A very important meeting happened just slightly after the wee hours on the day that the rebels were expected to launch their decisive major offensive.
Inquisitor Thaberus Thorn had always liked to set up mind games when having to interview any interesting individual by himself. He would spend time working on a few initial scenarios and from there deployed his art of information gathering.
However, the way this meeting started had defied his expectation and his carefully crafted plans crumbled in the face of that.
‘May the Emperor preserve me…’ he sighed at her outstretched hands that were aiming for his hat and wrote down the date of the interview on his notes.
It was 999.M41, eighty years of active service in the Holy Inquisition and Thaberus Thorn had never felt so flabbergasted. Routine surveillance and tailing of several heretical cults had ended in the most unusual of circumstances, he and his merry little inquisitorial warband were now stuck on a planet with a massive active psychic beacon.
Sitting across him was Syrine, the mysterious transhuman amnesiac who was partly responsible for his current predicament.
After a rudimentary search about her background came back completely blank, Thaberus decided to put in more effort to dig deeper. He went as far as intercepting her luggage that was arriving from the Mechanicus ship, and the information he found only further deepened his concerns.
Amongst the little possessions she had, the most remarkable items were her collection of seemingly simple looking robes, clothes and body gloves. However, a preliminary scan revealed them to be anything but simple and his retinue had to request the use of his inquisitorial rosette to access more detailed restricted information.
It turned out that the fabric used for her clothes closely resembled the same classified material used on the banners of the Emperor's personal guardians, the fabled Adeptus Custodes. The quality of the fabric was in a league of its own amongst the countless materials the Imperium has access to. Not only was it as smooth and comfortable as the highest quality silks, but it was also practically indestructible against small arms fire, to say nothing of wear and tear resistance.
Thaberus knew the banners of Adeptus Astartes, the lesser cousins of the Custodes, could fly even in the face of apocalyptic firepower on the nightmarish battlefield of the 41st millennium. And with the common enough knowledge that whatever the Astartes can do, the Custodes can do better, he could assume that the banners of Adeptus Custodes would not only be made of far sterner stuff, but that acquiring said material was beyond the reach of most people even with significant wealth and power.
Further adding to the mystery, most of her collection of clothes was dated to be made over a thousand years ago. The result of all that made Syrine's origins highly disconcerting.
When they finally had the chance to sit down and talk she had a most unusual request, asking to take a closer look at his hat. After a moment of hesitation, he handed the armoured capotain over. Syrine took the hat and marvelled at the details of the stylized emblem of the Inquisition. Her expression of admiration rather than the common fear people exhibited towards the symbol of the Holy Inquisition only further exacerbated his concerns.
Just as Thaberus was thinking that this could not get any more unusual he observed the lady turn his hat until the stylised “I” was facing him, then she put the hat on. Slowly, she struck up an akimbo pose and declared in a haughty tone, ‘No one expects the Inquisition!’
There was some context missing here as Thaberus failed to understand her antics, and no one else was around to possibly provide a clue. Despite protests from representatives of the Adepta Sororitas, Adeptus Mechanicus and even members of his retinue, he had insisted this talk session be a private one on one.
She smiled, beaming with an expression that was completely at odds with the situation they were currently in. ‘Thank you, I always wanted to do that,’ Syrine said as she returned his hat. ‘It’s heavier than I expected.’
Then as if donning a mask her face turned completely neutral, the previous joyous expression was completely gone. ‘Now, let us talk.’
Over the decades in his line of work, Thaberus had developed what was akin to a sixth sense for discerning the truth from conversations with his… subjects. He could learn a lot from what was said, and his mastery of the art of interrogation allowed him to learn a lot more from what was not spoken.
Thaberus had taken great pains to study the subject of human body language, he dove deep into decoding the hidden meanings behind sitting postures, hand positions, breathing patterns and the pattern of speech. Thousands of hours were spent watching pict-feeds so he could learn to observe the twitching of facial muscles that were usually too fast for human eyes.
More than once, Inquisitor Thaberus Thorn had dropped his verdict even before the subject of his interrogation had a chance to speak. To Thaberus’ credit, his judgment had always been validated upon further detailed investigations. He was supremely confident of his skills, but that evaporated when he met Syrine.
She was sitting across him, her face and pose set to an almost inhuman neutral expression. Her deep silver eyes bore straight into him and she was utterly still, the periodical blinking the only reminder that he was not looking at a life-like sculpture of idealised perfection. Maintaining eye contact and studying her seemingly more than human features was both mesmerising and unnerving.
After a moment of silence, Thaberus decided to break the uneasy stalemate by making himself a cup of recaf from the delicate tea set that was strategically placed on the table. It was an old but proven technique, mostly used when the interviewee in question was not necessarily an enemy of the Imperium and receptive to courteous diplomacy.
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‘You want one?’ He offered a cup to Syrine almost naturally. It was not everyday one would be in a position where an Ordo Hereticus inquisitor offered to make you a hot drink.
‘No thank you.’ He had expected as much and was slightly impressed. It was not everyday someone could so simply refuse an Ordo Hereticus inquisitor without a hint of using their own authority.
They sat silently for a while more, and for the moment, Thaberus was content to just sit down quietly and slowly sip his recaf. He decided to try another old technique, letting the interviewee speak first and hopefully become more willing to share.
‘Inquisitor,’ she eventually said, staring blankly down at the table. Is that sorrow? Or regret? Thaberus started thinking, his decades of experience started working hard to read her underlying emotions. ‘I have dire news and would like to go straight to the point.’
There was a slight pause before she continued. ‘This was told to the sisters yesterday night and I had requested Sister Veritta not to inform you of this particular issue before our meeting.’ Thaberus resolved to keep his composure and nodded for her to continue.
‘I believe Cadia has been destroyed,’ Syrine said softly. He read nothing but the truth in her words. ‘We need to work together to-’
The sound of breaking glass interrupted her mid-sentence. Looking down, Thaberus found he had dropped his cup of hot recaf, steaming hot liquid was soaking into his armoured body glove, but all he felt was bone-chilling coldness.
She looked up and continued, ‘Inquisitor, we are just starting.’ Her face was still a wall of neutrality.
* * *
Two hours later, Thaberus stumbled out of the meeting room. Waiting for him just around the corner were the most trusted members of his retinue. Sensing the inquisitor was not in his usual state of mind, Niandra rushed to him, crossing the distance of several meters in the blink of an eye.
‘Are you alright?’ she asked.
‘By the Throne,’ Thaberus muttered while shaking his head, a streak of sweat forming on his forehead. ‘I feel like my recent rejuvenat treatment has been totally undone.’
‘Check on him.’ Niandra told the rest of the team, but before any of them could react Thaberus held up a hand, standing them down.
‘Don’t bother.’ He said, opening a part of his greatcoat to reveal several high-grade hexagrammic wards, designed to protect against psychic attacks, pinned to the inside of it. ‘They never reacted. We just talked, it was just a talk, just… a talk.’
A most extraordinary talk, Thaberus thought to himself, his mind was doing a quick recap of the last two hours. Of all the things Syrine had revealed to him, Thaberus had counted no less than a dozen of these, if true, would warrant him to instantly silence any imperial bystander who didn’t enjoy a relatively high clearance on classified information. Most of the information sounded ridiculous the first time he heard it, but her following detailed descriptions soon changed his mind on their credibility.
The most shocking of all was her prophecies. Oh, the prophecies.
‘Roboute Guilliman shall return.’ She had said it without any hint of doubt or deception. For the very first time in his grim career, Thaberus wanted to doubt his own readings. She was either delusional or telling the truth. Neither was a laughing matter.
What had really shaken him was not just about the things she said, it was how she had said them. She was just so… nonchalant about it. A brief moment back then, Thaberus had this illusion they were just old friends sitting down having recaf, and she was giving him casual updates about some mundane hobby they both shared.
By then the supposed original primary objectives of the meeting -- the discussion of Syrine’s identity and the upcoming major battle -- had since fallen to the sideline as more time was ended up spent on discussing other topics. At this point with all the information available to him, Thaberus had to concede despite his reluctance of admitting it outright, she might actually be who the Sororitas’ legends claimed to be and her outrageous plan for the major battle might work.
In conclusion, regardless of the absurdity of it all, supporting Syrine’s current activities here seemed to be the best way forward for the benefit of the Imperium. It was only after the talk Thaberus noticed his notes never went beyond the date he wrote down initially - 999.M41.
For a split second Niandra thought she saw Thaberus’ hand tremble and before she could verify it, he moved the hand to retrieve a small flask from inside his greatcoat. He then proceeded to open the flask and gulped down its contents in one go.
‘I thought you quit amasec.’ Her eyes narrowed slightly.
‘I did,’ Thaberus answered, putting his flask away.
‘Sir, Fulton and Tsalieh are here as requested, they just arrived.’ Acolyte Herlindya reported, ‘shall I brief them on their appointment?’
Thaberus was about to approve that notion before an unconventional and somewhat mischievous idea came to him, why should he be the only person to suffer the weird antics of that lady?
‘Nah, no time. Just tell them under no circumstances can they treat her poorly.’ He finally said and sighed, somehow the inquisitor knew today was going to be a long day.