“I reiterate, you have no authority to do this.”

The Skitarius was calm. Far calmer than he had any right to be. There was no anger or frustration in that mechanical expression of his, or in his body language: only a quiet, self-assured refusal to recognize her power.

“I will not accept lectures on my own duties from you. I am the Emperor’s instrument, and I will not tolerate you wasting the lives of his faithful!”

“Waste? Do you imply my process was inefficient? Do you wish to peruse the records of my deliberative calculations? Will that satisfy your…” A twitch of uncharacteristic emotion ran across his metal eyes. “Unbecoming thirst for self-assertion?”

Her fingers tightened around her staff, but Bax shot her a warning look. In violence, they held the cards. She had to find a different way.

“Withdraw the indictment, Inquisitor Loran. This is a time of high tempers. For all of our sakes, let us take some time to think this through.” Sand’s outstretched hand was the only thing holding back an entire regiment’s worth of firepower from vaporizing her and her entire retinue.

Her stormtroopers were elite, but they could not stand before all of the guardsmen at once. She had hoped the shock of the accusation would disable them long enough for her to take over, but they had recovered and drawn arms annoyingly quickly.

“There is nothing to think through here, Sand.” The palatine raised her boltgun at the colonel, though conflict was painfully apparent on her face. “The Inquisitor has spoken. Ask your men to lay down your arms, unless you wish to continue this treason.”

“Veridara, you are escalating this needlessly.”

“If you are loyal, you have nothing to fear, colonel.”

“I think all parties here are aware that is a brazen untruth.” Zeta-21 turned on his heel and walked away from her. “I have better matters to attend to than entertaining a little girl’s tantrum.”

She raised her pistol and fired a round at him. She had intended it to only be a warning shot, but to her surprise, one of his mechadendrites twitched at lightning speed, grabbing the bolt round out of the air like a ball. Immediately, every Skitarius snapped their heads around to stare at her, mounted weaponry re-targeting her vitals and weak points with ominous slowness.

“When your father, the previous designate ‘Inquisitor Loran’, entered into an understanding with us,” he said, without turning around, “it was with the understanding that the lord Archmagos and him would provide support without the uncomfortable questions of reason and motive, and certainly without interfering in each other’s mandate. If you intend to break that covenant today, my patience for your presence on this expedition will regrettably be rendered… lapsed. Colonel Sand, ensure that the Inquisitor is returned to her flagship with all due honour and, more importantly, all possible expediency. She will, for the remaining duration of our current objective, rest amongst all necessary animal comforts.”

“Zeta…” Sand started.

“If she proves reticent,” he interrupted curtly, “you are authorized, in the septa-blessed name of the Archmagos, to use all force necessary. I will attempt to establish contact with Acuitor Vakor 9/7A.”

“Don’t you walk away from me, tin-can,” she growled, but he was already off, pushing through the rare few Ferrite Guardians who did not part for him first. The Skitarii wordlessly followed him, though not before one stopped to look her in the eye and twitch his mechadendrites in some strange pattern that she could only assume was insulting.

“Sisters, the accused is escaping!” Veridara raised her bolter to aim at the Alpha’s retreating back, but Sand grabbed her barrel, sending the shot wildly off course. When it smacked into the ceiling, the entire structure groaned around them. The damage from the collapse had weakened the entire hallway’s structure. The walls were slowly inching inwards, and the roof was sagging because of the lack of support.

“For the Omnissiah’s sake, Veridara, stop!”

“Do not touch me, traitor!” She rammed the butt of the gun into his nose, but judging from the dull metallic clang of the impact, it was made of sterner stuff than ordinary cartilage.

“This section is in danger of collapsing. Let’s at least get back to the camp.”

“Sir, for Ferrum’s sake!” The guardsman called Lukas flicked the dial of his lasgun to maximum power. “We don’t need to negotiate with these priest-dick suckers. Give the order, and we’ll roast them.”

“Silence.” A large, muscled man pushed through the crowd, almost as large as the ogryns in his bulk. “The colonel is still speaking.”

His uniform was large enough for three men to use as a blanket, and yet it barely fit him, buttons bulging under the stress of his chest. His face was completely impassive, almost as if the nerves had been severed. His hair, however, was a nest of metallic snakes, thrashing and coiling with minds of their own. He carried no visible firearm, but there was still an unmistakable sense of dread around him as he approached. Loran subtly planted her staff in the ground to stay upright: her knees were threatening to give way under an uncharacteristic terror.

“Anders.”

“Sir.” The man’s hair smoothed itself back over his nape as he thumped his chest in a salute. “Shall I have them escorted back to the landing zone?”

“Enough!” She fired a few shots into the air, blasting dents in the ceiling. “I am an Inquisitor of His Majesty’s Holy Ordos, and I will be given the respect I deserve! All of you, on pain of falling from the Emperor’s Light, kneel and lay down your weapons!”

Anders’ face remained as dead as before, but his hair rose, pointing at her like daggers as they arranged themselves into a jagged mane. “I obey no orders that do not come from Colonel Sand, and neither do my men.”

“Silence!” She channelled a burst of Warp energy into her staff as she swung it, unleashing a dull blast of pure force to knock him down.

But the wave just broke against his body like the tide against a boulder. He did not move even one step, his eyes boring holes in hers as he reached for something behind him.

“Stop, Anders.” Sand sighed. “Stop. No one shoot.”

The giant turned to him, his hair again settling in what Loran was beginning to guess was a sign of submission. “Sir, orders were clear.”

“Yes, I know. Just… give us a second, okay? All of you. Go.”

“Sir, she has her men here. If we go…” Lukas eyed Bax and the other stormtroopers warily.

“Anders will be here with me. Rest of you, leave me. That’s an order.” His earpiece crackled. “Yes, yes, fine, you can stay. But send the others back.”

“You’re accusing my men of heresy, Inquisitor,” the old commissar rumbled. “That means you’re accusing me of incompetence. You and I, we’re going to have to have a little chat soon about the chain of escalation.”

Loran smirked and tapped her rosette. “Looks like we need a few more of us running around the galaxy. No one remembers how to treat a member of His Majesty’s Inquisition anymore.”

“If it was up to me, girl, I would have shown you exactly how much we remember.” He grunted and nodded his head at the men. “Come along. Give your CO his peace.”

Slowly, the tangle of men and machinery around them filtered away, leaving them alone in the ruined hallway.

“Alright, what’s the issue here?” Sand reached into his pocket and pulled out a rather dusty Iho stick. “Why are you stepping on my toes at every turn? Both of you.”

She laughed. “You are expecting us to explain yourselves to you? Guards, take him—”

The very next moment, two of her men had disappeared. The giant—Anders— was holding them in the air by their heads, feet kicking uselessly for purchase. The rest were frozen in place, hands halfway to holsters. A thin, smoking line along their necks indicated the impact of a Las burst, aimed just right to pass through the armour without injuring flesh.

Sand nonchalantly lit his stick with a small pilot flame in his thumb. “Put them down. My question stands.”

“Sand, please.” Veridara clenched a fist in frustration. “Why are you on the wrong side?”

“The wrong side? We came here to do something, Veridara. Do you remember that? We’re not fighting these battles for the fething fun of it. We need to go deeper, find what this hunk of junk is hiding! And all you and your ‘sisters’ and this blasted Inquisitor of yours have done is slow us down and trip us up every fething chance you get. You’re shitting on my troops, shooting them when you can, distracting me when it’s time to talk tactics, and nowhere to be found when strategy needs discussion. All you’ve been good for this entire time is waving that gun in my face, Loran, instead of the enemy’s! Give me one fething good reason I shouldn’t have you strapped to an earthshaker and blasted apart right now.”

“Because…” Veridara gritted her teeth. “It would be treason against the Emperor.”

“Oh yeah? Come on. Smite me. I’m waiting. The God-Emperor sees all, right? If she’s so important, I should be dead any time now, right? Where is it? Where the feth is it?”

“Sand!” Veridara’s indignant scream was a dull roar in her ears. Bax squeezed her shoulders, inconspicuously holding her up until her feet could find purchase again.

“Answer my question. Why won’t you ever stick to the plan?”

“Because your ‘plans’ end with hundreds of loyal Imperial subjects dead when they could have been alive! That Skitarius knows nothing of the value of human life, of its sanctity! He will chew you up and spit the grit out just as easily as you would eat a grox!” Loran hissed, looming in his face. “My duty, colonel, is the protection of Imperial assets and interests. Right now, you and your Techpriests are jeopardizing that.”

“He is my commanding officer. If he asks me to die, then that is the Omnissiah’s will. Zeta brought us the victory! He brought us our tanks! A few injuries are hardly a large price to pay for that, Inquisitor. Besides, if Imperial property truly is the concern here, perhaps the palatine, who is so eager to support you, would care to explain the actions of her own troops.”

“He is not your commanding officer, Sand.” She tilted her head back. “I requisitioned you from the Munitorum. I am your commander.”

“Sanctus Ferrum was where I was born. It was Sanctus Ferrum that pulled me from the slums and gave me this uniform. It was Sanctus Ferrum that gave me the Tally for the 21st. You have given me nothing but pain. I do not recognize you as my commanding officer. I do not recognize you as anything.”

“And it was the God-Emperor who has given her the rosette, colonel.” Bax’s face was hard, like granite. “I understand your frustrations, but please, take care of your tongue.”

“Bull-fething-shit, Bax, and you know it. Her father was chosen by the Inquisition. You picked that thing off his corpse and handed it to a child because that’s what he wanted for his little girl in his last words. Half the Inquisition doesn’t even know she has it, and the other half is looking for the best way to kill her and take it back. Did I get anything wrong? Sergeant?”

Bax’s face remained stony and impassive.

“Inquisitor Loran was a god among men. You don’t deserve that, neither the name, nor the title. Zeta was right. You have no business being here.”

Veridara sighed and put her gun down. “Sand… don’t. However Inquisitor Loran got her post, it is not relevant anymore. What matters is that she bears the rosette now. You are a good soldier. I don’t want to… I don’t want to have to—”

“You were right, Veridara. We will never see eye to eye on this.” Sand shot Loran a withering stare. “The Mechanicus is built on meritocracy, not whatever puerile sentimental bullshit this is.”

Her face hardened, and she raised her bolter, pointing it towards his chest. “Then in the Emperor’s name, Colonel Sand of the 21st Ferrite Guardians, and in the name of his instruments, kneel and await judgement.”

Anders stepped in front of his commanding officer, pressing his chest menacingly against the gun’s barrel as his hair stabbed upwards in a frenzied dance.

“Do not place so little stock in sentiment, Colonel Sand. It is a crucial conceit of humanity.”

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Loran froze. The new, synthesized voice had appeared out of nowhere behind her. Sand turned to it and bowed his head. Veridara flicked her eyes over for a moment to look, giving the giant enough of an opening to smack her gun aside and retreat silently.

“Acuitor,” she said simply.

The red-robed priest silently walked past her, mechadendrites coiled tightly on his back. “Have you said your piece, colonel, or is there more to vent?”

“I will defer to you, sir.”

“Affirmative.” The Acuitor turned to her, revealing a face that was at once brutally angular and expertly crafted. Every respirator, gauge, and control light sprawled across it arranged into a strange pattern that could not be identified, but could be felt. “Loran.”

She shook herself out of the stupor and gazed into his optics, though it was difficult: they had a strange, swimming radiance in them that made her want to lie down and sleep. “You are… Vakor 9/7A. The mech-assassin. My father talked about you often. He had great respect for your skills.”

“I have no use for your polite flattery and niceties. Colonel Sand was out of line in his speech and conduct. I shall see that he is rebuked for it. But he is correct. You have been a… suboptimal influence on the progress of this campaign. Out of respect for your father, the Archmagos would want you to remain. But if you stray out of line again, the prognostications will have to tilt towards your… neutralization.”

“You too are a subordinate of that man, then?”

“I am a traveller. The only superior I recognize are the lexicons of Magos Samadhi. But for the moment, yes, I obey him. You have no jurisdiction over the Ferrite Guardians. They are Mechanicus Taghmata as per the Treaty of Ajaxis with the Departmento Munitorum. If you have concerns regarding them, you will report to a ranking Techpriest. You have no jurisdiction to take direct action. Is that understandable?”

“Acuitor—”

He held up a hand and flicked it. “Dismissed.”

Loran blinked. “I—”

“Dismissed, Loran,” he repeated, before turning to Sand and Anders. “Come. We must push for the next advance.”

A white-hot ball of anger began to take root in the pit of her stomach. Before she could do anything unwise, however, Bax grabbed her wrist. “Beatrice, no.”

“Don’t call me that here,” she hissed.

Veridara stepped forward. “He is going nowhere until we sort this matter out, Techpriest. He is a accused before Imperial justice, and in the Throne’s name, he will remain here.”

Vakor sighed. “Have it your way then, Sister Veridara. We will converse here and make the necessary preparations.”

“Come on.” Bax pulled her a little to the side, out of earshot of Sand and the others. The colonel had a brief conversation with Vakor, before taking a deep drag from his Iho and meandering over to the pile of rubble blocking the hallway. Veridara stomped after him, holstering her gun. Anders stood rooted in place, wordlessly staring off into the darkness while his mechanical hair shifted and waved in random patterns.

“Are you seeing this? Would they have ever treated my father this way?”

“Your lord father earned the respect of those he commanded. He did not try to awe them with fear. It seldom earns you more than a bullet in the back, especially here. The Ferrite Guardians have the support of one of the most prominent militant Forge Worlds in the galaxy. They were not afraid of your father, and they will not fear you, or any Inquisitor for that matter.”

“It’s because I’m a woman, isn’t it? And because of this?” She grabbed at the ends of her pink hair, styled painstakingly by a girl at one of the gangs she used to frequently run with. “So I have some Underhive fashion sensibilities. Big deal!”

“Trust me, Beatrice, the Mechanicus is the last organization concerned with your gender. I do not know what kind of slop those Necromundan ‘activists’ have been teaching you, but out here, it doesn’t apply. The only reason they don’t respect you is because you’re trying to bust their balls at every opportunity.”

“Language, Sergeant. That reminds me, did you do what I asked you to?”

He nodded. “I sent the code-phrase you asked for to the command ship. But what does it do?”

“It activates an asset. A very rare one my father spent his entire career cultivating. An Optimate collaborator aboard their accursed Ark Mechanicus.”

“You activated an agent inside the Omnissiah’s Wrath? Beatrice…” Bax pressed two fingers to his eyes. “What did you do?”

“Intelligence says this Space Hulk is likely to contain some very, very epic stuff. Stuff that can revolutionize Imperial warfare, catapult us into a golden age not seen since the Emperor walked among us. But if we let these tin-cans have it, they’ll just stash it away in some data-vault and forget about it for centuries, or worse, keep it themselves and gain a definitive advantage over the Adeptus Terra. My father always said balance should be maintained. I have to secure whatever treasures this Space Hulk contains myself, for Terra’s sake.”

“And what does that have to do with…”

“As long as those damn priests are watching, we’ll never get one fething thing done. They know what you’re thinking before you think it, see how you’ll move before you do. They have too much data, too much analysis. The Ark needs to be distracted, dealing with its own problems. That’ll isolate the Skitarii, cut them off from support, reinforcement, and most importantly, information. Makes our job easier?”

“Let me get this straight. Girl, you sabotaged an Ark Mechanicus?”

“Oh, heavens, no. Not even my best adepts can break those data-wards. I just… arranged for a little diversion that’ll keep them busy. Hopefully just until my work is done.”

Understanding dawned on his face. “Those things they recovered from the Hulk. What did you do?”

“About an hour ago, there should have been a little… containment breach. Don’t worry, from what I’ve seen, these things cannot multiply by themselves. They’ll hunt down and get rid of them just fine, but until then…” Loran grinned. “This is my playground.”

“Inquisitor Beatrice Loran. What the fuck have you done? Until now, you were an annoyance. Now, you are a traitor. If anyone, anyone at all, gets to know, we’re dead! Do you understand? No one will give a damn about your rosette! They’ll kill you. They’ll skin you alive and mount you on a pike. And when the next Inquisitor comes asking, they’ll tell him what you did, and he’ll shake their metal hand and kiss it for getting rid of a troublemaker like you!” Bax grabbed her arm, his grip palpable even through the metal of the armour. “What were you thinking?”

Gently but firmly, she yanked her arm away. “Careful, Sergeant Bax. You forget your place. I make the decisions around here.”

“Your father was the Inquisitor he was because he heeded counsel, Beatrice. He always listened when I advised—”

“And now he’s dead. Because you weren’t there. So don’t you dare be the ‘bigger man’ here!”

His eye twitched at this, but his voice remained level, if a little aggravated. “When he lay dying, he told me to protect you. This was his last wish, recorded in his armour's blackbox. If this comes to light, I cannot protect you, child.”

“And how will it come to light? Do you plan to tattle on me?”

“I have stood by your father when he did far worse, Beats. My loyalty shall not be besmirched. But he did what he did for better reasons. So please—”

“Enough.” She flicked her hand in his face while turning away, like she had seen Vakor do. Though she hated to admit it, it did make one feel powerful. “I will send for you if I need you, Sergeant.”

A flicker of emotion ran across Bax’s scarred, stoic face, before he stiffly bowed. “As you wish… Lady Inquisitor.” Then, with a sharp heel-turn, he was gone.

“Inquisitor,” a calm, regal voice behind her said.

“Sister Karina.” She turned to face the Sister Superior, her aristocratic, matronly features gazing coolly upon her. “Where have you been?”

“Seeing to Sister Sabrus, my lady. I feared they would kill her without trial, if I let her out of my sight. One of my sisters insisted on taking over so I could take some rest, so I came here instead.”

“I see. It is completely unacceptable, you know, Karina, what is being done. A pious servant of the Emperor, under ignoble arrest for merely showing a mutant his place. Shameful. The depravity of Forgeworlder creeds know no bounds.”

“I have seen similar sentiments in many regiments, Inquisitor. Almost all guardsmen view their Auxilia as comrades. Combat makes strange bed-fellows, I suppose.”

“Shame on their priests for allowing this nonsense.” She shook her head. “I will see to it that she is freed as soon as possible. Your sister has done nothing wrong, Karina.”

“Thank you, Inquisitor.” She bowed slightly again. “Your support is truly welcome. If only the palatine felt the same way.”

Loran glanced past her, towards the rubble where Sand and Veridara were. She had grabbed the colonel’s Iho stick herself and was now taking a deep drag, muttering something under her breath. “She is a true and loyal woman, though perhaps a bit soft round the edges. She needs more experience with the world.”

“Colonel Sand is a… competent man, and loyal, in his own way.” Karina glanced back at them too. “But she should not… mix so closely with him. It invites unwanted thoughts. Distracting thoughts. Oh, apologies. I should not speak ill of her.”

“Concern is not criticism, sister superior. I am sure she will appreciate your wisdom someday.” She reached out and gently patted her shoulder. “Come along, let us inspect the backlines.”

“Have the Skitarii not given orders for your expulsion, Inquisitor? If they see you again…”

“I’ll tell them to fuck off. Besides, that Techpriest said I could stay. They must’ve already heard of it through their nifty little… things. They’ll let us be. Come along.”

“As you wish.”

The walk back to the camp was surprisingly short: apparently, in the little time they had spent here, the Mechanicus had managed to move the entire forward post to the intersection from where the alternate route into the ship would branch off. At present, about six dozen automata with drilling equipment were working on a reinforced bulkhead that had lost power centuries ago and blocked off the passage. A few red-robed adepts and computational servitors were supervising their activities. The rest of the camp was abuzz with the aftermath of the battle and the newly arrived reinforcements: chirurgeons and medicaes tended to injuries and replaced broken augments, maintenance sections tended to damaged guns and machinery, quartermasters and Munitorum adepts yelled over each other and waved reams of requisition orders in the air, and the regiment’s preachers moved among the injured, offering what little prayers and comfort they could. She noticed that each of them wore a small, silvered cog on their belts: a sign that they had completed their theological studies in the Mechani-Syncretism dogma of the Ministorum: a discipline that aimed to merge the Cult Mechanicum with the Imperial Faith as far as possible. It was radical, blasphemous even, by the standards of many Cardinals, but the priests trained under this school were too diplomatically valuable to proscribe outright.

One of the more senior priests was standing off in a corner, conversing in hushed tones with a robed Techpriest with burning candles mounted on his pauldrons and a diminutive logistical adept holding a thick book with the Departmento Munitorum symbol on it.

“Inquisitor!” one of the guardsmen called to her from a nearby gaggle crowding around a thermo-generator globe. “Are you done with the colonel? Can we bury him now?”

This drew some snickers from the others. A woman wiped a fake tear from her eye. “Truly, a great loss.”

“Speak with respect!” Karina warned.

“Oh, my bad, sister.” She raised her hands. “Guess I’ll go shoot an ogryn to feel better!”

More laughter.

“Come on. Don’t give them the satisfaction.” Loran grabbed her shoulders and marched her forward, towards the makeshift brig.

“Come back when you’re in a better mood, Loran, and maybe I’ll teach you how to be more diplomatic!” one of the men called behind her.

The white-hot ball in her stomach shattered. Emotions were dangerous for a psyker. They attracted the attention of the more unsavoury elements in the Immaterium. Many a psyker had been lost to the perils of the Warp by one misplaced thought. Her father’s coterie of astropaths and combat psykers had hammered it into her head from a young age. The private tutors her father had secretly hired from the Astra Telepathica said the same. In that moment, she cared nothing about that. The Warp could have one, burning burst of anger from her.

She turned, the tides of the shadow worlds roiling and pitching around her. Machinery flickered and stuttered. The drilling automata slumped and jerked in the air, struggling to stay aloft. The sharp smell of ozone hit her nose, and a blue tint danced around her vision: psychic lightning, crawling over her eyes. The guardsmen who had been mocking her only a moment ago deduced her intentions and scattered for cover.

“This is my diplomacy!” She thrust her staff forward, and a blinding bolt of lightning blasted forth from its tip, arcing and branching in the air as it raced to smite them.

“Omnissiah, forgive my sins!” A wild-eyed man with a scraggly beard stepped in front of her attack, white robes billowing as he raised an aquila-topped staff.

A shimmering crystalline barrier manifested before him, thrumming with power as it taunted and then absorbed her lightning. As the final tendrils of power disappeared into it, it pulsed with energy, releasing a shockwave that sent anything that was not bolted down flying. Above and around them, the hallway groaned under the strain. The man—a psyker—collapsed, leaning on his staff to stay upright as a choker of purple crystals glinted with dark light around his collar. It was bleeding off excess psychic energy.

Dimly, even as she gasped for breath, she felt people approaching her from behind, locking weapons into firing mode. She had screwed up again. Then, in the distance, there was a loud crash. Followed by shouting. In the direction of the buried hallway.

Even as everyone stared, she was on the move. Inquisitors were not surprised. They had seen far too much. The way back was even quicker, on account of the fact that she was sprinting. She felt a few guardsmen and Karina behind her, but her power armour’s mobility systems were top of the line.

The stress of the psychic attack had finally destroyed the already weakened floor, opening a gigantic chasm with jagged edges where the stressed metal had finally sheared apart. Holding on to one such jagged edge was Sand, his fingers denting the material as they scrabbled for purchase. There had been a secondary, partial collapse of the ceiling, littering the approach with a hellish obstacle course of jutting rods, mountains of rubble, and obstructing pillars. She nimbly rushed past all of them, jamming her helmet on as the systems informed that her microclimate generator was running out of juice.

Nearest to the crater, Anders was trying to get to his commanding officer, but several pieces of falling rebar had nailed him to the floor, prone. His face showed no emotion whatsoever as he grabbed them one by one and wrenched them out, augmented healing trying to work past the repeated trauma of movement. She raced past him and dropped down to the makeshift ledge of the opening.

“Loran, I can’t pull us both up. Too heavy! Help!”

“Both?”

He jerked his head to a second figure, hanging on to his other hand: Veridara. Her head was bleeding, drops silently falling into the darkness below. She was not moving, but her sensors told her that the vitals were still strong. She immediately dropped down and stretched out her hand, but they were too far away.

“Hold on, I’ll come closer!”

“No, the floor is too thin! It’ll bend under your weight like a sheet. Get something long we can grab onto.”

“Sir!” Anders lumbered over and slid to a stop beside her.

“Anders, in case I don’t make it out, you are still the Keeper. Lead the regiment forwards. Stick to the plan! Loran, pull me out!”

“With what?”

“You’re the bloody Inquisitor! Figure it out!”

“Uh…”

Her eyes fell onto her staff. It was long. Probably long enough to reach them. But as she reached for it, she paused. Sand had been nothing but a disrespectful thorn in her side. If he was gone, the Guardians would be far easier to manipulate. This Anders fellow looked strong, but he was definitely not as smart and savvy as his colonel. The troops would not respect him like they had respected their commanding officer. The commissar was foul-mouthed, but he would not get in the way. The palatine’s loss was regrettable, but Karina was capable. She could lead. In any case, Veridara was too conciliatory.

“Her father was chosen by the Inquisition. You picked that thing off his corpse and handed it to a child because that’s what he wanted for his little girl in his last words. Half the Inquisition doesn’t even know she has it, and the other half is looking for the best way to kill her and take it back. Did I get anything wrong?”

“Loran!”

Maybe she should just let them fall.

“Loran!”

It would be better for the Imperium.

“Loran!”

She snapped out of her reverie. Sand was struggling to pull himself up, stretching himself towards the relief he was expecting. Expecting from her. From the Emperor’s hand.

“Life is the Emperor’s currency. Spend it well,” she whispered. He was disrespectful, but no loyal servant of the God-Emperor deserved a meaningless death. Her hands found the staff, and she lowered it towards him.

“Grab on, colonel. You, brute, help me pull him up!”

Sand grinned and reached for the staff. And then the metal creaked and snapped. Within moments, they were both swallowed by the darkness of the chasm.

“Colonel!” Anders shouted in his dispassionate voice, but before he could do or say much else, his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he thumped to the ground. The injuries had caught up with him.

Slowly, Loran got to her feet, eyes boring into the darkness. Searching for any movement. The hall was silent, save for the rapid thumping of feet behind her.