After the council meeting, Alrik, to put it mildly, was still in a state of some confusion.
To put it bluntly, the proud holder of the Warrant was drained, enraged, and ready to strangle an Ork Warboss with his bare hands.
Those idiots had dumped most of the “civilian load” of the Crusade (that is, roughly 80% of all pressing problems) onto his long-suffering shoulders.
What hadn’t they tasked the Trader with: reconnaissance, colonization of worlds and their development, establishing contacts with the local people… And, as a sort of cherry on top: investigate every xeno race for similarity to humans, and if it was even slightly unlike humans — total extermination of the godless species.
The council members had shouted over each other, argued about many things, but on this issue they were unanimous: “Any race that differs from the human race by 90% is subject to complete extermination, so that their unholy appearance does not offend the sight of the Emperor’s pious servants with its presence.” As it’s easy to guess, the first to insist on applying the radical measure was the Inquisitor, a representative of the Ordo Xenos.
He did this under the watchful gaze of one infamous Lady from the Ordo Hereticus… Among all the Inquisitors Alrik had met in his not-so-short life, this individual was distinguished, perhaps, by one of the most unpredictable characters, an “unreadable man”… Yes… the experience of “close contact” with agents of the most powerful organization in the entire Imperium allowed the Trader to notice details hidden from the eyes of ordinary people.
Not because Alrik worked “for” her, or “with” her, but because in his time, the now happy holder of the Warrant of Trade had been part of that vast machine.
Yes… Alrik — the infamous chief interrogator of the long-deceased Lord Inquisitor Phobis.
The death of the Lord Inquisitor still echoed with pain in the Trader’s mind, even after so many years his hand reached for another bottle of amasec… He had been like a father to him.
He taught him the wisdom of combat, theft, larceny, eloquence.
Everything he would need in real life.
And he was absolutely right in his methods.
But Alrik, by his very nature, was (and remained) a greedy and very ambitious man.
He wanted… No, he demanded new heights.
And this striving for greatness doomed his entire team, along with the Inquisitor, to death.
The Trader was about to sink into memories once again, which, under the influence of his collector’s alcohol, manifested themselves especially vividly… To remember the faces of friends and comrades, to feel again that pride when the Inquisitor chose him.
And that pain, when Alrik lost him, but a call on his hololith distracted the Rogue Trader’s attention.
A message appeared on the screen about an incoming call marked with an “Alpha” level, meaning the highest priority call, but the caller himself did not wish to identify himself.
A seasoned veteran, the former interrogator of the Ordo Xenos, knew some of the Inquisition’s tricks for sending messages.
Certain codes that changed every five years, but despite this, always had an identical structure, invisible to outsiders.
Apparently, the esteemed Lord Inquisitor had some proposals regarding the expedition that needed to be said beyond the reach of the highly respected Council members’ ears.
Without thinking long, Alrik pressed the call accept button.
A middle-aged man with long black hair appeared on the cogitator.
He was in battle gear with a large Inquisition insignia on his chest.
His gaze was hard and cold; he was clearly not in a good mood today.
If the Emperor’s servant was ever in a good mood at all.
“Lord Eyvor,” he greeted his “colleague” dryly.
His voice matched his gaze, being cold and unfeeling.
Alrik sensed a hidden contempt in him and already guessed its reason.
“Inquisitor Bloodmoor.
To what do I owe the personal call?” “I just wanted to discuss your actions once more.” Their eyes met.
The Inquisitor bored into the former interrogator, as if trying to reach something deep in the Trader’s soul.
“After all, whatever the council members say, the tasks that have fallen on your shoulders are truly very important for our little expedition.
I wanted to know that you are in good spirits and ready to carry out the Council’s orders.” Lies, lies, and more lies.
Behind the mask of politeness and seemingly simple attention to a “colleague” lay a cold and cruel calculation.
This scoundrel thinks he can manipulate him, and this fact drives Alrik into a rage.
But the mask of calm and friendliness must be maintained, so he answered calmly.
“Inquisitor Bloodmoor, I said this at the council and I will repeat it to you personally, if you wish.
I will carry out the will of the council, but I will do it my way.
And I will not report to anyone personally.” “And to my great regret, the council members supported this decision.
However, in any case, you will not be able to fully maintain your independence,” the bearer of the insignia said as calmly as possible.
“Interesting.
Won’t you tell me why?” Alrik asked with threatening undertones.
The Inquisitor didn’t even bat an eye.
“Because I don’t trust you.
And I’m not going to risk all of us because of the stubbornness of one scoundrel.” He slightly raised the corners of his lips.
“A scoundrel who should have died for his master, but instead turned out to be too cowardly and continued to live on.” “Pfft, you haven’t convinced me, Lord Inquisitor.
Probably every dog in the Ordo Xenos already knows this story.” “But not every one of them knows what kind of xeno menagerie you started after that story.” That did it.
Mother of Horus Lupercal… This was what Alrik feared.
Most likely, half the ship was already stuffed with listening devices, if not Bloodmoor’s spies.
Eyvor only hoped that none of his retinue had agreed to inform for this… “I did everything to effectively perform my duty before the Emperor,” Alrik said with a hint of irritation.
“Is that so?
Let’s ask the esteemed Lady Viola de Shin for her authoritative opinion on this matter?
I’m sure our ‘Mad Lady’ has a couple of ironclad arguments in store that can shake your confidence in your own righteousness,” for the first time a slight smirk flickered across the Inquisitor’s face.
“And there’s no need to drag the Emperor into this.
He abandoned you long ago.” Clenching his teeth, Alrik moved closer to the Inquisitor’s hologram with an angry squint.
“Is this blackmail?
From a man of your caliber, I expected something more.” Viola Del Shin… the witch of the Ordo Hereticus… a Karamazov in a skirt… Even back when Alrik was an Interrogator, this person was widely known among Inquisition agents.
They said this psycho bitch burned traitors to the Throne as a peculiar substitute for regular sex, and she saw traitors everywhere… What a bitch this Bloodmoor was… “Nothing more is needed.
Do you think I don’t know who is on your ship?
Jokaero, Vissians?
Emperor preserve us, the greatest figures of the Imperium have been executed for less.
You are still alive only because we ended up Emperor knows where!” “You’re bluffing,” Alrik said, as if cutting him off.
“I am the only one capable of completing this task.
And you know that perfectly well.” “Is that so?” He chuckled quietly.
“Are you so sure of that?
Ready to stake your life on it?
I’ll let you in on a little secret… as one of the great commanders of Ancient Terra once said: ‘there are no irreplaceable people.’ And believe me, I will find a replacement for you.
Thousands of others will come in your place, and among that rabble I will find one who will be loyal to me and possess your skills.” After these words, a face-to-face duel began.
Alrik’s coal-black eyes stared directly into the Inquisitor’s swamp-colored eyes.
Eyvor had seen many people in his life.
And he had learned to read people just by their looks.
A useful skill.
It prolongs life, both in the service of the Golden Throne and in trade… For the most part, they were greedy, lustful, or stupid people who could be easily manipulated.
Occasionally, there were people who could not be read.
Alrik knew perfectly well that inside every bearer of the insignia there was an endless, tangled ball of ambition.
Even if they didn’t achieve their goal, they would do everything to satisfy their monstrously inflated ego.
Including sabotaging all the winner’s plans.
And in these eyes, he read only determination.
Determination to achieve his goal or prevent the opponent’s victory.
Well, Alrik was no stranger to dancing to someone else’s tune.
After all, any “game” can be turned to your advantage if you learn to “play” it correctly.
“Alright, Bloodmoor.” Alrik sat down more comfortably.
“I’m listening.” “I am sincerely glad that the voice of reason has prevailed.” His face, hidden under a “mask,” did not allow one to understand whether Bloodmoor was pleased with his “victory.” “Now, to business.
Everything the council told you remains in effect, but you send all the most interesting and…” He paused.
“Dangerous technologies to me first, not the Magos.
Also, get rid of any species you deem unsuitable, but send several specimens to me as well.
And lastly — if a race has a predominance of individuals with the psyker gift, report to me immediately and no one else.” “Ha!
You’re playing a dangerous game, Bloodmoor.
The council was very clear about psykers.
Total destruction of all except representatives of the human race.” The Inquisitor simply waved off Alrik’s words.
“They can say whatever they like.
But the fact is, they can be used.
I’ll find a use for them.” “You are walking a very dangerous path, Inquisitor.
Are you sure I can be trusted?” “Yes.
Otherwise, your little xeno problem will be on everyone’s ears.
You don’t want to go to the Emperor’s judgment before your time, do you?” Alrik took a sip of the excellent amasec.
“Don’t mention the Emperor anymore.
He just left you.” The Inquisitor’s face froze in a smirk.
He wanted to answer something, but in the end changed his mind, saying only: “I’ll be waiting for news, Eyvor.” The hololith went dark, and with it the Inquisitor’s face.
But this did not calm Eyvor in the slightest.
He pressed the hololith button again, but for a different purpose.
“Ingard, please come to my office.” After about 5 minutes, a very tall, black man of about forty with a very large build came in.
In appearance, he resembled an Ogryn more than anything, except his face was a bit more handsome.
A little bit.
Just a smidge.
He was dressed in an old soldier’s uniform that emphasized his musculature.
Judging by the sweat, he had just come from the gym.
“Completely down in the dumps, chief?” His voice was as heavy as his body.
Alrik smiled at his old friend.
“Your face looks like that Ork we tried to teach high art to.” Ingard was a sergeant in the Imperial Guard.
A native of a Catachan regiment, this dashing fighter easily found his place among the members of the Trader’s Retinue.
Alrik had stumbled upon him on a backwater agrarian world at the very beginning of his career.
The world was attacked by one of the “tendrils” of the infamous Leviathan hive fleet, where he met Ingard’s regiment along with other brave regiments of the Imperial Guard.
They fought well, not sparing their lives… But as often happens, the defenders’ reserves were quickly exhausted, while the Tyranids seemed not to notice their losses.
By the end of the year of combat operations, only Ingard remained of his regiment, and even that was due to chance.
When the main node of the hive fleet was destroyed and their invasion was halted, Alrik was among the first to visit this world.
The surrounding area was still teeming with feral monsters, but nothing that would require the Trader to call for help from his “colleagues” in the Imperial Fleet.
Still, the Star Kraken was no joke… During one of these punitive operations, he stumbled upon a surviving Catachan.
Or rather, first on his trap.
For several years, this son of a bitch had survived and hidden in the forest, making traps for the numerous creatures that passed through the forest in herds.
Undoubtedly, this impressed Alrik, and he invited the sergeant to serve him.
He, naturally, did not refuse.
That’s how they met, but they truly became friends in the hold of a wanderer filled with Genestealers and other vile xenos.
Over the long decades, Alrik knew his friend like the back of his hand.
Inside this huge mountain of muscle hid a sharp mind, well-versed both in war and in the more mundane aspects of life.
That’s why Alrik appointed him as his trusted deputy.
A decision the Trader had never regretted.
“Extra worries leave wrinkles on the face.
Even juvenat procedures are powerless here.
That’s why I look like an Ork,” Alrik shrugged.
His relaxed face instantly became a synonym for seriousness and concentration.
“But I called you about a different matter.
Gather all members of my retinue, as well as the officers of the Star Kraken, in the command bridge.
There are several issues that need discussion.” Ingard’s face also transformed into a terribly serious one.
“Let me guess: the council didn’t tell you anything good?” “Even the news of the Tyranid invasion sounded somehow more cheerful.” The Trader looked at his watch and then looked seriously at Alrik.
“Gather everyone in the battle bridge in half an hour, and the officers on the ship too.
I’ll be there by then.
That’s all.” “I’ll do it in the best possible way,” he replied and walked out the door.
Alrik simply finished his delightful amasec.
A pleasant feeling filled his body, as if penetrating the very core of his soul.
But he did not allow this feeling to remain in his body longer than necessary.
Getting up briskly from his chair, he headed towards the wardrobe.
The ex-interrogator decided to change his ornate feathered costume, which Warrant holders usually use to throw dust in their partners’ eyes, for something more practical and everyday.
A red-and-black jacket with a leather cloak, several underlays, built-in sensors, and a protective field generator, similar to those the priests of the Ecclesiarchy kept in their rosaries — an acceptable option for a respected Rogue Trader.
Dressed, the master of the Star Kraken headed towards the mirror; one must look after oneself, because a perfect appearance strikes enemies no worse than a laspistol.
In the mirror, Alrik saw a pleasant-looking man with sharp facial features, a bit of stubble, and long black hair.
The lack of aristocratic elegance was compensated by cold brutality… Sighing heavily, Eyvor began tying his unruly hair again.
“How I envy Ingard at moments like this, who has no hair at all.” After a few minutes, he had a small ponytail.
Considering this sufficient, he headed towards the exit.
However, right before the door, Alrik stopped.
He turned his head towards a small cabinet that seemed completely inconspicuous against the backdrop of the rest of the luxury.
But in it was one of the most important things for him.
Opening the cabinet, the Warrant holder saw a small device, usually worn on the ear.
Deciding that he would need all analytical capabilities, the ex-interrogator used the wondrous gadget for its intended purpose.
A blue welcome interface and loading screen immediately appeared.
After a minute, the loading finished, giving a weak electric shock to the head.
This meant the device had fully connected to the wearer’s nervous system and was ready for operation.
The talent of the Jokaero, which made Tech-Priests bite their elbows in envy, truly amazed Eyvor and commanded respect.
This extremely useful tool could provide a complete analysis of all events, substances, etc.
In terms of its functionality, the little gadget was inferior only to the helmet of Astartes power armour, which already did credit to its hairy creator… “I’ll need to visit the creators of this amazing device,” the Trader noted another task in his imaginary daily planner.
With these thoughts, he walked out the door.
“The Will of the Emperor” wouldn’t fulfill itself… Guests of a Galaxy Far, Far Away.
Per Aspera Ad Astra The worlds hidden behind the veil of the Galaxy left an ambiguous impression.
The duty of a leader of her people, coupled with centuries lived, had taught Irilit not to succumb to disappointment when something did not meet her expectations.
Undoubtedly, the strictness and discipline that had accompanied the Eldar throughout their entire journey played a role.
The new worlds turned out to be overly ordinary… mundane.
The Scav world, until recently, belonged to local pirates, bandits, and apparently represented a galactic backwater.
The Seer had visited thousands of similar planets, and this one practically did not stand out from the orderly row in any way.
The local mon-keigh, although they coexisted with each other in relative peace, still robbed, killed, raped, and kept their own kind in slavery.
It must be admitted that from a Galaxy that knew not the horrors of the alien sea, the “Dreamer” expected to see something more.
Perhaps not a utopia, but at least a world devoid of some vices.
However, there were pleasant moments in all this.
For the first time in a very long time, Irilit could again enjoy the pleasant feeling of solid ground under her feet, the light breeze that blew across her cheeks and tickled her hair.
The smells of a living, breathing world became a good substitute for the incense and machine oil that the human ship was saturated with.
“Your mind is closed, I cannot read your thoughts.” The Seer was hailed by a childish, not yet fully broken voice.
“For the first time, I couldn’t read someone’s thoughts.” The Seer turned her head slightly, searching for the source of the voice that had dared to touch her mind.
The discovery caused Irilit’s lips to part in a slight smirk.
From somewhere below, a human child of about thirteen standard years was gazing up at her.
On his thin body, ribs and bones protruded like sharp peaks.
The difference in height forced the child to tilt his somewhat disproportionate head back with all his might, because against the backdrop of the two-meter alien sorceress, the child resembled a small Gretchin.
“A mutant, then,” Irilit noted to herself, noticing the characteristic collar on his neck.
The face of the little “Gretchin” looked incredibly tired; the “Dreamer” initially took the puffy bags under his eyes for bruises.
Nevertheless, his amber-tinged eyes were full of lively curiosity.
Where other mon-keigh tried to avoid her for quite understandable reasons (hatred of everything alien, drilled in over millennia), this cub was practically burning the Seer with his gaze, almost with admiration.
The unusual scene, unfolding before the bustling people around, began to drag on.
The awkward silence and the unreadable expression on the alien sorceress’s face unnerved the child.
Thirty seconds.
A minute.
Two… “Hmm… Impressive psychic potential for a human child.” The Inquisitor must have been hiding this little monster from her all this time.
However, apparently, not only from her.
“However, the mind of an Aeldari is structured much more complexly than you can imagine, child,” the Seer replied calmly.
“In the future, think twice before touching someone else’s mind, for it could cost you your life.” “I-I-I…” The flustered child looked as if he had been doused with boiling water.
“Nils, step away from the xeno immediately!” A creaky, elderly voice snapped at the boy.
An old man, stooped by years and the horror of the Warp, blind, with a staff characteristic of human psykers, firmly grabbed his ward’s hand and dragged the boy aboard the space galosh.