by Gav Thorpe
‘Re-targeting,’ announced the gunnery commander. He was on the upper deck but his voice came through a speaker just in front of the command position where Kulik stood. ‘Adjusting for range.’
‘Ork ships are turning, captain,’ came the report from the scanning consoles.
‘Here they come,’ whispered Shaffenbeck. ‘Straight for us, I bet.’
‘Belay fire order, check new course headings,’ snapped Kulik. He didn’t want to risk hitting the Saint Fatidicus if the orks drastically changed their heading.
‘Sir, the orks are…’ The lieutenant stopped and double-checked his screens. ‘Captain, the orks are breaking away.’
‘They’re what?’ Kulik’s voice went up an octave with surprise.
‘Disengaging, captain. New headings are taking them away from the Colossus.’
Kulik looked first at Shaffenbeck and then at Price. They were both as shocked as he was. It was the first lieutenant who voiced his surprise first.
‘But surely that’s premature? No ork would run from a fight without first at least firing a few salvos at us.’
‘They must have known they couldn’t win against a cruiser and battleship combined,’ said Price. ‘I’m surprised they didn’t cut away sooner rather than take the risk.’
‘Well, that’s just it, isn’t it, admiral,’ said Kulik. ‘They stayed long enough to inflict some damage on the Saint Fatidicus and then disengaged. Hit-and-run.’
‘Do we recall air wings and pursue, captain?’ asked Shaffenbeck.
Kulik looked at the sub-display that now contained the strategic system map. The orks were heading back towards a cluster of enemy signals around an asteroid field a few hundred thousand miles away. Only the enhanced sensor suites of an Oberon-class could distinguish between the dormant attack ships and the celestial debris. The captain’s eyebrows rose even higher. ‘Are they…? Are they trying to lure us into an ambush?’
‘Emperor’s Throne, that’s subtle for an ork…’
‘Don’t blaspheme.’
Ten
Terra – the Imperial Palace
There was some satisfaction to be gained from knowing that matters were in hand and that plans long in maturing were finally bearing fruit, but Wienand knew better than to celebrate too soon. Though she sat in her quiet chambers with a sheaf of reports from Mars, Titan and the ships of the Battlefleet Solar, the Inquisitorial Representative’s thoughts were fixed firmly on Terra. Lansung was, for the moment, en route to the front lines and incapable of solidifying his hold on the Senatorum. The fact remained that his influence had only been made possible by the self-serving nature of the High Lords currently occupying the Senatorum Imperialis.
A balance had been lost somewhere along the way. Wienand could not point to a particular period, a specific appointment, or name an individual responsible, but the checks and measures intended to keep the Senatorum functioning had failed.
Fixing it was just as complex, but Wienand had a plan now that Lansung was away fighting his war. The repairs had to begin from within the Senatorum Imperialis. To try to instigate massive changes from outside invited resistance and division, when unity was of paramount importance if the ork threat was to be dealt with.
However, there was an irony in that the very unity Wienand and others sought was the source of the current dysfunction. One of the regulating principles of the ruling council was that self-interest prevented the component organisations allowing any one or two of their fellows to gain too much power. A fractious harmony, tense but productive, was the best environment for government. Too many debates and nothing happened; too few and individuals like Lansung profited greatly.
The rot had started and would end with the Lord Commander. Udin Macht Udo and his predecessors could not be blamed for failing to live up to the standards set by Roboute Guilliman, but they should have been held accountable. It was the Lord Commander who sat as chair of the Senatorum and it was the Lord Commander who, by their title alone, was solely responsible for the protection and continuation of the Imperium. The Lord Commander could not have foreseen the ork resurgence but Udo certainly should have taken a lead in the response rather than deferring to Lansung. Whether corrupt or incompetent, Udo was no longer fit for the duty, but removing him threatened civil war.
A gentle knock at the door broke Wienand’s train of thought. She realised that she had been subconsciously scribbling notes on the reports with her auto-quill even as her conscious mind had been examining the Senatorum issue. She sealed the papers back into the static-locked sleeve and called out for the visitor to enter.
It was Rendenstein, her latest attaché-cum-bodyguard. A former lieutenant in the Imperial Guard, she had been brought to Wienand’s attention many years earlier and had submitted to months of physical and mental therapies to prepare her for a role as an inquisitor’s agent. Rendenstein had aided her mistress in many investigations and proven herself invaluable in both fistfights and firefights. The secretariat had the demure appearance of a tall, well-proportioned middle-aged woman, but beneath her pale skin was a reinforced skeleton and bio-enhanced subdermic armour layer that made her extraordinarily strong, and able to withstand bullets and las-shots. Cerebral and secondary limbic processors gave her a reaction time impossible for a normal human.
Rendenstein was also capable of eidetic recall, due to the crystal storage device in her frontal cortex, making her ideal as a personal scribe, secretariat and assistant. She never forgot names, faces or dates.
‘You have visitors.’ There was no formality between the two of them. Rendenstein had quickly learnt that her mistress preferred accuracy and brevity over all other concerns. The two had saved each other’s lives many times and though Wienand held the rank, they considered themselves equals with different skill-sets. The fact that they were occasional lovers sealed the bond between them. ‘Lastan Neemagiun Veritus is requesting your attention.’
‘Veritus is requesting? That does not sound like the Veritus I know.’
‘Demanding. Sorry, I did not even know that he had arrived on Terra.’
‘Neither did I, which means he intended to turn up unexpected on my doorstep. That also means he won’t go away until I see him, so you might as well prepare a proper welcome and send him in.’
‘He is not alone.’
‘Oh? Let me guess…’ Wienand considered who would be likely to accompany the veteran inquisitor. ‘Samuellson? Van der Deckart? Asprion Machtannin?’
‘Two of the three. Samuellson is not here, but Veritus has Namisi Najurita with him, and another I do not recognise.’
‘Najurita? She is the last person I thought would find cause with Veritus. He and she could hardly be more different. All right, I will see them in the Octagon.’
‘Should I remain with you? Is this a conclave?’
‘Not yet, unless Veritus wants to make it official. I think I know what he wants, but let us find out from the man himself. But yes, I’ll want you present to record everything. Just in case.’
After Rendenstein had left, Wienand locked away her reports and then slid the file repository back into the wall, absentmindedly shutting the concealing panel as her thoughts turned to Veritus. There was no point keeping him waiting; it would only shorten his temper even further.
She found her fellow inquisitors waiting for her in the Octagon as she had instructed. If ever the Inquisition was accused of being paranoid, the Octagon would be cited in evidence for the prosecution. The eight-sided chamber had the appearance of a reading room or antechamber, about a hundred foot across, lined with wood panelling. It was built on three tiers, with cushioned seats between the eight sets of steps leading to the lower floor. This lowest level betrayed some of the hidden precautions of the Octagon; the white stone was inlaid with lines of lead in a complex hexagrammic ward. Behind the wooden panels on the walls was a similar labyrinth of anti-psychic sigil
s and designs, powering a null generator that suppressed the abilities of any psyker within the room.
Such precautions were taken, it was claimed, to ensure that inquisitorial conclaves could be held in the Octagon without favouring one participant over another. Those with telepathic abilities would not be able to glean any advantage from their talent, nor unduly influence other members of the conclave.
This being the Inquisition, it was well understood but never stated outright that the wards also prevented psychic events of a more pyrokinetic, bio-electrical or otherwise outright hostile nature. It was an internally known fact that members of the Inquisition had sometimes – rarely and regrettably, they would say – disagreed so fundamentally with each other that such conflict was eventually resolved through physical combat. Conclaves were meant to avoid these situations by giving parties equal chance to voice grievance, philosophy and defence, and refer such argument to an ostensibly objective authority in the form of fellow uninvolved inquisitors. The Octagon was proof that such conclaves, bringing together inquisitors of opposite but equally passionately-held beliefs and politics, sometimes acted as a catalyst rather than a cure.
As the current Inquisitorial Representative Wienand had a slight advantage over her guests, in that she was able to observe them for a few moments on the screen hidden behind a panel beside one of the entrances, via a link to the concealed digi-recording systems of the Octagon.
Veritus was easy to identify, though Wienand had never met him in person. The ageing inquisitor wore a full suit of powered armour – even here in the heart of the Palace of Terra – painted white and adorned with much gilded ornamentation. Eagles, skulls and other Imperial insignia almost covered the plates. Veritus’ head was showing: deeply lined, the signs of surgical scars on his bald scalp, skin hanging from his chin and throat like the wattle of some domestic fowl.
He was gesturing vehemently towards a slender woman sat on the upper tier of seats. She was almost as old as Veritus, grey hair pulled back tight and styled in an elaborate knot. She wore a coat of heavy black fabric, much like a military greatcoat with wide lapels and golden buttons, and baggy blue trousers tucked into black calf-boots. Namisi Najurita could have been some high-ranking Navy or Guard officer, were it not for the lack of medals and rank insignia. From what Wienand knew of her, Najurita’s philosophy was one of working with and within the other Imperial organisations, at odds with Veritus’ creed that the Inquisition was a distinct and greater power of the Imperium.
The younger man sat below Najurita was known to Wienand. Van der Deckart wore an adept’s robe of dark grey, though a silver bodysuit glittered beneath the drab folds. He had been brought into the Inquisition by Veritus two decades before, and although he had since carved his own furrow he was always ready to support his former master when called upon. His hair was cropped tight, as was his beard, and he had an eagle tattoo covering his right cheek.
She had met Audten van der Deckart a few years earlier at Cenaphus Priam, before she had answered the call to come to Terra. They had both been investigating a merchant cabal suspected of siphoning away Imperial resources to local pirates. Van der Deckart had been poised to bring in the Imperial Navy and a contingent of Space Marines from the Inceptors Chapter. Wienand had informed Cenaphus Priam’s Imperial Commander instead, who took swift action with local forces and the Adeptus Arbites to bring the merchant guild to account, much to Van der Deckart’s embarrassment. She suspected his appearance here to be as much about that grudge as the ongoing politics of the Inquisition.
Then there was Asprion Machtannin. He was an oddly androgynous individual, with indistinct features, shoulder-length white hair and a slender build. His eyes were a startling blue and Wienand suspected his appearance was due to past experiments with the body-altering substance polymorphine. Certainly Machtannin’s pale flesh had a clay-like quality. His dress was styled as often seen amongst the Imperial nobility, particularly uphive families of the inner Segmentum Solar: buckled boots, tight grey breeches, short red jacket with flared shoulders.
The last of Wienand’s visitors was a woman who looked about the same age as the Inquisitorial Representative, with long blonde hair, a flat moon-like face, and dark eyes. Like Van der Deckart she wore heavy robes, and by the way she sat away from the others out of deference and kept glancing at him Wienand assumed she was likely Van der Deckart’s apprentice, or was until recently.
Though Wienand was tempted to make them wait a little longer, just to remind them that they had interrupted her duties, she decided that delaying the encounter was not worth the brief satisfaction.
With Rendenstein on her heel, Wienand entered the Octagon. Immediately she was the centre of attention, all eyes drawn to her as she nodded in greeting and made her way slowly down the steps to the bottom level where Veritus was waiting.
Wienand made every effort to keep her composure. One inquisitor carried the full authority of the Emperor and could, in theory at least, command the entire resources of the Imperium. Here were five inquisitors, a gathering that would give even an Adeptus Astartes Chapter Master pause. Wienand was well aware of how tenuous her position was and it was hard not to be intimidated.
She rallied her thoughts, rebounding from the implied threat with a determination not to be cajoled by this show of influence by Veritus.
‘Lord Veritus, you honour me with your attendance,’ Wienand started smoothly.
Veritus smiled, an unpleasant grimace that showed neither humour nor pleasure. The expression quickly became a sneer.
‘Save your silken words for the senators accustomed to hearing them,’ said the veteran inquisitor. ‘I shall show everyone present the respect they deserve by cutting to the chase. You, Inquisitor Wienand, have been Inquisitorial Representative too long. Your proximity to the Senatorum Imperialis has clouded your judgement and corrupted your principles. In short, you have become as bad as those you are supposed to supervise. I am here to have you replaced.’
This was no surprise to Wienand, and she decided to match Veritus’ forthrightness with her own.
‘And you have no business interfering in this matter, Lord Veritus. I assume, by the fact that you have brought a quorum with you, that you intend to call a conclave on this matter. I ask you to reconsider. The coming of the Beast is a terrible threat to the Imperium we have all sworn to protect. The Senatorum Imperialis may have its faults, but stability is needed now more than anything. Do nothing rash or we shall see the Imperium split apart from within, and consumed from without.’
‘As you seem to have forgotten, the Beast is not the only threat to the Imperium. There are subtler, darker powers at work that will exploit this situation. It was laxity that spawned this orkish horde, and further laxity may allow threats even graver to gain strength. If you wish to avoid undue upheaval, Wienand, there is a simple solution. Step aside from your position and the transition will be painless for all concerned.’
‘Easier for you, yet still disruptive to the smooth running of the Senatorum.’
‘The Senatorum understands that you are merely a token, a representative with only temporary authority to speak on behalf of the Inquisition. Besides, its smooth running is not my concern, merely its correct implementation of the Emperor’s wishes.’
‘To know a thing and to understand its ramifications are different matters, Lord Veritus. I am a known quantity – or so I allow the High Lords to believe.’
‘And that is the problem, Wienand. The Senatorum are too comfortable. It is time that they are reminded the Inquisition is not their ally, nor their political tool. An inquisitor is the Emperor’s gaze, the eagle that seeks out its prey without pity or bias.’ Veritus paused for a moment and looked at the other inquisitors. ‘I have no doubt a conclave will find in my favour. Step aside now so that the matter can be resolved.’
Wienand gauged the others in the Octagon. Najurita was the only one who would hear Wienand�
��s case with an objective, perhaps even sympathetic ear. Veritus had been clever to include her, giving any potential conclave a veneer of balance. It did not fool Wienand. She would be hounded until she was cornered and forced to come before the conclave, and then she would be stripped of her position in the Senatorum and despatched from Terra. Veritus was offering her a way out with more dignity intact.
‘This is an important matter,’ said Wienand, knowing that she had to buy time. The fact that Veritus was trying to get her to step aside was telling. On past form he would have simply called the conclave together without warning. Maybe he was not so sure of his position as he claimed, or feared Wienand would rally sufficient support around her to head off the conclave. It was an error on Veritus’ part to state his intentions rather than present Wienand with a fait accompli. ‘You cannot expect me to make a decision on a whim, when the future of the Imperium is so fraught with danger.’
‘Of course not.’ Najurita spoke before Veritus could reply and all turned towards her. She stood up and looked at each of them in turn, eyes narrowed. Wienand assumed that Najurita had now seen through whatever pretence Veritus had used to gain her cooperation and attendance. ‘It is clear that there is much to be discussed. Lastan, I am sure we can grant Wienand a while longer to consider her position. I would very much like the opportunity to speak with you further regarding your intentions here.’
The words were softly spoken but there was sharp iron in Najurita’s tone. Veritus held her gaze for a moment before breaking away, looking down at his feet in submission.
‘As you say, Lady Namisi. Some time for reflection so that the truth will emerge.’
