Fae was still unconscious when the Bird took off. We strapped her to the seats across from us, though I was more inclined to let her bounce around on the floor. The seat buckles, however, would serve as restraints sufficient enough to keep even a Phaenonite at bay. Mirena told me the Coldbreed had been secured, but realized pretty quickly that something was wrong between Bliss and I, probably due to the fact that I simply nodded her good news off without emotion. I may have still been shellshocked, yes, but Mirena rightly recognized that there was more to the situation than that. Not one to pry, she instead returned to the pilot’s cabin, and prepared for takeoff. Bliss and I sat next to each other, side by side, still covered in blood and grime.
We said nothing for a time, and then, shortly after we went airborne, I felt like I had to try to figure her out. I dug into her head as hard as I could, which given the state of things, was not very intensely. But it was hard enough to make her wince. She did not resist me, I could feel that, but even so there was nothing for me to find that would allude to how she knew what she knew. In fact, I could not even find that knowledge. When I stopped digging around in her head, she and I simultaneously groaned in agony, and gathered our breath. “What’s in there?” she panted, a weak grin on her face.
“Nothing,” I grunted.
“Ouch.”
“You know what I—”
“Yeah, I know,” she nodded. “They’re pretty good at concealing it all.”
“Who’s they?” I asked. She shook her head, then pointed toward Fae.
“Not them, if that’s what you’re concerned about,” she replied. I could at least tell that that was true. She was not with the Phaenonites.
“I had been. Now I think I should be more worried,” I sighed.
“I won’t hurt you, Callant. And I won’t jeopardize your mission,” she assured me.
“I know that.”
“Do you?”
“I do. But I don’t know that you’re not a heretic of a different breed all the same. I don’t know what you are. What are you?” I asked, finally looking her in the face for the first time since we had sat in the Bird.
She shook her head again. “I can’t tell you that, Callant, I’m sorry.” A tear then rolled down her face. “Jack doesn’t know about me either.”
“I know. You’re a mystery to us all. I won’t interrogate him again,” I promised her.
“Thank you, Callant,” she smiled.
“Just tell me this, Bliss—to whom are you most loyal?”
“Our Beloved God Emperor,” she replied at once. I sensed she felt that was true. But as I had once discussed with Thaddeus Scayn and Hans Okustin, long ago, many heretics might feel likewise about themselves. Surety was no shield from heresy.
“Throne, just shoot me,” Fae drawled from across the bay.
“I’ll be happy to. Later,” I growled back. I then tapped the vox on a jacket Mirena had given me. “ETA to landing?”
“Worried?” Fae smirked.
“Forty-five seconds,” Mirena replied over the vox.
“Not about you,” I told Fae. “Whatever this one is, she’s already kicked your ass once. I’m sure she could do so again,” I offered, tapping my shoulder to Bliss’s, who grinned.
“You both should come down to Amnes Minoris, see how that goes,” Fae offered. “There’s someone waiting for you there, you know.”
“And who might that be?” I asked.
“An old friend. Go and see,” she suggested, falling into a deranged cackling. She proved useless from there on, and Bliss was not doing much talking either. I, therefore, just sat and waited for us to land on Coldbreed at last.
When we did land, I voxxed my latest curiosity to Mirena. “Hey, Law, how’d you find us, anyway? Vox should’ve been jammed.”
“Aimed for the biggest warzone. Figured you were there,” she replied while stepping out of the cockpit, not using her vox. “It’s a pretty safe bet with you, Cal,” she winked to me. “What are we doing with that one?” she asked, gesturing to Fae. I thought for a moment, then stood to my feet and willed my Boltpistol to myself as I walked toward Fae, happy to have it back in my grip at last. I leveled it between Fae’s eyes, but when she grinned for that, I instead lowered my aim and shot off each of her hands, then willed psykematic flames to cauterize the wounds so she would not bleed out. She did pass out, though, from the pain, which was fine by me.
“That,” I replied to Mirena. “Lower the bay door.” Mirena nodded to me while I began unstrapping Fae from the Bird’s makeshift prison. When I had finished, I holstered my Boltpistol along my waist and hoisted Fae from her seat, leading her in front of me as she faded in and out of consciousness. Mirena, meanwhile, needed only make some slight gestures with her augmetic hand to remotely control the Bird, lowering the bay door without needing to return to the cockpit. When the Bird fully opened up, I tossed Fae out onto the floor of the landing bay of Coldbreed, where she hit the steel deck hard, surrounded by my retinue. My friends had survived, it seemed, which did not surprise me. But they looked how I felt.
“Nice of you to join us up here, Fae,” Heirene grunted, he himself on his knees, held at gunpoint by Lucene.
Fae may not have been conscious enough to reply, but I was. “My orders were clear,” I grumbled, and then shot my augmetic hand forward upon Heirene’s face. He squealed for a moment, but only got that much out before I crushed his skull in my grasp. Lucene kicked his decapitated body over after I retracted my hand. “Forgive the curtness. Not in the mood,” I sighed.
“We understand, sir. Do you need to see Castecael?” Silas asked me, covered in his usual heavy carapace armor.
“No, no, I…well, perhaps,” I groaned, holding my ribs and wincing. “For now, Varnus, Flint, take her to whatever brigs may yet survive. You know the drill; strip her of her augmetics.” I then took a seat atop the doors of the Bird while Lucene and Varnus did as instructed. Mirena knelt next to me, but Bliss strolled away, setting foot on Coldbreed. She did not go far, though. When Lucene and Varnus had left, I messaged much of my crew, +Weapons hot.+
“Sir?” Silas asked, powering up his Hot-Shot lasgun all the same.
“Sisters, assist Tactical-1 and Intel-1 with apprehending and detaining Stealth-1,” I spoke aloud. Confused glances were sent my way from all around, except for from Bliss.
“Uh, Stealth-1, sir?” Zha asked, stepping up with her autopistol at the ready. I tapped my head toward Bliss. “Oh. Frig.”
There was, for once, hesitation, even from Silas, but he did as instructed, flanked by the Sisters in the room, and eventually joined by Zha. Bliss, meanwhile, tilted her head back to me and sighed. “You and I know they can’t stop me if I try to resist,” she warned me.
“As you said, gotta make do with what we’ve got,” I replied.
“What’s going on, Mr. Blackgar?” Zha asked, autopistol raised—albeit hesitantly—toward Bliss.
“Stealth-1 did the impossible,” I grunted, rising to my feet while aided by Mirena.
“I saved his life,” Bliss corrected.
“As I said,” I agreed. “Bliss Carmichael did something no other human should have been able to do, to my knowledge. She will tell me how, or she will remain detained indefinitely. If any of you were down there in place of her, I would be a dead man, so treat her with respect all the same. But right now she’s the most dangerous person on the ship; more so, even, than our Phaenonite prisoner. Wherever you put her, I want armed guards on her post in perpetuity. No one speaks to her but me. And keep Harr away from her. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Silas nodded, beginning to approach Bliss. Bliss turned her gaze to him, and for perhaps the first time in his life, Silas froze in place. A man that had seen nearly everything I had and shot most of it to death was all but petrified from her glare. That was, however, until she nodded and chuckled to herself, then fell to her knees and folded her hands against the back of her head. She did not resist detainment, though I did see another tear roll out of crimson eyes.
“Bliss,” I called to the group as they began to leave. They stopped and let her turn to me. “Thank you.”
“Just doing my job, Callant,” she replied, loosing another tear. I then nodded to Silas, and the group returned to escorting her to incarceration.
“What is she?” Mirena asked me when we were alone.
“If I knew that, I might not need to make her our prisoner,” I answered. “Can you help me to Castecael, Mirena?”
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“My pleasure, Cal,” she agreed, and helped me walk off the Bird.
***
Before doing anything else the following day, I submitted a report to Quintus. It had been a while since I had done so, and after Skardak’s Reach and Aerialon, word of my activity would likely reach Inquisitive ears. Better Lord van der Skar hear of my activity from me than from someone else. With my report submitted, other administrivia could begin.
I felt obliged to help sort things out with Aerialon. They would have some rebuilding to do on their own, but I at least provided some context for things and set the record straight. I did not explain to them who or what Fae was—the public could not know that Inquisitors could go rogue and betray the Imperium. So to Aerialon, Fae was just another heretic, albeit a resourceful one, and I had destroyed her operation and captured her. As always, hiding the truth in lies. If nothing else, Aerialon and I were also able to work together to eliminate much of their criminal underworld and tackle a money laundering issue with one of their banks. Not worth the loss of life Fae had cost us both, but it was something.
I recalled the full fleet of vessels I had inherited from Sigird after the incident on Hestia Majoris. I needed their efforts and resources to repair and restaff my own, which was regrettable. We had gathered once over Skardak’s Reach, which already upended many existing operations. Gathering again signified to many that such operations may need to wind down altogether. The endgame of our battle against the Phaenonite cell was fast approaching and I did not want to leave any of my extended retinue out in the cold, so to speak, should we face retaliation.
Interrogations of Fae gave me very little, even after some very extensive attempts. According to her, I “knew all [I] needed to,” and that I was due to head to Amnes Minoris. According to her, there were few other leads for me to chase. For weeks, I got nowhere with her. Eventually, with the understanding that she remained as significant threat to my crew as other, now-deceased but once-escaped Phaenonites had been, I simply chose to kill her outright. I could not risk her survival for much longer, and with no idea when I may hear from Quintus, or whether they could provide secure transport for her, I decided to end things then and there. I stand by that decision.
Bliss also gave me little to go on, but she was at least infinitely more friendly than the Phaenonite about it. She was happy to see me make my recovery, as I was of hers. She understood my position and did not complain about it. I warned her that as much as I may not have wanted to, I could try to extract info from her violently, physically and psychically so. She understood, but still gave nothing up, though I never brought myself to hurt her. If anything, I made sure she was comfortable, giving her the same level of care in her Inquisitorial prison as I once ensured was provided for Mirena. But under no circumstances did I allow her to make contact with anyone other than myself, and much to his complaint, Jack Harr was not even allowed in the same prison block as her. Yet, again, I got nothing out of Bliss. Whoever and whatever she was, she was good, perhaps one of the best of her kind in the Imperium. But I still had no idea what that kind may have been.
I was surrounded by unknowns, as I once had been on Hestia Majoris, searching for Scayn’s murderers. Killing Fae was a strategic mistake, I knew, but a logistical security that even then I did not regret. Alas, there seemed only one viable course of action to proceed against the Phaenonites, as they had repeatedly taunted me to pursue. Amnes Minoris. I knew what awaited me there, the name of the vile thing that had slain Gradshi’s Coraline. I knew I should be afraid of it. I knew it could kill me. How the Phaenonites had acquired one, it mattered not.
But they had a Maletek Stalker, and I did not have an answer for it.
***
I was in Coldbreed’s mess hall some time later when an answer to the Amnes Minoris problem may have revealed itself. At the time, I was having brunch with Mirena and Gallius Anwar, one of the two House Trion Crusaders that had fallen into my ranks as personal bodyguards, the other being Lanto Sven, who was not then present. In many ways, Anwar reminded me of my former Interrogator, Hans Okustin, and unfortunately also of a rival Inquisitor. The trio were dogmatic and uncompromising, and each were built like a Battle Tank but still possessed brilliant heads on their shoulders—though Massino Varnus once called my rival ‘dimwitted.’ I respected each of the three greatly; Okustin had proven himself magnificent time and again, my rival was ruthlessly capable in his own right, and Anwar was executing his role flawlessly. Quite literally so, in fact, as I understood Anwar had been the one to land the killing blow on the Phaenonite Prareus.
And not unlike Okustin, Anwar often got on Mirena’s nerves, but she appreciated him all the same. Being very literally a blade of the Ecclesiarchy, Anwar’s dogma often clashed with Mirena’s disinterest. I do not know what he felt of her, but I did feel it was best to err on the side of caution and maintain a presence between them, lest they break out into fisticuffs over the right time of day to inebriate. However, it was during such a headache-inducing debate that my attention was wrestled aside by an interruption by Massino Varnus. “Inquisitor Blackgar,” Varnus called for me from behind my seat, monotone voice striking through the emotional tumult between Anwar and Mirena.
I rose and turned to face Varnus as the argument simmered behind me. “Techsorcist Varnus, may I provide assistance to you in some way?” A convoluted phrasing of the question, my vernacular having adapted to conversing with the Agents of the Mechanicum, lest I incur—from my perspective—needless notice of grammatical infractions.
“This unit could do with the requisitioning of another properly-sanctified fusion engine, but that is not why I bring audience to you now,” Varnus replied. “Instead, we have brought on anomalous cargo from planet IX4423—Aerialon, by local designation—and its owner wishes to speak with you, Inquisitor.”
I paused for a moment and blinked twice. “Forgive me, Techsorcist, but I do not recall authorizing this combat vessel for cargo transport,” I said dryly.
“Our agreement was for me to oversee the acquisition of arms sufficient for the complete destruction of the enemy,” Varnus suggested. “As pertains to that agreement, I have found arms sufficient for the complete destruction of the enemy. Need we reconfront our arrangement?” he asked. It sounded confrontational, but I knew better of Varnus; the Techsorcist had little interest in abandoning my efforts to eradicate the Phaenonites.
“No, Varnus, our arrangement stands; my apologies for my misunderstanding. How many arms are we talking about, in tonnage?” I asked him.
“One unit, approximately 288.6 tons,” Varnus replied, and my eyes widened. So, too, did the eyes of Mirena and Anwar behind me, for such an extreme weight of weapons would have armed everyone in my staff as though they were a Sister of Battle and had tons still to spare. But one unit?
“By the Throne, what is the nature of this cargo you’ve found, Varnus?”
“Its owner claims you will understand when you see him. Shall I invite him to this discussion?” Varnus asked in reply.
“Please do,” I nodded. A clicking noise then came from the mechatronics comprising Varnus’s form, though he did not otherwise move. That was until, however, Varnus stepped aside to gesture toward the entry of an old ally of mine that I had not seen since my time in the Guard. “Caradred?” I asked, bewildered.
“Blackgar!” Otto Caradred shouted in reply, striding into the mess hall with a grin on his face, extending an arm to shake one of mine, though we fell into a brief, one-armed hug in our reunion. One of Otto’s arms was holding a black and gold helmet between his hip and his palm. He himself was likewise clad in black and gold armor as befitting of a noble of House Caradred.
“Caradred?” Anwar repeated, less bewildered than I was, and instead more curious. Anwar rose to his feet to greet Otto, but Mirena remained seated.
“Right, Otto Caradred of House Caradred, Gallius Anwar, House Trion, and Mirena Law,” I introduced my old friend to the new crew.
“House Blackgar,” Mirena smiled coyly, earning a laugh from Otto and a disapproving glare from Anwar.
“I do hope Trion and Caradred are on good terms,” I muttered uneasily.
“Of course!” Otto laughed again, but looked a hair away from offended at the implication that the otherwise would even be possible.
“Trion is not displeased to be in the presence of Caradred,” Anwar confirmed. Phew.
“Am I to understand that our new cargo is…,” I started, drawling on and glancing with slight unease toward Varnus.
“You are, Blackgar, yes,” Otto nodded, as did Varnus.
“You should have asked first.”
“You should have stayed a Commissar,” Otto shot back, laughing again. “Inquisition? Really? How did that happen?”
“Over a great deal of death and destruction,” I replied sourly.
“You two knew each other from the Guard?” Mirena inferred.
Otto nodded. “Blackgar and I go way back! He’s the bravest and most ruthless son of a bitch I know, and there’s a lot in line, trust me.”
“I’m well aware,” Mirena agreed. “But you don’t look the part of a Guardsman.”
“He’s not, he’s…something of a pilot, though less literally so than yourself,” I explained. “And we just acquired his vessel.”
“Ah, and what do you fly?” Otto asked Mirena.
“Whatever he asks me to, which as of late has been vessels far bulkier and slower than I would like,” she smiled, ever reminding me of her desire for a faster fightercraft of her own. “Yourself?”
“Oh, I don’t so much fly as…err…engage with the God-Emperor more closely than this frail body of mine would otherwise allow,” Otto explained. Contrary to his claim, and not unlike Anwar, Otto was anything but frail. He was, like Anwar, a ceramite tower of a man, looming over myself by a few inches and possessing a far more imposing frame, yet—for being from Pyrras-3 like myself—as pale as I was. But relative to what he piloted, he was not wrong that he may as well have been a blade of grass in a warzone. “Blackgar, before the utterance of my former House continues, I must clarify: I am a Freeblade now. I trust you understand what that means.”
“It means Pyrras has lost a great defender,” I understood. “And that you are on a path of your own making.” Otto nodded.
“I have taken the name of Galen for myself. No surname. I would appreciate if you would refer to me as such, rather than relating me to Caradred,” he explained. I agreed to his request. “Thank you.”
“Well, Galen, that explains what brought you to Aerialon. But what brings you to my ship?” I asked him.
“I was playing ball with an off duty Arbites when I overheard the call that had gone out from a Callant Blackgar telling him to stay away from his district. It didn’t sound like you, though. And when the city exploded into a warzone, I figured the real you had to be close by somewhere, so I wanted to check things out and probe around for an old friend. Ran into our AdMech buddy in the process of scanning the Noosphere through the Throne,” Galen answered. Varnus nodded in agreement.
“That’s how you got here, but not why you’re here,” I furthered.
“The procurement of arms sufficient for the complete destruction of the enemy,” Varnus repeated once more.
I looked to him, then to Galen, and back to Varnus. “Have you told him what we’re doing?”
“I have not informed the Blessed Thronewielder of mission parameters, no,” Varnus answered.
“But I can’t imagine you aren’t killing shit that needs killing,” Galen suggested. “To do otherwise would be unlike you, Blackgar.”
“And you want in, Freeblade?”
“If you have use for me,” he shrugged.
“As an Inquisition operative, I’d need to both interrogate you first—call it catching up—and have you don heraldry of the ordos,” I warned him.
“So, what, I’d lose the gold and keep the black?” he asked, pulling his helmet between us. “Might look better, even.”
“Alright, Galen, tell you what: if you’re in, you’re in. Assuming I find nothing uncouth in interrogation, I could have suitable use for you as a heavy hitter, codename Throne-1. Here in my court, we’re hunting and killing heretics. So, are you in?”
“Can you promise me a worthy battle that would require my services to achieve victory?” Galen asked. I nodded. “I’m in.” And with that, and with half the Coldbreed in the cargo bay staring at the gigantic goliath of metal we had just added to our roster, I had found an answer to my Amnes Minoris problem. Now the hard part: keep it under wraps until I was ready to assault the Phaenonite world at last.
Grateful, I turned to Varnus and added, “I’ll see about that fusion engine.”
“Refer to your savant-Inquisitor for proper specifications,” he replied with a welcoming nod. “She has a satisfactory comprehension of this vessel’s operational requirements.”