The Liberator's Day Off (Part 13)
Jurgen was not used to being the tallest one in a group. He'd been malnourished as a child, mistreated as a kidnapped juvenile sold into slavery, and short for a Valhallan to begin with, but even so he stood head and shoulders above his current company, something he was only used to when managing a group of children. Ratlings had been considered 'unsightly' by the Giorbas on Slawkenberg, and thus purged or gotten rid of one way or another, and despite the addition of a hundred worlds to the Cainite protectorate, very few of them had joined the Liberation to such an extent that Jurgen had had an opportunity to interact with them.
But the inquisitor setting the pacing him was no child. Jurgen had tried to courteously shortened his step in order to let the diminutive inquisitor comfortably keep up, before the man swore at him to "keep moving, Emperor damn your eyes, and lead me to the portal! And give me a proper briefing about what you're looking at if you have breath to spare."
"Affirmative." Jurgen said, and doubled his pace. "It's a two kilometers down the sump." He let his brow draw down, as in in thought, while noting, somewhat impressed, that the inquisitor, though not a child, had all the hyperactive energy at one. "I ordered the commissar to post what remains of the PDF and the faithful ecclesiarchy to guard it and shoot anything that comes through the portal, with the civilian militias and a couple of priests ringing it to defend against the demons that are already here. It shouldn't be anywhere near enough to hold, but as you see the demons here are particularly dim."
"How many have you sent back to the warp?" The man's voice panted.
"At least twenty that should have been major incursions all by themselves." Jurgen consulted one of the mentaldata looms he kept in his head. "But I've only had to exorcise two of them myself and the locals have been able to handle the rest. Which should not happen, but is."
"Twenty? It only takes one- three at most like the one my entourage shot- to create a demon world."
"I thought something like that might be the case. Demons are not exactly my area of expertise."
"What is an Ordo Hereticus inquisitor doing on a demon world?" Inquisitor Sigan asked.
"Holding the line and praying for a miracle. A miracle I trust has arrived." Jurgen said shortly. He grunted, then halted at the edge of a vast shaft that plunged deep into the stygian dark. "It's down here. Some of the handholds are missing and I'll can call them out, but..." Jurgen eyed the inquisitor, who snorted with magnificent disdain.
"I'm short, get used it." He said. "If you have to grab me to or touch me to get me across a gap, just do it. Weirdly weak demons or not, we *must* close that portal or every soul on this planet is damned."
"It's not just about your wingspan. Are you at all psychic?" Jurgen asked.
"None of your business. Why?"
"I show you why it's my business if you very, very carefully, move your hand toward the palm of mine until you can't bear to any longer." He held up a hand in offering. The inquisitor eyed him, then did as demanded, moving his hand steadily toward's Jurgen's palm with the self-possessed self-assurance of a BORG working its way through trial 48 of a 100 experiment testing suite.
An inch from Jurgen's palm, he snatched back his hand like a trooper flinching from an unexpectedly hot Tanna kettle, swearing in revulsion like he'd spent time with some abhuman auxiliary soldiers. "The frak-?" He shuddered, then eyed Jurgen with something like offense. "You're a blank…and you haven't closed the portal?"
"You can close it." Jurgen said, pulling his hand back and suppressing a shudder of his own. He missed, badly, his own psychic powers. Hell, he missed, badly, the feeling of having a soul within his body.
"Yes." The inquisitor said. "But why in the Emperor's haven't you? What the frack are you waiting for?"
"Someone who actually knows how. I don't." Jurgen said shortly. "I'm Ordo Hereticus. Demon portals are not my area."
"They should be!" The inquisitor snapped. "You mean Hereticus has been hoarding blanks while-" the man's grey eyes sparked with furious thought. "How-"
"You will have earned a full answer to that question if you close the warping webway portal." Jurgen said. "In the meantime, there is another way down, but it requires…a leap of faith."
"Fine." The other inquisitor snapped. "Forward momentum!" He took a running leap and jumped off the edge of the chasm.
It took Jurgen a split second to follow him. If he hadn't been busy tapping out a comcode on his combead, he'd have sworn at all impetuous fools that raced into combat without letting Jurgen set up proper preparations or let him explain that he's meant using some tau-tech *climbing gear, not jumping headfirst into a sump vent.
Jurgen could tell Inquisitor Sigan and Ciaphas were going to get along *great.*
—
The swarm of servoskulls caught Jurgen three meters before he could smack into the poisonous muck of the sump. Falling from this height, hitting that viscous sludge would be as bad as hitting cermacrete.
Inquisitor Sigan was sitting on top of a pyramid of servoskulls, looking vaguely ironic. "Impressive levels of coordination for a fleet of servoskulls." He said, with the air of a languid noble lounging on a palaquin.
They floated toward the edge of the pit, where Vice-Potentate Parker stood, looking both lordly and annoyed. He'd clearly been practicing his body language, much of it modeled from the commissar, though not an insignificant portion of it also just as clearly came from Governor Worden.
"Do tell the commissar I would appreciate more than three seconds warning before I need to play catch, Mr. Tannaman." He said. He cocked one eyebrow behind his goggles and tilted his head, a gestured of disapproval he'd clearly been modelling from Ciaphas. "This is not a good time for me to be away from the portal."
"I brought reinforcements, your highness." Jurgen nodded at Inquisitor Sigan. "This is Lord Captain Sigan, Rogue Trader. He says he can close the portal. Commissar Fossick agrees, and sent me to guide him in and and let him take his best shot at it. Lord Captain Sigan, this is Vice-Potentate Parker, Governor Worden's military commander and second in line to the Lentonian throne." Inquisitor's Sigan's eyes didn't even flicker as Jurgen conveniently 'forgot' to mention that the diminutive man was an inquisitor moonlighting as a Rogue Trader. The man was bright enough not to contradict Jurgen's lie about who exactly had sent whom, and under what pretenses. This put Sigan on the smarter end of inquisitors, although most of them were adept enough at juggling multiple layers of lies simply by the nature of their job.
Parker's other eyebrow rose to join the first. "Well, if he's good enough for the commissar, that's good enough for me. This way."
Jurgen had already privately decided that if the inquisitor decided to get sticky about the various un-imperial things he was about to see, there was no particular reason he would need to make it out of the sump. Still, murdering people before they had a chance to prove to be untrustworthy, backstabbing pieces of shit was an Imperial habit Jurgen was in no hurry to copy, and things were about to get dangerous enough that there was no garuntee the inquisitor would make it out alive anyway.
As if in response to the thought, a demon burst out of the wall with a roar. Sigan was fast, Jurgen had to give him credit for that. An odd obsidian rod appeared in his hand as if it had teleported there, and he had crouched in the beginnings of a charge.
Parker was faster. With a sigh of irritation, he lept straight at the creature's multiple eyes with the speed of a striking viper. A dozen or so blows faster than the eye could follow burst the creature so badly it vanished back into the warp.
"Feh." Parker said, grumpily, shaking ichor from the gloves of hands. He spotted the rod in Sigan's hands, then nodded at it.
"What that?"
"Something to banish demons." Sigan said.
Parker shrugged. "Oh good. Feel free to take a swing if any of them get past me."
Sigan shot Jurgen a knowing glance, as if he'd just figured out the solution to a mystery. Jurgen fought not to roll his eyes in exasperation. He thinks he's just figured out why the Ordo Hereticus is here.
"We're less than a quarter kilometer from the portal." Jurgen explained. "Coming up on the outer perimeter. We'll take a breather there and collect the latest updates from the inner perimeter."
They walked in silence for a minute, then, softly, Parker began to to sing.
"Open the gates and seize the day.
Don't be afraid and don't delay.
Nothing can break us,
No one can make us
Give our rights away…
A chorus of voices echoed through the tunnel.
"ARISE AND SEIZE THE DAY!"
A door in the wall swung open in a ripple of rotating brickwork and noise, and Parker picked up his pace. Jurgen trotted for it, Sigan hard on his heels. The wall revealed a line of soldiers standing on a barricade, lasguns leveled, and Parker broke into a run as they shot over their heads. The shrieking in the background informed Jurgen that, yes, as expected, another warp entity had tried for the gap and failed.
Parker bolted through a small gap in the barricade, and Jurgen squeezed in after him. Jurgen heard a grinding of masonry and gears as the disguised entrance closed up.
A cheer went up from the barricade. "Loud and clear! The newsie's here!"
Jurgen watched with approval as Parker pulled out a copy of the bugle from the messenger sack perpetually slung across his shoulder. The sack was already legendary, with a legend that would continue to do nothing but grow. Worden, with Parker's full compliance and occasional ungrudging support, had seen to that.
Commissar Fossick approved, which of course meant Jurgen approved as well. If the Wordens meant to continue as a dynasty, it was important to attach as much of Parker's legend to the ordinary idea of being a messenger as possible. One day, in the hoped-for day when this war was mere history, Parker would have successors, perhaps even descendants- and while they wouldn't be able to emulate Parker's reflexes, or his strength, his sleeplessness, or any of the other mutant and/or transhuman characteristics he was harboring- every one of them would be able to carry a sack of papers, and, bolstered by the legend, do so as honorably as Parker ever did.
The militiaman standing watch at the barricade grinned, caught the paper, and tucked it into his own messenger bag, near twin to the one Parker bore, though with the words 'Brooklyn's Here' was marked in white letters on the shoulder strap.
They entered a wide, almost cathedral-like space that hummed with music. Snatches of hymns, thrumming beats, and a few more upbeat melodies permeated the air like a fog, and Parker raised his voice, picking up the thread of his abandoned conversation.
"We'll prep you with whatever you need here. Once inside, things will get very warped, very fast. If you need anything, supplies in particular, or personnel, or backup, or anything you think we have the slightest chance of being able to provide, now is the time to ask, because no one will follow you across the inner line. That seems to…provoke it."
"A bottle of pure water, preferably blessed by an ecclesiarch of particularly potent faith. And, if you have it, a handle of maple mead." The inquisitor said.
Parker nodded, and waved a hand. Two servoskulls sped off into the encampment.
"And what's with the music?" The inquisitor waved a hand at the encampment.
Parker's head cocked, before snorting. "You think we should fight off all the horrors of hell in mute silence?" He shook his head. "No. We'll be loud enough that the world will *know* that we've been here." Everyone within earshot echoed. "The World Will Know!"
Sigan nodded, and smiled.
"Panacea?" Jurgen inquired. Sigan shook his head. "I brought my own supply. Forgive me for not particularly trusting the bathtub brews your commissar said you all have made until I have to." He looked around.
Parker nodded. "So, rogue trader, since we have a little time. What brings you to my world? Lentonia is far from the trade nexus it used to be."
"Your astropath has been squalling for weeks about how Lentonia has fallen to plague, and how the guard regiments stranded here needed retrieval." The trader shrugged. "The bounties on recovered guard units and supplies can be considerable, and there are always opportunities for profit on newly dead worlds." He eyed the encampment. "Living worlds have far better opportunities. Plague worlds, however, destroy everything in reach, and is a threat to the imperium at large, though more importantly, this one is a threat to my trade network in particular."
"This is a demon-sent plague spawned by the warp." Parker said. "Mr. Tannaman said you can handle demons?"
"The short answer is yes. The long answer is would require far more privacy than we have here." Sigan said, looking around at the bustling encampment. They had started to draw an audience.
Parker looked at Jurgen for confirmation. "And Commissar Fossick trusts him?"
"With this particular task? Yes." Jurgen let his lips twitch into a small smile at Sigan. "Although he did ream you out for being late."
"All the more reason not to waste more time." Sigan noted.
"And we won't." Parker said, catching one of his servo skulls and handing the flask of water it carried to Sigan. "Your holy water. And a small bottle of maple mead.
"Good." Sigan took the flask of holy water, unstoppered it, and took a short pull, before making a slight face. "Good enough."
"And the latest update in the portal." Parker said, "Brief us, uncle ben." He said, nodding at one of the skulls.
"IT'S BIG. IT GLOWS BLUE. NOTHING HAS TRIED TO CRAWL THROUGH IT IN FIVE DAYS." The skull reported.
Sigan waited. "Thats it?" He said.
Parker shrugged. "That's it."
"It'll do." Sigan said. He jerked a head at Jurgen. "Lead on, Mr. Tannaman."
"Very good, Captain Sigan." Jurgen said politely. "Do you have a plan?"
"See exactly what I'm dealing with." Sigan said. "Improvise from there."
What Parker had called the 'inner perimeter' wasn't anything as complex as the outer line. It was simply a low circle of sandbags, built with firing slits, and surrounding a circular space rather like a dueling arena about the size of a null-gee pitch. The space inside the sandbags was floored in sand, which shifted into patterns even though no breeze stirred the air.
Every so often, someone would chuck a grenade from the wall and disrupt the complex tracery of the sand, and the whole thing would shiver into something Jurgen could only describe as a flinch.
Sigan nodded his approval. "Chaos tainted Eldar work, that's for sure. All elegant lines and curves and overly complex patterns, and blowing it apart with crude explosives drives entities sensitive to such things barmy, which makes it harder for things attuned to this gate to come through."
Parker shrugged. "We noticed if we disrupted the patterns with explosives it discouraged things from coming through nearly as often. The fact that it makes a satisfying boom is just a bonus."
Sigan looked at Jurgen. "Well, no time like the present to learn to collapse a broken webway portal. Follow me."
Jurgen nodded.
Sigan dropped over the wall and onto the shifting sand, scuffing his way across writhing tracery. Jurgen dropped behind him and followed.
The inquisitor pulled out his obsidian stick again, which began crackling like a shattering ice flow. "This is a null rod." He explained. "It absorbs psychic and warp energy. Hit a demon with it, it takes some of their essence. Stick it in a webway portal, it pulls warp energy out of the gateway unt the psychic engineering unravels and it collapses. It has its limits, though. Any energy it has absorbed has to be bled off later, back into the raw unformed Immaterium, or the rod itself will collapse into another warp rift, making the whole thing rather self-defeating."
They drew closer to the gateway, a tall, looming, shimmering curtain of bright blue light. Sigan continued his lecture. "A rod this size would normally not be enough to collapse a healthy Eldar webway gate this size all in one go. But there are a few things that can be done to speed the process."
"This is, at bottom, an Eldar psychic construct. Eldar constructs are full of passion, energy, emotion held in check only by other, stronger emotions, like fighters with blades locked against eachother in an eternal struggle. They sharpen that passion by focusing it into a dream, a particular story they use to slice through reality and into the immaterium. The Eldar singers who created this particular portal gave it a story, a reason, a purpose. Though they are all dead, the story they sang lives in. They bound a dream here, and fed it with their spirits. It yearns to tell that story, and calls to beings who fit that story, who can fulfill a role in dreaming that dream."
"What dream?" Jurgen asked.
"Oh, the usual with Eldar. Galactic conquest, sadistic torment of 'lesser species,' promises of endless hedonism. Eldar from the height of their empire are usually nightmares for anyone else. But this gate has been tainted by chaos dreams. So now it serves no one but beings even more defined by their emotions than Eldar, beings even hungrier for conquest. Simply an endless…striving. Something you will give everything to, a dream to which you will sacrifice your entire being, and never, not once, be satisfied."
"I'm familiar with the idea, yes." Jurgen said.
Sigan nodded. "Now, you can break such dreams with main force. I could spend the next fifty days here draining it bit by bit, and discharging my rod. In fact, we'll start by showing you how that works." He leaned his rod into the blue glow, where it appeared to suck energy liquid down a drain.
The next ten minutes passed fascinatingly as he explained to Jurgen how to tell the amount, quality, and quantity of warp energy the Null Rod was bleeding out of the gateway .
He raised his eyes to Jurgen. "Now, this is something you could do yourself- something you *should* be able to do. A null rod is a useful tool, but it pales in comparison to the aura of a blank. The null rod can slowly drain a webway like this, and I can bleed off excess energy. You…if you turned off whatever limiter you're hiding, you could collapse this gate with a few touches. And I am deeply interested in knowing what Ordo Hereticus thinks it's about, to leave a powerful weapon like you futzing around arresting mutants and purging cults when the imperium needs your talents fixing things like *this.* Though I do rather admire your restraint, using mutants to hold the Great Enemy at bay."
Jurgen studied the inquisitor. "Mutants?" He said, levelly. "I have found no mutants here. Merely faithful members of humanity, fighting the great enemy."
"Isn't that a rather…radical idea." The inquisitor grinned. "One I am pleased to share." Sigan nodded at the gate. "Touch the portal."
Jurgen stared at him even more levelly. Then he reached out a hand. And touched it.
It didn't feel like anything in particular. It didn't feel anything like manipulating the psychic currents of the immaterium or reaching into the warp or projecting bolts of force with his mind. It didn't feel hot, or cold.
It fact, it felt like nothing was there.
"Stop touching it!" The inquisitor ordered, and Jurgen obeyed.
The blue light glowed considerably weaker. Jurgen looked at his hand. "This level of power- my hand should be burnt to a crisp. And I feel nothing." He noted.
"Blanks don't." The inquisitor shook his head. "Most people have a dream, an image, a hope they yearn for, a thing that they can and will trade everything for. They yearn. They strive. The dream thrives on the idea that it is somehow worth the price. Blanks…take that feeling away. Depending on what dream, and what price someone paid to live it…people get very, very angry, homicidal angry, when you take their treasured dream away. It's why most blanks don't survive to adulthood unprotected."
The inquisitor nailed Jurgen with an interested stare. "Which rather begs the question of how you survived being an inquisitor. Our puritan bretheren are very, very devoted to the imperial dream."
"The portal isn't gone." Jurgen noted. "I specifically said I would owe you an explanation if you closed the portal. This seems like a conversation to be having after you do."
The inquisitor shrugged. "Well, in all honesty, it looks like you are a powerful enough blank to make it pop in another few seconds of leaning on it, which…gives me a great deal of respect for whoever built your limiter, because if you are that strong, I should be utterly repulsed by you and I'm not."
He shrugged. "I would keep you leaning on it if this were anything like a normal demon incursion, but it's not. We're not being attacked by powerful demons, for one thing. This is practically a training run. And why waste a training opportunity?"
He shrugged.
"A null rod and a blank are all well and good, but there is a third way to unravel webway portal. It is, at bottom, a dream of conquest, a dream of power, a colonizing dream of passion, a dream of striding across the galaxy laughing like a thirsting god. And you can change that by telling it a different story."
He pulled a flute out of a pocket, a thing of ivory and twisted bone. He played a few notes, and the portal shivered, then he began to tell a tale.
Jurgen listened with interest. It was not a tale of grand epics, or great battles, or courage and daring- but of small things. Of boots and luggage and chance meetings. Of kissing in rain and gathering flowers and missing a starship launch. It was a winding, meandering tale, and started promisingly. For awhile Jurgen was entranced. There was something about the way Sigan told the story that invited you in, that promised…something. A laugh, a climax, or at the very least that it would all make sense, that it would turn out in the end. Then his brow furrowed, as Sigan wove another thread into the story without winding up any of the others-
Then he blinked in surprise at the portal collapsed.
"Did…" he looked at Sigan, who smiled innocently. "Did you just bore an Eldar webway portal to death?"
"Eldar are so up themselves that none of them or their creations really get the point of a shaggy dog story." He dusted sand from his hands. "Well, that's done." He pulled the bottle of maple mead, took a drink, and sighed in satisfaction. "Care for a share of victory tipple?"