Gard Vikal smiled brightly as Jolan Gix walked into his workroom. "Inquisitor, I'm glad to see you."

Gix smiled and looked over the work benches and arcane machinery. A wizards lab, sure enough. "Since you asked for my presence doctor, the least I could do was show up."

Gard through open his arms. "Behold, the fruits of our labors. Inquisitor, if I had known this would be the result of being apprehended, I would have turned myself in years ago."

Gix smiled at the joke. "I take it you have made some break through that you wish to share?"

"Indeed. Come over here and allow me to present this archeotech miracle, reproduced through the application of science to the craft of technomancy."

He pointed at a table. "I regret to say that my favorite project, that of coming up with a viable method of mass producing copies of Xenarch capacitors has still not met with satisfactory results. But I have met with other successes."

He lead Gix to a table with a bundle covered in cloth. "And now the unveiling," he said as swept the cloth off.

"Is that what I think it is?"

"Yes, an Inferno Pistol. Performance should be somwhat superior to that of those you would be able to obtain from the Ordo. Range, energy delivered, and even ammunition capacity are all superior to the performance statistics in your arms manuals. I know you like heavy power in a compact package inquisitor and I would hate to lose you to a plasma pistol overload."

"Thank you doctor. Your efforts are appreciated."

"You're welcome inquisitor. Now I have a list of several items which may improve my facilities . . . "

------------------------------------------------------------

In the deep dark at the edge of a dead star system, a ship that did not exist hosted a meeting of some of the most powerful individuals in human space. Most of them were inquisitors, but the membership of the conspiracy had spread beyond the Inquisition. Not all of the membership was present, but all the players that were not present had a proxy at this meeting. Most of them knew some of the other participants. Recognition codes and private verification meetings allowed the members to be sure that they were free from infiltration and maintain their anonymity.

With their identities verified the conspirators met in a great hall around a great circular table. This whole section of the ship was abandoned, except for robots and maintenance servitors, to preserve the participants anonymity.

One of the robed and masked figures spoke. His or her voice was electronically modulated to be gender neutral. "This meeting was called at my instigation. A dangerous course of action is being promoted by certain members of our order. It must be addressed."

Kyra Neven spoke. Her voice was identical to that of the first speaker. "You speak of the tech dispersion effort."

"Yes," he replied. "It undermines the Imperium. Control over the distribution of high technology, especially starship and weaponry, is one of the tools the High Lords use to maintain their authority. By distributing high technology you increase the power of rebels and the temptation to rebel."

"My colleague's words are correct," replied the altered voice of Jolan Gix. "However those will not be the only effects with regard to central authority. Technologically advanced worlds are wealthier and part of that wealth will end up in the hands of the Ecclesiarchy, the Inquisition, and the Officio Assassinorum. Increasing tech base will make such items as power armour and bolters cheaper by increasing supply allowing the outfitting of greater numbers of Orders Militants of Adeptus Sororitas. Troops under direct Inquisition control."

"Furthermore, it will increase population levels and tax base as well as increasing the the number and improving the equipment of various recruitment organs. More Inquisitional Storm Troopers, armsmen, assassins, psykers, and inquisitors. And I haven't mentioned the two new techniques for dealing with damaged gene seed. They aren't miracles, but they mean more Astartes. Arming them will be easier as well. And needless to say, I haven't even touched on how these benefits will increase the power of the the Adeptus Arbites, whose business it is to put down rebellions before they start."

"But these considerations, as important as they are, are ultimately distractions. The Imperium has been in decline for ten thousand years. The status quo is a disaster waiting to happen and everyone at this table is here because they understand this. While triggering a civil war with the Adeptus Mechanicus is a disaster, so is continuing a slide into technobarbarism. Our problems are getting worse. New daemon worlds, outside the Eye of Terror. The Hive Fleets. The resurrection of the Necrons. We cannot meet these threats with answers that were already failing."

The first speaker spoke again. "You would risk civil war on your ideas? You reek of hubris Jolan Gix!"

The meeting went quiet. A new voice spoke. Soft, whispery, male. "Names are forbidden here."

Gix spoke again. "You have no answers but to continue failed policies. It is no longer enough to attempt to repair the cracks in Imperial society. We must take bold steps to bolster Imperial Power. Emperor class battleships must again be build in the shipyards of Segmentum Capitals. The grand cruiser must reemerge to take its rightful place among the ships of the line. The Imperial Guard must be armed with weapons to place it on a more equal footing with technologically advanced xenos. The Adeptus Astartes and Sororitas must grow. We must claim more of our psykers before they become dangers and make them into assets. The Imperium of Man must rise again!"

The first speaker shouted back. "Listen to him! He would take the mantle of our Emperor. Heresy!"

A brutal, mechanical, and male voice spoke. Maladar. "You dare call Imperial rebirth heresy?"

"Your plan is bold my brother," said the whisperer. "In all my time of service I have never contemplated anything so grand."

Gix replied. "The opportunity fell into my hands. I could not turn my back on it. And I hear no objections but fear. I will tell you my fears. An empire that is crumbling under the weight of its own corruption and decay, besieged by terrible forces from without. I go out and confront my fear every day as do countless billions. We have an opportunity to do something other than slow down our deaths and pray for miracles. What commander will not take a risky gambit over inevitable defeat? And who better to make this decision?"

The whisperer spoke again. "Does anyone have anything else to say?" No one spoke. Too many knew the whisperer and understood that his words were an instruction to dispense with debate unless they had something new and important to contribute. "All in favor?"

Three quarters of the table raised their hands. "Then it is agreed. Those that are in favor of this proposal will carry it forth without opposition from the others. This motion will be reviewed at our next meeting."

-------------------------------------------------

The primaries and proxies dispersed as their meeting broke up. Old comrades took this opportunity to speak with old friends or to pursue avenues of mutual interest. In a small chamber a particularly important piece of business was being conducted.

"Isran overstepped his bounds," said the whisperer. "He spoke Gix's name to expose him to violence. Two violations of our laws."

Maladar's reply was blunt. "You want me to kill him."

"Yes."

"You should have said so."

"I thought I did."

Maladar shrugged. He was going to kill the weasel bastard anyway, for pretty much the same reason. Gix might be risking a lot, but at least he was going full bore and had a chance of succeeding. Besides, Isran was moving against Maladar's allies and Maladar wasn't naive enough to believe rules would stop him. Maladar knew of only one satisfactory solution for people like that. He smiled, a truly terrible thing to behold. The whisperer flinched. Maladar laughed as visions of violent death filled his brain.

On the Conagwa , Inquisitor Isran Toneval's gun cutter detached from from the the frigate Glorious Fire with an escort of two Lightning class interceptors. They were two weeks latter than planed, the results of a Gellar field problem on the Gothic Class Cruiser Merciless which caused Isran to switch vessels. The Inquisitor was in a foul mood and quite impatient.

They hit atmosphere and descended towards the capital city of Velexun. As Isran's ship began final approach, the roof of a warehouse at the space port blew open. Two second latter, six missiles were launched into the air from mag launchers. Their rocket engines kicked in a moment latter.

A homing beacon went active on the gun cutter as the rockets closed. The Lightnings shot down one missile, the gun cutter dodged another, and its own guns downed a third. Then the sky burned intolerably bright.

Subsequent investigations revealed that the missiles had all been custom manufactured, although based on a Navy anti-small craft missile. They were all nuclear armed and even the recovered wreckage revealed no usable clues about the weapons' origins. The interior of the warehouse, including the launchers, had been slagged by a large melta bomb. No clues there.

The owner was tracked down, but it was revealed his mind had been telepathically altered and he knew nothing, although that verification killed him in the process. Ten thousand people had died as a result of collateral damage in the assassination attempt. The perpetrators where never caught or identified, although two minor chaos cults and three organized crime rings were exterminated in the process.

Inquisitor Maladar was known to be in a different subsector at the time and the few who had reason to suspect his involvement would have to proceed outside the bounds of the law.

--------------------------------------------------

Hethor groaned as someone shown a light into his eye. He tried to roll over, but he was strapped down. "Good response," said the gretchin fondler who was shining a light in his eyes. "He seems fine."

"Good," said another voice, out of sight. "Let me know when he can fight."

"Right," replied the gretchin fondler. "What's your name?"

"Hether Delkor."

"The year?"

"969.M41."

"Good. What's the last thing you remember?" The gretchin fondler was still asking annoying questions, but at least the light was no longer in his eyes.

"I was heading home from shift-, I don't remember anything after that." A lie, of course. He had been working in the space port as contract labour and getting the low down on the smuggler activity for Jolan Gix's increasingly vast data base. Someone had shocked him in the back of the neck when he had been heading back to his crappy hab apartment from his crappy laborer gin pit.

"Where am I?" He had a pretty good idea, but letting on that he worked for the Inquisition was less than wise.

"You're in the blood pit in Canara. Whatever your real name, the records have the name of a fugitive when you got sold down here. They get you boys from all over. Prisons, work houses, debt farms, the fight circuit, whatever." The man began to unstrap him. Finally.

Two bruisers in heavy plate stood by the door of the infirmary. They had shock sticks in their hands and mirror shielded face plates. Hethor looked around. "So this is receiving for the new meat. Make sure everything's working right." He looked up straight at the camera.

"Yes," said the medicae. He was skinny, with grey and a beard that covered a pockmarked face. That probably came from the removal of melanomas. The rads the star kicked out could get pretty nasty. "The Pit Bosses want good shows. You've had some augmentic work. Not local."

****. And to think he had had his aquila tattoo removed to avoid suspicion. "Served in the Guard. Centrades Campaign. Me and some other boys got shot up pretty bad. The Mechanicus decided to fix up with augmentics. Some kind of experimental models or process or somethin'. Some of us were fixed up pretty good. The rest weren't so lucky."

The medicae nodded. "I'm afraid our jailers won't permit us to loiter in conversation any longer."

"Our."

"Yes." He gave a weak smile. "Not just the fighters are here against their will."

The muscle took him down the corridor into a freight elevator cage and down deep into the bowls of the facility. He past lines of cells, most filled with big, dark skinned scarred men. Facilities consisted of straw filled mattresses and a pair of buckets. Hethor let them put him in a cell.

He was alone without allies in a blood pit designed to cage desperate men and dangerous creatures. His captors were a ruthless criminal syndicate. He had no means of contacting help and the law itself thought he was a criminal even if he managed to escape. Gix wasn't even on planet and it would be weeks before his irregular contact schedule attracted attention. He grinned. An Astartes would overcome those obstacles. Hethor D'eckor refused to aim lower.

Jolan Gix joined the investigation on Conagwa. Nuclear attacks on inquisitors were uncommon enough to merit investigation of possible connections. They turned up nothing in the end.

Gix knew better, of course. Vikal's workshop had produced the design modifications and crucial parts for Maladar. Maladar was supposed to be in another subsector, but the whereabouts of an anti-social inquisitor prone to wearing powered armour were easy to falsify. Even easier when Maladar's "face" was a disguise.

While Jolan Gix was caught up in his false investigation, some of his agents were having a rougher time.

---------------------------------------------------------------

The Pit Masters put Hethor through the paces. Heth held back, appearing merely proficient with most of the pits weapons and unfamiliar with the whips and chain blades. In the process, he got a good idea of how things worked.

Everybody was legally a condemned criminal, courtesy of links to the magistrates office or the Administratium. The only way out was being bought by the wealthy clients or getting promoted to something less lethal than pit fighter. Everyone's life on the outside was over.

The big wheels in the pit were the best gladiators and the retirees who were made Pit Masters. The only ways in or out of the pits were the arena and the lifts and the lifts were always guarded and monitored by pict viewers to boot.

Hethor waited. The facilities sucked, but the food wasn't too bad and there was plenty of it. The reigning pit fighter got nicer cells, better food, women and boys, and the occasional ride up the lift.

His time came. Warm up match before the big event. Hethor walked into the arena armed with a sword with a 55cm blade, his boots, and his pants. Arena guards watched him. They were armed with autoguns for crowd control and shock sticks for close in work. Their helmets had mirrored visors to repel the sunlight and shield their faces. They wore fiber plast vambraces and cuirasses over flak armour.

Hethor had already sized them up. When the day came, he would be ready. His opponent was waiting in the center of the arena under the harsh glare. He wore a broad brimmed ceramite helmet with a smoked black face shield and a blood red crest. Ceramite gauntlets shielded his arms up to the elbow. He wore a leather loin guard and heavy boots. In each hand was a thirty-five centimeter blade.

Hethor squinted and advanced. He was supposed to lose. The bright sun only compounded the other warrior's superior equipment. He would close, parry and strike, parry and strike. He would whittle Hethor down until he fell or died. They had chosen Hethor because he was big enough and skilled enough to make this a long show. The odds were fairly good that they would vote to spare him once he collapsed from blood loss and exhaustion.

Hethor had a different plan. He feigned a stab and then side stepped, moving to circle his opponent. The sun glare was a disadvantage, but the narrow visor blocked his opponents peripheral vision. A seasoned fighter would be aware of that and move to compensate. As the pit fighter pivoted, Hethor struck at his face.

He parried and slashed at Hethor's wrist. Hethor pulled back, began to circle again, and feinted high. The knife came up. Hethor stabbed down, poking a hole in the fighter's thigh. Hethor danced back.

There was another way to play this. The pit fighter was wounded and lacked reached. Hethor was more mobile. The possibility of striking and retreating, of cutting his opponent down piece by piece emerged. Hethor moved quickly, trying to take advantage of the pit fighter's reduced mobility.

And then he lashed out. A series of cuts and stabs. The pit fighter artfully parried as counter attacked with his free hand, driving Hethor back. The Imperial Guard veteran gave ground, falling back purely on the defensive.

And then it happened. An opening. An overextended attack. Hethor's blade speared his right bicep. Blood spurted. Hethor took a step back and smashed the knife out of the pit fighter's right hand.

The pit fighter struck with his left, but he was not the only man with a left hand. Hethor caught his wrist, stepped forward, and stabbed. The short sword punched through his breastbone and out his spine. Blood washed over the Guard veteran.

He tossed the dying man away and raised his hands in triumph, his eyes closed against the glare of the sun. The unseen crowd roared its approval, although they did not even know his name. Hethor roared back. "Victory! Always Victorious!" he shouted. His plan was in motion.

"Hey Heth," Nekuma said, "I heard about the upcoming fight." Nekuma wasn't a big man, but he was muscular and fast. He strode over to where Hethor was warming up.

Hethor shrugged and looked over at the smaller man. He had never seen anyone who naturally looked like Nekuma. His skin was as dark as coal and his hair was a crest of vibrant orange. "I guess Block Colonel Fell didn't like me killing his man." Block colonel was a rank in the Invisible Army, the world's most powerful crime syndicate. A block colonel ran a mid sized city or acted as one of the chief officers of a general.

The smaller man shook his head. "You got to take it slow and put on more of a show, not just hack 'em down. They ain't paying for an high seat at an abattoir."

"I do take it slow," Heth responded. Nekuma was a swift, a fighter who relied on speed and agility to win.

"Master Volokov didn't think so."

Hethor shrugged. He had endured worse than two dozen lashes from a Pit Master who merely wanted to inflict pain. "Until they put me up against an Astartes, they are wasting their time trying to kill me."

"Heth, have you seen the Ork lover? Kerodan is more steel than flesh. He's more than two and a half meters tall and he's just as wide. What are you going to do, dent him?"

The big man said nothing. "I'll win. As always."

They came for him shortly. Volokov with the weapons and two guards waiting behind. Hethor watched them. They hung back about three meters, but they weren't attentive. He could spring that distance, kill one and then the other before they could react. But that would leave him trapped between the killing ground of the arena and the lift that was guarded at both ends. Then would come the inevitable security lockdown, gas, death. So he let them lead him towards the end of the arena.

He had ceramite vambraces for this fight and they fit well enough. Volokov handed him a boarding axe and a spiked mace. Hethor took the weapons. Volokov could push for a match with a disadvantage against his pet cybermonster all he wanted. He could even get it. But people weren't here for executions and Hethor was calmly confident.

Viewing his opponent changed his mind. Throne! His limbs were completely mechanical, shiny and heavy built augments. The bastard's arms were the same way. His torso was covered in armour plate with mail mesh around the belly and joints. All of his head save his face was armoured in steel. Augmentics replaced his eyes. A grillwork of bars protected his mouth an nose.

And his armament wasn't much better either. His right hand gripped a huge chain blade and his left held a ball-and-chain flail. Block Colonel Fell must have paid a fortune to arrange a fight this one sided against Hethor. Or maybe the Pit Lords had decided to make an example out of him to inspire the others to pay more attention to showmanship.

No matter. Hethor had faced traitor marines. This cyborged thing was no Astartes. The announcer was blathering on about something, but Hethor tuned it out. The mace went into his right hand, the axe to his left.

Kerodan moved ponderously towards him. The limbs had power, but weren't responsive. Hethor rushed to meet him. As they closed Kerodan began to slow. Hethor headed for his right side. Kerodan brought the chain blade down on a diagonal angle.

Hethor knocked the blow away with his mace and smashed the boarding axe into Kerodan's elbow joint. Sparks flew and the arm went limp. The ball-and-chain came around in a horizontal arc. Hethor parried with his mace. The chain wrapped around the shaft of the mace and Kerodan jerked it of Hethor's hands. Both fighters were down a weapon.

Hethor smashed his axe into Kerodan's right knee. The response times on his artificial limbs was simply too low for the cyborg to dodge Hethor. The limb seized up and Hethor ran around the giant, using Kerodan's own body as cover from it's weapon.

Kerodan clumsily pivoted on his dead leg. Hethor used both hands to bury his ax blade into Kerodan's waist, smashing through the mail mesh. Blood arced into the air. Kerodan staggered away and bellowed. Hethor kicked the giant's damaged leg hard, wrecking his balance. Kerodan's fall shook the sands.

Hethor backed up to retrieve Kerodan's chain blade. Even using both hands it felt clumsy. He raised it above his head as the cyborg got to his feet. The crowd was shouting. Hethor wanted to finish him, regardless of the will of the Pit Lords. But it would be better to obey. The moment he was waiting for was fast approaching.

"Slather more on," Hethor told Nekuma. "If that pig ****** gets a grip on me, I'm goin' down down like Sanguinus under Horus's fists."

"Uh, sure Heth," said the smaller man. He rubbed more oil onto Hethor's upper body. "Do you have a plan?"

"Yeah. Win."

"Got any more details?"

"Don't let the pig ****** get a grip," grunted the veteran. "Block Colonel Fell is really taking this personally. I should have axed his cyborg freak."

"Yeah," said Nekuma. "It must have cost a fortune in bribes to arrange this match. Throwing-" he stopped.

"Don't worry. We both know I'm not supposed to survive this. Won't be the first time I've lived through **** like this." Horns blew. Hethor walked into the arena.

The hell sun beat down. Hethor's torso glistened in the light. He was stripped to the waist, his muscles and scars visible to all. Most of the latter came from decades of service. A few from surgeries to put him back together or install augmentics after he had been chewed up and nearly shredded in that service.

The opposite gate opened. Four handlers with shock prods managed a ravening beast. A bull ork, two and a half meters tall and at least two hundred and fifty kilos of mean muscle and bone. It roared and foam dripped from its fangs. It's lower left tusk was broken and tore at its upper lip. Blood mixed into the foam, heightening its fury.

It had been drugged, of course. Enough frenzon, onslaught, or one of their chemical cousins poured into its veins to kill a bull or to drive an already violent ork way past the point of berserkergang. The handler's jabbed it in unison, driving it forward. The ork writhed. The collar sprang loose. The handlers bolted back as the gate slammed shut. The furious, frenzied ork got to its feet and roared. The only thing that it could reach and kill was Hethor D'eckor.

It charged screaming, hunched low with knuckles almost scrapping the sand. It was fast, **** fast. There was no way Hethor could match the ork's strength and killing fury. He rushed forward to meet it.

The ork was blind to everything but murder lust. It stretched out its arms to seize and and rend. Hethor leaped and lashed out with his right leg. Orks were slower than men even before their minds are clouded with a chemical stew and Hethor's reflexes were battle honed and augmenticly sharpened.

Hethor's jump kick collided with the ork's neck. It's neck bones shattered with a snap and its head lolled as the two bodies collided. Hethor rolled from the deadly, spasming corpse.

He backed away and thrust his fist into the sky. "Victory!" the crowd shouted. "Victory!" The shouting continued. He waited for it to die down and then headed back towards his gate and the dark underworld of the gladiator barracks.

Two guards were waiting for him. One spoke. "Lord Krulll requires that you attend him."

Hethor inclined his head slightly. "As he wishes." Finally, it was happening. Now the real work would begin.

This is really good. One of the best pieces of fan fiction i have read. Please write more.

The guards let him shower and put on a clean tunic and pants before leading him up the lift. Mirror visored guards watched him as the lift wound up from the bowels of the coliseum. After a minute the cage ground to a halt and the doors opened. The guards directed him outside and he placidly obeyed.

There was another pair of guards watching the lift. Hethor walked between them and out into the corridor. One of the guards gestured with his autogun. Hethor began walking that way. "Halt," one of them ordered. Hethor obeyed.

The guard opened the door to another lift, a much nicer one with rich wood paneling and chromed railings. They followed him in. Their movements had the regular and smooth of routine, rather than the edge Hethor associated with true vigilance. What was he going to do? Legally he was a convicted criminal. There was no where for him to go, no one that would help him. Except the man who had summoned him. With a patron he could become a prized and pampered possession or retire as a Pit Master. If the patron liked him.

The lift opened and he was sent across the corridor and through another door. There were two guards outside the door and they weren't pit guards. They wore pants of some kind of tough synthetic and bulky leather jackets. Glare glasses shielded their eyes. They sent him inside.

It was a luxury box with one wall being completely covered by a slab of polarized transpex. The box was staggered in three tiers, with Lord Krull a the bottom near the glass and various guards and flunkies were arranged at distances that indicated their status.

Lord Krull was a big man and a lot of it was fat. He wore leathers of mauve silks and his gut threatened to burst out of his clothes. His florid face was partially hidden by a thick handlebar mustache. He raised a glass. "Victory!"

His cronies joined in. "Victory!"

Hethor bowed. "Thank you lord."

Krull laughed. "Thank you. I've made five hundred thousand thrones betting against that fool Fell. Come, help me enjoy it." Two slim and slender beauties wearing revealing silks made eyes at him.

Hethor sat down near to Krull. He accepted goblet and began to answered inane questions and recited half-truths about battles he had fought in. He sucked down liqueur, although not quite as quickly as he might seem to. And he spilled a lot of it. He played the dancing bear.

The brunette joygirl kneelled down between his legs and looked up at him as she opened his fly. Eyes were on him from all over the room. Another amusement. Another roll to play. And what the hell, she was pretty good at it. Hethor sunk back in his chair and enjoyed it.

After she was done Hethor went back to drinking and eating. Lord Krull was only half watching the fights. Everyone was drinking, snorting, swallowing, or shooting up mind altering substances. Even some of the bodyguards. Hethor got up and staggered towards the bathroom at the back.

He relieved himself and splashed water on his face. He had actually drunk comparatively little and he was a very big man with a lot of tolerance for alcohol. He was ready. He walked out the door and back into the booth. It had all the luxuries a rich man would want to have at his finger tips. Its own bar, pharmacy, room for retainers, and a comm set. A very good comm set.

Hethor staggered towards one of the two bodyguards watching things at the top tier. He caught Hethor and grunted as he tried to hold him up. Hethor let the other man take his weight, keeping the bodyguard's hands completely occupied. Then he snapped his neck like a chicken.

The other guard turned as his buddy slumped, but he was far too slow and unprepared. Hethor ripped the stubber from the dying man's holster with one hand and cracked the bodyguard across the temple with the other. He grabbed the sagging guard's collar and pulled him in front to use as a human shield.

The other guards were paying attention now and had realized something really wrong was happening. Hethor shot one twice in the face before he could bring his weapon to bear. His brains blew out the back of his skull and splattered on the the window.

Another guard fired at Hethor and managed to put two bullets into his shield's chest. Hethor put two into his. The guard staggered back, but no blood spilled forth. Hethor shot him another three times. The fifth shot splattered the bodyguard's clothes with blood and he fell.

The room was in complete chaos. A lot of people were trying to hide behind seats, others were screaming. A gaudily dressed man drew a las and missed Hethor by a meter. Hethor fired four shots his way. Three connected and the peacock fell back.

The guards from outside the room charged in. Hethor blasted one, hitting him twice in the chest and then putting one into his neck. He sagged and fell. The other pumped rounds into his meat shield. Hethor's pistol clicked empty. Hethor jumped down to the lower level and threw his shield at him. The guard tried to dodge and mostly succeeded. Hethor as on him before the could bring his gun to bear.

Hethor grabbed his right wrist and squeezed while smashing his fist into his solar plexus. The guard doubled up and Hethor slammed him in the throat, crushing his wind pipe. Hethor spun them around to use the man as a shield and stripped the gun from his hand.

Someone else had picked up the las and shot the dying bodyguard in the spine. He toppled. Heth fired on the pistolier, a young, plainly dressed man. A las beam scorched Heth's lower ribs. Heth put one in the man's shoulder and one in the face. He strode forward and killed two more before retrieving the las. He emptied the stubber into the survivors. Lord Krull was shaking in his seat. The two joy girls huddled and clutched either other. They were splattered with blood. Everyone else was dead or dying.

Hethor walked over to the comm unit and punched in an address. He spoke carefully into the vox. "Gix. Omega-Gamma. House-Three. Situation Paradox."

There was a moment. "Affirm. Situation Paradox. Forces dispatched."

Hethor turned back to the survivors as he eased his way down to the door and closed it. He triggered the locking mechanism. "Who are you?" Krull quavered.

"Hethor D'eckor. Agent of the Inquisition." Krull went white. "All of this is history."

Jolan sat in front of the furnace and put down the books he was carrying. One pile was made of the three red folios he had taken from Herican's library. The other pile was made of four small notebooks.

He had distilled all the knowledge in Herican's grimoires into these books, omitting the heretical propaganda and the philosophy. He had also left out some of the basic warp craft that had been part of his instruction at Schola. It was a depressing commentary on the state of the Imperium that distilled chaos grimoires yielded more useful information than a similar amount of distilled Mechanicus technical manuals.

Gix hesitated for a moment. He had exhaustively studied these works. He was confident of his mastery of their contents. He had transcribed every iota of useful information. But this next step was irreversible.

So be it. He picked up the first folio, stroked its blood red leather for a moment, and then tossed it in the furnace. Its brothers followed it into the flames. There is it was done. He picked up his notebooks.

He would have to be careful about who he distributed copies too. Many of his fellow inquisitors would consider the content to be unacceptably radical. There were some that would be safe to approach. Xanthites would be receptive, those radicals that believed in using the powers of Chaos to fight Chaos. They were-

He stopped. Not they. We. Sometime on Adraxis or Cyrus Gamma he had ceased to be a moderate Amalathian and started down the road to Radicalism. So be it. He would do whatever he had to do to preserve the Imperium.

"Inquisitor," said Gard from behind him. Gix picked up his notebooks and stood up.

"Yes?"

"We've received news from Garidia. Hethor was abducted by a criminal ring."

"Is he alright?"

"He managed to get a message through to the Officio Inquisitorus. They dispatched three kill teams. He's fine."

Jolan closed his eyes. "Good. We'll continue on course to Garidia and join up with Hethor."

----------------------------------------------------------------

"Master, I have news."

Adarin turned away from the colossal view port and faced his interrogator. "Yes?"

"I know where Jolan Gix will be in the next few weeks." Gix was hard to track. He extensively employed false names and disguises, operating sub rosa most of the time. By the time one knew where he was, Gix was already leaving. It made assassinating him rather difficult.

"Where?" Isran Toneval had been reckless. He should have accepted the the decision of the majority and then worked to kill Gix behind the scenes instead of outing him. But what was done was done. Now Adarin would cripple this radical infection that was threatening to corrupt the Progressives and avenge Isran in one stroke.

"Who do we have there who can act? Zacharus?"

"Yes."

"Excellent."

Gix laid down the cards of the Emperor's Tarot. He had become more proficient at reading them over the years. More times than not the hints they provided were actually useful, as opposed to becoming clear after the fact. The pattern disturbed him.

The Magus, inverted, with the Soldier laying over top. Danger. Violence. A threat. From Hethor? Unlikely. But the reading was strong.

"Gard, stay back and kick your auspexes up. Danell, find us an inconspicuous route."

The assassin nodded. "Are we expecting trouble?" Gard asked.

Gix looked down at the cards. "Unfortunately."

--------------------------------------------------------

Zacharus waited patiently in his roost. Feeds from his auspexes were fed into his cogitator stack. While there were multiple approaches one could make to the Officio Inquisitorus building, there was only one route to and from the spaceport. Gix could avoid that if he docked with another ship and then took a dropship directly down, but he hadn't chosen to do that.

So Gix would either travel by ground vehicle or flier to the Officio. A concealed anti-air missile launcher was ready for a flier. Another launcher was lying beside him for a ground vehicle. He continued to wait.

A blip. A hunter-skull had picked them up at the space port. He checked the image. They were heading a public transport tube. Too bad he had thought of that as well.

An unusual choice. He wondered why the inquisitor had made that decision. Perhaps he was aware that he might be targeted. No matter. Either Zacharus would get his shot or he would continue to wait for an opportunity. He slid into the next room.

This one had a nice corner window. Including a view of where the entrance from the underground tube system emerged at street level in front of the Officio Building. Zacharus consulted the cogitator. It was monitoring the progress of the tube system. He settled down to wait and dispatched a hunter-skull to monitor the exit.

It was nearly twenty minutes before it arrived. He settled down behind the the sights of the long las. It was nearly a klick away. Easily doable. He had loaded a hot shot cell. He only needed one shot.

The skull sent data to his cogitators. This close to the Officio building it wasn't out of place. He doubted anyone would look twice. Data streamed back. A probable. The holo system displayed the image.

Ah Gix. All these precautions and you still wear a long coat. Habits can get you killed in this business. This one just did. The crowd began to emerge. He waited.

It was too thick to tell for sure and everyone was moving. Twenty meters up the street and it had thinned out enough for Zacharus to pick his target. He dropped the cross hairs on Gix's upper back. "Good night, Jolan Gix." He fired.

Light flared around Gix. An active conversion field. They drained power like no one's business, but it might have saved Gix's life. The crowd milled around in a panic, many of them temporarily blinded by the conversion field's flash. They were also doing an excellent job of providing cover for Gix. Zacharus slipped in another hot shot pack.

The auspex display was showing that Gix's vitals were flatlining. So it hadn't saved him after all. Skulls were headed this way. The Inquisition took a professional interest in assassinations in its turf. Soon the area would be full of darting hunter and gun skulls. He checked Gix again. According to his hunter-skull, he had been dragged into a doorway by someone. Out of his line of fire.

Time wasn't on his side. Zacharus dropped the long las and began moving. As soon as he left these rooms, the melta bombs would slag everything. If Gix lived, he would have another shot at him.

Is there anymore coming?

Pain. Scorching pain mixed with fuzzy numbness. There was some piece of machinery stuffed into his mouth. Tubes in his throat. Air being pumped in and out. It hurt. Jolan's eyes flickered open.

He was lying in a bed attached to have several tons of machinery. Some kind of hospital room. Gard was looking down at him. "Inquisitor. I see you have regained consciousness. Try to relax. You were shot in the back and suffered serious injuries. I know you are extremely uncomfortable at the moment, but without these machines you would be dead.

"The first thing you should be aware of is that your injuries are repairable. You should eventually recover something close to full function. Tissue cloning and advanced augmentics are both available.

"Now, I am sure you have questions and orders. That thing you feel attached to the back of your skull is an MIU. It links you with this speech unit. You should be able to communicate through it. It will probably take a little practice for you to get used to it."

Jolan concentrated. There was a burst of static and then words. The voice was monotone and sexless. "I . . . understand. I hear. . . you. Status?"

"Keys dragged you into a doorway after you got shot. Everyone else was uninjured. Hethor is fine. The scene was secured and examined, but it had been sterilized by melta bomb. The method was, hmmm, excessive. The building was structurally compromised and collapsed an hour latter. Forensics will probably yield nothing."

"Keys. Get . . . . me Keys."

"Of course, inquisitor." Gard retreated. A moment latter Keys came in.

"Inquisitor."

"Analysis of the assassination attempt."

Keys nodded. "They knew you were coming and when. Contingencies had to be put into place, depending on what mode of transportation was you chose. They had to have spies or monitoring devices rigged at the space port and along your route. They needed to know your ship. No one outside this building knew you were coming."

Gix tried to nod and couldn't. "Actions?"

"Doctor Vikal has personally supervised all of your medical treatment. Hunter and gun skulls under our command are present at all times. One of us is always present. It's been draining. Lord Clara Iridican isn't happy about this. At all."

"Her reactions?"

"Her own investigation. We have a list of names and histories of all of those who could have known. It is a surprisingly long list. Unfortunately, we haven't found any likely suspects."

"Program a cogitator. Voice command. Holo display. Set it up here."

"As you command Inquisitor. Permission to pursue my own avenues."

"Granted."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Hey boss, you rang?"

"Yes Hethor."

"Gard says he can fix you up."

"Yes. Tell Keys that it was Raynard Trevoli."

"You sure?"

"Served under Lord Inquisitor Adarin Vance on Styxia. Adarin Vance was . . . . . ally of Isran Toneval."

"Okay," replied Hethor. He didn't know the details, but he didn't have to. Ever since Cyrus Gamma he had been getting a better idea on how the Inquisition worked and as far as he could tell "factionalized" was an understatement. "So he tipped off the assassin. Fed him the info."

"Probably. Tell Keys."

"Stalk him. Put them both in the ground. Got it boss."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"How is he?" asked Keys. The room had been swept less than an hour ago.

"Better," said Hethor. "He gave us the name of the link."

"Definite."

"Close enough for me."

"He is unlikely to contact the assassin directly. The assassin will only have a limited amount of equipment after that demo job. Resources will be at a premium, so he will be even more dependent on information from the source and preparation."

"So?"

"Take out the informant and the assassin can be easily avoided."

Raynard rubbed his hands together in anticipation. It was only a matter of time before Zacharus permanently exed out Gix. With him feeding the assassin details on the security around Gix, a workable plan would emerge. But now was not the time for such thing. Nadira awaited.

The lift door slid open. The corridor was softly lit and easy on the eyes. Real wood panelling and deep burgundy carpets gave the it a feeling of serene sensuality. He wasn't the only man to stash a mistress in the building.

He walked over to her door and inserted the key card. With a click the locks opened. He turned the knob and walked in. Everything was as it should be. Plush carpet and comfortably upholstered furniture in rich earth tones. Soft lighting. Doors leading off to a kitchen, bathroom, and bed chamber. But no Nadira.

She should be here. Maybe she was running late. That did happen but with this business about Gix, he was somewhat on edge. He pulled the laspistol from his belt. "Nadira," he called.

He heard something from the bedroom. He stalked forward, gun ready. He edged along the wall. Something stung him in the neck. He spun.

Nothing. No one in sight. He touched his neck. Blood. The room began to spin. He tried to focus his will. He fell to his knees, his gun slipping from his numb hands. He saw shoes coming towards him from the kitchen. Shoes attached to legs. He tried to focus his will. Failed. The lights dimmed.

Danell Keys watched as the inquisitor lost consciousness. He then walked into the next room and retrieved his noise maker, which was lying next to Trevoli's bound and unconscious mistress. A little patience and he would be able to remove the inquisitor's body in a room service cart.

There was the matter of his conspicuous. A telepath provided by an old ally would be inserting memories in the minds of a number of witnesses that he was inspecting the ship at this time. Too bad for Trevoli. The next little while was going to be very hard on him.

Jolan Gix and half a ton of life support equipment were clandestinely loaded onto a lifter in the early morning. After waiting until mid-day the flyer headed up into high orbit. Waiting for them was a monument of Imperial power crafted from steel, ceramite, and adamantine. It was an Overlord class battlecruiser and it could lay waste to a world.

It was sleeker and less baroque than most, resembling more a predatory marine animal than a space going cathedral. It lacked much of the baroque ornamentation designed to draw favor from the Emperor and the Machine God as well as inspire its crew, a sign both of its youth and the place of its construction. The yards at Cyrus Gamma and Adraxis produced nearly identical ships and neither had much use for ornamentation.

A whole sub deck had been sealed off for Gard's use. The physician had the servitor's wheel the unconscious inquisitor into preprepared surgical bay. Naval medicae stood ready to assist.

"Lady, Gentlemen, I am Doctor Gard Vikal. I have been performing augmentic surgery for over a hundred years. This is my most important patient. You will be assisting me in this and in the process you will witness some uncommon, but effective techniques. To be blunt, most facilities do not possess the technos to allow them to be used and they are mostly forgotten as a result."

A grey haired woman step forward "We have heard of your skill doctor and are eager to see you in action. The captain has been most clear on the importance of the patient."

"Excellent," responded Vikal. "We should begin the preparations for surgery. The patient's condition has worsened of late. We cannot afford to delay surgery any further."

"We've been studying the file for the last half hour. Why was the patient not scheduled for surgery earlier?"

"Security concerns as well as the patient's desire for an advanced replacement that required time to grow. Now, if there are now more questions, we should begin."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Inquisitor, can you hear me?" The voice came out of the darkness.

Gix's throat was dry and raspy. He managed a "yes." A moment. "Water." His eyelids flicked open. "Gard."

"Yes Jolan.' He moved a tube over to his mouth. "Water." The inquisitor took a long pull on the tube.

"The operation?" he croaked.

"It seems successful. You're breathing on your own. Can you wiggle your toes?"

Jolan concentrated. "Yes."

"Good. Spinal injuries are always tricky."

"What's the results?"

"Hmm," said Vikal. "Cloned spinal tissue, reinforced spine, synaptic accelerators. Slightly improved reaction time. A new left lung, cloned from your own, with some additional biomech filtration added. And a psi booster implanted in the base of your skull. Should improve the range of your powers."

"Successes?"

"The surgery went perfectly. The augments were of the highest quality. You'll need some time to get used to them."

"Team status?"

"We have Trevoli. Keys grabbed him and we made it seem he was elsewhere at the time. We've moved you to somewhere safe. A Navy ship. Hethor's idea. We borrowed an astropath on the captain's recommendation to plant the false memories, one Iriza Vess. This, of course, makes her a loose end. Keys is watching her-"

Whatever Gard was going to say was cut off by the door opening. A bulldog of a petty officer, his face criss-crossed by scars, entered the room. His uniform was spotless as were the naval pistol and cutlass that hung from the shaft. At tall woman strode through the doorway a moment latter.

She was broad shouldered and strong, with the insignia of a flag captain on her uniform. Her blonde hair was cut short and business like and the officer's great coat added to the sense of power around her. She stepped forward, clearly confident of her authority. "Captain, I must insist-"

"On nothing," she finished. Her left eye was augmentic, but only close examination would reveal that or the scar from when she had lost the original. "Welcome aboard the Lord Vonrilyental, Inquisitor Gix."

"Thank you for all your aid, Captain Valin."

"My pleasure Jolan, but I think we can bend protocol enough for you to call me Severa."

"She's a beautiful ship," Jolan said. They were walking along the observation deck. The armoured shutters were open, displaying the planet Garidia ins a swirl of white, blue, and green beneath them.

"Thank you," Severa replied. "The Abraxis yards do good work. High output reactors, extra turret mountings, additional shield generators, turbo power boosters, advanced targeting matrix, automated torpedo loaders, and stacked cogitator motion tracker network. Everything you would expect from the Martian Yards, maybe a few other worlds could do it as well. She's one of the most powerful battlecruisers in the fleet. I was surprised when she was given to me."

"I guess you made an impression."

She smiled. "I guess I did. It was still a surprise. My last posting was commanding the frigate Vigilance . And then I get the Vonrilyental . There was more than a little envy going around. A rumor went around that I wasn't 'man' enough to command a battlecruiser, let alone the Lord ."

Jolan laughed.

"It's true. But I got the Lord . And an executive officer who though he should have the captain's seat and a commissar who agreed with him. Oh, and a rumor that I got the job by sleeping with the Admiral."

"Sounds challenging."

She shrugged. "Serving under corrupt superiors who wanted to break me was tough. Fighting Black Legionnaires hand to hand was tough. These guys were easy. I brought some rankers and junior officers with me to have a solid core of support. They spread rumors of their own and I put on a few displays on the practice floor. Then came the Battle of the Far Breakers and everyone shut up. Smooth sailing since then. And you?"

"Inquisition business. Some of my colleagues object to how I'm encouraging technological and scientific growth. They fear that the balance of power in the Imperium could be disrupted. Their fears aren't groundless. For the time being the Adeptus Mechanicus is essential for the survival of the Imperium and they guard their secrets jealously. My cunning plans and assurances didn't reassure them. They reacted. Violently."

"I see," she said. "What now?"

"There's an assassin running around down there who I'm unlikely to find and who is prepared to wait as long as necessary to finish the job."

"Sounds tough. Do you have a plan?"

"Yes. Leave."

"Leave." She looked at him with a puzzled expression on her face for a moment. Then it cleared as understanding dawned. "Ahh. He has to come after you for another shot. Sorting through a population of travellers is much easier than trying to sort through the population of a civilized world. It even opens up the possibility of laying traps. Very clever. That's the Gix I remember."

"Thank you," he replied. "I'm going to have to keep Vess, the astropath. She knows too much. She was very helpful."

"I thought you might. I can think of worse things than being a companion to Jolan Gix." She was smiling.

"I'm glad." He looked at the window. "I'll have to be going soon. I'm glad we had this time." The were silent for a moment. "Is it everything you expected to be?"

She smiled. "No, but I still love it. I got a recording from my father a couple months ago. He was so proud."

"Good. And you?"

She shrugged. "Being captain is like being an inquisitor. Duty is your master. After the Emperor and the ship, everything else is a distant third. But I knew that coming in. And there is nothing like ruling from the command deck."

He nodded. "I can imagine. I'm glad things have worked out for you."

"Don't start getting soft on me. We aren't star crossed lovers from one of my sister's romances."

He nodded. "True. Now if the intrepid captain could do me one last favor before resuming her regular duties, I would be ever so grateful."

She smiled fiercely. "Name it."

Gix strode down the corridor of the registered trader Sadine . She wasn't a particularly fast ship, but she was a reliable one. She had a regular route, including navy supply contracts, and a good reputation. Gix and his retinue had been shuttled around disguised as standard navy business before they had ended up here. Navy spacers would take his ship world hopping, before leaving it a carefully chosen place. If everything worked according to plan, the assassin would be out of commission for some time. Gix was not optimistic about that.

He touched the door buzzer. A moment latter it slid open revealing a neat and modest cabin. A diminutive dark haired woman one hundred fifty centimeters tall bowed to him. "Inquisitor. How may I serve?"

She was bail with shoulder length black hair. She was slender and doll like, but her eyes ruined the image. They were cold and unfeeling augmentic lenses. The soul binding ritual that protected her from many of the dangers of the warp had destroyed her optic nerves.

"We haven't really talked much," said Jolan Gix. "I thought we should rectify that."

She bowed. "Of course Inquisitor. Won't you come in?" She sat down on her bed and gestured for Jolan to take use the rooms one chair.

"You've been very helpful Iriza. I'm sorry that I've disrupted your life, but not sorry to have access to your services."

She nodded. "I understand inquisitor. You do what you have to. We all do. No one who undergoes the soul binding should be blind to that. No pun intended." There was the ghost of a smile on her lips.

"Thank you anyway. I've need of an astropath as well as a skilled telepath, so I'm going to have to hang on to you. But I don't want to make you life any more difficult."

She nodded. "Thank you for the consideration inquisitor, but the lot of an astropath is to provide perfect service not to serve oneself. I've tried to accept that."

"In an ideal galaxy," Jolan said, "those who serve well and faithfully should be well rewarded for their sacrifices."

"We do not live in such a galaxy inquisitor," she replied.

"I am an inquisitor and a member of the human race. It is my duty to build the foundations of such a galaxy. For those around me, as much as it is possible, we shall exist in perfection. The loyal protected, the guilty punished, and the righteous enjoying the fruits of victory."

"A tall order inquisitor."

"Yes. I'll need a lot of help. Care to assist?"

"I'll be delighted to," she responded.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The astropathic message had been sent to Garidia and then picked up when Vess had checked in with the Officio. Gix studdied the message and then switched ships, taking births with a squadron of Cobra class destroyers due to swing through the Tristram system.

The Navy wasn't happy to receive him, but the prospect of only being briefly host to an inquisitor did stir them into action. They completed the journey in near record time and Gix was striding through the Officio Inquisitorium palace-fortress in the city of Respite on Tristram. Energy screens and force curtains sealed off vast areas of the palace. Inquisitorial armsmen and enforcers were stationed almost everywhere.

The interrogator lead Gix into an observation chamber and withdrew. A squat dark woman and a big, powerfully built dark haired man waited within. The man wore a neat beard and gilded carapace armour over burgundy flak. The woman wore dark robes. Her voice was husky and strong. "Inquisitor Jolan Gix, I presume."

"Yes, my lady."

"I am High Inquisitor Ydressa Sevaine of the Ordo Hereticus. My colleague here is Inquisitor Harad. He was the one who was initially assigned to this case."

Harad smiled and extended his arm. "It's been too long."

Jolan clasped his hand. "That's true. Nothing since we graduated to become interrogators. Why did you call me in?"

"What she said," responded Harad. He pointed at the room on the other side. "If its true we've got a huge problem and you have a score to settle."

Gix looked through the one way mirror. The woman on the other side was simply dressed, if flattering black silks could be called simple. She was gorgeous, with golden skin and long ebony hair. Her figure was full and perfect. Her eyes were slightly slanted and a startling blue. "Who is she?" he asked.

"Melina Sevall, of High House Sevall. Rich, powerful, connected," said Ydressa.

"She seems to be in good health for someone we're interviewing," Jolan mused.

"That's because she turned her self in."

"She turned herself into the Inquisition?" The idea was fabulous, like pink oliphantoids dancing on water.

"Yes," Ydressa replied. "She turned herself and her entire cult in. She named names. Lots of names. Members of the High Houses and the Ruling Families. The Chief Judge and the Lord Protector. We probed her with telepaths and under chem treatment. They confirmed her story, strange as it is."

"What kind of cult?" Jolan asked.

"Slaanesh," responded Harad.

"There has to be some kind of trick. One might turn oneself in for some kind of xenos emulation or heterodox activity, but Chaos worship?"

"Our thoughts as well," said Harad. "And we didn't want to veg her by pushing too hard. Not now that we have some preliminary confirmation of some of her claims."

"So why ask for me?"

"You've been involved in taking out a planetary government before and running the **** thing for a while. Useful knowledge. And one of the names she mentioned is known to you."

"Who?"

"The Psy King."

It is good to see this thread updating again; I stayed up far too late reading it.

I have to wonder if 'Cynical Cat' is a professional writer; this story is better than some of the stuff published by the Black Library.

Cheers,

- V.

Thanks for the kind words. I'm not a professional, but I did get into writing on the net to become more comfortable with letting people see my raw work, which I used to be very shy about. That said, editing is a writer's friend, even if it can be an uncomfortable one. Of course no matter how much polishing you do you eventually have to show it to people, which I used to be very reluctant to do and why I started doing this. If people read and like the stuff I write and edit on the fly then maybe it won't be my destiny to end up a cowardly hack clinging to his precious.

Mate I've spent FAR too much time reading this thread instead of studying!

Inquisitor Gix has graced my Dark Heresy sessions as an ally of Soon-To-Be-Radical Inquisitor Klorr Hades. Cheers for the inspiration!

Out

Cynical Cat,

You have been away far too long. I returned to the forum hoping to find your story rekindled and was greatly rewarded. Please continue your efforts and tell your stories. They are highly enjoyed by me and others in my group. Thank you for the work, and please we implore you, write more soon!

Thank you,

M

Thank you both. I'll be posting a Space Marine story in the Deathwatch fiction section. And now to the meat of the matter.

In person the woman was even more devastatingly attractive. It hit Jolan with almost physical force as he stepped into the room. Her face was flawless, symmetrical perfection. Her ebony hair was so silky it seemed to shine. His whole body was inflamed.

He sat down opposite her. Personal discipline was pounded into inquisitors. "Your pheromone levels are rather high," Jolan said in an artificially calm voice. "You might want to reduce them."

"Nerves," she replied. "I've just signed my own death warrant. I'm entitled to be nervous, don't you think? Can I have a lho-stick?"

"Not many people turn themselves in to the Inquisition and confess to crimes where the punishment is death. It has my colleagues concerned."

"I noticed," she replied. "You make inquisitor number three. I've been under drugs and psi scan. My answers haven't changed and you've had the opportunity to look. So when are you big bad inquisitors going to decide that maybe I'm telling the truth?"

"Why did you decide to tell the truth?"

She shrugged. "There are some things that go beyond-." She hesitated. "I wanted to escape. I walked into their arms expecting oblivion. They showed me hell instead."

Jolan nodded. "Morals. Who would have guessed. Have trouble sleeping?"

"Not as long as I have pill or injection wands."

"How much of you is artificial?"

She laughed. "What isn't would be the shorter answer. Does it matter?"

"It doesn't seem to have made you happy."

"That was never the point. And if you aren't going to give me a lho-stick are you at least going to shoot me?"

"You seem unusually eager to die."

"You seem unusually reluctant to kill."

"I like to know what I'm walking into. Gift wrapped presents of powerful heretics make my ambush suspicions all tingly."

She laughed. "I don't do those kind of ambushes."

"And what kind of ambushes do you do Melina Sevall?'

"I make important people like. Want me. Want to please me to get me."

"Which means doing favors for Sevall." He was silent for a moment. "When did you have your first operation?"

"Six," she replied. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"What's your position in the line of inheritance?"

"Far, far away from those who matter."

Jolan nodded. "How many operations?"

She turned away. "I can't remember."

"Let me guess," said Gix. "Long bones remolded, cheek and jaw, skin treatments, the lust phermones, the like me phermones, the hair, metabolic alterations, and of course custom grown eyes."

"Half right," she replied. "The skin was cultured in vat from my genetic material. I had terrible rashes as a child. It was surgically grafted as a replacement."

Gix's eyes widened slightly. "Your parents had you surgically flayed."

"Oh yes. Anesthetics and surgeons and all that. That's nothing." He voice was falsely cheerful. "One of my maids Timia, well my mother liked her eyes. So she called her a thief, had her convicted, and broken down for parts. And I got her eyes."

"How many overdoses?"

"Only the one. I have another and live it'll be psychosurgery. I don't have to be smart or even me. Just have certain behaviors and be compliant."

"No jumping from tall buildings?"

"Too much of a coward," she replied.

"So sex and drugs to make the pain go away. Oblivion. Except you found out that that path can lead to something else."

"I grew up around evil. What they are, what they do, is worse." She hugged herself.

"So you turned yourself in. Expecting death and trying to take them with you."

"Yes. I'm a heretic. I'm not loyal to the Emperor or the gods-rotted Imperium. I've told you everything. I've named names. I've told you why. Now shoot me."

"No."

"No?"

"I have a use for you," Jolan Gix said. "One which will put your hedonistic, corrupt, criminal existence to good use."

She laughed. He was high and ragged. "That's rich. What possible use could you have for me?"

"You're going to help me get the Psy King and end him."

"What makes you think I'll be any good to you? What makes you think I'll even help?"

"You'll help because there is enough of a woman left inside of you that hates her corrupt existence and knows that they are worse. You'll help because you want to bring them down enough that you turned yourself in knowing you would probably be tortured. You'll help because you want them dead and are willing to burn to see them go down."

She closed her eyes. Jolan Gix had an idea what she saw in her head. The vices that the followers of Slaanesh could devise were horrible beyond belief. Enough to disgust this tranquilized and jaded member of Tristram's nobility into action. "Alright inquisitor. I'll do what you want."

"Interesting interview," said Harad. "Not exactly an orthodox technique."

"Asking direct questions?" Gix responded. He gestured over at the two way mirror to the interrogation room. "She wanted to get that weight off her chest. All we had to do is ask her in the right way."

"Still the same sly Jolan Gix."

Jolan shrugged. "It works. By the way, can you kick her into my custody?"

Harad stared. "Well we were going to-," he raised his hand an mimed firing a pistol.

"Wasteful," replied Gix.

"She's a heretic."

Jolan shook his head. "No, she isn't. She turned them in, disgusted once she knew the truth, even expecting a bullet in the head."

"Point," Harad conceded. "But we can't let her go. She's been touched by Chaos."

"Half the Inquisition has been touched with Chaos, my friend. How many obscene texts and rituals have you seen? Necking her for one isn't necessary, if we can find a good use for her."

"Alright." Harad stopped. "You have a plan."

"Of course I have a plan."

"It involves her. You think you need her for it. You want this Psy King bad."

Gix nodded. "Last time he showed up, tens of thousands died. He beat me, straight out, in psychic combat. He wasn't just more powerful, he was better. Than me. I barely defeated him the last time and I did everything to take away his weapons and stack the deck in my favor. And now he's back."

"You think you can use her?"

"I took a reading."

Harad raised an eyebrow. "Interesting. As I recall those were only somewhat reliable."

"I've gotten better," replied Gix and threw a card from the Emperor's Tarot on the table. It showed a picture of a dark haired girl-child wearing a smudged white robe and crying tears of blood. The face was unmistakably that of Melina.

"The Orphan." Harad looked up. "You trust this?"

"And my evaluation of her. She's not suicidal or hedonistic. She wants out. And since no one was going to rescue her from House Sevall . . . . "

"She drinks and snorts and shoots and **** her brain into oblivion. And the Slaaneshi see this and think they have a convert. And then they show her that Sevall's are pikers when it comes to evil and excess."

"Exactly," Gix responded. "Appearances deceive. Nurgle would have had a better chance with her than Slaanesh. But now her eyes are open."

"Alright," said Harad. "For the sake of argument she's reliable enough to be used. And she'll go along with it instead of being necked. What's the plan?"

"Conveniently, hedonistic substance abusers often drop out of sight for days at a time. Her absence isn't particularly noteworthy."

"Unless they were watching her."

"They were, but then there's the problem with watching a major House."

"Which means they're ******. Go on, this is actually beginning to sound like something that might work. Show me some of that Gix sneakiness."

"She's the second part of the plan. The first part is the full Inquisition purge."

"What! And tip our hand when they have the Head of the Arbites and the Commanding General of the PDF as part of their cult?"

"Not against them, of course. Against the foul xenophile cult scum of the slums."

"What xenophile cult?"

Gix smiled like a shark. "The one we invent, of course."

Melina looked up and cracked a half smile as Gix came back into the room. "Back so soon?"

Jolan sat down. She had a nice smile. "Yes. Do you want to live?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Is that a joke or a fancy new Inquisition torture?"

"I'm serious," he replied. "Do you want to live? Away from here, away from the power of House Sevall, doing something that might quiet some of the nightmares you have?"

"Are you making me an offer?"

"Yes."

"Do you really know the reach of House Sevall?"

"No, but that's the point. Outside this system, it isn't much. And inside this system the Inquisition is still stronger."

"Why?"

"You'll be useful, I think. And I want your help."

"You could just order me to do whatever you want."

"Sure I can. That doesn't mean you'll do it well or to my satisfaction. That doesn't mean instead of a plea for help suicide attempt you really decide to try sky diving. No, I think you'll do a much better job with some incentive."

"And what guarr-"

"You don't. You could do what I want and I could still order you raped to death. Nothing I sign or say or promise will bind me to keep my word to you. That's the nature of the Inquisition. We're above that. But I can give you these words. I think you can help, with regard to this matter and others in the future. I think what you saw revolted, not attracted you. You know too much, I can't let you go free. But I can take you with me. I don't want to kill anyone I don't have to."

"Alright," she said. "I'll do what you want."

"Not good enough," he said harshly.

She looked at him fiercely. "Tell me what I have to do."

Jolan smiled. "Tell me about the Psy King."

She sat back. "It was the big party where I was brought in. There were a lot of altered there. Some of their alterations were clearly sexual. They were blatant. And then the entertainment began. There was a pit-" she choked up.

"Skip that part," Gix said. "I can guess."

She was shaking. "Oh Emperor, I wish I could forget what I saw. Those children, what they did-" She stopped for a moment, breathing hard. She shuddered and then straightened. "There were guests. Important people. I recognized their faces. They had attendants. They were -." She swallowed.

"I was introduced to powerful people. It was clear that there was no one who could help me if I tried to break away. They didn't even consider the Inquisition anything but a joke. They controlled the PDF and the Arbites. They acted like they already owned the planet, as if all they had to do was go down to the shop and pick up an order. If I hadn't been a Sevall, if I hadn't been useful-"

"You would have been in that pit," Jolan finished. "Tell me about the Psy King."

"He was there. One of the people they introduced me too. He wasn't taking part. They treated him like an important ambassador or something. He was a little shorter than you are and slim. Red hair and eyes that shifted colour. He wore plain black. He acted like he was the biggest shot in the room."

"That's him alright, although the body has changed. Did he steal it or have it custom grown? No matter." He waved the issue aside as he saw Melina's eyes widen. "Let's talk about you. I assume you go on regular binges of indulging in whatever it is you're drinking, *******, or shooting into your veins?"

"Yes," she replied in a small voice.

"Are any of these orgies of excess fairly private?"

"Yes."

"Good. I assume that these enjoy the protection of the rather paranoid workings of House Sevall's security force?"

"Yes."

"So the odds are the cultists don't know you've come here and don't know where you are and that you've been drugging yourself into a stupor is a suitable story for anyone who wants to know?"

"Yes." Her eyes widened. "You're sending me back in."

"Not yet. But yes. If you can help me get the drop on the Psy King and the rest of this slime, you will have your forgiveness."

this stuff is literary crack. I NEED more!!! please!

Tolesan Sevall looked up from his desk as his door slid open. He had given explicit instructions not to be disturbed. It was not wise to disobey the third in line to inherit the leadership of House Sevall. Melina walked in, followed by two men he didn't recognize. "What is the meaning of this cousin?" he asked mildly. You stupid cow .

"Your assistance is required," said one of the men, the darker one. He tossed something on the desk. An Inquisition rosette. Tolesan looked down and then up again.

"House Sevall is-"

"Shut up," said the dark man as he picked up the rosette. "Come with us. Danell, make sure the way is clear."

The other man nodded and left. The dark man sat down at Tolesan's desk and started typing. "What are you-"

"I told you to shut up," replied the dark man. He looked up at Melina. "Those two are his regular guards?"

"Yes," she replied. Tolesan glared daggers at her, but she ignored him.

"Good."

"Danell, take us out."

"Your will."

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The powerful form of the Chief Judge leaned back. "Xenophile cultists?"

"Yes," responded Harad. "We need additional troops from the Adeptus Arbites and Planetary Defence Forces to sweep the slum areas where they are hiding. We have to seize them and find out how far they've spread immediately."

"Of course the Arbites will do their duty inquisitor. Take as many Arbiters as you need."

Harad smiled. He was still the big, personable man he had been in training, despite having carried out the grim duties on an inquisitor for decades. "Thank you Chief Judge. I knew you would be of assistance."

With that Harad left the Chief Judge's office high in courthouse-fortress. Battalions of Arbiters were assembling for duty. They wore carapace armour over their armoured black bodygloves and were armed with a variety of weapons. Bolt pistols, combats shotguns, lasguns, grenade launchers, shock mauls, heavy stubbers, suppression shields, webbers, large caliber pistols, and flamers were common. Armoured transports and urban fighting vehicles waited to deploy them and combat fliers were poised to take to the air.

Harad stopped in front of them. He knew at the same time that Jolan Gix was disappearing a high ranking Sevall, thus allowing Melina to get a meeting with the cult higher ups about bringing him 'in' and Ydressa was securing PDF troops to establish a perimeter. Lots of people would be moving through the streets. Gix's plan called for some mayhem as a distraction, but that didn't bother Harad. The slum could use a forceful purge of some of its more disgusting criminals.

He sure as hell hoped Gix knew what he was doing.

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Planetary Defence Force Troopers rolled through the streets. They set up barricades and road blocks, isolating the slums. Arbites troop carriers unleashed a squads of heavily armed troops that began to systematically storm through the tall and decrepit slum towers.

Jolan Gix turned away from a holo display. "So, the show is on. We have our 'reserves' ready to spring into action and do the real work."

"If you plan works," said High Inquisitor Sevaine.

"If it doesn't we've still gotten all the ready troops in the region under our direct control. That's a good fall back position."

An Inquisition armsman in burgundy and gold saluted. His face was obscured by his helmet, but he wore the insignia of a colonel. "Strike teams are in position. We'll be ready to move in on all targets and their entourages the moment you give the word."

"Very good colonel,' replied Ydressa. "Your move, Inquisitor Gix. Let's hope your agent comes through."