Erwin was already approaching the landing bay.
His bodyguard, drawn from the elite among the counter-boarding teams, had already taken their lasguns off safe.
Years of training alongside the Auxilia and Astartes neophytes had taught them to be ready for any situation without needing a reminder from their captain.
And now, clad in gray dress uniforms, they were truly the elite.
“My friends!” Erwin addressed his bodyguards before entering the bay.
“Remember this moment, for in a few hours, perhaps, the captain of this humble vessel, Erwin Macbeth, will be on his way to the Emperor’s judgment!” “What comedian bit you today, sir?
You’ve been overly theatrical lately.” “Leon, my boy, the entire Macbeth line is tied to the theater.
I can’t very well deny the blood of my ancestors, can I?” “Yes, sir!” “Good lad.
Now, follow me — into the unknown!” A light chuckle from the counter-boarding troopers signaled that Erwin had once again managed to stave off panic.
To stand against the almighty Inquisition was a risk that, among mortals, only Khorne fanatics would take willingly, without a second thought.
And there was nothing wrong with having to put on the mask of a jester, as his parents had done before him.
It was a good way to lift the spirits of his guard before another adventure.
Entering the bay, every man could feel something that, it seemed, was not to be found on Imperial Navy ships.
Space.
Vast expanses, with servitors and mortal workers scurrying everywhere.
Soldiers and law-enforcers from ‘internal security’ keeping order.
Rows of Thunderhawks and Thunder Birds, Xyphon interceptors, and numerous Nephilim and Dark Talon fighters.
All of this was a feature of the landing bays on Space Marine ships.
“Well, look who it is,” a voice sounded behind the counter-boarding troopers.
“Another performance, is it?” “What do you mean, Lord Commissar, this isn’t a performance!
No, no, merely a prelude to the play…” The captain smiled sincerely and extended a hand toward his interlocutor.
“Good to see you alive, old Green!” “Likewise,” a less menacing voice replied.
“So, what’s all the commotion about on the ship?
I know we’re in a ‘different’ Galaxy, but you wouldn’t have asked me to drag myself here in dress uniform for that.
The Emperor knows, I haven’t taken it out in twenty years.” “I’ll be brief, my friend.
Representatives of the Inquisition are flying toward us.
The rest later.” “And what adventure have we gotten ourselves into this time?” the commissar asked, drawing a massive bolt pistol from its holster.
“I’d like to know myself!” The optimism in the captain’s voice was truly enviable.
People were already gathering in the bay.
Groups of ratings and counter-boarding teams stood in the distance, seemingly going about their business and ‘completely’ unarmed.
Void-crew were finishing their work and hurrying away, for they knew — if the ship’s captain had arrived, something terrible was about to happen, and it was best to be far away when that ‘something’ occurred.
A group of junior officers, apparently responsible for this bay, were already approaching with a report.
“Not now,” Erwin dismissed them.
“When this is over, I’ll give you my attention.” Nodding, the senior of the group began issuing orders to his subordinates.
He had already been informed WHO would be on their ship.
The pale cast of his face reflected the full gravity of the situation.
Not a minute had passed before the Inquisition’s shuttle began its landing approach.
“Flying without escort,” the commissar began, as if talking to himself.
“These aren’t Viola’s subordinates; they even fly with an escort from ship to ship.” “Then it’ll be easier to negotiate.
Well then, our task now…” “Commissar Green, you forgot to put in your vox-bead!” The voice of one of the counter-boarding troopers, Gaius, took everyone by surprise.
To the commissar’s credit, he looked stunned for only a second.
Then he took the mentioned bead from his breast pocket and began to secure it.
“In the future, tell me if I forget something.” “Yes, sir!” The trooper’s entire demeanor showed he was proud to have been of help.
The commissar continued to watch the shuttle’s landing intently.
Then he said quietly: “Macbeth, he needs to be rewarded.
Our plan could have gone straight to the Tyranids’ tails if not for that soldier.” “Acknowledged,” the captain replied just as quietly.
Meanwhile, the shuttle landed, and a delegation emerged from it.
Escorted by Scions, two representatives of the Inquisition walked toward the ship’s masters.
A swarthy, black-haired youth, whose predatory green eyes examined every detail, and a tall man with an augmetic eye, stroking his shovel-shaped beard with an utterly calm expression.
Erwin immediately noticed the insignia on the bearded man’s chest.
“An Inquisitor?!” Erwin’s thoughts raced at the speed of grox herded into a pen a few minutes ago.
“There shouldn’t be a second Inquisitor here!
Unless it’s her ‘keeper’… Yes, that’s entirely in Viola’s style — to send her colleague to be torn apart by a potential opponent.” Two columns of Scions saluted in unison with their lasguns, then formed an honor guard.
“I, Varrek Harahan, greet you on behalf of the Ordo Hereticus and, in particular, my mentor, Viola den Shin!” The youth’s sharp voice immediately grated on Erwin.
“What is the state of the ship and, in particular, the fleet of your masters, the Astartes of the ‘Angels of Retribution’?” “Our fleet has crossed over almost in its entirety; only a few escort ships were lost.
All our forces are at combat readiness and are able to assist the crusade in its future endeavors!
The Terminators of the Blades of Courage and the squadrons of the Blades of Valor can deploy at the spearhead of the crusade’s attack, and our Master is ready to provide the Inquisition with any assistance they may require!” “You…” The acolyte looked bewildered.
“Are you lying?!” “Not at all!
All of this is official information I received from the admiral.” “That’s right, my lord,” a whisper sounded in the captain’s head.
“Stall for time.
We’ve already informed Lieutenant Marius.” “May I ask a question, Acolyte?” The commissar decided not to stay out of the conversation.
“If the question carries nothing… mmm… inconvenient, then ask.” “Won’t you introduce your colleague?
I’d still like to know who we’re dealing with.” “Yes, of course, this is…” “No need, I’ll answer myself,” the Inquisitor said good-naturedly.
“I am, as you can see, a humble Servant of the Golden Throne, my name is Tadeusz Ravenkov.
I am Viola’s colleague, and I am accompanying her young acolyte.” “It’s an honor to meet you, esteemed Tadeusz.
I’ve heard of your work in the Jericho Reach.” “You flatter me.
However, let’s return to our business.” “Forgive me for interrupting you, Inquisitor, but our plans have changed.” The acolyte’s expression took on a solemn air.
“We intercepted communications from your fleet, in which it spoke of withdrawing from the crusade’s forces.
This is betrayal and desertion.
If you do not wish to be complicit in the heresy of your masters, surrender your ship to our forces, and I give you my word as a servant of the Ordo Hereticus, you will not be harmed.” “I’m afraid I must refuse you.
I swore an oath of loyalty to the Angels of Retribution, and I do not intend to break it.” Erwin’s bodyguards and the Scions simultaneously leveled their lasguns at each other.
The ship’s crew members who witnessed this froze, waiting for the outcome.
“I am addressing the forces of the Inquisition!” A deafening voice suddenly rasped from the loudspeakers.
“You are surrounded and in the sights of my battle-brothers.
On behalf of my chapter, the Angels of Retribution, I ask you to lay down your arms.
We do not wish for bloodshed.” “Explain yourself, Captain Macbeth!” Varrik squealed.
“How dare you attack representatives of the Holy Inquisition?!” “Why do you assume it was I who attacked?” Erwin asked with genuine surprise.
“Our, as you put it, ‘masters’ are acting on their own discretion.
My subordinates are not attacking you, are they?” “I will destroy this ship full of hypocrites!” The acolyte continued to boil with rage.
“The torpedoes are ready, and even if I die, my ship will take you all with it!
And then…” “The God-Emperor knows, I have been patient for a long time,” Tadeusz muttered, then unexpectedly raised his voice.
“This is MY ship, Acolyte Harahan!
And I decide who it will attack!” At these words, the Inquisitor’s stormtroopers aimed their weapons at their colleagues opposite.
“This is treason?!” the acolyte exclaimed.
“More like a wise decision given the circumstances.” “Do you realize what will happen to you?
Even if you manage to get out, Lady Viola will grind you to dust.
Believe me, you would consider the torture of those Dark Angels bastards a mercy…” “Boy, you forget that I have served the Throne for over four hundred years.
I would not have made this choice without understanding all the risks.” During the dialogue between the representatives of the Ordo Hereticus, Erwin had run through a multitude of possible actions.
But all of them were canceled at once.
“Who is our enemy?” the vox rasped on Erwin’s frequency.
“No, not that — who is our ally?” “Red stripes,” Green said as quietly as possible.
“Thank you.” The Scions on each side aimed their weapons, while the representatives of the Sunset Blade had already taken cover behind improvised barricades made of crates of various junk.
“I repeat, lay down your arms,” the voice from the loudspeaker came again.
“Otherwise, my brothers will open fire to kill.” “Lies!” one of the Scions shouted.
“We know there are no Astartes here!
Lord Harahan, we must destroy these worms before the Lion’s lapdogs…” The stormtrooper’s body crashed to the floor.
His lasgun flew a good three meters, and the scabbard with his blade clinked pitifully.
One might have thought he had simply been pushed or knocked down.
One might have, but the absence of his head proved otherwise.
“Lay down your arms.
Inquisitor, that includes you.” The counter-boarding troopers reacted fastest and began collecting weapons and binding the prisoners.
Thanks to Ravenkov’s help, the shuttle’s crew surrendered without a fight.
Erwin breathed a sigh of relief: this was his first encounter with the Inquisition that had ended with only one death.
A few minutes later, a group of Astartes entered the bay, led by a veteran sergeant.
The silver pauldron gleaming on his left shoulder commanded even more respect for the warrior and hinted at a past shrouded in mystery.
“I thank you, Acolyte,” he said with a hint of amusement in his voice.
“This is the first operation I’ve been able to complete with just one intercessor.
Unfortunately, it will almost certainly be the last.” “We’ll get to you,” Varrek had not lost his audacity even after capture.
“Sooner or later, we’ll expose you, heretics!” “We’ll see,” the Space Marine said, not continuing the conversation, and approached the Inquisitor.
“It’s a joy to see you alive, esteemed Tadeusz.” “Likewise,” Ravenkov replied.
“Well, what’s to become of me?” “Not clear yet.
However, I will find out soon.
Isn’t that right, Captain?” “Yes, Sergeant Azdruil,” Erwin said.
“Ships from our fleet have come to help and brought news.
Soon, that ‘mad bitch’ won’t be able to reach us.” * * * The newly appointed captain of the Guardian of Order no longer harbored any illusions about his fate.
He had lost.
He had lost when he didn’t pay attention to the lengthy ‘negotiations’ on the Angels of Retribution’s ship.
He had lost when he didn’t attack the destroyers that arrived from the main fleet of the Lion’s sons.
He had lost when he trusted Inquisitor Ravenkov and allowed the shuttle, escorted by the Astartes’ ‘Thunderhawks,’ to arrive at the frigate.
He had lost when the forces loyal to Lady Viola came under attack.
Though, most likely, he had lost even earlier.
When he agreed to become an agent of Viola del Shin.
Outside, the roar of bolters and the hiss of lasguns could already be heard.
Death was creeping up on him, and he felt it like no one else.
“Captain Drack, we can get you through the ventilation,” the bodyguard commander, apparently true to his duty, was not wasting time.
“We can get you out before the enemy breaks in.” “No need, Siegfried.
There’s no point in running; I’d rather die with honor.” The shooting stopped, and soon the door leading to the bridge was blown open.
Figures in gray-red armor burst through the opening.
Their jump packs looked awkward, but the chainswords paired with bolt pistols inspired fear.
They were the Emperor’s Angels of Death.
“Surrender to us, and I swear by the Lion, you will not be harmed,” the distorted voice of one of the warriors rang out.
The bodyguards took aim at the new opponents, but Drack stopped them with a gesture.
“No need,” he said.
“You won’t have time to take any of them to the foot of the Throne.” “Is that so?” An overly cheerful voice came from somewhere in the shadows.
“Finally, someone on this ship who knows how to think before shooting!
I’m flattered.” A figure of one of the Astartes appeared before the captain.
The warrior approached him and removed his helmet, revealing a pale face and long black hair.
And his eyes.
Creepy brown eyes that looked at him with genuine interest.
“Captain Orion Drack, of the Drack naval dynasty,” the Space Marine began slowly.
“Fifty-two years old, but without gray hair or other signs of age.
Veteran of many campaigns, experienced void-wolf, and possessor of a beautiful wife and two equally beautiful daughters.
Did I miss anything?” “I recently had twins, Augustus and Clara, but otherwise, that’s correct,” the captain corrected him, not at all flustered.
“Oh, forgive me.
However, I did forget one detail.
An important detail,” the Space Marine smiled predatorily, which caused fear in the men standing nearby.
“And what would that be?” The captain raised an eyebrow.
“Working for ‘Lady’ Viola den Shin.
Which you are doing right now.” “Wh—” Orion didn’t have time to react before one of his medals was torn off.
“The camera is almost invisible, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t there,” the Astartes said thoughtfully.
“I think your mistress has nothing to watch.” With these words, he crushed the medal, then stepped on it with his sabaton.
Then the warrior slowly walked over to the vox-transmitter and said: “Gideon speaking, Captain of the 9th Company.
The ship is ours; forces loyal to the enemy are killed or captured.
The ‘Karamazov in a skirt’ has been defeated again!” Approving shouts from the stormtroopers answered him.
* * * Viola del Shin clicked her tongue in irritation, watching the interference of the severed video feed on the cogitator’s screen.
She had just had to sacrifice several pawns in order to checkmate the black king in a few moves… But even the awareness of such necessity did not make the loss of her assets any less bitter.
The Lady Inquisitor truly regarded her ‘adopted children’ as ‘her own children.’ In a world filled with the paranoia of intrigue and betrayal, these creatures were her reliable support.
However, loyalty did not save del Shin from having, among thousands of bright minds, a small percentage of hopeless idiots.
Such ‘personnel,’ however, were equally useful, for if necessary, they could be easily ‘traded’ at the most favorable rate.
Of course, from the very beginning, Viola did not believe in the success of that useful idiot Varrek (though his enthusiasm and determination to show his best side before ‘mother’ did amuse her).
It was a different matter entirely that she simply could not fail to make her move against the bastards of Lion El’Jonson.
Her inaction would undoubtedly have aroused perfectly reasonable suspicion, whereas now, let them celebrate their little victory and turn their eyes away from the real threat.
However, the very fact that she had managed to offload Tadeusz — that annoying bag of bones who was famous among the ranks of the Ordo Hereticus for his acute sense of justice and often served as a mentor to young acolytes — was already a great victory.
The old codger, assigned to her as a babysitter, had a rather strange and strained relationship with Viola.
On the one hand, he was the only one in the entire Crusade who had known her as a snot-nosed girl who had just entered the Schola Progenium.
It was he who taught the future ‘star’ of the Ordo Hereticus the basics of fencing, weapons handling, and the methods of deduction that helped the future witch-hunter when she was already an acolyte in the service of an Inquisitor.
On the other hand, Ravenkov condemned her ‘overly radical’ methods, in his opinion, and had spoken against del Shin at the fateful Conclave for Viola… Now his story was written to its end.
A martyr in the service of the Emperor, killed by vile heretics and deserters from among the ‘Angels of Retribution.’ As originally intended.
However, the information about the desertion of the Lion’s sons had managed to pleasantly surprise the Inquisitor.
There was certainly something more hidden here than simple betrayal… Perhaps this could serve as the key to the secret that the offspring of the First Legion had been hiding from the Inquisition for millennia… In any case, even this ‘failure’ she had staged had brought important information into Viola’s hands, and information had always been the sharpest and deadliest weapon in the hands of the infamous witch-hunter.
Among the Stars.
Diplomatic Crisis The deck of the spaceship shuddered violently.
Again.
The structures of the massive cruise liner Corona could barely withstand the violence being inflicted upon it by the huge unidentified ship.
The crew members filling the ship’s innards, influential diplomats from hundreds of star systems, the bodyguards protecting their precious lives, and a small garrison of clones under the command of two Jedi… All of them were able to fully feel what it was like when the floor and ceiling swapped places for a split second.
The first devastating blow struck the hyperdrive engines, robbing the Corona of any chance to escape the enemy into hyperspace.
The next salvo, apparently, hit the sublight drive engines, leaving the vessel drifting on its maneuvering thrusters.
Somehow, the current situation was even worse than the catastrophe a year and a half ago, when a traitor had led a Separatist boarding party onto the cruise liner, hoping to kidnap the Duchess under cover of the chaos.
The liner was a civilian luxury-class vessel, built to order for Duchess Satine Kryze of Mandalore.
After her murder and the treacherous seizure of power on the planet by the terrorist organization Death Watch, the ship’s crew refused to obey the “new authorities” and made a hyperspace jump to the orbit of Coruscant.
There, by collective agreement, it was soon decided to transfer the vessel to the ownership of the “Systems Alliance” a union of a thousand worlds that had refused to take any part in the unfolding civil war.
During her lifetime, Duchess Kryze had been a staunch pacifist, and while her convictions and her willingness to give her life for them commanded respect, they now served the passengers of the Corona poorly.
Many called the ruler of Mandalore a naive idealist, but none of her political opponents could accuse her of hypocrisy.
The Duchess’s cruise liner lacked any kind of onboard armament, and its deflector shield barely met the requirements for a vessel of its class, leaving the Corona completely defenseless even against an attack by a band of pirates, let alone more formidable enemies.
* * * “General, th-the enemy has completely knocked out our e-engines!” the pilot reported over the internal comm, stammering every other word about the current situation.
“I’m afraid they’re going to board us!” The notes of despair slipping into the pilot’s voice spoke for themselves.
The Jedi General Jaro Tapal didn’t need great intelligence to fully grasp the direness of the situation they were in.
Under his protection were a host of important CIS dignitaries, their servants, and even a couple of senators from the Galactic Republic.
And the burden of defending this entire mass of civilians fell on the shoulders of a Jedi Master, a platoon of ARC clones, and young Cal Kestis — a former youngling the old Lasat had recently taken as his apprentice.
“Karabast!” the Jedi swore involuntarily, glancing at his Padawan’s frightened face.
Only a month and a half had passed since, during one of his last visits to Coruscant, Tapal had visited the Order’s Temple to take on a new student.
Among dozens of talented younglings, it was this unremarkable-looking human boy who had caught the mighty Lasat’s attention.
The Force itself was telling the Jedi that a great future awaited Cal Kestis.
“Master,” the Padawan said in a trembling voice.
“The enemy — are they pirates… or Separatists?” The boy was afraid.
Tapal could feel the sticky fear sinking deep roots into his young heart.
Fear had always been a double-edged sword for any Jedi.
It could save its master’s life or doom him to death, but worse — through fear lay a direct path to the dark side of the Force.
For the young child, the coming battle was to be the first real fight of his life.
Why did it have to be like this… “Stay close to me, Cal,” the Lasat said, trying to calm his student with a gentle smile.
“Try not to be a hero and listen to what I tell you.” The Jedi’s first joint mission with his student was supposed to have gone differently.
The Jedi Council had assigned Master Tapal to escort a diplomatic mission.
After the tragic death of Satine Kryze, the Union of a Thousand Systems, which the Duchess had largely led in name only, was thrown into chaos and a struggle for power.
For several months, representatives of the neutral systems had screamed themselves hoarse, unable to agree on a venue for the next meeting, let alone its agenda.
The Republic’s authorities were seriously concerned about the emerging problem.
The deepening political crisis and the effective collapse of the Systems Alliance threatened to bring a significant portion of its former members into the Confederacy of Independent Systems.
The sad fate of Mandalore also cast the pacifist ideas of the now-deceased Duchess in a far from favorable light.
It was no surprise that the Republic intervened in this matter, proposing, under the aegis of the Jedi Order, to hold a conference to elect a new leader for the Union.
“Captain Baki,” the Lasat called the ARC clone commander over the comm.
“Form counter-boarding teams.
Try to hold the decks until I arrive!” “As you command, General!” The tension in the clone’s voice betrayed his uncertainty in his own ability to carry out the order.
“Master, you’re going into battle, so what about me?..” The Padawan’s bewildered question stirred another pang of conscience in the Jedi Master’s mind.
“Forgive me for dragging you into this, young Kestis.” Jaro Tapal ground his teeth, lest the Force forbid he voice that thought aloud.
Children should not take part in war.
They should not… “For you, my Padawan, there will be a very important task,” the Lasat said, his height exceeding two meters.
He knelt before his student, placed his hands on the boy’s shoulders, and looked the former youngling straight in the eyes.
“Our mission is to ensure the safety of the diplomats on board!
Young Kestis, while I and the clones hold back the enemy, your task will be to organize the evacuation to the escape pods!” “That’s right.
The boy must survive.
At any cost!” “Save them and survive yourself!
Do you understand, student?” “Master, but what about you?” The realization of the Lasat’s true intentions pierced the Padawan like lightning.
“Do you understand me, Cal?!” Tapal’s massive paws pressed down on the boy’s fragile shoulders, making it clear the Jedi would tolerate no objections.
“I understand, Master,” the Padawan nodded curtly.
Tears were welling up in the corners of his eyes.
“I will carry out your will…” “Good.” The old Jedi ruffled the hair of the boy, who was on the verge of tears.
“May the Force be with you, my student!” “May the Force be with you…” The Force had already failed him once today.
The premonition of the approaching threat had come too late for Jaro Tapal to have any influence on the rapidly unfolding events.
Now all he could do was hope that the Force would be far more merciful to this young soul.