Even for the Inquisition, keeping things a secret from our enemies in perpetuity is an understood impossibility. It is not one we are happy about or accepting of, but we recognize it as an inevitability that necessitates swift action and judgment. For that reason, I wanted to hurry on my approach to Amnes Minoris and deploy my newfound ally against the Phaenonite scum who lurked there before they could know or prepare for him. Alas, such an impatient desire could not be realized with any realistic approach of strategy, for the Coldbreed still needed repairs from the attempted mutiny. And as much as I had been concerned with the Phaenonites’ weapons on the ground, I also needed to consider that they likely had some voidfaring vessels of their own; after all, they had been transporting troops from the reaches of Calixis all throughout Ixaniad.
Unfortunately, all this waiting left me vulnerable to an ambush I had anticipated would arrive but was unprepared for all the same. We had no weapons to fight against this ambush, and no shields could defend us. Resistance was futile. After all, the ambush came in the form of a matching fleet of Inquisitorial vessels over Aerialon, and when the Coldbreed was hailed to announce the presence of Lord Inquisitor Caliman, my dreaded rival, I was obliged, even if reluctantly so, to comply with his request to dock alongside my ship.
Prior to his arrival I had expected some response from Quintus following my report about Aerialon and Skardak’s Reach. I did expect another Inquisitor to request a meeting with me for discussion about my activities. I did not expect Caliman himself, but once he had arrived I told my crew to begin preparing safe passage for him through Coldbreed to our war room. I knew Caliman would not come alone and that I should not meet him on my own either. I expected him to flaunt some measure of force with his presence and that I ought to reciprocate for the sake of my own self-preservation; if Caliman thought my forces too weak and too reckless with their activity as of late, he may decide to try to do me in, painting me as a rogue Inquisitor.
Inquisitorial politics were such dreadful fun.
For the purposes of flaunting my own might, I requested the presence of my original, surviving retinue from Hestia Majoris, as they were my most capable and most trusted—bonus that they were also the most hateful of Caliman. I also requested Varnus and Galen be present for our meeting with Caliman, as I knew them to be loyal to me second only to the Emperor Himself, as with my original retinue. Likewise, I had a handful of Sisters under Lucene’s command join us as well. In the meantime, from Caliman’s shuttle in the landing bay to the war room, I had my two Crusaders escort the Lord Inquisitor and his own retinue to us.
“Lord Inquisitor Igan Caliman, Ordo Hereticus,” Lanto Sven, the second of my Crusaders, introduced my rival while leading him into the war room, joined by Gallius Anwar. I felt Mirena’s augmetic right hand slip into my augmetic left as our guests arrived, she possessing a particular hatred for Caliman. Upon his entry, it was not Caliman himself that made my eyes widen a twitch, nor Inquisitors Emile Al-Amar or Corvin Hythe. Rather, the trio of gigantic, red, ceramite hulks that marched behind them, followed by serfs of their own. The Sisters at my back, save for Lucene, all knelt before the Emperor’s Angels, as did Massino Varnus, and Galen released an uneasy grunt. At that, I spied the slightest, smuggest grin form on Caliman’s lips, the rest of his head shrouded behind a comparable helmet to my own, he possessing power armor like myself.
“Joined by Brother Santinus Astal, Sergeant, Red Hunters 3rd Company, 2nd Tactical Squad,” Caliman added. The three crimson Astartes surveyed the war room briefly, then gave us a gentle nod that sufficed for a greeting bow. “Blackgar.”
“Caliman.”
“This is a familiar crew,” he noted.
“In that you advocated for their sentencing and sanctioning?” I offered.
He grinned. “Quite.”
Emile Al-Amar had been glancing around the room a bit, then piped up, “You are missing someone, Blackgar. And who is he?” she asked, pointing to Galen.
“New recruit. Who am I missing, Al-Amar?” I returned.
“He can be trusted?”
“More than others in this room,” I growled. “Who am I missing?”
“We are familiar with your organizational structure. All operations heads are present, save for two: your Comms officer, stationed on Quintus and accounted for. But where is your Covert officer?” she asked.
I paused for a moment. Not so long as to interrupt the flow of the conversation, but long enough for the Inquisitors in the room to note the oddity. “Bliss Carmichael is busy,” I replied with minor hesitation.
“Too busy for this?” Corvin Hythe asked.
“Frankly, Hythe, I know not what this is,” I shrugged, then looked to Caliman. “Here for an autograph?” I suggested.
“One day, perhaps, on a Confession of Guilt form,” Caliman smiled. “There’s a lot of buzz, Blackgar. You’re causing a lot of noise for someone who’s meant to be deceased.”
“I’ve been thinking it may be time to come back to life. Death has proven inconvenient for me and my Agents as of late,” I nodded in agreement.
“It may be time for that, yes, but that would be a conversation you would need to have with Lord van der Skar,” Caliman shrugged. “You captured a Phaenonite on Aerialon and executed those you had taken prior, am I correct?”
“I have also executed the Aerialon captive. I did not know when I would hear from Quintus and I could not risk her causing a second mutiny in the immediate wake of the first,” I explained.
Caliman sighed and nodded. “Unfortunate, but understandable. We will discuss the merits of that decision later, then, but for now we must make do. Have you further leads to chase?”
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“Only one.”
“Amnes Minoris,” Caliman suggested, and I nodded. “I thought as much. What intel do you have of the world?”
“None that I have not shared with you already, save for what the Phaenonites intend to kill me with,” I explained.
“And what is that?”
I paused for a moment, glancing to my allies, knowing both that they should not know of the name of the beast, but that they may be forced to face it all the same. No single man is worth the Imperium, I thought to myself, then sighed. I looked back to Caliman. “They have a Maletek Stalker, as confirmed for me by Massino Varnus,” I replied, gesturing to my Techsorcist. Varnus nodded, offering further confirmation.
Caliman was impressed by that information, but he only evidenced as such with his words in response; his physical demeanor remained rock-solid as ever. “That complicates things, then,” he acknowledged, then glanced to Brother Santinus behind him. “At ease for now, Sergeant. Your services will be required planetside soon.”
“You intend to assault Amnes Minoris directly?” I asked, ignoring the fact that Caliman had just ordered the Astartes to ease. That implied that until then, they may have been present for more than just intimidation purposes, and that Caliman may have been ready to use them to subjugate my crew. My retinue were capable of much, but felling three Astartes in proper power armor was not a task they could handle, if even they would resist in the first place.
“With you, yes,” Caliman confirmed. “It is your operation, Blackgar. I won’t get in the way. Perhaps with two fronts we may overwhelm and overtake the Phaenonite, despite the horror they wield,” he offered. “This is your war room, yes? We should begin strategizing.”
I paused again, this time not out of discomfort, but rather surprise. I had not taken Caliman to be so much of a team player, especially not so with a psyker like myself or as occupied my immediate retinue. But if he—and his Astartes—were willing to assist me with an assault on Amnes Minoris, I would not turn my nose up at such an offer. It was, therefore, that I had misjudged him. I had thought Caliman to be a hardline, monodominant problem solver, but in reality he was more willing to fish for allies if he believed they could be of genuine use to a worthy cause.
Sure, there were possibilities of other, nefarious, ulterior motives. Perhaps Caliman intended to use us as meatshields, or perhaps he wanted to share in the glory of exterminating traitors of our ordos, or perhaps he wanted to keep a closer watch over my activity. Perhaps it was, in some part, all of these things. But whatever his motives may have been, I knew that at a high level, Caliman was an ally, at least in this fight.
Even so, he did not win much favor with the more veteran members of my crew.
***
Caliman and I spent many long days in the war room thereafter. I cannot say I enjoyed his company, but as ever, I respected him during the time. He revealed a capacity for strategy that surprised me, not because it was unexpected, but simply because he had never shown such a mindset to me before. We wargamed multiple different scenarios, both in orbit and on the ground. The question of ‘If you were them, what would you do?’ was, after mutual reluctance, asked and answered. Caliman and I arrived at the unfortunate conclusion that the Phaenonites likely hid some warships somewhere in the Amnes system, to be unleashed only when initial bombardment/deployment unto Amnes Minoris had begun. They would wait for us to overextend before attempting to cut us out from behind, and if we hunted through the system for them, they could just as easily run and return at an astropathic notice.
Point being, we believed simultaneous orbital and continental combat was inevitable. That would inhibit our ability to carry out orbital strikes beyond what unknown planetary defenses may accomplish in that regard, too. There were too many unknowns—Throne, we did not even know what terrain to expect in a surface engagement. Imperial zealotry assured us that with faith and fire we would win out against the heretic, but the ‘how’ was not immediately clear. There was temptation to set the Red Hunters upon the surface of Amnes Minoris in a quasi-scouting operation, but a Maletek Stalker would have threatened even them, and we knew not what else to expect from the Phaenonites. We also discussed baiting the Stalker forth with my own presence, but that ran into similar issues.
Caliman and I were not alone in this strategizing. We referred to the best of our own retinues as needed. It was during a meeting in which my closer council, of Lucene and Varnus, were joined by Galen—who I wanted the presence of if only because he and I had once served together—when understanding of the most manageable, but nevertheless unfortunate approach dawned on me. Caliman was poring over centuries-old maps of Amnes Minoris while I was gathering my wits in a seat across the table from him. Galen accompanied Caliman in looking over the old maps, which Lucene stood ever by my side, silent as stone except when called upon to act or answer. Varnus, meanwhile, was ever fidgeting with and re-sanctifying some piece of benevolent technology in the room, even during times in which we were asking him questions. He would answer promptly, but rarely to our face.
“You mentioned two fronts,” I muttered, my hands folded between each other in front of my mouth. I think only Lucene heard me, as the others continued as they were while her head pivoted down to look at me. “Caliman.” He grunted in reply, eyes turning up toward me but face still pointed down at a map. “You mentioned two fronts. We’ve assumed that meant land and void. What if we had two land fronts, of near-arbitrary origin, in addition to the void theatre?”
“We’d be splitting thin, then, you know this, Blackgar,” Caliman replied, finally giving me the time of day and looking up from his charts. “But since you know that much, I assume there’s more to your reasoning?”
“Our enemy intends to lure us into disarray. What if we match them in kind? Bait the Stalker out, yes, but use our Astartes elsewhere altogether? They are shock troops, after all. Let them shock,” I suggested.
“Viable. But how do you intend to survive the Stalker, if and when they sic it upon you?” Caliman returned.
I nodded slowly, not wholly pleased with my response, but committing to it anyways. “The intent is all that matters. Survival may not. I am willing to lose life to win war, but even in so bleak a scenario, my Agents may yet suffice to help me stay astride the abyss,” I answered, glaring at Galen. He, too, nodded slowly, after which I rose to my feet. Lucene, then, placed a hand on my shoulder, speaking volumes of her dissent without a single word. “No single man is worth the Imperium,” I quoted for Caliman. “I will stare down doom, if you think it can buy you and your Hunters time enough to end the Phaenonite.”
“Your record is impressive enough, Blackgar, that I imagine the Hunters will make do with your time,” Caliman nodded. “You’re sure about this? We could consider some other options still.”
“I am not. And there may be better alternatives. But every day we waste preparing for the unknown gives our foe undue time to worsen what we may face. No war was ever won in unending hesitance,” I replied.
“But some have been lost in eager enthusiasm,” Caliman noted. “I’ll notify the fleet to prepare for warp translation. You’re a brave bastard, Blackgar.”
“Cal, I do not like this plan,” Lucene at last verbalized.
“You’ll hate my next one more, then,” I sighed. “Wait, Caliman, on recommending translation. If disarray is the weapon we intend to wield against the foe, we can build more still from confusion. And I have an idea in that regard, too. But it will require some coordination and creativity from our dear Techsorcist, Varnus,” I explained, looking to my colleague. As ever, he did not look back, nor did he make any noise that suggested acknowledgement.
In any event, in describing my worst idea to the gang, Lucene at last felt compelled to take her helmet off to explain to me, loudly, and with some Ecclesiastical expletives, why she felt I was being an idiot. I cannot say I disagreed.
But my worst idea may have been our best plan.