Most of the crew did not know of their destination. It seemed Carmichael did, but she was not telling; something about not wanting the Warp to hear it. Surely Hager, the ship’s captain, and their navigators knew where they were going, though.
The journey took a month. This was, Harr came to understand, decent time. He also learned from Carmichael that, in her opinion, their Inquisitor’s vessels were strangely efficient when it came to Warp travel. Harr did not know the slightest thing about Warp travel, so he could not comment on it, other than to ask how Carmichael did. She brushed such questions off, as ever she did when at risk of revealing any hint of her past.
Within that month’s timeframe, Harr and Carmichael grew close. Or, closer. Harr slowly but surely got a bit of a feel for the woman that was Iblis Kyle, and he was mostly confident that that she was at least a little bit interested in him. What he did not, could not, and would not know, however, was that Iblis Kyle had found it within herself to enjoy Jack Harr’s company somehow more than he did hers. For the sake of her duty, though, she could not admit it to anyone, and barely even admitted it to herself. For her, their being a duo, then, was a guilty pleasure; one which she felt, but did not know, that her boss might permit. But for the time being, Iblis Kyle needed to remain as Bliss Carmichael.
Carmichael trained Harr in a variety of ways. Subterfuge and deception, certainly. She reinforced and improved upon his hand-to-hand combat knowledge, and also provided him with a tour of the bigger and better toys available to the Inquisition that made the cheap lasrifles provided to the Guard actually look like toys. A month in the Warp provided ample time for the duo to deflect off of and grow alongside each other; Carmichael molded Harr into just the agent she needed for her next operation.
What she did not, could not, and would not know, however, was that Jack Harr was lying to her as she had him.
***
Upon their arrival over the yellow-green world of Skardak’s Reach, which was, as Hager put it, “Another damn Hive World,” the Echoshroud began immediate communication with a Planetary Landing Port. It would soon be revealed to Jack Harr, however, that that communication did not include the detail that their vessel belonged to the Inquisition. That was immediately perplexing to the young aspirant of the Stealth unit. But when Hager and Carmichael pulled him and some members of the other teams aboard the vessel into a briefing for their next operation, all became clear.
The gathering was large. It was funny, to Harr, how many faces he still did not recognize. Everyone was grouped in an auspex center, with visualizations of the planet, the ship, other ships in orbit around the planet, and Harr-didn’t-know-what-else stationed throughout the room. Ship staff and tech-adepts tended to those auspex readings, while in the main center of the room a platform had been erected for Hager and Carmichael to stand on. Before the platform a red carpet with gold tassels was laid out, with an Inquisitorial ‘I’ barely visible in an off-color crimson across the carpet’s full form. Hager and Carmichael’s audience knelt upon that carpet, Harr included.
“Alright everyone, short and sweet as I can,” Hager called out when the full group had assembled. “We are about to engage in an undercover non-battleground op. But don’t be fooled—the risks down on the surface of the Reach are just as deadly as on the frontlines of a warzone. We normally don’t leave our operations to volunteers, but given the nature of this situation, we decided it would be right to give people a choice, provided enough of you are foolish enough to go along with our plan. Stealth?”
“Right,” Carmichael nodded, and stepped forward to address the group herself. She handled an auspex display to focus in on a particular Hive City of the world below. “So, as many of you probably know from whispered rumors, our organization’s ultimate goal is taking Amnes Minoris. But we don’t yet have the intel requisite for doing so. That’s our op—intel gathering. The plan to do this is unsavory: go undercover as an up-and-coming Underhive Gang, interact with other Gangs that do inter-system dealings and move product to or from Amnes Minoris, and learn what we can about their clients and the world’s status from them. I’ll be blunt: what we’ll need to be doing is not strictly legal outside the Inquisition. You may be asked to do things you feel violate your personal code of honor or other beliefs. If you volunteer to assume such an identity, you must be willing to endure those violations without hesitation. Furthermore, we cannot ever identity ourselves as Agents of the Inquisition to anyone short of an Arbites, and even then, only if we trust that they are not compromised. Noble Houses? No. Planetary Governor? No. And certainly not to rival Gangs or local officers. We may face gangs down there, we may face private militaries and mercenaries, we may face whatever else lurks within the sump of Skardak’s Reach. And we will face it without the might of the Inquisition at our backs. Any questions so far?”
“Isn’t intel gathering…you know…Intel’s job?” someone asked. Harr did not know the voice; it was entirely new to him.
“Yes. That’s how we’re here at all,” Hager grumbled. “This task has stepped beyond their purview and into Stealth’s. Our Stealth friend, here, believes she requires more manpower for the job. That’s where you lot come in, if you’re willing. And if no one is…,” Hager started, then shrugged. “Then we’ll draw straws. Anything else?”
“Are we picking an existing Gang at random or do we have some targets in mind?” Harr asked. Carmichael grinned at his question, thinking it worth bringing up.
“We have three, yes,” Hager confirmed with a nod. “The Redeemers of Revelation are a Redemptionist Cult turned ganger. They may be hard to work with, given their zealousness, but if we can convince them we’re in it for purity’s sake—which, Throne, we are—we might have an in. We believe a Suzensu Khaladi is their operational lead on Skardak’s Reach. Secondly, House Gronheim has an active Spyrer gang on Skardak. We know not the nature of Gronheim’s hunt nor the sponsor for it. Scodd Gronheim is the youth involved—whatever our interactions with the gang, it is imperative Scodd survives. We cannot risk upsetting the noble Houses in Ixaniad in our efforts here. Finally, the Maul. Malign Enforcers—Skardak’s security team—that enjoyed the brutality of the Underhive life a bit too much and decided to bask in it rather than work to control it. That or they were initially bought out for the right price and decided to lean all the way into corruption. Who knows? Who cares? The Maul still has friends in the Malign; it may not be unwise to assume they are one and the same. All these groups have offworld contacts confirmed with Amnes Minoris. We can get into further specifics with our operational team onworld.”
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Hager and Carmichael left a paused opening for further questions after Hager’s speech, but when none arose, Carmichael declared, “Alright then. Any volunteers for this operation?”
Harr rose to his feet at once, though not in an awkward hurry. Carmichael was happy to see him do so, though she had expected it all the same. Elraad also rose, asking of Hager, “How many do you need?”
“Stealth?” Hager deferred, turning to her. The operation was her design, it seemed.
“Minimum seven. But I can manage some number more than that. We want to look like representatives of a smaller gang—therefore a piece of something already small. But we should have the muscle to look appealing to do business with,” Carmichael explained. “Enos, Hosku, you’re benched,” she added as they began to rise. And when they looked offended, she clarified, “I can’t risk your trauma from Canicus and the loss of Lexam here. It has been one month since then, but I intend to wait out another two to let your emotions settle. So, we have four—myself and Tactical-1 included. Anyone else?”
Others began to rise, but Jethro—the Ratling with which Harr had had breakfast in his first days aboard the Echoshroud—spoke up. “Well, now you’re just being heightist,” he complained, standing amidst a kneeling crowd.
***
“Scram,” was the only phrase uttered to the previous tenants of the ramshackle hut of deteriorating rockcrete Harr’s team had chosen as a hideout for their operation. Those that once called the hut home objected at first, but received a single glare from Silas Hager before going on their not-so-merry way. Hager may not have wielded the Carapace Armor befitting of a Tempestus Scion, but the hardware he did bring to look the part of a ganger made him look extremely intimidating all the same. Actually, Harr thought to himself, Hager might just be intimidating by default. Regardless of how Hager may have looked, he exuded an aura of brutal efficiency; those around him carried themselves quickly and orderly, as though compelled to do so lest they incur the wrath of the Scion. To that end, their team organized themselves in their new hideout in less than an hour.
It was from there, then, that Harr’s troubles began.
First among those troubles were the names. There were so many of them and each one had a variant—his team’s real names, their aliases (and in Bliss’s case, her alias’s alias), the names of ganger contacts, their aliases. It was all a bit much to keep track of for the probationary Stealth recruit. Harr had not anticipated such an onslaught of information.
Harr had anticipated, however, needing to play a less-than-devout role of an Underhive ganger. He thought he was ready for that, but found himself plunging into discomfort all the same. The once-formal now-ganger group he was now a part of assumed crude, ghastly roles compared to the noble operatives of the Holy Ordos that they actually were. Harr was very much not a fan of this, but accepted that sometimes hands had to be thrust into the mud to pull out some gold. Even with this acceptance, this mud seemed rather deep, and the gold rather distant.
Harr was now Nort Godel. Not the proudest name, but at least it was better than Boyle Shem, which was—acquired following a brief chuckle at Harr’s new alias—Jethro’s alias. Elraad became Caleb. No surname, just Caleb. Carmichael, for a further alias atop her many others, assumed the role of Selaina Poison. Silas Hager became Otto Corvin. There were those in their team—the group numbered nine in total—whose aliases Harr forced himself to learn, too, though he never actually knew their real names. Maybe it was better that way.
Carmichael—now Poison—insisted everyone take to using their new aliases even in downtime, to build up a habitual instinct for it. Even the slightest slip of the tongue or stutter could tip off the more inquisitive—she used that word laughingly—of Underhive gangers. But, she allowed, that for their first night in Skardak Tertium—which was, ironically, the second largest Hive City on Skardak’s Reach; its name spoke to the order in which the cities were founded—they could settle in with their real names if they so chose.
Harr sat next to Hager, wanting to get to know him—and the boss—a bit better. Though Harr had seen Hager several times without his helmet, something still struck Harr as being a bit off about Hager. The Scion seemed young. Or young-ish. Battle scars lined Hager’s face, but blue eyes glared with a notable degree of youthful vigor still in them, and his sandy hair, buzzed though it was, was not the least bit greyed nor fallen out as usually accompanied even the younger of Veterans in the Astra Militarum. Harr read Hager as having fought in dozens of campaigns, perhaps across decades, and yet it seemed the Scion still had half his life to live out in battles more. “How long you been with the boss?” Harr asked, sitting next to Hager in front of a small, newly-lit fireplace that would not have sufficed for heating the hut. In fact, it may not have been a fireplace; it may have simply been collapsed rockcrete that looked the part.
“Long enough,” Hager replied with a dry grunt.
“Enough for what?”
“To know the boss is a greater man than any on this world, present company included,” Hager replied. “I count myself among that tally—it is not meant to be an insult.”
“You look up to him greatly,” Harr nodded.
“You cannot know,” Hager shook his head. “He is inspiring beyond his years, and his years are many. You’ll see. You’ll meet him in the course of serving Stealth, should you survive long enough.”
“I look forward to it. Got any stories of him—that you can share, of course. I don’t intend to pry,” Harr clarified, hands raised in defense.
“That’ll take you far,” Hager grunted. “Stories…war stories? Social ones?”
“Both?”
“Hmm,” Hager mused aloud, but relayed nothing.
“I have heard talk of Hestia Majoris. I don’t know much about the world, never heard of it before joining up with you lot. But it seems to be talked up here,” Harr offered.
“Hmm…,” Hager’s musing continued, but eventually he nodded. “A Hive City like this one went to war with the boss. It lost. There were…other traitor Inquisitors in it. The boss rewarded their treachery with the only thing they deserved. I shouldn’t say more than that. Well, I’ll add this: the boss has slain greater monsters and more men with a single hand than you’ll ever manage in your lifetime. You look to me and see a Scion, the product of enhanced training and armaments over the sort you knew in the Militarum. I look to the boss and see that the gap between us is wider than it is between you and I. You’re very devout, I understand, Jack Harr?” Hager asked him, previously having been staring into the fire but then turning ever so slightly toward Harr.
“I am, sir, yes,” Harr nodded.
“Then take solace in the fact that the Almighty Emperor’s agents will emerge victorious from the skirmishes we find ourselves in, even should we not live to see of such victories. The boss is a breathing guarantee of heresy’s failure,” Hager explained, and then rose to his feet as though to leave Harr by the fire alone. “Do not doubt your orders or your mission here. The result of your service is the ruthless destruction of the Throne’s foes.”