In Extremis

[Inquisitor Rosenadel]

=][=

Rosenadel looked out the window at the structure looming in front of him. Governor Ian Branton’s estate was simple, but conveyed a sense of power that few of the mansions of other Imperial Governors had. Its columns were not decorated with murals depicting one of the Primarchs of the Space Marines, or even the Emperor. Rather, they were in a long-forgotten style, vertical etches from top to bottom. The only symbol on them was the Imperial Aquilla. Security monitors and turrets ringed the outside, and instead of building the house several stories high, his was built two stories high with blast-shielding around the entire thing. Whereas other planetary governors saw their position as one of wealth and luxury, Branton apparently realized that the position was one of high-risk and functional importance.

“Governor Branton is one of the few planetary rulers I respect, Mathias,” Krustyef said in a low tone as the two of them, in addition to Vault, approached the main gate in their aircar. “Listen to him, and learn from him. You will see and hear a difference. The reason I am bringing you with is twofold: you must gain experience both in dealing with the various authorities in the Imperium, and doing the tedious, but necessary work of sifting through the myriad of information gathered every day throughout the Imperium.” Krustyef nodded to Vault. “Vault can find whatever you may need, but you are the one that must put all the pieces of the Valar Cube together. You are also the one that must determine what he is to search for.”

Rosenadel nodded. He had been nervous when Krustyef and Niedderberg returned to the precinct station, but neither had appeared to notice when had transpired. Rosenadel had taken all the measures he could think of to hide his actions, some he regretted having to do. But it had apparently worked without hitch. It had gone so well that Rosenadel suspected that Krustyef and Niedderberg were hiding their suspicions and that any night, someone might burst into his room and kill him in his sleep. But after two days no assassin came, and so he relaxed slightly. He congratulated Niedderberg on his promotion, and received a promotion to interrogator himself. Krustyef had decided to promote him for his apparent skill in interrogating the alien, showing no sign that he knew what really happened. But still Rosenadel was tense.

The inside of the mansion was no different in style than the outside: security monitors scanned all critical points throughout the building, with turrets covering every centimetre of space. Krustyef, Rosenadel and Vault made their way to the governor’s office, outside which were standing two Planetary Defence Force guards, standing at attention, lasguns at the ready. As the trio approached, Krustyef pulled out his badge of office, a bronze “I” with three horizontal lines across the middle and, holly emblazoned in a crescent around the lower half. The guards nodded and opened the doors.

The governor’s room had a set of three small windows directly across from the entrance, almost blinding Rosenadel with the sunlight that poured through. Once past the entrance, the office was revealed to be a large rectangular room, with a large angelwood desk at which sat the governor. Upon seeing them enter, he pushed back his chair stood.

The man himself was tall, with broad shoulders and a thick build. Rosenadel could tell that this man was once one of the Emperor’s many warrior. The way he carried himself, his cool stare, his shaved head, and his rippling muscles gave him away as a career soldier. But he wore a dark gray suit, and spoke in perfect High Gothic.

“Good to see you again, Inquisitor. I have read your report, and I have issued a warning to the Arbites Precinct that they are to maintain better vigilance.”

Krustyef interrupted him. “Do not punish them, Ian. The Eldar are stealthy and cunning. They took the correct action in alerting you to the cult gatherings, as you made the correct decision to contact me.”

The governor considered this, then returned to his desk, and motioned for Krustyef to take a seat. “And who is this Krustyef?” inquired the governor motioning to Rosenadel.

The newly-appointed interrogator stepped forward. “I am Mathias Rosenadel, Interrogator, under the tutelage of Inquisitor Krustyef.” The governor nodded, and stood, extending his hand. Rosenadel shook it, and resisted grunting as the governor nearly crushed Rosneadel’s hand in his massive paw.

“A good handshake,” Ian said, no hint of derision in his voice. He looked back to Krustyef and sat down. “I assume you have not come here to introduce me to your new apprentice, nor defend the actions of the precinct.”

Krustyef smiled. “You are correct, Ian. We have come to look through your records.”

“I have many records, Andrei. Any in particular?”

“Yes, the records from the spaceport.”

The governor frowned. “What a coincidence. I was just looking through them myself,” he said with a wary tone. He slid some papers from his desk to Krustyef. “Apparently the murders that first alerted the Arbites to the cult were not the only ones they should have been investigating.”

[Templar Mikeel]

The story progreses. I am glad.

[Inquisitor Rosenadel]

=][=

The freighter “Margin of Profit” had left the orbital dock on Trothmere a mere day before Krustyef and his retinue to come to Hallon. It was registered to Captain Dvad Furloth, a respectable merchant man from a merchant family that was neither noble nor infamous, but, like so many others, merely struggling to exist. On this most recent journey to Hallon, the passenger list indicated that the Margin of Profit left Trothmere with 53 passengers, but arrived at the Hallon spaceport with only 50.

The governor had already looked into this, and discovered that two passengers, Eraliea Loom and Jarret Grom, had been murdered en route and one, the assumed killer, Ianton Oliaav, had not been found.

Rosenadel pondered this as he, Krustyef and Vault rode through the capital city of Gell, the setting sun managing to make the grimy city look somewhat beautiful. They had previously investigated the estate of Eraliea Loom and the shop where Jarret Grom made and sold his system-renowned timepieces. They were now heading to the small piece of land that Ianton Oliaav owned.

The more he thought about it, the more Rosenadel became confused. Krustyef had admitted that the murders did not make sense, but had told Rosenadel that he was sure the pieces would fit together once they had gathered enough information. Rosenadel was not so content.

Eraliea Loom was a wealthy noblewoman that had apparently been returning to Hallon after some business with the mining company her family owned on Throthmere. Jarret Grom had returned from selling his wares at a carnival at a noble family’s estate on Trothmere. Ianton Oliaav was also from a noble family, and some years younger than the other two. But his family was wealthier than both of them. From the initial information gathered, he was a somewhat spoiled child and engaged in less the wholesome activities, but he had never been convicted of any crime, especially of this magnitude. There could have been a point where he had cracked, but Rosenadel doubted this. There was usually a more gradual slide down the path to ruin.

The deaths were meaningless. If the two victims had been somehow connected, then it might have been a political move by rival houses, or even one of the victims’ family. If Oliaav had been involved with more infamous persons or organizations, it might have been a ritual sacrifice or a gang initiation. Rosenadel tried every way he could to make the killings make sense, but there was simply no connection.

Rosenadel kept this at the back of his mind as Krustyef stopped the aircar a block away from the piece of city land that Oliaav owned. Vault stayed a short distance behind Krustyef and Rosenadel as they un-holstered their firearms and moved up the street.

On Oliaav’s property was a small shop that looked like a rejuvant center on the cheap for those who wanted to stay young-looking but did not have the money for the treatments that Imperial nobility received. It was large for a shop of its kind, and Rosenadel wondered how they hoped to stay in business. It used to have a natural green color, but now red rust appeared to be seeping all over it. It also appeared deserted. The darkness now covering Gell’s streets did not help the place look more welcoming. Krustyef and Rosenadel moved to the front of the shop and crouched underneath one of the windows while Vault stayed out of sight across the street.

Rosenadel had always been somewhat in awe of his master’s skill: even wearing power armour with a dark brown cloak over it, he was quick and stealthy. Rosenadel wore flak armour under a dark gray cloak, and he felt somewhat restricted. They both wore night-vision goggles, and heat-sensing equipment. No matter how routine an investigation appeared, it was better to be prepared for anything.

Rosenadel took out his periscope and extended the lens up to the window. Inside was kept somewhat clean, with several stations at which were seats and tables, and tall posts with arms that dangled tubes and surgical instruments. Canisters of rejuvant were also piled at each station, connected to the tubes that dangled from the posts. But the room was far too small for this to be the entire shop. There had to be a back room, probably used to keep extra supplies.

Rosenadel whispered this to Krustyef, and signalled that they should move around to the back. Krustyef shook his head, and indicated through their private battle signs, that he would enter here, through the front, while Rosenadel went around back. Rosenadel nodded, and moved silently around the side of the building.

He reached the back door and opened the private vox-net twice to signal Krustyef he was in position. He set to work opening the rear door with his key-decoder set. The door opened soon after and Rosenadel held his autopistol in front of him, ready to shoot whatever came out. But the door simply opened into a dark room. Rosenadel switched on the torch slung under the autopistol’s barrel, and found a lightswitch. The lumiglobes were old, but provided enough light to let Rosenadel see the entire back room.

Near the door to the front of the shop were shelves of spare surgical equipment, hoses and rejuvant canisters. The rest of the room’s space was taken up by rack upon rack of weaponry. Most were some variant of autogun, but there were several patterns of lasgun, stubbers, heavy stubbers, several different types of grenades, and even explosives. Towards the back, where Rosenadel stood, were even rarer weapons: a meltagun, a plasma pistol, a needle pistol, and a grenade launcher, among others.

Krustyef opened the door that joined the two rooms, and stopped short, narrowing his eyes and looking all around the room. There was clearly more than a rejuvant shop in this building.

As Rosenadel moved around the racks, inspecting the equipment, he noticed a cellar door in one corner. It was made of rusting iron, and looked heavy. He motioned to Krustyef. There was no lock, so Krustyef bent down to lift the door by the handle. Just as he hefted it open, the lights in the room went out.

Rosenadel flicked on his spectrum enhancement just as a dark figure hurtled at him. The impact knocked his autopistol away, and Rosenadel and his attacker smashed into the gun rack behind them. A couple guns toppled off the rack, and fell on them both. One hit his attacker on his unprotacted the head, and he loosened his grip on Rosenadel. A lasgun hit Rosenadel in the foot, but his reflexes were quick enough to catch the laspistol that would have fallen on his head. The man got back up again, inside Rosenadel’s fire clearance so he could not shoot. Rosenadel ducked a punch and brought the pistol down onto the man’s temple. The attacker crumpled in a heap.

Rosenadel recovered just in time for another figure to lunge at him. A searing pain shot through Rosenadel’s body from his thigh as the new attacker’s knife plunged into it. Rosenadel elbowed the man in the jaw, and then smashed his newly-acquired laspistol on the top of the man’s head. He went down to one knee, but did not fall.

The man tore the knife from Rosenadel’s leg, and Rosenadel grunted in pain. But this pain was a mere pinprick next to the torture he had endured at the hands of the Eldar. He kicked the man with his other leg, and the man stumbled backward into yet another attacker emerging from the cellar. Rosenadel shot the man in the forehead, and stitched four shots from the torso to the neck into the man behind him. Both fell to the floor, blood leaking out of their wounds.

Suddenly, there was quiet again. Rosenadel looked to his master and saw six bodies piled around him. His armour was barely scratched. Krustyef looked at Rosenadel and grinned. “I think we found something.”

[hairyyahoo]

**claps and rubs hands together**
move over eisenhorn, rosenadel is back in action!

[Inquisitor Rosenadel]

As always, I'm glad my work is appreciated Hairy and Mikeel. With that, more of the mystery and intrigue...

=][=

The cellar under the derelict rejuvant parlor was filled with advanced communications equipment, a logicator, and even more weapons. These were more exotic weapons such as Eldar shuriken launchers and splinter rifles. On one wall was mounted a longsword of elegant design, and inlaid designs that identified it as an Eldar wychblade. On the gun rack opposite was a spiked, rather crude-looking rifle that could only be the weapon of choice of the Kroot. Next to it were several examples of advanced Tau pulse weaponry.

Whomever ran the illicit gun business had clearly been from one end of the galaxy to the other, and was apparently as skilled in warfare as he was in persuasion to have taken a Kroot weapon, and also acquired Tau weaponry.

Krustyef called in the rest of his entourage, and voxed Vault to move in from across the street to have him take notes and copy all the information in the logicator and communication logs. Rosenadel continued to inspect the basement. As he looked around, the thoughts that he had stored away as he and Krustyef began investigating the building came back to him.

He had not pondered long when his vox-link beeped in his ear, indicating he was receiving a secure transmission signal. He opened the channel and said, “Rose is red.”

He recognized the sender even before he heard the code-name. “Arbite is blue.” It was Carmichell. “Rosenadel, the archives here at the Precinct station are telling me that the man the authorities thought was Jarret Grom is really Ianton Oliaav. The authorities at the spaceport apparently didn’t bother doing visual comparison and took the identification on-hand as true. It was an official Imperial identification that was planted on Oliaav. The picture on the card is Oliaav’s, but the information in the files is what caught it.”

Rosenadel was astonished and disheartened. One could never count on others to properly do their work. “Information received, Arbite. Rose out.” Rosenadel thought about this revelation as he continued to inspect the cellar.

Grom had murdered the two noblepersons, then planted false information on one of them to fake his death. He was running, and wanted whomever he was running from to think him dead, placing the blame on someone else. He had obviously never dealt with enforcers as thorough as the Inquisition before.

Rosenadel came to the box housing the connections for the electrical circuits. They were cut, which explained the lights going out before he and Krustyef had been attacked. His left still hurt where one man had stabbed him, but he had wrapped it up, and the bleeding stopped, so he would continue investigating until Crysanthe arrived and he could be properly treated.

Looking at the severed wires, Rosenadel was struck by a thought. He finally understood the connection between the victims and the killer: there was no connection. Grom knew the Arbites were searching for him, so he found Oliaav, who was more or less of a similar physical description, and killed him, planting the false identification. Grom killed Loom to make it seem like a robbery, house assassination, crime of passion, or whatever reason the investigators of the Adeptus Arbites could think of. It might take them a month or more to deduce out what Rosenadel had. They would have given up before then anyway because the more pressing issue of the cult activity and the Eldar abductions would draw their entire attention.

Which led Rosenadel to believe that Grom knew about the elder and their plot. This man was very dangerous indeed if he could bargain with the elder and survive. He told Krustyef what Carmichell had told him, and his own hypothesis. Krustyef listened, and when Rosenadel had finished, he agreed that this was a likely theory.

“However, we still do not know where Grom is now,” Krustyef said discouragingly. “Vault found information indicating he updated his files two days ago, after completing a shipment. There is also a rack upstairs that has no weapons on it. There is a spot in the corner upstairs that does not have as much dust on it as the other spots, big enough to be from large packing crates. I think Grom has already left with another shipment of arms. He was smart enough not to enter his delivery locations into his logicator, and probably has them on a personal dataslate. His hired muscle we disposed of upstairs wouldn’t have known anything anyway.”

Rosenadel had seen Krustyef frustrated before, but it was a rare occasion. It meant that Krustyef was truly stumped.

Just then, Vault spoke up from the chair where he sat before the logicator. “Inquisitor, I believe I have found a lead.” Rosenadel and Krustyef rushed over to the screen. As soon as he saw it, Rosenadel recognized exactly what Vault had found. It was a database of the contacts Grom used to find buyers and cover up his trails.

“If we find all the dealers, we can root out the whole network of criminals. We should pick one at random and continue until they are all brought in.” Rosenadel was excited.

But Krustyef quickly dismantled his idea. “No. If we go after the buyers and contacts, the first one we find will alert the others. Besides, they are most likely heavily guarded.” Krustyef looked at Rosenadel. “You have much zeal, Mathias, but you must stay focused. You have a formidable mind, both psychically and intellectually, which is one reason why I chose to train you. But you must save your zeal for combat, and your intellect for getting to the combat.”

Krustyef indicated the other set of contacts, one specifically. Dzalisar Vol was an adept of the Administratum. But Grom had met with him on several occasions. “We will start with him. Given that he is the only member of Imperial authority in this list, I’d say he probably knows the most. And given that he works within the Imperium, my authority as an Inquisitor will be respected and we will have no trouble getting him to talk.”

Rosenadel had to admit that Krustyef’s plan did sound much better than his. But that didn’t stop resentment from entering his mind.

[Inquisitor Rosenadel]

I just did a spell check, and I can't believe how many errors I found! Not just grammatical errors, but naming the same thing different things (for example, I originally named Grahm Niedderberg as Hessel Niedderberg). Wow. My apologies. Bad record-keeping on my part.

For reference:
Grahm Niedderberg
The planet they are on is called Hallon, not Xzymeter.

Let me know about any other discrepancies.

Next part to come sometime soon...

[Inquisitor Rosenadel]

=][=

Pacivus Malador had never attempted to step beyond the bounds of his job. He had faithfully fulfilled his record-keeping duties to the Administratum on Hallon. It was a relatively easy job. Nothing of great significance ever happened on Hallon. It had a stable climate, and there were never any droughts, so Hallon’s crop tithes were never too late or little. Its industry always had the materials it needed thanks to the mining efforts in the northern tundra, and the manpower from the bustling cities all over the planet. Except for the recent incident with the eldar raiders, all was always well.

On the surface anyway. What the governor did not know was that Pacivus had been running a highly illicit false identification business from his small office that no one ever visited except for the other Administratum adepts that came to file the reports that Pacivus wrote. He never asked why they needed the false identification. That was part of the deal: he did not ask questions and received his payment. They got their identification and did not disturb Hallon’s peace. As long as Hallon remained peaceful, no one would suspect anything from him.

Pacivus was quite astonished when he was notified that there was a visitor waiting for him one morning at his office. Pacivus was slightly worried, but there were no Arbites waiting for him, so he did not panic. He quickly smoothed his robes and composed himself. He had not been so careless to leave any incriminating evidence out in the open, or in any open drawer that someone could get into. He was about to walk in when the door suddenly opened. He jumped back, but the man standing in the doorway grabbed him by the front of his robes and pulled him inside, shutting the door after him.

Sitting at his desk was a white-haired man with a slightly wrinkled face, and long brown robes. Beside him was the man that had pulled Pacivus into his office, either much younger or having many more rejuvant procedures than his companion. His hair was close-cropped and dark, which was matched by his expression. But it was the ice-cold blue eyes of the white-haired man that struck fear into Pacivus’ heart. It seemed as if the man could see straight into his brain, or even his soul, and see the blot of corruption nestled there.

“Good morning, Pacivus,” said the taller man. “I am Zaciphus. This is my associate, Alimer,” said Zaciphus as he motioned to his associate standing to the side of the desk. “We are here to inquire about certain businesses you run. Please take a seat.”

Pacivus didn’t know whether to be frightened that they knew about his side business or indignant that they had broken into his office and were now treating it as if it were theirs. He decided to take the proffered seat.

“What business do you speak of, Zaciphus?” asked Pacivus as innocently as he could. If this was a trick and the Arbites were undercover to sting him, he would show no guilt.

Andrei looked at him sharply. Pacivus knew he was aware of his identity-creating business. The man’s eyes made him uncomfortable, and he squirmed in his seat in an effort to lessen the effect. It did not work.

“Come, Pacivus. I know of your ability to make those who wish it to bypass Imperial authorities, though they might have a criminal identity, or worse. Alimer and I have come to avail ourselves of your services.”

Pacivus was unsure of whether this was a trick or not. The man had said what Pacivus did outright, but the whole manner in which the offer had been made was unusual. Clients first sent him a note telling him how they had heard of him and asked for an appointment. They dared not show their faces in an Imperial facility.

“If you can enter an Imperial facility with such ease, then why do you need me to enable you do to so?” asked Pacivus. Suddenly the situation seemed very wrong to him and he could feel the adrenaline beginning to flow into his system.

“Because I need the criminal groups I will be infiltrating to be fooled into thinking I am one of them,” answered Zaciphus coolly. Alimer, still standing next to the desk, slipped a gun out from beneath his robes and put a finger to his lips. Pacivus let out a whimper.

Zaciphus leaned over the desk slightly and revealed a small bit of metal on a chain around his neck. It bore the stylized “I” of the Emperor’s Holy Inquisition. “And revealing this to them will only make them shoot at me. Unless you wish it to be revealed that you are now under the authority of an Inquisitor, then I suggest you do as I say.”

Pacivus looked into the man’s eyes, and found himself completely frozen. All he could see were Zaciphus’s cold, piercing blue eyes.

[Templar Mikeel]

Good as always. Keep it up.

[Inquisitor Rosenadel]

=][=

Pacivus was responsible, among other things, for keeping records of the deceased on Hallon. To provide the best quality of false identification possible, Pacivus gave their credentials, birth certificates, identification and any other important documents to the individual who needed an alternate identity. The record of their obituary, funeral rites, and any other proof of death were deleted.

This was not the first time Rosenadel had seen such internal corruption, but each time it made him ponder. Was the corruption necessary so that Inquisitors could root it out, making the Imperium stronger? How much corruption was there within the Inquisition? All explicators were taught not to stray over the line between what is deemed necessary and heresy, but how many crossed such lines and did not even know it?

Rosenadel shuddered, thinking back to what he had done. Had he crossed the line? Rosenadel struck the thought from his mind. He knew it had been an accident, a result of his anger taking over, which allowed Slaanesh to catch him unaware and subconsciously influence him and guide him in the foul ritual. He would be much more vigilant and make sure to keep a level head no matter the situation or his own personal interests.

Now he, Krustyef, Dlavim, Crysanthe, and Carmichell were headed to the site where Pacivus had left the fake identification for another miscreant. They did not know if this was merely a drop site, or the base of operations for the criminal. Nevertheless, they came fully armed and equipped for a fight. They were waiting patiently for Grom to return to Hallon for more supplies, and in the meantime they were assisting the Adeptus Arbites in tracking down the rest of the contacts on Grom’s list. They made sure never to reveal the real authority they carried, but they did not disguise themselves as Arbites, either so they would not be as conspicuous.

They stopped the hover-van one block from the place and scanned the area. It was dark out, not unlike the scene two nights ago when Krustyef, Rosenadel and Vault had investigated Grom’s hideout. This time they had gleaned information from Arbites surveillance teams that several men had entered the house during the day and had not left. With this knowledge they moved quickly and silently down the street, stopping only to cover each other. Rosenadel and Dlavim climbed onto a neighbouring building. While Dlavim set up his sniper rifle, Rosenadel leapt to the top of the target building and affixed a rappelling rope a vent on the roof.

Krustyef gave the vox-signal, and Rosenadel heard the doors and windows below him break down and he heard shouts as gunfire slashed through the building. On the adjacent roof, Dlavim loosed a few shots into the upper level directly below Rosenadel, who was poised to leap down and swing through the windows.

“Ok, Rose, the deck is swept,” came Dlavim’s gravely voice through Rosenadel’s vox-link. “Frag ‘em.” Rosenadel executed the manoeuvre perfectly, crashing through the glass already weakened by Dlavim’s sniper rounds.

Rosenadel rolled into a crouched position and scanned the dimly-lit room quickly. Three bodies lay on the floor, their heads burst like ripe melons. Two armed men, who had just entered the room, were bleeding from the glass that had cut their flesh open where it was exposed. They wore body armour, with some leg armour, but no armour on their arms, which were bared along with their faces. They were wearing visors to protect their eyes, which were scraped, and in some places impaled, by shards of broken glass. They both aimed their weapons at Rosenadel, who acted in kind.

Thud and bark of a stubber preceded the impact of its shells into the floor of the building, throwing up small chunks of wood. The light chatter of an autogun sounded much less threatening as its bullets traced a line of holes across the wall.

What little sound Rosenadel’s needle pistol made was drowned out by the other two weapons, but the effect was much deadlier. Each man was struck by a needle in their exposed necks. The venom in each one overwhelmed their system’s defences, paralyzing them almost instantly, and they fell to the floor. A moment later they both died from the extremely toxic liquid inside each hollow needle.

“Rose to Smoke, room is secure,” Rosenadel voxed. Dlavim tumbled into the room seconds later and rolled into a crouch as Rosenadel had, autopistol in hand. He stood and moved the doorway beside Rosenadel. Together they moved through the upper level, clearing each poorly-lighted room carefully and methodically. There was no more opposition, however. The initial burst of gun fire from the lower level had died out, too. That meant until the rest of the building was cleared, the Inquisitorial agents played a deadly game of goresnake and dire-mongoose with any of the men still alive.

Rosenadel and Dlavim reached the last room, which was also undefended. They searched the shelves for evidence of the weapons or technology the criminal might have secreted away. There was none. Rosenadel opened a vox-link to Krustyef. “Rose to Old Man.”

“Go ahead, Rose,” came the reply.

“Any sign of heaters or storage?” asked Rosenadel, using the Adeptus Arbites slang for guns and hidden caches.

“Neg, Rose. Double one,” whispered Krustyef. Rosenadel signalled to Dlavim and they turned to recheck the upper floor.

Just then the lights went out. Rosenadel hurried to get his night-vision goggles on, but he was not quick enough. There was no sound as the black shape fell on Rosenadel from above, winding him. His night-vision goggles were knocked loose and clattered to the floor. The dark figure leapt off Rosenadel and tackled Dlavim to the floor as he spun around and raised his autopistol. They both tumbled to the floor, and a shot from the pistol rang out. Rosenadel could just make out the outline of the two, and saw the figure pull back a fist and land repeated blows on Dlavim. Dlavim kicked the warrior off of him, and leapt to his feet. Rosenadel grabbed his goggles an was about join them when another man dropped from the ceiling and loosed a las-shot in Rosenadel’s direction, and the goggles’ night-vision enhancement flared, momentarily blinding Rosenadel. He immediately rolled out of the doorway so the man would not get another clear shot. More shots rang out downstairs.

Rosenadel was thrown forward as his attacker smashed through the brittle plaster wall. He tumbled to the floor, rolling and grabbing his combat knife. A las-shot speared straight into the armour over Rosenadel’s heart. He could feel the heat of the melting plasteel carapace, but it did not puncture the armour. Rosenadel leapt at the man, shedding his goggles, which were burned-out from the intense light of the las-weapon. He leapt where he saw the beam originate from, knife held before him. He felt it strike armour and deflect, and he crashed into the assailant-turned-target. They both fell to the floor, and Rosenadel managed to land on top. He heard the laspistol clatter to the floor.

He grabbed for the man’s face, but found only a helmet. The man immediately found Rosenadel’s neck and began to squeeze. Rosenadel gagged and began choking. He blindly stabbed at the arms with his knife, and felt a hit. One of the grips weakened, and Rosenadel felt the knife jerked from his grip. He heard a wet, sickening sound as the man removed the knife from his arm. Rosenadel felt around the man’s leg and found another weapon handle, and brought it up just in time to prevent his own knife from being impaled in his skull. He punched where he estimated the man’s neck to be. He found the edge of the helmet instead and his knuckles hurt from striking metal. The man slashed at Rosenadel and Rosenadel felt hot liquid spatter against his face and a sharp burning in his shoulder. The man slashed again and Rosenadel hissed as he felt the knife slice into his arm and chest, through the armour. He tried to stab the man’s helmet, but it was blocked.

The assailant contracted his abdomen and legs and hurtled Rosenadel over his head. Rosenadel somersaulted to his feet and spun around to face the man. He heard footsteps in his direction and slashed his weapon in front of him. He felt it connect with more force than he thought he had put into it, as if it were longer then the knife he thought it was. The footsteps stopped, and there was a thump. Rosenadel approached cautiously, and felt around on the floor. He found the body, and pried off the helmet.

Rosenadel hesitated for a moment. He opponent was down. But he could get back up and attack when Rosenadel was unprepared again. Something pressed at the back of his mind, an insistent urge, as if it sensed the danger he was in. It told him to do it or be forever damned to death. He slit his opponent’s throat.

He picked up the helmet, and something fell out. Rosenadel picked it up, and realized that it was a pair of advanced night-vision goggles. He put them on, and saw his opponent clearly for the first time. He grunted in surprise, a slight pang of remorse stinging his heart, but relief soothing his senses. He moved on to find Dlavim.

[Inquisitor Rosenadel]

=][=

Crysanthe had been trained in combat techniques at the convent of the Order of the Eternal Candle. They were limited, but the Ecclesiarchy knew that all Sisters, be they of a militant, dialogus, or hospitalier order, had to be trained to fight as their duties often took them into dangerous situations and in contact with hostile forces.

A figure in dark fatigues and armour emerged from behind a closet door and charged Crysanthe. Another dropped from overhead and levelled a gun at her. It was dark, and there was no room to roll out of the way or take cover behind the antiques the shop sold.

The Ecclesiarchy had not trained her for this type of combat. Fortunately, Inquisitor Krustyef had.

Crysanthe ducked, and a las-bolt flew over her head and into the wall behind her. She raised her hellpsitol and loosed two shots at the man charging her. One hit him in the arm and he dropped the blade he carried. The other hit him in the calf and he stumbled, falling on Crysanthe.

The weight of her attacker knocked the wind out of her, but that was fine. His bulk mostly shielded her from the gunman. She, however, could see him clearly and fired two shots at him. He had realised his mistake, however, and moved behind the open closet door the other man had charged out of. Crysanthe’s las-shots went wide, flaring in the darkness.

The man now on top of Crysanthe’s had regained his senses and pulled out his sidearm. Crysanthe brought her knee up in a quick punt, knocking the man off of her. She somersaulted to the closet door, unsheathing her knife. The man behind the door kicked at her. His blow connected with her chest. Crysanthe grunted but caught the boot and rolled. The man was suddenly unbalanced as his foot was pulled away from him. He fell next to Crysanthe, who plunged her knife into his chest. The man grunted and convulsed in pain, and then became still.

Crysanthe swung her right arm holding the hellpistol up to align with the other assailant’s head. He shot at her, bright las-bolts scorching her armour, and spearing through it to her abdomen. Her breath left her. Her vision went wavy for a second and her arm drooped. She waited for the blackness that would mean the killing shot would come.

An ear-shattering bang sounded in Crysanthe’s ears and a bright flash lit the aisle of junk tables. She saw the dark figure with the las weapon thrown backward, bits of armour and flesh spraying outward. Another dark armoured figure stepped into her vision. He walked over to her, and knelt next to her.

Bruster unfastened Crysanthe’s body armour and removed the abdomen plate. He searched through her medical kit and found the starched wrappings soaked in antiseptic. He found the wound and wrapped her torso in the bandages. He remained next to her, and she heard him vox to Krustyef that she was wounded and that he was covering her.

“That might be all of them,” Bruster whispered, not looking at her but scanning both forward and back. He waited for a few more seconds before helping her to her feet. Crysanthe could now see him more clearly as the shock to her system had worn off. He was cut across his cheek, and his armour had the tell-tale burn-marks of las-weapon fire. But it was not punctured the armour as far as she could tell.

Krustyef appeared and Bruster nearly shot him. He signalled that the house was secure. “Dlavim went downstairs to turn the lights back on and Rosenadel is on the upper level guarding one of the attackers they managed to capture. They appear to be mercenaries, but of two different companies.” The lights came back on as he said this, and he grinned hungrily. “Now we search this place for any hidden stores.”

Crysanthe walked up the staircase to the upper level as Krustyef and Carmichell searched the main floor. As she walked through, she saw the room where Rosenadel and Dlavim had entered, and the bodies that lay on the floor. She walked to where Rosenadel crouched, his autopistol pointing at the captured mercenary’s head. His hair was dark and close-cropped. His blood seemed somehow redder and brighter against his grayish skin. He glanced at her with his gray eyes, and looked as if he was still willing to fight. Rosenadel also held a short sword to the man’s neck. Blood dripped from the edges, but Crysanthe could see that it was not the captured mercenary that had been injured by the weapon.

Then she stepped into the next room and stopped cold. A body lay there, armoured like the elite mercenaries that had cut the lights and surprised Krustyef’ band of warriors. The helmet had been removed and the throat and temple were slit open, and blood stained the fatigues, the floor, and the brown hair on the head. Dead brown eyes stared from a fair-skinned face with soft features hardened by combat.

Crysanthe looked back a Rosenadel, who still held the dripping sword to the captured mercenary’s neck. Rosenadel looked up at her, then down to the woman’s body. He said nothing as he looked back into Crysanthe’s eyes, and then back to the captured mercenary.

Crysanthe shivered and tried to block out the image of her own dead likeness that was sprawled out before her.


I think this will be the last post for a while.