Columns of black smoke ascended at the edges of vast fields of green, rising high into darkening vermillion skies over Thantalus, the final cinders of a once populous and noble planet reduced to soot and ash. The sky’s gradient began to fade to a more maroon color as night fell and fires rose, closing out the final throes of life for the world. It was not the first time I had seen a world aflame, unknowable souls cast to oblivion. But it was the first time I, of my own judgment, had condemned a planet to such finality.
Was I upset that it had been by my hand that millions, if not billions, of those on Thantalus had died? Was I concerned about the political ramifications of a sudden gap in some of the noble houses of the Ixaniad Sector? Was I perturbed that such an endeavor had nearly cost me my life?
No, of course not. Such was the demand of an Inquisitor’s work. If I was upset about anything, it was of the necessity of my presence on Thantalus in the first place. I did not believe it a difficult task to stay within the good graces of the Golden Throne.
And, as evidence of my more moderate beliefs, I did not even believe one needed to be a fervent follower of the faith to go without earning the Inquisition’s ire. Yet here I, and my Agents, were, on behalf of the former blasphemies the world had cultivated.
Speaking of those Agents, it was Silas Hager who, as ever clad in the heavy carapace armor of the Tempestus Scions whilst in the field, approached me while I looked on at the surging fires of the world. “Sir,” he called to me, voice modified by the speakers of his helmet to include a twinge of digitization. “There’s movement, one click east, on approach. Slow, small, we believe a single entity on foot.”
I looked to the east, and saw nothing, but my senses—more accurately, my psykana—did twinge as I scanned the rolling hills of calm, verdant grasses. While I, consciously, admitted to myself for the first time since initially landing on the planet that Thantalus could be quite beautiful when not aflame, my subconscious mind had other thoughts. I could not identify them with any accuracy, of course, but the general feeling I got was positive. I did not get the sense that an assailant lurked in the hills and valleys ahead.
Silas waited patiently for my response while I took in the scene ahead.
When I had made my decision on whether—and how—to intercept whoever it was that was approaching us, I turned and stepped nearer to Silas. Even without his armor, he was a couple inches my taller. In his carapace armor and Omnishield helm, I needed to gaze upward slightly to lock eyes with the emotionless, twin red crystals that beamed down at me out of his skull-patterned helmet.
“Let us greet our guest, then,” I declared. Silas nodded and, in one motion, drew and checked the charging status on his lasgun. “Keep that ready, though I do not expect it will be needed,” I told him, walking past his side toward the Bird, our mobile place of residence. While much of my team was packing things up for our final departure from the world, Castecael Rock, my medicae specialist, sat idly upon the Bird’s extended landing platform, enjoying the opportunity to take in the sights as I had been. “Castecael,” I called to her. She turned her gaze to me at once, eyebrows raised over calm crimson eyes. “Let’s go for a walk. Bring a field kit,” I said, to which she nodded in silence, long, light blonde hair drooping over her face in the process.
Castecael vanished from sight for a few moments to venture deeper into the Bird for her things, but returned to my view soon enough and leapt off the extended bay doors to join me with a kit at her side. She, unlike Silas, was a few inches shorter than I was, prompting me to angle my gaze down to face her. “Where to, Inquisitor?” she asked me. Being addressed as ‘Inquisitor’ was still awkward for me, not least because I had not been one for very long. But more than that, a good handful of those in my retinue addressed me by my first name, and I intended to foster that sort of a relationship with the rest. Castecael was relatively new, so I understood and could excuse her formality. Silas, on the other hand, was a veteran in my employ, yet still insisted on addressing me as ‘Sir.’ It was something for me to work on with him yet.
“Just over that ridge,” I answered her, nodding to the east. “Stay behind me until I say otherwise. Silas,” I called to my Scion, though he was never far from my side. “You take point.”
“Yes, sir,” Silas agreed, and, lasrifle at the ready, marched ahead toward where he and his operatives had detected motion on approach to our camp. I let him get a few steps ahead of me before following in his footsteps, though Castecael trailed more closely behind me. She and I moved as though on a casual stroll whereas Silas maintained combat readiness. Every now and then Castecael poked her head around me to try to see where we were heading to. I needed not force my gaze around Silas; my mind would suffice to discern my surroundings, much as I hated relying on my psykana. Yet still, it assured me that there was no presence of malice on our heading.
This, despite the fact that our battles on Thantalus had involved local militias, experienced troops from noble houses, armored vehicles, and even run-ins with the daemonic. The world had hidden many adversaries, as we had discovered by force. Yet it was none of these that we found some few hundred feet from our camp, and I was surely not expecting to find a teenage girl covered in ash and grime, with her hands on her knees panting from too great a walk or run.
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“Identify yourself!” Silas ordered the girl, lasrifle aimed at her torso in an instant. I could not blame him. A girl such as she could have been a last-minute suicide-bomber sent by the houses, or an engine through which the daemonic could emerge. I suppose both options amounted to the same end result for all parties involved. Regardless, Silas could not have known that the girl was neither of these things, but my mind could, and it insisted I give her more of a chance than I ever gave the houses.
I placed a hand on Silas’s right shoulder and stood next to, if still behind, his side. He glanced to me, keeping his rifle raised, and I nodded. Finally, the barrel of his firearm lowered. “Thirsty?” I asked the girl. Exact details about her figure were hard to make out on account of her bemired skin and garments. On a hunch, I wagered she was a native of the world, which would have suggested a darker complexion and was partially confirmed by her weary hazel eyes, and she otherwise stood at about Castecael’s height. Dark, thick hair had been muddied and knotted down the back of her head and neck, not crossing over her shoulders. Beyond that, without probing deeper into her mind, I knew not.
“Very,” she croaked out, her voice hoarse.
“Castecael, your kit have any water?” I asked my medicae without turning to face her.
“Not usually for drinking so much as cleaning, but here,” Castecael answered, handing me a small bottle. I took it, clapped Silas’s shoulder once more, and then strode ahead for the girl myself. I knew Silas was unhappy that I was putting myself at risk in that regard, but he was never one to complain.
After raising the bottle of water out toward the girl, I asked, “What’s your name?”
“Zha…Zha Trantos,” she coughed, heaved in and out a large sigh, and took the bottle from me. She then stood upright and tossed her head back to gulp down the water in one fell swoop. Afterward, she contemplated the bottle still in her grasp, wondering what to do with it. I took it back from her. “Thank you. Zha Trantos, librarian and data reciprocator for House Temmeres,” she introduced herself. Silas stiffened up, as did I, at the mention of her house’s name. It was one of a handful we had razed to the ground. “You’re Inquisitor Callant Blackgar, aren’t you?”
“And you’re a savant,” I wagered, which was confirmed with a nodding response. My name did not get around to many libraries of the world before I had smote them along with the houses they had served. Furthermore, the number of people that could have found me or my camp was very intentionally limited. It would have taken extreme deductive and predictive gifts to identify me in as short a span of time as the girl had. Gifts like those becoming of a potent data-savant. “Bit far from home, aren’t we, Ms. Trantos?”
“I cannot estimate how far you are from home, Inquisitor, but I have covered some 52.3 miles of ground to find you, over three days and nights with the minimally required amount of rest, yes,” she answered, still panting from her journey. Yes, a savant. Not the first I had ever spoken with, and therefore her statistically-grounded approach to answering questions was not new to me, but it was still an earful all the same.
“So you were after me, then,” I asserted. Again, she replied with a nod. “What for?”
“Everyone I know has been incinerated. I don’t want to be alone, there’s not enough to do or think about when alone,” she explained. A fearful tremble lurked in her eyes. She had seen much of the incineration she spoke of. She knew it had happened by my hands, and she knew I was capable of more, much more. Yet she fought against herself to reveal any of this to me, apparently not knowing what my mind could sense from her. “If they’ll have me, I wish to offer my services to the Holy Inquisition, howsoever I may be needed. And if not, I believe I have rendered my services to the Throne as best I could, but that those services are no longer required.”
It was a genuine request—though it had been stated as an offer. There was, as had been the case so far, no semblance of malice in her words. She did not hold a grudge against me for my actions nor intended to join the Inquisition for any form of personal benefit. She just wanted to put her mind to work, and knew that no such stimulus remained on Thantalus for her. The latter half of her speech was an unspoken request for termination, if I deemed it necessary; my campaign had ‘missed’ her in its cleansing of the world, and she was none too happy about that either. “Castecael,” I summoned my medicae, and she was by my side in a heartbeat. “Pat the girl down.”
Though Zha raised her arms to her sides and assented to my demand, she still declared, “I have no arms or munitions on my person.”
“We’ll ensure that on our own,” I replied as Castecael obliged my order. While Castecael was a physician by trade, and while Silas would have perhaps been more equipped for the detection of any such armaments, I did not expect a savant to field anything too elusive, and if I could maintain the girl’s last few shreds of dignity in offering her a female inspector, I would. When Castecael had finished her inspection of Zha’s person, she looked to me and shook her head. No weapons or concealed substances. “Silas.”
“Sir,” he answered at once.
I paused in giving him orders, if only for a moment. I took that time to look Zha up and down once more. For a former member of a noble house, she was presently clothed in little more than rags. She was in a rush to find me, I suppose, clearly aware that my retinue was soon to depart from her homeworld, and in her haste and along her journey, had ruined her attire. “Help the girl aboard the Bird. Castecael, prepare a medicae assessment for her and be ready to treat any wounds she may have accrued on her journey here. And Ms. Trantos,” I started, and held a hand out to the girl. “Welcome to the Inquisition. Probationary, of course, and pending a purity screening. But I’ll find work for you to prove yourself on, and if you can manage it, there’ll be plenty more.”
“Thank you, Inquisitor,” she answered, taking and shaking my hand gently. There was not much strength left in her, so it was a good thing Silas propped her up from under the arm opposite that which I had shook.
“Call me Callant,” I replied, releasing her from my grasp, and turned back to the Bird. “Let’s get out of here.”