, even a backwater like Torredon.
Killian had to assume that, whatever Smile knew, Cain now knew as well. That meant the location of the base where the directors had met at Jabbus' summon was now compromised. And, if the Dark Gods had already revealed the existence of the Shadowlight to the traitor Commissar, then Killian couldn't gamble on the God-Emperor's adversaries not being willing to inform their pawn of its location.
After all, Cain was a heretic of the highest order, who had sold his soul to the Ruinous Powers in exchange for his own little stellar dominion. There was no telling what insights his infernal masters might whisper into his mind to guide him to the Inquisitor's location.
The Dark Gods wanted the Shadowlight. In retrospect, Killian really should have seen this coming. They had realized the threat his research, the promise of a psychically-awakened Mankind united against them, posed, and they had sent their agent to prevent it from coming to pass. That stopping him warranted the invasion of an entire Subsector was flattering, in a way, and certainly reaffirmed that he was on the right path, whatever the fools of the Concilium Ravus might think.
The thought of the xenos artefact in the hands of someone like Cain was chilling. As much good as the Shadowlight could do in the right hands, Killian wasn't blind to the danger it posed if wielded by someone enthralled to the Arch-Enemy. But while Killian's research base was hardly defenceless, secrecy was its best protection. Against a force capable of defeating Smile's flotilla, the Inquisitor was all too aware that he had no chance. At best, he might be able to evacuate with the Shadowlight, Galerion's research, and the magos himself aboard his ship while the psykers died to buy him time. But even then, Cain would simply continue chasing him : the Shadowlight was simply too great a prize for a Chaos Lord to give up.
All of that led him to a simple, inescapable conclusion : Cain had to die. By all accounts, the so-called Liberator was the pillar which supported Slawkenberg's heretical coalition : take him out, and the whole thing would collapse at once.
He called up a list of the most recently awakened psykers on his cogitator. Magos Galerion had helpfully listed the abilities each successful subject exhibited following their exposure to the Shadowlight. Killian searched for one, or several, who could stand a chance against the monsters Cain had gathered around him. His assassin squad didn't need to survive, just to get the job done (not that he would tell them that before sending them).
It was possible that the combined strength of the Bloodied Crown would be enough to deal with the threat on its own, of course : the Chairman was no doubt already making plans to muster as strong an armada as possible to avenge the insult to the cartel. But Killian hadn't survived that long by depending on others.
Even as he browsed through the options available to him, another part of Killian's mind was considering how to bring his killers to their target. He could use his counterfeit astropaths to learn where Jabbus was gathering forces and send them here – it would even get him some kudos from the rest of the shadow cartel, which he could always use. But that meant he'd rely on Jabbus' forces catching up to Cain's before the traitor Commissar found his base.
No, that was unacceptable. He didn't want to send His Righteous Punishment, not when he might need to relocate in a hurry, but he had several other ships available. One of those, disguised as the civilian ship it had once been, could be used instead. He'd need to have someone in charge whom he could, if not trust, then be reasonably certain would follow his orders, though.
Several minutes later, Killian sighed. He'd tried to find an alternative, but there wasn't any. Aleric had been a valuable aide in managing Galerion's demands and dealing with the clean-up of those experiments which went catastrophically wrong, but it seemed Killian would have to do without him going forward.
Oh well. The path of duty was a harsh and stony one, and the Imperium was sustained by the blood of martyrs.
AN : Mostly backstory in this chapter, and Areelu's promise is revealed. This version of Areelu is probably more sympathetic than the one from Pathfinder : Wrath of the Righteous, since she only started doing questionable things AFTER her child was effectively taken from her.
Yes, Lucia is based on the character Lucy from the manga/anime Elfen Lied. My only knowledge of that series comes from the Death Battle episode featuring her, and I mean, come on. What other choice did I have, really ?
As always, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I look forward to your thoughts and suggestions. Many thanks to the numerous readers who decided to try their hand at writing Omakes for the Omake Throne on the SpaceBattles Thread : if you're reading this elsewhere, I recommend you check it out.
The next chapter (which already has 2k words written, what in the Liberator's name is going on) should be a bit shorter than this one, and will end with the reveal of what bit of old, old lore I have most recently decided to use to torment our dear Ciaphas.
Zahariel out.