Lucene was, miraculously, fine. A bit bruised from having taken a few autogun rounds against her armor from the Lost and the Damned, but she had sustained no great injury. Silas, too, had not suffered any significant bodily damage, though what psychological wounds he may have incurred would need to be diagnosed when he was conscious, which he was not by the time I checked in on him. I left, then, on my own, heading to my quarters. Along the way, I voxxed to Zha to summon Galen and Mirena to my quarters as well. She obliged, and indeed, upon my own arrival to my room I found Galen standing outside, attentive and ready for duty. “Long day, sir?” he asked upon seeing me. I must have looked as drained as I felt.
“I’ve had and will have longer,” I shrugged, opening the door to my abode. “Come in.” I lead him inside and began taking off my equipment, hanging my power armor up on a wall mount but simply dropping lesser weapons and tools onto a table. Galen, however, was looking around my room. “What? Bigger than you expected?”
“Smaller, sir,” he admitted. “Remember General Bragg?”
“I do,” I nodded.
“You ever been to his quarters, on Pyrran?”
“Thrice.”
“Then you know the man lived lavishly,” Galen suggested with a grin. I nodded. “Throne, I could’ve parked the Convictor in his living room and barely obscured the holomonitors.”
“Sounds like a fun prank,” I offered, accompanying his grin with my own, and earning a laugh from him. “I have never found extravagance a necessity for any agent of the Throne. I have here what I need to perform my duties; Lucene likewise. And with her, I have little need for much more indeed. At ease, please, Galen; take a seat,” I suggested, gesturing to a chair at a desk near to my bed, the latter of which I sat upon. He obliged. “Have you fought Astartes before?”
“No, sir,” he shook his head. As with many of my retinue, he, too, continued to call me sir. I did not even try to sway him to the ‘Cal’ vernacular; to me, he was one of the few surviving soldiers I knew from my past. To him, I was one of the few commanding officers likewise. Sir I expected to remain. “But I have seen them fight.”
“They are faster than men. Stronger. Smarter,” I warned.
“And more full of themselves for it,” Galen suggested.
I nodded in agreement. “Especially so for these that you will face soon. I do not need to reiterate to you that your survival is paramount, do I?”
“I believe you just did, sir,” Galen smirked. “I will not be felled by such fools, of that you have my word.”
“You better keep it. There will be a great need of you in battles still to come. I have…what may seem to be an odd question for you, Galen,” I started. He nodded, welcoming whatever I had for him. “What do you think of Inquisitor Zha Trantos?”
“She is very capable. And she has seen her share of darkness, not unlike yourself, and yet remains in the Divine Emperor’s Light. This to say nothing of her intelligence, of which I believe I do not possess the wit to fully grasp,” he answered.
“Me neither,” I agreed, chuckling to myself.
“Why do you ask, sir?”
I paused for a moment in my reply. “You and she…you understand that only in battle will either of you fall, yes?” I asked. He nodded. “She does not often see battle—not that she doesn’t know how to fight; Throne, she could probably take me out by this point. But…long term…I do not expect she will be likely to meet an end. Mine…I think is near.”
“Sir?”
“An arm. An eye. What am I next to lose, a leg? No, I may yet look a bit young, but the wounds are taking their toll on me. I’m getting old, Galen. And now a fallen demigod wants me by name. Maybe it isn’t this war that takes me, Throne willing. But my end is coming. I have not eradicated heresy in Ixaniad let alone throughout the galaxy itself; every dead Inquisitor must once have had to come to grips with this failure of theirs, which I now share in. But you…you’re too valuable an asset to the Inquisition to be ignored. Rare are those Freeblades willing to serve the Throne under our banner,” I explained, and meant to continue, but Galen interjected.
“I server under your banner, sir, not the Inquisition’s. It just so happens you’re an Inquisitor,” he declared. A tense silence followed, he knowing that a more zealous Inquisitor may have reprimanded him for such defiance. I knew the same, and questioned whether I should have. Eventually, Galen broke the peace by guessing at where I was going. “You mean to ask whether I would serve under Zha’s banner, were you to fall in battle.”
“And? Would you?”
“She doesn’t have the experience you do,” he shook his head, waving a hand aside dismissively.
“Hadn’t you said she has seen the darkness, as I have?”
“Yes, but—!”
I paused, waiting for a continuation. There was none. “Yes, but what?”
“I appreciate her, Blackgar, as an ally. But you are more than that to me. Perhaps you weren’t ever my direct commanding officer, but you sure as shit made it feel like it. I don’t have with her the relationship I have with you. And I’m only here because you’re you. If you die, I move on. Ideally I’ll have met an end before you, as otherwise I will live on with a great degree of guilt for not having taken the bullet or shell that did you in. But no, Blackgar, I do not intend to take up another Inquisitor’s banner, even if she believes she takes up yours,” Galen explained.
“It’s rare that you disappoint me,” I noted.
“But not the first time,” he admitted. “Perks of not really being one of yours, I suppose. I get to tell you ‘no’ as much as I like. I assume that’s rather frustrating.”
“A good word for it,” I agreed. “And if she better proves herself to you before I’m gone?”
“Then that would be a discussion to have with her, in such a time,” he answered.
It was then that a knock came to my door, and I did not need to reach out with my mind to ascertain who it was. “Come in,” I told Mirena.
As she entered, Galen rose to his feet. “Are we done?”
“We’ll continue another time,” I told him as Mirena stepped past him nearer to me. “It’s cold down on Quintus.”
“I’ll bring a jacket,” Galen grinned. His grin widened as Mirena, uninvited, sat on my lap and tossed an arm over my shoulders. “Sir,” he nearly laughed while I stared daggers at Mirena. Galen departed shortly thereafter, the door closing behind him.
“What?” Mirena chuckled, tapping her forehead to mine to match my stare.
“You really are without limits, socially, aren’t you?” I asked in a sigh, Bliss coming to mind likewise. Each of the two cared little for social norms or constructs. Regardless, I tossed an arm around her waist and began to lean back. She shook her head, however, and rather than wanting to be pulled atop me in full, simply stayed sitting on the lower half of my body while I laid down. “You’re energetic.”
“Always am, Cal,” she replied, a smile beaming down on me.
“Enjoy your flight?”
“I think I’m the only one that did,” she giggled. “I’m happier than I probably should be. I recognize that. I…I know we lost a lot of people today. I know.”
“But you’re giddy because you got to do something you love for the first time in over a century,” I said, to which she nodded eagerly. “It’s alright, Mirena. I’m just glad you’re in one piece. Well, as in one piece as I am,” I suggested, raising my augmetic. She bumped her own augmetic fist against my knuckles. “So you’re aware, Lucene and Silas are in the infirmary. Nothing severe, just bumps and bruises.”
“I’ll be sure to see them when I check in on Castecael,” she affirmed. “You’re tired,” she observed then. “Sorry. I can—” she started, beginning to stand up off my lap and back away.
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“No, no, it’s fine. I’m just an old man nowadays is all,” I shrugged, waving a hand back toward me to invite her to return.
She obliged, though this time did indeed lay next to me, on her side, an arm bent to rest her head in a hand. “You’re middle-aged. As am I. Even if neither of us look the part. We even still have hair on our heads!” she laughed. She then reached her free hand over to me, patted my chest for a moment, then put two fingers to my chin and tilted my head toward her, where previously I had been looking up at the ceiling. “So, you wanted to see me?”
“Who doesn’t?” I joked, earning another laugh from her. “Yeah. I assume you’ll want to fly again in the next battle we’re faced with?”
“I will, yes,” she confirmed.
“Same as before. There will be zones and targets I do not wish you to address. Namely, for now, there will be a minefield. Varnus is working on putting it together now. Stay out of it.”
“Am I to assume this minefield will look like an asteroid field?” she asked. I squinted, wondering how she knew, but nodded. To my squint, she explained, “Navy used the same tactic on occasion. Don’t have to tell me twice not to mess with that.”
“Good,” I nodded again. “How were they today?”
“I’ll need you to define who ‘they’ are.”
“Your opponents.”
“Ah. Well, clearly not as awesome as I am,” she giggled, but then shrugged. “They were capable enough. Decent pilots. I may not have flown against better, frankly.”
“They wouldn’t have sent the chaff today. They wanted to squeeze by with sending a small but elite force to take out the Inquisition. When they return, they’ll have more numbers, but less experience—or so I suspect—save for those that survived today’s battle. Those will be more elite yet, familiar with our tactics and strategies, and will relay that info to their greener allies. You should be—what are you doing?” I asked as Mirena grew closer to me, head raised over mine.
“Nothing,” she shrugged, then leaned down and kissed me, long, hard at first, then softly. Warmly. I reciprocated, allowing her to do her thing; who was going to complain about being kissed by Mirena Law? Eventually, she lifted her face off mine after several moments—if not minutes—of gluing our lips together, then rested herself on my upper torso and snuggled against me, looking away.
“That didn’t feel like nothing,” I noted, gathering my breath.
“There are rumors,” she muttered, wrestling her head against me. “About us both.”
“Romantic rumors?” I asked.
“Ha! No, I guess this thing of ours is kept a secret from all except Caliman, it seems,” she chuckled. “But no. Rumors about some crackshot pilot with an augmetic who loves to duel people in the ring and in the air. They say she has a great ass too.”
“Are you spreading these rumors?” I wondered, passing a hand through her buzzed hair, and earning another giggle from her in the process.
“Rumors about a one-armed one-eyed Inquisitor calling all the shots for these battles, despite believing we won’t survive,” she furthered. Then she looked up to me. “Are we dying here?”
“We could die in any battle we take,” I shrugged.
“Don’t patronize me, Cal. Tell me what you think. Are we dying in the next one?” she insisted, eyes narrowing.
I struggled to decide how to respond. I had just told Galen I did expect my end to be on the horizon. But did I think the next battle was it? No, no I did not. But maybe, I mean, it could have been, right? Not a day in an Inquisitor’s life is guaranteed for them or their Agents. If I told Mirena that death seemed imminently likely, I had to expect that it would be far more than our lips which met each other next. But I also could not lie to her, not ever. “I don’t think so, Mirena. But I’ve been wrong before, I’ve misjudged my foes before. You should be ready for victory or death alike.”
“Well I’m hardly ready to leave this life with just that one kiss. Hope you’re not planning to go anywhere for a bit,” Mirena warned me, which that it was a warning at all and not an immediate intimate reaction was more restrained than I had expected.
“Not until the Coldbreed returns, no,” I admitted, and parsed a hand through her hair again. Mirena tightened the grip of her hug, but otherwise continued laying upon my chest. That did not last for long, however.
***
“I’m going to skin that pathetic excuse of an Inquisitor when next I see him,” I muttered to myself as I overlooked the empty vastness of space from the command bridge of the Coldbreed. It would have been fair to say that I was seething at the time. Perhaps that is why I did not sense the approach of the Coldbreed’s captain.
“Is something not to your liking, Inquisitor?” Captain Caleb Vakian asked, perhaps thirty feet behind me. Caleb Vakian was not the first captain of the Coldbreed; the one I had recruited upon inheriting the vessel was his father, Janus Vakian. Janus saw me through the Phaenonite affair and a few years beyond, but retired and recommended his son to my charge. Caleb had more naval experience than his father, but had never commanded a vessel so large, nor one of such tactical importance within a fleet so large. Nevertheless, he had served me well so far, extracting me from New Cealis’s downfall most recently. Perhaps most important to my trust of him was that I sensed he enjoyed his current position.
“A great many things, but none of them presently fixable,” I said, heaving out a heavy sigh afterward before turning to him. Himself a shorter man, he was dwarfed by my wife, whom he appeared to be escorting onto the bridge. “This is an improvement, though,” I added, waving Lucene over. She was on her feet and in a repaired suit of power armor, her Sabbat helm squeezed to her side under her arm, revealing blonde hair that had grown quite a bit while in Castecael’s care.
“You say that now,” Lucene warned me before wrapping her free arm around me in a hug, temporarily smothering me against the cold metal of her power armor. While keeping me within her grasp, she whispered, “You owe me a conversation about Ouranos.”
“Oh.” Drat, this conversation. “Let go of me a moment,” I requested, and to my surprise, she did release me. I stepped a few feet away, though running from her was distinctly impossible, and she knew I knew it. With a sigh, I instead turned to my captain, who had taken to a nearby cogitator and was reading stasis field reports. “Captain Vakian, I’d like to request the bridge. Inquisitorial business. Please vacate all non-essential servitors too, if you would not mind,” I called to and asked of him.
“Right away, Inquisitor. But best I can do is thirty minutes; there are too many vessels about, each of them trying to situate around the Dawnshadow. This bridge will need a captain to communicate with them before long,” he warned me.
“I understand. That will suffice, thank you, Captain,” I nodded to him. He nodded in return before tapping a finger to his augmetic jawline, from which he passed along a silent command to the many servitors staffing the bridge. He and they began to disperse, leaving me relatively alone—albeit with a small handful of essential servitors remaining on deck—with Lucene. “Forgive me, Lucene, for the delay; you do deserve to know what I am about to tell you, yes,” I admitted, walking over to the end of a cogitator row and half-sitting-half-leaning against its final terminal.
“I think I can find it within myself to forgive you,” she smiled. I loosed a single chuckle before nodding, returning her grin.
“To the point: Ouranos has, within the visions he has shown me, hinted at our deaths. Yours, most particularly, though he suggests that you—or the consequence of your end—will be what does me in too. He has assured me on more than one occasion that he will be the end of you. Ouranos is a true heretic, a direct agent of our archenemy, or so I believe. He is everything we are not, our most natural foe. And he has set his sights upon us both. A savant, too, as Absalom believed, and I have little reason to think otherwise at this time,” I explained. I then paused to give her a chance to respond.
“Cal, I am the wife of an Inquisitor, and his most staunch defender. There are a great many that want me dead,” Lucene answered, all but laughing my warning off.
“This is different.”
“How?”
“Because savant or not, Ouranos is highly intelligent, able to manipulate an entire Phaenonite cell and, possibly, the Astartes warband we now find ourselves at odds with. And we must assume that Ouranos possesses profane powers and resources the likes of which are incomprehensible to us and our faith. And of all the trillions upon trillions of men and women in the Imperium, Ouranos has chosen us to design ends for. He speaks as though he is an engineer of death, or perhaps its architect. He believes he pleases his dark patron in this manner, by constructing the deaths of others. And he has chosen us to be the medium through which he sculpts his next idolatrous ceremony. Tell me, honestly, is this not of greater concern to you, Lucene, than what we have thusly faced?”
“It is an evil, Cal. You describe to me a wicked creature the likes of which have always been the object of our expurgation. I do not ascribe significance to the machinations and designs of evil. It is only ever my desire to see it slain. And if this villainous fiend does us in, so be it. I want not for us to end, but if we must, let it be in the process of exacting His wrath upon the foe,” she explained, then stepped up closer to me and rested her helmet on the cogitator terminal before placing each of her hands upon my shoulders and looking down into my face. “I love you, Callant Blackgar. With all my heart. You and I have seen darkness that would drown out a dozen stars, and we have brought light to it together. One day our ends will come. Be it by Ouranos or not, by such a time we will have lived long enough and fought soundly enough to have our names cursed by the archenemy for all of eternity ever after. That is enough for me. I pray it is enough for you.”
“I suppose it will need to be,” I acknowledged, sighing once more. “I love you too, Lucene. Do remember that.”
“I shall. So, what pathetic excuse for an Inquisitor are you skinning, and why?” she asked then, referring to my earlier seething.
I sighed yet again, and noted how often I had been doing so. There was far too much to worry about. “Kanin, the fool.”
“Ah, yes. Skinning him would be most satisfying,” Lucene agreed.
“You don’t know the half of it. Lord van der Skar sent Kanin and Lycia to our reserve fleets, mine and the chunk of Battlefleet Ixaniad we requisitioned. Kanin, however, zealous in nature, saw fit to take some of the Battlefleet for himself and pursue the Iron Warriors, just as I had warned him not to. He’ll probably be dead by the end of the week, or—worse—captured. But if, miraculously, he survives his pursuit, I’ll have to put an end to his idiocy for the good of Ixaniad. Supposing, of course, we survive without the partial fleet he took likewise,” I explained. He had indeed only taken a few vessels, just enough to overwhelm the remnants of the first force we had seen, but too few to last long against what I believed was backing our foe up.
I already knew what the cost of his foolish zealotry would be. I already knew that there would be deaths, likely of my closest allies. For that, for even jeopardizing them in the first place, I would not forgive Lord Inquisitor Kanin.