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? Suddenly the arithmetic doesn't look so simple.
Interrogator Alia Machairi dropped her quill back into its ink pot, and sat back in her chair to read what she had written. The vellum paper was illuminated by a pair of fluted lumoglobe lamps, standing either side of the desk that took up nearly a third of her cabin on the HDMS
True Bane. The rest was taken up by a small shrine to the Emperor, a carefully made-up single bed, and a small but expensive wardrobe made of Spartax hardwood. Sitting on the desk alongside dataslates, vellum papers and a long-barreled melta pistol, a trio of candles seasoned the air with the scent of vanilla. The candles guttered slightly in the draft caused by the
True Bane's air scrubbers.
A trill from the door buzzer made the interrogator look up from her work. Instead of using the control wand sitting in the desk drawer, Machairi got up and thumbed the manual unlocking rune to meet the visitor face to face. The mag-locks disengaged with a click, and the door pistoned open to reveal a petite woman with dark hair cut short around her face.
"McKenzie." interrogator Machairi smiled, "Keeping busy?"
"I'm always busy." McKenzie von Rousch quipped, smoothing the front of her red dress jacket. "But yes, lord Sidonis getting promoted to the upper echelons of the Ordo Calixis has hardly reduced the number of ops I need to organise."
Physically, lord Sidonis' chief logistician and his up-and-coming interrogator were complete opposites. The one was short and slender, while the other topped six feet even in flat-soled boots. McKenzie was delicate and boyish, while Machairi had shrewd dark eyes and a blade of a nose under long brown hair, which she habitually twisted into an elegant plait. In personality however, they were more alike. Even if McKenzie wasn't front line investigator material, Machairi admired her unflinching ability to get things done - and without the brute-force whip cracking that her fellow interrogator Schafer seemed to favour, as well.
"What can I help you with?" Machairi stood back and motioned for McKenzie to enter, but the other woman politely shook her head.
"I'm not stopping, thanks. I just thought you'd want to know that Sidonis will probably be contacting you shortly."
"What about?" Machairi asked carefully.
"He has a mission for you, and he's letting you pick the team."
Machairi raised an arched eyebrow. "What kind of mission? I've still not finished looking through the Baraspine case."
"Schafer's missed a report, which as I'm sure you know isn't like him. Sidonis thinks he might have run into some sort of trouble."
Machairi's face was studiously neutral. "Is he still out on that frontier world?"
"Hercynia, yes. The last we heard was that he and hs agents were leaving the Enclave to gather evidence from one of the more war-torn cities. But since then, nothing."
"Well, a war-zone isn't the best place for astropaths. Or maybe he's gone undercover?"
"Maybe," McKenzie admitted. "But Sidonis wants it checked out."
Machairi chewed the inside of her cheek thoughtfully. "Alright, give me a couple of hours to read up on the situation and I'll put together a team."
"Do you know who you'll be taking?"
The interrogator smiled. "I've got a few ideas."
"Let me know if you need any support with requisitioning anything."
"I will." Machairi nodded. "Thanks."
As McKenzie turned to leave, the smile dropped off Machairi's face like a mask.
Great. she thought acidly.
Save my hated rival. It was no secret among Sidonis' staff that she and Schafer got on like a house on fire - that was to say, with screaming, property damage, and people running for their lives. Machairi wondered for a moment if lord Sidonis himself was oblivious to the fact, or if this was one of his less-than-subtle manipulations to try and foster some common ground between them. She shook her head, and looked down again at the unfinished vellum paper on her desk, reading what she had written.
What if this one man is someone they know - a friend, a brother, a lover? Suddenly the arithmetic doesn't look so simple.
She picked up her quill, and added a final sentence before gathering the melta pistol from her desk and heading for the door.
That is why most men will never be inquisitors.
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