“And that’s the extent of things, as I am aware of them,” I told the group. I was sitting on one side of a long table in a dark room, whose walls I could not make out. Sitting opposite me were a handful of Inquisitors, including Lord Inquisitor Caliman, who while not my direct superior, did still outrank me. Skar placed him in charge of overseeing my debriefing and deciding what the next steps should be for me. Caliman, a hardline monodominant, did not particularly like me, not merely because of my leniency and the existence of my compassion, but also because I was a psyker. While most monodominants at least tolerated psykers as being a necessity to enforce the Emperor’s Will, Caliman still believed we were better off purged in the pursuit of purity. He a large and burly sort, and while I did not know his past his appearance suggested a military background not unlike my own. He was orderly, clean shaven of face and hair, and did not need to puff his chest forward to demonstrate his vast physical brawn. He was a man whose simple physicality allowed him to hunt kill psykers. Not just anyone could get away with that.
Inquisitor Emile Al-Amar sat to Caliman’s left. Corvin Hythe sat to Caliman’s right. The trio were all Ordo Hereticus, like myself, which made sense, as this was an Ordo Hereticus outpost. However, as my story had unfolded, they saw fit to bring others in to hear it. Inquisitor Erasmus Sadaeiv of the Ordo Malleus sat next to Emile, and when I described my duel with the Phaenonites, Erasmus called for a pause to the meeting and brought in another guest. That guest was Brother-Captain Mezentius, a Terminator of the Grey Knights. I recounted the surroundings of my duel, and the duel itself, to Brother Mezentius, who listened patiently and intently. He did not ask questions immediately afterward, instead waiting for the rest of my report to conclude.
A further guest was invited to the scene as well, when I spoke of my battle with the Skitarii and Holicar Espirov. This final guest was Massino Varnus, Techsorcist of the Adeptus Mechanicus. Unlike Espirov, his robes remained red, and his mask was one of technology, not a Xenos skull. And just like the rest of my audience, Varnus waited for my tale to conclude before asking any questions of it. Speaking of which…
“So, ask away,” I added after finishing my recounting of events.
“It may be prudent to let our guests speak first,” Hythe suggested.
“Agreed. Brother Mezentius, have you anything to ask?” beckoned Lord Caliman.
Mezentius, the wall of white ceramite that he was, had been too large for the seats at our table, and only now stepped up closer to it, having previously been standing behind Erasmus. “The thing you sensed in the Phaenonite’s head—can you describe it?” Mezentius asked of me. His voice was modulated by his helmet, but still came out as being direct and strong, as expected of a true Astartes.
“I’m afraid I never saw it,” I shook my head.
“No, but you were—mentally—within its vicinity. If you thought about it, what images would come to mind of its appearance?” he suggested.
I paused and took a deep breath. “Red, like the color of the blood in the room in Ryke’s head. White fangs, slightly yellowed with use, black claws. Black horns. Orange, beady eyes. I could feel the eyes. It was watching me, though I sensed it hungered for Ryke,” I described.
“Noted. Have you seen such imagery, physically, mentally, or in your dreams, since your encounter with the Phaenonite?”
“I have not.”
“You mentioned daemonspawn appeared in Abseradon during the Red Stain. Did you get a look at any of them?”
“I did not.”
“Then why make the claim that they existed?”
I nodded in understanding. “There were other Inquisitors in Abseradon. You weren’t here for that part of the debriefing, but that is why I instructed Lord Captain Batos to allow anyone with a Rosette off the world. One of the Inquisitors was Ivan Gallas, Ordo Malleus. He stayed on the ground during the uprising, believing his cadre could assist the ground forces. We kept in touch. He reported to me of their existence, but did not go into detail about them. He was killed during the fighting. I do not know if daemons killed him, or the puppets.”
“I knew Gallas,” Erasmus nodded, confirming my story. “A fine servant of the Emperor. Shame we’ve lost him. Sorry, Brother Mezentius, continue.”
“A question for the table, if I may,” Mezentius suggested.
“Please,” Caliman insisted.
“Were any bodies of these…puppets, as Inquisitor Blackgar calls them, ever recovered?”
“Yes, a handful.”
“What organs did they possess of ours?” Mezentius asked, and gestured to himself.
“Ah,” Caliman nodded, and turned to Al-Amar. “Emile?”
Al-Amar reached into her jacket and pulled out a thick, bound document, and began perusing over its records. “Organs One through Six; Nine through Eleven; and the Eighteenth; were all present within the bodies. Strangely, the Eighteenth was rudimentary, and did not match the genetic material of its host body. More strangely, each Eighteenth in each of the host bodies we’ve recovered has shared the same genetic material, though we’ve been unable to identify whose—likely a servant of the Arch-Enemy.”
Mezentius nodded, then looked to me, and I believe I heard a chuckle. “It takes a man of impeccable character to take down a being of that caliber, much less bare-handed, much less down an arm. I know, I was not here for that part of the story, but that is as the whispered rumors say. It’s quite the tale you tell, Inquisitor Blackgar.”
“It’s the truth,” I said flatly.
“I did not mean to insinuate otherwise. And truth though it may be, my Brothers will surely not believe it,” Mezentius replied. “I have no further questions at this time.”
“Techsorcist Varnus, anything you wish to ask Inquisitor Blackgar?” Caliman asked.
Varnus said nothing, but did tilt his head a bit, two blue orbs of light and glass hovered over his upper face, obscuring his eyes from outward view, while a collection of tubes coalesced into an unknown sort of gas mask that covered his nose and mouth. The whole time I had been recounting my tale, I felt he was studying me. That feeling had not changed. “Techsorcist Varnus?” Caliman repeated.
“What are the council’s plans for Inquisitor Blackgar?” Varnus asked at last.
“That remains to be seen,” Caliman admitted.
“Unsatisfactory. Inquisitor Blackgar, if your dimwitted peers permit your continued existence, I endeavor to request to form an alliance with you. Not within your retinue or cadre as you define the terms, but as a peer of your own, working in close conjunction by your side,” Varnus explained. Caliman and his right and left hands heaved out sighs of tested patience.
“What for?” I asked Varnus, unable to suppress my grin at Caliman being insulted.
“I have pursued Holicar Espirov for the better part of one-point-three standard centuries. He has eluded me often, and bested me on two occasions. I would not have permitted a third. But you have succeeded where I had not, and eliminated the vile traitor of the Omnissiah, alongside a considerable traitor-Skitarii force of his deployment, as well as the biological weapons he manufactured against you. This suggests you are a man of flesh of unusual talent and great capacity for violence. I value this. You suggest that Espirov had superiors that installed psychic shields within his mind, and that his actions on Abseradon were goaded by those masters. I concur. And I want their heads. I imagine you desire a similar outcome,” Varnus elaborated.
“I do,” I nodded.
“As I had deduced. Then an alliance seems mutually beneficial,” he suggested.
“And what exactly can you offer me, Techsorcist?” I asked him.
“My extensive experience and knowledge of the technology employed by the heretic scum. I suspect the Phaenonites are also of your quarry, and you have witnessed firsthand the Warp-augmetics they employ. I would gladly assist with dismantling their larger operations—a once-ally of Espirov’s is an eternal enemy of mine. On a more intimate level, I offer my assistance with augmetics needed for you and your crew. I can design a worthy replacement arm for you, or otherwise assist with other augmetics. I may be able to enable Luther Vaigg to return to Harakon safely. I do not mind providing these services for my allies,” Varnus offered.
I nodded. “We will have to talk more of this later, my friend.”
“Agreed,” both he and Caliman said in unison. I turned to Caliman for the Inquisitorial line of questioning and nodded to him. He nodded in return, readying the questions he had. We may not have liked each other, but we did respect each other’s positions in the Imperium. “The notion of Exterminatus was frequently brought up in your report. You seemed ardently against its application, but your reasons were, at best, not clear, or selfishly guided at worst. Care to clarify?” Caliman asked me.
“There were a handful of reasons not to pursue Exterminatus. Yes, keeping my head on its shoulders was one. Let’s not pretend we in the Inquisition have never played a lethal form of politics with one another,” I jested, expecting at least some sense of humor to reveal itself across the table from me. None came. “But the other reasons were tactical considerations. First and foremost, an Exterminatus takes time to ready and deploy and is not a very subtle event. I believe that the heretics, given the resources they clearly possessed from the beginning, could easily have found a means to flee a planet during the setup phase of an Exterminatus operation. And in that situation, what good was it but to have delayed—and not stopped—the heretics in achieving their goals? Secondly, in a broader sense, I did not feel Abseradon was ever irrecoverable. The heretics themselves may have been totally corrupt, but that corruption was not spreading to many others—Merek and his goons were intimidated into their obedience, but did not believe in or support the heretics. Even if my life was lost in Abseradon, eventually the heretics would meet a military operation they could not contend with. It was in their nature, in believing that they were better than others. They were destined to fail, even if not by my hand, and Exterminatus would have risen the cost of accelerating that destiny to unnecessary levels.”
“Why did you willingly meet with Governor Merek prior to your kidnapping?”
“To avoid the unnecessary loss of Arbites life, and to avoid causing a scene in the habblock. With our position known to the Arbites, resistance would have forced us to retire to some other location—which, I suppose, ultimately happened anyways, but I wanted to avoid that if I could. Moreover, as I mentioned at the end of my report, Planetary Governors like to operate under the assumption that they exist on par with the Inquisition. This is voidshit, of course, but while I was on his world I was content to play by Merek’s rules—prior to his betrayal, that is—to avoid stirring up greater conflict. The extermination of the heretic in our line of work is most readily carried out with as few environmental interruptions as possible,” I explained.
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“Your relationships with Silas Hager, Mirena Law, and the Penitent—you seem to tolerate a great deal of insubordination from them.”
“Is that a question?”
“Would you classify them as being insubordinate? And would you say you possess an unwillingness to discipline them given the loss of your previous regiment?” Caliman asked.
“I would not, on both counts. My Agents do as I require of them and have never once disobeyed a direct order. Their emotional investments and predilections are not for me to correct. I do not run a regiment, I run a retinue,” I replied, squinting at the Lord Inquisitor.
“Two of the aforementioned three disobeyed your order to let you stand and return to work, instead forcing you into medicae attention,” Corvin noted, to which Caliman nodded.
“And if you overlooked that, Inquisitor Blackgar, what else have you overlooked?” Caliman furthered.
“The tolerance I permit myself to have for my Agents is my concern and mine alone. You possess the authority to dictate how I myself am to act in the Imperium, but you do not control the means through which I manage my Agents. Do not make the mistake of believing otherwise,” I quipped.
“Do not make the mistake of believing you possess any power in this room, Blackgar,” Caliman shot back. “You are as the Canoness you interrogated on Abseradon. Which, by the way, stirred the metaphorical pot of politics quite greatly, between our Ordo and the Sororitas. Within that conflict we believe you to be in the right and are willing to protect our own, but do not push things, Blackgar. You are one of dozens of your kind and can be easily replaced. Remember that. Now, describe Silas Hager to me.”
“Loyal. Exceptional. The perfect soldier. A mind for tactics, and a man who knows how to accomplish any objective assigned to him.”
“Mirena Law.”
“Loyal. Exceptional. I have not seen a better pilot this side of Cadia, and expect I never shall.”
“Yes, you’ve forced the inside joke outward. What of her imprisonment?”
“Irrelevant.”
“To you?”
“To the needs of the Imperium. Mirena Law’s aerial warfare skills extend beyond the cockpit; she is an impeccable soldier, the very sort any leader with a brain stem would desire.”
“The Penitent.”
“Loyal. Exceptional. Devout. Powerful to the extreme, and a master of martial combat. A sharpened edge of divine fury.”
“You love them.”
“As I loved the 8th.”
“No. More than that. Does it cloud your judgment?”
“It does not.”
Caliman visibly did not believe me, squinting his eyes and shaking his head slightly. “You romanticize. You described as such.”
“Love is frowned upon, not outlawed. Brothers in arms fraternize,” I suggested, and glanced to Mezentius, who nodded in agreement but otherwise said nothing. “Bonds forged in bloodshed are hard to break. They go deep. But they do not interfere with duty. It would take a warrior to know,” I suggested, smirking.
“You insolent cur!” Caliman roared, pounding the table with a fist. “For one so concerned with losing his head in Exterminatus, you ought to know to hold your tongue, Blackgar! I know well the extent of natural bonding, and I know that what you’ve admitted to exceeds that.”
“But you do not know that such a bond impedes my ability to act,” I returned. “You cannot. Because that isn’t true.”
“Tell that to the 29 billion dead of the Red Stain!” Caliman shouted.
“That’s on me, then, and not the heretics?”
“You could have let Espirov live until we disarmed his contingency! You could have done that, and in our custody, we could have gotten his masters from him, and Throne knows what else! But you refused because—”
“Because he was a heretic and deserved to meet his ultimate end given the first opportunity!” I shouted back.
“Because he killed Hans Okustin,” Caliman finished, seething. “Don’t dilute yourself, Blackgar. Don’t pretend you’re stronger than you are. Isn’t that what Silas Hager warned you about? You have an emotional weakness and it has bested you. 29 billion lives is the price of that. More, even, if we could have stopped his master’s continuing plans before they reveal themselves. Your bonds do not impede your ability to act, they force you to. You are unrestrained, and allowed your pursuit of the heretics to become personal, rather than a matter of your duty.”
Tense silence filled the room while Caliman and I stared one another down. I would not say I did not understand his perspective. In the wake of the Red Stain, the hard questions needed to be asked, the difficult assertions needed to be made. Some years ago, I was as hardline as he. Okustin was a hardline monodominant under my watch, and I had been the same under Scayn. But Caliman, it seemed, never grew to wiser, more tolerant levels. It was his weakness; he, of course, saw my tolerance as my weakness in turn.
“Do you have any further questions?” I asked him after cooling off a bit. I could not tell if he had as well, yet.
He made the sound of a musing growl, then nodded. “Gale Ryke and Foxon Silverman were known defectors of the Inquisition. Which implies they had somewhere to defect to, and Ryke implied the existence of further Phaenonite cells in the sector. Do you have any insight into their whereabouts or activity?” Caliman asked.
“I do not. As our Techsorcist inferred, I intend to pursue such an investigation into them, but have little to go on at this time,” I replied, shaking my head.
“And you could not discern Espirov’s allegiance?” Corvin asked. I shook my head again.
“I may have a suspicion,” Mezentius piped up. We turned to him. “It is not within the usual remit of my Chapter, but Espirov was described as wearing silver robes with gold trim? Such are the colors of one of the blasphemous Astartes Legions—the Iron Warriors. And they have a tendency for cybernetics and genetic growths, and would have valued Espirov’s research as described on Abseradon. Their homeworld is Medrengard, not far from this Sector, in the damned Eye of Terror. They would have the resources to acquire a Genetor like Espirov, and to provide him with rudimentary gene-seed, explaining the unidentifiability of that organ, as mentioned earlier. They are known to have Warbands within both Calixis and Scarus. It would not be a surprise to see their activity within Ixaniad as well.”
“Thank you, Brother Mezentius. If that is true, Inquisitor Blackgar, you have halted the workings of an enemy of atrocious power. For that, the Inquisition commends you,” Caliman admitted. “While your fate within the Inquisition is as yet unsettled, from one Inquisitor to another, I urge you caution in pursuing Espirov’s masters. Both of you, Blackgar and Varnus. Four heretics on a hive world is one problem; a traitor legion is another one altogether. And there is another matter yet undiscussed.”
“Which is?” I asked.
“Your suspicion that there was a fifth party involved in the Hestia Majoris operation. Your insistence killed Gale Ryke. Elaborate on your suspicion, please,” Caliman requested.
“It simply did not seem viable to me that the Phaenonites, a Heretek—especially one loyal to a legion of traitor Astartes—and a rogue trader of wavering loyalty could fall in line with one another by pure happenstance. Even if, and this is a gigantic if, but even if their interests aligned, the odds of personality clashes among heretics of such different backgrounds would lead to their operation being utterly untenable. And we now know they were conducting their operation for multiple years, working in tandem without issue. That kind of unity cannot be mere coincidence. It is simply not within the realm of possibility. So if it was not coincidence, which each of the four genuinely believed it was, then there was a fifth involved, behind the scenes, nudging the unwitting heretics into cooperation. I have no concrete evidence of this. But the alternative is simply not believable,” I explained.
Caliman heaved in a deep breath and sighed. “And I am inclined to agree. Phaenonite cells. A presumed traitor Warband in Ixaniad. And something…else. Something with the power to manipulate these parties without their knowledge, and in possession of the knowledge to know how to do so. A hopeful universe would wish it were not so, but signs point to you having uncovered the tip of a spear we did not know was pointed at us. And that tip alone has slain 29 billion lives.”
Caliman paused for a moment, then stood to his feet and collected his notes from the table. The other Inquisitors opposite me rose as well, though Varnus remained seated. “Inquisitor Callant Blackgar,” Caliman started. “Thank you for your service to Holy Terra and the God-Emperor in the name of the Inquisition. Your efforts on Hestia Majoris have stemmed a tide of corruption that could have proven disastrous for the Ixaniad Sector. But,” he began, then paused for a moment, and I already knew what he was going to say.
“You are going to recommend to Lord Inquisitor Halloid van der Skar that I be taken to trial for censure,” I concluded.
“You have a record of leaving great volumes of bodies in your wake. Politically, the Inquisition needs you to not be in active service for a time. And I firmly believe you and your cadre require greater discipline. We will see you in the trial,” he explained, then nodded to me and left. The other Inquisitors followed suit.
I sighed, deflated, but at least I had survived the debriefing. That was one battle down. Unfortunately, Caliman had hinted that he planned to bring more than merely me myself to trial. He wanted to try my Agents, see if he could break them under the pressure of an Inquisitorial review. I sat in silence for a few moments, and then realized that I was not alone in the room, and still shared it with our guests. It was upon recognizing that fact that Mezentius addressed me. “I care little for Inquisitorial politics,” he admitted. “I believe you and I share a degree of similarity, in that we both have followed orders all our lives. Were my orders to end you, I would. But for what it’s worth, Inquisitor Blackgar, I believe you are of a rare breed. It takes heart to emerge victorious from the battles that you have, and mind to navigate the labyrinth of your Inquisition. I admit I may only have one of those,” he suggested, chuckling.
“I envy you, Brother Mezentius, in many ways,” I sighed. He gestured for me to elaborate. “You exist beyond the world of trivialities. You carry yourself ever in the divine light of the God-Emperor. You get to live knowing that your every action is without fault, and that none of your choices would ever be questioned. I do not envy the authority that brings, but, rather, the clarity.”
“Oh, my dear Inquisitor, that is not true. No mortal in all the Imperium is without the burden of doubt,” Mezentius assured me. “The infinite clarity of which you suggest is wielded only by our God-Emperor upon His Throne. The likes of us are only ever within His light because we have the wisdom to question ourselves, and to be questioned by our peers. You can possess confidence in your actions while also being accepting of the criticism given to you by worthy speakers.”
“Thank you, Brother Mezentius, for your wisdom and kind words,” I nodded to him, and bowed with the Sign of the Aquila on my chest. He did the same, then chuckled again. “What?”
“The thought occurred to me that if your trial goes awry, and they sentence you to…more than censure, I may be willing to recommend you join my Chapter. You possess much of the requisite talent for it. You are perhaps a bit old of age, but I do not doubt willing Apothecaries could negate that,” Mezentius offered.
“You honor me, Brother Mezentius. More than you can know. But I do not imagine that would be a viable fate. Unlike you, I have heard the laughter of the Warp. I am not beyond its temptation. I like to think I possess the strength of character to resist, but I must resist. I am not immune, as you are,” I replied.
“Perhaps,” he shrugged. “One last thing, if I may. Is it true you possess a Nemesis Falchion?” I nodded. “May I see it?” I stood to my feet to draw the weapon before him. “Ah! Such fine weapons, no?” he asked, and revealed two of his own, he having been trained to wield them both at once. I imagine I could have, as well, if given a second and some time to practice. “And you have put yours to excellent use. You know my remit, Inquisitor, yes?” Again, I nodded to him. “Then you know I answer to Malleus, and must obey their orders. But if your time within the Inquisition is not at an end, and you find yourself in the need of my Chapter’s services, do reach out. I would be honored to assist, and I am certain my Battle-Brothers will wish to meet you as well.”
“The honor would be mine, Brother Mezentius, thank you,” I bowed to him.
“I have little desire to see you bow, Inquisitor Blackgar. Refrain from that in the future. I hope you fare well within this labyrinth of yours,” Mezentius offered, and took his leave.
I turned to Varnus. “You’re still here, after all of that?”
“An attempt at humor? I have gathered that is a usual affair within your retinue,” Varnus replied, rising to his feet, servos whirring and hydraulic pistons firing. “Your peers in the Inquisition are uninspiring and dull. You are not so banal. I intend to petition for your survival.”
“Thank you, Techsorcist,” I smiled, and held out my one hand to him. I had not had the time or resources to fit a replacement augmetic yet.
Varnus took and shook my hand. “Fascinating. I have not felt another’s flesh in decades. Four-point-eight, I believe. After hearing of Holicar Espirov’s supposed masters, you still intend to face them?”
“I do.”
“Then you will need superior equipment. Should you survive your idiotic peers, I will have Ignatus Armor forged for you,” Varnus confirmed with himself. “Your weaponry, and that of your allies, will also need improvement. Lasguns will be inefficient against Astartes and their agents. You have familiarity with a Bolt Pistol, but I believe I can requisition heavier armaments of the sort that are still within the capacity of men, such as yourself, to wield. Do not thank me, as I deduce you are inclined to. You are the soldier of our arrangement, Inquisitor Blackgar. I am the supplier of arms and the investigator of the enemy’s equipment. Our relationship is one of congruence.”
I nodded, still smiling. “I believe you are correct, Techsorcist. An alliance will be most beneficial to us both.”
“The odds of my being correct have exceeded ninety-eight-percent for the last century. Your assertion is simultaneously believable and unsurprising in this regard.”