W40K RPG, Line of Damnation- Memoria

[Imperial Overlord]

Jask Vacka watched the lifter descend. The series of shipments had arrived without prior notice and was very irksome. He was going to be stuck sorting through this mess at least half an hour past the end of his shift, if he was lucky. He keyed up his data plaque as the vessel touched down with a loud clang.

He had already wrapped his poncho tighter around himself against the rush of cold air from outside. The Ten Thousand Times Cursed uppers never registered things in time and it was men like himself who paid the price. He gestured to two guards. They followed after him. It was procedure, pointless procedure, but his failure to do so would be noticed by whoever checked the vid logs.

A cargo door on the side slid open. Jask's eyes went wide. Black armoured arbites with mirror finished visors and the Imperial Aquila prominently displayed on their armour looked back. His jaw dropped.

Gunfire roared from the lifter as Hethor D'eckor let loose with the heavy stubber. The targeter mount on the end fed data to the helmet clipped optic piece. Heavy calibre armour piercers ripped the guard and the cargo master open. They spun and fell back, spraying blood and twitching.

Hethor raised his weapon and fired on the control booth. The armoured glass withstood the first few rounds. An Arbites krak grenade shattered it. Choke grenades were fired after it.

Behind them a second lander descended. A cargo door slid open and Sororitas warriors in full armour leapt the three meters to the deck. They and the Arbites had only been told of the exact nature of their targets while en route to maintain surprise.

Hethor turned back to the first unit of Arbites as more landers arrived. "You, with me! Move out!" He lead them at a fast jog. Inquisitor Neven had told him to reinforce Interrogator Gix and the Emperor have pity on those who got in his way, because Hethor D'eckor would have none.

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Gix turned back to Lymk. "It appears you were honest with me. The attack has begun and the palace's security system in nicely offline."

Lymk glowered back. "That won't last long. Someone will figure it out and override it soon enough."

"True," replied Jolan. "But it has already given us surprise." Gix tossed a pair of plastic flex cuffs to Chou. "Tie him up."

"You got it boss," Chou replied. Lymk didn't resist. "What now?"

"We secure Karl Vallec."

"We? Uh boss, does that include me?"

"I can either take you with me or shoot you. Which would you prefer?"

"Uh, take me with you," replied Chou hopefully. "Does that mean I get a gun?"

"No," responded Gix as he opened the door. The guards turned and Gix shot both of them in the face with Lymk's las before they could react. A servant half way down the corridor froze and dropped the platter he was carrying. Jolan shot him in the chest and he toppled. Unfair, but nothing about inquistional work was fair.

He picked up the guard's lases. They were unremarkable in most respects, tandard guard issue pistol in this subsector. Not surprising since the factories on this world armed half the subsector. He stuck the beautiful but low capacity pistol of Lymk's into his pocket and armed himself with a las in each hand. "Let's go," he said to Chou.

[Imperial Overlord]

Brass flew as Hethor's heavy stubber roared. Palace guards dived for cover as the hard nosed slugs sprayed the corridor. One was too slow and took a half dozen rounds through the chest. The slugs punched through the lightly armoured uniform and exited out the unfortunate's back. As Hethor surpressed the guards the Arbites with him fired choke and frag grenades from the rapid fire, drum magazined launchers. Two Arbites unleashed executioner rounds that twisted in the air to seek the heat of living flesh and detonate within.

"Move up," Hethor ordered. Two Arbites with supression shields and bolt pistols advanced towards the rooms formerly held by the guards. Their bolt pistols barked as they finished the wounded. Hethor was only a few steps behind them. A guard moaned feebly, his left arm a shredded piece bleeding meat and half of his face a blood mess. Hethor put a burst into his skull that blew his skull apart in an explosion of blood and grey matter.

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Jolan Gix ducked behind a pillar and fired back at the harem guards with his left hand las. A sizzling green bolt took one guard in his left shoulder and a second shot punched a hole in this breast. Return fire chewed chunks out of the marble column and scortched the walls around him. One shot clipped him in the right arm, its energy mostly dissipated by Jolan's psychic shield.

He fire back, hitting the shooter in the eye and flash charring his brain. The survivor crouched down behind an obscene golden statuette mounted on a marble pedistel and fired back. Jolan discarded the empty pistol in his right hand and reached out with the power. Several hundred kilos of golden perversion smashed into the hapless guard. He fell, his body pinned beneath the instruement of his death.

Jolan walked forward and tossed nearly empty las in his left hand forward. The weapons clenched in the dead guard's hands leaped into the interrogator's hands. It was unfortunate that guards didn't carry extra ammo packs, but the forty shot power cells in each pistol did last a while.

Before him were the ivory white doubled doors embossed in gold that lead to Karl Vallec's rooms. Jolan could faintly hear music being played within. The doors swung open before him, propelled by a telekinetic shove.

[Imperial Overlord]

Jolan's eyes watered from the cloud of musky smelling insence that circulated through the room. Or the musky smell could be from the sex. The dark chamber was half lit by deep red lights and dominated by a raised bed large enough for a whole family of very large people to sleep in. It was not unnoccupied. Several individuals of both genders were sliding around on top of it like a coiled mass of serpents. Jolan couldn't quite tell because he had better things to do than count them.

In each corner of the half lit room stood a man. They were nude except for an obscene groin guard in the form of a gargoyle's face with an exaggerated phallus thrusting out of its mouth. Their heads were plated in chromed steel and their perfect musculature was crisscrossed with surgical scars. Their hands hand been replaced by terrible steel claws that could shred flesh and carve through bone. They were grotesque mockeries of arcoflagellants, surgically altered and conditioned to kill on command. And they were not the worst thing in the room.

She held Jolan Gix's attention as she slithered off the bed. Her eyes were luminous greed saucers and a crest of pink hair protruded from her bald head. A single line of three breasts marked the left side of her torso. Her hands ended in great pinchers and she walked on a raptor's claws. Her spine ended in a terrible scorpion tail which arched over her head. Jolan watched her slide forward, mesmerised in horror as voices whispered to him and promised unspeakable caresses.

A blast of telekinetic force blasted her over the bed and through its canopy. The rich velvetic and silks tore free as she smashed into the wall. From the writhing mass on the bed came a clear voice instead of insane gibbering. "Rend!" it shouted.

The servitors leapt forward as the pacifier helms switched them into attack mode and pumps sent drugs surging through their systems. Jolan shot one in the face. Twice. It toppled over and thrashed. The other three closed the distance.

A shockwave of force erupted from the interrogator which sent the altered killers tumbling like nine pins. A rush of force carried Gix back a dozen yards out of the room, making space. The chamber guards leapted to their feet and charged.

Gix shot one in the chest three times. It didn't even slow down. Implanted armour covered and reinforced all the areas that were instant kills and anything less wouldn't stop them. A telekinetic hammer knocked one down. The other two kept coming.

Gix shot the one closest two him in the leg. Two hits blew open its left thigh and shattered the bone. It still staggered forward, impervious to pain, destroying its own leg in the process. Jolan's third shot took out its knee and it toppled. The fourth servitor hit the ground hard as an intense chartreusse beam flickered into its neck. Twice. It's head bounced on the floor a second later.

The daemonette leapted through the door as the last servitor fell. Jolan caught her and slammed her into the wall before his telekinetic grip unravelled. The second servitor leapted up. Several las shots hit it in the torso. It charged the shooter, ignoring Jolan Gix. The third servitor tried to stand and fell.

The daemonette rushed forward. Jolan Gix's eyes were wells of light, furnaces of green-yellow flame. She reached out, claws outstretched. There was an intense flash. The corridor was blackened along its length to the door. The third servitor twitched, it's skin burned off. In front of the interrogator a swirling column of ash slowly drifted to the ground.

Gix shot the third servitor in the back four times and twice in the head. It twitched, but stopped moving forward. He turned around behind him. Anjun Chou was shaking like a leaf, the remaining servitor dead a scant two meters in front of him. One of the dead guard's laspistols was clutched in the crimminal's hands. In a flash Anjun Chou raised his weapon and fired.

Gix was too slow. Anything short of an eldar was probably too slow so great was Chou's speed. But the beam went wide. A body topled behind him. Chou lowered the gun. Gix turned. One of Vallec's paramours was a few meters behind him, a knife with too many spikey projections gripped in his hand. Jolan strode back into the bed chamber. "Keep close," Jolan ordered. "And keep the gun."

[Imperial Overlord]

Bullet and las beam slammed into the wall around him as Hethor D'eckor retreated back into the side corridor. It took just a few moment to clear the jam and reinsert the ammo feed. The weapon needed to cool down anyway.

The palace guards had finally figured out that they were under attack and had at last mobilized a fighting force to stop them. They held the upper and lower levels of the gallery and had even mustered a few support weapons. Hethor and his Arbites had been stopped cold, although they had managed to give better than they had taken. He hoped Yvraine and Calidan were having better luck. These guys were proving to be a stubborn bunch of motherless bastards.

Heavy boots on the palace floor behind him drew his attention. Ten massive figures, their builds impossibly bulky due to their power armour, trotted forward. The Sororitas were smaller than Astartes, but not by much. Their weapons were a different pattern than those of the Dark Angels, but looked just as deadly.

"Two dozen of the fuckers, half on the balconey, half on the floor. Lases, autoguns, a flamer, and two big stubbers."

The leader of the sisters turned toward him. Her helmet resembled an armoured mask peering from a cowl. A metallic voice came from her helmet. It did not sound the least bit femanine. "Is that all?"

"Yah," Hethor replied. He was almost eye level with her and Hethor was not a small man.

"We'll take care of it." She made a few gestures. The Sororitas sprung out, bolters firing. Bullets bounced off their armour. Las beams scored it. They ignored the incoming fire and continued to pour it on. They opened up with a pair of flamers, one sending a plume of flame high into the air, the other scourging the ground level. They advanced. The only weapons fire that could be heard now belonged to the Sororitas.

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One of the women screamed and gibbered. Jolan shot her with the digital needler and fired needles into the rest of the degenerates to make sure. The paralytic should keep them out action. A wall panel had slid open and Karl Vallec was no where to be seen. He must have bolted while Jolan was busy. The interrogator slipped through.

"Uh boss," Anjun said. "Is this a . . . . oh fuck it." The slim man followed Gix into the secret passage. The lighting was dim and it was narrow enough that a fat man would have problems using it. The passage twisted to the side, probably following the contours of other rooms and rose up at a steep incline. Gix was going full tilt ahead.

Jolan had a very good idea where this went. A bolt hole with some kind of escape craft. If Karl Vallec managed to escape now, they might never find him. That wasn't going to happen.

It took him about a minute to reach the end. They must have climbed two or three levels in the process. The door infront of him was closed. He reached for the control and then froze. A prickly sensation told him not to. There were alternative methods to open the panel.

It blew across the room in a blast of telekinetic force. The room was a small hanger. The bay door had already been opened and a bitterly cold wind whipped in. A sleek aircar was in the center of the room. It was oil slick black with a smooth black body. Four engine pods protruded from its body and a loud whine indicated they were powering up. A mirrored canopy concealed the driver, but Jolan Gix had no doubt it was Karl Vallec.

Gix fired at the engine pod closest to him. Flakes of armour blew off, but his shots failed to penetrate the high tech composite and damage the working within. The air car rose of the ground and one of the engines twisted to angle at Gix. The immense thrust that could send the air car hurtling through the atmosphere at great speed could also crush a man to jelly.

The column of air rebounded off of an invisible shield a meter in front of the psyker. Gix continued firing. Chou added in a few shots of his own. The air car's armour was cratered all along its left side from their shots, but the las pistols didn't have enough punch. The angle of the engine pods changed and the air car surged out of the hanger.

Gix reached out towards the left rear pylon and held with all the force he could muster. The air car twisted to the side as the pylon twisted and tore. The pilot tried to adjust the other engines to balance it out, but it didn't work. The air car spun out of control, beginning a spiraling death dive. It smashed into the barren salt flats almost a kilometer outside the hive and began to burn.

Gix touched a control and the hanger bay descended, blocking out the bitterly cold wind. Chou was shivering at the mouth of the escape tunnel. "I guess he didn't get away," said Chou. "That's a good thing, right?"

"Yes, but not as good as capturing him alive."

"And I helped you out, right? So that means I'm good, right?"

"Yes, you did help. But no, you're not good. Your life, as you know it, is over."

"So what now?"

"The Inquisition either keeps you or kills you."

"I vote for the former."

"You don't get a vote, but your opinion is noted."

[Imperial Overlord]

Jolan stared out the window at the Imperial Palace. It was ablaze with light as patrol ships seconded to the Adeptus Arbites swarmed around its kilometer high spires. Inside kill teams and investigators swept through, searching for clues and wiping out resistance. He heard feet softly crossing the carpet behind him. "I didn't get him," he said.

"It happens," Inquisitor Neven replied. "He's dead, but we got his valet. He seems to have known most of his business. A good haul, all told."

"I supposse so," Jolan replied. "What about Chou?"

"He's slick, I'll give him that. You think he's useful?"

"I dislike having to kill people who save my life."

She smiled and put a hand on his shoulder. "That's not a good answer," she said softly.

"I know. What I want has nothing to do with it. But he did save my life and he was good at the undercover work."

"Then spare him. If it doesn't work out you can always let him go. He doesn't know enough of any real importance."

"What's next?" he said changing the subject.

"We finish cleaning up here and then head to Leved."

"The subsector capital? Why?"

"You'll find out."

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Gix looked up at the line of holopics for the third time. He hated waiting, but like everything else he had been trained to endure it. He wore a robe of white silk with the Inquisition's insignia marked out in gold as befitted his station. The great doors swung open and Jolan rose to his feet. An interrogator wearing a simllar robe, a petite that the top of her head barely reached Jolan's chin, came forward. "They are ready for you."

Jolan straightened and walked inside. Holoprojectors provided the illusion of light streaming through stained glass window and banks of lit candles. In front of him was a long U-shaped ebony table with a beautiful lacquered finish. Seven men and women sat at the table. Six wore the red formal robes of a full inquisitor. The seventh man wore the black of the Master of the Ordo Malleus for this subsector. Lord Hedrigan Morregan, the Nightmare of Belentine.

The fearsome old man stood. His eyes were shiny black augments, artifacts of the highest technology. Most of the bones of his face were sculpted alloy rods. The skin of his face was transplanted graft tissue. A pattern of implanted rubies obscured the most grevious scars. The surgeons had done a good job. He looked almost normal.

"Jolan Gix," Lord Morregan began, "we have debiliberated amongst ourselves and listened to the words of yours sponsor and considered your answers to our questions. It is the unanimous opinion of this august body that you have demonstrated the courage, ingenuity, dedication, judgement, and strength of character that is expected in a member of the Holy Inquisition." He opened a velvet box. Inside rested a rosette. Gix's rosette. "Congradulations, Jolan Gix. You are welcome among our numbers." Tears began to run from Jolan Gix's eyes.

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A hand tapped him on the shoulder. He turned an saw Kyra there smiling. She shouted to be heard over the loud music. "Come with me," and pulled him gently away.

They left the whirling party that had been thrown in his honour. It was several hours into it and no one really needed him around or a reason to celibrate. She lead him into her study and closed the door. The door slid closed behind him, blocking out the party outside.

"Are you enjoying the moment? she asked impishly as she slid behind her desk and dropped down into her chair.

Jolan smiled. "Yes," he said. His eyes drifted to the armoured cases of books that surrounded them. He treasured the moments he had been allowed among them.

"Good," she said. "Your burdens only get heavier from now on in. But you know that. I could have put your name in earlier, but I wanted to be sure you were ready."

"I don't have any illusions that this is going to get easier," he replied. "And I'm grateful that you held on to me as long as you did. I've learned, even when you weren't testing me."

She smiled. "You are one of my best. I would like you to stay around and finish up this smuggling business with me. The valet had a few good leads for us and somehow I think you want to tie up all those loose ends personally."

He smiled back. "With a comment like that, you would think you knew me pretty well."

"I have a few talents," she said. "On a more serious note, I have something for you." She opened a desk drawer and drew out a long black case. "For you. A graduation present, at my request but from the Inquisition."

"Thank you," said Jolan as he opened the box. Inside lay a black rod of unfamiliar material. It was smooth and would fit easily into his hand. It was forty-five centimetes and one end was gilded. A band of golden skulls with eyes of jet crystals encircled the tip. Jolan Gix gently picked it up. "A force rod."

"Yes," she replied. Gix examined the prize closely. The eyes were psychoactive crystals and the gold plating and decorative skulls probably hid a grid of psychic circutry. "I had it commissioned by Tech Magos Valdeen. She's one of the few Mechanicus that know how to make these things. She was happy enough to test her art to her limits and you deserve a weapon worthy on an inquisitor."

The weapon seemed to grow warm in Gix's hand. "I think it will do nicely."

[Imperial Overlord]

Anjun raised the laspistol and fire quick bursts at the target. Down range flash burn holes errupted in the center of the silheute's chest and then in its head. Chou put the gun down as he heard foot steps behind him.

"All in the kill zone. Impressive," said Jolan Gix.

"Thanks boss. Yvraine's been giving me some pointers."

"Good."

"So what now?" Chou asked, fumbling while reloading his pistol.

"We're heading to Scyrax Major," replied Jolan. "Maladar's been doing some digging of his own. While comparing his data with our own, I've come up with some interesting correlations. We're going to catch ourselves a big fish."

"Great."

"And I think you will be very helpful."

Chou's hands trembled for a second. "Really?" he said, trying to keep the hope out of his voice.

"Really."

"Thanks boss, that's good to hear." Relief flooded through his body. The powers that be hadn't decided to crush him. Yet.

"You're welcome. The Inquisition's mandate is hard, very hard. It is far better to be over zealous than soft. Mercy can have disasterous consequences. It breeds a certain amount of callousness and ruthless calculation, if only to preserve sanity."

"I get it boss," Chou said quickly. Actualy, he didn't give a flying fuck on how Jolan rationalized crushing people underfoot. The power that be always said they were doing things for the greatest good when they stepped on the little people and took the largest piece for themselves.

Jolan's head snaped up. Chou had spoken too quickly and his body langauge was all wrong. The gutter rat was a natural born liar. Jolan spoke mildly. "You don't believe in the Imperium, do you?

Throne! Anjun was in it deep. "No, no boss I do." He resisted the temptation to go for the gun. He had seen Gix kill. Anjun Chou was fast, but not that fast.

"Liar," said Gix. "You know better than to say you don't, but you don't give a damn about the Imperium. There is no one here but the two of us and this room isn't monitored. Tell me why."

Anjun Chou was white and shaking. "Please . . . ." he said. Jolan's face was smooth and pleasant, as if they were discussing pastries. "Please . . "

"Just tell me."

It came out in a rush. "I . . . never saw the Imperium do nothing but take. They took from my momma and made her a whore from scraps. The Arbites took from all of us and called it taxes and left or they killed people. The constables just took. The press gangs and recruiters take. No difference between the Imperium and a gang but size." He had said it. He was a dead man now, if Gix wanted to kill him. Not that it mattered. Gix could have killed him any time he wanted to.

"The Imperium came for me when I was about five," Gix said flatly. "I spent the next three years cold and afraid. The next two years I learned a lot, but still hated the Imperium that took me from my parents. Then I began to really learn what the Imperium was like."

"Your complaints are valid. The Imperium doesn't give a damn about you. There are a million worlds in the Imperium and all of them are under threat. The High Lords of Terra, the Inquisition, and the Arbites are prepared to tolerate corruption, nepotism, incompetince, venality, greed, heridetary passage of office, stupidity, obstinance, and worse as long as certain minimum standards are met. When we have the opportunity we try to encourage some kind of progress, but we are usually to busy bailing out this sinking ship of the Imperium."

"There are countless threats. Xenos, heretics, rogue psykers, cults, chaos renegades, rebellions, natural disastes, plague, warp storms, warp beasts, enslavers, and internal factionalism to name most of them. We need all of the resources of the Imperium and we lack the appartus with which to do better. So we eliminate the unnacceptably bad and accept the mediocre as long as they give us resources to help handle the most urgent crisis on our list. It isn't this way because this is the way things should be, it is this way because this is best we can do. And the Inquisition's job is to make the Imperium the best we can."

"And home wasn't too bad?" Anjun said cynically.

"No, it was bad. A lot of people are going to die because they helped make it that way. The best of a new lot will get the job of running things and trying to make things better. And we'll go to the next stop and try to make things better or keep them from getting worse."

"So all we do is shovel shit."

"Maybe. But some poor bastards are drowning in it and they could really use a bunch of guys with shovels."

[Imperial Overlord]

Scyrax was a strange world. It fit into Imperial classifications as a Civilized World, which could also be catchall category for worlds that defied easy classifications. It had been a backwords, half settled agriworld of no signifigance at all until a ferocious warpstorm that swept through the subsector in M38. It had lasted six years and devestated the subsector's economy. The capital, Levitus, had undergone starvation and catestrophic social collapse that caused it to drop from a population of twenty-two billion to a mere forty million survivors.

The Scourging, as the warpstorm was known localy, had another effect as well. It had left the local warp routes changed in its wake. Scyrax had been locally self sufficient, but had been unable to import off world tech and manufactured goods. It had begun to industrialize in the interm between the resumption of trade, during which istwas realized that the best routes now lead through Scyrax.

So the Navy had built a base around one of its moons and established a cruiser squadron to operate from that base. The Ecclesiarchy had also decided to use Scyrax as a base to attack the heresy that had sprung up during the Scourging. And the Administratum had needed a new subsector capital.

Several great cities grew up on Scyrax even as the agribusiness that was the traditional background of its economy continued to prosper and the magnates who possessed vast wealth, political power, and armed retainers looked on suspiciously. So the city sprawl grew, but in a controlled fashion. Pollution was strickly regulated. And great hive cities clustered the face of an otherwise green and beautiful world.

Anjun Chou had learned all of this on the trip, but it was another thing altogether to see it. Neven's ship flew over towering forests, crystal blue lakes, and seemingly endless rolling fields. Ahead to them were the kilometer high stacks of Lowport, the trading capital of Scyrax. A spider web sprawl of transport tubes fed the city and connected the spaceport to the hive city proper.

"It's beautiful," Anjun Chou said softly.

A voice came from behind him. "True, but I've seen better." Anjun turned to look at Jolan Gix who had a half smile on his face. "Wait to you see a sunrise or a sunset over water. I don't have the words to do it justice."

"So what's the plan?" Anjun asked.

"Save this place and all the billions who live on it," said Jolan Gix. "Specifically, we're going to dig up dirt on the Chanai Trade Consortium."

"Why? I mean, you're sure they are guilty, right? Why bother? Just scoop them up."

"To get everybody. This conspiracy spans worlds and we've been lucky. We've been just fast enough to get to it before it becomes a disaster. We can't be lucky forever. We can't keep hacking at the weed, we've got to pull it out by the roots." Chou looked at him blankly. The view out the window had been the first green growing things he had ever seen in his life that hadn't been mold. "Never mind. The point is, if they keep on being able to shoot, sooner or later they are going to hit."

"Right," said Anjun.

[Imperial Overlord]

"So how do you want to do this?" Jolan asked.

Kyra was looking out the window at the vast expanse of glittering green ocean. "You don't already know?" she responded. They had taken this a series of apartments with an ocean view, typical of herdbarons in the big city with cash burning holes in their pockets.

Jolan leaned back in the richly apolstered chair. A caraffe of the local white and two silver platters of appatizers lay on the table in front of him. "This seems to be more a hammers kind of job."

She turned back towards him. She was wearing a gown made of three layers of different silks. Vents in the outer layers gave glimpses of contrasting colours. The bottom layer was armour silk. "That's what I would expect Maladar to say and he isn't here yet."

"He's right this time. They can't have not noticed that some of their co-conspirators have been rolled up over the last few years. They'll be suspicious. The risk is too high."

"For you perhaps," she said. "They'll probably check for psykers. But I'm blunt."

"You can't be serious. The risk-"

"Is managable. The potential rewards of getting someone inside to secure data before they know there is an attack out weighs the risks."

"I disagree. Strongly. We drop on them like 'roid impact. Hit them hard before they know we are there and take prisoners. We'll scoop them up or ice them. Less risk, better chance of reward."

"I disagree," she said. "Besides, if they have managed to infiltrate the local apparatus with any degree of success, we'll just tip them off by grabbing the local muscle. They are old and established players in this sector. No, my way is better."

"Emperor's Teeth, the risk is too high."

"I'll have you waiting to backing me up. And Maladar too when he gets here. It's worth the risk and I'm going. That's that."

[Pcm979]

Zorn Vetha, the Novum family cheauffer, was only visible from the waste down as he worked on the Lord's favorite speeder. As far as he could tell, there was nothing wrong with it; The Incantations and Rituals of Maintenance were doing jack-shit and he dreaded the thought of taking it back to the Mechanicus Shrine; For a bunch who claimed it was their holy duty to maintain the Machine Spirits they charged a nigh-heretical amount to perform the most basic incantations.
He felt a tug on his pants leg and sighed. That damn dog. "Fenris," he said, sliding out from under the speeder, "you've been fed twice today already, I-" He realised too late that he was talking to Paternoster, who was giving the cheauffer his complete attention, in the way only 7 year olds could. "Master," stammered Zorn. "I-"
"Is something wrong with the speeder?"
"Well, y-"
"Can't you fix it?"
"Er, s-"
"Mmm. So, what's wrong with it?"
Zorn realised he'd have to humour the child and got up from underneath the car, brushing dust off his overalls. "Well, Master, when I try to wake it -like this-" He reached into the driver's cabin and pulled the self-starter, the machine shuddered and gears screeched, "It won't start, and applying the Holy Water of Lubrication doesn't seem to help."
"Hrrm." Pater wriggled under the speeder, electing another wince from Zorn. There'd be hell to pay from the washerwomen!
Suddenly there was a noise, or rather, the complete absence of noise, and a sharp metallic taste in Zorn's mouth. All the hairs on his neck and arms stood up. He staggered. "Wha-"
"Try it now."
Zorns' mouth didn't seem to work. "Haabar nijit?" He mumbled.
Pater's head popped out from under the speeder. "Try to wake it now!" He commanded impatiently.
Zorn, still discombobulated, reached into the cabin and pulled the self-starter. The machine roared to life. Pater grinned beatifically. "See?" But zorn had turned as white as a sheet.

Later, Lord Novum paced in his study. "All I'm hearing, Zorn, is that my son has a natural affinity for artifice and is perfectly suited for a position in the College Mechanicus. Am I right?"
"Well, I-"
"Am I right?"
"Yessir." Mumbled the man.
After he left, Lord Novum slumped into a chair and poured himself a very, very large glass of amasaec.

[Imperial Overlord]

"Lady, I don't like this."

"Noted," Kyra responded. She was in full aristocrat mode. Herdress was composed of layers of dark blue silk, each of a slightly different cut so the under layers were exposed. "Any particular reason?"

Yvraine wore a uniform of reinforced leathers, amaranth for the jacket and cream with an crimson stripe for the pants. A high capacity slug thrower was holstered on his belt opposite of a metal truncheon. He trailed a half step behind his mistress. "Gix was right. The risk is too high."

"I have done this before," Kyra said. "And I have taken precautions." The palanquin passed out from the shadow of a giant stack. Lowport was composed of a series of thick cylanders that stretched from the shore to to deep in the sea. The smallest were only a few stories, the tallest stretched for a hundred meters below the water and nearly a kilometer above.

Kyra's vox beeped. She taped it on as the bearers beat several slow pedestrians out of the way with their staves. "Yes," she said.

"Milady," came Anjun Chou's voice, "I have secured an appointment with the Overmaster of the Chanai Trade Consortium on Lowport. He had a cancellation earlier today can fit you in."

"Excellent," she purred. "Any difficulties?"

"None worth mentioning, milady. And how do you fair?"

"Well, thank you. The palanquin has a nice canopy and cooler units, so I am managing to do quite well. Poor Yvraine is wearing leathers and enjoys neither of the palanquin's benefits."

"Duty is a harsh master, unlike you kind mistress. I await on your pleasure."

"That pleases me," she responded and killed the vox. She drew down the chrome vox phone that dangled near her head. "Change of destination," she said to the bearers. They wore earplug speakers linked so they could clearly hear their master over the roar of the street. "Take us to the Chanai stacks."

[Imperial Overlord]

The Overmaster was a slight man, barely taller than Anjun Chou. In the voluminous silks of his station and the heavy gold medallion of office with its thick links, he looked like a child wearing his father's clothes. Behind him, a great curved window overlooked the blue green sea. "So, milady, what brings you to our consortium?"

Kyra rose languidly to a somewhat upright position in the vast chair she was reclining in. "Profit," she drawled. "Why else does one venture between worlds?"

"Indeed," the Overmaster replied. "What can Scyrax or the the Chanai Trade Constortium provide you that will be reap a profit on-" he paused checked his pic screen, "Laner's Fall?"

"Industrial goods. Specifically, agricultural machinery. Our industrial base is rather under developed, but that is changing. Mechanizing our agricultural industries on a large scale can now be supported by existing local industry. The potential profits are, um, considerable."

"I see. We are interested of course, Just a moment." He touched a control on his desk. "Send Vanek in." He turned back to Kyra. "He's my aide."

The door slid open and tall man strode in. He wore a black bodyglove emblazoned with marks of scarlett and gold. He wore a ribbed stormcoat over it. Predatory eyes blazed out from his hairless skull. He seemed more like an assassin or enforcer than an advisor.

Chou continued to stand stiffly at attention, but discretly tapped a vox control to send a warning to Yvraine in the lobby. He didn't like this at all.
Venak looked at Chou and grinned, showing sharp teeth. "The Chanai Trade Consortium doesn't do any business on Laner's Fall," Vanek began, "but our brothers in Malorn Industrial do."

Kyra twitched. Malorn Industrial didn't do any business with the Chanai Trade Consortium. He stomach fell through the floor. Vanek continued. "They say your house doesn't exist."

Chou exploded into motion, or at least tried to. He couldn't move, as if his limbs had been transmuted into unresponsive lead. "I don't think you will be doing any of that," Vanek said.

"Who are they?" the Overmaster asked.

"I don't know," said Vanek. "Their minds are disciplined. But we will soon know, one way or the other." He took a syringe out of his coat pocket.

"Mightiness, there was another retainer with her. A guard. He's in the foyer."

"Kill him."

[Imperial Overlord]

Kyra raised her hand and clenched her fingers. The magus's eyes widened as he saw her move. She was suppossed to be paralyzed, but Kyra Neven had taken precautions to prevent this kind of thing from ever happening to her again. Even if she hadn't been wearing her wards, the psi blocker that had been implanted in her rebuilt skull would have given her a measure of protection from his powers.

Three Jokaro digital lasers flashed scarlet beams of killing light into the magu's face, flash vaporizing fluids and causing the front of his skull to explode in a mix of steam, blood, bone, and grey matter. The Overmaster gaped open. He touched something on his desk. Kyra shot him in the chest with a digital needler.

The Overmaster swated at it, swayed, and fell over. Anjun Chou was beginning to move again. There was the sound of shots and heavy blows struck Kyra in the back. The inquisitor fell to ground and rolled to the side.

The door had not closed when the magus had walked in. Two guards were advancing, stubbers out. Anjun Chou popped out, quick as a flash, exposing only his head and gun arm.

Chou was packing a compact autopistol that fired soft bodied slugs with a diamanite tip and core. His first burst caught one of the guards in the stomach, causing him to fold up. The second burst ruined the other shooter's face and blew out the back of his skull in a bloody spray of bone chips and grey matter. Chou fired a long burst into the chest of the first guard and let the gun walk his fire up into the guard's neck. Blood oozed from the chest wounds, but geysered from the neck. He fell to his knees and then face first on the floor.

"Secure the door!" Kyra shouted. Anjun triggered the switch and then the lock function.

"What's the plan, boss?"

"This is bad. Some kind of alarm was tripped. I can't reach anyone on the vox. Some kind of jamming."

"Okay, not good. But most of these guys aren't cultists, right? Just ordinary traders and hired muscle. They can't be that tough. With Yvraine, we should-"

"They're not cultists."

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Yvraine got the signal. Trouble was expected. He casually looked around the waiting room. Next to him was a pretty eceptionist at her desk, doors leading off in T with two near the receptionist and one at the far end of the corridor. Nice comfortable chairs were near the desk for important clients to wait in. Two security guards with stubbers, wearing the blue stripped white uniform of Chanai muscle, waited by the far door. They were hard looking guys, no doubt about that. But not as hard as he was.

One suddenly went for his gun. He was almost as fast as Anjun Chou and certainly faster than Yvraine. The armsman dived behind the receptionist's desk. Bullets clipped him in the arm and the leg and slammed into the desk. Fortunately, he was wearing armour. He chucked a grenade blindly over the desk and heard it bounce. Yvraine pocked his head above the desk.

He hadn't armed the grenade, but the shooters hadn't known that and had stopped shooting and moved towards cover. He put three rounds into the chest of the one on the right and then ducked down. Like Chou, Yvraine favored a slug thrower. Unlike Chou, he favored a big bore pistol with a large magazine. Such weapons had served him well in the Imperial Guard and later on in his career as a cartel enforcer.

The receptionist grabbed his gun arm and tried to wrestle with him. He punched her in the stomach, solar plexus, and face in rapid succession. She let go and he shot her twice, plowing chunks of her lungs out of her back. She folded up like a rag doll as he rolled to the side.

He got a look a lefty's legs and fired four shots in rapid succession. Two missed. One clipped him in the calf of his right leg and the other smashed through his thigh bone, dropping him. Yvraine rolled back behind the desk and changed magazines. He then popped over the top. Righty had gotten up. Evidently he had been wearing armour that had provided some protection.

Yvraine shot him a half dozen times in the chest. The last hits were accomplanied by blood spray and righty folded. Lefty fired back, rounds whipping by Yvraine's head, one notching an ear. The enforcer ducked down and popped out on the right side. He put two rounds in Lefty's left thigh. The guard howled in pain. Yvraine switched to the other side and burned the rest of the magazine into Lefty's torso. The body was twitching when he stopped.

Yvraine reloaded. Best to make sure of them and try to get the fuck out of here. The whole op was burned. Gix had been right. The door on his right was flung open. Yvraine turned to face it. The monster that had sprung out was moving fast, very fast. Yvraine fired two shots.

One bullet missed, the other scored a glancing hit and deflected off of its carapace. A three lobed claw struck him in the chest, punched through Yvraine's armour, and the tips exited through the back of Yvraine's armour. The claw yanked back, tearing out his heart and most of his chest cavity through the front of his ribs in an eruption of blood and gore. Yvraine's last sensations were of agonizing, incomprehensible pain as darkness took him.

[Imperial Overlord]

Anjun smashed the door control with his pistol butt. "I don't think they'll be getting in."

"Step away from the door," Kyra said as she rifled through the Overmaster's desk. "Throne! No override on the lockdown. And the vox is still jammed."

Anjun turned away from the door and went through the dead psyker's pockets. He let a whistle. "Nice las," he said as he picked up the matte black weapon embossed with gold fittings. "I wonder how much kick it has?"

"A lot probably," said Kyra as she pulled out a chromed laspistol from the Overmaster's desk. "Shoot for the head. The carapace is thick, it will repell slug throwers and las blasts. They're extremely tough as well, ork tough. Spine or brain shots prefered."

"Cogs and smelters. What in the name of the warp are we facing?"

"Xenos. They are engineered infiltration and killing machines. They are taking part in the network to spread their contamination to other worlds, to gather wealth, and undermine the Imperium."

"So these guys are working with Xenos?"

"No, they are xenos. See if you can find a way out of this death trap. They'll-"

A terrible screeching sound interrupted her. Two three lobed claws punched through the top of the door and down. Steel tore like metal foil, revealing a hexapedal xenos monstrosity.

It wasn't that much larger than a man. It stood crouched on its hind limbs, with another set of dual purpose limbs at the shoulders, and the pair of clawed killing limbs raised overhead. It's jaw was filled needle pointed fangs. It lunged forward, impossibley fast.

If Anjun had been close to the door, he would have been dead. But he had stepped away as Kyra had told him and the inquisitor had a clear shot. A pair of las blasts struck it in the throats, blowing out chunks of flesh in a spray of amber fluid. The creature dropped, it's spine severed. The one behind it pounced.

It hurled right at Kyra. She caught an extended talon arm and twisted to the side, redirecting the deadly xenos towards the armoured window. The genestealer's impact rattled the armoured glass, but it wasn't so much as stunned. It swifly regained it's footing and turned to kill.

Anjun Chou put three brilliant jade las beams into it's upper back that burned through its carapace, but did little else. Kyra triggered one of her rings. A thin blast of flames shot forth, enveloping the alien's head. It let out an unearthly scream and thrashed, it's claws tearing through the armoured transparaplast. It attempted to lunge at Kyra who stepped easily away from the dying alien's strikes.

"More will be coming," she said coolly. Any ideas for escape would be useful now."

Anjun Chou looked around and saw nothing of use. Then he looked out the window. "I think I have something."

[Imperial Overlord]

"There's a service ladder-rail thingy about five meters to the side," Anjun said.

"Well that's a distance," Kyra replied as autogun fire poured from the doorway. She stuck her hand out and fired a half dozen return shots blindly.

"Give me your knife," Chou shouted back as he threw a frag grenade out the door. He had angled the shot and it bounced off the wall and further down the corridor before detonating.

Kyra reached into her skirts and unfastened the blade attached to her thigh. She tossed it in Chou's general direction. The slim man caught it by the hilt and thumbed on the control. The 35cm blade hummed softly as a faint blue shimmer surrounded it. He sliced out a chunck of armour glass at the edge of the window and kicked. The 6cm thick slab tumbled down into the sea. Chou hopped onto the window sil. It was a long way down. Maybe 300 meters. He gulped.

He turned to the wall and gouged out a slice. The power blade cut through the 'crete like a hot knife through soy. He quickly gashed out a toe hold. Easy. He grabbed the first indentation and held on. A few strokes and he had made another. It was working. "Hey boss," he yelled back. "I've got us an exit."

"Cut faster!" she yelled back. Anjun hurried along, gouging his way to the rail. Rungs for a ladder ran parallel to it. Chou didn't know what they were for and didn't care.

"Got it boss!" he yelled back."

"Go!" screamed. She rolled her remaining grenades down the corridor. A blind, two frags, and a pair of chokes. They would detonate in seconds. Drug injectors implanted in her body pumped adrenilen and combat accelerants into her system. She flashed to the window and twisted around, seizing one of Chou's handholds. She was going to half to tell Jolan he made the right call when they got out of this mess.

A claw closed around her ankle and she was yanked back in with inhuman force. She lashed out with her other leg in a kick that would have crushed a human skull. The genestealer was momentarily stunned and dropped her. She raised the las to kill it and it's killing claw closed on the gun, shredding it. It's manipulator-claws closed on her wrists, pinning her. It brought it's awful muzzle close and it's tongue slid along her cheek.

[Imperial Overlord]

Anjun saw Kyra get yanked back into the office. It was too far away for him to help, not that he really wanted to. Those xenos scared the shit out of him. He pulled himself up the rungs as fast as he could. He heard scraping on the 'crete behind him. He continued climbing, but couldn't resist slowing to look behind him.

A genestealer had clawed its way across the 'crete to the ladder. It was using all six of its limbs to propel itself upward. It was too damn fast Anjun stoped and drew his gun.

The first burst glanced off the 'stealer's carapace. The second threw up a burst of fluid from the stealer's right claw shoulder joint. It barely slowed. It's feral eyes looked right at Chou. He could feel a heavy weight descend on him. He fired again, one last time.

The bullets struck the xeno right between the eyes. Amber fluid and flecks of grey matter mixed with bone chips sprayed in the air. The alien's body convulsed and released. It was a long way down to the ocean. At that height hitting water wasn't much different than hitting 'crete.

Chou hustled. He was not a big man and he carried little in the way of extra weight. He was in the best shape of his life and he had been climbing walls and buildings as a child. The tore up the side of the stack. He could see the top. He was almost there.

He raised his hand to the last rung. He pulled himself up and found himself looking into the muzzle of two autoguns. A third man waited behind the mirror visored security troops. Like Vanek he was a tall bald man wearing a heavy coat. A pistol was in the bald man's hand. "Come on up," he said. "Slowly."

No way in the real and the warp could Anjun outdraw two men who already had guns trained on him. He would have to make an opportunity. He slowly pulled himself over the side and onto the roof of the stack. Damn, it was big.

"Two fingers, left hand. Your gun. Slowly," said the bald man. There was something hypnotic about his voice. Anjun obeyed, dropping his autopistol at the guard's feet.

A flash of light and the left side of the lefthand guard's helmet disintigrated in spray of of blood, bone, and brains. He sagged and dropped. Righty began to move as a blue-white beam struck him in the neck, decapitating him in a geyser of blood. Another shot turned baldy's heart into cooked meat.

Nearly a kilometer away Calidan Vil watched the 4th generation hybrid fall. He swept the roof top with his scope. "Chou's on the roof. He's alone." He said into the vox. "It must have really hit the fan."

[Imperial Overlord]

"I cant reach Chou," Vil shouted into his vox. "There's a hell of a lot of jamming." Enough that static was eating most of his transmission.

"-ot it," came Gix's reply. "cov- Chou. H'ethor . . . . .way."

He better fucking be, thought Calidan. They had people down there and a Throne's worth of trouble.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Anjun Chou retrieved his pistol and picked up a guard's autogun. Full load. Nice. Not that those six legged bastards seemed very cooperative about dying when you shot them, besides being armoured and faster than a caffed up flash head with a full load on.

He tried his vox again and stopped immediately as he got an ear piercing squeel. So much for that plan. This really, really, sucked reprocessed Grox dung. "Hurry up and rescue my tender light brown ass," Chou muttered. "I'll perform depraved sex acts, banned by the Inquisition, no questions asked. Even if you are ugly."

That's when the roof door swung open.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

The thing at the door was a horrific mutant. And then Chou realized he wasn't. Genestealer. It was a hybrid of human and genestealer traits. It had three arms, two human ones and a genestealer claw. Its skull was distorted and its jaw was full of fangs. It wore an ill-fitting coverall that did not conceal its carapace. It gripped an autogun.

Anjun fired first. He poured a storm of bullets at the monstrous hybrid. The creature's torso errupted in a spray of red blood. Chou kept firing. It fell, spasiming. Chou fired a burst into the doorway and looked around for some cover. A vent box was the only thing worthwhile and nearby. "Hurry the fuck up," he muttered. Bullets zipped by him. He emptied the autogun into the doorway and switched to his pistol. This was not good.

---------------------------------------------------------------

"Chou's in a gun fight!" Vil yelled. "I don't have angle on the door. He needs help now!" He glared down on the roof from his scope. If he got a shot, he would take it. Chou was pumping rounds at his attackers, but there was a limit-Throne! What in the warp was that. Six legged, purple and fast, whatever it was.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chou was down to the fancy las when the 'stealer rushed out of the doorway. He missed, clipped a leg (doing nothing to slow it down as far as he could tell), grazed its carapace, and then got a real good look at its jaws. Then it collapsed in a heap as a blue-white beam hit its back and severed its spine. His angel had come through again, although he suspected that it had a name and that name was Calidan Vil.

He heard a whoosh and then an explosion off to his left. He turned and saw a smoke contrail leading to a nearby stack and a smoking hole in its upper levels. Then whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, as three more rockets fired from the lower in the Chanai stacks to strike in the area around the first strike. The area where the shots had come from.

He turned towards the doorway. A half dozen genestealers poured out, running at him. "Throne," he said softly. Reflex caused him to raise his pistol.

The 'stealers exploded in a spray of blood, bone, and purple flesh. Chuncks of the roof came with them. A loud hammering noise came from behind him as the storm of fire continued, chewing the 'stealers to pieces. Chou turned and looked. A Valkyrie assault flyer with Arbites markings hovered behind him. The side door was open and it descended. Hethor D'eckor was standing in the doorway with a targeting scope over his eye and a heavy stubber in an assault sling. "Get your ass in!" Hethor yelled. Anjun Chou had never heard anything so good in his life.

[Imperial Overlord]

Kyra groaned as she regained conciousness. Her clothes had been sliced off and she was strapped to a table. She craned her head an immediately regretted it. She was looking into the eyes of a genestealer that was the size of an ogryn. Another smooth headed human stood beside the massive stealer. A Fourth generation hybrid. The magus, the public commander of the hive. Which meant the purestrain beside him was the Patriarch.

She could hear the drone of com equipment behind her. The magus smiled. "I see you have recovered consciousness. Don't bother trying to hide anything from me. Your wards have been removed, as you can see. If I need to, I can tear your mind apart. Not that you will want to resist us."

Which left the implanted blocker in her skull, against the power of the most powerful psyker in cult. She didn't like her odds. "You seem preoccupied," she hissed.

"Bitch!" The magus slapped her. Hard. He snarled in pain and shook his hand. She smiled. Steel reinforced bones came in handy. "Who is in charge of this attack?"

She smiled back. "I can only guess. Things going poorly? Don't bother to try and hide anything from me," she mocked.

"Do you think they will spare you? You're one of us now. We've injected you with geneplasm. They will burn you too. Soon you will be part of us in every way. You want to live, you will help us." She could feel the truth of his claim in her bones. If wasn't for her psi blocker, she would probably already be feeling the brood bond.

She snarled. "I don't even know what's happening. How can I help you?"
The magus gestured and the table swivvled. She saw the screens displaying numerous locations throughout the city. The PDF barracks had been utterly annhilated. Orbital lances was her guess. The Imperial Commander's Palace was similarily annhilated. Arbites flyers straffed the shattered stacks of the Chanai Trade Consortium. Vulture gunships with Navy markings lined up for an attack run.

"You've lost," she said. "One of the other inquisitors ordered this. There is no way we can survive. Preemtive strikes at the palace and the PDF because you have probably corrupted them. He will burn and purge us. We can't-" she stopped.

"You are still an inquisitor," the magus replied. "You can still arrange the redirection of certain resources. Enough to allow some of us to be preserved."

"Not from here. Not like this. They will know I've been taken. Compromised."

"Not the average soldier on the street. You will still have your authority. Enough to save the Patriarch. Your Patriarch. Smuggle a small core off the planet, including yourself."

"Yes," she said. "You're right. Get me out of this so I can get to work."

[Imperial Overlord]

Kyra pulled on the remnants of her armour silk gown and picked up her digital weapons. She picked up her las pistol and under the watchful eyes of the cult guards. She watched the displays on the remaining cameras. A horde of naval stormtrooper and Arbites were pouring into the building. She turned away from the screens to address the magus.

"You're going to have to follow closely. So will a body of troops. When we encouter the lead elements, I will direct them away from you and the Patriarch and towards the troops. I will continue to direct the enemy away from you to reinforce the lead elements. Then I will grab us some kind of transport and get us off world befdore the other inquisitors are on to us."

The Patriarch growled. She could feel its words in her brain. Simply tell them to stop.

She replied. "They won't obey. And the other inquisitors must suspect that I am compromised and if I give that order they will know I am compromised. No, no big moves. Speed, stealth, and judicious use of my authority is what is needed."

The Patriarch growled again, but did not object. The magus pointed at the troops around them, a half dozen cult soldiers. "Come with us."

They marched out of the bunker-like room down a corridor towards a stairwell. The troops preceeded them up six levels. "The fighting is close."

"Where is a place nearby I can stash the Patriarch? Some where out of the firing line."

"There are several rooms ahead," said the magus. "If you stand in the doorway and direct the troopers elsewhere it may work."

"Yes. Perferably rooms with lockable adjoining rooms or a closet. I can order them sealed off, bring a transport nearby and take you out." They have to be truely desperate to agree to this scheme.

The magus grinned. "I can make them see nothing. As long as there are only a few at a time."

Throne! She had forgotten about that. "Good. Let's move."

The jogged down the corridor. The snarling sounds of lases and the boom of shotguns was answered by the chattering of autofire. The fighting was close. The Patriarch and magus scuddled into a room out of the doors line of sight, behind a file cabinet and the desk. It was rather surprising how small the Patriarch could make his body.

The gun fire died down, only a few hissing lases. The Imperials were advancing. She yelled out. "Imperial Inquisitor! The enemy is down the corridor!"

A faceless head appeared momentarily and then mirror visored naval stormtroopers leap frogged down the corridor. She stood in the doorway. "Somebody get me a vox."

One of the troopers said something under his breath. "On the way, my lady. A special detachment is coming for you."

"Good. The enemy is right down there. Engage and destroy them."

"Your will, inquisitor." The stormtroops trotted past. She turned back to the room. Gix was going to have her checked out. She had no delusions about this "special detachment" and what it would do if she didn't cooperate. She closed the door.

"We have a few moments. It's working." The Patriarch and the magus relaxed slightly. And then she moved.

Charged blades, crackling with deadly power, extended from her right hand. The Patriarch's head exploded in to bloody ruin. The magus should have killed her right there, but her augmentics and the combat drugs they dispensed made her faster off the draw than he was. He left fist connected with his solar plexus less than half a second after she killed the Patriarch.

She shattered his jaw before he folded and then struck nerve clusters in a rapid sequence before smashing his head against wall. Fourth generation hybrid. Almost identical to a human in all but genes. Her digital needler fired a paralytic into his blood stream and she hit him again and again until she was confident that he would give her no problems.

[Imperial Overlord]

A squad of Naval Security stormtroopers carried her prize out of the ruined building behind her. Astropaths would be here soon to help secure the dangerous, but mangled psyker. Every part of Kyra's body ached. But they had one.

The streets of Lowport were filled with rubble and wrecked machines. Dead bodies lay scattered like discarded dolls around the Chanai Stacks. The heavy drone of gunship engines came from overhead and the barrels of crew served weapons could by seen poking out of the broken windows of adjacent buildings. Arbites vehicles controlled the streets. Heavily armed teams in battle armour and field medical kits scowered the area. The intent was clear: none of the infected would be permitted to escape. This whole planet would soon be the site of a scowering.

Her escort was polite, but refused to obey her. They loaded her into a flyer. She could see the huge pillars of black smoke rising up from the craters that used to be the PDF barracks and the Imperial Commander's palace. Maladar had arrived and taken control with his customary use of decisive and brutal action. And now it was her turn.

The flyer touched down on a roof pad of the Astra Telepathicus Guildhouse. It was more of an armoured tower than a stack and possessed its own shield generators. And most of its personel came from off words. An odd choice for Maladar, but not an unreasonable one. The troops marched her down stairs and out into a corridor. Her heart skipped a beat. The brawny form of Hethor D'eckor stood there.

He was wearing full battle dress, but the heavy stubber he had been using for the last mission was replaced with an Arbites battle shotgun. He motioned her forward. "You boys are done. Go back to your unit." The head of the stormtroopers hesistated. "You heard me. You have your orders. Go." They turned and left. The door slid open.

The office was broad and spacious. A huge armourplast window looked out over the savaged city. A mammoth desk of shiny black teak was almost as long as the window. A gold and ebony cogitator screen nearly a meter long was off in one corner. Three hides of a large native mammal were spread out over the carpet in front of the desk. Maladar was nowhere to be seen. Sitting in the chair was Jolan Gix.

She stepped forward hesitently. Hethor came through right behind her. The door slid shut. Even if she tried, there was no use fighting. Her reflexes were superior, but she would have to turn to kill Hethor while he only had to pull a trigger. A good precaution. Her students did not dissappoint. "Where is Maladar?"

"Still in the warp," Gix replied. Kyra's mind raced. Gix must have ordered the orbital bombardments. So her student did have it in him to do what must be done. She relaxed.

"I'm infected."

"I know. The odds are overwhelmingly in favor of it."

"Do your duty inquisitor."

"I am," Gix replied. "You're well past the age where you can reproduce so there is no danger of you passing on contaminated genes to the next generation. And you have already proven resistant to brood telepathic bond. An examination by astropaths will be held, to confirm this. The risk is low. Your value to the Imperium is high. Logic dictates this is the proper course."

"That's why you had me taken here. So the Arbites-"

"And their snoops would not no what is going on. It is the Inquisition's business."

[Imperial Overlord]

The assault carrier fell through the atmosphere towards Low Port, escorted by six Lightning Fighters. In a compartment designed to hold a platoon of crack stormtroopers, a fourteen beings were strapped in. Seven of them were men, the other seven were combat servitors with glittering chassis of ebony and chrome. Six of the men fell in ignorance of the outside world. The servitors did not have enough identity to care. The seventh was swimming through data.

The autosenses of his power armour relaid com signals, flight paths, and tactic maps to Maladar. In the vast galaxy spanning Imperium, technology varied greatly from the tech citadels of Forge World and the Chapter Houses of the Adeptus Astartes at one end to those of neolithic savages who populated feral worlds at the other. Of the higher technologies most were constructed along the rigid lines of standard patterns dictated by the surviving Standard Template Construction plans and the formuli of the Adpetus Mechanicus. Not all patterns were created equal and not all factories and artisans were up to the most difficult tasks. In all the Imperium, few suits of power armour other than those of the superhuman Astartes could match that worn by Inquisitor Maladar.

The assault boat began to deaccelerate, a punishing process to those who rode inside. Maladar's troops bore it without complaint and the servitors were incapable of complaining. Soon the boat would touch down and their work would begin.

Maladar made a final review of the data. This world would have to be purged, concentrating primarily on the urban areas but with attention also given to remote rural enclaves were the genestealers could hide. The live capture of the cult magus was a coup as such individuals were almost never taken alive. It would be difficult, but once he was broken they could find out how far and wide the genestealer pestilance had spread.

The boat shook as it touched down. Maladar detached the safety harness and motioned his troops forward. The two heavily armoured assault servitors went first. Then the rest of his troops. Then the black armoured bulk of Inquisitor Maladar, last survivor of the line of Meridu Kings.

He strode across the roof pad towards four waiting figures. His enterage of killers followed. Two were Arbites judges, the third was a massive warrior as big as Maladar who was armed to the teeth. The fourth was Jolan Gix.

The young inquisitor was cool, Maladar would give him that. "Inquisitor Maladar, I'm glad you are here to join us. I'm sorry about your delay. We could have used your assistance earlier."

"An unexpected tide in the warp," Maladar replied. "You seem to have matters well in hand."

"Thank you," replied Gix.

"And Inquisitor Neven?"

"That is something we need to discuss. Alone."

---------------------------------------------------

Maladar removed his helmet and placed it on the huge desk of Jolan Gix's appropriated office. Gix looked into Maladar's ravaged face, the skin attached to his skull by gold sutures in several places, without flinching. Cosmetic improvements could have been made to Maladar's face, but he had cultivated this appearance to inspire horror and it usually succeeded. Gix didn't flinch, but an inquisitor's job was to unflinchingly confront horror.

"She was captured," Maladar said bluntly. "The odds are overwhelmingly-"

"Are irrelevant. She has been infected."

"Unfortunate. I didn't recieve any report of her death," he said. He was fairly sure why. Gix could bring himself to shoot his mentor. Unfortunate. That weakness meant that he had to go now, before his soft nature caused another disaster that Maladar wasn't around to take care of. Two more casaulties for this campaign. Another two inquisitors on Maladar's total, bringing up to seven the number he had killed.

"That's because it was not necessary to kill her," Gix replied calmly.

Fool, Maladar thought. He's rationalized his decision. Before he could act, Gix spoke again. "Why is it necessary to exterminate infected individuals?" he said in the voice of a schola instructor.

"Brood bond and passing on genestealer taint," replied Maladar.

"Kyra is past child bearing age, so the 'stealer taint will just result in an increased sex drive. And as for the brood bond, she was able to turn on the magus and the Patriarch. Clearly, the combination of her lack of hybrid offspring, her willpower, and that psi blocker in her skull allows her to commit the ultimate defiance of the brood bond. So where is the necessity of her death?"

Maladar hesitated. Gix's arguements sounded convincing. "You have verified this?"

"In case the Patriarch's death was just a trick? Yes. Deep probe confirms it." He passed a flimsy across his desk.

Maladar studied the flimsy for a moment. It confirmed Gix's statements. "What would you have done if this had not been convincing?"

"Nothing," replied Jolan Gix "But that wall over there has a niche covered by a holofield and some other stealth tech devices. Anjun Chou was rather dissappointed by the extreme durability of the genestealers so I took the liberty of digging up a weapon from Kyra's secret stash. Not even your armour can shrug off a close range strike from an inferno pistol." Gix smiled. "Fortunately, it didn't come to that."

Maladar gazed a the young inquisitor. He had been outplayed, which was not a bad thing because this time Jolan Gix had been right. He nodded slightly to Gix. That one would either climb high in the annals of the Inquisition or die young. Maladar intended to see that it was the former. Acting to strengthen and preserve the Inquistion involved more than just culling the unworthy. Maladar turned away from his future superior and back towards his retinue. He had killing to do.

[Imperial Overlord]

Naval security troopers marched down the corridors of the ancient station. They wore full battle armour and their gloved hands clenched close assault autoguns with low velocity, high calibre ammunition. Ideal for shredding flesh without puncturing walls. A man and a woman lead the formation.

She was blond, a bit on the tall side, and powerfully built. She was strong rather than heavy and athletic rather than graceful. She wore a Naval Officer's coat with the insignia of full lieutenant. Her eyes were as hard and as merciless as targeting scanners. They missed nothing and they spared nothing.

Beside her was a slim man who was just a hair taller and quite a bit darker. A shallow scar marked his cleanshaven face. He wore a leather stormcoat over an armoured body glove. Several weapons were holstered on his belt. An even more powerful one, an inquisitorial rosette, hung from his neck.

An armsman stood by the door, but had enough sense to yield without question. The door was secured, of course, by Severa had obtained the code some time ago. A skeleton key card released the lock and the door slid open.

The room was large and opulently furnished. Severa could have told Jolan the world where each and every luxury good in it came from. He didn't care. High ranking military commanders were often hereditary nobles as well as enjoying the perks and status that came with their positions. Mere wealth wasn't damning.

Sounds came from a side room. Male grunting and female gasps. Severa smiled, a wolf's grin that she had picked up in the last few days from Inquisitor Gix. With a touch, the door slid open.

The huge bedchamber was in disarray. Captain Parlin's revolting girth dominated the mammoth bed with its fur coverlet and its layers of silks. Beneath him writhed a petite, pale skinned brunette while a lithe chocolate skinned blonde stroked him. The blonde started when the door slid open. Parlin continued thrusting for a few moments before realizing that something had happened.

He turned his head, his jowls shaking in anger. "Captain Parlin," Severa said coolly, her lips twisted in a smile. "You're under arrest."

Parlin's face turned an ugly shade of red. "You don't have the authority! I'll have your balls for this Valin. When I'm done with you, you'll be a mind scrubbed involuntary in a field brothel in the ass end of the galaxy!"

"I think not," she replied. It was all she could do to keep from breaking out into laughter. She extended her hand. "Have you met Inquisitor Gix?"

Parlin's eyes went wide and his mouth worked for a moment, but nothing came out. Severa's mocking laughter rang through the room as two troopers strode forward towards what was once the most powerful man on the station.

[Imperial Overlord]

Severa walked into Parlan's office. Jolan Gix was perched on Parlan's chair, connecting data cables to the cogitator. He looked up as she entered. "Ah, Lieutenant Valin. Thank you for coming."

"My pleasure inquisitor."

Gix stopped fiddling with the cogitator and leaned back in Parlan's chair. "I came here expecting to dig around to find the evidence of wrong doers. And what happens? There's a mountain of evidence that practically falls into my lap. You've been a tremendous help."

"Thank you inquisitor. It was my pleasure."

"I imagine it was. Your performance was exemplary."

"I doubt the Navy will see it that way. It does not tend to forgive junior officers who betray their superiors or who help give the Navy a public black eye. I'm sure they can find some suitably unpleasant posting for me to spend the rest of my career." She had a wry smile on her face.

"I'm sorry about that," Gix replied.

"I've dreamed of commanding a starship since I was a child, but a Valin does not need to be told to do her duty. My honor is intact."

"Yes it is," he said softly. "There is another option. Your record, before this posting, is excellent. Your technical and investigative skills are without question. I could use your talents and you can serve the Imperium far more effectively than in some dead end assignment. And the Inquisition has ships of its own."

Hope flickered in her eyes. "A Valin does not have to be told to do her duty."

[Imperial Overlord]

Serel squinted as he stepped out of the cool shade of the bar and into the hot sunlight. He plucked his sunshields off of his harness and put them on. Much better. There were many advantages to working for the Starborn and he intended to get all of them. His eyes drifted east to the plateau.

The Starborn had come nearly one hundred summers ago, in the time of his great-great grandfather. They had descended from sky and made their home on the Pillar of Heaven. Some of the tribes had thought they were the gods. Some had thought they were demons. When the Starborn had descended from the cloud shrouded heights, they had proclaimed that they had come at the behest of the Skyfather. The explained they had come to lead the people into a new Golden Age. Most of the tribes correctly interpreted this as a demand for submission. They had responded with war.

It was over quickly. The Starborn had weapons worthy of gods. None could stand against them. The Brothers of Trees, Serel's ancestors, had fortunately been half a continent away and uninvolved in the Landfall War, as the Starborn called it. The victors always named the war.

The plains folk had become the serfs of the Starborn, but they had also reaped some of the benefits. Treatment and learning from Starborn healers, protection from their warriors, plumbing, and metal. Serel smiled. The Starborn truly possessed the knowledge of the Skyfather and serving them had made him rich. He had two wives and a large house with running water. Starborn trained healers had attended to the birth of his children. All of his weapons were steel and he had a weapon better than that of any chief: a breech loading rifle.

A medallion on his harness beaped. He had served the Starborn well as a guide, well enough that one of the treasures that they had given him was an amulet they called a vox. With it, they could summon him if they needed him and he could call for their assistance. He picked the vox off his harness and touched a button. "Yes?" he said in Gothic.

"Serel Two Feathers, of the Brothers of Trees?" asked a familiar voice. It was Captain Resarc, of the Commander's Guard.

"Yes," Serel replied. "It is good to speak to you again captain."

"Uh yes, yes it is. The Imperium has need of your services." The Starborn called their tribe the Imperium.

"I would be delighted to assist you, honoured captain. Great is my sorrow that I have already accepted a commission to guide those among the Starborn." Some among the Starborn had wanted to travel to the Sun's Anvil, the savannah to the south. They had offered much wealth for an experienced guide and their were none better than Serel Two Feathers.

"The Imperium commands otherwise," said Resarc. "Your other commissions will wait. How soon can you reach The Tower?"

Serel bristled. He was not of the Starborn and he knew that he did not think of him as equal. But never before had they upended his life. For a moment he considered defiance, but it would be folly. Resistance was punished by death and all his wealth came from them. He consulted his chronometer. "Thirty minutes," he said. The actual number was ten, but his pride demanded at least a little defiance.

"Then be there."

------------------------------------------------------

The Tower was a great cylander of metal that stretched into the sky. A bridge connected its top to the City of the Gods. Two huge platforms worked its length, transfering people and cargo from the City of Gods to the Platter. A squad of Starborn warriors stood guard at the base, their faces obscured by mirror shields and their bodies covered in armoured temperature controlled bodygloves. Long steel knives hung at their waists and autoguns were slung on their backs. As Serel approached, one who bore the stripes of a sergeant approached. He flipped up the visor. Serel grinned.

"Two Feathers."

"Narson. How fair you?"

"Well. Your wives and children?"

"They prosper. My oldest son attends the school."

"My congradulations. Many believe the graduates will become Starborn and that pleases me." That rumour was common and Serel believed it. It was the their knowledge that made the Starborn so powerful. They possessed the secrets of the Technos, the magic that produced all their mighty talismans. But they were few in number.

"I have been summoned here by Captain Resarc," Serel explained although he had permission to use the elevators.

"Ahh. You are the reason she is here?"

"She?" The Starborn had women among their numbers, but they did not intrude upon the business of men.

"Yes," he said, jerking his thumb behind him. "Her." The woman in question wore an armoured bodysuit like a warrior of the Starborn, not the unarmoured version that the rest of the Starborn wore when they descended from the City of the Gods. The Starborn didn't like the heat.

She was a blonde, which while rare even among them, was more common among the Starborn. Broad shouldered and strong, she was much more powerfully built than the People. A lot of Starborn were. A single edged sword with a short, heavy blade hung from her belt. On the opposite side was a holstered pistol. Two skulls encrusted with strange talismans floated beside her.

She walked forward, her skull-talisman's trailing behind her. One of skulls had gun barrels protruding from its eye sockets. Serel had never seen its like. She was two or three centimeters taller than Serel. "I'm told you speak Gothic."

"Yes, my lady."

"Severa will do," she replied. "I am told you are the best guide to western jungles, specifically the area beyond the Poisoned Vale." That area was accursed. Serel had been near their, had dealt with some of the tribes, and spoke their dialect.

"The best you will find," he replied proudly.

"Good. Then you will assist us."

"The place you wish to go is dangerous. Many witches are to be found at the Poisoned Vale. No place for a man, let alone a woman."

"So I've heard," she said. Her voice turned hard and her eyes flashed. "But I am not a woman, but a servant of the Inquisition, a ghost of flesh and bone." The Starborn shrank away at those words while Serel's mouth dropped in awe. "Whatever the Inquisitor commands will be done. He is the storm and none shall withstand him."

Serel bowed low. He did not know what the Inquisition was but it awed even the Starborn and power rode on her words. "My lady, I obey."

[Imperial Overlord]

Serel road the elevetor to the top of the tower. The woman rode with him. The Starborn were different, but she was not like any Starborn he had met before. It wasn't the arrogance, but the deference she commanded even from them. They looked at her like the People regarded the Starborn.

She smiled as the elevator rose through the tower into the clouds. Finally, it reached the top and the heavy gates swung open. A bridge of grey metal stretched from the tower to the top of the mountain and the the City of the Gods.

From the Field of Starfall, to the great apartment complexes, the arsenals of the manufactoriums, and the palace of the Imperial Commander, the City of the Gods was greater than any structure of the People. Great gleaming white buildings, wide smooth roads, sprawling garden-parks, and giant factories were all infinitely greater than the buildings of the people. The occult secrets of plumbing, sewers, and electricity were wonders that the People could only regard with awe.

A sleek black limosine awaited the ghost-woman. "Come on," she said as she sauntered over to it. The elevators of the tower were huge so they transport the warm machines of the Starborn to the ground, although they could also use the winding road. Serel had seen the limosines before, but only the greatest of the Starborn road in them. He followed.

The interior was dark and cool and the leather seats seemed to adhere to his flesh. The car took them through the streets, past the houses of the highest castes and the buildings of the Adminstratium and through the gates of the Commander's palace. The car stopped and the ghost-woman got out.

A giant greated the ghost-woman. He was bald, which the People regarding as a sign of weakness, but did not seem weak at all. His skin was the same colour as that of the People and the sign of the holy aquila was tattooed on his forhead. "He's waiting," the giant said in Gothic.

She nodded. "This is Serel. He's going to be our guide. Let's go introduce him to the man," she said with a smile on her lips.

The giant laughed. "Sure." He lead them inside the building and through its interior until they reached a lounge. Several Starborn were there, sitting in chairs and talking, as well as two strangers. The Starborn were all Rangers, the Commander's elite troops. The strangers were . . . .odd.

One was wearing flashy colours like a warrior of the People. He wore a brilliant red jacket and a vibrant blue shirt of some kind of silk. He wore trousers of a dark material and the gold rings and bracelets of a blooded warrior. He even had the look of a southerner.

The other looked like a hero. Tall, well built, with a lordly manner and shiny black hair (even if it was cut to short); he seemed every inch a leader of men. His left cheek was marked with a scar. He gazed a Serel. "You are the guide?"

"Yes lord," Serel replied.

"Good. The Rangers have high praise for your skills. You are familiar with the Poisoned Vale?"

"Yes lord. I know the tribes of the region and speak their tongue."

The lord smiled. "I am Jolan Gix and it is the will of the Emperor that I deal with menace there. You will assist us in this endevour and you will be richly rewarded if we succeed."

"If I refuse?" Serel asked. The answer would tell him what kind of man he was dealing with.

"The danger I am here to deal with threatens, the People, the Starborn, and your own family. I would do my best to persuade you otherwise. If that was not effective, I would escalate to unpleasant threats If that failed, I would make an example out of you and everything you love that would cause even hardened warriors to blanch. The next guide would accept."

Brutal, direct, honest. And the threats were not his first choice. "Lord, I am your man." What other choice did Serel have?

[Imperial Overlord]

Lord Gix promised a king's ransom in gold should he return alive from this mission and a pension should none of them return. He was given time to compose a message to his wives and children, explaining his absence to them. A Starborn scribe transcribed his words onto paper that a messenger would then repeat.

He advised the Starborn on what belongings to pack, but the Rangers did not need his help. There were six of them there and he knew them all. They were blooded warriors, men of note who had far from the City of the Gods without their brothers around to support them. They always one and came back with trophies. Each Ranger was marked with a tattoo for every victory. Their bare arms were lists of triumphs.

The hauled bags of goods towards a landing field. A great flying machine called a Valkyrie waited. Inside it had room for many warriors and their weapons. The Rangers began securing their packs inside.

The giant assisted them in loading. They gave him great deference. The respect, and the distance, were clear in their body langauge. As the Starborn tending to be taller and broader than the People, so he was taller and broader than the Starborn. The woman was hauling gear as well. The southern looking one was nowhere to be seen.

His possessions were fewer than that of the Starborn. Just a pack with dried food, some ammunition, a change of clothes, and a few tools. Surviving in the Poisoned Vale was more a matter of knowing what not to eat and not getting offending the tribes of the region. In his heart, he feared the inquisitor intended to bring war to those tribes. The weapons and machines of the Imperium were mighty, but they would need more men to bring the tribes to heel. To go attempt such with so few men was to invite death.

Lord Gix arrived with the southron in tow. They slung their bags and hopped in. They belted in with a considerable degree of familiarity. The southron was wearing an armoured bodyglove like the rest now. The Valkyrie's engines whinned as the pilot brought them on line and then they were lifting into the air.

The trip took nearly an hour before they reached their destinationa, a large clearing somwhere deep inside the mist shrouded jungle. As the Valkyrie neared the ground, the Rangers dropped out and formed a perimeter. Bags were then unloaded and claimed by their owners.

Lord Gix raised his hand and consulted glowing lights that appeared on his skin. He turned to Serel. "You've had friendly dealings with the L'rex before?" The tribe was one of the fiercer ones and even for the people of this region, known to possess many witches among its numbers.

"Yes lord. Two years past."

"They should be that way," he said pointing to the west. "Let's get moving."