Ben Counter - Fear and Fire

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++Priority Transmission: Coding/Delta/Rouge++
++Recipient: Loyal Imperial Commanders – as designated
by Commissariat, The Librarius Staff, Inquisitor Baptiste
& Canoness Arrea.++
++Subject: Traitors and Executions++
++Author: [Rus]Incubus – Scrivenor-in-attendance to
Inquisitor Nikolay Vinogradov++
++Thought for the Day: To cheat is both cowardly and
dishonourable++
Attention all loyal citizens of the Imperium!!!
Scanning of sacred books is a mortal sin!
*********
Whispered by Tzeentch, Lord of Hidden Knowledge.
Inspired by Slaanesh, Master of Forbidden Pleasures.
Resist foul machinations of the Dark Gods and buy
books from the Black Library.
***********
Thought of the Day: All traitors will be executed
without mercy and compassion!
Inquisition are watching YOU!
For Mandy; my faith and my fire.
A BLACK LIBRARY PUBLICATION
First published in Great Britain in 2006 by
BL Publishing,
Games Workshop Ltd.,
Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK.
10 98765432 1
Cover illustration by Karl Kopinski.
© Games Workshop Limited 2006. All rights reserved.
Black Library, the Black Library logo, BL Publishing, Games Workshop,
the Games Workshop logo and all associated marks, names, characters,
illustrations and images from the Warhammer 40,000 universe are
either *, TM and.’or ® Games Workshop Ltd 2000-2005, variably
registered in the UK and other countries around the world. All rights
reserved.
A CIP record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 13: 978-1-84416-289-5 ISBN 10: 1-84416-289-3
Distributed in the US by Simon & Schuster 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020, US.
Printed and bound in Great Britain by Bookmarque, Surrey, UK.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval
system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic,
mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior
permission of the publishers.
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayedin this
book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is
purely coincidental.
See the Black Library on the Internet at
www.blacklibrary.com
Find out more about Games Workshop and the world of Warhammer 40,000 at
www.games-workshop.com
IT IS THE 41st millennium. For more than a hundred
centuries the Emperor has sat immobile on the Golden
Throne of Earth. He is the master of mankind by the
will of the gods, and master of a million worlds by the
might of his inexhaustible armies. He is a rotting carcass
writhing invisibly with power from the Dark Age of
Technology. He is the Carrion Lord of the Imperium for
whom a thousand souls are sacrificed every day. so that
he may never truly die.
YET EVEN IN his deathless state, the Emperor continues
his eternal vigilance. Mighty battleflccts cross the
daemon-infested miasma of the warp, the only route
between distant stars, their way lit by the Astronomican,
the psychic' manifestation of the Emperor's will. Vast
armies give battle in his name on uncounted worlds.
Greatest amongst his soldiers are the Adeptus Astartes.
the Space Marines, bio-engineered super-warriors. Their
comrades in arms arc legion: the Imperial Guard and
countless planetary defence forces, the ever-vigilant
Inquisition and the tech-priests of the Adeptus
Mechanicus to name only a few. But for all their
multitudes, they are barely enough to hold off the
ever-present threat from aliens, heretics.
mutants - and worse.
To BE A man in such times is to be one amongst untold
billions. It is to live in the cruellest and most bloody
regime imaginable. These are the tales of those times.
Forget the power of technology and science, for so much
has been forgotten, never to be re-learned. Forget the
promise of progress and understanding, for in the grim
dark future there is only war. There is no peace amongst
the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and
the laughter of thirsting gods.
CHAPTER ONE
From his high vantage point, the Emperor of Mankind looked down upon Miriya where she knelt. His
unchanging gaze took in all of her, the woman's bowed form shrouded in blood-coloured robes. In places,
armour dark as obsidian emerged from the folds of the crimson cloth. It framed her against the tan
stonework of the chapel floor. She was defined by the light that reflected upon her from the Emperor's
eternal visage; all that she was, she was only by His decree.
Miriya's lips moved in whispers. The Litany of Divine Guidance spilled from her in a cascading hush. The
words were such a part of her that they came as quickly and effortlessly as breathing. As the climax of the
declaration came, she felt a warm core of righteousness establish itself in her heart, as it
always did, as it always had since the day she had discarded her noviciate cloak and taken the oath.
She allowed herself to look up at Him. Miriya granted herself this small gesture as a reward. Her gaze
travelled up the altar, drinking in the majesty of the towering golden idol. The Emperor watched her over
folded arms, across the inverted hilt of a great burning sword. At His left shoulder stood Saint Celestine, her
hands cupped to hold two stone doves as if she were offering them up. At His right was Saint Katherine,
the Daughter of the Emperor who had founded the order that Miriya now served.
She lingered on Katherine's face for a moment: the statue's hair fell down over her temple and across the
fleur-de-lys carved beneath her left eye. Miriya unconsciously brushed her black tresses back over her ear,
revealing her own fleur tattoo in dark red ink.
The armour the stone saint wore differed from Miriya's in form but not function. Katherine was clad in an
ancient type of wargear, and she bore the symbol of a burning heart where Miriya wore a holy cross
crested with a skull. When the saint had been mistress of her sect, they had been known as the Order of
the Fiery Heart - but that had been decades before Katherine's brutal ending on Mnest-teus. Since that
date, for over two millennia they had called themselves the Order of our Martyred Lady. It was part of a
legacy of duty to the Emperor that Sister Miriya of the Adepta Sororitas had been fortunate to continue.
With that thought, she looked upon the effigy of Him. She met the stone eyes and imagined that on far
distant Terra, the Lord of Humanity was granting her some infinitely small fraction of His divine attention,
willing her to carry out her latest mission with His blessing. Miriya's hands came to her chest and crossed
one another, making the sign of the Imperial aquila.
'In Your name.’ she said aloud. 'In service to Your Light, grant me guidance and strength. Let me know the
witch and the heretic, show them to me.' She bowed once again. 'Let me do Your bidding and rid the
galaxy of man's foe.’
Miriya drew herself up from where she knelt and moved to the font servitor, presenting the slave-thing with
her ornate plasma pistol. The hybrid produced a brass cup apparatus in place of a hand and let a brief mist
of holy water sprinkle over the weapon. Tapes of sanctified parchment stuttered from its lipless mouth with
metallic ticks of sound.
She turned away, and there in the shadows was Sister Iona. Silent, morose Iona, the patterned hood of her
red robe forever deepening the hollows of her eyes. Some of the Battle Sisters disliked the woman. Iona
rarely showed emotion, never allowed herself to cry out in pain when combat brought her wounds, never
raised her voice in joyous elation during the daily hymnals. Many considered her flawed, her mind so cold
that it was little more than the demi-machine inside the skull of the servitor at the font. Miriya had once sent
two novice girls to chastisement for daring to voice such thoughts
aloud. But those who said these things did not know Iona's true worth. She was as devout a Soror-itas as
any other, and if her manner made some Sister Superiors reluctant to have her in their units, then so be it.
Their loss was Miriya's gain.
'Iona.’ she said, approaching. 'Speak to me.'
'It is time, Sister.’ said the other woman, her milk-pale face set in a frown. The witch ship comes.'
In spite of herself, Miriya's hand tensed around the grip of her plasma pistol. She nodded. 'I am pre-pared.'
Iona returned the gesture. 'As are we all.’ The Sis-ter clasped a small fetish in her gloved grip, a sliver icon
of the Convent Sanctorum's Hallowed Spire on Ophelia VII. The small tell was enough to let Miriya know
the woman was concerned.
'I am as troubled as you.’ she admitted as they crossed the chancel back towards the steel hatch in the
chapel wall.
Iona opened it and they stepped through, emerg-ing into the echoing corridor beyond. Where the stone of
the church ended, the iron bones of the starship around it began. Once, the chapel had been earthbound,
built into a hill on a world in the Vitus system, now it existed as a strange transplanted organ inside the
metal body of the Imperial Naval frigate Mercutio.
This vexes me, Sister Superior.’ said Iona, her frown deepening beneath her hood. 'What is our cause if not
to take the psyker to task for his witch-ery, to show the Emperor's displeasure?' She looked as if she
wanted to spit. 'That we are called upon
to... to associate with this mutant is enough to make my stomach turn. There is a part of me that wants to
contact the captain and order him to take that abomination from the Emperor's sky.’
Miriya gave her a sharp look. 'Have a care, Sister. You and I may detest these creatures, but in their
wisdom, the servants of the Throne see fit to use these pitiful wretches in His name. As much as that may
sicken us, we cannot refuse a command that comes from the highest levels of the Ecclesiarchy.’
The answer was not nearly enough to satisfy Iona's disquiet. 'How can such things go on, I ask you? The
psyker is our mortal enemy-'
Iona's commander silenced her with a raised hand. 'The witch is our enemy, Sister. The psyker is a tool.
Only the untrained and the wild are a threat to the Imperium.’ Miriya's eyes narrowed. 'You have never
served as I have, Iona. For two full years I was a warden aboard one of those blighted vessels. On the
darkest nights, the things I saw there still haunt me so...' She forced the memories away. This is how the
God-Emperor tests the faithful, Sister. He shows us our greatest fears and has us overcome them.’
They walked in silence for a few moments before Iona spoke again. We are taught in the earliest days of
our indoctrination that those cursed with the psy-chic mark in their blood are living gateways to Chaos. All
of them, Sister Superior, not just the ones who eschew the worship of the Golden Throne. One single slip
and even the most devout will fall, and open the way to the warp!'
Miriya raised an eyebrow. It was perhaps the most passion she had ever seen the dour woman display.
That is why we are here. Since the Age of Apostasy, we and all our Sister Sororitas have stood at the
gates to hell and barred the witchkin. As the mutant falls, so does the traitor, so does the witch.’ She placed
a hand on Iona's shoulder. 'Ask yourself this, Sister. Who else could be called forth to accomplish what we
shall do today?' Miriya's face split in a wry smile. The men of the Imperial Navy or the Guard? They would
be dead in moments from the shock. The Adeptus Astartes? Those abhumans willingly welcome psykers
into their own ranks.' She shook her head ruefully. 'No, Iona, only we, the Sisters of Battle, can stand
sentinel here.’ The woman patted her pistol holster. And mark me well, if but one of those misbegotten
wretches steps out of line, then we will show them the burning purity of our cen-sure.’
The sound of her voice drew the attention of Miriya's squad as she approached. They did not exchange the
curt bows or salutes that were manda-tory in other Sororitas units. Sister Miriya kept a relaxed hand on her
warriors, preferring to keep them sharp in matters of battle prowess rather than parade ground niceties.
'Report,' she demanded.
Her second-in-command Sister Lethe cleared her throat. We are ready, Sister Superior, as per your
command.’
'Good.’ Miriya snapped, forestalling any questions about their orders before they could be uttered.
This will be a simple matter of boarding the ship and securing the prisoner.’
Lethe threw a look at the other members of the Celestian squad. Usually deployed for front line combat
operations, the Celestians were known as the elite troops of the Adepta Sororitas and such a simple duty as
a prisoner escort could easily be con-sidered beneath them. Celestians were used to fighting at the heart of
heretic confrontations and mutant uprisings, not acting like mere line officer enforcer.
Miriya saw these thoughts in the eyes of Lethe and the other Sisters. She knew the misgivings well, as they
had been her own after the orders had first been delivered by astropathic transfer from Canoness Galatea's
adjutant. Any duty in the Emperor's name is glorious.’ she told them, a stern edge to her words, 'and we
would do well to remember that.’
'Of course.’ said Lethe, her expression contrite. 'We obey.’
'I share your concern.’ Miriya admitted, her voice lowered. 'Our squad has never been the most favoured
of units-' and with that the other women shared a moment of grim amusement, '-but we will do as we
must.’
There.’ Sister Cassandra called, observing through one of the crystalline portholes in the corridor wall. 'I
see it!'
Miriya drew closer and peered through the thick lens. For a moment, she thought her Battle Sister had been
mistaken, but then she realised that the
darkness she saw beyond the hull of the Mercutio was not the void of interstellar space at all, but the flank
of another craft. It gave off no light, showed no signals or pennants. Only the faint glow of the frigate's own
portholes and beacons illuminated it -and then, not the whole vessel but only thin slivers of it caught in the
radiance. 'A Black Ship,' breathed Iona. 'Emperor protect us.'
In two by two overwatch formation, their bolters at the ready, Miriya's squad made their way up the corded
flex-tube that had extended itself from one of the Mercutio's outer airlocks. At their head, the Sister
Superior walked with her own weapon hol-stered, but her open hand lay flat atop the knurled wood grip.
The memories spiked her thoughts again, taking her back to the first time she had stepped into the dark iron
heart of an Adeptus Tele-pathica vessel.
No one knew how many craft there were in the fleets of the Black Ships. Some spoke of a secret base on
Terra, sending out droves of ebon vessels to scour the galaxy for psykers. Others said that the ships
worked in isolation from one another, ventur-ing back and forth under psychic directives sent by the
Emperor himself. Miriya did not know the truth, and she did not want to.
Whenever a potent psyker was discovered, the Black Ships would come for them. Some, those with pure
hearts and wills strong enough to survive the tests the adepts forced upon them, might live to become
servants to the Inquisition or the
astropafhic colleges. Most would be put to death in one manner or another, or granted in sacrifice to the
Emperor so that he might keep alight the great psychic beacon of the Astronomicon.
The Battle Sisters entered an elliptical reception chamber carved from iron and whorled with hexa-grammic
wards. Strips of biolume cast weak yellow light into the centre of the space and hooded figures lingered at
the edges, orbiting the room with silent footsteps. Lethe and the others automatically fell into a combat
wheel formation, guns covering every possible angle of attack. Miriya watched the shrouded shapes moving
around them. The Adeptus Telepafhica had their own operatives but by Imper-ial edict they were not
allowed to serve as warders upon their own vessels; it was too easy for a malig-nant psyker to coerce
another telepath. Instead, Sisters of Battle or Inquisitorial Storm Troopers served in the role of custodian
aboard the Black Ships, their adamantine faith protecting them from the predations of the mind-witches they
guarded.
Footsteps approached from the gloomy perimeter of the chamber. Her eyes had grown accustomed to the
dimness now, and she quickly picked out the fig-ures filing from an iris hatch on the far wall. Two of them
were Sister Retributors, armed with heavy multi-meltas, and another a Celestian like herself. The other
Battle Sisters wore gunmetal silver armour and white robes, with the sigil of a haloed black skull on their
shoulder pauldrons. There were more behind them, but they remained in the shadows for now.
The Celestian saluted Miriya and she returned the gesture. 'Miriya of the Order of our Martyred Lady Well
met. Sister.’
'Dione of the Order of the Argent Shroud.’ said the other woman. Well met, Sister.’ Miriya was instantly
struck by the look of fatigue on Dione's face, the tension etched into the lines about her eyes. Her fel-low
Sororitas met her gaze and a moment of silent communication passed between them. The pris-oner is
ready. It is my pleasure to have rid of him.’ She beckoned forward hooded men and the two Retributors
turned their guns to draw a bead on them.
The adepts brought a rack in the shape of a skele-tal cube, within which sat a large drum made of green
glass. There was a man inside it, naked and pale in the yellow illumination. His head was con-cealed
beneath a metal mask festooned with spikes and probes. Torris Vaun.’ Miriya said his name, and the
masked man twitched a little as if he had heard her. 'A fine catch, Sister Dione.’
'He did not go easily, of that you can be sure. He killed six of my kith before we were able to subdue him.’
'And yet he still draws breath.’ Miriya studied the huge jar, aware that the man inside was scrutinising her
just as intently with other, preternatural senses. 'Had the choice been mine, this witch would have been shot
into the heart of a star.’
Dione managed a stiff nod. We are in agreement, Sister. Alas, we must obey the Ministorum's orders. You
are to deliver this criminal to Lord Viktor
LaHayn at the Noroc Lunar Cathedral on the planet Neva.’ A hobbling servitor approached clutching a roll
of parchment and a waxy stick of data-sealant. Dione took the paper and made her mark upon it. 'So
ordered this day, by the authority of the Eccle-siarchy.’
Miriya followed suit, using the sealant to press her squad commander signet into the document. From behind
her, she heard Lethe think aloud.
'He seems such a frail thing. What crime could a man like this commit that would warrant our
stew-ardship?'
Dione took a sharp breath. Clearly she did not allow her troops to speak without permission as Miriya did.
The six he murdered were only the lat-est victims of his violence. This man has sown terror and mayhem
on a dozen worlds across this sector, all in the name of sating his base appetites. Vaun is an animal, Sister,
a ruthless opportunist and a pirate. To him, cruelty is its own reward.’ Her face soured. 'It disgusts me to
share a room with such an aberrance.’
Miriya shot Lethe a look. 'Your candour is appre-ciated, Sister Dione. We will ensure the criminal reaches
Neva without delay.’
More servitors took up the confinement capsule and marched into the tunnel back to the Mercutio. As
Vaun was taken away, Dione relaxed a little. 'Lord LaHayn was most insistent that this witch be brought to
his court for execution. It is my under-standing the honoured deacon called in several favours with the
Adeptus Terra to ensure it was so.’
Miriya nodded, recalling the message from Galatea. The Canoness would be waiting in Noroc City for their
arrival with the criminal. Vaun is a Nevan himself, correct? One might consider it just that he be put to the
sword on the soil of his birthworld, given that he created so much anarchy there.’ She threw a glance at
Lethe, and her second marshalled the rest of the Celestians to flank the prisoner as he vanished into the
docking tube. Miriya turned to follow. 'Ave Imperator, Sister.’
Dione's armoured gauntlet clasped Miriya's wrist and held her for a moment. 'Don't underestimate him,' she
hissed, her eyes glittering in the murki-ness. 'I did, and six good women paid the price.’
'Of course.’
Dione released her grip and faded back into the blackness.
From the rendezvous point, the Mercutio came about and made space for the Neva system. The Black
Ship vanished from her sensorium screen like a lost dream, so quickly and so completely that it seemed as if
the dark vessel had never been there.
The frigate's entry to the empyrean went poorly, and a momentary spasm in the warship's Geller Field killed
a handful of deckhands on the gunnery platforms. The crew spoke in hushed tones behind guarded
expressions, never within earshot of the Battle Sisters. None of them knew what it was that Miriya's squad
had brought back from the Black Ship, but all of them were afraid of it.
Over the days that followed, prayer meetings in the frigate's sparse chapel had a sudden increase in
attendance and there were more hymns being played over the vox nets on the lower decks. Most of the
crew had never seen Battle Sisters in the flesh before. In dozens of ports across the sector they had heard
the stories about them, just like every other Navy swab. There were things that men of low char-acter
would think of women such as these, thoughts that ran the spectrum from lustful fantasy to violent distrust.
Some said they lived off the flesh of the males they killed, like a jungle mantis. Others swore they were as
much concubines as they were soldiers, able to bring pleasure and damnation to the unwary in equal
measure. The crewmen were as scared by the Sororitas as they were fascinated by them, but there were
some who watched the women wherever they went, compelled by something deeper and darker.
Lethe glanced up as Miriya entered the cargo bay, stepping past the two gun servitors at the hatch to where
she and Cassandra stood on guard by the glass capsule.
'Sister Superior.’ she nodded. 'What word from the captain?'
Miriya's frown was answer enough. 'He tells me the Navigator is troubled. The way through the warp is
turbulent, but he hopes we will arrive at Neva in a day or so.’
Lethe glanced at the capsule and saw that Cassan-dra was doing the same.
'The prisoner cannot be the cause.’ Miriya answered the unspoken question. 'I was assured the nullifying
mask prevents any exercise of witchery.’ She tapped her finger on the thick glass wall.
Sister Lethe fingered the silver rosary chain she habitually wore around her neck. She was not con-vinced.
'All the same, the sooner this voyage concludes, the better. This inaction chafes at my spirit.’
Miriya found her head bobbing in agreement. She and Lethe had served together for the longest span
among this squad and often the younger woman was of one mind with her unit's commander. 'We have
endured worse, have we not? The ork raids on Jacob's Tower? The Starleaf purge?'
'Aye, but all the same, the waiting gnaws at me.’ Lethe looked away. 'Sister Dione was correct. Being in
the presence of this criminal makes my very soul feel soiled. I shall need to bathe in sanctified waters after
this mission is at an end.’
Cassandra tensed suddenly, and the reaction brought the other women to attention. What is it?' Miriya
demanded.
The Battle Sister stalked towards a mess of metal girders heaped in one corner of the cargo bay.
'Some-thing...' Cassandra's hand shot out and she dragged a wriggling shape out of the darkness. 'Intruder!'
The gun servitors reacted, weapons humming up to firing position. Miriya sneered as Cassandra hauled the
protesting form of a deckhand into the centre of the bay. 'What in the Emperor's name are you?' she
demanded.
'M-Midshipman. Uh. Vorgo. Ma'am.’ The man blinked wet, beady eyes. 'Please don't devour me.’
Lethe and Cassandra exchanged glances. 'Devour you?'
Miriya waved them into silence. 'What are you doing here, Midshipman Vorgo? Who sent you?'
'No one!' He became frantic. 'Myself! I just... just wanted to see...' Vorgo extended a finger toward the
glass capsule and just barely touched its surface.
The Sister Superior slapped his hand away and he hissed in pain. 'Idiot. I am within my rights to have you
thrown into the void for this trespass.’
'I'm sorry. I'm sorry!' Vorgo fell to his knees and made the sign of the aquila. 'Came in through the vent...
By the Throne, I was only curious-'
'That will get you killed.’ said Lethe, her bolter hovering close to his head.
Miriya stepped away and made a terse wave of her hand. 'Get this fool out of here, then have the
engi-neseers send a helot to seal any vents in this chamber.’
Cassandra hauled the man to his feet and pro-pelled him out of the cargo bay, his protests bubbling up as he
went. Lethe followed, hesitating on the cusp of the hatch. 'Sister Superior, shall I remain?'
'No. Have Isabel join me here forthwith.’ Vorgo's protesting form between them, the Battle Sisters closed
the hatch behind them.
The cargo bay fell quiet. Miriya listened to the faint, irregular tick of metal flexing under the power of the
frigate's drives, the humming motors of the
servitors, the murmur of bubbles in the tank. A nerve in her jaw twitched. She smelt a thick, greasy tang in
the air.
'Alone at last.'
For a moment, she thought she had imagined it. Miriya turned in place, eyeing the two gun slaves. Had one
of them spoken? Both of them peered back at her with blank stares and dull, doll-like sensor apertures, lines
of drool emerging from their sewn lips. Impossible: whatever intelligence they might have once possessed,
the machine-slaves were noth-ing but automatons now, incapable of such discourse.
"Who addresses me?'
'Here.’ The voice was heavy with effort. 'Come here.'
She spun in place. There before her was the cap-sule, the ebony metal frame about it and the spidery,
hooded man-shape adrift within. The Battle Sister drew her pistol and thumbed the activation rune, taking
aim at the glass tank. Vaun. How dare you touch me with your witchery!'
'Have a care, Sister. It would go badly for you to injure me.’ The words came from the air itself, as if the
psyker was forcing the atmosphere in the cham-ber to vibrate like a vox diaphragm.
Miriya's face twisted in revulsion. 'You have made a foolish mistake, criminal. You have tipped your hand.’
She crossed to a pod of arcane dials and switches connected to the flank of the glass container. Rods and
levers were set at indents indicating the amounts of sense-deadening liquids
and contrapsychic drugs filling Vaun's cell. The Battle Sister was no tech-priest, but she had seen
confinement frames of this design before. She knew how they worked, pumping neuropathic philtres into
the lungs and pores of particularly virulent psykers to stifle their mutant powers. She adjusted the rods and
fresh splashes of murky fluid entered the tank. This will quiet you.’
'Wait. Stop.’ Vaun's body jerked inside the capsule, a pallid hand pressing on the inside of the thick glass.
'You do not understand. I only wanted... to talk.’
Another dial turned and darts of electricity swam into the liquid. 'No one here wants to listen, deviant.’
The words became vague, laboured, fading. You... mistaken... will regret...'
Miriya rested the barrel of her plasma weapon on the glass. 'Heed me. If one breath more of speech comes
from that cesspool you call a mind before I deliver you to Neva, I will boil you in there like a piece of rotten
meat.’
There was no reply. Torris Vaun hung suspended in the foggy solution, slack and waxy.
With a shudder, Sister Miriya muttered the Prayer of Virtue and fingered the purity seals on her armour.
Mercutio fell from the grip of the warp and pushed into the Neva system at full burn, as if the ship itself
were desperate to deposit the cargo it car-ried. As the capital planet orbiting fourth from its
yellow-white star swelled in the frigate's hololiths, a small and quiet insurrection began on Mercutio's lower
decks.
Men from the labourer gang on the torpedo racks came to the brig where Midshipman Vorgo was confined,
and in near silence they murdered the armsmen guarding him. When they freed Vorgo, he didn't thank
them. In fact, he said hardly anything but a few clipped sentences, mostly to explain where the gun servitors
were placed in the cargo bay, and how the Battle Sisters had behaved toward him.
Vorgo's liberators were not his friends. Some of them were men who had actively disliked him in the past,
picking on him in dark corridors and shaking him down for scrip. There was a common denominator
between them all, but not one of the men could have spoken of it. Instead, they went their separate ways,
each moving with the same hushed purpose and blank expression.
In the generarium where the Mercutio's reactor-spirits coiled inside their cores and bled out their power to
the vessel's systems, some of the quiet men walked up to the service gantries over the vast cogwheels of
the coolant arrays. They waited for a count of ten decimals from the turning discs and then leapt in groups
of three, directly into the teeth of the mechanism. Of course, they were crushed between the cogs, but the
pulpy mess of their corpses made the workings slip and seize. In moments, vital flows of chilling fluid were
denied to the reactors and alarms began to wail.
Vorgo and the rest of the men went to the cargo decks, meeting more of their number along the way. The
new arrivals had cans of chemical unguent taken from the stores of the tech-priests who minis-tered to the
lascannons. Applied in a vacuum, the sluggish fluid could be used to keep the wide glassy lenses of the guns
free from micro-meteor scarring and other damage, but on contact with air, the unguent had a far more
violent reaction.
After the incident with the midshipman, Sister Miriya had demanded and been given a third gun servitor
from the ship's complement to guard the prisoner. Miriya made sure that no member of her squad was ever
alone again with Vaun, pairs of the Celestians watching him around the clock in shifts.
Lethe and Iona were holding that duty when the hatch exploded inward. The machine-slaves stum-bled
about, their autosenses confused by the deafening report of the blast. The muzzles of weapons dallied,
unable to find substantial targets to lock on to.
The Battle Sisters had no such limitations. The men that pushed their way in through the ragged hole in the
wall, heedless of the burns the hot metal gave them, were met with bolter fire. Lethe's Godwyn-De'az
pattern weapon chattered in her gloved grip. The gun's fine tooling of filigree and etching caught the light,
catechisms of castigation aglow upon its barrel and breech. Iona's hand flamer growled as puffs of orange
fire jetted across the bay, licking at the invaders and immolating
them, but there were many, clasping crude clubs and metal cans. She spied Vorgo among them, throwing a
jar of thick fluid at a servitor. The glass shattered on the helot's chest and the contents flashed
magnesium-white. Plumes of acrid grey smoke spat forth as acids chewed up flesh and implanted
machinery alike.
'Sisters, to arms!' Lethe shouted into the vox pickup on her armour's neck ring, but her voice was drowned
out by the keening wail of the Mercutio's general quarters klaxon. She couldn't know it from here, deep
inside the hull, but the frigate was start-ing to list as the heat build-up in the drives baffled the ship's
cogitator systems.
A scrum of deckhands piled atop another gun servitor, forcing it down, choking the muzzles of its guns with
their chests and hands, muffling shotgun discharges with the meat of their bodies. Lethe's face wrinkled in
grim disgust and it was then she noticed that the men did not speak, did not cry out, did not howl in frenzy.
Doe-eyed and noiseless, they let themselves die in order to suffocate the pris-oner's guardians.
Another chemical detonation signalled the destruction of the last servitor and then the attack-ers surged
forward over the bodies of their crewmates, ten or twenty men moving in one great mass. Sister Lethe saw
Iona reel backwards, choking and strangling on clouds of foul air from the makeshift acid bombs. The bleak
woman's face sported chemical burns and her eyes were swollen. Unlike the superhuman warriors of the
Adeptus
Astartes, the Sororitas did not possess the altered physiognomies that could shrug off such assaults.
Lethe's lungs gave up metallic, coppery breaths as the bitter smoke scarred her inside. The silent mob
moved to her, letting the Battle Sister waste her ammunition on them. When the magazine in her bolter
clicked empty, they pounced and beat her to the ground, the sheer weight of them forcing her to her knees.
Time blurred in stinking lurches of pungent fumes, fogging her brain. The toxic smoke made thinking
difficult. Through cracked and seared lips, Lethe mouthed the Litany of Divine Guidance, call-ing to the
Emperor to kindle the faith in her heart.
She forced herself up from the decking. Her gun was missing from her grip and she tried to push the
recollection of where it had gone to the front of her mind but the smoke made everything harsh and rough,
each breath like razorwool in her throat, each thought as heavy and slow as a glacier.
She focussed. Vorgo had loops of cable and odd metal implements in his hands, all of them still wet with
greenish liquid where they had been immersed in the tank. He was struggling to breathe, but the
midshipman's eyes were distant and watery. Behind the portly deckhand, a naked man was clothing himself
in a dirty coverall, running a scarred hand through a fuzz of greying hair. He seemed to sense Lethe's
scrutiny and turned about to face her.
Vaun.’ she choked. His reply was a cold smile and a nod at the broken capsule, thick neurochemical soup
lapping out of the crack in its flank. Lethe's
eyes were gritty and inflamed, making it hard to blink. 'Free...'
'Yes.’ His voice was cool and metered. Under the right circumstances, it would have been playful, even
seductive. He patted Vorgo on the shoulder and ges-tured towards the torn doorway. 'Well done.’
Traitor.’ Lethe managed.
Vaun gave a slow shake of the head. 'Be kind, Sis-ter. He doesn't know what he's doing.’ A brief smile
danced on his lips. 'None of them do.’
The others will be here soon. You will die.’
'I'll be long gone. These matters were prepared for, Sister.’ The psyker crossed to Iona, where the injured
woman lay gasping in shallow breaths. Lethe tried to get to her feet and stop him from whatever it was he
was doing, but the deckhands punched and kicked her back to the floor, boots ringing off her armour.
Vaun whispered things in Iona's ear, brushing his hands over her blonde hair, and the Battle Sister began to
weep brokenly. Vaun stood up and rubbed his hands together, amused with himself.
You can't escape.’ Lethe said thickly. 'It will take more than this to stop us. My Sisters are loyal. They will
never let you get away from this vessel!'
He nodded. 'Yes, they are loyal. I saw that.’ The criminal took a barbed knife from one of his erst-while
rescuers and came closer. Vorgo and the others held Lethe down in anticipation. That kind of loy-alty
breeds passion. It makes one emotional, prone to recklessness.’ He turned the blade in his hand, let-ting
light glint off it. 'Something that I intend to use to my advantage.’
Lethe tried to say something else, but Vaun tipped back her head with one hand, and used the other to bury
the knife in her throat.
CHAPTER TWO
The Corolus was a starship in only the very loosest sense of the word. It didn't possess warp drives, it was
incapable of navigating across the vast interstellar distances as its larger brethren could. And where the
majority of vessels in service to humankind had some degree of artistry however brutal, to their design,
Corolus was little more than an agglomeration of spent fuel tanks from sub-orbital landers, lashed together
with pipework and luck. Fitted with a sim-ple reaction drive and a bitter old enginarium from a larger vessel
now centuries dead, the cargo scow plied the sub-light routes across the Neva system from the core worlds
to the outer manufactory satellites with loads of chemicals and vital breathing gases. The ship was slow and
fragile and utterly unprepared for the fury that had suddenly been turned upon it.
There was a matter of communication that had not been acted on quickly enough, then thunderous flares of
laser fire from an Imperial frigate had set Corolus dead in space while razor-edged boarding pods slashed
into her hull spaces.
If the ship had a captain, it was Finton. He owned Corolus, after a fashion, along with most of the crew
thanks to a network of honour-debts and punitive indenture contracts. He floundered around the cramped,
musty bridge space, his hand constantly straying to and from the ballistic pistol on his hip. Over the intercom
he kept hearing little snatches of activity - panic, mostly, along with bursts of screaming and the heavy rattle
of bolt-fire. Piece by piece, his ship was slipping out of his grasp and into the hands of the Navy.
He'd dealt with Naval types a hundred times before. They were never this fast, never this good. Finton was
entertaining a new emotion inside his oily, calculating mind. He was afraid, and when the bridge door went
orange and melted off its hinges, he very nearly lost control of his bodily functions.
Figures in black armour came into the chamber, iron boots clanging off the patched and rusty deck plates.
They wore dark helmets bannered with white faceplates, eyes of deep night-blue crystal that searched
every shadowed corner of the bridge. Movement for them was graceful and deadly, not a single gesture or
motion wasted. One of them noticed him for the first time and Finton saw a dif-ference: this one had a
brass shape on the front of its helmet, a dagger-shaped leaf.
'Oh, Blood's sake.’ whispered the captain, and he fumbled at his belt. The next sound on the bridge was the thud of
Finton's holster and weapon hitting the deck. He bent his knees, hesitated, and then raised his hands, unsure if he
should kneel or not.
As one, the invaders threw back their heads and the helmets snapped open. Their short, bobbed hair, framed eyes that
were hard and flinty. The leader came forward to Finton in two quick steps and gripped him by a fistful of his jacket.
'Where is he?' growled Miriya, lifting the man off the deck.
Finton licked his lips. 'Sister, please! What have I done to displease the Sororitas?'
'Search this tier.’ she shouted over her shoulder. 'Leave no compartment unchecked. Vent the atmos-phere if you have
to!'
'No, please-' said the captain. 'Sister, what-'
Miriya let him drop to the deck and kicked him hard in the gut. 'Don't play games with me, worm. You measure your life
in ticks of the clock.’ The Sis-ter Superior carefully placed her armoured boot on Finton's right leg and broke it.
Behind her, Sister Isabel directed the other women to their tasks, then began a search of the bridge's control pits,
pushing her way past dodder-ing servitors and aged cogitator panels. 'As before, there is nothing here.’
'Keep searching.’ Miriya presented her plasma gun to Finton's face, the neon glow of the energy coils atop it washing
him with pale illumination. Where is Vaun, little man?' she spat. 'Answer me\'
'Who?' The word was drawn out like a moan.
'You are testing my patience.’ snapped the Sister Superior. 'Half your crew is dead already from resist-ing us. Unless
you wish to join them, tell me where the heretic hides!'
In spite of his pain, Finton shook his head in con-fusion. 'But... but, no. We left the commerce station... You came after
us, fired on us. Our com-munications were faulty.’ He waved feebly at a jury-rigged console across the chamber. We
couldn't reply...'
'Liar!' Miriya's face twisted in anger and she released a shot from the plasma weapon into a sup-port stanchion near
Finton's head. The captain screamed and shoved himself away from the corona of white-hot vapour, dragging his
twisted leg behind him. Miriya tracked him across the floor with the gun muzzle.
Finton tried to make the sign of the aquila. 'Please don't kill me. It was just some smuggling, nothing more, a few tau
artefacts. But that was months ago, and they were all fake anyway.’
'I don't care about your petty crimes, maggot.’ Miriya advanced on him. 'I want Torris Vaun. The Corolus was the only
interplanetary ship to leave Neva's orbital commerce platform.’ She bit out each word, as if she were explaining
something to a par-ticularly backward child. 'If Vaun was not on the station, then here is the only place he could be.’
'I don't know any Vaun.’ screamed Finton.
'Lies!' The Battle Sister fired again, striking a dor-mant servitor and killing it instantly.
Finton coiled into a ball, sobbing. 'No, no, no...'
'Sister Superior.’ began Isabel, a warning tone in her voice.
Miriya did not choose to hear it. Instead, she knelt next to the freighter captain and let the hot metal of the plasma gun
hover near his face. The heat radiat-ing from the muzzle was enough to sear his skin.
'For the last time.’ said the woman, 'where have you hidden Torris Vaun?'
'He's not here.’
Miriya blinked and looked up. It was Isabel who had spoken.
Vaun was never aboard this vessel, Sister Miriya. These cogitator records show the manifest.’ She held a spool of
parchment in her grip. They match the dockmaster's datum for the Corolus!
The datum is wrong,' Miriya retorted. 'Would you have me believe that Vaun used his witchery to sim-ply teleport
himself to safety, Sister? Did he beg the gods of the warp to give him safe passage some-where else?'
Isabel coloured, afraid to challenge her squad commander when her ire was so high. 'I have no answer to give you,
Sister Superior, save that this wretch does not lie. Torris Vaun never set foot on this trampship.’
'No.’ Miriya growled, 'that will not stand. He must not escape us-'
A hollow chime sounded from the vox bead in the Battle Sister's armour. 'Message relay from Mercutio,' began the flat,
monotone voice. 'By direct order of Her Eminence Canoness Galatea, you are ordered to
cease all operations and make planetfall at Noroc City immediately Ave Imperator.’
'Ave Imperator.’ repeated the women.
With effort, Miriya holstered her pistol and turned away, her head bowed and eyes distant. The rage she displayed
moments earlier had drained away.
'Sister.’ said Isabel. 4Vhat shall we do? With him, with this ship?'
Miriya threw a cold glance at Finton and then looked away. 'Turn this wreck over to the planetary defence force. This
crew are criminals, even if they are not the ones we seek.’
At the hatch stood Sister Portia and Sister Cassan-dra. Their expressions confirmed that they too had found nothing
of the escaped psyker in their search.
Portia spoke. 'We heard the recall from Neva. What does it mean? Have they found him?'
Miriya shook her head. 'I think not. Our failure is now compounded, my Sisters. Blame... must be apportioned.’
There had been Adepta Sororitas on Neva for almost as long as there had been Adepta Sororitas. A world of stunning
natural beauty, the planet's his-tory vanished into the forgotten past of the Age of Strife, into the dark times when the
turbulent warp had isolated worlds across the galactic plane, but unlike those colonies of man that had embraced the
alien or fallen into barbarism, Neva had never given up its civilisation. Throughout the millennia, it had been a place
where art and culture, theology and learning had been ingrained in the very bones of the
planet. From a military or economic standpoint, Neva had little to offer - all her industry existed on the outer
worlds of the system, on dusty, dead moons laced with ores and mineral deposits - but she remained rich in
the currency of thought and ideas. Grand museum-cities that were said to rival the temples of Terra
reached towards the clouds, and in the streets of Noroc, Neva's coastal capital, every street was blessed
with its own murals drawn from the annals of Imperial Earth and Nevan chron-icles spanning ten thousand
years of history.
There had been a time, after the confusion wrought by the Horus Heresy, when Neva had become lost
once again to the Imperium at large. Warp storms the like of which had not been seen for generations cut
the system off from human contact and the Nevans feared a second Age of Strife would follow, but this
was not to be their fate. When the day came that the storms lifted, as silently as they had first arrived,
Neva's sky held a new star - a mighty vessel that had lost its way crossing the void.
Aboard that ship were the Sisters of Battle, and with them came the Living Saint Celestine. Golden and
magnificent in her heraldry, Celestine and her cohorts had embarked on a War of Faith to chastise the
heretical Felis Salutas sect, but fate had brought them here by the whim of the empyrean. It was said by
some that Celestine remained only long enough to allow her Navigators to establish a fresh course before
leaving Neva behind, but for the planet it was deliverance from a servant of the Emperor Him-self.
Internecine conflicts and the wars of assassination that had riven Neva's theocratic barony during the
isolation years were instantly nulled. Chapels and courts and universities dedicated to the Imperial Cult
摘要：

++PriorityTransmission:Coding/Delta/Rouge++++Recipient:LoyalImperialCommanders–asdesignatedbyCommissariat,TheLibrariusStaff,InquisitorBaptiste&CanonessArrea.++++Subject:TraitorsandExecutions++++Author:[Rus]Incubus–Scrivenor-in-attendancetoInquisitorNikolayVinogradov++++ThoughtfortheDay:Tocheatisboth...

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