Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 226

An hour later Vendrick was standing guard as the accursed Eldar stretched out on a divan. They stood in one of the ship's more comfortable quarters, one of the Inquisitor's guest rooms, a place where the iterant mortals could rest their heads when residing on the ship. Vendrick knew they came and went at random and had at first tried to count their number, he'd managed to tally fifty individuals, though he knew none of their names. Surely there must be more out there, working in some capacity for the Ordo Astartes, but right now more pressing matters intruded.

The Eldar seemed outwardly calm, even relaxed, though Vendrick didn't buy it. He kept his hand near his pistol at all times and his targeting awareness never shifted, even as other parts of his brain multi-tasked other matters. This Arthra J'rect seemed disinterested in his surroundings, though Vendrick wasn't fooled. The occasional flicker of an eye over the low furnishings told he was charting covered positions. A glance at a shrine to the God-Emperor looking for loose implements to use as weapons. A shift in position to measure the distance to the door, even a yawn hiding a sly glance at the humming air vent above, as if thinking to slither out that way. None of it would work so long as Vendrick stood guard, they both knew that, so Arthra merely lounged and waited for his moment to escape.

"I don't suppose you have anything worth drinking on this tub?" Arthra asked with a bored manner.

"No," Vendrick growled.

"Something to read?"

"No."

"Whatever grating beats you apes call music?"

"No."

"Some prisoners to torture?"

"No."

"What do you do for entertainment?!"

"We kill Xenos," Vendrick hissed.

Arthra's lip smirked in an amused twist. It was mocking and cruel, and smug, very, very smug. He was playing some intricate game, entirely for his own amusement, and seemed to think he'd scored some rare point. Vendrick suspected he was trying to goad the Space Marine into attacking. A human trapped in a room with a Space Marine would have zero chance of survival, let alone escape but an Eldar was treachery made flesh. Even from a prone position Arthra could summersault over a charging Astartes' head and be out the door before anyone could stop him. So Vendrick stayed between Arthra and the only exit, hand hovering over his bolt pistol.

"Soooo, Arthra drawled, "Do you want to know how I came to be captured?"

"No," Vendrick rebuffed.

"It's a fascinating tale, it has a Carnodon and everything!"

"I don't care."

"I wasn't offering you a choice."

"Xenos, you should consider the fact that I don't need you to have a tongue to guide us."

Arthra didn't seem abashed as he mockingly snorted, "How very vitriolic of you! Why, did I kill one of your Brothers perhaps, some mighty lord of your... what do you call them... Chapter?"

Vendrick's eyes narrowed, "The Red Hunters have faced your breed many times. We have suffered and bled at your knives, but always given back twice as much pain in return. Across sand-blasted wastes and foggy moors we have clashed with Eldar breeds. With your jetbikes and dancing warrior-maids. Always it starts the same way, with ominous warnings of some vague doom and calls to unite, always it ends the same way: treachery. I have crushed the skulls of your kind between my hands, ripped out your throats and gutted the screaming injured. Do not think I won't do the same to you."

Athra cocked his head as if reassessing the threat level of the Censor. Vendrick trusted he was being upgraded, but any further discourse was cut off as the door slid open and Lazar entered, trailed by Magos Tvos. They'd brought in the Xenophile to examine Arthra, and make certain the creature wasn't lying. How they intended to do so was beyond Vendrick, but he made sure to sidestep as they entered, maintaining a clean line of fire at Athra at all times.

"So here he is!" Lazar crowed.

"A remarkable specimen," Tvos commented to his colleague, "Barely any physical damage at all. How did you obtain it intact?"

"A fascinating tale!" Arthra grinned.

"Shut it," Vendrick growled.

"Be quiet Censor 2.1," Lazar snapped, "You insisted this be done away from the Smoke Jaguars, but let us proceed."

Tvos stepped forward, pulling out a bulky augur from under his robes. He began waving it over Arthra, scanning his condition. Vendrick noted the tiniest flicker of disgust in the Xenos' eye, but it was expertly covered as he lounged back and luxuriated in the attention. Tvos for his part seemed fascinated, making multiple passes with his augur, tutting under his breath.

Tvos mused, "Physically perfect, no signs of ageing. The subject could be twenty Terran years standard, or two thousand, with this race it is impossible to tell. Microscopic abrasions to the dermal layers indicate combat experience, but marginal, again not indicative of experience, fewer wounds might be a sign of high skill. Fabrics... do not conform to known weft. Titular information denotes a Ranger-caste specimen, tell me what Craftworld you originate from?"

Arthra snorted, "And you were doing so well, for a Mon-Keigh. No, I am no bored and disaffected monk, looking for a thrill. I am a far more interesting being, a Trueborn of Comorragh."

Tvos nodded, "Little is known of that sub-type, you claim to come from the most elusive of factions."

"Elusive, I think you want the Harlequins for that," Arthra chortled, "We of the dark city merely embrace our true nature, the superiority of our race over all others. The stars themselves are our playthings, and we do not restrain ourselves from taking them!"

"Then how did you end up among Ranger Outcasts?" Tvos asked.

"A long and boring tale," Arthra deflected, "Safe to say I fell foul of some political shifts in Comorragh and found it prudent to spend a century or three at a safe remove."

Lazar cut in, "Enough chatter, is he fit enough for the mission?!"

Tvos turned, "Examinations find no physical flaws. He is as capable as any of his kind ever are."

"Good then we shall proceed," Lazar affirmed.

Vendrick however said, "I must insist that the Smoke Jaguars not be included!"

"Trouble in paradise?" Arthra smirked.

Vendrick ignored that, "They are new, unsound, not yet fully augmented, they are not suitable for this mission."

But Lazar refuted, "Strength in numbers will aid you, the chances of danger are beyond calculation. One subject alone failed previously; I will not repeat that error."

"You could always use them as meatshields," Athra chimed in mockingly.

"Trusting them is a brand-new mistake," Vendrick argued, ignoring the Eldar.

"The decision is made," Lazar stated, "Do not argue with me."

Vendrick had no choice but to comply. His jurisdiction was over the Censor's alone, over field tactics and stratagems. Lazar remained the project lead; his authority was to lay out objectives and mission parameters. If he said everyone was going, they were going. Vendrick could not argue that, though he dearly wished to.

Athra rolled his shoulders and sat up, "Oh by the way, I will require some live specimens to use up on the journey."

"What?!" Vendrick growled.

"Living beings, sentient if possible."

"You must be jesting."

But Tvos interrupted, "It has been noted that certain breeds of Eldar suffer physical denigration when denied the ability to inflict pain on others."

"You are remarkably well informed," Arthra commented.

"I am well read on many races, though I found the Orkoid type the most robust for my experiments. I did not believe the reports of your kind were accurate, tell me is it a physical or psychic need you must support?"

Vendrick wasn't having this and barked, "This is too far! I will not hand over human being to a Xenos! It flies in the face of the Emperor's decrees. We Censors may bend the rules, test the boundaries of what is tolerable, but this goes too far! It is an affront to the Imperium itself!"

Lazar however waved off, "Stop being so obtuse, I have plenty of non-human specimens to supply him with. Your precious honour will not be sullied."

Arthra stood up, "Excellent, then we are all set to go!"

"We are not," Vendrick spat, "This mission has too many variables for my liking!"

Lazar's temper frayed, "Enough arguing! You know the importance of this, you know what Censor 1.1 went to retrieve. The target he chased across a dozen worlds before pinning down on Calan Gaeav. Without a sample the Censor project can never reach its full potential. You will be forever half-finished, an incomplete experiment."

That was a terrible thought. The whole purpose of the Censors was to meet the Chaos Legions on equal terms, matching their infernal might with the darkest technologies. So far they had made impressive strides but even this was but the shallowest taste of the potency mankind had wielded in the Dark Age. There were sciences even Lazar had barely begun to contemplate, powers that could propel a warrior into realms beyond imagination. Vendrick knew he was match for a Chaos Warlord in his current state, but the Final Phase could make him equal to Daemon Princes and Greater Daemons alike. Nothing could be allowed to stand in the way of that goal, but with Damiel's mission remaining incomplete they had no way to cross that threshold.

"So it must be," Vendrick conceded, "But I am in command once we depart."

"Excellent," Lazar clapped four of his hands, "Take the Smoke Jaguar's Destroyer, it is swifter by far than the Renegade's Woe."

"Good, good," Arthra beamed, "Now all we need is this one to get ready and we can depart!"

"Error-shunt-abort?!" Tvos jumped.

"Oh yes, we'll need you too," Arthra confirmed.

"I am no Skitarri-Secutor, I am a Genator-Biologis!"

"Trust me, where we're going brains are more use than brawn, even limited Mon-Keigh brains. You will be more use to me than another dozen of these gene-bulks."

"I refuse!" Tvos spat.

"You don't have a choice," Vendrick growled.

"Magos, tell them I am not going!"

Lazar however rose up to his full height and uttered, "You have been useful, but do not think I count you valuable enough to abandon my objectives. I have drained your data-banks and require little more from you. If the guide says you are needed, you are needed. So go, and return with a sample of the objective, or I suffer my wrath. Defy me and you will end your miserable existence as a waste-sewage Servitor."

Tvos sagged, unable to protest. Defeat was written all over him. Many lifetimes of plotting and scheming had he enacted and yet for all that he remained the tool of uncaring masters. All his ambitions had come to nought, now he was bound to come and go at the whim of one more madman. His own dreams left never to be fulfilled.

Athra clapped his hands, "Time grows short, Calan Gaeav will only be in the materium for a few scant months. We must set sail this very day, lest we lose our only chance at success!"

Vendrick eyed him menacingly, "No tricks, no traps."

Arthra feigned a weary sigh, "We will be on one of your kind's ugly ships, diving deep into the Warp, which my people most definitely do not like to do. Where exactly do you think I will escape to?!"

Vendrick growled, "I don't know, but I know you're planning to betray us. Eldar always are. I will be watching you, and know that at the first hint of treachery I will end you."

Athra however grinned knowingly, "My dear fellow, if it's treachery you fear then I assure you I am not the one you should be watching."