I did not really have much of a plan in mind after releasing the Canoness from interrogation. Even so, I was compelled to remain on world, for Scayn’s sake. A naïve Inquisitor may have pursued the lead they were already on in tracking the tithing and population discrepancies their savant picked up on. That would likely produce results. Those results would, however, look comparable to that which came to Scayn, as he had indicated in tying my investigation to his own and urging me to leave.

So, for the time being, we waited. What for, I could not say. Anything to happen I suppose. If there was some great conspiracy in the city, some heretic actors would need to make a move eventually. I intended to be there to catch them in the act.

Two days after interrogating the Canoness, one of our proximity sensors tripped. I glanced to Xavier, who shrugged, not feeling anything out of the ordinary. I already knew that a Vindicare Assassin would not trip our proximity sensors, as ‘proximity’ was not their M.O. So I turned to Silas and asked him what he thought. He replied with a shrug as well, then leaned back and looked over his shoulder. “Go check it out, Vaigg,” he said. “Report in every sixty.”

“Yes, sir,” Luther nodded, standing to his feet and leaving the hab.

I closed my eyes and started listening to the surface-level thoughts of those around me. No one was too panicked. And, yet, I felt the same sort of dread I had felt before entering Scayn’s hab for drinks many nights ago. “Mirena.”

“Cal?”

“Take Castecael and Ms. Trantos deeper into the hab,” I told her, eyes still closed.

“Do you feel something, sir?” Xavier asked me as Mirena obliged my request with haste.

“I’m not sure,” I shook my head.

“All clear, sir,” Luther voxed in. “Heading back.”

Silas and Czevia looked to me. My eyes were still closed, and I was slowly turning my head to the side, leaning on a pool of varied emotions throughout the Habblock. So many people, so much life, so much moving. “Silas,” I said softly.

“Yes, sir?”

“Train your rifle on the door,” I told him. His fireteam bolted to defensive positions in an instant, while I sent a single word, +Action+, to Penitent. Then a knock arrived at our door. Luther had no reason to knock, he would have just entered. “Is he alive?” I called to the door, eyes still closed. Penitent arrived to stand before me, Evisercator raised and powering up, just as the door opened. Then all hell broke loose.

Luther entered the hab, a shotgun’s barrel wedged into his spine, with his hands held over his head. He was flanked by a swarm of Arbites officers which flooded our room, shouting for Penitent and my fireteam to lower their weapons and comply. I did not need to open my eyes or read his thoughts to know that the man holding the shotgun to Luther’s back was an Arbitrator Proctor, and this was his riot team. I also did not need to open my eyes to know that after the riot squad had flooded into our room, Okustin, standing in the corner with a laspistol, tapped his weapon to the side of the Proctor’s head.

“We know you have at least one Psyker,” the Proctor began his warning, ignoring Okustin entirely. His voice was cold and empty, devoid of any shred of emotion. One could confuse him for a servitor, a machine of a man, were he not a hundred times as imposing. “The slightest thought enters any of our heads, this boy’s spine explodes. Now drop your weapons and comply.”

Silence followed, save for the rearing tear of Penitent’s Eviscerator. No one’s weapon lowered even a micron.

“Are you alright, Luther?” I asked him, finally opening my eyes.

“I’m fine, sir. Sorry, sir,” he stammered. I shook my head, dismissing the need for an apology.

“Is there something you want, Proctor?” I asked.

“For you to lower your weapons and comply.”

“I am an Inquisitor of the Ordo Hereticus. I do not answer to you or the planetary Enforcers. I will not have my Agents lower their weapons while you have one of them hostage, but I am willing to extend you the courtesy of compliance,” I replied. For the record, the Proctor and his men were intimidating to some extent, but I knew they were not responsible for the Massacre. Scayn could have held his own against them with ease. And Penitent or Silas, individually, would tear through the whole riot squad if I even started to give the order. But any way I saw a shootout pan out, of which I considered dozens of different variations, Luther always died. Okustin often died too. I was entirely invested in de-escalation.

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“Produce your Rosette,” the Proctor demanded.

“I will reach into my coat for it,” I told him, and slowly did so, drawing my Inquisitorial Rosette out for him to see. Some of his squad wavered at the sight of it, but held their ground even afterward.

“Cogitator on my left arm. Verify your authenticity. Any other action, the boy dies,” the Proctor told me.

I nodded. “I understand. I will approach now,” I told him, gingerly stepping into the battlefield past Penitent. Her Eviscerator continued to roar as I walked past, but was otherwise held perfectly still, levied toward the Proctor. I slowly walked toward Luther and the Proctor before looking the Arbitrator over and finding the cogitator he mentioned. I passed my Rosette over it, letting him scan my identity. A brief glimmer of light flashed through his helmet, which was covering the top half of his head, revealing only his stern, stone-like jaw.

“Inquisitor Callant Blackgar, Ordo Hereticus,” the Proctor nodded, turning his head ever so slightly to face me, but the grip and aim of his shotgun did not budge. “I do not question your authority. But you tampered with a crime scene, destroyed evidence, ensured local Troopers were not present, destroyed property, and are now accused by members of your ordo and the Sororitas of wasting Imperium resources—or worse. The matter of your involvement with the Massacre has been brought to the Governor’s attention. To quote the Governor, it was me or the PDF. Do you understand?”

“I do.”

“You are wanted for an audience.”

I nodded. “I understand.”

“Drop your weapons and comply.” I looked to the room and raised my hands defensively, encouragingly. Slowly, my fireteam and Okustin, and even Penitent, lowered their arms. The Proctor pushed his shotgun into Luther back. “Go, boy.” Luther slowly stepped deeper into the hab, where he was embraced by Czevia. Silas did not budge, keeping his eyes on the Proctor and his grip on his weapon, lowered or not.

Then the Proctor spun on his heels and trained his shotgun on me. I again raised my hands to try to keep my fireteam cool, but that did not work on Silas or Okustin who returned to aiming at the Proctor. And it especially did not work on Penitent, who jumped between me and the shotgun. “Out of the way,” the Proctor demanded.

“It’s alright, Penitent,” I told her.

“No, Cal, it isn’t,” she whispered over her shoulder to me.

“Damn right it isn’t,” Okustin told me, eyes burning into the Proctor’s helmet, laspistol steadily aimed at the Proctor’s temple. “How is this meant to work, Arbitrator?”

“We will take your Inquisitor, unarmed, to the Governor. You will not follow.”

“Nope,” Silas shook his head. “Try again.”

“Proctor, you’re going to hear a voice. It is not meant for you,” I told him. +Stand down, team. This is not the fight.+

“Voidshit it isn’t,” Mirena said, emerging into the room with her own laspistol raised on the Proctor. “Blackgar isn’t leaving without us. Period, end of discussion. What’s your counteroffer?”

“There is no counteroffer,” the Proctor replied, pressing the shotgun against Penitent’s stomach. “Comply. Or die.”

“Proctor, let’s be clear about something,” I told him, unable to repress a snorting chuckle, still shielded behind Penitent. “I am willing to comply. I do wish my team was as willing, and I’ll unquestionably rebuke them for it later. But there is not a world where you and your men open fire and are not slaughtered by my team. And in that scenario, I don’t go to the Governor at all—at least, not in the way you are—and he is—hoping for. I encourage you to think extremely carefully about your next choice of words. Especially, Proctor, now that you are without a hostage—your one shield from my psyker’s mind,” I warned him, not revealing that we had two psykers, or who they were.

The riot team seemed all but scared shitless. However, If the Proctor was even the tiniest bit intimidated, he did not show it. But he did pause in his reply, and for a good while at that. Eventually, he made a snap-judgement call, likely working around his given orders. “We will take your Inquisitor, unarmed, to the Governor. You will not be within fifty meters of us, nor will you enter the Governor’s building. Failure to comply will be immediately punished. No further offer.”

“Okustin,” I said softly.

Okustin looked at me with pained frustration, but nodded and lowered his weapon. He understood as I did: this was our first real shot at a lead since Scayn had died. It was worth pursuing, regardless of the terms therein. “Fine. Everyone, fine,” he told the room.

“Cal, I can’t allow this,” Penitent insisted. “When I swore myself to you, that was meant to end only in death. I cannot stand somewhere that is not as your shield.”

“I know, Penitent. But in Scayn’s apartment, I told you I’d be asking the impossible of you. You said you would answer,” I reminded her. “I will be fine. These sorts of meetings happen. Fifty meters—you can close that gap if it comes to it, I’ve seen you do so.”

With a deep breath, slightly exacerbated from the shotgun in her stomach, Penitent at last revealed me to the Proctor, standing aside. “Stay safe, Cal.”

“I don’t imagine that will be much of a problem,” I assured her. “Especially not with a team like yourselves.”