Our descent unto the surface of Hestia Majoris was trying. In addition to only having the one Hive City, the planet also only had one continent, which ate up barely fifteen percent of the planet’s surface. The rest was water. Among other atmospheric and spatial factors, this resulted in making Hestia Majoris a bio-rich, inescapably humid world with a treacherously dense atmosphere. Tremendous algae cultures were harvested across the world’s seas and brought to Abseradon, where they were squeezed and refined to pure, Carbonized pulp, or other more specialized forms of biomass. Such was the Hive City’s main export.
Abseradon was, like most Hive Cities, a behemoth in size, but among its peers that size was wider rather than taller. Many Hive Cities pierced through their worlds’ upper atmospheres, while Abseradon barely reached into its stratosphere. But Abseradon spread across all but the entirety of the sole continent of Hestia Majoris, from orbit appearing as a great mass of grey upon an otherwise turquoise world. Rain fell in perpetuity over Abseradon, Tech-Priests having engineered as such in the design of the city, as a natural form of cleansing biological waste. This also manifested in the city being ever darkened under its own storm clouds.
In theory, the lower Underhives, with a ceiling of the upper city between them and the skies, should not have often see this rainfall, lest they be drowned in it. The streams of waste should have been filtered out to Hestia Majoris’s oceans for recultivation of algae; but occasionally filters broke, and some great underground lakes of water and with islands of biomass had been known to form in the Underhives. To all the people of the city, the rainfall was seen as a form of purity, of cleansing—an inverted interpretation of the Emperor’s Holy Light and Cleansing Flame. Regardless, the rain was largely culturally celebrated, even if the physical effects on Abseradon’s populace made them a generally dour sort. Unfortunately, much of the design of my approach to Inquisitorial operations relied on air support, and a constant deluge over Abseradon would have made that trickier.
Nevertheless, our Bird had seen worse, as had its pilot—Mirena Law. Law was formerly an attack fighter pilot for the Navis Imperialis, and had dozens of accomplishments to her name. I had little doubt she was the best pilot this side of Cadia, as she so often claimed, and I relished having her as a member of my retinue. She, however, hated the Bird—a Thunderhawk, a large Gunship the Inquisition had once impounded for some investigation long before my time. The vessel was far greater in size than I needed, but I figured it was better to have more room than one needed rather than less. Even so, its spacious hull was originally intended for carrying and supporting troops of the Astartes or their vehicles, of which we were both far smaller and less numerous. But its intense adamantium and ceramite hull provided ample defenses for an Inquisitor of the Ordo Hereticus, and its avionics and sensory equipment proved equally valuable to my needs. And though I had not found need nor resources for its typical bomb armament, the rest of its weapon array was fully loaded and completely operational, from its Hellstrike Missiles to its dorsal Battle Cannon. Much as she may have loathed the vessel’s bulky size, Mirena certainly enjoyed having such ample weaponry to play with as the situation demanded.
“Touchdown in five minutes, please stay strapped in for landing,” Mirena’s Verusian accent piped in over vox. Her voice carried like a dance, ebbing to and fro with poignant accentuation. It was always pleasant to hear.
“Did you have to pick such a turbulent path?” asked Okustin, also over vox. Proving his point, the Bird shuddered and jolted all of us in our seats.
“You’re welcome to come to the cockpit and do better, Hans,” Mirena replied, chuckling. “The skies may be clear as crystal but the air here is friggin’ thick. A ship this size was doomed as soon as it cleared the thermosphere. Of course, you can also blame Cal for that.”
“How exactly is it my fault, Mirena?” I asked, paying some small attention to the vox chatter while keeping my main focus on Castecael, our crew’s medicae, as she tried to administer acclimation supplements to my Agents. Many were reluctant, only going along when they caught my stern gaze in the landing bay. I wanted Castecael to finish up and strap in for landing, as Mirena had instructed.
“I keep asking for something more lithe and agile, sir, but you never seem to hear those requests,” Mirena replied.
“I hear them fine. Perhaps I can find an arrangement of such should you retire,” I responded, grinning. Mirena had made it very clear that she had little interest in retiring from her duties. [She] was here until [her] unnatural end, as she had once put it. Since then, the notion of her retirement was a running joke amongst my crew.
Mirena sighed. “Oh, twist the knife, sir,” she answered, getting a chuckle out of me and Okustin.
To my left, Zha Trantos complied with Castecael’s requests to take the supplement immediately, she understanding well the importance of interatmospheric acclimation. I did the same. “Thank you, Castecael,” I nodded to her with a smile. “Anyone left?” I asked as Castecael loomed over me, wrapping an arm around whatever she could find a grip on. I regretted not having her hand out the supplements sooner, for her own sake.
“Just one,” Castecael replied, sighing, and bobbed her head to my right, where Penitent sat a short distance away.
“She’s not accepting it?” I asked.
“No, sir, nor the goggles, even,” she replied, flustered, long blonde hair shielding my view of her crimson eyes. Eyes which had already tired of the day, when our day still had much to do to settle in to a new world. Castecael was an ambitious, brilliant woman, but a young and, at times, naïve one. She had fled the bureaucracy of the Officio Medicae, seeking more active, humane means of saving lives. Her flight had brought the Medicae to seek an Inquisitorial rebuke, which is how I had found her. Unfortunately for the Medicae’s vengeful desires, I took her under my wing, and Castecael’s medicinal aspirations found a home.
I looked to Penitent, and after a moment, my bodyguard turned her gaze to me. I could feel her surface-level thoughts, as though she were trying to send them my way. She felt no need for medical aid in acclimation, believing herself undeserving of such. Her quest for penance ever irked me. “Don’t be a fool,” I said aloud to her. “Take what the good doctor provides for you. I will not ask again, for I cannot have my Agents operating in any state less than their maximum. Yes, even the goggles.” I then turned back to Castecael. “Thank you for your services, doctor. Strap in soon as you can.”
“Thank you, Cal,” Castecael nodded, and gingerly strolled over to Penitent after another wave of turbulence struck our Bird.
“The supplement will only suffice medicinally,” Zha piped up next to me, hands folded in her lap. “Atmospheric density and surface humidity is likely to be very unsatisfactory.”
I nodded in agreement. “An unfortunate truth.”
“I advise masks or respirators,” Zha suggested.
I nodded again. “I will try to requisition some for the crew. Would you wish to remain on the Bird, Ms. Trantos?”
“It was my understanding that I had logistical duties to perform in-city, sir,” she objected.
“I could ask Silas if you’d rather—”
“Ah, you’re attempting to be considerate. Thank you, Mr. Blackgar. But no, turning to Mr. Hager for the performance of my duties would be most inefficient. I will manage,” she replied, producing another grin from me.
Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!
“Thank you, Ms. Trantos,” I nodded to her. In addition to eventually having her peruse Abseradon’s records of its tithe—once I had procured them—in the more immediate I had tasked her with finding some place for our crew to stay in the city, which was a logistical nightmare only a savant could begin to make sense of.
“The provisioning of my services is my pleasure, Mr. Blackgar,” she nodded in return, managing a smile of her own. Zha Trantos was both the youngest member of my crew, being merely 24 years of age, and the most recent addition to my outfit, having been made an Agent of mine just seven years ago. Even so, she had proven herself highly capable within such a short timeframe, and was ever polite to the point of utter innocence, even in the presence of the dark horrors of our work. At times, I envied her the carefree smile she would wear whilst tasked with more trying calculative endeavors, she being prodigious even among the presence of other savants. She had soft green eyes, dark, braided hair, and deep brown skin, it at times seeming as the night sky, given the right lighting. When she was working a task in her mind or on a dataslate, she would often pace in empty stoicism like a servitor. When she had something to report, she would wear that enviable grin and move with a hopping bounce to each of her steps, like an excited, eager child. She was, in a word, fun.
Or as fun as this universe allowed.
I reflected on my first meeting with her on Thantalus. The grimy, weak, and weary savant had been far from a cheerful sight, yet she quickly proved herself capable and a fine addition to my retinue. Had I the resources of her gifts at the time, Thantalus may have been resolved with much less bloodshed.
But that was then.
Now, Mirena voxxed in to everyone again. “Touchdown in thirty seconds. If you’re not strapped to something, your face is gonna meet the bay floor.”
My thoughts turned to Castecael, who had successfully administered Penitent’s supplement and thereafter had strapped herself in safely. “Everyone’s good, Mirena, thank you,” I voxxed to her. “Hold off on opening the bay doors until I give the order.”
“Copy, sir,” she replied. Touchdown was sudden, and with a jolt, but comparably much less rocky than the random turbulence throughout our descent. “That’s touchdown. Landing bay is clear for now, but I have readings of a pedestrian craft on approach. ETA seventeen minutes, 25,000 passengers. Advise clearing bay before arrival.”
“Agreed. Well flown, Mirena,” I told her, and then unstrapped myself from my seat and rose to the bay doors before turning to my outfit, who was rising to follow me. I nodded to them before addressing them with their marching orders. “Before we set out, ladies and gentlemen, there are two things to discuss. First, the nature of our operation here. I do not expect a warzone, so we are perhaps over-equipped in that regard. But it is a Hive City nevertheless. Behind me, through those doors, lie billions of people. Among them are likely dozens, if not hundreds of ruthless heretics, and millions more members of gangs, and a few thousand representatives of royal houses that would just as soon act the same part if given the chance. Be always on your guard. It would give me pleasure to drive every heretic from this city, but that is not within my remit, and we have not the time for it.
“Second, there is the matter of Hestia Majoris itself. The world is hot. Humid. Sticky. The mass-produced pulp of biomass Abseradon produces will cling to you in the air, it will form a paste upon your skin. Our time here will not be pleasant. Keep your eyes covered, and your mouth too, if you can help it. I will see about requisitioning respirators as soon as I can, but until then, I recommend covering your mouths with whatever you can. People do live here, and the air is not toxic. It will, however, be most revolting. Alright, enough of that. You all have your orders: Silas, you and your fireteam get the dock. Hans, make personal contact with the Magistratum on planet. Ms. Trantos, find us a residency. A hab if you must, though something higher off the ground is preferrable. Mirena, Castecael, stay with the Bird. I’ll want you both mobile. Penitent, you’re with me. Everyone ready?”
A resounding “Yes, sir!” followed, even from Castecael and Zha, neither of whom had active military experience. Mirena replied as such through vox.
“Good. Mirena, open the bay. How long until that transport gets here?”
“You have fourteen minutes. Better get moving. Enjoy the city, Cal!” she replied, chuckling to herself before lowering the bay doors. The heat and moisture hit us altogether at once as the bay opened with an audible gasp from the difference in air pressure, making everyone but Silas’s fireteam—who were clothed head to toe in combat suits, with their own respirators—stumble and waver. Even Penitent, who was a titan of a woman, recoiled from the immediate smell of Abseradon. Castecael, who did not need to leave the Bird, made the wise decision of heading to the cockpit to join Mirena, shying away from subjecting herself to the reeking stench that flooded the bay.
After he motioned his fireteam out of the Bird, Silas strolled up to me, where I stood hesitant, letting the humidity fog up my goggles. “You seem reluctant, sir,” said the expressionless, fear-inspiring skull painted over his Omnishield helmet.
“Just getting my bearings,” I replied dryly. Or would have, were ‘dry’ a concept that existed on this planet.
Silas clapped me on my shoulders. “One foot in front of the other, Commissar,” he told me, referring to my old rank in the Militarum, and then strode out after his fireteam. Okustin followed and strode through the landing bay with only minor hesitation, his once-black hair already caked with the pinkish-green moisture in the air. Penitent stood resolute at my side, albeit still as visibly uncomfortable as I was, and the once-chipper Zha hid behind us both in a futile attempt to shield herself from Hestia Majoris’s surface.
“Far too warm a welcome,” I muttered to myself, sighing, and then strode forth as well, joined by Penitent and the reluctant Zha. As our Bird was made for the forms of the Astartes and their tanks, the bay door itself was not a small step down to the landing pad we had arrived in, and instead required a leap down, as though one were hopping out of a truck. My boots splashed in something that could barely be considered water, and then splished and sploshed their way to a nearby dock attendant, who seemed visibly panicked. “Commissar Blackgar,” I half-lied, for the purposes of maintaining a cover, “Seeking to station my craft here. Is everything in order, sir?”
“C-commissar?” the attendant asked weakly. Doubt ebbed from his form as stench wafted from the city. He did not believe me of the role I had alleged. After a quick glance around the scene, I did not need to wonder why. Though I may have looked the part of a Commissar, I was joined by a Sister Repentia, flanked by a savant, had emerged from a massive former Astartes vessel, and was in some capacity associated with the four specialized troops of the fireteam securing the landing bay’s perimeter. I did not imagine this attendant knew what they were by name, necessarily, but the looks of the Tempestus Scion, Primaris Psyker, Mordian Iron Guardsman, and Harakoni Warhawk were likely alien enough to be something far too unique for a mere Commissar to command.
“Subtlety, it seems, was not my strong point,” I whispered to Penitent.
Penitent managed a smile amidst the muck of the world. “But you do at least know how to make an entrance.”
I reached into my coat and pulled out my Rosette, brandishing it before the attendant whilst also trying—and failing—to shield it from the humid air. The attendant recoiled in fear. “You know what this is?” I asked him. He nodded meekly. “Then to you and your superiors I am Commissar Blackgar. Now, my vessel?”
“You…your vessel is-is-is cleared f-for permanent docking at b-bay nineteen, C-Commissar,” the attendant replied.
“Good man,” I nodded to him. “You get that?” I asked over vox.
“Loud and shakily clear,” Mirena replied.
“Do you have a name?” I asked the still-cowering attendant.
“F-Fineas, sir.”
“Thank you, Fineas. Enjoy the rest of your evening. And when the civilian craft behind us arrives, do try to look more composed please, hm?” I asked of him, not wanting to make anything seem out of the ordinary. He nodded meekly. I assumed he’d be able to regain himself as soon as we got out of his landing bay. To that end, I made for the exit that Okustin had taken some time ago while typing an order to Silas via the Monitron in my arm. I then turned to Zha while Silas gathered his fireteam together. “Ms. Trantos, Ms. Gao and Mr. Hager will accompany you to assist you with your duties,” I told her. Czevia Gao was the Mordian I had listed out, above, and though she was a woman of few—and often very direct—words, she was entirely capable and trustworthy, vetted by my own hand. “They will be more than capable of maintaining your safety in this city. When you have found us a place of residence, have Mr. Hager contact me. How are you holding up?”
Pinching her nose, her response was soured to the point of being humorous. “I confess I have not the verbiage to describe my current state of being, Mr. Blackgar. Suffice to say, in the Low Gothic, this city reeks.”
“Indeed it does,” I nodded, allowing myself a smile. Penitent failed at suppressing a laugh of her own. When Silas and his gang reached us, I took Luther Vaigg—the Harakoni—and Xavier Gradshi—the Psyker—back to the Bird, while Silas and Czevia escorted Zha further into the city. Playing the part of a Commissar or not, I did not want to show my Inquisitorial face any more than I needed to, and so remained on the Bird as it flew over to bay nineteen. I did not often command the individual members of Silas’s fireteam, instead leaving the management thereof to him. But I needed his Monitron with Zha for the time being, and mine—and some infantry firepower—with the Bird, so a split was necessary.