It took some doing to clean my attire of the gore accrued in Habblock 9. While not remotely within her remit, Penitent offered to handle that for me while I pursued possible leads. The presence of a Vindicare Assassin on-world, coupled with Scayn’s own sense of worry, suggested powers at play well above my own, and there were not many in the universe to whom that applied. Sure, it was not unheard of for party politics to result in one Inquisitor targeting another for personal—and heretical, to be clear—gain, possibly involving the Assassinorum in the process. But a rival Inquisitor would not have so-terrified Thaddeus Scayn, and if he knew a Vindicare was on to him, he certainly would have had the resources to better defend himself.
This told me that he did not know a Vindicare was on his tail. It told me that there was more at stake on Abseradon than mere politics. And it told me that those behind the Abseradon Massacre possessed power and authority comparable to that of my ordo, if not—perish the thought—beyond. All of this in mind, I took to the cogitator that Captain Trelos provided to me. One could not simply look up Inquisitors present on a planet—we were much too adept at hiding for that. But one could, with some know-how, look for clues of an Inquisitorial presence. One could also have their savant do the looking, with heuristics provided by the wisdom of oneself. That proved most efficient, though I had to hold my tongue to prevent Zha from learning anything of the Assassinorum.
Through the course of two sleepless days of research—I do pity Ms. Trantos that, though she was more than accommodating for my zeal—I had deduced the presence of a minimum of seven potential Inquisitors on Hestia Majoris, myself not included. I will not reveal how I found my colleagues in the Inquisition—that information is far too sensitive for even Silas to know. Over the subsequent two weeks, Okustin—working with Silas and his fireteam—‘procured’ me a meeting with each of those supposed Inquisitors. Five of them actually were Inquisitors, and the other two were simply very good at looking the part. Or they were so good at their jobs that even I could not conclusively deduce their real identity. And as Xavier, having been present within the radius of my psykana, could tell you, I certainly tried.
None of the seven had anything relevant to tell me, caught up in other atrocities—in the case of the Inquisitors—of their own on Abseradon. I did not keep my colleagues from their duties long, but from there I did cast a wider net. A search of rogue traders was easier, and I could do that myself, sparing Zha further tire. Rogue traders had financial resources to do theoretically anything, especially where the heretic was concerned, but they also needed to communicate with on-world and interplanetary Navy forces to establish trade-routes without being shot out of the skies.
Thirty-six rogue traders were present on the world on the day of the massacre. Of those, only thirteen still remained, the rest having moved on over the course of my interrogation of the Inquisitor-apparent. Even if I wanted to chase one of them at random, the odds of me following their trail with any accuracy were slim. Sure, I could have found them eventually, perhaps after several years—such was my duty, after all. But I did not see it being particularly prudent to leave Abseradon either. I would make a note to check on any traders that left and then returned, as though fleeing the crime until things cooled down, but I got the sense from Scayn that whatever he had uncovered was very local to Hestia Majoris.
So over the next month, I coordinated with the local Arbites and the system’s Naval forces to detain and interrogate—well, Okustin handled the interrogations—what rogue traders I could. That amounted to ten of them, with three managing to stay under the radar even to me—not entirely surprising; the final three were still on-world, just simply not doing anything of import. The Navy would tell me if they found their ships trying to leave the system. Of the ten rogue traders I interrogated, none provided anything of value.
Regrettably, I had to cast yet a wider net. I was not pleased with where I was next forced to look. It was around this time, six weeks into my investigation, that doubts began to creep in. What if the Massacre was merely gang activity, and the Vindicare just happened to be there from a rival Inquisitor or political opponent? An idiotic question—Scayn’s forces could have handled an Underhive gang with ease, and even the local Arbites could have found and terminated the gang responsible for the atrocity that had hit the city. All the same, the doubt was there, nagging at me.
I cast a wider net.
***
She protested the entire way to my hab, or so Okustin claimed. I had no cause to doubt him, as once she was present in the hab, she continued her protests. “This is utterly preposterous, dragging me down into the mud where I could be doing the Throne’s work higher in the city, and without my staff!” The Canoness shouted, flustered, as she was escorted through our hab by Silas and Okustin. “Which one of you idiots is the Inquisitor? Does he have any idea who I am? Who I represent? We’re on the same side, they and I.”
“Yes, one would think we are,” Penitent told her, stepping into the interrogation room behind the Canoness while Okustin closed the doors behind my bodyguard. I was already present, though I was trying to stay relatively hidden in an intentionally-made shadow in the corner of the room.
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“Sister Repentia, I know not what brings you here, but it is not your place to address me,” the Canoness replied, scoffing, and looked around the room. She saw me, or a gleam of my suit, and beamed at me. “You have no idea what you’re doing, Inquisitor. It is not merely a matter of rank, but of the political ramifications of even beginning to investigate one of my order. Your superiors will have your head for this.”
I said nothing.
Penitent sat at the table between herself and the Canoness. “What is your name?” she asked her Sister.
“Did I not just rebuke you for this, Sister?” the Canoness shook her head, then returned to staring me down.
Penitent repeated the question a second time. “What is your name?”
The Canoness did not look at her, and instead chastised me once more. “You not only damn yourself, but you compound whatever sin brought her to your charge. Are you daft?”
“My Agent asked you a question,” I growled.
“I must not have heard it,” she sneered in reply. “Could you repeat it?” she asked of me. But Penitent, loyal as ever, spoke for me.
“What is your name?”
“What is yours?” she asked me.
“What is your name?” Penitent repeated a fourth time.
Silence.
For the cogitators recording audio in the room, the silence persisted. But those present would tell you that my reply was not merely spoken, but roared.
+WITHIN THESE WALLS, CANONESS GALATENA AMELIA, I AM THE WHOLE OF YOUR IMPERIUM. MY AGENTS ARE AN EXTENSION OF MY WILL, AND I AM AN EXTENSION OF THE THRONE. WHEN THEY ASK A QUESTION, YOU WILL HEAR IT IN MY VOICE AND ANSWER AS THOUGH BEFORE OUR GOD-EMPEROR, OR I WILL CAST YOU TO DAMNATION.+
A pause, as blood fell from my nose and through clenched teeth. Penitent was shaking. The Canoness had fallen to the ground and begun whimpering, broken. I emerged from the shadows of the corner and placed a gentle hand upon Penitent’s shoulder, helping to ground her. “An Inquisitor has died in this city. Short of the Emperor’s Angels, there is not a soul in this city that we are unwilling to interrogate, and even angels such as they may be suspect. The Inquisition will not be patient with this investigation. Am I clear?” I asked aloud, calmly, but rigid. The Canoness nodded with marked enthusiasm.
“What is your name?” Penitent repeated.
“C-Canoness Galatena Amelia,” she replied.
“Of which Command?” Penitent continued.
“112th Commandery, Fourth Preceptory,” Sister Amelia answered at once. This was information we already knew about her, of course. But establishing a baseline, both for the sake of conversation and the sake of the recording of the cogitators, was important nevertheless.
“Let me know if I need to return, Penitent,” I told her, clapping a hand on her shoulder again, and then left the room, noting the frost my psykana had built up along the walls as I departed. I knew the Sororitas well, as their Order was closely intertwined with my own, but Penitent knew far more than I ever would about her Sisters’ activities. I could trust her to get everything I needed from Sister Amelia.
Outside the interrogation room, everyone else—even Xavier—was a bit shaken up themselves. “Could do with some warning next time, sir,” Silas remarked, trying to smile.
“Would it have helped?” I asked, sighing, and crossed the room to sit on a steel chair.
Silas shrugged. “I suppose not.”
“I’m tired, Silas,” I sighed again, and then put my face in my hands, saying nothing more. I rested there for a few moments, then felt an arm reach over my shoulders and smelled a subtle but sharp scent of Gleece in front of me. When I pulled my head from my hands, I found Mirena holding a glass before me. “Thank you.”
“Anytime, Cal,” she nodded, sitting next to me after I took the glass.
“What do I owe you?” I asked her.
“A fighter? Maybe a Fury?” she suggested, thinking whimsically about the dreamy prospect.
I smiled weakly, then looked at the glass of Gleece in my hands. “Frig it, why not?” I shrugged, then shot the drink down my throat.
“Uh, I was joking, Cal,” she clarified.
“Were you? Oh,” I muttered. “Guess I’m losing my touch.”
“Sure as Throne didn’t feel like it,” she replied, tapping her head.
“Yeah, sorry about that. To all of you,” I spoke louder, addressing the room. “Sorry.” Everyone brushed it aside, uncaring about my outburst. “Sometimes I wonder if Scayn made the right call with me all those—ow!” I exclaimed as Mirena punched me in the shoulder.
“If not for you, Cal, I’d be—” she grilled me, then took a breath and cooled off before sitting back down in her chair. “You know where I’d be. Don’t ever think for a frigging second that Scayn frigged up with you. You’re his greatest success, Cal. Everyone here knows it. Throne, especially that frigging Sister, eh?” she laughed.
“I shouldn’t have done that to her,” I shook my head, making Mirena’s laughing grin fade away. “Politics—which I don’t care about—aside, if she isn’t a heretic, she did not deserve what I’ve done to her. She may never serve the Throne as she once had ever again, because of me, because of my mind.”
“Then she should have cooperated with a frigging Inquisitor,” Mirena shrugged. “That’s her bad, not yours. Throne, the stories we told about you lot while in the Navy, we were pretty sure no one ever even survived interrogation. And you know, I bet to some extent, those stories are true for some Inquisitors, aren’t they?”
“There are more…destructive members of my ordo, yes,” I nodded. “I believe such wrath exudes no favors for our Imperium. But trying as this universe is, wrath is a simple solution that often produces results. I fear I’ve failed Scayn’s test in that regard, however.”
Mirena paused and squinted. “Scayn’s test?”
“Never mind,” I shook my head. “You’re a good woman, Mirena Law. And an even better pilot. Thank you for the drink.”
“Get me a Fury, and I’ll fly all the Gleece in the galaxy to you,” she grinned. “Or you to it.”
“Might hold you to that,” I grinned, and stood back to my feet, joining Okustin and Zha at the cogitator recorders. Zha offered me hers for me to listen in to the interrogation with.
Four hours later, we released Canoness Galatena Amelia to her own still-shivering devices, the interrogation reaching its conclusion. She did not provide us with anything to go on in the city. All leads, it seemed, were dead.