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Chapter 8 - Descent

Certainly the most crushing part of the ordeal for my team was needing to hold back as the Proctor and his men escorted me into the Governor’s building and watched me vanish in an elevator with them. The multi-mile journey, on foot, to said-office was just another hike for them, even in all their equipment. Mirena, Castecael, and Zha did not join the rest of the team; instead, they went to the Bird, ready to respond with aerial support, medicae support, or any intel needed at a moment’s notice.

The elevator ride was not the fastest I have been on, but it was far from the slowest too. And at its not-fast not-slow pace, it carried us into the sky for several minutes. Eventually, far into the clouds, our ascension stopped, and I was shown out into a lobby to wait for my audience with the Governor. All I had on me was my Rosette and my clothes. As I later explained to the Governor, an Inquisitor was under no need to obey him or the PDF or the Arbites—or even the Enforcers, which thus far I had not had a run-in with. The only reason I complied at all was for the sake of my team in the room, a choice I do not regret.

Fifteen minutes passed before I was invited into the Governor’s room. The Proctor followed me, which was fair—self-defense for the Governor, even if the Governor should have had his own security detail—Enforcers—for that. “Ah, the great Callant Blackgar, Inquisitor for the Ordo Hereticus,” the Governor greeted me, stealing my intro from me. He was bald, with significant cybernetics applied to his cranium and neck that piped downward under his green suit. He was about my height but certainly not my age. After his greeting he held out a hand for me to shake, which I did, and then he gestured for a chair opposite his desk. I sat in it while the Proctor stood at the door of the Governor’s office, arms crossed. “I’ve heard much about you.”

“That’s worrying,” I replied.

“Ha! Please, I am well aware of the charge of your office. The Thantalus matter is no concern of mine. I have the utmost confidence in your abilities, sir, and welcome you to Abseradon. It is an honor,” the Governor assured me. Already, he struck me as being well-informed. It was not impossible that Planetary Governors kept each other up to date of the goings-on of the Sector, but the Thantalus Affair was very much classified by the Inquisition. “And I thank you for your service to the Imperium. You truly do the Throne’s work.”

“Thank you, sir,” I nodded.

“Call me Merek,” the Governor urged me. “Apologies for the manner in which we are meeting, but I trust things went smoothly with the Arbites?”

“The Proctor handled himself…,” I started, then cleared my throat. “Professionally.”

“Glad to hear it. I assume they briefed you on why I’ve wanted to meet with you.”

I sat upright and nodded. “They have, but I want to set some things straight, sir,” I told him. “There is not a soul in my ordo that answers to you or your Arbites. I am here for my own reasons. And had you wanted to meet with me, knowing—as you did—where I was, you could have asked for me at any time. I would have been happy to oblige. The Arbites were not necessary.”

Merek grinned, chuckled to himself, then nodded. “Get out, Proctor,” Merek demanded, rubbing his hands together. The Proctor obeyed and left the room, closing the door behind him. “No, the Arbites were not necessary. But they want blood. Still haven’t gotten to the bottom of the Massacre, you see, which quite upsets them. They’re also quite peeved about the Inquisitor that caused a ruckus on the scene of the crime.”

“Politics,” I growled, sitting back in my chair and sighing.

“So you understand,” Merek laughed.

“Unfortunately,” I nodded.

“I recognize the confidentiality of your investigation, Inquisitor, and would not ask you to share anything you do not wish to. But having said that…”

“Politics.”

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“You’re a smart one,” Merek laughed again.

I sighed again, then shrugged. “You know the roster of victims?”

“I know there was an Inquisitor and his entire entourage among them, yes,” Merek nodded.

“That Inquisitor was my mentor, Thaddeus Scayn. I will shred your city top to bottom, Merek, to find who killed him. To find who Massacred your city. May I ask a question now?”

“Please, any way I can help,” he nodded, and put his hands under his desk.

“Alright. The missing person’s rate is growing in the Underhive. Do you have any insight into that?” I started. I expected an unhelpful answer, and I got one.

“Heightened gang activity? Were it not for your mentor’s presence in `block 9 and your later involvement, that had been the prevailing theory for the Arbites,” he replied. “But as things stand, no, I suspect I am much further behind on the matter than you are.”

“Your city is behind on biomass exports. Why?” I asked.

“Are we? I’m afraid I’ve not been told of such information,” Merek frowned.

I blinked twice, then squinted. “So soon?”

“I’m sorry?”

“What do they have on you?”

Merek looked at me blankly, then sighed. “A Governor should know every detail of his planet’s tithes, eh?” he chuckled, nodding in recognizing his mistaken slipup. “Shame. They’ll have to get the rest out of you some other way. I’m sure you’ll have your biomass answers soon. For what it’s worth, Inquisitor Blackgar, I’m not one of them. You’re correct that they have something on me.”

“What is it?”

“The existence of this city, and possibly the whole Sector,” he replied.

I leaned in and cracked my knuckles in my lap. “I meant what I said about my mentor.” He furrowed his brow, confused. “I will kill every heretic involved in his death. You’ve given me a lot of reasons to consider you among them.”

“And for that I am truly sorry. And yes, perhaps one day they will die—I do certainly hope so, for the Throne’s sake. They are not good people. But I expect it will not be in either of our lifetimes,” Merek sighed, then let loose a yawn. “Scary, isn’t it?” he asked, then yawned again. “What four men can do?”

“Four?” I asked, and found myself returning the yawn. “What did you do, Merek?” I ordered, standing to my feet. I reached out through the building, and found it quiet. Rather, I found I could not see or hear with anything other than my eyes and ears.

“You’ll meet them soon, I suspect,” Merek replied, slumping in his chair, yawning again. “They said I couldn’t wear a mask, `cause you’d react too quickly. Had to let it pump in,” he explained, gesturing above him to a ceiling vent. “You look lost. Psychic Dampeners. They provided those too,” Merek added, yawning again. I had never encountered such a thing, nor was I aware of their very existence, alluding to further implements of heresy. “Goodbye, Callant Blackgar, and sweet dreams. They will be your last.” At that, and with one final yawn, his head fell forward. I believe he began to snore.

I raced over to his desk and looked underneath it, immediately seeing the switch he had flicked, which was not what I was looking for. More importantly, I saw a thumb-scanner under his desk, and grabbed Merek’s hand whilst releasing a yawn of my own. I fumbled with his unwieldy, sleeping body for a bit before managing to scan his thumb correctly, after which an autopistol descended out from his desk. I took it at once, and held it to the door. I could hear them now, a dozen men or more stomping toward Merek’s office. Their footfalls were heavier than those of the riot team, more metallic.

If they were the least bit armored, Merek’s autopistol would not have sufficed much for my safety. So I ignored the door for the time being and scanned Merek’s desk over once more. It took a few precious moments to find it, but eventually I found the city-wide vox communicator. I flicked it on, and after a dazing yawn, called, “Silas.” I could hear my own voice boom through Abseradon, and I greeted the sound of myself by shooting out the windows to Merek’s office. I considered jumping, but there was no reality that involved survival from this height. I yawned again and threw my aim of the autopistol on the door of the office just as it sprung open. A swarm of someone’s private military poured into the room, and I opened fire at once. None of them fell, their armor much too heavy. Instead, they tackled me to Merek’s desk.

I struggled against them as best I could, but I was hopelessly outmanned, and was still falling asleep. They held my head such that I faced the now-opened windows, which let me catch a view of Luther Vaigg swoop into view, carried by his Harakoni Jump Pack. In a heartbeat he opened fire on my assailants, his las-carbine managing to cut some of them down. “Multiple contacts!” I heard him shout into his vox. “Command withheld! Send the Bird!”

Unfortunately, the view of the outside world also let me see, among the red lasfire, a single red targeting beam trace its way up the side of the room, to Luther’s back. A moment later one of his Jump Jets exploded, and Luther vanished into an inferno before my eyes, a fireball that plummeted an unknowable distance toward the ground. I believe I called out his name, for all the good that would have done. I was then hoisted onto my feet, and just before my view was covered by some sort of bag, I saw it—the evidence of an Exitus Rifle shot, warping through a wall of Merek’s office.

And that was how my day ended, and a night of horrors began.