Hi,

I've read all of your texts in the last 4 days. It is very interesting and I hope very much that you continue them. By the way, you introduced you characters very well at the beginning, it was simple, strong and emotional. I'd like to read more!

The guard staggered back as Nofield put two hellgun beams into his chest plate. He ducked back into cover. The other sprayed the corridor with his shotcannon. Several pellets nicked the commissar, but her flak armour ate most of the blast. She ducked back. "To the Throne with this mess!"

"Go low. I'll go high," said Vektar. She nodded to the armsmen and got down on her belly. They had burned through half a dozen troopers and a score of unfortunate crewmen without taking a loss, but this corridor was too bloody long to just charge through and let their armour take the hits. And this was the quickest route to the generatorium and the enginarium beyond. She rolled out.

Vektar shot high and missed. She sliced a burst across the soldier's legs. The hellgun bolts burned right through the flak armour like it was cheesecloth. Blood and chunks of charred flesh blasted away from the impact points. The beams nearly blew his legs off. He toppled. "Go!" she shouted.

Vektar tossed a frag grenade down the corridor and charged. Hecule went with him. She heard the dull crump of the grenade detonation as he sprung back to her feet. ****, she wasn't eighteen anymore. She hustled after her men.

The other soldier popped up. Vektar fired a short burst into his breastplate. Tight grouping. Even if the carapace had been undamaged that might have been too much. The soldier fell back as red mist exploded out the hole in his armour. Hecule slowed down long enough to give the downed trooper a double tap to the face. The generatorium was ahead.

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The Warp imprisoned in flesh moved down the halls. By the standards of daemon princes they were small fry, barely worthy of that exalted title. Their powers were further reduced by the strong binding they were under. To the men they encountered they were terror and death.

Their flesh was not invulnerable, but it resisted the bite of weapons that managed to pierce their armour. It healed quickly. They moved swiftly and killed with steel hard claws and inhuman strength. They rended and tore and crippled and maimed. Few of their victims died immediately. They tore out intestines, gauged out eyes, and rent limbs. Shotcannon blasts hurt them, but did not stop them. Men with heavy wrenches, pry bars, and chain cutters, were too slow and too weak. They left the mutilated and dying in their wake.

A security bulkhead had come sliding down. A two meter thick slab of steel that blocked their path. They looked at each other with eyes that glowed with the power of the warp. They did not speak. Speech was a clumsy thing, suitable for creature of this drab universe. They sent their thoughts to one another. They concured. They focused their gaze on one point at the center of the door. The steel began to glow cherry red.

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Lighting arced around the corner and cooked two soldier's sheltering there. Their still twitching bodies slumped to the floor. Jolan Gix lowered his hand. "A new power," said Maladar. "Biomancy was not one of your disciplines."

"Yes," said Jolan. "The lightning trick isn't too different from fire and telekinesis. Close enough for me to learn. And less strain than merely blasting the whole area with fire."

Maladar nodded. "I don't sense any more of the living close by. He's gaining on us." The inquisitor broke into a jog.

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Randor Fisk noted the life sign indicators of his rear guard flat line. They had bought him time, which was all he really expected from them. "Rig intersection 33 C," he ordered. Explosives didn't show up on psi trackers. "Retreat one section. How is the rearming?"

"Shotcannons loading AP rounds from the armoury as ordered inquisitor."

"Good. Standby to finish them off."

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Hethor fired a short burst at the inquisition armsmen. One bolt tore through his upper arm and the other struck him in the chest just below the shoulder. Blood spurted from the wounds but he didn't go down. The corridor filled with thunder as he returned fire with his shotcannon. Pellets carrying little more force than spitballs bounced off his carapace armour, most of their energy having been bled off by the refractor field.

Hethor swore and fired again. Kraken pattern rounds made nice holes in armour, but they didn't have the fire rate of an assault las and they did blast those big gaping holes like ordinary rounds did. Of course, regular rounds might not have penetrated the carapace armour, but that was besides the point. Hethor punched two rounds through either side of the armsman's chest, just above the sternum. The seventy-five calibre rounds made big holes going in. The man staggered back, trying to keep his footing. Hethor raised the bolt gun and shot him in the face. The slug and grey matter blew out the back.

The clip was almost empty. He tossed it and reloaded. He stepped over the bodies scorched by his plasma grenades and moved up. He triggered his vox. "Miles to Infernas. The paths converging. The ties that bind."

The advanced team slipped out of the woods and through the security perimeter. The recon teams had already scouted the approach and they knew exactly where to proceed. The four men wore advanced stealth suits that hid their body heat and which changed colour to match the terrain.

Their mission didn't take long. They waited for one minute thirty-seven seconds and crashed an auger array. Then they waited as their comrades, already on the move, raced into their positions. A member of the security staff came out the side door to check on matters and one of the stealth troopers exploded his heart with a single shot from a Mars pattern lasgun.

The three heavy weapon teams set up at the edge of the woods while the assault teams stormed forward. With quick and practiced motions the heavy weapons team laid down they Scrix pattern lascannons, set up their bipods, attached the power cell, and activated them.

They were ready in less than half a minute. Eye searing cyan beams cut through the night. Two concrete planters, concealing anti-air batteries, exploded. A moment latter two more beams lashed out against another pair of hidden defence turrets. The scream of turbines came from overhead. The rest of the raiders were arriving.

More beams flashed out. Jammed communication masts were severed, an auger cluster destroyed. Two doors were blown to fragments. The flyers swooped, assault cannons deployed under each wing. They strafed the windows and door, high calibre rounds tearing through armour plas, turf, concrete, and flesh. As the gunners hammered out murderous suppressive fire, more troopers slid down guide ropes.

The raiders were swift, silent, and utterly deadly. They were clad in armoured black body gloves and most of them were armed with compact, rapid firing Necromundia pattern lasguns. The lead team leapt through the shattered bay windows and into the mansion.

As they stormed into the next set of room, a member of household security appeared from behind a corner with a rapid fire stub pistol in his hand. The lead raider put two shots into his chest and he toppled. The raider moved up and put another two shots into his head.

There was a flicker of motion ahead as a maid fled from hiding. A quick burst struck her in the upper back and she fell. The raider finished her with another burst to the back of the head. He moved towards the next room.

There was a boom and the raider fell bonelessly, a gaping hole in his chest. Las beams flashed as the raiders fired at his killer. Mervan Nickos had already gone back around the corner. The stocky killer was wearing the black body glove from his days as an Arbites enforcer.

He knew this was bad. Outer defences broken, raiders in the house, murdering the staff. The odds of him surviving were low, but maybe a few people could get away. His master might survive and he could take down a few more of them before his audience with the Throne.

He heard the thunder of a cannon and then hammer blows struck him in the back. He groaned and hit the floor. The raider with the heavy stubber raked the entire wall with bullets as his comrades moved into position.

Nickos rolled and greeted the oncoming raider with his bolt pistol. The first shot took the raider in the hip, the second just above his sternum. Blood sprayed and the raider fell. Then his comrade put a burst into the former Arbites' chest and then another into his head.

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As the secondary team slaughtered their way through Inquisitor Trakus's house, the primary team dropped on lines through the shattered window to his bed room. The windows had failed under assault cannon fire and the ruins of the bed contained the bloody meat that had once been human beings The kill team stalked forward.

Trakus came out of the adjoining room, a bolt pistol in his fist. The inquisitor was a lean, muscular man with salt-and-pepper hair and beard. A long coat with armoured inserts was wrapped around his naked body. He struck first.

The psi blast rocked all five members of the kill team, despite their psi-blockers. One collapsed, blood pouring from every orifice. Trakus put two rounds in the chest of another stunned raider.

One of the raider's fired from his knees. A las beam burned into the inquisitor's side. He staggered back and a short burst was stitched across his chest. One of the raiders rose shakily. He stood over the inquisitor and poured a dozen bolts into his hest and then a half dozen more into his head. There wasn't much left besides smoking meat above the waist.

The lead raider touched his vox. "Echo this is two. The Crown is severed."

"Echo here. Burn it and return." As the raiders finished the staff and placed incendiary charges, the Elder of Clan Sadeen changed channels. "Scorpion this is Sword."

In the nearby city of Mesker, Melina Sevall touched a control. "Scorpion here."

"It is done."

"The balance will be in your account by morning," she replied the Vessorine Janissary. She leaned back in the contoured chair. The first part of Gix's assignment were done. Now she had a network to build.

The bleeding engineer raised his bloody right hand. It was missing the ring finger. "Please. In the Emperor's name." Nofield shot him in the face with her hellgun. She looked around. No more wounded, only the dead.

"Status?" she yelled.

"Clear."

"Clear."

"Clear."

"Clear."

"Team One with me," Nofield ordered. "Team Two with Camron. Sweep and hold the upper gantries." The generatium was theirs. Now they only had to hold it until reinforcements came.

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Two quick bursts and the guards fell. Now only a pair of armoured doors stood between Danell Keys and the bridge. He placed a melta charge on the door, set it for remote and anti-tamper detonation, and went left. It didn't take him long to find it. The psi tracker lead him right to the door to the cloister.

Another melta charge went on the door. He retreated and set it off. Their was a flash of intolerable brightness and a wave of heat as the melta bomb put a two meter diameter hole in the door. He tossed a pair of frag grenades inside and followed up.

The heat hit him like a hammer, even through the temperature control of the armour. He ducked slightly to pass through the door and kept on going. The choir room was essentially a circular vaulted chamber with floor to ceiling cogitator pillar in the center. The pillar was surrounded by contoured couches, now torn by shrapnel. Two robed bodies, their clothes torn and bloody, lay sprawled near the couches. Three more eyeless astropaths stood cowering in a corner.

They lashed out with their minds. An ordinary man would have died on the spot, blood pouring from his ears and nose. Keys had a psi shield hanging around his neck and a mind disciplined and trained to resist mental attack and domination. He merely rocked back on his heels. He fired a long burst from his hellgun. The lasbeams blew apart flesh in a spray of gore and blasted appalling holes in the astropath's flesh. They fell to the deck.

Keys ejected the nearly empty power cell and reloaded. The first part of his mission was a success, now it was time for the second part. The common prejudice against psykers meant that the astropaths were segregated from the crew, but needed bridge access because it was necessary to fulfill their duties. Which meant their should be an access door from the choir area to the bridge right about . . . . there.

Keys triggered the melta bomb. The doors opened at a touch and the assassin crouched at the side.. A half dozen men managed the bridge controls with the assistance of another dozen servitors. Two armsmen were firing through the breach. A short burst put each one down.

Gun fire from slug throwing and las pistols and came his way. One slug even hit him, bruising his arm through his mesh armour. He methodically and rapidly gunned the humans down. The servitors continued working away, oblivious to the violence. "Knife to Infernas. The victory assured."

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"Infernas the jaws closing," said Jolan.

Maladar shot him a savage grin. "Your people do good work."

"You might try building a staff of your own," Gix replied as they jogged up a poorly lit corridor.

"That's you, not me," Maladar replied. A flash of dread shot through Jolan.

"Down!" he yelled as launched himself at Maladar and conjured a force wall. His telekinetically augmented leap had enough force to knock the armoured Inquisitor down a moment before the blast wave smashed through Jolan's force wall and into them. Gix's conversion field flashed white as explosion lifted his body of Maladar and bounced him down the deck.

Five armsmen advanced towards the bodies of the Inquisitors. Their shotcannons were loaded with armour piercing rounds. Randor Fisk followed his men at a distance. Time to finish this mess.

The daemonhosts killed without mercy. Blood splattered the walls and viscera was scattered over the deck. Although their armour was cracked and penetrated, their flesh was rent and torn; they did not stop. They despised being enslaved by Jolan Gix, but they did not disdain his orders. To rend, torture, and kill the weak creatures of the material universe was a joy they rarely experienced. So, laughing, they hunted the crew through the long corridors and darkened rooms of the ship.

Their slaughter had accounted for the comparatively light resistance that the boarding teams had encountered. Whole parties of crew and armsmen dead or diverted to try and stop them. It had enabled Danell Keys to reach the bridge while facing only light opposition. It had also allowed Hethor D'eckor to almost catch up with his friend and lord.

Jolan and Maladar were sprawled on the deck. They hadn't taken the worst of the explosion and might still live. The armsmen with them didn't have the advantages of a conversion field or power armour to protect them. One or two might possibly be alive. Hethor wouldn't have bet money on it.

The harsh bark of his bolter filled the air as he fired on the charging armsmen. Kraken armour piercers smashed through the chest of the first one and exited out his back. Hethor put a quick burst into the guts of the next before he could react. He folded and toppled, blood and fluids pouring from his abdomen. The others raised their shotcannons and fired down the corridor.

Hethor fell forward onto his knees, firing. Kraken rounds ripped through the chest of another armsman, sending him staggering back spraying blood. Armour piecing rounds struck his carapace armour and bounced off, having been slowed by his refractor field. But the refractor field wasn't perfect.

One round struck with only a small amount of its energy deflected by the energy field. The round punched through his armour and tore through his lung. White hot searing pain shot through his body. He squeezed the trigger again. Bolter rounds and brains blew out the back of the shooter's skull. He emptied the rest of the clip into the remaining guard's torso.

He dropped the bolter and stood, blood pumping from his wound and hacking up bloody froth. The targeting lens showed one more target as he drew his pistol. Randor Fisk was running towards him and firing, a bolt pistol held in his fist. His robed form was surrounded by the haze of an active refractor field. Kraken penetrators struck Hethor's chest, cratering and cracking the armour. A few more hits and it would fail.

An intense beam of white-violet light struck Fisk in the chest. A burst of light surrounded him as the energy field scattered some of the beam's energy. It didn't scatter enough to save him. Fisk staggered and fell, a smoking hole in his chest.

Hethor slumped to his hands and knees. "Miles, Infernas, Jotun. The sheath of knives."

Gard replied. "Vizier the wheel."

Hethor relaxed slightly. Help was on the way. All he had to do was stay conscious until Gard got here. He fumbled for a field dressing. He had kept the faith. As always.

Jolan rolled over. "Heth," he wheezed. The inquisitor used the wall to pull himself erect. The inferno pistol he had used to finish Fisk was hanging weakly in his right hand. "Throne, that hurts."

"Boss." Hethor's eyes were heavy. The bleeding must be bad for that.

"Time to practice new tricks," said the inquisitor smiling. "The problem with healing is that you have to go through the blender before you can really practice."

Hethor smiled, showing bloody teeth. "My heart bleeds for you, you psyker witch."

Jolan walked over. His movements were shaky. He finished applying the field bandage. "Don't go anywhere on me Heth."

"Will do."

"Nice shooting, by the way."

"Better than you."

"True. Hold on."

"If you make it an order."

"I do."

"Alright then." He closed his eyes.

Shala Nofield leaned back on against the hangar's wall. "I didn't like doing this inquisitor."

"Noted," said Jolan Gix. "If it's any consolation, neither did I. Randor Fisk and his accomplices made it necessary. They wished to stand in the way of Imperial progress, wished it enough to kill for it."

"So we killed them."

"Yes. They were afraid of possible destabilization, of disrupting the balance of power within the Imperium. Afraid enough to kill me over it."

"Why us, inquisitor?"

"Simple. It was not believable that Maladar would kill me and then not have to kill Hethor D'eckor. I could leave behind no witnesses to a battle that did not happen. Now it is quite believable that Maladar would massacre everyone around me. Thus your disappearance is consistent with what we wanted any investigators to believe. One way or the other, you all had to be silenced. I prefer to spare the lives of loyal Imperial citizens when possible. So you were drafted by the Inquisition. Permanently. You will never speak of this again."

"Alright," she nodded. "Now what?"

"Maldar, Hethor, and Klisk are stable and should make full recoveries after varying amounts time and additional medical procedures. We make additional sweeps of the ship. Make sure everyone is dead. We make the tragic discovery of Randor Fisk's vessel, dead in space, with two murderous daemonhosts on board. Appropriate works on daemonology will be found in Fisk's possession. Obviously the experiment went out of control. We cleanse it, having taken casualties. The ship is taken to Adraxus and refitted."

"And then?"

"All of you are permanently on my staff. The last of this business gets settled, hopefully with a just few conversations. We get back to the business of hunting down and killing the Emperor's enemies."

"How often is it like this?" she asked wearily.

"Rarely, but more often that I'd like."


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The Psy King walked down the hall of the ancient and hallowed Imperial fortress. It was half a kilometer long, a hundred meters high, and carpeted in vibrant red. Gilded cherubs held light globes in their hands and rank upon rank of ceremonial armour stood on guard, lining the hall. A smiling man with a shock of vibrant red hair awaited him at the end. The red haired man was tall, lean, and pale skinned with a hook nose. His clothes were black accented with blood red. He had a cruel smile.

The red head gestured at the gilded doors. "He awaits for you inside, oh king of psykers."

The Psy King halted for a moment. "And who do you presume to be?"

"The Prince of Ruin," he replied.

The Psy King dipped his head in acknowledgment and stepped inside. The sprawling room was lit at various intervals by hovering cherubs. They formed an intricate pattern with a hidden message. As a student he had struggled to decode their shifting patterns every time he had entered.

Games sat on pedestals throughout the room. Regicide in its various forms. Its ancient ancestor chess, an anachronism so old that no one except perhaps the Emperor knew its true origins, was displayed on several boards. Go, another game from antiquity, could be found as well. Games from a hundred different worlds were displayed in varying degrees of progress. He didn't recognize them all. New ones were being added all the time.

He advanced to the throne at the center of the room. Holo displays of half a dozen different game boards surrounded it. The contoured chair swiveled to face him. The man on the throne was two meters tall if he was an inch, with a neat white beard and hair. He wore a robe of blue silk with shifting pink patterns crawling across it. His eyes were gold and his tongue was forked like a serpent's.

"My master," said the Psy King as he bowed.

"Rise," said the Gamesman. "Your mission was a failure."

"Yes, my master. Your pawn allowed me to escape, but Jolan Gix thwarted me. Again."

"Ah yes, our pawn. He must never be allowed to know that. You played the proper level of ignorance?"

"Yes, my master. I pretended that I believed I had tricked a smuggler into aiding a greedy and desperate merchant who worked in the grey area of the law. I allowed him to win at regicide and believe that I was ignorant of his true plan." It was their master's first rule. Evaluate your opponent's prowess and play just badly enough to lose. Flatter your opponent with a victory, provide a worthy challenge so he likes to keep you around, and let him underestimate you.

"I have done several divinations regarding this Jolan Gix. Our futures cross. Perhaps catastrophically."

"What must be done?"

"Gix dabbles with the true power of the warp, but does not embrace the path. He is encumbered by human attachments. Compassion, empathy, friendship, love. These prevent him from walking the path."

"You wish to convert him." It was not a question.

"You have twice failed to kill him. And he grows in strength. We do not pit strength against strength. That is the way of the idiot followers of Khorne." He moved a piece on a holo board.

"So what do we do, master?"

"We are servants of the Architect of Fate, are we not? The Changer of the Ways? We shall perform emotional alchemy. Compassion shall become cruelty, empathy will become hate, friendship shall become rage, love shall become wrath."

"And how shall we do this?"

"It shall take time to gather all the relevant information. When we do we shall strike. All of his anchors are people he cares for. We shall burn them out of his life and Gix will fill those emotional voids with darkness. And then great Tzeentch shall have him."

Steam blasted from vents, forming a wall of water vapor in front of the Mechanicus shrine as hidden mechanisms moved the massive armoured doors. Jolan Gix, who was bundled in a heavy cloak against the cold, strode through the mist and bowed. "Thank you for responding so quickly."

The figure opposite of him bowed back. The red-robed figure observed the world from artificial optics set in a metal mask. A static edged, monotone voice ushered from its speaking grill. "It is I who am grateful inquisitor."

"I merely return what is the rightful property of the Priesthood of Mars."

"But you return it to me."

"I do. Your reputation proceeds you. Your ideas about delving into the hidden secrets of the Machine God and sharing some of the higher mysteries with others are ones that I approve of."

"Spreading the lore of Mars brings glory to the Machine-God and brings others into his service. Unfortunately, most of my colleagues see this as weakening the Priesthood. I do not think it is coincidence that I have been given this isolated and dismal posting."

"And it is not coincidence that you receive this." The black garbed inquisitor handed over a data crystal. "Glory to you, magos. May your star rise high."

The magos let the crystal drop into the palm of his gauntlet. "It may inquisitor. It may."

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"What you think?" Jolan asked as he gestured out the window. Fisk's former vessel, now rechristened the Eternal Will , glowed in the docklights.

"She looks solid," Selanon replied. He wasn't much taller than Gix, but paler and thinner. The navigator wore a black body glove like Gix, but wore a robe of russet velvet over instead of the inquisitor's leather stormcoat. "Sprint trader. Well armed."

Jolan tapped the table. A holo display schematic came up. The navigator took a close look at the wire frame image. "Heavy duty fusion beamer turrets. Extra void shield generators. These surveyors, this can't be right. And power level on those beamers . . ."

"They are correct. And there is more."

"Concealed guns. These firepower ratings are correct as well, I take it? As is the generator power. Inquisitor, who did you have to kill to get this ship?"

"Do you really want an answer to that?"

"No," Kay responded.

"I didn't get it in this condition. A year being rebuilt by the Adraxian shipwrights have made her thus. But she is incomplete."

"She needs a captain."

"I know a fair amount about ships and what they can and cannot do. Enough to know that there is no substitute for a good captain."

Selanon Kay was silent for a moment. Navigators rarely commanded ships. They Nobilis were extremely powerful and wealthy, but the Navy only used them to navigate through the Warp. Their own officers always commanded. The opportunities were few; mostly relegated to vessels they themselves owned. But here was an opportunity to command a fighting vessel, and she could fight hard, in the service of the Emperor.

"Inquisitor, I accept."

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The Immaterium is not a placid place. Predators swim through its eddies and currents, hunting for prey. Great storms and whirlpools form and dissipate. In one of these minor storms, a thrashing figure of light struggles. Weak and feeble currents connect the silver man to events elsewhere. Time, like space, is fluid in the warp.

One current, the thinnest and weakest, was full of bile. It warned of death, degeneration, and worse. Possible futures poisoned and stillborn. It shocked him into action. Still trapped, he sent a message through the warp to the only thing he could reach.

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In accordance with ancient rituals the battle-sisters of the Adeptus Sororitas prepared themselves for battle. They assisted each other into their power armour and handed each other their weapons. In battle, their lives would depend upon each other and this was reinforced in their pre-battle rituals.

One of the younger initiates handed the celestian her bolter. The grey haired woman accepted it gravely and secured it to her armour. She walked over to help secure the tanks of blessed promethium used to fuel her heavy flamer to the back of the younger woman's armour. She was a promising young woman who had already distinguished herself in battle.

The young woman's violet eyes went wide and she fell over flat on her back. The celestian bent down and cradled the young woman's head. "Domina!"

Domina's eyes were vacant. Her voice was strange. Monotone, but forceful. "You must warn Inquisitor Jolan Gix."

The blue-green world hung in the viewport of the Retribution class battleship Lord Wallech . White puffy clouds obscured much of the planet. It seemed peaceful. Serene.

Jolan looked over the latest reports. Genestealer cult forces were besieging the last bastions of resistance. The defences were crumbling everywhere. Over three million Imperial Guardsmen had been committed to shoring up Tescotta's forces in the early stages of the campaign. If there was a million of them left alive, Jolan Gix would have been surprised. Not that it mattered anymore.

It would be days before the planet fell to them. The psychic beacon that they were producing had probably already been detected by the hive fleet. By the time the situation had been brought to his attention it had been too late to do anything for the people on the planet. There was only one course of action left.

He left the nave and approached the cluster of senior officers gathered on the bridge. "Kill anything that tries to leave the planet, no matter who they are," he ordered. "The infection must not spread. Prepare to launch the virus bombs. The order is given: exterminatus."

As the bombs began to fall, releasing the deadly virus that would break down all organic life into flammable gases and grey sludge, a hooded astropath approached him from the choir. "My lord, an urgent message for you."

Jolan accepted the printed flimsy. Odd. It was from a Sororitas abbey in the Fallgrave system.

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Weapons caches. Money. Safehouses. Alternate identities. Personal information of dignitaries and lowlifes. Covert agents. All the weapons and resources for running of shadow war at her disposal.

Melina Sevall stepped back. Jolan Gix had ordered her to begin assembling this network out of the loose patchwork he had begun and she had done just that. In the process she had obtained ownership of several enterprises, which generated sufficient revenue to make the whole process self sustaining. House Sevall was mighty, but she had at her finger tips the power to go to war with it and tear it down.

"Everything okay?" Hethor asked from the doorway.

"Yeah," she replied. "It's just sinking in. How much power he has entrusted me with."

"He chose well. He always does. He knows his people."

Her lips twisted in a half smile. "He does. What do you think of this nursemaid job?"

He shrugged. "Someone has to be ready to break bones if things go wrong. Besides, I like the high life. Spent enough of my life in the trenches eatin' rats. I'm due."

"And me?"

He shrugged. "The galaxy isn't a fair place and even Jolan Gix can't change that. You ain't bad and you haven't exactly had it all good. We all get through the best we can. And you're the right woman for this job."

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The hidden council of inquisitors met again on the ship that did not exist. Their ranks were noticeably reduced. The gathered around the table uneasily. One side was definitely larger than the other.

The leader spoke. He was robed and masked like the rest, although in his case it was only a concession to tradition. Everyone knew who he was. "It is over. You lost," he said bluntly. "You didn't like our ruling, you fought it, and you lost. You demanded the head of one of our own when you thought you were winning, because victory was not enough. Regardless of what is decided here, you will leave this meeting safely, unless you choose to break that rule as well."

"That was Fisk," said the leader of the minority. "And his overreaching killed him. The instigators and die hards are dead. Those that survive are those who were swept up in the war. It is over."

"Very well. The guilty are dead. We shall not speak of this again unless it becomes necessary. There are certain actions we wish you to take to prove your sincerity."

"Of course."

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The wizened man maneuvered around the pedestals with their gameboards and knelt before the throne. The white bearded man did not acknowledge his presence for several minutes, concentrating on several of the holoprojected games that surrounded him. He made a move in each one and then he waved for the Keeper of Silence to stand.

"My master, I have done as you asked. It was not easy."

"It took a long time," the Gamesman replied neutrally.

"Indeed. I am pleased that I was able to accomplish it so swiftly. I had to bargain with a Keeper of Secrets to get the last pieces of information. The Inquisition does not yield its secrets easily. Even to us."

"But you have it."

"Yes, my master. Everything you requested."

"Then we shall begin. Slowly and carefully. One does not make rash moves in the mid-game."

"We are at mid-game master?"

"With this one? Oh yes. Of course, he doesn't even know that he's in the game and he won't know how badly he's been outplayed until it is far too late."

Tenal's World was a backward place. The Imperium of Man had rediscovered it barely a century ago and brought it back into the community of man. Since then a series of ambitious and conscientious Imperial Commanders had beaten back ork raiders in the wilderness and brought the benefits of Imperial technology to their people. Most of the world's inhabitants would say that life was good and getting better.

The governor's palace was near to the only space port. The capital was well defended with a plasma reactor fed void shield generator and several defence laser silos sunk deep into the rock. Mere raiders would be wrecked on those defences, although a battle fleet would be able to smash through them.

But there are methods other than brute force. The pirate ship slipped through the system while operating at low power. It entered orbit on the opposite side of the planet and dispatched its deadly cargo. A squadron of five fliers departed from its hangers and dropped towards the planet.

They shuddered through reentry and swooped down low over the ocean. It was night on this side of the planet. Soon a vast archipelago was spread out before them.

Surveyors compared results to maps stored within the flier's cogitators and the machines changed course. Black armoured raiders laughed, joked, and bragged in the troop compartment. They were looking forward to some sport. The Prince of Ruin licked his lips.

It wasn't too much longer until they reached their destination. The island came into view. A sprawling town of wood buildings and a few newer, concrete structures. Electric lighting glowed from many windows. Fishing boats were clustered around the docks. The fliers slowed as they approached.

Several people came out on their decks to watch as the fliers arrive. Two of them landed in clear spots on the outskirts. The other three hovered over the town and black lines descended from their hatches. Moments latter, raiders followed them.

The people were not fools. They had seen fliers, but those were PDF and these raiders were not PDF. They began to flee in panic and run towards weapons. The raiders opened up with their autoguns. Thunder split the night as they fliers joined in with the stubbers and autocannons housed in their gunpods.

Men, women, and children were gunned down. Houses were shattered by autocannons and set alight by flamers. The Prince of Ruin walked through the dying town, shielded by a sickly green glow. Wherever he gazed, flesh sloughed off bone and wood crumbled into dust.

The one sided slaughter took minutes, but the raiders did not kill everyone. They took a few women and children as prisoners. The townsfolk were a dark haired, brown skinned people in generally good health who lived active lives.

They took turns with the *****. Shrieks rang out across the water and none were spared. The buildings that were still standing were set ablaze. The nearby woods provided timber for the next part of the plan.

Chainswords made cutting crude beams easy. Those prisoners that had survived the gang ****, thirteen in all, were hauled up and crucified. Another party went to work on the town graveyard. Several bodies were targeted to be exhumed. The mouldering bodies were piled together and then urinated on.

Throughout it all, electronic eyes watched the proceedings, recording everything. The raiders departed for their ship where techno-adepts would edit the footage together before they sent it off. It wouldn't be quite the same if Jolan Gix didn't see everything that was done to the place of his birth.

Jolan turned up the heating control of his bodyglove. Perena was not a particularly warm planet and the mountain top abbey was even colder. The honour guard of Sororitas soldiers wore ceremonial cowled helmets with the face plate open and were seemingly untouched by the freezing temperatures.

The abbey itself was a huge fortress of ceramite and stone. The sisters had reshaped the top of the mountain, burrowing into the stone, sculpting it, and reinforcing the structure. Towers containing surveyors, communications gear, shield projectors and surface-to-space weapons protruded from the main house. Icicles hung from the edges of the grim fortress. Jolan hated every inch of it. Just looking at it made him cold.

He followed the battle-sisters through the adamantine reinforced door. Danell and Batista trailed in his wake. They lead him down dark and dreary corridors decorated with battle honours and trophies. They stopped at a door and announced him. "Inquisitor Jolan Gix and his retainers."

"Enter," came the voice from within. Jolan opened the door and stepped inside. The room was spartan. A golden aquila, set with rubies, a plain desk, chrome bodied cogitator, a weapon stand, and the canoness herself. She was a white haired woman with lines around her eyes and mouth and an expression that could crack granite. "Inquisitor."

"Canoness Verona. I came as quickly as I could after I received your message. Why don't you explain your situation to me?"

"A promising young woman by the name of Domina suddenly collapsed during pre-battle preparations. She spoke briefly and then fell into a stupor. Afterwards she was more coherent. She said she had a warning from Nathan Talstrem for Inquisitor Jolan Gix. We confined her and subjected her to rites of exorcism and purification. She seems to be untainted."

"You are skeptical."

"Evil takes many forms."

"I shall see for myself."

"Of course, Inquisitor." The canoness stood and lead him out the door. She lead him to a stairwell and down deep into the depths of the fortress. She finally stopped at a lonely corridor lit with a few glow globes. Two battle-sisters in full armour stood guard. They were armed with bolt pistols and flamers. They parted for their commander. Verona lead them to the last cell and unlocked the door.

A young woman was shackled to the wall. She wore a short shift and was draped in purity seals. Her blond hair was cropped short and her exposed limbs were corded with muscle. Jolan appraised her. Broad shoulders, violet eyes, strong cheekbones, and something very familiar about her that he couldn't place. She blinked. He met her gaze.

"Inquisitor Gix. Nathan Talstrem says you are in great danger. The forces of darkness wish to consume your soul."

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The tech gave a thumbs up signal to the shuttle pilot. The pilot turned and smiled. "Good to go commodore."

Severa Valin nodded in acknowledgement. "Well lets get strapped in and this bird in the air. I've got a ship waiting for me."

"With pleasure ma'am." He nodded to this copilot and headed towards the cockpit as the servitors disengaged the fuel hoses. It wouldn't be long before they would be off the dirt, out of the glue, and hitting the void.

As Severa strapped herself in, the tech walked out of the hanger and into a closet. He closed the door behind him and sagged. Operating this body long distance had been draining, but worth it. The tech's mind was full of rote learned information, but it had been more than sufficient for the Psy King's purposes. More than enough to sabotage the shuttle.

The psyker induced a stroke as he shed the borrowed flesh. He had had to be much closer to take this body as his meat puppet, but he once taken he could operate easily from afar. His soul flittered through the warp back to his body.

He blinked his eyes. Callidan was watching over him. "Lord?"

"It is done. Stay and take care of any loose ends. I've got a ship to catch." It was too bad he wouldn't be able to see Jolan Gix's face when he learned of his comrade's fate. Well, there were other women to kill. And in worse ways.

Jolan looked at Domina. His warp senses were alive, probing. He saw the ebb and flow of the warp, the currents and tides that touched lives. There was nothing impure that he could sense about her.

She looked at him serenely and then spoke. "Nathan said to remind you about that first ride in the Valkyrie. When he told you how he got his rosette."

Jolan rocked back on his heels. No one but Nathan knew that was when Nathan had told him that he had been chosen by the Emperor, that the Inquisitor had been from the time of the Great Crusade and lost for ten thousand years in the warp. He turned to Verona. "She is to be released into my custody."

"As you wish inquisitor." She gestured and a guard stepped forward and undid the chains.

"See to it that her weapons and armour are brought to the front of the abbey."

Verona had a puzzled look on her face, but nodded in acknowledgment. She left to issue orders. "Can you walk?"

Domina nodded. "Yes inquisitor."

"Good." He took off his coat and wrapped it around her. "It's too damned cold down here."

"I don't mind," she replied. Jolan noted she did not refuse the coat. "Let's get out of here." She followed the inquisitor up the stairs back and down the long halls of abbey. They neared the entrance. A suit of armour and a neat pile of weapons awaited them. Jolan motioned everyone around the armour.

He touched a control on a circuitry lined bracelet. The teleport homer beeped. "Take us up, along with the Sororitas and the armour." The air around them crackled and hummed and then flashed with a thousand colours as a force bubble carried them through the warp.

The bubble dissolved and they found themselves standing in the armoured teleport chamber of the Eternal Will. A light flashed on and the door slid open. "I hate that," muttered Batista.

"You think you hate it," Jolan replied, "Shala looses her lunch every time she teleports. Domina, follow me." He lead the battle-sister to his quarters, which were decently heated and took a seat in one of his chairs. "Take a seat," he offered.

She looked around. The room was well appointed, but not luxurious. There were several stuffed chairs, a couch, a thick carpet, and bookshelves lining the walls. Glow globes near the ceiling bathed the room in warm yellow light. A holopict of a beach at sunset hung on the wall.

She carefully chose a chair and set down. "Domina, I believe that you are really speaking with Nathan Talstrem. He is a hero of the Imperium and I am not the first person that he would try to reach, so I must be in great peril."

"I believe that as well. He thinks the enemy will attempt to destroy your soul, not your flesh."

He nodded. "To change me. To ultimately break me or remake me in their image. I'm going to need all the help I can get. Can I count on your help?"

"I am a loyal daughter of the Imperium."

"Thank you."

There was a ring at the door. "Enter," said Gix. Iriza walked in. "Inquisitor, there was a message sent to you at the Inquisition headquarters on Adraxis. It was forwarded to me. It was marked urgent."

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Jolan's jaw trembled as he watched the recording. It had been sent encoded and encrypted to Iriza's brain. She hadn't possessed the means to decipher the data stream. That was a mercy.

"Inquisitor," Nofield said, "what is this?" The rest of the staff watched the atrocity in silence.

"This is the place where I was born. If my parents still lived, they are now among the dead. As are any blood kin I might have." The camera panned over the crucified children. "I called you in here so you can see what we are up against. An enemy with considerable resources that revels in atrocity. And who wants to break me."

"Inquisitor," said Camron, "we are with you. As always. But against this foe, where do we begin?"

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Inquisitor Saratta Tarnell sensed the attack seconds before it happened. Her ground car was passing under the shadows of the decaying towers when a chill ran up her spine. She lunged forward to speak to her driver when the telekinetic impulse struck the car, tearing the the engine apart.

The driver used the remaining speed to twist the car around before it came to a halt. She felt waves of force wash over her as the security cars in front of and behind her vehicle were lifted in the air and tossed away like toys. Her security personnel poured out of the car. "Go!" screamed Edrian, her security chief, a bolt pistol gripped in his hand.

She slid out the opposite side and fired off a telepathic blast at her attackers. It was effortlessly scattered. One of her people fell, the victim of a sniper. Blood spurted from the hole in his neck.

The fight was lost. The enemy psykers, she could taste both their minds, were too strong and the attackers had too many advantages. With reluctance she ran.

Edrian's body hit the pavement in front of her, his bones crushed by the telekinetic strike. A spike of mental energy stabbed into her brain. She shrieked and staggered. The pain intensified. She fell to her knees.

The pain began to fade. She struggled to her feet. Two men were approaching. One tall and blond, the other red haired and lean. Their was no mercy in their eyes and only cruelty in their smiles. Then a telepathic blast hammered her into unconsciousness.

Jolan laid the cards down. Doing readings on forces that directly influenced one's life was difficult, but not beyond him. He stroked the back of the cards, touching each one with his power, connecting them to each other and the tides of the Warp where space and time were not bound by the rules of the material universe.

The cards slid across the table, forming an intricate pattern. The liquid crystal images shifted and changed. Jolan felt his blood run cold.

The High Priest inverted, flanked by an inverted Space Marine stood above all. Beneath him was the Rogue Trader, inverted, and the Noble Scion, also inverted. Death was ascendant, in the form of a maggot ridden corpse.

Beneath that terrible arrangement was the Magister. His personal card. To the side was the Angel.

"Emperor have mercy," he whispered. He couldn't even find his enemy. How was he supposed to defeat him?

He leaned back and took a deep breath. He had faced a daemon prince with only Hethor at his side and cast him into the Warp. He could prevail here as well. He wasn't merely an inquisitor, but Jolan Gix. A formidable mind mated with a formidable will and a staff second to none behind him.

There were other eyes and brains that would aid him as well. He began composing the messages that he would send to Kyra and Maladar.

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Saratta groaned and opened her eyes. She was nude and strapped spread eagle to padded table. There was a mirror on the ceiling above her. Her eyes wouldn't quite focus and her extremities were full of pain. A hook nosed man loomed over her. "Recovering consciousness I see. Excellent. We've kept you unconscious for a while until we got you where we wanted you. As for any soreness, well some of us couldn't wait to try you out. You understand. Don't try to answer. We cut out your tongue when we amputated your hands and feet. Didn't want you committing suicide that way. Too easy."

He ran his fingers through her hair. She twisted her head and lunged, trying to tear at him with her teeth. "Ahh. Spirit. You're hooked up to a psi inhibitor, for obvious reasons. We don't want you to die on us too soon. In fact, we don't intend for you to die at all.

"But I haven't introduced myself. You may call me the Prince of Ruin. The reason you are here is that your former lover Jolan Gix has made a pain of himself. So you are going to suffer so that he suffers.

"As you can see we have surrounded you with a variety of life support equipment. We're going to start removing your organs and hooking you up. The machines will keep you alive, but it won't be pleasant. In fact, unpleasantness was an important part of their design. We'll carve you up piece by piece until every major bodily function is run by these machines. And lets not forget the bedsores."

He laughed as he saw the pain in her eyes. "But we haven't gotten to the best parts yet, my dear. You'll be entertaining our brethren, some of whom are extensively . . . ah altered. Daily.

"This will continue until your mind breaks and shatters. Until everything that makes you you is dead. And then we'll consider letting the meat die. You see the recorders. There. And there. And there. We'll send Jolan this, so he'll no exactly what happened to the first woman he ever loved. Everything that ever mattered to him is going to suffer horribly before it dies."

He opened up the front of his bodyglove. "So now that you know what's in store for you, why don't we get started?"

"What?" Callidan barked at his informant over the vox. "Repeat that!"

"She's alive, my lord. In critical condition at the base hospital. Apparently the pilot had enough skill to turn the crash into a crash landing."

Callidan ran his fingers through his lank, greasy hair. Personal hygiene was something he got around to, sometime, and slowly ran down as he was distracted by other matters. "Get me her location," he snarled.

The Psy King was already off world. He would not be pleased to be dragged back here to finish the job. If, on the other hand, Callidan stepped up and took the initiative necessary to finish the job, he would be quite pleased. And, incidentally, Callidan would have shown his worthiness for promotion to the next level in the Invisible Crown and perhaps beyond.

"The base hospital. Don't have her room number."

"Alright," said Callidan. "Make yourself scarce," he said as he cut the link. Getting into the base hospital would be easy enough. All sorts of people had legitimate reasons for being there. The high security around one part of the critical care section would reveal the commodore's location. After that, the job would be easy. He was an Fifth Order Agent of the Invisible Crown and an Initiate in the Outer Mysteries of the Rising Phoenix. Security troops would fall like wheat before his scythe and that would only be necessary if trickery failed to serve.

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Getting onto the base was easy enough. There were several firms that made regular deliveries. The Psy King had already compromised one of the managers. Mind reading had revealed his use of prostitutes and provided suitable black mail material while mind control had ensured obedience. Getting hired and assigned to the appropriate route was easy. It wasn't like the fool knew what really was going to happen. Just to be sure, Callidan killed him and stole his wallet. Just another mugging in the bad part of town.

The gate guards examined his authorization and searched his vehicle for terrorist commandos and bombs. They didn't make much of the unprepossessing, brown haired man who was driving. Callidan drove through the base and parked at the hospital loading dock. He abandoned his truck, slipped inside into janitor's closet, and changed into green worker coveralls. He clipped a badge that would withstand only the most basic scrutiny onto his coveralls and wandered through the hospital.

Finding the commodore was easy. Black armoured naval security troops had one section completely sealed off. The short-frame autoguns they had slung meant business and their carapace breastplates and helmets the wore over flak armour gave them considerable protection.

He had, to be truthful, been expecting this. Fortunately for him, Tzeentch provides. Inhumanely fast reflexes whipped his autopistol out of before they could react. The first slugs went into the first guard's neck. He began to fall, clutching at the geyser of blood erupting from his throat. The second burst went into the second guard's chestplate. The autopistol fired very expensive and hard to get armour piercing ammunition at a high velocity.

The guard's breastplate stopped it. The second burst went into the same area as the first. The armour failed and blood poured from a half dozen wounds. The trooper staggered, but didn't fall. Callidan closed with him lightning quick and pushed the trooper's gun barrel out of the way. The weapon fired off a long burst, the barrel heating up and burning his hand. The pair of guards beyond were already bringing their guns to bear.

Bullets smacked into Callidan's living shield, causing him to jerk. One bullet creased his leg and another lodged into his arm. Pink gel oozed from the wounds and began to harden. The assassin fired back, striking one of the guards in the visor. He dropped like a puppet with his strings cut. He fired a burst across the legs of the other and he fell, blood pumping over the floor. Callidan burned the rest of the clip into his chest. He guard jerked under the impact and blood splattered on his armour. Several of the bullets penetrated.

Callidan smashed his bullet shield in the throat with his gun butt and pushed him down. He them stomped on the guard's throat and reloaded. Easy. Time mattered now, but he had been blessed with the Withering Stare. Combined with his own cunning, the ability to crush the resistance of the weak willed would make his escape simplicity itself. He opened the room.

A blackened shell of woman lay attached to a host of machines. A sheet covered most of her body. For a second he hesitated. Leaving her to suffer like this might be better than killing her. But no, they might ship her to Adraxis which had the finest medical facilities in the subsector. They might be able to work the necessary miracle. She was looking right at him, her green eyes boring into him.

"Commodore I am here to give you the rewards of knowing Jolan-"

Shots rang out. Pain racked his body and he staggered. More shots. They were coming from Severa. He tried to raise his gun hand but his shoulder was shattered. The gun dropped to the floor. The burned woman stood. None of the machines was truly attached to her. She was reloading the heavy naval pistol in her hands.

The eyes were wrong, he realized. This wasn't Valin. A decoy. He had been duped. Another bullet smashed through his left shoulder and then she blew out his legs. He fell, his body half coated in hardening pink slime. He could hear the sounds of many men running towards the room.

The woman kicked the gun away from him. His body wasn't working. He was as slow as mud and in so much pain. "Commodore Valin has other engagements," she sneered. "But I'm sure she will be interested in what you have to say." He tried to focus the Withering Gaze upon her, but he couldn't muster the concentration. Then gloved hands seized him and everything slipped away.

Severa opened her augmentic eye. Her other eye wouldn't open and it hurt. Everything hurt with a dull intensity. The world was fuzzy. She could here the whine and pumping of machines. She was in a hospital of some kind. Hooked up to a lot of machines. It must be bad.

Lieutenant Kelson came and stood over her. "Commodore?" the young man inquired.

Severa tried to speak. Couldn't. Kelson moved a tube to her mouth. She leaned forward and took the tube between blistered lips. She greedily sucked down water. "How bad?" she rasped. Everything must be fuzzy because of painkillers. She still hurt. She didn't want to think of how bad the pain would be without them.

"Commodore your injuries are severe. There was a fire after the crash. You were badly burned. We can keep you alive for a while, but the prognoses, Commodore, I'm sorry."

"It was sabotage," she said. She remembered being strapped in as every crucial system and its back up decided to fail. Lights and alarms blazed as the pilot and copilot struggled to keep the ship from burying itself into the ground. Then darkness. Now this. She looked down her arms. The flesh of her arms was blackened and flaking.

"Yes. We found the tech in a closet. Multiple strokes. Possession."

"Send a message to Inquisitor Jolan Gix," she rasped.

Kelson's head shot up. "Ma'am, we may have something on that. Someone tried to finish the job. Our decoy took him out. He mentioned something about a 'Jolan'."

"Still alive?" she asked.

"Yes ma'am, although not for a lack of trying. Not saying anything either."

"Send a message to Gix. Let him know what you found. And arrange transportation."

"Commodore, in your state it is unlikely that you will survive any journey."

"It's unlikely that I'll survive at all," she rasped. "Take me to Adraxis."

"Yes commodore."

"And bring the prisoner as well."

"Yes commodore."

Severa closed her eye. "Let me rest," she said. Oblivion was soon upon her.

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The Psy King smiled as the sprint courier took him out of the system. Gix's lover had been a difficult target and would have known fear before she died. Yes, very satisfying.

The memory would help him pass the long journey. He walked through the luxury suite he had been given and bowed before the silver aquila and kissed it in mockery of true faith. None of the crew knew the truth, although they knew who he served. They just knew his master as their pious and true liege-lord, an Imperial Commander, rather than as the Gamesman.

Lord Admiral Ravensburg is believed to have said: "a ship's a fool to fight a space station." Home to wings of strike craft, torpedo silos, and long range banks a navy space station makes a very poor target indeed. Inquisitor Jolan Gix's ship, the Eternal Will , coasted towards a monstrous edifice that was far more terrible than a mere space station. The Ramilies space fortress was the anchor point of Imperial power in Adraxis. It was a space station writ large, dwarfing even the fleet yards. Four long transepts extended from the central basilica in a cruciform pattern, each one mounting ship killing guns and launch bays capable of disgorging shuttles or bomber wings.

The Eternal Will coasted to the midpoint of one nave and a docking bridge extending, linking the two together. It would be a long time before Naval Security forgot Jolan Gix. He had fought on those decks alongside their best, lead them into battle and victory. They had remained true while others had betrayed their oaths. They had fought under his leadership and that of the Commodore and the Saint. The battles had already become legend and larger than life.

The honour guard waiting for Jolan Gix was lead by a senior lieutenant. She lead six men black armoured men with their faces hidden behind mirrored visors and hellguns clenched in their hands. She was a tough looking, grey-haired woman with a flattened nose, a jagged scar marring the pale skin of her left cheek, and the heavy build of a mastiff. "Inquisitor. I am senior lieutenant Wiyana Glass. Welcome back to Adraxis."

"Thank you lieutenant. Please arrange to have Gard Vikal and Hethor D'eckor escorted to see Commodore Valin."

"As you wish inquisitor."

"Good. Now you will take me and Batista to the prisoner."

"Immediately," she replied. Glass lead them to transport tube and they boarded the travel capsule. They entered the vehicle and sat down on the bench seats. Glass touched a rune on panel and then another. They began to accelerate rapidly. The capsule hurtled down the length of the transept and into the basilica.

The capsule reached its destination and they disembarked. Black armoured naval security troopers stood ready with shotcannons and metal truncheons. They saluted as Wiyana lead them past. She took them past sensors and autoturrets and checkpoint after security checkpoint into dimly lit corridors lined with cells. "Most of these are empty," she said. "Only the most dangerous are to be held here and in most cases that means we shoot them out of hand."

She stopped. "This one was . . . most unusual inquisitor." She produced a data slat from the last checkpoint. "This is what we have been able to determine."

Jolan took the slate and examined it. "Cult tattoos on the ankle, The Rising Phoenix. Hyped reflexes. Coagulating gel for blood. Rapid healing. And the Withering Gaze."

"Sir?" she asked.

Gix smiled thinly. "The Inquisition catalogs various heretical abilities. Yes, this one has been touched by the warp. He's secured?"

"Yes sir. Shackled to the wall, fed through IVs. We removed his teeth with pliers. Didn't want him to suicide by biting off his tongue."

"Good," Gix replied. "Open the door. Remain outside. The security monitors will fail. Don't interfere."

"Yes lord."

A lever was thrown and the thick metal slab slid aside with a grinding noise. Jolan stepped inside, followed by the pale Sanctioned Psyker. The cell was roomy, but not for the prisoner's comfort, but rather to allow several interrogators and their equipment to operate on the prisoner. Callidan was secured by metal cuffs to the far wall. A lumina panel cast stark white light on him from above.

The heretic's body had degenerated in captivity. Muscles had atrophied and several lesions and weals marks his pale flesh. His hair had been hacked off and grown back as coarse black stubble. He had a short, ragged beard. A visor obscured his eyes. Jolan reached forward and removed it.

"Gix," he hissed through lips.

"Yes," said Jolan. "When I leave this cell, you will have told me everything there is to know about you and your master."

"No, you will beg for the mercy of death," he lisped. "You should kill yourself now."

"No," said Gix, "I will not be broken by your master's tactics. And you will know it before I am done with you. You have sold yourself to dark powers and have reaped only damnation. The magnitude of your error will be made clear to you before you perish."

The lumina panel flickered for a moment as Jolan exerted his warp talents to shut down the security monitors. While his gifts with what was known as Machine Empathy were weak, especially when compared to such luminaries as Pater Novum, for some things they would suffice. The monitors went dead. What came next would never leave this cell.

The warp stirred and shifted in response to Jolan's will. Telepathy was an art he had no feel for and little skill, but his studies had left with other alternatives. Stabbing needles of psychic force bored into Callidan's mind. The heretic's body convulsed as they penetrated the shields implanted in his mind and searing pain overwhelmed him.

Gix manipulated the warp constructs with ease and delicacy. He stabbed into the pain and pleasure centers of the brain with precise control, just enough to trigger a reaction without inflicting permanent damage. Every muscle in the heretic's body spasmed.

Batista's will rushed into heretic's mind. Jolan had torned down the walls to Callidan's mind and was working on breaking his will. Batista fell upon the last barriers in the heretic's mind like a battering ram. There was a moment of fierce resistance and then the battered barrier collapsed. Batista was in.

Implanted kill commands were triggered, intent on killing the heretic by shutting down his body before he could reveal an information. Commands that would shut down his autonomic nervous system that was already controlled by the psychic needles of Jolan Gix.

Callidan went into another spasm of convulsions as the kill commands were frozen. Batista tore through the heretic's mind and memories, taking in everything as Callidan's whole universe became a blazing ball of pain. Finally, Batista nodded. "I have everything inquisitor."

"Good," said Jolan. "The kill commands have been triggered and failed. Too bad for you Callidan. You're going to have to live. Don't worry, I should think of some suitable fate for you."

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Jolan's retinue gathered around the table in the heart of the star fort. Jolan looked up. "Proceed."

Batista cleared his throat and stood. "The heretic called himself Callidan, although his true name was Maric Volpes. He joined a heretic cult, the Heart of the World in an attempt to rise above his labourer origins. He ascended intothe Heart of the World's master organization, the Invisible Crown. From there he was recruited in the The Rising Phoenix and received the mark. While serving as a trouble shooter for the cult he caught the attention of one of the Illuminated Masters: The Psy King."

Melina's eyebrows shot up. "The Psy King is one of the Illuminated Masters of the Rising Phoenix? We have confirmation that he's part of the leadership of a specific cult?"

"Yes," said Jolan. "There's more. Batista, please continue."

"Callidan became an agent for the Illuminated Masters and was rewarded for it. In the process he dealt with several of them and learned their identities. He also learned the name of the Light of Illumination, the supreme master of the Rising Phoenix."

"Rapin' hell," said Hethor. "The Psy King has a boss?"

"Until today we didn't even know there was a rank above Illuminated Master," said Jolan.

"The Light of Illumination is called the Gamesman," continued Batista. "Callidan has never met him, but was nearing the point when he would be initiated and receive an audience. Callidan also knew that this campaign was not ordered by the Psy King, but by the Gamesman."

There was a moment of silence. "That's what we face," said Jolan Gix. "An organized strike by one of the most powerful and secretive chaos cults in this sector. One with multiple agents of equal power and competency to the Psy King and a master that can command their obedience. Any suggestions about how we proceed?"

Gard Vikal touched the door chime. The door slid open, revealing Inquisitor Gix's personal quarters. The armoured shutter was open and Jolan was staring out the port hole and down upon Adraxis. "Gard."

The dark skinned scientist-physician stepped forward. "My lord inquisitor." His mechadendrites tasted the air. "I must report that the commodore's condition is grave, but treatable with advanced regeneration technology. I remain guardedly optimistic, but until she is put through a regen treatment there is no way to know for sure how she will respond. I suggest prayer on her behalf."

The inquisitor did not turn. "Thank you Gard. You may leave."

"As you wish." He bowed slightly and turned to go.

"Wait." The medicae stopped. Jolan turned. He face was drawn, his skin pale. "I have been remiss. Thank you for your efforts."

"Inquisitor, we all appreciate that you and the commodore are close. Whatever else you are, you are still a man who cares for his friends."

"Thank you Gard."

"You are welcome inquisitor. By your leave."

"As you will." Gard left and Jolan telekinetically hit the door control after he left. So much power and still he felt hopeless. As helpless as he had been as a child on the Black Ships.

There was a chime from his desk. He turned toward it and checked the link to the main logic engine system. A package had arrived for him. Interesting. Who knew he was going to be on Adraxis?

He sent a series of commands that would subject the package to a variety of auspex scans and a full inspection. He then sat down to think. The Rising Phoenix had targeted him personally and not for direct attack. What were they after? More data was needed. There was a significant possibility that this package was from them. Supposing that it wasn't some form of assassination attempt, it might reveal clues. It could also be designed to push him into a particular course of action. He would have to proceed carefully.

It took a while for the package to clear the exhaustive battery of tests. It contained a simple data crystal. Jolan had it sent to his quarters. And then he waited.

It arrived soon enough. The door chimed and a servitor crafted in the shape of a man wearing baroque armour entered. Jolan dismissed it and inserted the crystal on separate display. A vid log.

It took a moment for it to sink in what he was seeing. He flashed forward. More horror. And again. It continued. His hand shook as he flicked it off.

He backed away from the desk, literally trembling with rage and grief. Saretta. Bound, connected to arcane machinery and raped by mutants. Hours and hours and hours of it.

"Control," he hissed to himself. Control. He needed it. They were targeting the people he cared about, those that mattered to him. Why? To provoke him into movement? To intimidate him? Simple, vicious spite?

No, not spite. Too big, too complicated, too much investment. This had to have purpose. Something worth all the effort involved. His enemy was moving against him in force and he was blind. He didn't know its lair, where to find its agents, or what stratagems to expect. There blows against him were already laid, although the taunting evidence might be a while in coming. What were they up to?

And then he saw. With a single moment of burning clarity he saw what they were trying to drive him to do. **** himself. Take a step over the line between radical and heretic and betray the Imperium. And he saw no other way.

Jolan inserted the data crystal into the reader and watched as the holo display flickered to life. The expanse of Ultima Segmentum filled the room, a quarter of the galaxy displayed in cool blue lights . Adraxis was marked by a luminous golden dot. Jolan entered a command by tapping on the stacked crystal control slab that made up part of his desk.

Red blots burst like pustules among the cool blue stars. Each one marked documented activity by the Rising Phoenix Cult, one of the most insidious and dangerous cults of the Ruinous Powers in the Ultima Segmentum. It was as elusive as it was dangerous. Jolan typed in another set of commands.

A grotesque purple splotch marred a great swath of the Segmentum, marking the projected reach and influence of the Rising Phoenix. The cult was good at hiding, usually only being discovered after its agents had done their foul work and departed. Many of them had cover identities of Imperial servants and had apparently worked loyally for decades before vanishing and leaving a nightmare in their place.

And now they were targeting him, not merely to kill him, but to make him fall. To make him like they were. He saw the trap waiting for him. He had no means of reaching the cult leaders who were targeting him. The only possible information source that could lead him to them quickly were daemons of the warp, the great and terrible Lords of Change and the all knowing and malevolent Keepers of Secrets.

Such beings, or whatever fraction of their essence he could summon, were beyond his ability to compel. In order to get those answers from them he would have to bargain . To enslave daemons and use them as weapons against the Emperor's enemies, that was the act of a Radical but still within the boundaries of Imperial service according to some. To bargain with the enemies of the Imperium, that was another. The price such daemons would demand would be very high. They would demand the ending of lives, the working of treason, and a descent into depravity.

The Gamesman wanted him to make such a choice. Not once, but several times until there was nothing left of the Imperial Inquisitor but only a self interested sorcerer who consorted with Chaos. This was the real trap.

He would not fall. That line would not be crossed. The Gamesman was several steps ahead. That would have to change or else the best solution for the Imperium might be someone administering the Emperor's Mercy to Jolan Gix.

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There are many terrible places in the galaxy. From the Eye of Terror to the Inquisition's dungeons, there is no shortage of places where suffering and despair can be found in near endless supply. Reaver's Rock is one of these places.

The pirate base was a hollowed out asteroid with power fields and gravity courtesy of an ancient plasma reactor system in its core. How old the pirate lair was, no one really knew. Some suspected it dated back to the Dark Age of Technology, perhaps as a kind of navy base. Whatever its origins, today it was the home of pirates, slavers, and smugglers who prayed on countless races and nations. To them, the Imperium of Man was just one of the larger targets.

The Psy King pushed through the crowds at Akranak's Pit. On a raised arena a kroot with baroque halberd faced a cleaver armed ork in a bloody struggle to the death. Members of a dozen species chanted names and placed bets. As much as he enjoyed pain and suffering, the Psy King ignored the spectacle. He was here for a higher purpose.

The chaos sorcerer forced his way through the multi-species crowd towards his target. Senior Captain Jengal Steel was not a tall man, but squat and heavily muscled. Only a little fat had attached itself to his frame. The hairy pirate captain was attended by three whores with hair died unnatural colours and six bodyguards. A pink haired ***** had her head in his lap while Steel watched the two xenos butcher each other and slammed down drinks.

The bodyguards stopped the Psy King from approaching any closer. "I have a business proposition!" he shouted over the roar of the crowd and gave the idea a mental push. The leather clad pirate let him get closer to him master.

The crowd gave out a tremendous shoot. The kroot had crippled one of the ork's legs and was now circling it, out of range of the greenskin's cleaver, and stabbing with its halberd. It would be over soon.

Steel looked at him with dark eyes that conveyed no warmth or humanity. "What do you want?" the silk clad pirate bellowed.

"A ship killed. I can give you its origin and destination, as well as its earliest departure time. You can gut the ship and take everything as long as all the passengers die."

"Why should I do this?"

"I'll leave a very large payment with the Ballecays, contingent on certain people dying."

The mention of the middle men caught the senior captain's interest. "How large?"

"How does ten tons of platinum sound?"

"It sounds like you should tell me the name of the ship you want killed."

"The Eternal Will ." The Gamesman might want Jolan Gix converted, but the Psy King didn't. The bastard would then become another rival. He was all in favor of torturing and killing everything that the Inquisitor loved, but when that was done the Psy King wanted him dead. Now all there was left to do was set up that little incident at Icanius and have Jolan Gix come running into the jaws of the trap.

A servitor with a chassis of burnished brass walked through the halls of the starfort with a stainless steel scroll case clutched in its hand. The vat grown brain inside of its metallic skull had been electrografted with the plans for the station and was capable of pattern recognition. Beyond that its abilities were rudimentary, but sufficient for its role as a courier.

It stopped at the correct room and tapped the door chime. A moment latter Jolan Gix came to the door. "Alpha-execute-ten-nine," it said.

"Upsilon-twelve-zero," Jolan responded. The servitor extended the scroll case. Jolan took the metal tube. "Dismissed," he commanded.

He returned to his desk and entered a code into the base of the cylinder. The lid popped open and Jolan up ended the scroll case. A data crystal slid out. Jolan entered the crystal into the receiver slot in his desk.

More code verifications were demanded in fierce orange letters that floated in the air above the desk. Jolan entered them. The orange letters vanished to be replaced by jade text. The inquisitor leaned back in his chair as he finished reading.

The urgent message from an Ecclesiarch on Icanius regarded a holy vision in which his name had been mentioned. An Emperor sent break in a case as difficult as this, if it was authentic. But if visions were being sent, why was Domina not the one to receive them? And the timing was suspiciously convenient. He touched the vox transmitter key and began issuing orders.

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Melina slammed down a tumbler that had once contained an amber liquid that was mostly alcohol. She reached for the decanter and filled it up again. "He's leaving me behind!" he shouted.

Hethor took the crystal decanter from her hand and refilled his glass. "I know. He's right to do so."

"**** you."

"If you want," he replied. "Good chance that this'll be a trap. He'll need fighters and he'll need someone else elsewhere already lookin'. Someone sneaky and good at handlin' a lot of agents. That's you," he said pointing a thick finger at her.

They were in her cabin in the Will , which she was somewhat reluctant to leave. The tall crystal vessel had been full when they had begun working their way to towards the bottom. Both of them had acquired a very high tolerance towards alcohol in their time, although Hethor massed significantly more. He was also slamming more back, so they were getting to the same place at about the same speed.

"Throne, I hate being left out."

"Life's ****, we both know that." He drained his glass and then refilled it. "He needs you doin' your spymaster **** and that's what ya gotta do."

"Ya," she said and held out her glass. "Refill."

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"Tell me the truth," Severa said from her bed, "how bad is it?"

"Not good," Jolan said. "But at least you look like a human being now. And it was only the first surgery."

"I know," she rasped. "It's nice breathing through lungs again, even if the new throat is sore. The biomagi say that I will be even better than I was."

"Lord Vonrilyental's reconstruction was quite successful."

"I remember. There's a Flag Captain in the Gothic Sector who's a complete wreck. Still commands with direct interface links even though he's confined to an armoured strategium tank. I'm already doing better than he is. I can still command."

"Yes, you can. I have to go soon. Hopefully to get close to the heretics who did this."

"Duty calls then. Go, with my blessings. Burn them all Infernas."

"I will. I look forward to seeing you on a command throne again Sword. Emperor willing, we will speak again."

Selanon Kay leaned back in his command throne. Sophisticated MIU links built into his head rest conveyed data from the ship cogitators as the Eternal Will's thrusters fired again, completing their burn away from the titanic Ramilies class Starfort.

"Half power to the main thrusters," ordered the Navigator-Captain. His picked crew touched the surfaces of slabs of stacked crystal arrays and the Eternal Will's mains rumbled to life. The ship moved faster and faster, driven forward by the plume of plasma exhaust expelled from her engine tubes.

Kay checked the data runes. "Bring the engines up to full power." The ship hummed as the engines went from half to full. Selanon checked their course again. Icanius was at the edge of the sector and their existed favorable warp routes most of the way there. The local area around the planet was more turbulent than normal, which required some skill and patience to navigate through.

Kay had no shortage of either traits. There was something eating at the Inquisitor though or Kay was no judge of men. He would wish to make a swift transit and that meant a quick real space burn to a favorable warp current that would quickly carry them most of the way to that unspectacular world.

Kay did not need to consult a library data stack to know that Icanius was a cold world, but not hostile to human life. Its soil was not rich, but the world supported both crops and herding over a large part of its surface. Factory-cities converted the world's not inconsiderable mineral wealth into usable form. While its tithe of men and material was small compared to hive worlds like Adraxis or Cyrus Gamma, it was quite respectable. Icanian mechanized and armoured regiments did not have the fame that regiments from other worlds like Mordia or Vitria possessed, but they were good troops and well respected by the men who fought with them and the officers who commanded them.

Selanon Kay rose. "Teel, you have the con. I will begin making preparations for our journey through the warp." The navigator strode off the bridge, heading to his quarters and the ancient and priceless warp-way maps that were contained within.

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Jolan Gix had approached Selanon Kay not merely because of the fire in his heart but also because of his skill as a navigator. It had taken the man merely seventeen days in the warp and twenty-three real time to make the journey to Icanius, an amazing achievement even with a ship like the Eternal Will .

Kay brought the Inquisitorial vessel back into real space at the edge of the system, where the warp stream from Xezan, which he had merged into three days previously, began to grow turbulent and hazardous. The ships surveyors and auspexes probed and sent data back to its cogitators and logic engines. The Eternal Will had emerged within a million kilometers of where Kay had estimated it would which was not a bad result at all considering the uncertainties of the exit into real space.

Thrusters fired and maneuvered the black spire that was the slim sprint trade towards the inner worlds. A sword of plasma shot out of her main engines as the Eternal Will began the last leg of her journey. Her surveyors probed her path for any obstacles or ambushes and her void shields were at a third power to absorb any high speed collisions.

The Eternal Will was not alone. This route was well known to those who frequented the system and to the predators that lurked into the dark. Hiding at low power deeper in the system two pirate vessels spotted the Will's drive flare. Cogitators planned interception routes and marked the points from which the Will's bearing and velocity would make escape impossible. On darkened bridges hardened killers waited as clocks ticked down.

Zero. Reactors were brought up from minimum power and drives were brought on line. On other ships technomagi or task specific servitors would have noted the readings the sudden change in readings. On the Eternal Will , the machine spirit of the ship itself did that work. Warning runes glowed brightly and chimes went off in the bridge.

Kay leaned back and let the mind impulse units send the data into his brain. Concealed ships, one hiding near a far moonlet and the other playing cold and dead in space. Both were powering up their reactors and drives, a process that could not be taken instantaneously. But this data was two light minutes old. They were already moving on his ship.

He activated the ship wide vox. "Battlestations," he announced calmly. "Inquisitor Gix, the captain requests your presence on the bridge."

Selanon Kay looked up as Jolan Gix entered the command deck of the Eternal Will . The bridge of the inquisitor's ship was comparatively plain and cramped compared to other such vessels, a situation resulting from the inquisitor's personal taste, the austere style of the Adraxian ship yards, and the power of the ship's machine spirit which made many crew stations superfluous. "Status?" said Gix.

"Two pirate vessels closing," said Kay succinctly. A holo flickered into life between the two men, triggered by the mind impulse units built into Kay's command throne. "They were waiting cold and stealthed. They started powering up their engines and moving on us once our course made escape impossible."

"Options?"

"They aren't eldar vessels. Speed and emissions are consistent with ships of human design, although they could be xeno designs. Target alpha is smaller and swifter than beta. Probably a converted fast freighter. Target beta is frigate sized, also probably a converted merchant man. Alpha out masses us two to one."

"Options?" Gix asked.

"Surrender will result in us being killed or enslaved and the ship taken. Pirate vessels are typically heavily crewed and it is unlikely that we could win any boarding action. Evasion at this point is impossible."

"Then we fight. I take it we are going to burn for alpha full speed and try to take it out without having to fight beta at the same time."

"Correct inquisitor. With your permission?"

"Do what is necessary captain."

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Jengal Steel looked down from his command throne at the bridge crew of the Iron Claw . The Eternal Will was heading straight at the Edran's Revenge . It was a desperate move, but the expected one. The Eternal Will was heavily armed for a craft its size, but the Edran's Revenge was twice the size and had been heavily up gunned after it had been captured and converted into a raider.

"Krell, time until intercept?" he rumbled.

The lean surveyor operator looked up from his screens and consulted the cogitator readouts. The logic engines of the Iron Claw were comparatively well maintained, but its most skilled enginseers could at best do minor repairs and maintenance on the systems of data stacks, cogitators, and logic engines that formed the ship's mind. An increasingly complex system of jury-rigging and improvisation kept the ship's systems functioning at the cost of degrading speed and the occasional error. "Gun range with the Revenge in thirty minutes captain. We will be on top of them in fifty."

"Engines, increase speed." A fight between the Revenge and the Eternal Will would be too close for his taste. Better to stack the odds and minimize damage to his other vessel.

"We are already at maximum acceleration," the green scaled Zarhult at the engineering lisped.

Human engineering tended to build things tough, especially ships. The pirate vessel had sacrificed cargo space for more plasma reactors to power weapons, shields, and engines. The modified engines could take the strain of running at higher power than they had been originally designed to take, although that increased the chance of system failure and the strain on the system. Captain Steel was prepared to take those risks.

"Increase acceleration five percent," Steel ordered. "Close on that ship. I want my prize."

The cold blue ball of the gas giant Penitas was dead ahead. The planet's captured collection of asteroids, ice crystals, and small moons girded its equator like a wrestler's belt. Edran's Revenge had used the contents of the Penitas' ring as cover, but had now left it behind as its engines drove it on an intercept course with the Eternal Will . On both ships preparation for battle had commenced.

Edran's Revenge had been a slim sprint trader and was still recognizable as one. Like others of her kind she was swift and sturdy with several small defence turrets and a pair of larger turrets mounting powerful lasers and macro cannons on her dorsal surface. Cargo space had been sacrificed to add in another plasma reactor to power the extra shield generator blisters and the additional heavy dorsal macro cannon turret that had been added to her hull in the bays at Reaver's Rock. Her hull had been weakened by cutting new holes in it to add bays for boarding pods and grapplers along her flanks.

She out massed Eternal Will two to one and had been up armed and up shielded. Her captain, a harridan in a gold mask by the name of Nareena Hast, was confident of victory over even an upgraded vessel and not without reason. She wanted the glory that came with taking the vessel unsupported. One day Jengal Steel's grip over his pirates would slip and on that day she intended to open his veins and seize power.

Selanon Kay watched the indicator runes marked the distance. The Eternal Will had been built for the Inquisition using the most powerful technologies available to the archmagi on Mars before receiving the workings of the arcane technosorceries practiced in the Adraxian shipyards. The pirates would only have access to renegade and half-trained enginseers at best. It was his one advantage. It had to be enough.

"Turn thirty five degree port," he ordered. "Unsheath all gun ports. Target oncoming vessel."

As the Eternal Will turned its flank toward the pirate ship, adamantine shutters along her flanks opened up to reveal three gun ports on either side. Armoured cables connected the lasers to banks of capacitors and to the ships main power grid. On top the two dorsal turrets and their deadly armament of heavy fusion beams turned to track the pirate vessel. Highly capable surveyors sent data to the ships powerful logic engines. Firing solutions were produced almost immediately and autotargeting systems corrected the weapon's aim.

"Weapons locked on target," replied Master Gunner ban Isili. "Ready to fire on your command."

"Fire." Laser beams streaked through the void and impacted on the forward shields of Edran's Revenge , forming bursts of lightning where they struck void shields. Unlike an Imperial cruiser, the pirate vessel did not not possess heavy armour plating and extremely powerful forward shield generators. Some of the energy was deflected off the void shields, but most of it was delivered to the target.

Then the lasers fired again. And again. The archeotech capacitors and power transmission systems permitted the laser banks to fire at full power with a recharge time measured in a mere handful of seconds. Then the fusion beamers fired their blinding intense beams and lightning crawled over the front hemisphere of Edran's Revenge's shield bubble.

The pirate vessel weathered the storm of incoming fire and kept on coming. Her surveyors were not as sophisticated, her logic engines not as reliable, but Edran's Revenge was heavily armed and could fight. The dorsal turrets opened up with a volley of macro cannon shells and a spray of laser fire.

More than half the shots missed, streaking past the sleek Inquisitional vessel or exploding nearby. The remainder pelted the voids shields and created a sheet of lighting that covered the Eternal Will's starboard side. The Eternal Will's starboard batteries continued to fire, pounding down the void shields of the Revenge with peerless accuracy as the fusion beamers charged up for another blast.

Data streamed directly into Kay's brain showing imminent collapse of void shields on both ships. "Continue firing all batteries. Target the fusion beams for massed fire against the target's dorsal batteries on my mark."

"Fusion beams at eighty six percent power and rising. Targeting enemy gun batteries. Target . . . locked. Ready to fire on your mark."

"Fire." Intense beams of energy erupted from the barrels of the Eternal Will's dorsal turrets and flashed through space to strike one point on the Revenge's shields. The coordinated strike by heavy beams tore through the void shields and blew apart the middle turret in a fraction of a second before boring through the hull and burning into the ship's insides.

Ammunition and capacitors exploded under the intense heat that turned steel to gas. Fuel and oxygen lines were severed, sending a jet of flame gushing out of the wound into space and waves of fire through the corridors. Emergency doors slammed shut in all but two places as poor maintenance caught up the Revenge . The pace of fire from her remaining turrets fell off.

The Eternal Will crossed her T with her broadside's blazing. Lasers burned holes in the Revenge's hull as the void shields struggled to regenerate from the severe pounding they had taken. The Eternal Will arced toward Penitas's ring as Revenge limped along its course and the Iron Claw closed from the stern. The weaker foe had been defeated but soon the stronger would be upon them.

Jengal Steel snarled as Edran's Revenge drifted away from the Eternal Will . Hast's ship was still under power, but her void shields were weak and a fire was raging on her decks. The rogue trader had to be packing a stupendous arsenal to rip up Hast's ship that badly.

But the fight had cost it. Power had been diverted from engines and her course altered. Hast's ship had been wounded, not crippled and would still be of use latter in the fight. Iron Claw was closing on the smaller ship and it wouldn't be long until her gun decks were in range.

The Iron Claw out massed the Revenge by nearly two to one and the Eternal Will by nearly four to one. Her sides were studded with grapple launchers, boarding pods, anti ordinance guns, and clusters of missile tubes. Four turrets mounting dual macro cannons studded the pirate's dorsal surface. A pair of xeno designed heavy mass drivers poked out from the reaver's prow. She could go gun deck to gun deck with anything short of a Sword class frigate and even the latter would know it had been in a hard fight.

The Eternal Will was using Penitas's own gravity to quickly enter the planet's debris ring. The ship was angling for an escape using the ring as a feeble shield while it tried to sling shot around the gas giant. It wasn't enough. At best, the Eternal Will was delaying the inevitable.

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Hethor double checked the seals on Domina's armour. "All good Sister."

"Thank you," she replied. The Sororitas reached down and picked up the heavy flamer unit attached to the fuel tank on her back pack.

"No problem. Done the checks often enough for Gix." The veteran was wearing carapace armour and had a hellgun slung over his shoulder.

"If it comes down to boarding we will be greatly outnumbered."

"Nothing new about that," said Hethor. "You had best pull your weight though."

Her helmet swivelled to stare at the veteran. "Are you joking with me?"

"Hells no. You Sororitas claim to be all **** hot. Now you've got to prove it."

"Do not fear. Leave that to our enemies. The Emperor is with us and our enemies shall burn."

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Jolan Gix stomped onto the bridge, encased in power armour. Data relays from the ships cogitators to his armour autosenses had kept the inquisitor informed of the tide of battle. "Inquisitor, I have a few moments but please make it quick," said Kay.

"These ice fragments can't possibly shield us from that ship."

"They won't inquisitor, but it will to make more difficult for them to fire accurately at us. They already have to deal with our jammers and the gas giants radiation belts and pirate surveyors are usually of poor quality. I'm grasping at slivers inquisitor. Or at least that's what I want them to think."

"The moons," said Gix.

"Yes. There's a few tricks I can play with moons that they won't expect."

"Change course and pursue!" Nareena Hast screamed through the amplifier grill of her gold mask. "I want that ship's captain brought before me broken and flayed!"

"Course change in progress," shouted a burly officer at the helm.

"Status!" Hast barked.

"Maneuvering at eighty percent normal," the helmsman replied. Hast didn't receive bad news well but hiding anything fed her paranoia and that was worse.

"Magos!"

The heretic enginseer on the bridge had never been part of the Adeptus Mechanicus, but had learned many secrets of technosorcery through his apprenticeship as well as personal trial and error. "We took damage to the power grid, fuel lines, and maneuvering grid. A fire still rages on three decks. All damage control teams and available crew members are needed to ensure containment."

"I don't want excuses, I want results! I want those bastards hanging on hooks!" As Hast raged at her crew and the wounded ship slowly changed course to chase the Eternal Will . The Iron Claw was closing the distance between it and the Inquisition vessel as the Eternal Will attempted to take cover in the ice ring. Hast cackled. It wouldn't save them.

On the command throne of the Iron Claw , Jengal Steel wasn't so sure. The Eternal Will's course was taking put it close to one of the moons. The ice ring wasn't enough to save the vessel, not from the Iron Claw , but there were tricks one could play with moons. Sling shot maneuvers, concealed course changes, and taking cover were all possible.

Whoever the captain of the Eternal Will was, he was too sharp and his ship too good to take chances. He had bloodied Nareena's nose and would do the same to him if he got a chance. No point in giving it to him. The damage he had done already was going to cost.

"Give me every available bit of thrust you can without blowing out the mains," he snarled. "I want them caught before they reach that moon. Weapons?"

"Still out of effective range captain. They have too much lead time to alter course. We aren't going to score enough hits to matter against their shields."

"Increasing thrust," said the helmsman as warning dials slid over to the red range. The ship rumbled and groaned in protest as even more plasma was blasted out its old and battered engine tubes.

"Weapons?!" he barked.

"Recalibrating," came the reply. The cogitator at his station hummed as it relayed data from the logic engines and displayed the results in glowing runes. "We will reach the outside of effective firing range in three minutes. By the time they will reach the moon we will have them under heavy bombardment."

"Good." Steel was looking forward to taking that ship. It would be a fine addition to his growing fleet as soon as the inconvenient passengers were dealt with.

"Fire as weapons come into range. Hit them and keep on hitting them."

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The Eternal Will shuddered. "What was that?" Gix asked.

"Enemy mass driver hitting our void shields," said Kay. The mind impulse units were relaying data to him constantly. "We're on the edge of their effective range. If they keep this up, they'll eventually overload our void shields."

"Does this alter your plans captain?"

"No, it does not. At this range their accuracy is poor and our shields are very good. They won't be able to do nearly enough damage to us in the amount of time we'll be exposed to their fire. A more serious concern is that the alpha target is limping back into play. That may screw everything up."

"I think I see what you are up to captain. This escape maneuver will still buy us time away from beta, correct?"

"Yes."

"Do you see a better move?"

"Not that we can execute."

"Then do it. We'll finish alpha and then we'll figure out what to do with beta."

"Aye inquisitor. All hands, brace for emergency course change!"