The rain sizzled and popped above Danell's head. The shield awning flickered on and off, producing a flickering emerald glow. Keys sat unmoving in the shadow on the crumbling balconey. Generations ago the inhabitents of this tower had possessed money and status. Now they clung to what was left and they did so ferociously. Pathetic tech toys and booby traps were the hallmarks of the remainder, who guarded themselves against crimminal gangs, rogue skavs, and cannibal covens.
It was a thirty meter drop to the alley below. It was eight meters to the next tower. Keys had been here for three hours without moving. His camofibre made him blend in. The malfunctioning awning helped shield him from auspexes. He waited. Patience was essential for an assassin.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Do you have what I asked for or not?" said Jolan Gix, letting a dangerous edge slip into his voice. He wore a broad brimmed hat over a slick rain cape and descretely armoured body glove. A long knife hung on his left hip, his bolt pistol on the right. He packed no other weapons or defences. They were even rarer and harder to obtain than what he was suppossedly buying. That would generate questions.
The small man on the other side of the room smiled. He was pale immaculately groomed. In this case that meant he wore the natural fibres, silk and wool, of the moneyed elite. A dark overcoat over a shirt coat over shirt of shining white silk. Comfortable trousers, a platinum buckled belt, and a refractor field of local origin completed the ensemble.
He had a shooter in every corner of the room. Two big men, one averaged sized man, one woman. They didn't bother with rain capes in doors, but had the rubberized bodygloves of professional muscle. They had big bore stubber carbines, just like the one Hethor was packing.
"Why so brusque, Mister Zred?" said the small man "There is no need for such suspicion."
"You're not the one in someone else's turf surrounded by his shooters," Gix replied.
"My business is based on delivering results and I have done so for nearly a hundred years," said Riccos Malza. "You, on the other hand, are a player from off world who I know far too little about."
"Is that a problem?"
"The items you want come with considerable heat attached. Not just local, but Arbites."
Gix shrugged. "Point taken. Do we have a problem?"
"No," said Malza, "but I do need some verification." He touched his platinum chronomiter. A young woman, twenty tops, in a tight rubberized body glove that made her seem almost naked walked in. She was blonde and delicate looking. Gix could feel the turbulent emotions she projected. Resentmen, resignation, and mounting excitement. A rogue psyker.
"A witch," said Gix and spat on the carpet. He looked up. Three people had been broken to learn that this was the room that Malza liked to hold his clandestine meeting in. It was swept and shielded against com traffic. None of them mentioned psykers, but none of them had posed as shadowy off worlders of unknown extraction.
One side of the room was a window of polarized armour glass. Ten meters down and ten meters across lurked Danell Keys. Gix triggered his electoo, lying dormant an invisible in his palm. There was a faint and very specific transmition. Too weak to be registered as anything but electronic noise by most equipment, but specifically attuned to the tiny relay unit attached just outside the window.
"Now now," soothed Malza. "Your clients desire the- ehm, product, and I desire verification. This way we both win."
"If the Arbites suspected you, they would just swoop in and grab you." Gix had considered this too, but there were too many problems. The locals were clumsy, shot through with corruption, and Malza's network was too strong. It was too likely than even a small strike force would be noticed or that Malza would be tipped off and go to ground. Using his authority to grab men and resources was likely to also cause him to go to ground. Malza's men used look outs and auspex sweeps constantly. So Jolan had decided to go undercover.
The blonde came closer. Gix sneered at her. "Okay, let's get this business over with."
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Keys received the signal. He raised the grapple gun and fired it. The disc coated hyper adhesive struck next to the window. Keys tightened his grip and triggered the reel. The reel spun and pulled Keys across the gap.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
The witch furled her brow. It was almost as if he was a psyker. Maybe he-
Gix spoke three words in Cryptia. "Miles sentry silence."
Hethor raised his stubber in one smooth motion and fired. His bullets may have been relatively low velocity and high calibre, but they were tungsten tipped and gel slicked. They tore throught the shooter's light armour, blew off his left arm halfway through his upper arm, and punched huge holes in his torso.
It would take most telepaths a few seconds to seriously damage his mental defences. As he drew his bolt pistol he lashed out with his own powers. Gix ignored the psyker and extended the palm of his left hand towards the window. With a pop if leapt from its frame and fell into space. Hethor touched Gix's shoulder. Bullets flew towards them as Malza dived behind his couch.
Slugs bounced telekinetic shell surrounding Gix and D'eckor. He smiled fiercely. The blonde smiled back. Hethor groaned and fell to his knees, despite his conditioning and being covered by Gix's defences.
Keys pulled himself into the room with a single swift motion and tossed a bruiser twice his size after the window pane. He screamed as he fell. The psyker turned towards him. A small blade was already spinning through the air towards her as he summer saulted forward into the room.
The blade stopped centimeters from the psyker's nose. She turned back towards Gix. Too late. Light blazed through the room as the witch was transformed to a blackened stick figure in the heart of a column of green witchfire.
Keys shot the closet shooter with his laspistol as he came out of the roll. A blue-white beam from the compact weapon struck him in the face and hell fell. Keys's moves had placed Gix's shimmering cocoon between him and the other two thugs. Loud thumps sounded as Gix's pistol sounded out and blew open the chest of the woman shooter.
Another burst of bolter fire finished the other. Hethor was getting back to his feet, blood trickling from his ears and nose. "Rape it!" Gix cursed.
Keys came around the couch. A trap door was clearly visible. Gix spun as the door to the room exploded inward.
In Memoria (40K)
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Imperial Overlord
- Emperor's Hand
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- Joined: 2004-08-19 04:30am
- Location: The Tower at Charm
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Imperial Overlord
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 11978
- Joined: 2004-08-19 04:30am
- Location: The Tower at Charm
A telekinetic shield abated the explosion, stopping the door fragments a meter from the Gix's people. Smoke gushed into the room. Hethor fired the rest of his clip blind into the doorway. Key's sprung to the side. Three grenades bounced in.
Hethor laughed as he switched magazines. It echoed throughout the room as the grenades flew back into the new room and detonated with dull cracks. Keys charged after them.
Two men were down on their knees, bleeding out from multiple shrapnel wounds. Two others were bringing their guns to bear. Keys shot one twice in the chest with his las and jammed a blade into the other's forhead and twisted. Hethor slipped into the room behind him.
"Boss," shouted Hethor as he covered the doorway with his stubber, "we need a plan. He's got a few floors full of his shooters and he'll be bolting."
"He leaves, the auspexes will pick him up. They're in active mode now." Gix strode into the room. He telekinetically stripped the autocannon from the dying thug. "Nice door killer. The floor around the trap door is probably a death trap but a couple of rooms over-" The gun followed Gix into the next room.
Slugs bounced off his shields. This was getting tiring fast. Two shooters were pouring slugs at him from the doorway of the barren room. Gix blew off the right arm at the shoulder of one of them in a spray of blood. The other dodged back behind the wall. Gix raised his free hand. A cloud of crimson flames swirled in the general area of his target. An anguished scream errupted. The flames faded away as Gix stopped feeding the warp fire.
"Get ready," Gix called.
"Ready," said Keys. He pointed the autocannon at the floor ahead of and pressed the trigger. The explosive shells remaining the gun blew a hole in the floor. Blind grenades preceeded the assassin down the hole.
The room below was a shabbily finished living room furnished with a pair of chairs of recycled plastic and metal. There was no one else here. A stroke of luck. Keys moved forward. They had studied the blue prints of this ancient structure. Malza would be moving towards exits. The lift or the stairs were where he would head. The sound had attacted attention.
A compact woman with short read hair stuck her head in. Same rubberized body glove as usual, but a long barrelled autopistol in her hand. Keys shot her in the face. He could hear Hethor fall behind him, landing in the blind cloud.
They needed to be fast if they wre going to catch Malza. "You take right, I'll take left." Hethor nodded as Gix landed. Keys triggered his locally made refractor field and dived into the central hallway, facing left.
The forcefield hummed softly around him, outlining him in a green glow. Two goons covering the opposite end. His laspistol hummed and the bolts cracked in the air. He caught the dark one in the head and the gigantic pale one in the chest with a double tap. Slugs began to slam around him. He grunted as one impacted on his shoulder, but fortunately the refractor field robbed it of most of its energy. It didn't penetrate his sneak suit, but it still hurt.
Hethor leaned out the door just in time to see the lift doors close on Malza and two gunmen and and fired. He was an old hand at gunning down armed men. He drove one gunman back into a room, tore through the chests of two standing sentinel at the lift and firing on Keys. They fell with through and through wounds. "He's in the lift," he said changing clips.
Keys was up like a shot and sprinted full tilt forward. He rolled past the door with the survivng shooter and dived for the lift door. The doors popped open, courtesy of the inquisitor, and Keys was into the shaft and falling.
Hethor was a few steps behind Danell. He came through the gunman's door as he was was angling in the other direction for a shot at Keys. A pull of the trigger and the thug's chest blew open.
The lift was only just picking up speed and so the fall was a mere five meters. Keys landed easily, flicked on his power knife, and punched it in through the roof. A stun grenade followed. He waited two seconds for detonation, sliced out a chunck of roof with four quick cuts, and shot all three men with anesthetic slivers from his needler pistol. He tripped his vox. "Jewels encased."
Hethor laughed as he switched magazines. It echoed throughout the room as the grenades flew back into the new room and detonated with dull cracks. Keys charged after them.
Two men were down on their knees, bleeding out from multiple shrapnel wounds. Two others were bringing their guns to bear. Keys shot one twice in the chest with his las and jammed a blade into the other's forhead and twisted. Hethor slipped into the room behind him.
"Boss," shouted Hethor as he covered the doorway with his stubber, "we need a plan. He's got a few floors full of his shooters and he'll be bolting."
"He leaves, the auspexes will pick him up. They're in active mode now." Gix strode into the room. He telekinetically stripped the autocannon from the dying thug. "Nice door killer. The floor around the trap door is probably a death trap but a couple of rooms over-" The gun followed Gix into the next room.
Slugs bounced off his shields. This was getting tiring fast. Two shooters were pouring slugs at him from the doorway of the barren room. Gix blew off the right arm at the shoulder of one of them in a spray of blood. The other dodged back behind the wall. Gix raised his free hand. A cloud of crimson flames swirled in the general area of his target. An anguished scream errupted. The flames faded away as Gix stopped feeding the warp fire.
"Get ready," Gix called.
"Ready," said Keys. He pointed the autocannon at the floor ahead of and pressed the trigger. The explosive shells remaining the gun blew a hole in the floor. Blind grenades preceeded the assassin down the hole.
The room below was a shabbily finished living room furnished with a pair of chairs of recycled plastic and metal. There was no one else here. A stroke of luck. Keys moved forward. They had studied the blue prints of this ancient structure. Malza would be moving towards exits. The lift or the stairs were where he would head. The sound had attacted attention.
A compact woman with short read hair stuck her head in. Same rubberized body glove as usual, but a long barrelled autopistol in her hand. Keys shot her in the face. He could hear Hethor fall behind him, landing in the blind cloud.
They needed to be fast if they wre going to catch Malza. "You take right, I'll take left." Hethor nodded as Gix landed. Keys triggered his locally made refractor field and dived into the central hallway, facing left.
The forcefield hummed softly around him, outlining him in a green glow. Two goons covering the opposite end. His laspistol hummed and the bolts cracked in the air. He caught the dark one in the head and the gigantic pale one in the chest with a double tap. Slugs began to slam around him. He grunted as one impacted on his shoulder, but fortunately the refractor field robbed it of most of its energy. It didn't penetrate his sneak suit, but it still hurt.
Hethor leaned out the door just in time to see the lift doors close on Malza and two gunmen and and fired. He was an old hand at gunning down armed men. He drove one gunman back into a room, tore through the chests of two standing sentinel at the lift and firing on Keys. They fell with through and through wounds. "He's in the lift," he said changing clips.
Keys was up like a shot and sprinted full tilt forward. He rolled past the door with the survivng shooter and dived for the lift door. The doors popped open, courtesy of the inquisitor, and Keys was into the shaft and falling.
Hethor was a few steps behind Danell. He came through the gunman's door as he was was angling in the other direction for a shot at Keys. A pull of the trigger and the thug's chest blew open.
The lift was only just picking up speed and so the fall was a mere five meters. Keys landed easily, flicked on his power knife, and punched it in through the roof. A stun grenade followed. He waited two seconds for detonation, sliced out a chunck of roof with four quick cuts, and shot all three men with anesthetic slivers from his needler pistol. He tripped his vox. "Jewels encased."
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
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Imperial Overlord
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"My lord, Malza has been taken."
An eyebrow twitched. "Really? By whom?"
"Jolan Gix."
He moved a piece across the regicide board. "Results?"
"Net work collapsed and purged. Hundreds of arrests. Decline of theft and increase in efficiency in a number of industries. For a while, a more active and attentive police force. A number of heretical cults found and expunged. The cannibal clans have been decimated. And Gix now knows it could have been Malza who supplied the nukes, scan blockers, and rogue psykers."
"Ahh, but he doesn't know to whom or why."
"My lord, he has another piece."
"To no one. To no plan. To no location. And he has succeeded at the task set for him. We'll be leaving this sector soon."
"Lord?"
"We've accomplished our mission. Whatever Jolan Gix finds, it will be useless. We'll soon vanish out of his reach and all knowledge, to begin again."
"Why?"
"Because we have won. There is no point is staying, unless you want Jolan Gix to have a chance of catching us."
An eyebrow twitched. "Really? By whom?"
"Jolan Gix."
He moved a piece across the regicide board. "Results?"
"Net work collapsed and purged. Hundreds of arrests. Decline of theft and increase in efficiency in a number of industries. For a while, a more active and attentive police force. A number of heretical cults found and expunged. The cannibal clans have been decimated. And Gix now knows it could have been Malza who supplied the nukes, scan blockers, and rogue psykers."
"Ahh, but he doesn't know to whom or why."
"My lord, he has another piece."
"To no one. To no plan. To no location. And he has succeeded at the task set for him. We'll be leaving this sector soon."
"Lord?"
"We've accomplished our mission. Whatever Jolan Gix finds, it will be useless. We'll soon vanish out of his reach and all knowledge, to begin again."
"Why?"
"Because we have won. There is no point is staying, unless you want Jolan Gix to have a chance of catching us."
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
-
Imperial Overlord
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 11978
- Joined: 2004-08-19 04:30am
- Location: The Tower at Charm
"Your mightyness, we got something!" came Elzan's whoop. Herican smiled and loped over to where the scholare was crouched over some extremely expensive and powerful scanning equipment.
The small man looked up as Herican approached. The scholar was short and wide, barely able to fit into the enviro body glove. He had an uneven beard and glare goggle perched on the top of his bald head. "Look at this Herican!"
Herican stooped down to examine the screen. The heretic was tall and bird like, with a big head, lean body, and long neck. He was also incredibly fast. His eyes remained blank as he examined the screen. "Is that them?"
"They have to be," Elzan explained. "Take a look at the readings! We've done it! We've found them!"
A smile touched Herican's face. "Good." He looked up at the auspex. When it had finally been assembled it had formed a pyramid four meters tall and almost as wide. Antennas and horns projected at various angles. It had been extraordinarily hard to obtain and he had ended up paying Malza a small fortune for it.
And now it was worth it. Every bent decicred. The Neghan had once had a civilization that spread to a dozen worlds, but that was no longer the case. Sometime in the Age of Strife someone had tried to exterminate them and came close to succeeding. The Neghan had fallen to chaos at some point in their history and that taint remained with them. They survived on only two worlds as viscious bands of mutant raiders that were being pushed back towards the edge of extinction by human colonists.
Incatrix II was the third world. It was outside the area catalogued as formerly being part of Neghan space. The savages had a superstitious dread of the artifacts of their former civilization, which meant the large number of guards that Herican had brought mostly served to keep the diggers in line.
The few artifacts that the Neghan had left behind indicated that they possessed a warp tapping technology which utilized specific crystals. With those in his possession Herican's power and influence would increase by an order of magnitude. He would surely attract the attention of the Eye of God and ascend.
Herican looked around. Test and excavation pits scattered the plain, along with the tents for his guards and laborers. His guards lounged on duty and his involuntary contract laborers that he had purchased on Nictar trudged away. They didn't know that this trip had been a one way ticket. He would sacrifice them all to Tzeentch before he left in his ship Wings of Glory, which at the far side of the camp.
He yawned and looked around. The cellar was right ahead. It had been a promising find, a pit that lead to intact chamers. There had been scan interferience and so they had methodically excavated the whole thing to find only crystal fragments in dense alloy vaults. But Elzan's new readings were far more promising. Soon-
Elzan's head exploded. Herican immediately dropped and rolled down at the base of the scan tower. Blue-white bolts were raining down on his guards from the hills. Several of them were already down. The others were returning fire or taking cover in the excavation pits.
Five combat servitors came down one of the hills in an arrowhead formation. The lead unit was two and a half meters tall with a thick body. Fire poured from its heavy bolter arm. The flanking units had rapid fire heavy stubbers and hellgun/grenade launcher combinations.
The servitors were hit several times but kept coming. Out of the corner of his eye he could see a howling flyer dispersing a squad of men by the Wings. The troopers were black carapace armour and quickly stormed on board.
Time to change the odds. Herican gathered the warp around him, weaving a shell of eldritch energies. He stood up to get a better view. Two demi-squads of stormtroopers were charging down from the hill tops, firing from the hip as they came. Frag grenades were bursting all over the camp. Herican assumed a stance and spoke an incantation.
A gate of blue mist appeared in the sky above one of the demi-squads. Fleshy tentacles of warp matter armed with terrible barbs that were as hard as steel and as sharp as broken glass rolled out from the hole and grabbed the stormtroopers.
Arms and legs were ripped asunder. Heads were pulled off. Armour was breached and bellies were opened. Blood and visceria rained down. Herican can laughed. The victorious had become the victims, the living changed to the dead.
A lance of blue-white fire struck his warp tentacles and they withered and vanished. Herican snarled. The other squad and the servitors had reached the camp and were killing everything that moved. Most of his gunmen were already down. Their was an intense blue-white flash and his ogryn bodyguard Kreel fell, minus his head.
Herican howled and sent whips of fire at the stormtroopers. Dust exploded into the air where they touched ground. One trooper was caught full on and a strand of pink fire burst through the front of his helmet while a tendril of blue flame burrowed into his chest. The plasma gunner was only nicked and the tendril was repelled by the blue glow of an active refractor field.
A lance of blue-white fire smashed into Herican's shields. He turned to confront his attacker. A dark skinned man wearing a storm coat over carapace armour. He had used the servitors as cover for his own advance. A gold and ebony rod glinted in his hand. Herican snarled. He would show this insolent puppy what true power was.
He thrust out his hands. A wave of force knocked the servitors to the ground. The psyker dodged and blasted him again with the force rod. Herican diffused most of the energy. This one was strong. Not strong enough.
He sent a splinter of pure malice at the other's mind. It was imprinted warp energy and would burrow through the psychic defences and then shred his mind. As an after though he mind blasted the stormtroopers near him. A bolt round exploded off his defensive shell.
The psyker didn't try to defend against his splinter. Instead, he had simply unwoven it, reducing it to fragments of stray energies. Nice. A very hard trick requiring considerable mastery of daemonology to accomplish. Herican began to syphon away the psyker's energies. In a few moments, he would be nothing.
The psyker didn't counter. Instead, he telekinetically leapt across the interviening distance. He would be powerless in moment. The hand with the force rod swung as the psyker landed. Herican's shell collapsed momentarily and his skull exploded. Jolan Gix was splattered with the blood and brains of his enemy.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The stormtroopers saluted the inquisitor. "The ship is secured as you ordered."
"Thank you," replied Jolan Gix. Hethor and Danell followed him, the latter with his custom sniping rifle slung over his back. "Anything notable?"
"Heretical apparatus and idols. Books in the captain's cabin."
Gix nodded in acknowledgment. "Heth, let the Invidious know that they can come out of hiding behind the second moon. The area is secure."
"Will do boss."
"Danell, do a sweep. Make sure that no one escaped."
"Your will, inquisitor."
As his companions receeded, Gix strode into the ship. It was a good one, solidly designed. If it could be purified he intended to keep it and have it refitted at the archeotech yards in Adraxis. He hesitated for a moment in front of the captain's cabin and then touched the control. The door slid open.
It was a surprisingly simple room. A luxurious bed, a desk and cogitator, trophy case, and secured bookshelf. He examined the books carefully. All non-proscribed works. He opened a few at random and looked inside. They were what they were suppossed to be. He examined the bookshelf again.
The back was surprisingly thick. He looked closer and found a hidden catch. Three thin folios were revealed. Gix removed them and examinded them.
They were thin, but tall and wide. They were bound in red dyed human skin. The paper was metallic and covered in tiny print. Gix put them down on the desk and began to read.
The small man looked up as Herican approached. The scholar was short and wide, barely able to fit into the enviro body glove. He had an uneven beard and glare goggle perched on the top of his bald head. "Look at this Herican!"
Herican stooped down to examine the screen. The heretic was tall and bird like, with a big head, lean body, and long neck. He was also incredibly fast. His eyes remained blank as he examined the screen. "Is that them?"
"They have to be," Elzan explained. "Take a look at the readings! We've done it! We've found them!"
A smile touched Herican's face. "Good." He looked up at the auspex. When it had finally been assembled it had formed a pyramid four meters tall and almost as wide. Antennas and horns projected at various angles. It had been extraordinarily hard to obtain and he had ended up paying Malza a small fortune for it.
And now it was worth it. Every bent decicred. The Neghan had once had a civilization that spread to a dozen worlds, but that was no longer the case. Sometime in the Age of Strife someone had tried to exterminate them and came close to succeeding. The Neghan had fallen to chaos at some point in their history and that taint remained with them. They survived on only two worlds as viscious bands of mutant raiders that were being pushed back towards the edge of extinction by human colonists.
Incatrix II was the third world. It was outside the area catalogued as formerly being part of Neghan space. The savages had a superstitious dread of the artifacts of their former civilization, which meant the large number of guards that Herican had brought mostly served to keep the diggers in line.
The few artifacts that the Neghan had left behind indicated that they possessed a warp tapping technology which utilized specific crystals. With those in his possession Herican's power and influence would increase by an order of magnitude. He would surely attract the attention of the Eye of God and ascend.
Herican looked around. Test and excavation pits scattered the plain, along with the tents for his guards and laborers. His guards lounged on duty and his involuntary contract laborers that he had purchased on Nictar trudged away. They didn't know that this trip had been a one way ticket. He would sacrifice them all to Tzeentch before he left in his ship Wings of Glory, which at the far side of the camp.
He yawned and looked around. The cellar was right ahead. It had been a promising find, a pit that lead to intact chamers. There had been scan interferience and so they had methodically excavated the whole thing to find only crystal fragments in dense alloy vaults. But Elzan's new readings were far more promising. Soon-
Elzan's head exploded. Herican immediately dropped and rolled down at the base of the scan tower. Blue-white bolts were raining down on his guards from the hills. Several of them were already down. The others were returning fire or taking cover in the excavation pits.
Five combat servitors came down one of the hills in an arrowhead formation. The lead unit was two and a half meters tall with a thick body. Fire poured from its heavy bolter arm. The flanking units had rapid fire heavy stubbers and hellgun/grenade launcher combinations.
The servitors were hit several times but kept coming. Out of the corner of his eye he could see a howling flyer dispersing a squad of men by the Wings. The troopers were black carapace armour and quickly stormed on board.
Time to change the odds. Herican gathered the warp around him, weaving a shell of eldritch energies. He stood up to get a better view. Two demi-squads of stormtroopers were charging down from the hill tops, firing from the hip as they came. Frag grenades were bursting all over the camp. Herican assumed a stance and spoke an incantation.
A gate of blue mist appeared in the sky above one of the demi-squads. Fleshy tentacles of warp matter armed with terrible barbs that were as hard as steel and as sharp as broken glass rolled out from the hole and grabbed the stormtroopers.
Arms and legs were ripped asunder. Heads were pulled off. Armour was breached and bellies were opened. Blood and visceria rained down. Herican can laughed. The victorious had become the victims, the living changed to the dead.
A lance of blue-white fire struck his warp tentacles and they withered and vanished. Herican snarled. The other squad and the servitors had reached the camp and were killing everything that moved. Most of his gunmen were already down. Their was an intense blue-white flash and his ogryn bodyguard Kreel fell, minus his head.
Herican howled and sent whips of fire at the stormtroopers. Dust exploded into the air where they touched ground. One trooper was caught full on and a strand of pink fire burst through the front of his helmet while a tendril of blue flame burrowed into his chest. The plasma gunner was only nicked and the tendril was repelled by the blue glow of an active refractor field.
A lance of blue-white fire smashed into Herican's shields. He turned to confront his attacker. A dark skinned man wearing a storm coat over carapace armour. He had used the servitors as cover for his own advance. A gold and ebony rod glinted in his hand. Herican snarled. He would show this insolent puppy what true power was.
He thrust out his hands. A wave of force knocked the servitors to the ground. The psyker dodged and blasted him again with the force rod. Herican diffused most of the energy. This one was strong. Not strong enough.
He sent a splinter of pure malice at the other's mind. It was imprinted warp energy and would burrow through the psychic defences and then shred his mind. As an after though he mind blasted the stormtroopers near him. A bolt round exploded off his defensive shell.
The psyker didn't try to defend against his splinter. Instead, he had simply unwoven it, reducing it to fragments of stray energies. Nice. A very hard trick requiring considerable mastery of daemonology to accomplish. Herican began to syphon away the psyker's energies. In a few moments, he would be nothing.
The psyker didn't counter. Instead, he telekinetically leapt across the interviening distance. He would be powerless in moment. The hand with the force rod swung as the psyker landed. Herican's shell collapsed momentarily and his skull exploded. Jolan Gix was splattered with the blood and brains of his enemy.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The stormtroopers saluted the inquisitor. "The ship is secured as you ordered."
"Thank you," replied Jolan Gix. Hethor and Danell followed him, the latter with his custom sniping rifle slung over his back. "Anything notable?"
"Heretical apparatus and idols. Books in the captain's cabin."
Gix nodded in acknowledgment. "Heth, let the Invidious know that they can come out of hiding behind the second moon. The area is secure."
"Will do boss."
"Danell, do a sweep. Make sure that no one escaped."
"Your will, inquisitor."
As his companions receeded, Gix strode into the ship. It was a good one, solidly designed. If it could be purified he intended to keep it and have it refitted at the archeotech yards in Adraxis. He hesitated for a moment in front of the captain's cabin and then touched the control. The door slid open.
It was a surprisingly simple room. A luxurious bed, a desk and cogitator, trophy case, and secured bookshelf. He examined the books carefully. All non-proscribed works. He opened a few at random and looked inside. They were what they were suppossed to be. He examined the bookshelf again.
The back was surprisingly thick. He looked closer and found a hidden catch. Three thin folios were revealed. Gix removed them and examinded them.
They were thin, but tall and wide. They were bound in red dyed human skin. The paper was metallic and covered in tiny print. Gix put them down on the desk and began to read.
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Imperial Overlord
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Trelin watched as the flyer touched down at the top of the hill. It happened several times a year now as the Imperial presence got stronger and stronger. More and more equipment was mustered for more recent purge missions against the orks of the far islands. The orks kept coming back, but they were fewer and weaker every time. Of course, the Imperial weren't always passing through to fight orks. Sometimes they delivered medicine and sometimes their purposes were far more sinister.
Trelin headed up the hill past the log cabins of his people. They were sturdy buildings, much better than their predecessors. A glass maker had emigrated to Longshore Isle five years back and glass windows had become an affordable improvement instead of a foreign luxury. Running water had been a nice improvement as well.
Three men exited the flyer. One was a big man, dark enough to be an islander, but built like a bull ork. He was wearing a temp controlled body glove and had the aquilla tattooed on his forhead. Another man, slimmer and short, also wore a bodyglove as well as a long coat. A pale man with dark hair wore sand coloured long sleaved baggy tunic and pants. His flesh gleamed with sunshade oil.
The big man had some kind of rifle slung over his shoulder. Both of the darker skinned men had weapons on their belts. Not soldiers, at least not any more, and mercifully were to few to be witch hunters. He had lost a brother and a sister to them and at nights feared they would come for his own children. He did not know how his parents were able to bear such their loss with such dignity.
The one in the coat stepped towards him and extended his arm, with his hand and forarm extended up, islander fashion. Trelin grasped it. The foreigner was about his size, with fine bones and a firm grip. His eyes were a smokey grey and his black hair was cut short. A faint scar marked his left cheek. "Welcome to our village," Trelin said.
"Thank you," said the stranger. "I'm looking for Venor and Selina Gix."
Trelin's eyes widened fractionally. "Why?"
"They are well?" the stranger pressed.
"Yes. Who are they two you?"
"My parents."
Trelin looked at the man, really looked. His age was right and the face was that of his father's as well. Jolan Gix gasped as his brother embraced him.
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His mother had wept when she saw him. His father had not, but had embraced him with the fierceness that belied his age. The news spread like wildfire, of course, and the village wasn't particularily big. Soon everyone was stopping buy to provide a piece of food for a welcome feast.
They talked around the table as his mother prepared the food in the adjacent kitchen. A rotating gaggle of girls and women came in to help and eavesdrop.
"So my son, you have become a great lord in the Imperium?"
Jolan smiled. "Yes. An inquisitor. I search for problems and I solve them."
"Like a sheriff."
"Yes, except I don't deal with murders or stolen catches but revolutions and treason."
His father beamed. "That sounds important."
"Of course it is," his mother said back.
"Yes, it is," Gix replied. "My duties took me past this world, so I decided to stop in and make sure everything was alright. And to visit you."
"You do not know what a burden you take from the hearts of your mother and I," said Venor.
"I am glad I was able to," Jolan said.
"Are you married?" his father asked.
"Of course he is," his mother replied. "He's a lord and past thirty. How could he not be married."
Jolan smiled. "Actually I'm not. Things are a little different up there and my duties keep me busy. There is a woman who is very special to me." Actually, more than one, but he wasn't likely to end up married to either Kyra or Severa. But the full truth of an inquisitor's life was not something they needed to here. Sometimes lies were best.
"And your sister?" his father asked. "Do you know of her?"
Jolan's face clouded for a moment. "She died honourably, using her gifts in the service of the Imperium." There was moment of akward silence. That was true as far as it went. Jolan had looked up the younger sister he had never known in the logic engines of Schola Psychia. Her gifts had been strong, but her control of them had been weak. She had burned herself out in a month maintaining the Astronomican.
"Let us speak of other things, my son. It is good to know that you prosper. How long can you stay?"
"Only a few days."
"Then we shall make them memorable," his mother replied.
Trelin headed up the hill past the log cabins of his people. They were sturdy buildings, much better than their predecessors. A glass maker had emigrated to Longshore Isle five years back and glass windows had become an affordable improvement instead of a foreign luxury. Running water had been a nice improvement as well.
Three men exited the flyer. One was a big man, dark enough to be an islander, but built like a bull ork. He was wearing a temp controlled body glove and had the aquilla tattooed on his forhead. Another man, slimmer and short, also wore a bodyglove as well as a long coat. A pale man with dark hair wore sand coloured long sleaved baggy tunic and pants. His flesh gleamed with sunshade oil.
The big man had some kind of rifle slung over his shoulder. Both of the darker skinned men had weapons on their belts. Not soldiers, at least not any more, and mercifully were to few to be witch hunters. He had lost a brother and a sister to them and at nights feared they would come for his own children. He did not know how his parents were able to bear such their loss with such dignity.
The one in the coat stepped towards him and extended his arm, with his hand and forarm extended up, islander fashion. Trelin grasped it. The foreigner was about his size, with fine bones and a firm grip. His eyes were a smokey grey and his black hair was cut short. A faint scar marked his left cheek. "Welcome to our village," Trelin said.
"Thank you," said the stranger. "I'm looking for Venor and Selina Gix."
Trelin's eyes widened fractionally. "Why?"
"They are well?" the stranger pressed.
"Yes. Who are they two you?"
"My parents."
Trelin looked at the man, really looked. His age was right and the face was that of his father's as well. Jolan Gix gasped as his brother embraced him.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
His mother had wept when she saw him. His father had not, but had embraced him with the fierceness that belied his age. The news spread like wildfire, of course, and the village wasn't particularily big. Soon everyone was stopping buy to provide a piece of food for a welcome feast.
They talked around the table as his mother prepared the food in the adjacent kitchen. A rotating gaggle of girls and women came in to help and eavesdrop.
"So my son, you have become a great lord in the Imperium?"
Jolan smiled. "Yes. An inquisitor. I search for problems and I solve them."
"Like a sheriff."
"Yes, except I don't deal with murders or stolen catches but revolutions and treason."
His father beamed. "That sounds important."
"Of course it is," his mother said back.
"Yes, it is," Gix replied. "My duties took me past this world, so I decided to stop in and make sure everything was alright. And to visit you."
"You do not know what a burden you take from the hearts of your mother and I," said Venor.
"I am glad I was able to," Jolan said.
"Are you married?" his father asked.
"Of course he is," his mother replied. "He's a lord and past thirty. How could he not be married."
Jolan smiled. "Actually I'm not. Things are a little different up there and my duties keep me busy. There is a woman who is very special to me." Actually, more than one, but he wasn't likely to end up married to either Kyra or Severa. But the full truth of an inquisitor's life was not something they needed to here. Sometimes lies were best.
"And your sister?" his father asked. "Do you know of her?"
Jolan's face clouded for a moment. "She died honourably, using her gifts in the service of the Imperium." There was moment of akward silence. That was true as far as it went. Jolan had looked up the younger sister he had never known in the logic engines of Schola Psychia. Her gifts had been strong, but her control of them had been weak. She had burned herself out in a month maintaining the Astronomican.
"Let us speak of other things, my son. It is good to know that you prosper. How long can you stay?"
"Only a few days."
"Then we shall make them memorable," his mother replied.
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Imperial Overlord
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 11978
- Joined: 2004-08-19 04:30am
- Location: The Tower at Charm
Gard's mechadendrites shifted. He looked up. A matte black flyer was descending from the night sky. A little early. A smile split her dark skin, revealing pearly white teeth. He touched a control. The automated weapons continued tracking the ship but did not fire. The lighter touched down with a thud.
Steam blasted out from vents and the cargo door descended. A slim man wearing a dandified officer's uniform and a bruiser wearing a rating's coveralls came forward. Gard gestured to several of his muscle. The wearily advanced with their master, their autoguns ready in their hands.
Violence was an unfortunate adjunct of this business. It was necessary to achieve some proficiency with weapons and employ those who made their living by violence. There was no helping it. Under his robes, Gard wore mech armour that covered his sleek form. A dark eldar splinter pistol was also holstered, ready to use.
The slim man was as pale as Gard was dark. "You Doctor Vikal?"
"Yes, I am," Gard replied. "Do you have the goods?"
"Straight from Tau space. They have some nice toys. You have the payment?"
"Yes, I have the agreed upon payment. Sapphires and rubies."
The officer smiled. "I was hoping you would say that." He turned and gestured to his cargo servitors. They picked up two crates and began to carry them down the ramp.
One of his servo skull's beeped. The readout was displayed on the stacked crystal lens of his contacts. Psi reading surge. Gard opened his mouth to shout and the chaos errupted.
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One of the crates exploded and both gun platforms were upended by telekinetic blasts. As Jolan Gix emerged, Danell stabbed Gard Vikal in the face with a small needle. He slapped the splinter pistol away and used him as a living shield. In a few seconds the paralytic would take hold.
The muscle hesistated, which cost them time they didn't have. Hethor refractor field had been activated by the trigger they had rigged in his mouth. His empty hands dipped into the bulky pockets of his overalls and came out full. There was an incandescent flare as one shooter was blown in half by a plasma burst. Another was torn open from navel to breast bone by the bolt pistol in Hethor's other hand.
Keys speared another man with a las pistol shot to the forhead. He flicked on his refractor field, which screamed target, but he was out in the open with a valuable commedity in his hands. He dropped Vikal's body and ran forward. Several autogun slugs slammed into him but the field and the woven armour stopped most of it.
Men exploded into pyres of green fire and chared flesh as Gix struck. Servitors blackened and toppled. Hethor gunned down another and Keys claimed to as Gix strode across the clearing. There was nothing left to opposse him. He swept the area with a hand held auspex and then turned to his men. "Well done."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Vikal recovered consciousness soon enough. He looked around. He naked on surgical bed, covered by a sheet. Three men were there. The officer, now wearing simple black; the rating, now wearing a weapon harness; and a brown skinned man wearing dark tunic, breaches, and a ribbed leather coat. "I don't appear to be restrained," Vikal remarked. His throat was dry. A squeeze bottle of water was nearby. How thoughtful. He took a sip. That was better.
"No, you aren't," replied Jolan Gix. "Your history is quite interesting, Doctor Vikal. A practitioning medicae who clashed twice with the Adeptus Mechanicus over trying to obtain augmentation secrets. You then gave up your practice and disappeared. Well, not quite."
"Over the next one hundred years you've been over half the galaxy. You've repeatedly engaged in illegal clandestine trade and have probably been involved in three raids against the Adeptus Mechanicus. I think the number is higher. How many times have you plundered xenos for their tech?"
"Fifty-seven times inquisitor." He could only be an inquisitor. Nothing else made sense. "I prefer to trade, when possible."
"Impressive. I don't have a problem with you Vikal. In fact, I have a use for a man of your talents."
"I'm a scientist inquisitor. I don't know what use I can be to you."
"I have a use for scientists, even those who stray into forbidden xenos lore and the domains of the Adeptus Mechanicus. Especially those areas. And there is something else I want from you."
"Yes?"
"Your clients. Most of all, I want your clients."
Steam blasted out from vents and the cargo door descended. A slim man wearing a dandified officer's uniform and a bruiser wearing a rating's coveralls came forward. Gard gestured to several of his muscle. The wearily advanced with their master, their autoguns ready in their hands.
Violence was an unfortunate adjunct of this business. It was necessary to achieve some proficiency with weapons and employ those who made their living by violence. There was no helping it. Under his robes, Gard wore mech armour that covered his sleek form. A dark eldar splinter pistol was also holstered, ready to use.
The slim man was as pale as Gard was dark. "You Doctor Vikal?"
"Yes, I am," Gard replied. "Do you have the goods?"
"Straight from Tau space. They have some nice toys. You have the payment?"
"Yes, I have the agreed upon payment. Sapphires and rubies."
The officer smiled. "I was hoping you would say that." He turned and gestured to his cargo servitors. They picked up two crates and began to carry them down the ramp.
One of his servo skull's beeped. The readout was displayed on the stacked crystal lens of his contacts. Psi reading surge. Gard opened his mouth to shout and the chaos errupted.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
One of the crates exploded and both gun platforms were upended by telekinetic blasts. As Jolan Gix emerged, Danell stabbed Gard Vikal in the face with a small needle. He slapped the splinter pistol away and used him as a living shield. In a few seconds the paralytic would take hold.
The muscle hesistated, which cost them time they didn't have. Hethor refractor field had been activated by the trigger they had rigged in his mouth. His empty hands dipped into the bulky pockets of his overalls and came out full. There was an incandescent flare as one shooter was blown in half by a plasma burst. Another was torn open from navel to breast bone by the bolt pistol in Hethor's other hand.
Keys speared another man with a las pistol shot to the forhead. He flicked on his refractor field, which screamed target, but he was out in the open with a valuable commedity in his hands. He dropped Vikal's body and ran forward. Several autogun slugs slammed into him but the field and the woven armour stopped most of it.
Men exploded into pyres of green fire and chared flesh as Gix struck. Servitors blackened and toppled. Hethor gunned down another and Keys claimed to as Gix strode across the clearing. There was nothing left to opposse him. He swept the area with a hand held auspex and then turned to his men. "Well done."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Vikal recovered consciousness soon enough. He looked around. He naked on surgical bed, covered by a sheet. Three men were there. The officer, now wearing simple black; the rating, now wearing a weapon harness; and a brown skinned man wearing dark tunic, breaches, and a ribbed leather coat. "I don't appear to be restrained," Vikal remarked. His throat was dry. A squeeze bottle of water was nearby. How thoughtful. He took a sip. That was better.
"No, you aren't," replied Jolan Gix. "Your history is quite interesting, Doctor Vikal. A practitioning medicae who clashed twice with the Adeptus Mechanicus over trying to obtain augmentation secrets. You then gave up your practice and disappeared. Well, not quite."
"Over the next one hundred years you've been over half the galaxy. You've repeatedly engaged in illegal clandestine trade and have probably been involved in three raids against the Adeptus Mechanicus. I think the number is higher. How many times have you plundered xenos for their tech?"
"Fifty-seven times inquisitor." He could only be an inquisitor. Nothing else made sense. "I prefer to trade, when possible."
"Impressive. I don't have a problem with you Vikal. In fact, I have a use for a man of your talents."
"I'm a scientist inquisitor. I don't know what use I can be to you."
"I have a use for scientists, even those who stray into forbidden xenos lore and the domains of the Adeptus Mechanicus. Especially those areas. And there is something else I want from you."
"Yes?"
"Your clients. Most of all, I want your clients."
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Imperial Overlord
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 11978
- Joined: 2004-08-19 04:30am
- Location: The Tower at Charm
Lord Carrel rose. "Jolan Gix, please come in."
"Thank you," Gix replied. The Lord Inquisitor's office was homey as oppossed to palatial. A cogitator was perched on the desk, but the two side walls were lined with three meter tall bookshelves. The carpet was a thick rich red, but one that any artisan family could have afforded. A big window, armoured by necessity, allowed a view into the city behind the inquisitor.
"My congradulations on your recent successes," said Carrel. He was an unpreposing man who wore a simple black robe and his rosette. He was taller and heavy than Gix, with a short but thick beard. He looked like someone's friendly uncle.
"As oppossed to my recent failures."
Carrel waved his hand away. "Your performance in the Adraxian affair will become legend in the sector, among inquisitors at least. As for the DeCora Incident, the planetary office also came up blank on the perpetrators. Although you found just about everything else there was to find on three planets in the process. There is no shame in that many successes. Every inquisitor has failures on their record."
"It galls," said Gix.
"Of course it does," Carrel replied. He motioned for Jolan to sit and he did so. "Getting thrown down that elevator shaft enraged your mentor Kyra Neven and she never forgot. The great Eisenhorn suffered defeats and setbacks. They overcame them and triumphed. In fact, you were their when Neven's nemesis fell. Patience inquisitor. We cannot save the Imperium single handedly."
"Thank you for the words, Lord Inquisitor. They are wise and I will remember them."
"Good, good. Now, I am sure you did not come here to listen to an old warhorse speak. How can I help you inquisitor?"
"I wish to transfer from the Ordo Malleus to the Ordo Hereticus."
"Ahh. The DeCora incident?"
"In part," said Jolan. "To be blunt, I've been doing more of this kind of work for various reasons in the last few years. I have a better feel for it than for Malleus work." That was partly true. The other part of the truth was that as a member of the Ordo Hereticus who could better spread the occult art of science.
"Ahh. You have found your true calling. That is a different matter. Well, to be blunt, you do good work and changing Ordos will not affect that. I am proud to sponsor your application to our Ordo."
"Thank you, Lord Carrel."
"Good hunting, Jolan Gix."
----------------------------------------------------------------------
"He's quite good."
"For an outsider?" Jolan Gix asked.
"No, by our standards," the Shrine Master responded. He was wiry brown man of medium height. "Considering that he wasn't trained until he was what . . . . ten?"
"Twelve," Gix replied. He looked down through the window at the the assassin's sparing below.
"Yes, pity that. He has a lot of native talent and high quality augmentics. His trainers were quite good. Trade Combine?"
"Noble house."
"Ahh. In any event, he's quite good. He lacks the specialized skills, training, and equipment of a member of our Officio, but he is a capable agent nonetheless. A lot of native talent, honed to a razor edge by experience. He can't compete with a shrine in their area of specialty, but he is otherwise quite capable by our standards."
"You can help him?"
"Indead. A few new techniques, some additional equipment and training, a few augments."
"Thank you Shrine Master."
"It is pity he did not come to us as a child. He could have been spectacular. But it is always a pleasure to assist Inquisition."
"Thank you. I have a gift for you."
The Shrine Master turned. Gix handed him a thin stack of flimsies. "Both the Inquisition and the Officio know that the Adeptus Mechanicus guard their secrets with a greater ferocity than is good for the Imperium. And both are institutions need the best technology. You should find these helpful."
The Shrine Master looked through them. "These are in High Gothic!"
"Yes, I had an agent of mine transcribe them into a format you would find more useful. These plans won't allow you to produce C'tan Phase Swords, but they should allow you to increase you stocks of Dark Age era equipment."
The Shrine Master looked up. "If the Officio can be of any assistance to you in the future inquisitor, know that you have friends here."
"Thank you," Gix replied. The Lord Inquisitor's office was homey as oppossed to palatial. A cogitator was perched on the desk, but the two side walls were lined with three meter tall bookshelves. The carpet was a thick rich red, but one that any artisan family could have afforded. A big window, armoured by necessity, allowed a view into the city behind the inquisitor.
"My congradulations on your recent successes," said Carrel. He was an unpreposing man who wore a simple black robe and his rosette. He was taller and heavy than Gix, with a short but thick beard. He looked like someone's friendly uncle.
"As oppossed to my recent failures."
Carrel waved his hand away. "Your performance in the Adraxian affair will become legend in the sector, among inquisitors at least. As for the DeCora Incident, the planetary office also came up blank on the perpetrators. Although you found just about everything else there was to find on three planets in the process. There is no shame in that many successes. Every inquisitor has failures on their record."
"It galls," said Gix.
"Of course it does," Carrel replied. He motioned for Jolan to sit and he did so. "Getting thrown down that elevator shaft enraged your mentor Kyra Neven and she never forgot. The great Eisenhorn suffered defeats and setbacks. They overcame them and triumphed. In fact, you were their when Neven's nemesis fell. Patience inquisitor. We cannot save the Imperium single handedly."
"Thank you for the words, Lord Inquisitor. They are wise and I will remember them."
"Good, good. Now, I am sure you did not come here to listen to an old warhorse speak. How can I help you inquisitor?"
"I wish to transfer from the Ordo Malleus to the Ordo Hereticus."
"Ahh. The DeCora incident?"
"In part," said Jolan. "To be blunt, I've been doing more of this kind of work for various reasons in the last few years. I have a better feel for it than for Malleus work." That was partly true. The other part of the truth was that as a member of the Ordo Hereticus who could better spread the occult art of science.
"Ahh. You have found your true calling. That is a different matter. Well, to be blunt, you do good work and changing Ordos will not affect that. I am proud to sponsor your application to our Ordo."
"Thank you, Lord Carrel."
"Good hunting, Jolan Gix."
----------------------------------------------------------------------
"He's quite good."
"For an outsider?" Jolan Gix asked.
"No, by our standards," the Shrine Master responded. He was wiry brown man of medium height. "Considering that he wasn't trained until he was what . . . . ten?"
"Twelve," Gix replied. He looked down through the window at the the assassin's sparing below.
"Yes, pity that. He has a lot of native talent and high quality augmentics. His trainers were quite good. Trade Combine?"
"Noble house."
"Ahh. In any event, he's quite good. He lacks the specialized skills, training, and equipment of a member of our Officio, but he is a capable agent nonetheless. A lot of native talent, honed to a razor edge by experience. He can't compete with a shrine in their area of specialty, but he is otherwise quite capable by our standards."
"You can help him?"
"Indead. A few new techniques, some additional equipment and training, a few augments."
"Thank you Shrine Master."
"It is pity he did not come to us as a child. He could have been spectacular. But it is always a pleasure to assist Inquisition."
"Thank you. I have a gift for you."
The Shrine Master turned. Gix handed him a thin stack of flimsies. "Both the Inquisition and the Officio know that the Adeptus Mechanicus guard their secrets with a greater ferocity than is good for the Imperium. And both are institutions need the best technology. You should find these helpful."
The Shrine Master looked through them. "These are in High Gothic!"
"Yes, I had an agent of mine transcribe them into a format you would find more useful. These plans won't allow you to produce C'tan Phase Swords, but they should allow you to increase you stocks of Dark Age era equipment."
The Shrine Master looked up. "If the Officio can be of any assistance to you in the future inquisitor, know that you have friends here."
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
-
Imperial Overlord
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 11978
- Joined: 2004-08-19 04:30am
- Location: The Tower at Charm
Gard Vikal smiled brightly as Jolan Gix walked into his workroom. "Inquisitor, I'm glad to see."
Gix smiled and looked over the work benches and arcane machinery. A wizards lab, sure enough. "Since you asked for my presence doctor, the least I could do was show up."
Gard through open his arms. "Behold, the fruits of our labors. Inquisitor, if I had known this would be the result of being apprehended, I would have turned myself in years ago."
Gix smiled at the joke. "I take it you have made some break through that you wish to share?"
"Indeed. Come over here and allow me to present this archeotech miracle, reproduced through the application of science to the craft of technomancy."
He pointed at a table. "I regret to say that my favorite project, that of coming up with a viable method of mass producing copies of xenarch capacitors has still not met with satisfactory results. But I have met with other successes."
He lead Gix to a table with a bundle covered in cloth. "Behold!" he swept the cloth off.
"Is that what I think it is?"
"Yes, an Inferno Pistol. Performance should be marginally superior to that of those you would be able to obtain from the Ordo. Range, energy delivered, and even ammunition capacity are roughly ten percent superior to the statistics in your arms manuals. I know you like heavy power in a compact package inquisitor and I would hate to lose you to a plasma pistol overload."
"Thank you doctor. Your efforts are appreciated."
"You're welcome inquisitor. Now I have a list of several items which may improve my facilities . . . "
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
In the deep dark at the edge of a dead star system, a ship that did not exist hosted a meeting of some of the most powerful individuals in human space. Most of them were inquisitors, but the membership of the conspiracy had spread beyond it. Not all of the membership was present, but all the players that were not present had a proxy at this meeting. Most of them knew some of the other participants. Recognition codes and private verification meetings allowed the members to be sure that they were free from infiltration and maintain their anonymity.
With their identities verified the conspirators met in a great hall around a great circular table. This whole section of the ship was abandoned, except for robots and maintenance servitors, to preserve the participants anonymity.
One of the robed and masked figures spoke. His or her voice was electronically modulated to be gender neutral. "This meeting was called at my instigation. A dangerous course of action is being promoted by certain members of our order. It must be addressed."
Kyra Neven spoke. Her voice was identical to that of the first speaker. "You speak of the tech dispersion effort."
"Yes," he replied. "It undermines the Imperium. Control over the distribution of high technology, especially starship and weaponry, is one of the tools the High Lords use to maintain their authority. By distrubiting high technology you increase the power of rebels and the temptation to rebel."
"My colleages words are correct," replied the altered voice of Jolan Gix. "However those will not be the only effects with regard to central authority. Technologicaly advanced worlds are wealthier and part of that wealth will end up in the hands of the Ecclesiarchy, the Inquisition, and the Officio Assassinorum. Increasing tech base will make such items as power armour and bolters cheaper by increasing supply allowing the outfitting of greater numbers of Orders Militants of Adeptus Sororitas. Troops under direct Inquisition control."
"Furthermore, it will increase population levels and tax base as well as increasing the the number and improving the equipment of various recruitment organs. More Inquisitional Storm Troopers, armsmen, assassins, psykers, and inquisitors. And I haven't mentioned the two new techniques for dealing with damaged gene seed. They aren't miracles, but they mean more Astartes. Arming them will be easier as well. And needless to say, I haven't even touched on how these benefits will increase the power of the the Adeptus Arbites, whose business it is to put down rebellions before they start."
"But these considerations, as important as they are, are ultimately distractions. The Imperium has been in decline for ten thousand years. The status quo is a disaster waiting to happen and everyone at this table is here because they understand this. While triggering a civil war with the Adeptus Mechanicus is a disaster, so is continuing a slide into technobarbarism. Our problems are getting worse. New daemon worlds, outside the Eye of Terror. The Hive Fleets. The resurrection of the Necrons. We cannot meet these threats will answers that were already failing."
The first speaker spoke again. "You would risk civil war on your ideas? You reek of hubris Jolan Gix!"
The meeting went quiet. A new voice spoke. Soft, whispery, male. "Names are forbidden here."
Gix spoke again. "You have no answers but to continue failed policies. It is no longer enough to attempt to repair the cracks in Imperial society. We must take bold steps to bolster Imperial Power. Emperor class battleships must again be build in the shipyards of Segmentum Capitals. The grand cruiser must reemerge to take its rightful place among the ships of the line. The Imperial Guard must be armed with weapons to place it on a more equal footing with technologicaly advanced xenos. The Adeptus Astartes and Sororitas must grow. We must claim more of our psykers before they become dangers and make them into assets. The Imperium of Man must rise again!"
The first speaker shouted back. "Listen to him! He would take the mantle of our Emperor. Heresy!"
A brutal, mechanical, and male voice spoke. Maladar. "You dare call Imperial rebirth heresy?"
"Your plan is bold my brother,," said the whisperer. "In all my time of service I have never contemplated anything so grand."
Gix replied. "The opportunity fell into my hands. I could not turn my back on it. And I hear no objections but fear. I will tell you my fears. An empire that is crumbling under the weight of its own corruption and decay, beseiged by terrible forces from without. I got out and confront my fear every day as do countless billions. We have an opportunity to do something other than slow down our deaths and pray for miracles. What commander will not take a risky gambit over inevitable defeat? And who better to make this decision."
The whisperer spoke again. "Does anyone have anything else to say?" No one spoke. Too many knew the whisperer and understood that his words were an instruction to dispense with debate unless they had something new and important to contribute. "All in favor?"
Three quarters of the table raised their hands. "Then it is agreed. Those that are in favor of this proposal will carry it forth without opposition from the others. This motion will be reviewed at our next meeting."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The primaries and proxies dispursed as their meeting broke up. Old comrades took this opportunity to speak with old friends or to pursue avenues of mutual interest. In a small chamber a particularily important piece of business was being conducted.
"Isran overstepped his bounds," said the whisperer. "He spoke Gix's name to expose him to violence. Two violations of our laws."
Maladar's reply was blunt. "You want me to kill him."
"Yes."
"You should have said so."
"I thought I did."
Maladar shrugged. He was going to kill the weasel bastard anyway, for pretty much the same reason. Gix might be risking a lot, but at least he was going full bore and had a chance of succeeding. Besides, Isran was moving against Maladar's allies and Maladar wasn't naive enough to believe rules would stop him. Maladar knew of only one satisfactory solution for people like that. He smiled, a truely terrible thing to behold. The whisperer flinched. Maladar laughed as visions of violent death filled his brain.
Gix smiled and looked over the work benches and arcane machinery. A wizards lab, sure enough. "Since you asked for my presence doctor, the least I could do was show up."
Gard through open his arms. "Behold, the fruits of our labors. Inquisitor, if I had known this would be the result of being apprehended, I would have turned myself in years ago."
Gix smiled at the joke. "I take it you have made some break through that you wish to share?"
"Indeed. Come over here and allow me to present this archeotech miracle, reproduced through the application of science to the craft of technomancy."
He pointed at a table. "I regret to say that my favorite project, that of coming up with a viable method of mass producing copies of xenarch capacitors has still not met with satisfactory results. But I have met with other successes."
He lead Gix to a table with a bundle covered in cloth. "Behold!" he swept the cloth off.
"Is that what I think it is?"
"Yes, an Inferno Pistol. Performance should be marginally superior to that of those you would be able to obtain from the Ordo. Range, energy delivered, and even ammunition capacity are roughly ten percent superior to the statistics in your arms manuals. I know you like heavy power in a compact package inquisitor and I would hate to lose you to a plasma pistol overload."
"Thank you doctor. Your efforts are appreciated."
"You're welcome inquisitor. Now I have a list of several items which may improve my facilities . . . "
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
In the deep dark at the edge of a dead star system, a ship that did not exist hosted a meeting of some of the most powerful individuals in human space. Most of them were inquisitors, but the membership of the conspiracy had spread beyond it. Not all of the membership was present, but all the players that were not present had a proxy at this meeting. Most of them knew some of the other participants. Recognition codes and private verification meetings allowed the members to be sure that they were free from infiltration and maintain their anonymity.
With their identities verified the conspirators met in a great hall around a great circular table. This whole section of the ship was abandoned, except for robots and maintenance servitors, to preserve the participants anonymity.
One of the robed and masked figures spoke. His or her voice was electronically modulated to be gender neutral. "This meeting was called at my instigation. A dangerous course of action is being promoted by certain members of our order. It must be addressed."
Kyra Neven spoke. Her voice was identical to that of the first speaker. "You speak of the tech dispersion effort."
"Yes," he replied. "It undermines the Imperium. Control over the distribution of high technology, especially starship and weaponry, is one of the tools the High Lords use to maintain their authority. By distrubiting high technology you increase the power of rebels and the temptation to rebel."
"My colleages words are correct," replied the altered voice of Jolan Gix. "However those will not be the only effects with regard to central authority. Technologicaly advanced worlds are wealthier and part of that wealth will end up in the hands of the Ecclesiarchy, the Inquisition, and the Officio Assassinorum. Increasing tech base will make such items as power armour and bolters cheaper by increasing supply allowing the outfitting of greater numbers of Orders Militants of Adeptus Sororitas. Troops under direct Inquisition control."
"Furthermore, it will increase population levels and tax base as well as increasing the the number and improving the equipment of various recruitment organs. More Inquisitional Storm Troopers, armsmen, assassins, psykers, and inquisitors. And I haven't mentioned the two new techniques for dealing with damaged gene seed. They aren't miracles, but they mean more Astartes. Arming them will be easier as well. And needless to say, I haven't even touched on how these benefits will increase the power of the the Adeptus Arbites, whose business it is to put down rebellions before they start."
"But these considerations, as important as they are, are ultimately distractions. The Imperium has been in decline for ten thousand years. The status quo is a disaster waiting to happen and everyone at this table is here because they understand this. While triggering a civil war with the Adeptus Mechanicus is a disaster, so is continuing a slide into technobarbarism. Our problems are getting worse. New daemon worlds, outside the Eye of Terror. The Hive Fleets. The resurrection of the Necrons. We cannot meet these threats will answers that were already failing."
The first speaker spoke again. "You would risk civil war on your ideas? You reek of hubris Jolan Gix!"
The meeting went quiet. A new voice spoke. Soft, whispery, male. "Names are forbidden here."
Gix spoke again. "You have no answers but to continue failed policies. It is no longer enough to attempt to repair the cracks in Imperial society. We must take bold steps to bolster Imperial Power. Emperor class battleships must again be build in the shipyards of Segmentum Capitals. The grand cruiser must reemerge to take its rightful place among the ships of the line. The Imperial Guard must be armed with weapons to place it on a more equal footing with technologicaly advanced xenos. The Adeptus Astartes and Sororitas must grow. We must claim more of our psykers before they become dangers and make them into assets. The Imperium of Man must rise again!"
The first speaker shouted back. "Listen to him! He would take the mantle of our Emperor. Heresy!"
A brutal, mechanical, and male voice spoke. Maladar. "You dare call Imperial rebirth heresy?"
"Your plan is bold my brother,," said the whisperer. "In all my time of service I have never contemplated anything so grand."
Gix replied. "The opportunity fell into my hands. I could not turn my back on it. And I hear no objections but fear. I will tell you my fears. An empire that is crumbling under the weight of its own corruption and decay, beseiged by terrible forces from without. I got out and confront my fear every day as do countless billions. We have an opportunity to do something other than slow down our deaths and pray for miracles. What commander will not take a risky gambit over inevitable defeat? And who better to make this decision."
The whisperer spoke again. "Does anyone have anything else to say?" No one spoke. Too many knew the whisperer and understood that his words were an instruction to dispense with debate unless they had something new and important to contribute. "All in favor?"
Three quarters of the table raised their hands. "Then it is agreed. Those that are in favor of this proposal will carry it forth without opposition from the others. This motion will be reviewed at our next meeting."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The primaries and proxies dispursed as their meeting broke up. Old comrades took this opportunity to speak with old friends or to pursue avenues of mutual interest. In a small chamber a particularily important piece of business was being conducted.
"Isran overstepped his bounds," said the whisperer. "He spoke Gix's name to expose him to violence. Two violations of our laws."
Maladar's reply was blunt. "You want me to kill him."
"Yes."
"You should have said so."
"I thought I did."
Maladar shrugged. He was going to kill the weasel bastard anyway, for pretty much the same reason. Gix might be risking a lot, but at least he was going full bore and had a chance of succeeding. Besides, Isran was moving against Maladar's allies and Maladar wasn't naive enough to believe rules would stop him. Maladar knew of only one satisfactory solution for people like that. He smiled, a truely terrible thing to behold. The whisperer flinched. Maladar laughed as visions of violent death filled his brain.
Last edited by Imperial Overlord on 2005-11-29 11:01pm, edited 2 times in total.
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
-
Imperial Overlord
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 11978
- Joined: 2004-08-19 04:30am
- Location: The Tower at Charm
On Conagwa, Inquisitor Isran Toneval's gun cutter detached from from the the frigate Glorius Fire with an escort of two Lightning class interceptors. They were two weeks latter than planed, the results of a Gellar field problem on the Gothic Class Cruiser Merciless which caused Isran to switch vessels. The Inquisitor was in a foul mood and quite impatient.
They hit atmosphere and descended towards the capital city of Velexun. As Isran's ship began final approach, the roof of a warehouse at the space port blew open. Two second latter, six missles were launched into the air from mag launchers. Their rocket engines kicked in a moment latter.
A homing beacon went active on the gun cutter as the rockets closed. The Lightnings shot down one missle, the gun cutter dodged another, and its own guns downed a third. Then the sky burned intolerably bright.
Subsequent investigations revealed that the missles had all been custom manufactured, although based a navy anti-small craft missle. They were all nuclear armed and even the recovered wreckage revealed no usable clues about the weapons origins. The interior of the warehouse, including the launchers, had been slagged by a large melta bomb. No clues there.
The owner was tracked down, but it was revealed his mind had been telepathically altered and he knew nothing, although that verification killed him in the process. Ten thousand people had died as a result of collateral damage in the assassination attempt. The perpetrators where never caught or identified, although two minor chaos cults and three organized crime rings were exterminated in the process.
Inquisitor Maladar was known to be in a different subsector at the time and the few who had reason to suspect his involvement would have to proceed outside the bounds of the law.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hethor groaned as someone shown a light into his eye. He tried to roll over, but he was strapped down. "Good response," said the gretchin follower who was shining a light in his eyes. "He seems fine."
"Good," said another voice, out of sight. "Let me know when he can fight."
"Right," replied the gretchin fondler. "What's your name?"
"Hether Delkor."
"The year?"
"969.M41."
"Good. What's the last thing you remember?" The gretchin fondler was still asking annoying questions, but at least the light was no longer in his eyes.
"I was heading home from shift-, I don't remember anything after that." A lie, of course. He had been working in the space port as contract labour and getting the low down on the smuggler activity for Jolan Gix's increasingly vast data base. Someone had shocked him in the back of the neck when he had been heading back to his crappy hab apartment from his crappy labor gin pit.
"Where am I?" He had a pretty good idea, but letting on that he worked for the Inquisition was less than wise.
"You're in the blood pit in Canara. Whatever your real name, the records have the name of a fugitive when you got sold down here. They get you boys from all over. Prisons, work houses, debt farms, the fight circuit, whatever." The man began to unstrap him. Finally.
Two bruisers in heavy plate stood by the door of the infirmery. They had shock sticks in their hands and mirror shielded face plates. Hethor looked around. "So this is recieving for the new meat. Make sure everything's working right." He looked up straight at the camera.
"Yes," said the medicae. He was skinny, with grey and a beard that covered a pockmarked face. That probably came from the removal of melanomas. The rads the star kicked out could get pretty nasty. "The Pit Bosses want good shows. You've had some augmentic work. Not local."
Damn. And to think he had had his aquila tattoo removed to avoid suspision. "Served in the Guard. Centrades Campaign. Me and some other boys got shot up pretty bad. The Mechanicus decided to fix up with augmentics. Some kind of experimental models or process or somethin'. Some of us were fixed up pretty good. The rest weren't so lucky."
The medicae nodded. "I'm afraid our jailers won't permit us to loiter in conversation any longer."
"Our."
"Yes." He gave a weak smile. "Not just the fighters are here against their will."
The muscle took him down the corridor into a freight elevator cage and down deep into the bowls of the facility. He past lines of cells, most filled with big, dark skinned scarred men. Facilities consisted of straw filled mattresses and a pair of buckets. Hethor let them put him in a cell.
He was alone without allies in a blood pit designed to cage desperate men and dangerous creatures. His captors were a ruthless crimminal syndicate. He had no means of contacting help and the law itself thought he was a crimminal even if he managed to escape. Gix wasn't even on planet and it would be weeks before his irregular contact schedule attracted attention. He grinned. An Astartes would overcome those obstacles. Hethor D'eckor refused to aim lower.
They hit atmosphere and descended towards the capital city of Velexun. As Isran's ship began final approach, the roof of a warehouse at the space port blew open. Two second latter, six missles were launched into the air from mag launchers. Their rocket engines kicked in a moment latter.
A homing beacon went active on the gun cutter as the rockets closed. The Lightnings shot down one missle, the gun cutter dodged another, and its own guns downed a third. Then the sky burned intolerably bright.
Subsequent investigations revealed that the missles had all been custom manufactured, although based a navy anti-small craft missle. They were all nuclear armed and even the recovered wreckage revealed no usable clues about the weapons origins. The interior of the warehouse, including the launchers, had been slagged by a large melta bomb. No clues there.
The owner was tracked down, but it was revealed his mind had been telepathically altered and he knew nothing, although that verification killed him in the process. Ten thousand people had died as a result of collateral damage in the assassination attempt. The perpetrators where never caught or identified, although two minor chaos cults and three organized crime rings were exterminated in the process.
Inquisitor Maladar was known to be in a different subsector at the time and the few who had reason to suspect his involvement would have to proceed outside the bounds of the law.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hethor groaned as someone shown a light into his eye. He tried to roll over, but he was strapped down. "Good response," said the gretchin follower who was shining a light in his eyes. "He seems fine."
"Good," said another voice, out of sight. "Let me know when he can fight."
"Right," replied the gretchin fondler. "What's your name?"
"Hether Delkor."
"The year?"
"969.M41."
"Good. What's the last thing you remember?" The gretchin fondler was still asking annoying questions, but at least the light was no longer in his eyes.
"I was heading home from shift-, I don't remember anything after that." A lie, of course. He had been working in the space port as contract labour and getting the low down on the smuggler activity for Jolan Gix's increasingly vast data base. Someone had shocked him in the back of the neck when he had been heading back to his crappy hab apartment from his crappy labor gin pit.
"Where am I?" He had a pretty good idea, but letting on that he worked for the Inquisition was less than wise.
"You're in the blood pit in Canara. Whatever your real name, the records have the name of a fugitive when you got sold down here. They get you boys from all over. Prisons, work houses, debt farms, the fight circuit, whatever." The man began to unstrap him. Finally.
Two bruisers in heavy plate stood by the door of the infirmery. They had shock sticks in their hands and mirror shielded face plates. Hethor looked around. "So this is recieving for the new meat. Make sure everything's working right." He looked up straight at the camera.
"Yes," said the medicae. He was skinny, with grey and a beard that covered a pockmarked face. That probably came from the removal of melanomas. The rads the star kicked out could get pretty nasty. "The Pit Bosses want good shows. You've had some augmentic work. Not local."
Damn. And to think he had had his aquila tattoo removed to avoid suspision. "Served in the Guard. Centrades Campaign. Me and some other boys got shot up pretty bad. The Mechanicus decided to fix up with augmentics. Some kind of experimental models or process or somethin'. Some of us were fixed up pretty good. The rest weren't so lucky."
The medicae nodded. "I'm afraid our jailers won't permit us to loiter in conversation any longer."
"Our."
"Yes." He gave a weak smile. "Not just the fighters are here against their will."
The muscle took him down the corridor into a freight elevator cage and down deep into the bowls of the facility. He past lines of cells, most filled with big, dark skinned scarred men. Facilities consisted of straw filled mattresses and a pair of buckets. Hethor let them put him in a cell.
He was alone without allies in a blood pit designed to cage desperate men and dangerous creatures. His captors were a ruthless crimminal syndicate. He had no means of contacting help and the law itself thought he was a crimminal even if he managed to escape. Gix wasn't even on planet and it would be weeks before his irregular contact schedule attracted attention. He grinned. An Astartes would overcome those obstacles. Hethor D'eckor refused to aim lower.
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
-
Imperial Overlord
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 11978
- Joined: 2004-08-19 04:30am
- Location: The Tower at Charm
Jolan Gix joined the investigation on Conagwa. Nuclear attacks on inquisitors were uncommon enough to merit investigation of possible connections. They turned up nothing in the end.
Gix knew better, of course. Vikal's workshop had produced the design modifcations and crucial parts for Maladar. Maladar was supposed to be in another subsector, but the whereabouts of an anti-social inquisitor prone to wearing powered armour were easy to falsify. Even easier when Maladar's "face" was a disguise.
While Jolan Gix was caught up in his false investigation, his some of his agents were having a rougher time.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Pit Masters put Hethor through the paces. Heth held back, appearing merely proficient with most of the pits weapons and unfamiliar with the whips and chain blades. In the process, he got a good idea of how things worked.
Everybody was legally a condemned crimminal, courtesy of links to the magistrates office or the Administratium. The only way out was being bought by the wealthy clients or getting promotted to something less lethal than pit fighter. Everyone's life on the outside was over.
The big wheels in the pit were the best gladiators and the retirees who were made Pit Masters. The only ways in or out of the pits were the arena and the lifts and the lifts were always guarded and monitored by pict viewers to boot.
Hethor waited. The facilities sucked, but the food wasn't too bad and there was plenty of it. The reigning pit fighter got nicer cells, better food, women and boys, and the occassional ride up the lift.
His time came. Warm up match before the big event. Hethor walked into the arena armed with a sword with a 55cm blade, his boots, and his pants. Arena guards watched him. They were armed with autoguns for crowd control and shock sticks for close in work. Their helmets had mirrored visors to repell the sunligh and shield their faces. They wore fiber plast vambraces and cuirasses over flak armour.
Hethor had already sized them up. When the day came, he would be ready. His opponent was waiting in the center of the arena under the harsh glare. He wore a broad brimmed ceramite helmet with a smoked black face shield and a blood red crest. Ceramite gauntlets shielded his arms up to the elbow. He wore a leather loin guard and heavy boots. In each hand was a 35cm blade.
Hethor squinted and advanced. He was suppossed to lose. The bright sun only compounded the other warrior's superior equipment. He would close, parry and strike, parry and strike. He would whittle Hethor down until he fell or died. They had chosen Hethor because he was big enough and skilled enough to make this a long show. The odds were fairly good that they would vote to spare him once he collapsed from blood loss and exhaustian.
Hethor had a different plan. He feigned a stab and then side stepped, moving to circle his opponent. The sun glare was a disadvantage, but the narrow visor blocked his opponents peripheral vision. A seasoned fighter would be aware of that and move to compensate. As the pit fighter pivoted, Hethor struck at his face.
He parried and slashed at Hethor's wrist. Hethor pulled back, began to cirlce again, and feinted high. The knife came up. Hethor stabbed down, poking a hole in the fighter's thigh. Hethor danced back.
There was another way to play this. The pit fighter was wounded and lacked reached. Hethor was more mobile. The possibility of striking and retreating, of cutting his opponent down piece by piece emerged. Hethor moved quickly, trying to take advantage of the pit fighter's reduced mobility.
And then he lashed out. A series of cuts and stabs. The pit fighter arfully parried as counter attacked with his free hand, driving Hethor back. The Imperial Guard veteran gave ground, falling back purely on the defensive.
And then it happened. An opening. An over-exended attack. Hethor's blade speared his right biceps. Blood spurted. Hethor took a step back and smashed the knife out of the pit fighter's right hand.
The pit fighter struck with his left, but he was not the only man with a left hand. Hethor caught his wrist, stepped forward, and stabbed. The short sword punched through his breastboen and out his spine. Blood washed over the Guard veteran.
He tossed the dying man away and raised his hands in triumph, his eyes closed against the glare of the sun. The unseen crowd roared its approval, although they did not even know his name. Hethor roared back. "Victory! Always Victorious!" he shouted. His plan was in motion.
Gix knew better, of course. Vikal's workshop had produced the design modifcations and crucial parts for Maladar. Maladar was supposed to be in another subsector, but the whereabouts of an anti-social inquisitor prone to wearing powered armour were easy to falsify. Even easier when Maladar's "face" was a disguise.
While Jolan Gix was caught up in his false investigation, his some of his agents were having a rougher time.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Pit Masters put Hethor through the paces. Heth held back, appearing merely proficient with most of the pits weapons and unfamiliar with the whips and chain blades. In the process, he got a good idea of how things worked.
Everybody was legally a condemned crimminal, courtesy of links to the magistrates office or the Administratium. The only way out was being bought by the wealthy clients or getting promotted to something less lethal than pit fighter. Everyone's life on the outside was over.
The big wheels in the pit were the best gladiators and the retirees who were made Pit Masters. The only ways in or out of the pits were the arena and the lifts and the lifts were always guarded and monitored by pict viewers to boot.
Hethor waited. The facilities sucked, but the food wasn't too bad and there was plenty of it. The reigning pit fighter got nicer cells, better food, women and boys, and the occassional ride up the lift.
His time came. Warm up match before the big event. Hethor walked into the arena armed with a sword with a 55cm blade, his boots, and his pants. Arena guards watched him. They were armed with autoguns for crowd control and shock sticks for close in work. Their helmets had mirrored visors to repell the sunligh and shield their faces. They wore fiber plast vambraces and cuirasses over flak armour.
Hethor had already sized them up. When the day came, he would be ready. His opponent was waiting in the center of the arena under the harsh glare. He wore a broad brimmed ceramite helmet with a smoked black face shield and a blood red crest. Ceramite gauntlets shielded his arms up to the elbow. He wore a leather loin guard and heavy boots. In each hand was a 35cm blade.
Hethor squinted and advanced. He was suppossed to lose. The bright sun only compounded the other warrior's superior equipment. He would close, parry and strike, parry and strike. He would whittle Hethor down until he fell or died. They had chosen Hethor because he was big enough and skilled enough to make this a long show. The odds were fairly good that they would vote to spare him once he collapsed from blood loss and exhaustian.
Hethor had a different plan. He feigned a stab and then side stepped, moving to circle his opponent. The sun glare was a disadvantage, but the narrow visor blocked his opponents peripheral vision. A seasoned fighter would be aware of that and move to compensate. As the pit fighter pivoted, Hethor struck at his face.
He parried and slashed at Hethor's wrist. Hethor pulled back, began to cirlce again, and feinted high. The knife came up. Hethor stabbed down, poking a hole in the fighter's thigh. Hethor danced back.
There was another way to play this. The pit fighter was wounded and lacked reached. Hethor was more mobile. The possibility of striking and retreating, of cutting his opponent down piece by piece emerged. Hethor moved quickly, trying to take advantage of the pit fighter's reduced mobility.
And then he lashed out. A series of cuts and stabs. The pit fighter arfully parried as counter attacked with his free hand, driving Hethor back. The Imperial Guard veteran gave ground, falling back purely on the defensive.
And then it happened. An opening. An over-exended attack. Hethor's blade speared his right biceps. Blood spurted. Hethor took a step back and smashed the knife out of the pit fighter's right hand.
The pit fighter struck with his left, but he was not the only man with a left hand. Hethor caught his wrist, stepped forward, and stabbed. The short sword punched through his breastboen and out his spine. Blood washed over the Guard veteran.
He tossed the dying man away and raised his hands in triumph, his eyes closed against the glare of the sun. The unseen crowd roared its approval, although they did not even know his name. Hethor roared back. "Victory! Always Victorious!" he shouted. His plan was in motion.
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
-
Imperial Overlord
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- Posts: 11978
- Joined: 2004-08-19 04:30am
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"Hey Heth," Nekuma said, "I heard about the upcoming fight." Nekuma wasn't a big man, but he was muscular and fast. He strode over to where Hethor was warming up.
Hethor shrugged and looked over at the smaller man. He had never seen anyone who naturally looked like Nekuma. His skin was as dark as coal and his hair was a crest of vibrant orange. "I guess Block Colonel Fell didn't like me killing his man." Block colonel was a rank in the Invisibile Army, the world's most powerful crime syndicate. A block colonel ran a mid sized city or acted as one of the chief officers of general.
The smaller man shook his head. "You got to take it slow and put on more of a show, not just hack 'em down. They ain't paying for an high seat at an abattoir."
"I do take it slow," Heth responded. Nekuma was a swift, a fighter who relied on speed and agility to win.
"Master Volokov didn't think so."
Hethor shrugged. He had endured worse than two dozen lashes from a Pit Master who merely wanted to inflict pain. "Unitl they put me up against an Astartes, they are waisting their time trying to kill me."
"Heth, have you seen the ork lover? Kerodan is more steel than flesh. He's more than two and a half meters tall and he's just as wide. What are you going to do, dent him?"
The big man said nothing. "I'll win. As always."
They came for him shortly. Volokov with the weapons and two guards waiting behind. Hethor watched them. They hung back about three meters, but they weren't attentive. He could spring that distance, kill one and then the other before they could react. But that would leave him trapped between the killing ground of the arena and the lift that was guarded at both ends. Then would come the inevitable security lockdown, gas, death. So he let them lead him towards the end of the arena.
He had ceramite vambraces for this fight and they fit well enough. Volokov handed him a boarding axe and a spiked mace. Hethor took the weapons. Volokov could push for a match with a disadvantage against his pet cybermonster all he wanted. He could even get it. But people weren't here for executions and Hethor was calmly confident.
Viewing his opponent changed his mind. Throne! His limbs were completely mechanical, shiny and heavy built augments. The bastard's arms were the same way. His torso was covered in armour plate with mail mesh around the belly and joints. All of his head save his face was armoured in steel. Augmentics replaced his eyes. A grillwork of bars protected his mouth an nose.
And his arnament wasn't much better either. His hand gripped a huge chain blade and his left held a ball-and-chain flail. Block Colonel Fell must have paid a fortune to arrange a fight this one sided against Hethor. Or maybe the Pit Lords had decided to make an example out of him to inspire the others to pay more attention to showmanship.
No matter. Hethor had faced traitor marines. This cyborged thing was no Astartes. The announcer was blathering on about something, but Hethor tuned it out. The mace went into his right hand, the axe to his left.
Kerodan moved ponderously towards him. The limbs had power, but weren't responsive. Hethor rushed to meet him. As they closed Kerodan began to slow. Hethor headed for his right side. Kerodan brought the chain blade down on a diagonal angle.
Hethor knocked the blow away with his mace and smashed the boarding axe into Kerodan's elbow joint. Sparks flew and the arm went limped. The ball-and-chain came around in a horizontal arc. Hethor parried with his mace. The chain wrapped around the shaft of the mace and Kerodan jerked it of Hethor's hands. Both fighters were down a weapon.
Hethor smashed his axe into Kerodan's right knee. The response times on his artificial limbs was simply too low for the cyborg to dodge Hethor. The limb seized up and Hethor ran around the giant, using Kerodan's own body as cover from it's weapon.
Kerodan clumisly pivoted on his dead leg. Hethor used both hands to bury his ax blade into Kerodan's waist, smashing through the mail mesh. Blood arced into the air. Kerodan staggered away and bellowed. Hethor kicked the giant's damaged leg hard, wrecking his balance. Kerodan's fall shook the sands.
Hethor backed up to retrieve Kerodan's chain blade. Even using both hands it felt clumsy. He raised it above his head as the cyborg got to his feet. The crowd was shouting. Hethor wanted to finish him, regardless of the will of the Pit Lords. But it would be better to obey. The moment he was waiting for was fast approaching.
Hethor shrugged and looked over at the smaller man. He had never seen anyone who naturally looked like Nekuma. His skin was as dark as coal and his hair was a crest of vibrant orange. "I guess Block Colonel Fell didn't like me killing his man." Block colonel was a rank in the Invisibile Army, the world's most powerful crime syndicate. A block colonel ran a mid sized city or acted as one of the chief officers of general.
The smaller man shook his head. "You got to take it slow and put on more of a show, not just hack 'em down. They ain't paying for an high seat at an abattoir."
"I do take it slow," Heth responded. Nekuma was a swift, a fighter who relied on speed and agility to win.
"Master Volokov didn't think so."
Hethor shrugged. He had endured worse than two dozen lashes from a Pit Master who merely wanted to inflict pain. "Unitl they put me up against an Astartes, they are waisting their time trying to kill me."
"Heth, have you seen the ork lover? Kerodan is more steel than flesh. He's more than two and a half meters tall and he's just as wide. What are you going to do, dent him?"
The big man said nothing. "I'll win. As always."
They came for him shortly. Volokov with the weapons and two guards waiting behind. Hethor watched them. They hung back about three meters, but they weren't attentive. He could spring that distance, kill one and then the other before they could react. But that would leave him trapped between the killing ground of the arena and the lift that was guarded at both ends. Then would come the inevitable security lockdown, gas, death. So he let them lead him towards the end of the arena.
He had ceramite vambraces for this fight and they fit well enough. Volokov handed him a boarding axe and a spiked mace. Hethor took the weapons. Volokov could push for a match with a disadvantage against his pet cybermonster all he wanted. He could even get it. But people weren't here for executions and Hethor was calmly confident.
Viewing his opponent changed his mind. Throne! His limbs were completely mechanical, shiny and heavy built augments. The bastard's arms were the same way. His torso was covered in armour plate with mail mesh around the belly and joints. All of his head save his face was armoured in steel. Augmentics replaced his eyes. A grillwork of bars protected his mouth an nose.
And his arnament wasn't much better either. His hand gripped a huge chain blade and his left held a ball-and-chain flail. Block Colonel Fell must have paid a fortune to arrange a fight this one sided against Hethor. Or maybe the Pit Lords had decided to make an example out of him to inspire the others to pay more attention to showmanship.
No matter. Hethor had faced traitor marines. This cyborged thing was no Astartes. The announcer was blathering on about something, but Hethor tuned it out. The mace went into his right hand, the axe to his left.
Kerodan moved ponderously towards him. The limbs had power, but weren't responsive. Hethor rushed to meet him. As they closed Kerodan began to slow. Hethor headed for his right side. Kerodan brought the chain blade down on a diagonal angle.
Hethor knocked the blow away with his mace and smashed the boarding axe into Kerodan's elbow joint. Sparks flew and the arm went limped. The ball-and-chain came around in a horizontal arc. Hethor parried with his mace. The chain wrapped around the shaft of the mace and Kerodan jerked it of Hethor's hands. Both fighters were down a weapon.
Hethor smashed his axe into Kerodan's right knee. The response times on his artificial limbs was simply too low for the cyborg to dodge Hethor. The limb seized up and Hethor ran around the giant, using Kerodan's own body as cover from it's weapon.
Kerodan clumisly pivoted on his dead leg. Hethor used both hands to bury his ax blade into Kerodan's waist, smashing through the mail mesh. Blood arced into the air. Kerodan staggered away and bellowed. Hethor kicked the giant's damaged leg hard, wrecking his balance. Kerodan's fall shook the sands.
Hethor backed up to retrieve Kerodan's chain blade. Even using both hands it felt clumsy. He raised it above his head as the cyborg got to his feet. The crowd was shouting. Hethor wanted to finish him, regardless of the will of the Pit Lords. But it would be better to obey. The moment he was waiting for was fast approaching.
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"Slather more on," Hethor told Nekuma. "If that pig fucker gets a grip on me, I'm goin' down like Sanguinus under Horus's fists."
"Uh, sure Heth," said the smaller man. He rubbed more oil onto Hethor's upper body. "Do you have a plan?"
"Yeah. Win."
"Got any more details?"
"Don't let the pig fucker get a grip," grunted the veteran. "Block Colonel Fell is really taking this personally. I should have axed his cyborg freak."
"Yeah," said Nekuma. "It must have cost a fortune in bribes to arrange this match. Throwing-" he stopped.
"Don't worry. We both know I'm not suppossed to survive this. Won't be the first time I've lived through shit like this." Horns blew. Hethor walked into the arena.
The hell sun beat down. Hethor's torso glistened in the light. He was stipped to the waist, his muscles and scars visible to all. Most of the latter came from decades of service. A few from surgeries to put him back together or install augmentics after he had been chewed up and nearly shredded in that service.
The opposite gate opened. Four handlers with shock prods managed a ravening beast. A bull ork, two and a half meters tall and at least two hundred kilos of mean muscle and bone. It roared and foamed. It's lower tusk was broken and tore at its upper lip. Blood mixed into the foam, heightening its fury.
It had been drugged, of coarse. Enough frenzon, onslaught, or one of their chemical cousins poured into its veins to kill a bull or to drive an already violent ork way past the point of berserkergang. The handler's all jabbed it. The ork writhed. The collar sprang loose. The handlers bolted back as the gate slammed shut. The furious, frenzied ork got to its feet and roared. The only thing that it could reach and kill was Hethor D'eckor.
It charged sreaming, hunched low with knuckles almost scrapping the sand. It was fast, damn fast. There was no way Hethor could match the ork's strength and killing fury. He rushed forward to meet it.
The ork was blind to everything but murder lust. It stretched out its arms to seize and and rend. Hethor leapt and lashed out with his right leg. Orks were slower than men even before their minds are clouded with a chemical stew and Hethor's reflexes were battle honed and augmenticly sharpened.
Hethor's jump kick collided with the ork's neck. It's neck bones shattered with a snap and its head lowled as the two bodies collided. Hethor rolled from the deadly, spasiming corpse.
He backed away and thrust his fist into the sky. "Victory!" the crowd shouted. "Victory!" The shouting continued. He waited for it to die down and then headed back towards his gate and the dark underworld of the gladiator barracks.
Two guards were waiting for him. One spoke. "Lord Krull requires that you attend him."
Hethor inclined his head slightly. "As he wishes." Finally, it was happening. Now the real work would begin.
"Uh, sure Heth," said the smaller man. He rubbed more oil onto Hethor's upper body. "Do you have a plan?"
"Yeah. Win."
"Got any more details?"
"Don't let the pig fucker get a grip," grunted the veteran. "Block Colonel Fell is really taking this personally. I should have axed his cyborg freak."
"Yeah," said Nekuma. "It must have cost a fortune in bribes to arrange this match. Throwing-" he stopped.
"Don't worry. We both know I'm not suppossed to survive this. Won't be the first time I've lived through shit like this." Horns blew. Hethor walked into the arena.
The hell sun beat down. Hethor's torso glistened in the light. He was stipped to the waist, his muscles and scars visible to all. Most of the latter came from decades of service. A few from surgeries to put him back together or install augmentics after he had been chewed up and nearly shredded in that service.
The opposite gate opened. Four handlers with shock prods managed a ravening beast. A bull ork, two and a half meters tall and at least two hundred kilos of mean muscle and bone. It roared and foamed. It's lower tusk was broken and tore at its upper lip. Blood mixed into the foam, heightening its fury.
It had been drugged, of coarse. Enough frenzon, onslaught, or one of their chemical cousins poured into its veins to kill a bull or to drive an already violent ork way past the point of berserkergang. The handler's all jabbed it. The ork writhed. The collar sprang loose. The handlers bolted back as the gate slammed shut. The furious, frenzied ork got to its feet and roared. The only thing that it could reach and kill was Hethor D'eckor.
It charged sreaming, hunched low with knuckles almost scrapping the sand. It was fast, damn fast. There was no way Hethor could match the ork's strength and killing fury. He rushed forward to meet it.
The ork was blind to everything but murder lust. It stretched out its arms to seize and and rend. Hethor leapt and lashed out with his right leg. Orks were slower than men even before their minds are clouded with a chemical stew and Hethor's reflexes were battle honed and augmenticly sharpened.
Hethor's jump kick collided with the ork's neck. It's neck bones shattered with a snap and its head lowled as the two bodies collided. Hethor rolled from the deadly, spasiming corpse.
He backed away and thrust his fist into the sky. "Victory!" the crowd shouted. "Victory!" The shouting continued. He waited for it to die down and then headed back towards his gate and the dark underworld of the gladiator barracks.
Two guards were waiting for him. One spoke. "Lord Krull requires that you attend him."
Hethor inclined his head slightly. "As he wishes." Finally, it was happening. Now the real work would begin.
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The guards let him shower and put on clean tunic and pants before leading him up the lift. Mirror visored guards watched him as the lift wound up from the bowels of the colliseum. After a minute the cage ground to a halt and the doors opened. The guards directed him outside and he placidly obeyed.
There was another pair of guards watching the lift. Hethor walked between them and out into the corridor. One of the guards gestured with his autogun. Hethor began walking that way. "Halt," one of them ordered. Hethor obeyed.
The guard opened the door to another lift, a much nicer one with rich wood panelling and chromed railings. They followed him in. Their vigilance was routine. What was he going to do? Legally he was a convicted crimminal. There was no where for him to go, no one that would help him. Except the man he was going to. With a patron he could become a prized and pampered posssession or retire as a Pit Master. If the patron liked him.
The lift opened and he was sent across the corridor and through another door. There were two guards outside the door and they weren't pit guards. They wore pants of some kind of tough synthetic and bulky leather jackets. Glare glasses shielded their eyes. They sent him inside.
It was a luxury box with one wall being completely covered by a slab of polarized transpex. The box was staggered in three tiers, with Lord Krull a the bottom near the glass and various guards and flunkies were arranged at distances that indicated their status.
Lord Krull was a big man and a lot of it was fat. He wore leathers of mauve silks and his gut threatened to burst out of his clothes. His florid face was partially hidden by a thick handlebar mustache. He raised a glass. "Victory!"
His cronies joined in. "Victory!"
Hethor bowed. "Thank you lord."
Krull laughed. "Thank you. I've made 500,000 standards betting against that fool Fell. Come, help me enjoy it." Two slim and slender beauties wearing revealing silks made eyes at him.
Hethor sat down near to Krull. He accepted goblet and began to answered inane questions and recited half-truths about battles he had fought in. He sucked down liquer, although not quite as quickly as he might seem to. And he spilled a lot of it. He played the dancing bear.
The brunette joygirl kneeled down between his legs and looked up at him as he opened his fly. Eyes were on him from all over the room. Another amusement. Another roll to play. And what the hell, she was pretty good at it. Hethor sunk back in his chair and enjoyed it.
After she was done Hethor went back to drinking and eating. Lord Krull was only half watching the fights. Everyone was drinking, snorting, swallowing, or shooting up mind altering substances. Even some of the bodyguards. Hethor got up and staggered towards the bathroom at the back.
He relieved himself and splashed water on his face. He had actually drunk very little and he was a very big man with a lot of tolerance for alcohol. He was ready. He walked out the door and back into the booth. It had all the luxuries a rich man would want to have at his finger tips. It's own bar, pharmecy, room for retainers, and a comm set. A very good comm set.
Hethor staggered towards one of the two bodyguards watching things at the top tear. He caught Hethor and grunted as he tried to hold him up. Hethor let the other man take his weight, keeping the bodyguard's hands completely occupied. Then he snapped his neck like a chicken.
The other guard turned as his buddy slumped, but he was far too slow and unprepaired. Hethor ripped the stubber from the holster with one hand and cracked him across the temple with the other. He grabbed the sagging guard's collar and pulled him in front to use as a human shield.
The other guards were paying attention now and had realized something really wrong was happening. Hethor shot one twice in the face before he could bring his weapon to bear. His brains blew out the back of his skull and splattered on the the window.
Another guard fired at Hethor and managed to put two into his shield's chest. Hethor put two into his. The guard staggered back, but no blood spilled forth. Hethor shot him another three times. The fifth shot splattered the bodyguard's clothes with blood and he fell.
The room was in complete chaos. A lot of people were trying to hide behind seats, others were screaming. A gaudily dressed man drew a las and missed Hethor by a meter. Hethor fired four shots his way. Three connected and the peacock fell back.
The guards from outside the room charged in. Hethor blasted one, hitting him twice in the chest and then putting one into his neck. He sagged and fell. The other pumped rounds into his meat shield. Hethor jumped down and threw his shield at him. The guard tried to dodge and mostly succeeded. Hethor as on him before the could bring his gun to bear.
Hethor grabbed his right wrist and squeezed while smashing his fist into his solar plexus. The guard doubled up and Hethor slammed him in the throat, crushing his wind pipe. Hethor spun them around to use the man as a shield and stripped the gun from his hand.
Someone else had picked up the las and shot the dying bodyguard in the spine. He toppled. Heth fired on the pistolier, a young, plainly dressed man. A las beam scorched Heth's lower ribs. Heth put one in the man's shoulder and one in the face. He strode forward and killed two more before retrieving the las. He emptied the stubber into the survivors. Lord Krull was shaking in his seat. The two joy girls huddled and clutched either other. They were splattered with blood. Everyone else was dead or dying.
Hethor walked over to the comm unit and punched in an address. He spoke carefully into the vox. "Gix. Omega-Gamma. House-Three. Situation Paradox."
There was a moment. "Affirm. Situation Paradox. Forces dispatched."
Hethor turned back to the survivors as he eased his way down to the door and closed it. He triggered the locking mechanism. "Who are you?" Krull quavered.
"Hethor D'eckor. Agent of the Inquisition." Krull went white. "All of this is history."
There was another pair of guards watching the lift. Hethor walked between them and out into the corridor. One of the guards gestured with his autogun. Hethor began walking that way. "Halt," one of them ordered. Hethor obeyed.
The guard opened the door to another lift, a much nicer one with rich wood panelling and chromed railings. They followed him in. Their vigilance was routine. What was he going to do? Legally he was a convicted crimminal. There was no where for him to go, no one that would help him. Except the man he was going to. With a patron he could become a prized and pampered posssession or retire as a Pit Master. If the patron liked him.
The lift opened and he was sent across the corridor and through another door. There were two guards outside the door and they weren't pit guards. They wore pants of some kind of tough synthetic and bulky leather jackets. Glare glasses shielded their eyes. They sent him inside.
It was a luxury box with one wall being completely covered by a slab of polarized transpex. The box was staggered in three tiers, with Lord Krull a the bottom near the glass and various guards and flunkies were arranged at distances that indicated their status.
Lord Krull was a big man and a lot of it was fat. He wore leathers of mauve silks and his gut threatened to burst out of his clothes. His florid face was partially hidden by a thick handlebar mustache. He raised a glass. "Victory!"
His cronies joined in. "Victory!"
Hethor bowed. "Thank you lord."
Krull laughed. "Thank you. I've made 500,000 standards betting against that fool Fell. Come, help me enjoy it." Two slim and slender beauties wearing revealing silks made eyes at him.
Hethor sat down near to Krull. He accepted goblet and began to answered inane questions and recited half-truths about battles he had fought in. He sucked down liquer, although not quite as quickly as he might seem to. And he spilled a lot of it. He played the dancing bear.
The brunette joygirl kneeled down between his legs and looked up at him as he opened his fly. Eyes were on him from all over the room. Another amusement. Another roll to play. And what the hell, she was pretty good at it. Hethor sunk back in his chair and enjoyed it.
After she was done Hethor went back to drinking and eating. Lord Krull was only half watching the fights. Everyone was drinking, snorting, swallowing, or shooting up mind altering substances. Even some of the bodyguards. Hethor got up and staggered towards the bathroom at the back.
He relieved himself and splashed water on his face. He had actually drunk very little and he was a very big man with a lot of tolerance for alcohol. He was ready. He walked out the door and back into the booth. It had all the luxuries a rich man would want to have at his finger tips. It's own bar, pharmecy, room for retainers, and a comm set. A very good comm set.
Hethor staggered towards one of the two bodyguards watching things at the top tear. He caught Hethor and grunted as he tried to hold him up. Hethor let the other man take his weight, keeping the bodyguard's hands completely occupied. Then he snapped his neck like a chicken.
The other guard turned as his buddy slumped, but he was far too slow and unprepaired. Hethor ripped the stubber from the holster with one hand and cracked him across the temple with the other. He grabbed the sagging guard's collar and pulled him in front to use as a human shield.
The other guards were paying attention now and had realized something really wrong was happening. Hethor shot one twice in the face before he could bring his weapon to bear. His brains blew out the back of his skull and splattered on the the window.
Another guard fired at Hethor and managed to put two into his shield's chest. Hethor put two into his. The guard staggered back, but no blood spilled forth. Hethor shot him another three times. The fifth shot splattered the bodyguard's clothes with blood and he fell.
The room was in complete chaos. A lot of people were trying to hide behind seats, others were screaming. A gaudily dressed man drew a las and missed Hethor by a meter. Hethor fired four shots his way. Three connected and the peacock fell back.
The guards from outside the room charged in. Hethor blasted one, hitting him twice in the chest and then putting one into his neck. He sagged and fell. The other pumped rounds into his meat shield. Hethor jumped down and threw his shield at him. The guard tried to dodge and mostly succeeded. Hethor as on him before the could bring his gun to bear.
Hethor grabbed his right wrist and squeezed while smashing his fist into his solar plexus. The guard doubled up and Hethor slammed him in the throat, crushing his wind pipe. Hethor spun them around to use the man as a shield and stripped the gun from his hand.
Someone else had picked up the las and shot the dying bodyguard in the spine. He toppled. Heth fired on the pistolier, a young, plainly dressed man. A las beam scorched Heth's lower ribs. Heth put one in the man's shoulder and one in the face. He strode forward and killed two more before retrieving the las. He emptied the stubber into the survivors. Lord Krull was shaking in his seat. The two joy girls huddled and clutched either other. They were splattered with blood. Everyone else was dead or dying.
Hethor walked over to the comm unit and punched in an address. He spoke carefully into the vox. "Gix. Omega-Gamma. House-Three. Situation Paradox."
There was a moment. "Affirm. Situation Paradox. Forces dispatched."
Hethor turned back to the survivors as he eased his way down to the door and closed it. He triggered the locking mechanism. "Who are you?" Krull quavered.
"Hethor D'eckor. Agent of the Inquisition." Krull went white. "All of this is history."
Last edited by Imperial Overlord on 2005-08-25 03:43pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Jolan sat in front of the furnace and put down the books he was carrying. One pile was made of the three red folios he had taken from Herican's library. The other pile was made of four small notebooks.
He had distilled all the knowledge in Herican's grimoires into these books, omitting the heretical propaganda and the philosophy. He had also left out some of the basic warp craft that had been part of his instruction at Schola. It was a depressing commentary on the state of the Imperium that distilled chaos grimoires yielded more useful information than a similar amount of distilled Mechanicus technical manuals.
Gix hesitated for a moment. He had exhaustively studied these works. He was confident of his mastery of their contents. He had transcribed every iota of useful information. But this next step was irreversable.
So be it. He picked up the first folio, stroked its blood red leather for a moment, and then tossed it in the furnace. It's brothers followed it into the flames. There is it was done. He picked up his notebooks.
He would have to be careful about who he distributed copies too. Many of his fellow inquisitors would consider the content to be unacceptably radical. Their were some that would be safe to approach. Xanthites would be receptive, those radicals that believed in using the powers of Chaos to fight Chaos. They were-
He stopped. Not they. We. Sometime on Adraxis or Cyrus Gamma he had ceased to be a moderate Amalathian and started down the road to radicalism. So be it. He would do whatever he had to do to preserve the Imperium.
"Inquisitor," said Gard from behind him. Gix picked up his notebooks and stood up.
"Yes?"
"We've recieved news from Garidia. Hethor was abducted by a crimminal ring."
"Is he alright?"
"He managed to get a message through to the Officio Inquisitorus. They dispatched three kill teams. He's fine."
Jolan closed his eyes. "Good. We'll continue on course to Garidia and join up with Hethor."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Master, I have news."
Adarin turned away from the colossal view port and faced his interrogator. "Yes?"
"I know where Jolan Gix will be in the next few weeks." Gix was hard to track. He extensively employed false names and disguises, operating sub rosa most of the time. By the time one knew where he was, Gix was already leaving. It made assassinating him rather difficult.
"Where?" Isran Toneval had been reckless. He should have accepted the the decision of the majority and then worked to kill Gix behind the scenes instead of outing him. But what was done was done. Now Adarin would cripple this radical infection that was threatening to corrupt the Progressives and avenge Isran in one stroke.
"Who do we have there who can act? Zacharus?"
"Yes."
"Excellent."
He had distilled all the knowledge in Herican's grimoires into these books, omitting the heretical propaganda and the philosophy. He had also left out some of the basic warp craft that had been part of his instruction at Schola. It was a depressing commentary on the state of the Imperium that distilled chaos grimoires yielded more useful information than a similar amount of distilled Mechanicus technical manuals.
Gix hesitated for a moment. He had exhaustively studied these works. He was confident of his mastery of their contents. He had transcribed every iota of useful information. But this next step was irreversable.
So be it. He picked up the first folio, stroked its blood red leather for a moment, and then tossed it in the furnace. It's brothers followed it into the flames. There is it was done. He picked up his notebooks.
He would have to be careful about who he distributed copies too. Many of his fellow inquisitors would consider the content to be unacceptably radical. Their were some that would be safe to approach. Xanthites would be receptive, those radicals that believed in using the powers of Chaos to fight Chaos. They were-
He stopped. Not they. We. Sometime on Adraxis or Cyrus Gamma he had ceased to be a moderate Amalathian and started down the road to radicalism. So be it. He would do whatever he had to do to preserve the Imperium.
"Inquisitor," said Gard from behind him. Gix picked up his notebooks and stood up.
"Yes?"
"We've recieved news from Garidia. Hethor was abducted by a crimminal ring."
"Is he alright?"
"He managed to get a message through to the Officio Inquisitorus. They dispatched three kill teams. He's fine."
Jolan closed his eyes. "Good. We'll continue on course to Garidia and join up with Hethor."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Master, I have news."
Adarin turned away from the colossal view port and faced his interrogator. "Yes?"
"I know where Jolan Gix will be in the next few weeks." Gix was hard to track. He extensively employed false names and disguises, operating sub rosa most of the time. By the time one knew where he was, Gix was already leaving. It made assassinating him rather difficult.
"Where?" Isran Toneval had been reckless. He should have accepted the the decision of the majority and then worked to kill Gix behind the scenes instead of outing him. But what was done was done. Now Adarin would cripple this radical infection that was threatening to corrupt the Progressives and avenge Isran in one stroke.
"Who do we have there who can act? Zacharus?"
"Yes."
"Excellent."
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Imperial Overlord
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Gix layed down the cards of the Emperor's Tarot. He had become more proficient at reading them over the years. More times than not the hints they provided were actually useful, as oppossed to becoming clear after the fact. The pattern disturbed him.
The Magus, inverted, with the Soldier laying over top. Danger. Violence. A threat. From Hethor? Unlikely. But the reading was strong.
"Gard, stay back and kick your auspexes up. Danell, find us an inconspicous route."
The assassin nodded. "Are we expecting trouble?" Gard asked.
Gix looked down at the cards. "Unfortunately."
----------------------------------------------------------------
Zacharus waited patiently in his roost. Feeds from his auspexes were fed into his cogitator stack. While there were multiple approaches one could make to the Officio Inquisitorus building, there was only one route to and from the spaceport. Gix could avoid that if he docked with another ship and then took a dropship directly down, but he hadn't chosen to do that.
So Gix would either travel by ground vehilce or flyer to the Officio. A concealed anti-air missle launcher was ready for a flyer. Another launcher was lying beside him for a ground vehicle. He continued to wait.
A blip. A hunter-skull had picked them up at the space port. He checked the image. They were heading a public transport tube. Too bad he had thought of that as well.
An unusual choice. He wondered why the inquisitor had made that decision. Perhaps he was aware that he might be targeted. No matter. Either Zacharus would get his shot or he would continue to wait for an opportunity. He slid into the next room.
This one had a nice corner window. Including a view of where the entrance from the underground tube system emerged at street level in front of the Officio Building. Zacharus consulted the cogitator. It was monitoring the progress of the tube system. He settled down to wait and dispatched a hunter-skull to monitor the exit.
It was nearly twenty minutes before it arrived. He settled down behind the the sights of the long las. It was nearly a click away. Easily doable. He had loaded a hot shot cell. He only needed one shot.
The skull sent data to his cogitators. This close to the Officio building it wasn't out of place. He doubted anyone would look twice. Data streamed back. A probable. The holo system displayed the image.
Ah Gix. All these precautions and you still wear a long coat. Habits can get you killed in this business. This one just did. The crowd began to emerge. He waited.
It was too thick to tell for sure and everyone was moving. Twenty meters up the street and it had thinned out enough for Zacharus to pick his target. He dropped the crosshairs on Gix's upper back. "Good night, Jolan Gix." He fired.
Light flared around Gix. An active conversion field. They drained power like no one's business, but it might have saved Gix's life. The crowd milled around in a panic, many of them temporarily blinded by the conversion field's flash. They were also doing an excellent job of providing cover for Gix. Zacharus slipped in another hot shot pack.
The auspex display was showing that Gix's vitals were flatlining. So it hadn't saved him after all. Skulls were headed this way. The Inquisition took a professional interest in assassinations in its turf. Soon the area would be full of darting hunter and gun skulls. He checked Gix again. According to his hunter-skull, he had been dragged into a doorway by someone. Out of his line of fire.
Time wasn't on his side. Zacharus dropped the long las and began moving. As soon as he left these rooms, the melta bombs would slag everything. If Gix lived, he would have another shot.
The Magus, inverted, with the Soldier laying over top. Danger. Violence. A threat. From Hethor? Unlikely. But the reading was strong.
"Gard, stay back and kick your auspexes up. Danell, find us an inconspicous route."
The assassin nodded. "Are we expecting trouble?" Gard asked.
Gix looked down at the cards. "Unfortunately."
----------------------------------------------------------------
Zacharus waited patiently in his roost. Feeds from his auspexes were fed into his cogitator stack. While there were multiple approaches one could make to the Officio Inquisitorus building, there was only one route to and from the spaceport. Gix could avoid that if he docked with another ship and then took a dropship directly down, but he hadn't chosen to do that.
So Gix would either travel by ground vehilce or flyer to the Officio. A concealed anti-air missle launcher was ready for a flyer. Another launcher was lying beside him for a ground vehicle. He continued to wait.
A blip. A hunter-skull had picked them up at the space port. He checked the image. They were heading a public transport tube. Too bad he had thought of that as well.
An unusual choice. He wondered why the inquisitor had made that decision. Perhaps he was aware that he might be targeted. No matter. Either Zacharus would get his shot or he would continue to wait for an opportunity. He slid into the next room.
This one had a nice corner window. Including a view of where the entrance from the underground tube system emerged at street level in front of the Officio Building. Zacharus consulted the cogitator. It was monitoring the progress of the tube system. He settled down to wait and dispatched a hunter-skull to monitor the exit.
It was nearly twenty minutes before it arrived. He settled down behind the the sights of the long las. It was nearly a click away. Easily doable. He had loaded a hot shot cell. He only needed one shot.
The skull sent data to his cogitators. This close to the Officio building it wasn't out of place. He doubted anyone would look twice. Data streamed back. A probable. The holo system displayed the image.
Ah Gix. All these precautions and you still wear a long coat. Habits can get you killed in this business. This one just did. The crowd began to emerge. He waited.
It was too thick to tell for sure and everyone was moving. Twenty meters up the street and it had thinned out enough for Zacharus to pick his target. He dropped the crosshairs on Gix's upper back. "Good night, Jolan Gix." He fired.
Light flared around Gix. An active conversion field. They drained power like no one's business, but it might have saved Gix's life. The crowd milled around in a panic, many of them temporarily blinded by the conversion field's flash. They were also doing an excellent job of providing cover for Gix. Zacharus slipped in another hot shot pack.
The auspex display was showing that Gix's vitals were flatlining. So it hadn't saved him after all. Skulls were headed this way. The Inquisition took a professional interest in assassinations in its turf. Soon the area would be full of darting hunter and gun skulls. He checked Gix again. According to his hunter-skull, he had been dragged into a doorway by someone. Out of his line of fire.
Time wasn't on his side. Zacharus dropped the long las and began moving. As soon as he left these rooms, the melta bombs would slag everything. If Gix lived, he would have another shot.
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Imperial Overlord
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Pain. Scorching pain mixed with fuzzy numbness. There was some piece of machinery stuffed into his mouth. Tubes in his throat. Air being pumped in and out. It hurt. Jolan's eyes flickered open.
He was lying in a bed attached to have several metric tons of machinery. Some kind of hospital room. Gard was looking down at him. "Inquisitor. I see you have regained consciousness. Try to relax. You were shot in the back and suffered serious injuries. I know its extremely uncomfortable at the moment, but without these machines you would be dead.
"The first thing you should be aware of is that your injuries are repairable. You should eventually recover something close to full function. Tissue cloning and advanced augmentics are both available.
"Now, I am sure you have questions and orders. That thing you feel attached to the back of your skull is an MIU. It links you with this speech unit. You should be able to communicate through it. It will probably take a little practice for you to get used to it."
Jolan concentrated. There was a burst of static and then words. The voice was monotone and sexless. "I . . . understand. I hear. . . you. Status?"
"Keys dragged you into a doorway after you got shot. Everyone else was uninjured. Hethor is fine. The scene was secured and examined, but it had been sterilized by melta bomb. The method was, hmmm, excessive. The building was structurely compromised and collapsed an hour latter. Forensics will probably yield nothing."
"Keys. Get . . . . me Keys."
"Of course, inquisitor." Gard retreated. A moment latter Keys came in.
"Inquisitor."
"Analysis of the assassination attempt."
Keys nodded. "They knew you were coming and when. Contingencies had to be put into place, depending on what mode of transportation was you chose. They had to have spies or monitoring devices rigged at the space port and along your route. They needed to know your ship. No one outside this building knew you were coming."
Gix tried to nod and couldn't. "Actions?"
"Doctor Vikal has personally supervised all of your medical treatment. Hunter and gun skulls under our command are present at all times. One of us is always present. It's been draining. Lord Clara Iridican isn't happy about this. At all."
"Her reactions?"
"Her own investigation. We have a list of names and histories of all of those who could have known. It is a surprisingly long list. Unfortunately, we haven't found any likely suspects."
"Program a cogitator. Voice command. Holo display. Set it up here."
"As you command Inquisitor. Permission to pursue my own avenues."
"Granted."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Hey boss, you rang?"
"Yes Hethor."
"Gard says he can fix you up."
"Yes. Tell Keys that it was Raynard Trevoli."
"You sure?"
"Served under Lord Inquisitor Adarin Vance on Styxia. Adarin Vance was . . . . . ally of Isran Toneval."
"Okay," replied Hethor. He didn't know the details, but he didn't have to. Ever since Cyrus Gamma he had been getting a better idea on how the Inquisition worked and as far as he could tell "factionalized" was an understatement. "So he tipped off the assassin. Fed him the info."
"Probably. Tell Keys."
"Stalk him. Put them both in the ground. Got it boss."
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
"How is he?" asked Keys. The room had been swept less than an hour ago.
"Better," said Hethor. "He gave us the name of the link."
"Definite."
"Close enough for me."
"He is unlikely to contact the assassin directly. The assassin will only have a limited amount of equipment after that demo job. Resources will be at a premium, so he will be even more dependent on information from the source and preperation."
"So?"
"Take out the informant and the assassin can be easily avoided."
He was lying in a bed attached to have several metric tons of machinery. Some kind of hospital room. Gard was looking down at him. "Inquisitor. I see you have regained consciousness. Try to relax. You were shot in the back and suffered serious injuries. I know its extremely uncomfortable at the moment, but without these machines you would be dead.
"The first thing you should be aware of is that your injuries are repairable. You should eventually recover something close to full function. Tissue cloning and advanced augmentics are both available.
"Now, I am sure you have questions and orders. That thing you feel attached to the back of your skull is an MIU. It links you with this speech unit. You should be able to communicate through it. It will probably take a little practice for you to get used to it."
Jolan concentrated. There was a burst of static and then words. The voice was monotone and sexless. "I . . . understand. I hear. . . you. Status?"
"Keys dragged you into a doorway after you got shot. Everyone else was uninjured. Hethor is fine. The scene was secured and examined, but it had been sterilized by melta bomb. The method was, hmmm, excessive. The building was structurely compromised and collapsed an hour latter. Forensics will probably yield nothing."
"Keys. Get . . . . me Keys."
"Of course, inquisitor." Gard retreated. A moment latter Keys came in.
"Inquisitor."
"Analysis of the assassination attempt."
Keys nodded. "They knew you were coming and when. Contingencies had to be put into place, depending on what mode of transportation was you chose. They had to have spies or monitoring devices rigged at the space port and along your route. They needed to know your ship. No one outside this building knew you were coming."
Gix tried to nod and couldn't. "Actions?"
"Doctor Vikal has personally supervised all of your medical treatment. Hunter and gun skulls under our command are present at all times. One of us is always present. It's been draining. Lord Clara Iridican isn't happy about this. At all."
"Her reactions?"
"Her own investigation. We have a list of names and histories of all of those who could have known. It is a surprisingly long list. Unfortunately, we haven't found any likely suspects."
"Program a cogitator. Voice command. Holo display. Set it up here."
"As you command Inquisitor. Permission to pursue my own avenues."
"Granted."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Hey boss, you rang?"
"Yes Hethor."
"Gard says he can fix you up."
"Yes. Tell Keys that it was Raynard Trevoli."
"You sure?"
"Served under Lord Inquisitor Adarin Vance on Styxia. Adarin Vance was . . . . . ally of Isran Toneval."
"Okay," replied Hethor. He didn't know the details, but he didn't have to. Ever since Cyrus Gamma he had been getting a better idea on how the Inquisition worked and as far as he could tell "factionalized" was an understatement. "So he tipped off the assassin. Fed him the info."
"Probably. Tell Keys."
"Stalk him. Put them both in the ground. Got it boss."
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
"How is he?" asked Keys. The room had been swept less than an hour ago.
"Better," said Hethor. "He gave us the name of the link."
"Definite."
"Close enough for me."
"He is unlikely to contact the assassin directly. The assassin will only have a limited amount of equipment after that demo job. Resources will be at a premium, so he will be even more dependent on information from the source and preperation."
"So?"
"Take out the informant and the assassin can be easily avoided."
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
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Imperial Overlord
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 11978
- Joined: 2004-08-19 04:30am
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Raynard rubbed his hands together in anticipation. It was only a matter of time before Zacharus permenently exed out Gix. With him feeding the assassin details on the security around Gix, a workable plan would emerge. But now was not the time for such thing. Nadira awaited.
The lift door slid open. The corridor was softly lit and easy on the eyes. Real wood panellling and deep burgandy carpets gave the it a feeling of serene sensuality. He wasn't the only man to stash a mistress in the building.
He walked over to her door and inserted the key card. With a click the locks opened. He turned the knob and walked in. Everything was as it should be. Plush carbet and comfortabley upholstered furnature in rich earth tones. Soft lighting. Doors leading off to a kitchen, bathroom, and bed chamber. But no Nadira.
She should be here. Maybe she was running late. That did happen but with this business about Gix, he was somewhat on edge. He pulled the laspistol from his belt. "Nadira," he called.
He heard something from the bedroom. He stalked forward, gun ready. He edged along the wall. Something stung him in the neck. He spun.
Nothing. No one in sight. He touched his neck. Blood. The room began to spin. He tried to focus his will. He fell to his knees, his gun slipping from his numb hands. He saw shoes coming towards him from the kitchen. Shoes attached to legs. He tried to focus his will. Failed. The lights dimmed.
Danell Keys watched as the inquisitor lost conciousness. He then walked into the next room and retrieved his noise maker, which was lying next to Trevoli's bound and unconscious mistress. A little patience and he would be able to remove the inquisitor's body in a room service cart.
There was the matter of his conspicious absence, of course. Fortunately, that was being attended to. He was reliably informed that a telepath would be inserting memories in the minds of a number of witnesses that he was inspecting the ship at this time. Too bad for Trevoli. The next little while was going to be very hard on him.
The lift door slid open. The corridor was softly lit and easy on the eyes. Real wood panellling and deep burgandy carpets gave the it a feeling of serene sensuality. He wasn't the only man to stash a mistress in the building.
He walked over to her door and inserted the key card. With a click the locks opened. He turned the knob and walked in. Everything was as it should be. Plush carbet and comfortabley upholstered furnature in rich earth tones. Soft lighting. Doors leading off to a kitchen, bathroom, and bed chamber. But no Nadira.
She should be here. Maybe she was running late. That did happen but with this business about Gix, he was somewhat on edge. He pulled the laspistol from his belt. "Nadira," he called.
He heard something from the bedroom. He stalked forward, gun ready. He edged along the wall. Something stung him in the neck. He spun.
Nothing. No one in sight. He touched his neck. Blood. The room began to spin. He tried to focus his will. He fell to his knees, his gun slipping from his numb hands. He saw shoes coming towards him from the kitchen. Shoes attached to legs. He tried to focus his will. Failed. The lights dimmed.
Danell Keys watched as the inquisitor lost conciousness. He then walked into the next room and retrieved his noise maker, which was lying next to Trevoli's bound and unconscious mistress. A little patience and he would be able to remove the inquisitor's body in a room service cart.
There was the matter of his conspicious absence, of course. Fortunately, that was being attended to. He was reliably informed that a telepath would be inserting memories in the minds of a number of witnesses that he was inspecting the ship at this time. Too bad for Trevoli. The next little while was going to be very hard on him.
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
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Imperial Overlord
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- Location: The Tower at Charm
Jolan Gix and half a ton of life support equipment were clandestinely loaded onto a lifter in the early morning. After waiting until mid-day the flyer headed up into high orbit. Waiting for them was a monument of steel, the power of the Imperium rendered in steel. It was an Overlord class battlecruiser and it could lay waste to a world.
It was sleeker and less baroque than most, resembling more a predatory marine animal than a space going cathedral. It lacked much of the baroque ornamentation designed to draw favor from the Emperor and the Machine God as well as inspire its crew.
A whole sub deck had been sealed off for Gard's use. The physician had the servator's wheel the unconscious inquisitor to a surgical bay preprepaired surgical bay. Naval medicae stood ready to assist.
"Lady, Gentlemen, I am Doctor Gard Vikal. I have been performing augmentic surgery for over a hundred years. This is my most important patient. You will be assisting me in this and in the process you will witness some uncommon, but effective techniques. To be blunt, most facilities do not possess the technos to allow them to be used and they are mostly forgotten as a result."
A grey haired woman step forward "We have heard of your skill doctor and are eager to see you in action. The captain has been most clear on the importance of the patient."
"Excellent," responded Vikal. "We should begin the preperations for surgery. The patient's condition has worsened of late. We cannot offord to delay surgery any further."
"We've been studying the file for the last half hour. Why was the patient not scheduled for surgery earlier?"
"Security concerns as well as the patient's desire for an advanced replacement that required time to grow. Now, if there are now more questions, we should begin."
--------------------------------------------------------------------
"Inquisitor, can you hear me?" The voice came out of the darkness.
Gix's throat was dry and raspy. He managed a "yes." A moment. "Water." His eyelids flicked open. "Gard."
"Yes Jolan.' He moved a tube over to his mouth. "Water."
"The operation?" he croaked.
"It seems successful. You're breathing on your own. Can you wiggle your toes?"
Jolan concentrated. "Yes."
"Good. Spinal injuries are always tricky."
"What's the results?"
"Hmm," said Vikal. "Cloned spinal tissue, reinforced spine, synaptic accelerators. Slightly improved reaction time. A new left lung, cloned from your own, with some additional biomech filtration added. And a psi booster implanted in the base of your skull. Should improve the range of your powers."
"Successes?"
"The surgery went perfectly. The augments were of the highest quality. You'll need some time to get used to them."
"Team Status?"
"We have Trevoli. Keys grabbed him and we made it seem he was elsewhere at the time. We've moved you to somewhere safe. A navy ship. Hethor's idea. We borrowed an astropath on the captain's recommendation to plant the false memories, one Iriza Vess. This, of course, makes her a loose end. Keys is watching her-"
Whatever Gard was going to say was cut off by the door opening. A bulldog of a petty officer, his face criss-crossed by scars, entered the room. His uniform was spotless as were the naval pistol and cutlass that hung from the shaft. At tall woman strode through the doorway a moment latter.
She was broad shouldered and strong, with the insignia of a full captain on her uniform. Her blonde hair was cut short and business like and the officer's great coat added to the sense of power around her. She stepped forward, clearly confident of her authority. "Captain, I must insist-"
"On nothing," she finished. Her left eye was augmentic, but only close examination would reveal that or the scar from when she had lost the original. "Welcome aboard the Lord Vonrilyental, Inquisitor Gix."
"Thank you for all your aid, Captain Valin."
"My pleasure Jolan, but I think we can bend protocal enough for you to call me Severa."
It was sleeker and less baroque than most, resembling more a predatory marine animal than a space going cathedral. It lacked much of the baroque ornamentation designed to draw favor from the Emperor and the Machine God as well as inspire its crew.
A whole sub deck had been sealed off for Gard's use. The physician had the servator's wheel the unconscious inquisitor to a surgical bay preprepaired surgical bay. Naval medicae stood ready to assist.
"Lady, Gentlemen, I am Doctor Gard Vikal. I have been performing augmentic surgery for over a hundred years. This is my most important patient. You will be assisting me in this and in the process you will witness some uncommon, but effective techniques. To be blunt, most facilities do not possess the technos to allow them to be used and they are mostly forgotten as a result."
A grey haired woman step forward "We have heard of your skill doctor and are eager to see you in action. The captain has been most clear on the importance of the patient."
"Excellent," responded Vikal. "We should begin the preperations for surgery. The patient's condition has worsened of late. We cannot offord to delay surgery any further."
"We've been studying the file for the last half hour. Why was the patient not scheduled for surgery earlier?"
"Security concerns as well as the patient's desire for an advanced replacement that required time to grow. Now, if there are now more questions, we should begin."
--------------------------------------------------------------------
"Inquisitor, can you hear me?" The voice came out of the darkness.
Gix's throat was dry and raspy. He managed a "yes." A moment. "Water." His eyelids flicked open. "Gard."
"Yes Jolan.' He moved a tube over to his mouth. "Water."
"The operation?" he croaked.
"It seems successful. You're breathing on your own. Can you wiggle your toes?"
Jolan concentrated. "Yes."
"Good. Spinal injuries are always tricky."
"What's the results?"
"Hmm," said Vikal. "Cloned spinal tissue, reinforced spine, synaptic accelerators. Slightly improved reaction time. A new left lung, cloned from your own, with some additional biomech filtration added. And a psi booster implanted in the base of your skull. Should improve the range of your powers."
"Successes?"
"The surgery went perfectly. The augments were of the highest quality. You'll need some time to get used to them."
"Team Status?"
"We have Trevoli. Keys grabbed him and we made it seem he was elsewhere at the time. We've moved you to somewhere safe. A navy ship. Hethor's idea. We borrowed an astropath on the captain's recommendation to plant the false memories, one Iriza Vess. This, of course, makes her a loose end. Keys is watching her-"
Whatever Gard was going to say was cut off by the door opening. A bulldog of a petty officer, his face criss-crossed by scars, entered the room. His uniform was spotless as were the naval pistol and cutlass that hung from the shaft. At tall woman strode through the doorway a moment latter.
She was broad shouldered and strong, with the insignia of a full captain on her uniform. Her blonde hair was cut short and business like and the officer's great coat added to the sense of power around her. She stepped forward, clearly confident of her authority. "Captain, I must insist-"
"On nothing," she finished. Her left eye was augmentic, but only close examination would reveal that or the scar from when she had lost the original. "Welcome aboard the Lord Vonrilyental, Inquisitor Gix."
"Thank you for all your aid, Captain Valin."
"My pleasure Jolan, but I think we can bend protocal enough for you to call me Severa."
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
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Chris OFarrell
- Durandal's Bitch
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Imperial Overlord
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Imperial Overlord
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- Location: The Tower at Charm
"She's a beautiful ship," Jolan said. They were walking along the observation deck. The armoured shutters were open, displaying the planet Garidia ins a swirl of white, blue, and green beneath them.
"Thank you," Severa replied. "The Abraxis yards do good work. High output reactors, extra turret mountings, additional shield generators, turbo power boosters, advanced targeting matrix, automated torpedo loaders, and stacked cogitator motion tracker network. Everything you would expect from the Martian Yards, maybe a few other worlds could do as well. She's one of the most powerful battlecruisers in the fleet. I was surprised when she was given to me."
"I guess you made an impression."
She smiled. "I guess I did. It was still a surprise. My last posting was commanding the frigate Vigilance. And then I get the Vonrilyental. There was more than a little envy going around. A rumour went around that I wasn't 'man' enough to command a battlecruiser, let alone the Lord."
Jolan laughed.
"It's true. But I got the Lord. And an executive officer who though he should have the captain's seat and a commissar who agreed with him. Oh, and a rumour that I got the job by sleeping with the Admiral."
"Sounds challenging."
She shrugged. "Serving under corrupt superiors who wanted to break me was tough. Fighting Black Legionaires hand to hand was tough. These guys were easy. I brought some rankers and junior officers with me to have a solid core of support. They spread rumours of their own and I put on a few displays on the practice floor. Then came the Battle of the Far Breakers and everyone shut up. Smooth sailing since then. And you?"
"Inquisition business. Some of my colleagues object to how I'm encouraging technological and scientific growth. They fear that the balance of power in the Imperium could be disrupted. Their fears aren't groundless. For the time being the Adeptus Mechanicus is essential for the survival of the Imperium and they guard their secrets jealously. My cunning plans and assurances didn't reassure them. They reacted. Violently."
"I see," she said. "What now?"
"There's an assassin running around down there who I'm unlikely to find and who is prepared to wait as long as necessary to finish the job."
"Sounds tough. Do you have a plan?"
"Yes. Leave."
"Leave." She looked at him with a puzzled expression on her face for a moment. Then it cleared as understanding dawned. "Ahh. He has to come after you for another shot. Sorting through a population of travellers is much easier than trying to sort through the population of a civilized world. It even opens up the possibility of laying traps. Very clever. That's the Gix I remember."
"Thank you," he replied. "I'm going to have to keep Vess, the astropath. She knows too much. She was very helpful."
"I thought you might. I can think of worse things than being a companion to Jolan Gix." She was smiling.
"I'm glad." He looked at the window. "I'll have to be going soon. I'm glad we had this time." The were silent for a moment. "Is it everything you expected to be?"
She smiled. "No, but I still love it. I got a recording from my father a couple months ago. He was so proud."
"Good. And you?"
She shrugged. "Being captain is like being an inquisitor. Duty is your master. After the Emperor and the ship, everything else is a distant third. But I knew that coming in. And there is nothing like ruling from the command deck."
He nodded. "I can imagine. I'm glad things have worked out for you."
"Don't start getting soft on me. We aren't star crossed lovers from one of my sister's romances."
He nodded. "True. Now if the intrepid captain could do me one last favor before resuming her regular duties, I would be ever so grateful."
She smiled fiercely. "Name it."
"Thank you," Severa replied. "The Abraxis yards do good work. High output reactors, extra turret mountings, additional shield generators, turbo power boosters, advanced targeting matrix, automated torpedo loaders, and stacked cogitator motion tracker network. Everything you would expect from the Martian Yards, maybe a few other worlds could do as well. She's one of the most powerful battlecruisers in the fleet. I was surprised when she was given to me."
"I guess you made an impression."
She smiled. "I guess I did. It was still a surprise. My last posting was commanding the frigate Vigilance. And then I get the Vonrilyental. There was more than a little envy going around. A rumour went around that I wasn't 'man' enough to command a battlecruiser, let alone the Lord."
Jolan laughed.
"It's true. But I got the Lord. And an executive officer who though he should have the captain's seat and a commissar who agreed with him. Oh, and a rumour that I got the job by sleeping with the Admiral."
"Sounds challenging."
She shrugged. "Serving under corrupt superiors who wanted to break me was tough. Fighting Black Legionaires hand to hand was tough. These guys were easy. I brought some rankers and junior officers with me to have a solid core of support. They spread rumours of their own and I put on a few displays on the practice floor. Then came the Battle of the Far Breakers and everyone shut up. Smooth sailing since then. And you?"
"Inquisition business. Some of my colleagues object to how I'm encouraging technological and scientific growth. They fear that the balance of power in the Imperium could be disrupted. Their fears aren't groundless. For the time being the Adeptus Mechanicus is essential for the survival of the Imperium and they guard their secrets jealously. My cunning plans and assurances didn't reassure them. They reacted. Violently."
"I see," she said. "What now?"
"There's an assassin running around down there who I'm unlikely to find and who is prepared to wait as long as necessary to finish the job."
"Sounds tough. Do you have a plan?"
"Yes. Leave."
"Leave." She looked at him with a puzzled expression on her face for a moment. Then it cleared as understanding dawned. "Ahh. He has to come after you for another shot. Sorting through a population of travellers is much easier than trying to sort through the population of a civilized world. It even opens up the possibility of laying traps. Very clever. That's the Gix I remember."
"Thank you," he replied. "I'm going to have to keep Vess, the astropath. She knows too much. She was very helpful."
"I thought you might. I can think of worse things than being a companion to Jolan Gix." She was smiling.
"I'm glad." He looked at the window. "I'll have to be going soon. I'm glad we had this time." The were silent for a moment. "Is it everything you expected to be?"
She smiled. "No, but I still love it. I got a recording from my father a couple months ago. He was so proud."
"Good. And you?"
She shrugged. "Being captain is like being an inquisitor. Duty is your master. After the Emperor and the ship, everything else is a distant third. But I knew that coming in. And there is nothing like ruling from the command deck."
He nodded. "I can imagine. I'm glad things have worked out for you."
"Don't start getting soft on me. We aren't star crossed lovers from one of my sister's romances."
He nodded. "True. Now if the intrepid captain could do me one last favor before resuming her regular duties, I would be ever so grateful."
She smiled fiercely. "Name it."
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
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Imperial Overlord
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Gix strode down the corridor of the registered trader Sadine. She wasn't a particularily fast ship, but she was a reliable one. She had a regular route, including navy supply contracts, and a good reputation. Gix and his retinue had been shuttled around disguised as standard navy business before they had ended up here. Navy spacers would take his ship world hopping, before leaving it a carefully chosen place. If everything worked according to plan, the assassin would be neutralized. Gix was not optimistic about that.
He touched the door buzzer. A moment latter it slid open revealing a neat and modest cabin. A diminutive dark haired woman one hundred fifty centimeters tall bowed to him. "Inquisitor. How may I serve?"
She was bail with shoulder length black hair. She was slender and doll like, but her eyes ruined the image. They were cold and unfeeling augmentic lenses. The soul binding ritual that protected her from many of the dangers of the warp had destroyed her optic nerves.
"We haven't really talked much," said Jolan Gix. "I thought we should rectify that."
She bowed. "Of course Inquisitor. Won't you come in?" She sat down on her bed and gestured for Jolan to take use the rooms one chair.
"You've been very helpful Iriza. I'm sorry that I've disrupted your life, but not sorry to have access to your services."
She nodded. "I understand inquisitor. You do what you have to. We all do. No one who undergoes the soul binding should be blind to that. No pun intended." There was the ghost of a smile on her lips.
"Thank you anyway. I've need of an astropath as well as a skilled telepath, so I'm going to have to hang on to you. But I don't want to make you life any more difficult."
She nodded. "Thank you for the consideration inquisitor, but the lot of an astropath is to provide perfect service not to serve oneself. I've tried to accept that."
"In an ideal galaxy," Jolan said, "those who serve well and faithfully should be well rewarded for their sacrifices."
"We do not live in such a galaxy inquisitor," she replied.
"I am an inquisitor and a member of the human race. It is my duty to build the foundations of such a galaxy. For those around me, as much as it is possible, we shall exist in perfection. The loyal protected, the guilty punished, and the righteous enjoying the fruits of victory."
"A tall order inquisitor."
"Yes. I'll need a lot of help. Care to assist?"
"I'll be delighted to," she responded.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
The astropathic message had been sent to Garidia and then picked up when Vess had checked in with the Officio. Gix studdied the message and then switched ships, taking births with a squadron of Cobra class destroyers due to swing through the Tristram system.
The navy wasn't happy to recieve him, but the prospect of only being briefly host to an inquisitor did stir them into action. The completed the journey in near record time and Gix was striding through the Officio Inquisitorium palace-fortress in the city of Respite on Tristram. Energy screens and force curtains sealed off vast areas of the palace. Inquisitorial armsmen and enforcers were stationed almost everywhere.
The interrogator lead Gix into an observation chamber and withdrew. A squat dark woman and a big, powerfully built dark haired man waited within. The man wore a neat beard and gilded carapace armour over burgundy flak. The woman wore dark robes. Her voice was husky and strong. "Inquisitor Jolan Gix, I pressume."
"Yes, my lady."
"I am High Inquisitor Ydressa Sevaine of the Ordo Hereticus. My colleague here is Inquisitor Harad. He was the one who was initially assigned to this case."
Harad smiled and extended his arm. "It's been too long."
Jolan clasped his hand. "That's true. Nothing since we graduated to become interrogators. Why did you call me in?"
"What she said," responded Harad. He pointed at the room on the other side. "If its true we've got a huge problem and you have a score to settle."
Gix looked through the one way mirror. The woman on the other side was simply dressed, if flattering black silks could be called simple. She was gorgeous, with golden skin and long ebony hair. Her figure was full and perfect. Her eyes were slightly slanted and a startling blue. "Who is she?" he asked.
"Melina Sevall, of High House Sevall. Rich, powerful, connected," said Ydressa.
"She seems to be in good health for someone we're interviewing," Jolan mused.
"That's because she turned her self in."
"She turned herself into the Inquisition?" The idea was fabulous, like pink oliphantoids dancing on water.
"Yes," Ydressa replied. "She turned herself and her entire cult in. She named names. Lots of names. Members of the High Houses and the Ruling Families. The Chief Judge and the Lord Protector. We probed her with telepaths and under chem treatment. They confirmed her story, strange as it is."
"What kind of cult?" Jolan asked.
"Slaanesh," responded Harad.
"There has to be some kind of trick. One might turn oneself in for some kind of xenos emulator or heterodox activity, but Chaos worship?"
"Our thoughts as well," said Harad. "And we didn't want to veg her by pushing too hard. Not now that we have some preliminary confirmation of some of her claims."
"So why ask for me?"
"You've been involved in taking out a planetary government before and running the damn thing for a while. Useful knowledge. And one of the names she mentioned is known to you."
"Who?"
"The Psy King."
He touched the door buzzer. A moment latter it slid open revealing a neat and modest cabin. A diminutive dark haired woman one hundred fifty centimeters tall bowed to him. "Inquisitor. How may I serve?"
She was bail with shoulder length black hair. She was slender and doll like, but her eyes ruined the image. They were cold and unfeeling augmentic lenses. The soul binding ritual that protected her from many of the dangers of the warp had destroyed her optic nerves.
"We haven't really talked much," said Jolan Gix. "I thought we should rectify that."
She bowed. "Of course Inquisitor. Won't you come in?" She sat down on her bed and gestured for Jolan to take use the rooms one chair.
"You've been very helpful Iriza. I'm sorry that I've disrupted your life, but not sorry to have access to your services."
She nodded. "I understand inquisitor. You do what you have to. We all do. No one who undergoes the soul binding should be blind to that. No pun intended." There was the ghost of a smile on her lips.
"Thank you anyway. I've need of an astropath as well as a skilled telepath, so I'm going to have to hang on to you. But I don't want to make you life any more difficult."
She nodded. "Thank you for the consideration inquisitor, but the lot of an astropath is to provide perfect service not to serve oneself. I've tried to accept that."
"In an ideal galaxy," Jolan said, "those who serve well and faithfully should be well rewarded for their sacrifices."
"We do not live in such a galaxy inquisitor," she replied.
"I am an inquisitor and a member of the human race. It is my duty to build the foundations of such a galaxy. For those around me, as much as it is possible, we shall exist in perfection. The loyal protected, the guilty punished, and the righteous enjoying the fruits of victory."
"A tall order inquisitor."
"Yes. I'll need a lot of help. Care to assist?"
"I'll be delighted to," she responded.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
The astropathic message had been sent to Garidia and then picked up when Vess had checked in with the Officio. Gix studdied the message and then switched ships, taking births with a squadron of Cobra class destroyers due to swing through the Tristram system.
The navy wasn't happy to recieve him, but the prospect of only being briefly host to an inquisitor did stir them into action. The completed the journey in near record time and Gix was striding through the Officio Inquisitorium palace-fortress in the city of Respite on Tristram. Energy screens and force curtains sealed off vast areas of the palace. Inquisitorial armsmen and enforcers were stationed almost everywhere.
The interrogator lead Gix into an observation chamber and withdrew. A squat dark woman and a big, powerfully built dark haired man waited within. The man wore a neat beard and gilded carapace armour over burgundy flak. The woman wore dark robes. Her voice was husky and strong. "Inquisitor Jolan Gix, I pressume."
"Yes, my lady."
"I am High Inquisitor Ydressa Sevaine of the Ordo Hereticus. My colleague here is Inquisitor Harad. He was the one who was initially assigned to this case."
Harad smiled and extended his arm. "It's been too long."
Jolan clasped his hand. "That's true. Nothing since we graduated to become interrogators. Why did you call me in?"
"What she said," responded Harad. He pointed at the room on the other side. "If its true we've got a huge problem and you have a score to settle."
Gix looked through the one way mirror. The woman on the other side was simply dressed, if flattering black silks could be called simple. She was gorgeous, with golden skin and long ebony hair. Her figure was full and perfect. Her eyes were slightly slanted and a startling blue. "Who is she?" he asked.
"Melina Sevall, of High House Sevall. Rich, powerful, connected," said Ydressa.
"She seems to be in good health for someone we're interviewing," Jolan mused.
"That's because she turned her self in."
"She turned herself into the Inquisition?" The idea was fabulous, like pink oliphantoids dancing on water.
"Yes," Ydressa replied. "She turned herself and her entire cult in. She named names. Lots of names. Members of the High Houses and the Ruling Families. The Chief Judge and the Lord Protector. We probed her with telepaths and under chem treatment. They confirmed her story, strange as it is."
"What kind of cult?" Jolan asked.
"Slaanesh," responded Harad.
"There has to be some kind of trick. One might turn oneself in for some kind of xenos emulator or heterodox activity, but Chaos worship?"
"Our thoughts as well," said Harad. "And we didn't want to veg her by pushing too hard. Not now that we have some preliminary confirmation of some of her claims."
"So why ask for me?"
"You've been involved in taking out a planetary government before and running the damn thing for a while. Useful knowledge. And one of the names she mentioned is known to you."
"Who?"
"The Psy King."
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In person the woman was even more devestatingly attractive. It hit Jolan with almost physical force as he stepped into the room. Her face was flawless, symmetrical perfection. Her ebony hair was so silky it seemed to shine. His whole body was enflamed.
He sat down opposite her. Personal discipline was pounded into inquisitors. "Your phermome levels are rather high," Jolan said in an artificially calm voice. "You might want to reduce them."
"Nerves," she replied. "I've just signed my own death warrant. I'm entitled to be nervous, don't you think? Can I have a lho-stick?"
"Not many people turn themselves in to the Inquisition and confess to crimes where the punishment is death. It has my colleagues concerned."
"I noticed," she replied. "You make inquisitor number three. I've been under drugs and psi scan. My answers haven't changed and you've had the opportunity to look. So when are you big bad inquisitors going to decide that maybe I'm telling the truth?"
"Why did you decide to tell the truth?"
She shrugged. "There are some things that go beyond-." She hesistated. "I wanted to escape. I walked into their arms expecting oblivion. They showed me hell instead."
Jolan nodded. "Morals. Who would have guessed. Have trouble sleeping?"
"Not as long as I have pill or injection wands."
"How much of you is artificial?"
She laughed. "What isn't would be the shorter answer. Does it matter?"
"It doesn't seem to have made you happy."
"That was never the point. And if you aren't going to give me a lho-stick are you at least going to shoot me?"
"You seem unusualy eager to die."
"You seem unusualy reluctant to kill."
"I like to know what I'm walking into. Gift wrapped presents of powerful heretics make my ambush suspicions all tingly."
She laughed. "I don't do those kind of ambushes."
"And what kind of ambushes do you do Melina Sevall?'
"I make important people like. Want me. Want to please me to get me."
"Which means doing favors for Sevall." He was silent for a moment. "When did you have your first operation?"
"Six," she replied. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"What's your position in the line of inheritence?"
"Far, far away from those who matter."
Jolan nodded. "How many operations?"
She turned away. "I can't remember."
"Let me guess," said Gix. "Long bones remolded, cheek and jaw, skin treatments, the lust phermones, the like me phermones, the hair, metabolic alterations, and of course custom grown eyes."
"Half right," she replied. "The skin was cultured in vat from my genetic material. I had terrible rashes as a child. It was surgically grafted as a replacement."
Gix's eyes widened slightly. "Your parents had you surgically flayed."
"Oh yes. Anesthetics and surgens and all that. That's nothing." He voice was falsely cheerful. "One of my maids Timia, well my mother liked her eyes. So she called her a thief, had her convicted, and broken down for parts. And I got her eyes."
"How many overdoses?"
"Only the one. I have another and live it'll be psychosurgery. I don't have to be smart or even me. Just have certain behaviors and be compliant."
"No jumping from tall buildings?"
"Too much of a coward," she replied.
"So sex and drugs too make the pain go away. Oblivion. Except you found out that that path can lead to something else."
"I grew up around evil. What they are, what they do, is worse." She hugged herself.
"So you turned yourself in. Expecting death and trying to take them with you."
"Yes. I'm a heretic. I'm not loyal to the Emperor or the gods-rotted Imperium. I've told you everything. I've named names. I've told you why. Now shoot me."
"No."
"No?"
"I have a use for you," Jolan Gix said. "One which will put your hedonistic, corrupt, crimminal existence to good use."
She laughed. He was high and ragged. "That's rich. What possible use could you have for me?"
"You're going to help me get the Psy King and end him."
"What makes you think I'll be any good to you? What makes you think I'll even help?"
"You'll help because there is enough of a woman left inside of you that hates her corrupt existance and knows that they are worse. You'll help because you want to bring them down enough that you turned yourself in knowing you would probably be tortured. You'll help because you want them dead and are willing to burn to see them go down."
She closed her eyes. Jolan Gix had an idea what she saw in her head. The vices that the followers of Slaanesh could devise were horrible beyond belief. Enough to disgust this tranquilized and jaded member of Tristram's nobility into action. "Alright inquisitor. I'll do what you want."
He sat down opposite her. Personal discipline was pounded into inquisitors. "Your phermome levels are rather high," Jolan said in an artificially calm voice. "You might want to reduce them."
"Nerves," she replied. "I've just signed my own death warrant. I'm entitled to be nervous, don't you think? Can I have a lho-stick?"
"Not many people turn themselves in to the Inquisition and confess to crimes where the punishment is death. It has my colleagues concerned."
"I noticed," she replied. "You make inquisitor number three. I've been under drugs and psi scan. My answers haven't changed and you've had the opportunity to look. So when are you big bad inquisitors going to decide that maybe I'm telling the truth?"
"Why did you decide to tell the truth?"
She shrugged. "There are some things that go beyond-." She hesistated. "I wanted to escape. I walked into their arms expecting oblivion. They showed me hell instead."
Jolan nodded. "Morals. Who would have guessed. Have trouble sleeping?"
"Not as long as I have pill or injection wands."
"How much of you is artificial?"
She laughed. "What isn't would be the shorter answer. Does it matter?"
"It doesn't seem to have made you happy."
"That was never the point. And if you aren't going to give me a lho-stick are you at least going to shoot me?"
"You seem unusualy eager to die."
"You seem unusualy reluctant to kill."
"I like to know what I'm walking into. Gift wrapped presents of powerful heretics make my ambush suspicions all tingly."
She laughed. "I don't do those kind of ambushes."
"And what kind of ambushes do you do Melina Sevall?'
"I make important people like. Want me. Want to please me to get me."
"Which means doing favors for Sevall." He was silent for a moment. "When did you have your first operation?"
"Six," she replied. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"What's your position in the line of inheritence?"
"Far, far away from those who matter."
Jolan nodded. "How many operations?"
She turned away. "I can't remember."
"Let me guess," said Gix. "Long bones remolded, cheek and jaw, skin treatments, the lust phermones, the like me phermones, the hair, metabolic alterations, and of course custom grown eyes."
"Half right," she replied. "The skin was cultured in vat from my genetic material. I had terrible rashes as a child. It was surgically grafted as a replacement."
Gix's eyes widened slightly. "Your parents had you surgically flayed."
"Oh yes. Anesthetics and surgens and all that. That's nothing." He voice was falsely cheerful. "One of my maids Timia, well my mother liked her eyes. So she called her a thief, had her convicted, and broken down for parts. And I got her eyes."
"How many overdoses?"
"Only the one. I have another and live it'll be psychosurgery. I don't have to be smart or even me. Just have certain behaviors and be compliant."
"No jumping from tall buildings?"
"Too much of a coward," she replied.
"So sex and drugs too make the pain go away. Oblivion. Except you found out that that path can lead to something else."
"I grew up around evil. What they are, what they do, is worse." She hugged herself.
"So you turned yourself in. Expecting death and trying to take them with you."
"Yes. I'm a heretic. I'm not loyal to the Emperor or the gods-rotted Imperium. I've told you everything. I've named names. I've told you why. Now shoot me."
"No."
"No?"
"I have a use for you," Jolan Gix said. "One which will put your hedonistic, corrupt, crimminal existence to good use."
She laughed. He was high and ragged. "That's rich. What possible use could you have for me?"
"You're going to help me get the Psy King and end him."
"What makes you think I'll be any good to you? What makes you think I'll even help?"
"You'll help because there is enough of a woman left inside of you that hates her corrupt existance and knows that they are worse. You'll help because you want to bring them down enough that you turned yourself in knowing you would probably be tortured. You'll help because you want them dead and are willing to burn to see them go down."
She closed her eyes. Jolan Gix had an idea what she saw in her head. The vices that the followers of Slaanesh could devise were horrible beyond belief. Enough to disgust this tranquilized and jaded member of Tristram's nobility into action. "Alright inquisitor. I'll do what you want."
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"Interesting interview," said Harad. "Not exactly an orthodox technique."
"Asking direct questions?" Gix responded. He gestured over at the two way mirror to the interrogation room. "She wanted to get that weight of her chest. All we had to do is ask her in the right way."
"Still the same sly Jolan Gix."
Jolan shrugged. "It works. By the way, can you kick her into my custody?"
Harad stared. "Well we were going to-," he raised his hand an mimed firing a pistol.
"Wasteful," replied Gix.
"She's a heretic."
Jolan shook his head. "No, she isn't. She turned them in, disgusted once she knew the truth, even expecting a bullet in the head."
"Point," Harad conceded. "But we can't let her go. She's been touched by Chaos."
"Half the Inquisition has been touched with Chaos, my friend. How many obscene texts and rituals have you seen? Necking her for one isn't necessary, if we can find a good use for her."
"Alright." Harad stopped. "You have a plan."
"Of course I have a plan."
"It involves her. You think you need her for it. You want this Psy King bad."
Gix nodded. "Last time he showed up, tens of thousands died. He beat, straight out, in psychic combat. He wasn't just more powerful, he was better. Than me. I barely beat him the last time and I did everything to take away his weapons and stack the deck in my favor. And know he's back."
"You think you can use her?"
"I took a reading."
Harad raised an eyebrow. "Interesting. As I recall those were only somewhat reliable."
"I've gotten better," replied Gix and threw a card from the Emperor's Tarot on the table. It showed a picture of a dark haired girl-child wearing a smudged white robe and crying tears of blood. The face was unmistakibly that of Melina.
"The Orphan." Harad looked up. "You trust this?"
"And my evaluation of her. She's not suicidal or hedonistic. She wants out. And since no one was going to rescue her from House Sevall . . . . "
"She drinks and snorts and shoots and fucks her brain into oblivion. And the Slaaneshi see this and think they have a convert. And then they show her that Sevall's are pikers when it comes to evil and excess."
"Exactly," Gix responded. "Appearances deceive. Nurgle would have had a better chance with her than Slaanesh. But now her eyes are open."
"Alright," said Harad. "For the sake of argument she's reliable enough to be used. And she'll go along with it instead of being necked. What's the plan?"
"Conviently, hedonistic substence abusers often drop out of sight for days at a time. Her absence isn't particularily noteworthy."
"Unless they were watching her."
"They were, but then there's the problem with watching a major House."
"Which means they're fucked. Go on, this is actually beginning to sound like something that might work. Show me some of that Gix sneakiness."
"She's the second part of the plan. The first part is the full Inquisition purge."
"What! And tip our hand when they have the Head of the Arbites and the Commanding General of the PDF as part of their cult?"
"Not against them, of course. Against the foul xenophile cult scum of the slums."
"What xenophile cult?"
Gix smiled like a shark. "The one we invent, of course."
"Asking direct questions?" Gix responded. He gestured over at the two way mirror to the interrogation room. "She wanted to get that weight of her chest. All we had to do is ask her in the right way."
"Still the same sly Jolan Gix."
Jolan shrugged. "It works. By the way, can you kick her into my custody?"
Harad stared. "Well we were going to-," he raised his hand an mimed firing a pistol.
"Wasteful," replied Gix.
"She's a heretic."
Jolan shook his head. "No, she isn't. She turned them in, disgusted once she knew the truth, even expecting a bullet in the head."
"Point," Harad conceded. "But we can't let her go. She's been touched by Chaos."
"Half the Inquisition has been touched with Chaos, my friend. How many obscene texts and rituals have you seen? Necking her for one isn't necessary, if we can find a good use for her."
"Alright." Harad stopped. "You have a plan."
"Of course I have a plan."
"It involves her. You think you need her for it. You want this Psy King bad."
Gix nodded. "Last time he showed up, tens of thousands died. He beat, straight out, in psychic combat. He wasn't just more powerful, he was better. Than me. I barely beat him the last time and I did everything to take away his weapons and stack the deck in my favor. And know he's back."
"You think you can use her?"
"I took a reading."
Harad raised an eyebrow. "Interesting. As I recall those were only somewhat reliable."
"I've gotten better," replied Gix and threw a card from the Emperor's Tarot on the table. It showed a picture of a dark haired girl-child wearing a smudged white robe and crying tears of blood. The face was unmistakibly that of Melina.
"The Orphan." Harad looked up. "You trust this?"
"And my evaluation of her. She's not suicidal or hedonistic. She wants out. And since no one was going to rescue her from House Sevall . . . . "
"She drinks and snorts and shoots and fucks her brain into oblivion. And the Slaaneshi see this and think they have a convert. And then they show her that Sevall's are pikers when it comes to evil and excess."
"Exactly," Gix responded. "Appearances deceive. Nurgle would have had a better chance with her than Slaanesh. But now her eyes are open."
"Alright," said Harad. "For the sake of argument she's reliable enough to be used. And she'll go along with it instead of being necked. What's the plan?"
"Conviently, hedonistic substence abusers often drop out of sight for days at a time. Her absence isn't particularily noteworthy."
"Unless they were watching her."
"They were, but then there's the problem with watching a major House."
"Which means they're fucked. Go on, this is actually beginning to sound like something that might work. Show me some of that Gix sneakiness."
"She's the second part of the plan. The first part is the full Inquisition purge."
"What! And tip our hand when they have the Head of the Arbites and the Commanding General of the PDF as part of their cult?"
"Not against them, of course. Against the foul xenophile cult scum of the slums."
"What xenophile cult?"
Gix smiled like a shark. "The one we invent, of course."
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