[46]

I have not been able to learn what happened to Axel after that. Grendel said he would be used for propaganda, guided or forced if necessary to make useful declarations on the public vox. Then given over to the civil authority for sentencing, likely to a penal battalion, if he had truly recanted. He was old but still strong enough to fight.

But he never made such declarations. Perhaps he is still in a cell, controlled by an Inquisitorial agent over whom my fragment of your authority is void. Or perhaps he was sent out without a word. A penitent legion was sent with last month's tithe, traveling Spinward loaded for war. So perhaps he has just arrived, and is fighting Orks on the asteroids of Talis Magna or daemon-worshippers on the world-front of Geth. Or perhaps he died.

Merograd was cleansed of the heretic sect. Three nearby cities had their heretic cell-structures breached. Those heretics were swept up, too. Grendel's forces were always in violent motion, aiding and guiding—and one time fighting against—the Enforcers. There were Enforcer names on Axel's list.

But we, the seven of us who were Grendel's chosen instrument of violence, were not used. Perhaps it was because Wessex was a Throne Agent, and hence an investigator, not just our vox-controller. We stayed in Velgrad, held ready for use but never called. We rested, recovered, and trained.

Eventually the successes slowed. No Fear units or "Epistemic Engines" were found. The cells stopped leading to other cells and started leading to empty buildings, or bodies in shallow graves. The heresy was damaged, but its leadership survived. The Eldar and their Engines and their corrupted human collaborators remained out of reach.

But this time there was an identifiable reason. At least for part of it, the barrier was a man—who because of a piece of parchment and a promise could defy the Holy Inquisition.

His name was Sebastian Pras, and he was the Third Planetary Undersecretary of Agricultural Land Management. I learned about his existence on 269.738.M41. Five weeks after we fought the Eldar in Karsmire.

It was about 13:30. I was painting Verity's toenails in the red and gray of our order, because the toenails on her left foot were the last little part of her that remained stubbornly green. Castor and Tara were playing regicide in what sounded like a furious battle of check and counter-check. Wessex burst in, already red-faced with rage.

"Undersecretary, Third Undersecretary, Third bloody Undersecretary!"

"Hmm?" said Verity. "Is that something bad?"

"More like the third bloody despot of all South Gaervalt. But I have a plan! I'll murder the abominable little man! I'll stab him to death with his own stylus, and then you can execute me, and all will be right with the world!"

"Wasteful," said Castor. "I don't feel like training a new vox-controller. You're a Throne Agent. If you want him dead, get Grendel's permission and execute him properly. Who is it, anyway?"

"But that's the accursed Warp of it! I can't execute Sebastian Pras. Nobody can execute Sebastian bloody Pras, Third God-damned Planetary Undersecretary of Agricultural Land Management! And nobody can take his little private princedom away, or so much as give him a stern talking to."

Wessex paced, waving his arms in agitation, although he retained enough composure to keep his arms away from nail polish, regicide pieces, and our half-laughing faces.

"Not me," he said. "Not even Grendel can execute the insufferable ass! Because some bloo… blessed Inquisitor forty years ago stopped one little witch-cult from summoning one little daemon, and heroic young Pras helped, and he made sure he heroically squeezed a writ-in-perpetuity for it out of the foo… fabulously virtuous Inquisitor Merkurius, may his name echo forever in glory, et cetera, amen."

I have been unable to learn anything about this witch-cult. I believe the records must be suppressed above my level of authorization.

Wessex had first encountered Pras six days ago. He and Agent Sandal had been looking into precision transport records: by cross-referencing transit records with what Axel and other Sanctifying Truth prisoners had revealed about the precise comings and goings of their Epistemic Engines, they hoped to obtain a trail to follow to where they were now being held. Only near Merograd, almost all of the truck transits had been agricultural. And all of the agricultural truck transit records bore obvious marks—to the mind of a Throne Agent—of forgery.

"That's horrible," said Verity. "Who would do that?"

"Oh, everyone," said Wessex. "Everyone does it. It's tradition! The Imperium depends on falsified records for its necessary supply of blame-shifting, corrupt imbeciles promoted over competent men, and vitally necessary graft! But usually you can shake them down for the real records, if too much time hasn't passed. And of course you can shoot them for the worst of it, which encourages great piety and reform in the survivors for a decade or two."

If it had just been transit records, Wessex said, it would not have been so bad. But Pras, whose duty was 'To take such action as is minimally necessary to maintain agricultural viability,' had turned his office into a kingdom that covered a third of the planet. I don't fully understand Wessex's explanation, but transit record-keeping was the least of it. Pras had thousands of lesser officials who owed him fealty because he had created their posts out of nothing. He became wealthy funding his own investments. His preferences turned into laws, though no word of the law had changed.

Wessex had reached his boiling point when a second, unrelated project, had struck the same dead end.

"Of course! Of course trace groundwater contamination records are minimally necessary to Agricultural Land Management! Somewhere, a chicken's eggs might be too brittle—and somewhere, a superior might learn about it, and that superior might not invite the heroic Pras to his banquets, and then what would become of the Imperium of Man?"

So the groundwater records were edited, too. Changed slightly to produce the mix of successes and near-failures that would justify more authority and funding. Nothing that would actually impact agriculture. A famine would be bad for Pras. But the changes to the records were more than enough to make them useless to an investigator.

"Which is why I have to murder him," said Wessex. He had burned his rage out, and said it with something like exhausted calm. "With a stylus. Through his eye, I think, would be best. Like bayoneting an Ork."

"That will help?" asked Castor.

"Of course. Whoever replaces him can be shaken down. Or shot."

❖ ❖ ❖​

Wessex did not murder Pras, but the next day he borrowed Hana and Tara to talk with him. He hoped that piety might make a difference. And he hoped that a plea for help from a woman might work better than a demand for help from a man.

Wessex wanted Hana because of her scar. It was healed, now, but still dramatic, a bright pink line tracked with dots where the staples had gone. An obvious sign of recent injury sustained in combat with the enemies of Man.

Tara just thought it would be interesting.

They came back disappointed. Wessex wasn't with them—he had other projects to continue. Hana and Tara told me and Verity what had happened.

"Ugh," said Hana. "Do you know what Pras said? 'The Eldar must be fought, but it's not my responsibility to help.' Not his responsibility."

She shrugged helplessly.

Tara shook her head. "And he said, 'I would not tell you how to perform your allotted function; I will thank you not to presume to tell me mine.'"

"Then Tara told him he was vile."

"No—I told him that the allotted function of all mankind is to give all that we are to the Emperor, obey our masters, and submit to the teachings of the Church."

"Mm. But her eyes said that he was vile." Hana shrugged again. "Or perhaps that was just what I was thinking."

Tara shrugged, too. "Maybe. He said much after that. Responsibilities, and people who depended on him, and that it was not his responsibility to help. He always came back to it being not his responsibility, and that we should perform our role and let him perform his."

❖ ❖ ❖​

The writ Pras had from Inquisitor Merkurius is below.

❖ ❖ ❖​

Except in consequence of well-documented suspicion of grievous heresy or crimes against Holy Terra, he shall not be harmed, impeded, reassigned, or otherwise coerced by any authority where such action may, directly or indirectly, compromise his safety, duties, or capacity to cooperate with past, present, or future Inquisitorial investigations.

Nor shall his safety, duties, or capacity to cooperate with past, present, or future Inquisitorial investigations be compromised by deliberate failure to provide such action as would be afforded any Imperial servant.

Duration: Indefinite until full case closure across all inquiries sealed under data-domain Merkurius/Gaervalt/697.M41.

Case closure authority: Ordo Hereticus Conclave Major.

BY MY HAND AND AUTHORITY,

Inquisitor Melkor Merkurius

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

Ordo Hereticus​

❖ ❖ ❖​

Verity came up with the solution. Tara, Hana, and I thought it was brilliant. Adem and Mak'ti liked it. Castor and Wessex loved it. We went to Grendel.

He was reviewing a document dense with dates and times. He pushed it aside.

"Speak."

"It is about Sebastian Pras," Verity said.

"Proceed—but know that I will not violate Merkurius' writ. There are more terrible things than leaving Gaervalt to a long, slow struggle. Sparking conflict within the Inquisition is worse. Casting doubt on the Inquisition's promises is worse."

"Yes, Inquisitor. But—the problem is the letter of the writ, yes? Not its intent?"

"Correct."

"What if we protect him for a few days? There's a dangerous heresy. Eldar assassins."

"You mean: arrest him, place him in protective custody."

"Yes, and then—I mean, he would be more protected if everyone thought he was dead. Just for a few days. Like an enforced rest."

He frowned. It made his forehead crease. Gradually his eyes crinkled and the frown transformed into a smile, though his eyebrows stayed drawn down.

He said, "And then you would have me deal with his replacement, who lacks the writ."

"Yes!"

He nodded and stood abruptly. "Wait here."

He came back a few minutes later. He didn't explain himself, he just spoke as if he had not left.

"Wessex. Devise a plan based on the Decima operation of 310.733. No stealth should be required in the capture phase. If you can execute between 271 and 274, with high confidence in success, I will likely grant permission to act."

He sat back down. The chair creaked under his weight. He turned back to his document.

"Well done, Verity. You are dismissed."

❖ ❖ ❖​

The operational goal was the arrest of Sebastian Pras, without lasting injury to any person, damage to any non-Inquisitorial property, or detection until after the fact.

The disappearance of Pras must look unambiguously fatal, so that prompt replacement by a temporary caretaker would result. A freeze on his activities followed by an extensive search would waste our time and Enforcer resources.

The arrest must prevent the possibility of Pras or any other person transmitting any orders to his subordinates after he realized he was being arrested or abducted. It must therefore achieve either total surprise or total vox isolation.

Wessex briefed us on the operation this would be based on: a covert action on planet Decima, dated 310.733.M41. He had been the operational commander for the abduction of a Guard general suspected—but not with confidence—of plotting treason.

The general had drunkenly stumbled out of the officer's club in the capital city with two equally drunk beautiful women clinging to his arms, gotten into his armored autocar with his sober driver and bodyguard, and been declared dead an hour later: their autocar had been flattened and burned by the heat-wash of a scheduled freight train a kilometer from the officer's club.

When the real traitor was found and killed, the general and his two men were released with a story. Their vehicle, belongings, and even the general's silver rank insignia had been stolen—along with the unfortunate women in the back seat—by armed robbers who had clearly met their ends under the train.

No investigation necessary. No loose ends. According to the story, the general and his men had been arrested for public drunkenness and spent two days in lockup before their identities could be confirmed. The documents were all in order. The records all matched.

The general's career proceeded. His driver and bodyguard would never advance—but they really had let themselves and their principal be kidnapped, so justice was done.

Our operation would not include drunkenness. Pras was temperate. Nor would it include me and Verity seducing Pras. Pras was old and celibate, and we did not have the art or the will for such things anyway. Our mission would be similar in shape, but much more simple in execution.

The major trains of Gaervalt are the ordinary fifteen-meter width, with heavy rams and thermal floods at the front to blast their path clear of any obstruction, and the heat from their passage blackening everything to either side. A few dead animals and old clothes would be enough to imply human corpses. In truth, even those were probably unnecessary. There would be nothing left but slagged and blackened scraps of steel in small, flattened pieces.

Like the general, Pras traveled with servants, though he had three, not two: a driver and two men who were both servant and guard.

The operation was therefore:

1: Identify a time in which Pras would be traveling near a rail crossing.

2: Interdict the vehicle by blocking the road with heavy construction vehicles. Mak'ti would jam out all vox transmissions (including our own) on wide-band to ensure that no signal escaped.

3: Compel the surrender of Pras and his personnel, or disable them by force. We would be armed with Enforcer shock shields and chem-sprayers loaded with anesthetic gel. With the shields and our power-armor, nothing they carried was a significant threat to us. We were permitted to break the windows if necessary; they could be cheaply replaced.

4: Substitute a nearly-identical vehicle for his autocar (to avoid damage to non-Inquisition property). A support team would transport the sacrificial vehicle and animal carcasses to the railroad and ensure that it was hit by the next train.

5: Exfiltrate with Pras and his three servants. Hand them over to support personnel for temporary protective imprisonment.

The rest would be up to Wessex and other personnel. There would be no extra cover story to fabricate: when he was released, Pras was to openly admit having been arrested by the Inquisition for his protection from heretics and xenos.

I was disappointed that we would not be doing anything complicated. For a few minutes, as Wessex described the Decima operation, I had a vision of Verity and me in high-heeled shoes and seductive gowns, concealed weapons, secret identities, a daring infiltration. Perhaps poisons dripped in drinks, or in toxic lipstick kisses.

Everyone agreed that would have been more fun.

We worked up a plan and executed it on the afternoon of 272. Pras had a meeting in a nearby town that morning, and Wessex had scheduled another meeting with him in Pras's office for that evening. This told us the time (between 13:00 and 13:40 departure) and the most likely route: the same route that he had gone to his meeting, but in reverse. If he chose a different route, we would try to intercept. If it was difficult, we would abort and try again another day.

I was with Verity and Adem in a mid-weight farm truck parked along the side of the road. Adem was driving; Verity and I were hidden in the back.

Castor, Wessex, and Mak'ti were positioned three hundred meters from the road at the top of a granary.

Tara and Hana were in a construction front-end loader just ahead of my vehicle.

Wessex voxed: "Target en route. Ten minutes out. All teams, status."

"Truck, set," said Adem.

Tara: "Loader, set."

Castor: "Overwatch, set."

A few minutes passed. I checked the chem-sprayer for the hundredth time.

Wessex voxed: "Loader, go."

I watched from Mak'ti's point of view through my data-slate. The front-end loader started up its engine. It strained and bumped and struggled out of the deep roadside ditch and rolled out into the middle of the road, crawling along slowly with its red hazard lights pulsing. Pras's autocar appeared on the pict, slowing gradually as its driver saw the loader ahead. It passed our truck.

"Target confirmed," said Mak'ti. "Jamming in twenty seconds."

"Truck, go," said Wessex. "Godspeed."

Our turn. The farm truck groaned and thumped and its engine roared as its huge wheels lifted it out of the ditch. There was a burst of static. The vox went dead and the picture vanished from my slate. Tires squealed, and Verity and I lurched forward as Adem slammed the brakes.

"Got them," said Adem. "Go, go!"

Verity and I sprang down from the back hatch of the farm truck. I slipped and skidded halfway down into the ditch. Adem had positioned the truck to block the road, which put the rear hatch right over the ditch. I clambered out, trying to keep my shield between me and the threat. Verity had found better footing and was already up and moving into position.

Up ahead, Tara and Hana were emerging from behind their vehicle, which was stopped, completely blocking the road on the other side of the autocar, boxing it in.

Adem's amplified voice thumped the air, muted to bearability by our helmet ear-protection.

"HOLY INQUISITION. HOLY INQUISITION. DO NOT RESIST."

A few seconds later the four of us were boxing in the vehicle, approaching to smash the windows and flood the interior with anesthetic.

They were compliant. We didn't use the chem-sprayers at all.

Adem instructed them on how to leave their vehicle. Pras opened and closed his mouth like he wanted to make an enraged protest, but he didn't say anything. We cuffed them, searched them for weapons and communications equipment, and loaded them into the farm truck. Wessex took possession of the autocar. Mak'ti disengaged her jamming equipment, and Wessex called his support team to stage the fatal train accident.

We returned to Velgrad on the Arvus the same afternoon. I never met Pras, but Wessex said they released him and his men two days later. Pras was furious, but his safety, duties, and capacity to cooperate with past, present, or future Inquisitorial investigations were not compromised.