The shaking in Jack Harr’s hands was not immediate, but by the time the lander had arrived to scoop the true Inquisitor and her retinue from the ground, it had already begun. Harr thought it was subtle enough to go unnoticed by those around him, as a great deal of attention was being given to Lexam, the veteran guardsman who had been hit by lasfire. He was unaware, however, of just how keen Stealth’s and Intel’s eyes were. Regardless, they did not bring it up with him, at least not right away.

The shaking continued as the lander lifted the group—and the Chimera they had used to get to Prareus’s fortress—into the air, but it paused momentarily upon exiting the atmosphere. Harr had been to space only twice before; once to enter into Prareus’s employ, and again to be deployed to his homeworld of Canicus. Both times were awe-inspiring. This third occasion was no different, and as the horizon of Canicus surrendered to the empty blackness of an endless abyss, Harr felt a bit small. He felt a lot smaller when great lights raced past the lander toward Canicus—lance strikes from a vessel many times larger than Prareus’s fortress. As Stealth had suggested, Prareus’s fortress, and the surrounding area involving the heretic’s forward detachments, was utterly glassed over by the impossible might provided by the God-Emperor’s servants. Harr turned his view away from Canicus to spy a dark shadow eclipsing a sun behind its bulk. The only visible details upon the vessel were revealed by the glimmer of lancefire, but those details included a great familiar ‘I.’ This was an Inquisition vessel. It dawned on Harr, then, that the vessel he was taken to under Prareus’s watch was neither as grand nor in possession of such an ‘I.’

“Echoshroud,” Carmichael whispered to Harr, suddenly standing next to him. Harr looked at her in utter confusion; she could have said any conceivable combination of syllables and would not have confused him more than she had. “The ship’s name. Echoshroud. It’s the chief vessel for Tactical-1.”

“Hager,” Harr suggested, and earned a reluctant nod from Carmichael.

“My mistake in revealing his name to you, but yes,” she admitted.

“What…what now?” Harr stammered, still in awe of his surroundings. Luckily for him, he thought, the awe continued to suspend the shaking in his hands.

Carmichael spun on her heels and leaned against the wall of the lander next to Harr, adjacent to the viewport Harr had been looking out from, crossing her arms. Even as his infiltrator, even as his betrayer, and even as his captor, Harr could not help but find her beautiful. That was probably the point, he thought. She was still in her tight, black bodyglove, a combat suit concealing her flesh but not her faith-testing form. Her fair skin revealed itself only above her shoulders, and even then, her hair had matted down in sweat—hers—and blood—not hers. It had also dirtied and darkened further from the sandstorm. But that her beauty had survived the tumult of the day somehow allowed it to reinforce itself, making her more attractive still. Carmichael’s ever-keen, crimson eyes noted that Harr’s dilated in attraction, and she managed a sly grin in response. “Now, Jack, you decide your own fate,” she shrugged, still grinning.

“As in, join or die?” he suggested, pulling his eyes off her and trying to focus on the Echoshroud. But Carmichael remained firmly—in more ways than one—within his periphery.

“Those are two options, yes,” she admitted. “Vast oversimplifications, but yes.”

“Is there a third?”

“Roll the dice on whether you know too much to be let loose. I’d bet not, personally. The boss has shown some mercy in that regard,” Carmichael noted.

“You talk like you know him,” Harr grinned, quoting Hager.

“You talk like I don’t,” she repeated with a laugh. “The Inquisition’s duties inevitably spill over into civilian life. Some Inquisitors would gladly purge civilians that knew of their activities. But not the boss, not if it can be avoided,” Carmichael explained, then turned to look out the window as well. The Echoshroud was the only thing in view. They would be landing within its bays soon. “So, you can take your chances there. Or if you’re too guilty about leaving Millart and Burkowitz and the others, we can help you join them. Neither are the fate I want for you, of course.”

“And what fate do you want for me, Bliss?” Harr sighed, and tapped his forehead against the viewport. It had been a terribly long day.

Noting that, Carmichael put a hand on his shoulder and nodded. “Presently? For you to rest. We’ll speak more of it tomorrow.”

“The Inquisition can wait until tomorrow?”

“The Inquisition is hardly concerned with you alone, Jack Harr,” Carmichael chuckled. “I can bargain a night’s rest for you from Hager.”

“Well that’s good. I’ve been meaning to close my eyes,” Harr admitted, then did just that.

***

When Harr’s eyes next opened, he was no longer on the lander looking out from one of its viewports. He was, instead, in a medicae unit being tended to by some servitor staff. He opened his mouth to speak, but a hollow droning from one such servitor cut him off. ‘Subject JH-376 resumes consciousness. Directive: Notify personnel [Restricted] and Tactical-1. JH-376, you are aboard vessel: Echoshroud. Do you require immediate replacement of bodily facilities?’

“What? No!” Harr shouted in reply. Or tried to. But even his shouting came out as a hoarse gasp for air. “I could use a glass of—”

‘Subject JH-376 declines surgical operation. This unit will retire to standby.’

And with that, the servitor that had greeted him silenced itself and stomped off from attending to his unit. Others remained, but they paid him no mind save for tending to their duties. “…water,” Harr muttered. He sat up and looked around, finding himself utterly alone, save for the servo-skulls and barely-humanoid devices tending to his medicae unit or its auxiliary equipment. Like most Imperial structures, the room he was in was adorned with religious symbols and gothic architecture—great statues and historical mosaics lined the walls of the cramped medicae facility. Even given the whirring motors of the servitors, it was quiet. Far quieter, even, than the lander had been in the desolate space that had carried him to the Echoshroud. In the silence he then resided in, he closed his eyes and chose to pray, which, he considered, was responsible for putting him in his current situation in the first place.

He existed in a state of prayer-induced solace for a few minutes before being disturbed by the approach of two pairs of footsteps, one heavy, one light. Harr knew their owners in an instant, yet did not immediately open his eyes to greet them, which prompted Hager’s comment to be made: “Great, he’s asleep again. Or the servitor’s glitching out again.”

“Or neither,” Harr shrugged, opening his eyes before furrowing his brow toward Hager. “Do you ever take that helmet off?” To that, Carmichael—standing next to Hager, who was still in the same carapace armor he had been in on the ground of Canicus—could not hold her laugh in.

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“No, he doesn’t,” Carmichael answered, still chuckling.

“Not in the presence of once-traitors to the Imperium,” Hager growled, though Harr felt Hager’s ire was more directed toward Carmichael than himself. “On that note, Stealth told me she informed you of your options here. Rejoin the Emperor’s Light, die in His Shadow, or be let loose to find another path. What will it be?”

Harr nodded before pausing for a moment to recollect his thoughts. When he opened his mouth to speak, he found his voice all but missing, and not for lack of trying—he was still too parched. “You had sounded dehydrated. You should have told one of these servitors to fetch you a glass of water,” Carmichael spoke for him, then motioned for one such servitor to do so. That took only a few moments, during which time Hager’s las-like eyes beamed ever onward toward Harr, emotionless within the white backdrop of the painted skull upon his helmet.

When Harr had had a drop to drink, he cleared his throat, then at last answered Hager’s question with another: “What would service to your Inquisitor require?” Carmichael grinned at his response.

“Depends on the nature of your service,” Hager replied. “Operatives answering to me—that is, our Tactical unit—need merely receive authorization from me to do so. Likewise for the few Strike teams we have aboard this vessel; you would only need authorization from the individual unit leaders. But things are more complicated if you intend to follow Carmichael around. Stealth operatives do not have underlings. You would need to be cleared by the boss. You could be given probationary status under her watch, which I imagine is what she desires. Other units have since dispersed; the Intel, Tech, and Command representatives you encountered earlier have departed with your former heretic-Inquisitor in tow. I am hesitant to outline the existence of other units within our organization to you, but will if you reveal an aptitude for them.”

“An aptitude?”

“You have reportedly already demonstrated capable combat experience. Hosku and Enos were most impressed with how you carried yourself in the heat of battle,” Hager began. Enos had been the third Guardsman veteran that had joined them in assaulting Prareus’s fortress, with Lexam having not been mentioned in Hager’s comment.

“As was I,” Carmichael interjected with a grin.

Hager ignored her. “You could, in accordance with that experience, fit in well with any of the Strike teams aboard this vessel. Note, however, that all Strike teams aboard this vessel have been delegated to my command for future operations you would be likely to see. I am no Inquisitor myself, but I have been appointed by the boss to oversee and organize operations across several teams of different units of our organization. In the absence of an Inquisitor, I am your SRO. Do you understand?”

“I do, sir,” Harr nodded.

“Winning points already,” Hager replied, his tone improving.

“Not all Inquisitors are necessarily militant. But the boss very much is,” Carmichael explained. “As a result, our organizational structure, terminologies, and tendencies are comparably battle-ready. As a former soldier, you may find familiar purchase within our ranks. Many of our staff are veterans of the Astra Militarum, Navis Imperialis, or Schola Progenium. You would fit right in.”

“I confess I am a bit confused,” Harr started, earning a quizzical look from both Carmichael and Hager, though Hager’s was indicated only by the tilt of a his otherwise-expressionless head. “How important am I that you’re trying to sell me on your operation?”

“You as an individual?” Hager asked, then shrugged. “Insignificant. But bodies add up. If you are as Carmichael says you are—faithful, loyal, capable—I would not turn such a recruit down. The purging of heretics requires men and women of steeled minds and relentless hearts to fulfill. Can you be relentless, Jack Harr?”

“I can, sir,” Harr nodded.

“Then the Inquisition has use for you yet,” Hager explained. “But I ask again: how may we use you best?”

Harr thought for a good while, then. He thought about his now-incinerated team on Canicus. About the Pariahs in Prareus’s basement. About his faith. And, though he tried not to look at her, he thought a lot about Carmichael. He thought of her as his captor, his betrayer, and his tempter. But, he realized, he had not thought about her as his liberator, nor as his friend—not since her subterfuge was revealed, anyways. It dawned on him that he did not really have any idea what she was like—that was the point, after all. But she had gone out of her way to spare and save him; she had trusted him on the battlefield after firing the Manticore; she had helped him through the darkness emitted by the Shadestalkers; she had gotten him a day’s rest and medical attention; and, most importantly, along the way she had tried to offer him comfort and calmness. Were she merely the terrible things Harr had begun to consider her as, she would not have done any of that.

Harr realized, then, that Bliss Carmichael at the very least liked him. And he admitted to himself that he was utterly infatuated with her. He hadn’t a clue about infiltration or subterfuge, but maybe, under her tutelage, he could learn. “I’d like to learn from Bliss, if that’s at all possible,” he finally answered Hager. Carmichael grinned again.

“It is. Please confirm for me that you understand that, again, you would operate within the Stealth unit as a probationary member, and that eventually you will need to meet the boss that he might decide what to do with you,” Hager explained. “Also, again, confirm you acknowledge that for the immediate future, Stealth or not, you answer to me while aboard this vessel.”

“I understand, sir,” Harr nodded.

“Then for that, I welcome you to the Echoshroud, and, pending your probation, to the 9th and Final—our regiment—as a whole. This vessel is captained by Captain Rhauss Grimm. You can, of course, find him on the bridge. See him, myself, or Carmichael if you need anything for your quarters. Speaking of which, Carmichael, he’s all yours. Show him to his room,” Hager ordered, then nodded to Harr before turning around and marching away. His helmet remained on even still.

“No, his helmet never comes off,” Carmichael suggested when Hager had left earshot. “He is a remarkable soldier, though, even among his kind. Probably the best on the ship. Enough about Silas Hager, however. You—good choice,” she smiled, winking to Harr.

“Why me, Bliss?” Harr asked.

“Haven’t I answered this question already?” she said, tone as dry as Harr’s voice. “Faith. Duty. Et cetera. You are a model soldier.”

“So were the others.”

“Not so much as you. And I certainly wasn’t going to try to spare Kilgar,” she rolled her eyes. “Why not you, Jack?”

“Why anyone? And why be so…kind to me on the way?”

“Kind?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Well, much of the Imperium employs fear in its recruitment strategies. Inquisitors, Commissars, other propagandists. Fear is effective for controlling masses, but not individuals. Fear makes individuals unpredictable. You should be taking notes, by the way—this is important stuff for a Stealth operative to know,” she grinned, wagging a finger toward Harr like an instructor chiding a child. “Kindness, however, wins over the hearts of those more receptive to it. Like yours. Kindness is as much a strategy as any other. The boss knows this. To not acknowledge and employ any and every strategy is to leave oneself vulnerable to failure, and failure is the most intolerable result in our great Imperium, wouldn’t you say?” Carmichael suggested. Harr nodded. “As for why recruit anyone,” she began, then shrugged dismissively. “Bothered Hager, at least, so that’s a win.”

“You two don’t get along,” Harr inferred.

“Oh, no, we get along great! He doesn’t trust me is all. I know it, and he knows I know it. But he trusts the boss, and the boss put me here, so he plays along. He says I’m just like Logi-1, but with less trustworthiness and with more willingness to puff out my chest. I haven’t met Logi-1, but I gather she was on Hestia Majoris with Hager and the boss, which set this whole ordeal in motion, and made them all basically like family to each other. Anyways, as to recruiting anyone—you or otherwise—I figure one Inquisitor—like the boss—going up against other Inquisitors—like Prareus—could use all the help he could get. There are worse recruits than you, Jack Harr,” Carmichael explained.

“Bliss…,” Harr began, then paused. She waited patiently for his question, hooking her hands behind her back. “Who are you?”

She thought for a moment, debating on how much to say, then shrugged. “As you’re my probationary subordinate, I suppose it can’t hurt to tell you. I am Iblis Kyle. Not too far off from Bliss Carmichael, is it?” she asked with a laugh. “You should continue to address me as the alias I used on Canicus. That is as the rest of the ship knows me.”

“But the boss knows you as Iblis Kyle?” Harr suggested. Carmichael nodded. “What were you before he found you—or you found him? You’re a newer recruit of his than Hager or some of the other senior officers,” Harr explained. Carmichael nodded again, but her expression stiffened.

“I had already been serving the Inquisition in some capacity. The boss knows this; it’s how we met. He does not know my previous role in the Inquisition, and neither will you. Don’t ask me again. Understood?” Harr nodded. A grin returned to her face. “Great. Then at your ready, how about we find you a room to call your own for the foreseeable future, eh? Admittedly, crew quarters are somewhat like closets, but it’ll be your closet, at least.”