The reckoning came two weeks later, when lord Sidonis' decision arrived on Hercynia alongside a company of inquisitorial stormtroopers. A clear blue sky hung over the Imperial-controlled western continent, hiding the interdiction raids being carried out in orbit as inquisition agents descended on the ships of traders Haarlock, Veiss and Klimment. On the planet below, interrogator Machairi stalked through the corridors of the governor's palace with a look of steel determination on her face, the tails of her black and silver sari fluttering behind her.

Tomas was at her right shoulder and Solvan at her left, the priest walking with steady confidence despite his gaunter features and whitened hair. Machairi had not offered the preacher juvenats; he had vowed after his sister's death never to use such things for vanity, although they might one day become necessary to claw back the years of useful service that Haarlock's device had stolen from him.

Machairi's other agents filed in behind, flanked by Remus and a whole squad of his fellow stormtroopers from Task Force Carbon. Lord Sidonis' enforcers were dressed in dark grey fatigues and black carapace armour, each synth-fibre helmet stencilled with the crossbarred letter I of the inquisition.

Gavin looked even more uncomfortable than usual, thumping along on his wheezing bionics, now clad in the same dark fatigues as the Carbon stormtroopers. He was fidgeting with a whistle that hung on a string around his neck - apparently a gift from his new escorts. The nearest stormtrooper, a short, wiry heavy weapons operator who was carrying a las-SAW half as big as she was, saw Gavin thumbing the whistle and grinned beneath her tinted visor.

"Don't worry, bolt magnet." she said cheerfully. "If shit goes down, just blow that nice and hard like and I'll come a-running."

"His name is Gavin Jenkins, private Mainwering." Machairi reprimanded gently, without looking round. Her face was a controlled mask as they strode down the corridor towards the governor's office. Her eyes flickered briefly left and right towards the devotional scriptures framed along the walls, above the plinth-mounted death masks of several notable imperial saints.

"Our governor seems to be a pious man." Machairi observed, smiling grimly. "If he's got any priests with him, try not to blaspheme too hard in front of them."

"Hey, I'm a better priest than any of them!" Glabrio winked. "When people see me coming they start praying!"

The air in the governor's office was warm with incense, crystal-kissed and candle-bright. It was a smaller, more intimate space than the banner-lined hall that the agents had seen in Venatora's government palace. A golden Aquila flag hung alongside a portrait of the governor on the back wall, and the polished desk was enamelled with the same spread-winged symbol.

Governor Pergantis was a handsome man, grey-haired but only sparsely lined, although he was clad in thick layers of robes that made him look slightly too small to fit them. Sitting with the governor was trader Veiss, resplendent in a patterned gown of blood red and this time wearing a golden mask etched with decorative whorls. Blissfully unaware of the approaching delegation, she appeared to be extolling the effectiveness of the recently-installed flak turrets at protecting the walls of Akkan from indigen rocket attacks.

"After such an effective trial, I would be willing to provide more for all the new industrial facilities out in the Uru." the trader was saying.

Governor Pergantis offered her an uneven grin. "You know, Natalia darling, there's regulations about how much we can spend on defence in one year."

"So remove them." Veiss replied airily. "Any good market regulates itself."

"So you keep reassuring me. Still, we need money for security here in Illyrium too - protests by Ghosts from both the Vilysian and Ramado septs are getting worse, and that's in spite of the crackdown."

"Have you considered servitoring them?" Veiss suggested, and then laughed musically at the governor's raised eyebrows. "Well, the Ghosts already think we do - we might as well actually get rid of some troublemakers!"

Pergantis opened his mouth to reply, and instead jumped up in surprise as the door of his office suddenly clicked and slammed back.

"What the...?" he began to protest, lost for words as Machairi and her entourage stormed into the office.

"Lady Machairi?" Veiss said in utter surprise, the jewelled eye-lenses of her mask flicking briefly towards Glabrio before returning to Machairi.

"Interrogator Machairi." Machairi corrected her, her voice thick with disgust as she pulled out her rosette and a parchment scroll signed in blood-red ink. "Governor Pergantis, lady Veiss. I have here a signed warrant from lord inquisitor Sidonis, based on information gathered from my own agents and from the interrogation of the trader Roose Haarlock, charging you with heresy, corruption and gross incompetence. Life is the Emperor's currency, and it is not yours to squander. In the name of the inquisition, you are under arrest."

+ + + + + +

EPILOGUE

"We'll be holding formal vigils for Abdur, Sebastian and Aleksander at the end of the shift." McKenzie von Rousch said, her face sombre. Agent funerals were one of the less pleasant details that the petite logistician had to organise, but she always carried the duty out without complaint. Most inquisitorial operatives had precious few people to mourn them as it was. "Schafer will be getting his full honours next week, so the boss can attend."

"Thank you, McKenzie." Machairi said, managing a wan smile. "I'll be there."

The interrogator's face was carefully controlled. She had never liked Schafer, but she couldn't pretend to take pleasure in his death. Word had belatedly reached the True Bane yesterday, from the Venatoran authorities who had dug Schafer and Clement's frozen bodies out of the wreckage of their shuttle. They had been found in the snow-locked mountains west of the planetary capital. The shuttle must have gone down after the missile strike from Noyer's lander, with the Necrons replicating both the agents and their transport - they had demonstrated a similar capacity to copy vehicles at the Venatoran airbase. Machairi didn't envy Schafer; an unexpected shot from a supposed ally was how more than one inquisition agent had met his fate, but to have a xenos construct steal your face and your memory and carry on in your place was particularly grotesque.

As she watched McKenzie trot away down the corridor from her cabin, Machairi wondered again at the situation that had allowed the Prophet its opening on Hercynia, and how it had come about. The traders had fanned and exploited the local government's fear of the indigen "Ghosts", and had ironically created just the kind of monsters they had been warning of. Had governor Pergantis been so blind? Had the rulers of the Enclave?

Fear and insecurity kill reason, she reflected grimly. Never trust people to automatically find things as ridiculous as you do.

The thought suddenly struck her that that might be a good line to add into one of her essays. It would certainly have been something to tell agent Black. At the start of the mission, Machairi had had hopes for Marc as potential explicator material. It was one of the reasons she had brought him with her back to Akkan instead of sending him into the Uru. But his words at the PDF base, and his reaction to Kally's capture, had told Machairi what his true motivation was. Duty pulled Marcus Black, but it was his friends and family that pushed him. Commendable, but an absolutely toxic weakness for an aspiring inquisitor. What if the man you have to kill is a friend, a brother, a lover? That is why most men will never be inquisitors. Marc's sister Kelly had the same conscience, for all her logic. Kally did too, and Sapphira, and Vincent. Machairi had appealed to that humanity to convince Vincent to stay, but an enemy might use it for a far less benign purpose.

Conscience was a two-edged sword. If only she had been able to recognise the same trait in Abdur in time to save him.

That is why most men will never be inquisitors. she thought again, almost ruefully.

And yet, a lack of conscience was an even sharper blade. Strip a man of his moral feeling, and for every inquisitor you got a Roose Haarlock, a magos Oswin, or a Natalia Veiss. And worse - by their very actions, such people could inspire the same traits in the people they oppressed, like the Prophet's wretched cultists. On a sudden compulsion, Machairi turned back into her cabin and picked up her quill to annotate the end of the vellum essay that kept turning over in her mind.

It was perhaps half an hour later when Solvan and Tomas arrived to escort her to the vigil. Machairi hitched up a smile as she greeted them, though she was still sorry to see Solvan bearing the scars of Haarlock's xenotech.

"I wanted to ask your opinion." she told her two closest confidants, as she picked up her finished treatise from the desk and handed it over to them. She had changed the final paragraphs.

Anyone can apply logic abstractly. Ask if it is right to let one man die when it is the only way to save ten, and any logical person will tell you that yes, it is. But what do they say when that one man is standing right in front of them? What do they do when they hear his children plead for their father's life? What if this one man is someone they know - a friend, a brother, a lover?

That is why most men will never be inquisitors. Inquisitors have to make the hard decisions that ensure humanity's survival. But simply surviving isn't enough. Most people will never be inquisitors, but they are the very people who prove that humanity still has a soul worth saving.

+ + + + + +

Extract from astropathic logs, HDMS True Bane - message from inquisitor Eran de Shilo, ordo hereticus, appointed overseer for purity checks of Makita refugees in Ishtar and Decker hives following the Pembroke incident (Ref: Makita 150-2F). Message received 285605.M41 [archivist's note - 6 weeks after conclusion of interrogator Alia Machairi's investigation on Hercynia].

Author: Inquisitor Eran de Shilo, ordo Calixis
Subject: Attempted xeno breach of Makita quarantine
Priority: Magenta 3
Originator: Astropath Zainab Keir, hive Ishtar, Solomon
Astropathic Duct: Markyn relay 27-alpha
Astropathic Terminus: Junior astropath Tarun Makarov, HDMS True Bane

My lord Sidonis,

I wish to report an attempted breach of the Makita glasslands quarantine by xenos vessels of Necron origin. These vessels appeared without warning in the Solomon system at 264605.M41. The enemy squadron consisted only of three escort-class vessels, Jackal designation - clearly the xenos did not expect the presence of our quarantine fleet and were predicting minimal resistance. The quarantine fleet moved to intercept at 265605, while civilian traffic was ordered to move within the umbrella of the planetary defences and hold position, as per protocol. Ships that were too far out to reach the planetary defences were instructed to run for the nearest jump point. The Necron ships targeted one of these outbound columns, consisting of the trader vessels Bonaventure, Triton 626, Beacon and Mooncalf. The Navy intercepted the Necron ships at 266605 and destroyed all three, albeit with heavy damage to the frigates Antaros and Preliator, and to the light cruiser Vigilax. The Solomon quarantine was maintained.

Hail to the emperor!
- Inq Eran De Shilo

[Message ends]

+ + + + + +

"Shiiiiit." the blunt-faced man exhaled through his clenched teeth. The shuddering jolts as the star freighter broke through into the warp had subsided, but he was still gripping the railing in front of him with white knuckles, muscles standing out taut on his tattooed arms. "That was far too close."

He turned to the tall, lean man who stood beside him on the cargo room mezz deck, but the other man seemed unconcerned. He stood with his hands resting in the pockets of his silver-grey suit, his eyes closed as if enjoying the heartbeat rhythm of the freighter's warp engines.

"Well," the suited man said, opening his eyes and crossing over to his tattooed companion with languid strides. "We didn't slip an inquisition cordon and dig around a perdita glass-site only to get cheated at the last minute by a bunch of xenos."

Something scaly and green that was hunched over the mezzanine railing gave a disapproving hiss.

"No offence to present company, naturally." the man in the suit added, airily.

The first man rubbed his chin uneasily, scratching at his salt-and-pepper goatee. "I don' like it, Mr E. There's lucky and then there's lucky, the kind where the universe is tryin' to tell you somethin'."

"I suppose I have been getting more than my fair share of luck, lately." the man in the suit mused. He flexed his left hand - a seamless silver bionic that shone in the grimy light of the cargo bay. "Maybe I've been leeching it off poor Roose."

"Shit," the first man frowned. "His luck finally run out?"

"Quite spectacularly. We're going to need a new Black."

"What if he talks?" scowled a dangerous-looking young woman who was hovering at the back of the group.

"Even if he did, what does he have to give them? Colour codenames? Besides, I've helped Sidonis out once or twice in the past. Even if Roose did try to pin something on us, the good inquisitor would be able to make it disappear."

The suited man stepped forward and rested his forearms on the railing, leaning over to look down at the stasis-field pod that the lifter servitors were carefully manhandling into place in the cargo deck below.

"I still don't get this, Mr E." the blunt-faced man opined. He was pacing like a caged lion, and the chain-axe that he had placed down on the crates behind him was now swinging loosely back and forth from his hand. "I mean, I'm all for honourin' an old friend's memory, but this here is some knight-and-damsel shit. And that shit only works out if you're some kiddy-fiddlin' drill abbot tellin' a bedtime story, or some black hat commissar with a hard-on for martyrdom."

The suited man's bionic fingers twitched slightly, and he reached into his suit pocket to pull out a black lho stick capped with a copper filter. He cupped his hands around the stick, and a moment later it flared into life, underlighting the man's gaunt face as he blew out a cloud of purple-tinged smoke.

"Don't worry. This is about much more than Lucius Pembroke."