I stroked my chin, hiding my recognition behind a mask of surprise and contemplation. I did figure this 'Teritus Vorn' might try to impede on the election, but I could not have been certain. The string of possibilities on what his goal on Avignor was could have just as easily been to sow random calamity than to try and upend the election with any goal. It was still possible he was performing as an agent of chaos in the most basic sense of the word. How better to sow discord than to sabatouge the election after killing the prime candidate for succession? But no, he was entrenched too deep in these politics. He had a specific goal, I simply did not know exactly what at the time.

"Primate Fulstes, the Inquisition arriving at this exact time during the upheaval of the greatest Cardinal World after Holy Terra is very convenient, wouldn't you say?" I asked, hiding the irony in my voice. Emmaline kept her face neutral, though I saw in her eyes she wanted to laugh. Clara turned away as if patrolling the perimeter.

"The Emperor works in wondrous ways, my child. Had I not been ensconced in his holy light all my life, I would be suspicious too." The Primate said, bowing humbly. I glanced to my left and saw Emmaline bite her lip as if she considered something, but I knew she was almost too close to laughter. I half imagined I heard a snicker from behind me in Clara's direction, but the Primate did not notice. Thankfully Lazarus was able to internalize his mirth through his processes.

"Still, your holiness, even if this is true, why not still vote? Why not call your fellow cardinals and tell them this horrible truth? Surely locking yourself away is not the Emperor's will?"

"I was advised by our most holy inquisition to keep myself safe and to lengthen the election. It seems he is weeding out the heretics and requires more time. I pray for his success daily." He said, and for a moment I had an urge to reveal myself there and then. To show the Primate Fulstes the error of his judgement. But I realized that if I did so, this Teritus Vorn would likely elude us yet again. The greater good needed to be the primary objective.

"This is troubling news, your holiness." I said. "Sister Eudoxa, your thoughts?"

"I shall wait for the Emperor to reveal the truth to me, but we should tread lightly in these troubled times. Faithless is he who says farewell when the road darkens." She intoned, almost singing the words as she spread her hands. I almost sighed. A small part of me was endeared by her dedication to theatrics, but throne...

"I agree. Primate Fulstes, have you been in contact with any other Primate or Cardinal regarding this revelation?"

"Only one Cardinal, but he did not seem so convinced. Inquisitor Vorn has gone to convince him." The Primate said, flourishing his coat sleeve away to grab a pitcher of wine. The fat holy man looked as if he was in a near-constant state of drunkenness in one form or fashion.

"Where?" I asked, and to my surprise I used some of my will in the question.

Minutes later...

"Emmaline, you're with me. Clara, Lazarus, you both need to go back to Primate Osten Von Mandelbrot and replay the conversation we had just performed." I said, stepping down the long stairs under the towering arch of the Cathedral of Pentecostal Remembrance. Birds fluttered away from our approach, the only true fauna left on the planet.

"Replay?" Clara echoed, but Lazarus gave confirmation in binary. He had recorded the entirety of it and could easily regurgitate it with perfect voice modification. "Wait, where are you two going? You need me there!"

"No, you need to protect Lazarus. It is paramount he makes it to the Primate to warn him. After that, get Urien and get his men to follow us." I stepped off the bottom step and marched to the aircars, our drivers opening the doors as we were nearly in earshot. "Emmaline and I will intercept and catch the traitor, but if we can't finish him you'll surround him and purge him from existence. We'll be fine, but you have to hurry."

The driver, one of Urien’s men, swore as he wrestled with the controls. The aircar was wobbling southward toward the Church of Saint Tenebrac the Blind, which apparently doubled as the residence of Cardinal Molmenieu. His Eminence was famously reclusive, though his theological opinions carried almost as much weight as the late and lamented Ratsini.

“Problem?” Hadrian demanded as our erratic progress continued, lifter plates crackling audibly.

“Ez aye civilian model, nay set up tae carrae yon hefty bint,” the driver replied without taking his eyes from the controls.

“Did he just call me fat?” I asked a trifle incredulously. Hadrian nodded in apparent comprehension.

“It is the several hundred pound of wardrobe,” he explained, nodding to the power armor. I folded my arms with the gentle whine of servos and moved into the middle of the back seat, doing my best to even out the load on the lifter plates. The air car steadied, though it obviously still handled poorly.

We flew out over one of the innumerable turreted walls and over a bleak expanse of rocky wilderness studded with occasional white bones. The Holy Round was a tradition, where pilgrims attempted to circle the city 999 times barefoot and eating only what they found on the trail. The pilgrimage could take over a year depending on conditions and it was forbidden to aid a fallen worshiper, as death in such a pursuit was considered to be favorable in the Emperor’s eyes. There were hundreds of people down there now, the numbers swollen by the Jubilee and the election. I wondered how many of them would survive to complete the pilgrimage.

We reached the coast and turned north, passing over dark purple seas being traversed by brightly painted barges in long lines, taking pilgrims too and from various island shrines in the off shore archipelagos. The sun was setting but the craft were brilliantly visible due to the luminescent algae disturbed by their bows and the sun struck slicks of promethium byproducts they left behind. Each barge was decked out with lanterns of painted paper and plastec in a variety of soft pastel colors. Doubtless they had some religious significance beyond their pleasant aspect.

The Church of Saint Tenebrac the blind completely covered the largest of a trio of islands that reared up out of the sea ahead. Thousands of lumen globes and votive candles glimmered across its battlements and along the bridges which connected it to the smaller islands where lesser shrines and other services appeared to be concentrated. The vox squawked as we closed in.

“They wan clayrence kades,” the driver said, sounding a little nervous.

“Broadcast that we are from Primate Fulstes on official Ministorum business,” Hadrian directed. The driver did as he was told, speaking tersely into the vox set as we drew closer.

“The sae we cannae land at the church, securitae they sae,” the driver said after a few moments. I felt the touch of a foreign mind brush against us like a wet leaf. Hadrian stiffened too, his talents were less subtle than mine, but he had the benefit of Ordos training to detect mental intrusion. The foreign mind crystallized into hostility in a moment, moving from curious to hostile in the blink of an eye.

“Smoke!” Hadrian shouted and I was aware of the glowing trail of a missile launch on the battlements. I felt the engines of the aircar roar into overdrive but I was already slumping, my mind leaving my body and soaring out to meet our unseen attacker. My thought form was that of my own body rendered in golden light, held aloft by nebulous wings. The hostile psyker was a dark serpentine shape, snapping fangs of darkness at us. I surged in to meet him, and I could tell from the taste of his energy that it was a him, smashing aside his attack on the car. My thought form burned away chunks of his dark pshycoplasm as I tore into him with my mind, exploiting his surprise to the utmost. The hostile presence shrieked in his mind at the unexpected attack and lashed out at me, hurling me away. I dived down towards the surface of the ocean, and he came after me, jaws agape. I hit the water a moment before his fangs could close, bursting outwards in all directions in the shimmer of the promethium residues. My mind split into dozens of Emmaline’s moving up and outwards in dozens of separate directions. The serpent like thought form became that of a hydra, each head attempting to chase a different fragment of my consciousness. The streaks of golden light merged above the hydra into a single form and my whole mind drove downwards at his fragmented attention like a golden harpoon. I punched through his mind form and felt him scream in rage and pain. The word? The name? Ciscus, formed in my mind as I hit the surface of the water. A great geyser of steam shot skyward having no apparent origin to anyone that happened to be watching. I split my mind again trying to escape in the refracted light of the steam, but he wasn’t to be fooled the same way twice. His thought form spread into a sheet above me and began to close at the edges like vast dark jaws. Mental nets began to snatch up individual fragments and I hastily pulled them together to avoid being annihilated piece meal, my psyche burning as though scalded with hot steam. I pulled my mind together around my core identity, forging protruding spines out of the individual fragments of consciousness. Ciscus screamed as his thought form closed around my thorny mind, and I spurted away through the first spine to break free, exploding outwards like a directional charge.

Through my waking eyes I was cognizant of Hadrian screaming at the driver as our car plunged towards the surface of the sea. Something was on fire and I could see holes in the side paneling. The taste of burning insulation burned in my throat. I pulled my full attention back to the mental struggle, leaving my physical well being to Hadrian. I had the impression that I was as strong as Ciscus, perhaps stronger, but my gifts had always been those of subterfuge and enchantment, rather than the violence we were currently wreaking on each other. He, on the other hand, seemed perfectly comfortable with this kind of battle.

I sped away from the air car, my mind form becoming that of a golden bird flitting low across the wave tops. I arrowed toward the main island and the Church, quite sure that somewhere in that ancient edifice my adversary lay as helpless as I was while we waged our mental duel. He followed me in the form of a hunting wyvern composed of animate shadow. I swept around the base of the island, votive candles flaring as my spirit passed. The dragon snapped at my heels, forcing me to weave and dodge, flying under the long slender bridges that connected the smaller islands to the Church. Although we were invisible, our presence was not unremarked. Milk soured in the glass, time pieces stopped or spun crazily in reverse, games of chance went haywire in improbable strings of good or bad luck, lumens flared or dimmed unexpectedly.

Round and round we went, circling the island at phenomenal speed. He was the hunter now, his greater experience giving him confidence that I was prey. Moment by moment he gained on me, closing the psychic distance as he moved in for the kill. Our speed was phenomenal, circling the island dozens of times each second, the shallow water of the channel dimpling and forming whirlpools as we whipped overhead. He was nearly on me, the hate and smug sense of victory pouring off him like the heat of a furnace. His jaws closed around me, blotting out the fading light as the snapped shut, diving mental fangs down on… nothing. He had less than a second to realize his mistake, before my entire essence came roaring out of one of the votive candles. Each time I circled I had squirreled a tiny fragment of myself away in the flickering light, until the thing that he chased was nothing but a hollow construct.

There was no time for him to appreciate my trick. I hit him as a spear of golden light, with all of our combined metaphysical momentum. I punched into him like a pike spitting a charging horse. His thought form shattered into a thousand shards as every votive candle in the church exploded in a fireball of burning wax. I clawed at the shards, going for the kill, but he fled to the refuge of his body. I had a momentary vision of the chapel where he lay upon the stone floor, its expensive tapestries burning from the candle detonation. Someone, Vorn, seized the unconscious psyker by the shoulders and shouted something at him.

Then I was back in my body. I opened my eyes and gasped. Hadrian’s lips were on mine, in the act of resuscitating me. I had been so focused on the mental struggle that I had apparently forgotten to breathe. I pushed Hadrian away by instinct, nearly driving him through the back of the car seat with my power armor augmented strength. If it bothered him he didn’t show it. I became aware of the screaming of overloading engines and the vertiginous drop of the air car.

“We need to... !” Hadrian shouted, but the words were cut off as the aircar struck the ocean with a tremendous sound, like a giant stone skipping on ice. The pilot had brought us in a flat angle and we bounced once, twice, three times, the car entering an uncontrolled spin. We hit the beach on a bow wave of spray, sliding to a halt at the edge of the water, sand scraping the underside of the wreck as we slid ashore on one of the small connecting islands.

“I need to ask whoreson Urien for meer monae,” the driver muttered, pulling his shaking hands away from the steering yolk.

The cliffs were so tall they nearly reached the sun from the vantage point of standing amid the lapping surf. North and south lay endless beach under the towering drop of the rise. The aircar lay smoking, buried into the sand by a foot and sinking a fraction every surge of the tide. Any evidence the three had experienced a crash landing was long since gone save for the transport and the black plume that gradually rose higher into the sky.

The mercs' omnivisors were shut off, the material over the visor giving a natural shade to the sun, much like old terran sunglasses. They moved with synchronized, silent steps as they descended the ancient stairway. Nessor and his men had been given strict orders from Vorn to locate the renegade Inquisitor Hadrian Drakos and extract him, and were given permission to end the life of Emmaline Grimelhausen Teobaldina von Morganstern and anyone else with them. The DF had informed them they had landed just down the cliff, and after confirming it with a visual from above, they crept down in squad formation alpha. Small green lights of confirmation blinked in their visors when they spotted the aircar once more, on a more even elevation. Agripinaa Pattern Type III raised, Nessor took point as his team waited, creeping to a rock still nestled under the bosom of the cliffs. He turned his monoscope sixty degrees, the visual on the aircar multiplying by a factor of six.

He saw no signs of the occupants or any survivors. The doors were closed with glass shattered, and trailing his scope downwards, it was hard to gauge if the ubiquitous rolls of sand were made by footsteps or were merely a natural occurrence. He gingerly moved his rifle to the right, and then the left. It stopped on a small bag, torn open with local seagulls picking at its contents. Idly he pulled his eye back from the scope, glancing left and right and then returning to gaze down. A bird had a nutri-bar in its beak, desperately trying to gobble it up. A few seconds passed, and he turned on his vox unit.

"Aircar is clear."

What Nessor thought moments after, I do not know. My minuscule psychic powers provided me with only the briefest insight into his psyche and experiences. I could gather quite clearly he, along with his team, were not heretics. They were not necessarily law-abiding, being a paramilitary organization hailing from the planet Luxor of the Segmentum Obscurus. I saw brief visions of them fighting an underhive gang on some distant planet, and the assassination of a planetary governer that had heretical dealings with the accursed Xenos, the Tau. I even caught a glimpse of a small campaign on an Ork-infested jungle world, extracting the daughter of a magistrate from an overrun fort. However, they had been duped by Vorn into believing I was a dangerous rogue bent on the dismantling of the Imperium at large, and I had not the time nor means to convince them otherwise. Unfortunately for them, they were wrong. And unfortunately for their lives, Vorn had ordered them to kill Emmaline and they accepted that contract.

Nessor and the first four members of his team to step into the sand were dead in an instant, ripped to shreds by a remote detonation of a rigged hopper mine, a mere flip of the switch activating its bio-sensors. Sand lifted and rock fragments riddled the landscape like bullets, the sound accompanying it following immediately after with a single loud crack. The four survivors were stunned, shouting into their vox and desperately trying to reorient themselves. I sprang from behind a crag, sand falling off me like loose water. A frag grenade in my hand, I let it cook for the moment it took me to reach the opening to the stairs and I tossed it into their midst. A burst of gunfire hit the sand of where I had stood a moment before.

"Frag! Frag!"

Two of them hit the sand as the grenade detonated, shrapnel scraping the cliff face and eviscerating two of the remaining four survivors. The aforementioned ones that escaped death rolled deftly, raising their weapons my way without delay and firing, shells popping as they clapped against more crags. Emmaline cried out to the Emperor on their flank, suitably tired from her psychic battle but able to provided a distraction as she rose from where she had knelt, her arms before her face so the inevitable bullets that struck her hit only her ornate armor, taking the worst and keeping her relatively unharmed. The driver beside her let off a few shots from an auto-pistol he held, but he kept well out of their vision or he would have been dead immediately.

I leaped from cover once again, my powersword thrumming to life. The heat and sudden dull noise caused the closest trooper to roll again and rise to face me, but I was the quicker. As he raised his rifle my sword cut clean through the barrel, and even as they sprang back and grabbed for their combat knife, my sword removed his head from his shoulders. I completed the spin, bisecting the distracted one with an easy flourish of the blade.

As soon as it had begun, the fight was over. Even as I killed them, I received no pleasure in it.

Emmaline's head poked out from behind her bracers, three small areas on her polished armor still steaming from the shots aimed at her head. The driver, a man named Gydwyn, wiped some sweat from his brow as he cautiously stepped before the stairway that led to a winding path up the cliff to the Cardinal's manor.

"Cettin' et a wee bit close, aren't'ye?" He asked, looking down at the dead men incredulously. He glanced sideways at the battle-armor clad Emmaline. "Why no' git the girl tae fight?"

"The hefty bint couldn't move quick across the sand. Too slow and dangerous for her." I said, having picked up one of the Agrippa assault rifles. I placed the stock against my shoulder and aimed down the scope, then ejected the magazine and checked the ammunition.

"The next time someone calls me hefty-" She started, but I interrupted her with a tossed belt of extra ammunition. Her armor whirred as she went to catch it, letting out an 'Oop! shit' as it hit the sand. She blew a fringe out of her face as she bent over to grab it.

"Strip the bodies and grab a gun." I told them. "Take whatever you can find that's useful. They'll know in half an hour, maybe less, that their team wasn't successful. We need to be in by then."

Access to the cathedral was via a winding flight of exterior stairs that curled around the peak. Running up several thousand steps would have been too slow, even if we weren't being shot at by trigger happy religious fanatics the whole way. Fortunately even the divine Ecclesiarchy has to eat, and a cathedral palace has alot of mouths to feed.

"Abandon your labours and leave this place, pray for repentence until the hour of the Blessed Saints Jubilee," I shouted as we entered the loading dock. It was a cave at the far side of the island where food and bulk goods were brought in by barge from the main land. A large diesl powered vessel was tied up to the internal dock. Heavy duty loader servitors trundled back and forth shifting crates and bales of cargo to a large cargo elevator at the rear of the cavern under the supervision of a handful of menials. The sudden apperance of a Sister of Battle and a touch of psycic glamor was enough to convince them that the Emperor had better use for their time.

"Are you sure you should be doing that?" Hadrian asked.

"You don't like my halo?" I asked, batting my eyelashes.

"There are serious theological implications, but I was rather thinking of the psyker sensing it," Hadrian replied as we climbed onto the elevator. Gydwyn, apparently familiar with cargo loading equipment, worked the control panel and got us rumbling upwards into the bowels of the Church.

"Even if he is conscious he won't be able to speak coherently," I explained, a little pride in my voice. The psychic trauma of being forcibly re-incorporated was considerable.

"We have the advantage then," Hadrian said as he checked the load on his looted rifle. I wasn't entirely sure that the three of us had any advantage over an armed force of hundreds of Fraternus Militia but chose not to step on the optimistic notion. The elevator opened onto what must have been a warehouse space. I could smell food coming from an industrial kitchen somewhere ahead of us. Servitors trundled forward milling around in confusion when their sensors registered there were no supplies.

"Any idea where Vorn will be?' Hadrian asked as we swept forward to a large stairway. I knocked several crates over by accident, the bulk of the power armor still throwing me.

"There is a chapel of the central nave, Vorn and the Psyker are there, or they were fifteen minutes ago," I told him.

"Let's go."

________

To my surprise Hadrian had considerable knowledge of Imperial sacred architecture and lead us through the maze of chapels and reliquaries towards the central chapel. There were considerable numbers of people around, but a Sister of Battle striding purposefully with two attendants was enough to get us by with little beside awed looks. Eventually though we were forced to cross the nave. It was a vast hall, hundreds of meters long supported by intricate pillars, each ten feet in diameter and a masterwork of carven oozlite. They were wrought in the shape of tiny human figures, many hundreds of thousands of them. At the bases were carved serfs, Administratum drones, and other lowly servants. It mounted rank after rank to reveal the entire social order of the imperium, with the great lords and prelates perched far above, out of sight. I thought there might be a message there that the architects had not intended.

The hall itself was thronged with pilgrims dressed in the robes of a hundred worlds. Priests in white robes shouted homilies from gilded prayer balconies. Cyber cherubs with masks of verdigris copper fluttered around with donation boxes or pict screens displaying Imperial verse. The air was filled with the suurence of several thousand people speaking in low voices and several hundred screaming preachers. Here and there a flagellant displayed wounds they had inflicted on themselves or received upon pilgrimage. One man, evidently not having purchased the proper permit, was dragged away by a pair of temple wardens with iron capped bo-staves. Nobles walked with retinues of guards, their weapons ostentatiously peace bound with gilded ribbons and seals. This didn’t stop them from keeping the rabble back with cudgels and rifle butts.

My presence cut a path through the crowd, a combination of religious awe and the practical bulk of powered armor. We were halfway across the nave when a group of robed women with prayer beads and veils parted and we found ourselves face to face with a second power armored figure. Tertius Vorn stood beside Cardinal Molmenieu and his retinue. The Cardinal was an active man in early middle age, gesturing to emphasize some point to Vorn. He was so engrossed in the conversation that he kept going a few steps after Vorn froze at the sight of us. He pulled up suddenly as he realized Vorn was no longer keeping pace. The cardinal’s retinue of priests, scribes and relic bearers undulated like a sea snake as a pocket of deadly silence descended in our little section of the vast nave.

The crowd had not grown hushed nor stopped its penitent clamor, but I could feel multiple eyes on us as we halted at the center of the nave. Once glance at Emmaline and I could ascertain she was nervous, though she hid it well. Gwydyn hid it less well, but whether a blessing or not he could not quite tell what exactly was occurring at the moment. The vast gilded halls flecked with patina and the prayers echoing across the cavernous architecture was quite a lot for one of Urien's men, even considering the size of the Caledonia. A loose but ardent faith in the emperor and a large home did not prepare a feral-worlder for the overwhelming presence of a cardinal world cathedral. I decided he would not be reliable over the next few moments, despite knowing he was likely competent in combat.

"Your holiness, Cardinal Molmenieu," Emmaline began, stepping forward and raising her golden head high.

"These are the wretches I have spoken of, Cardinal!" Vorn spat, well-practiced zeal in his eyes.

"You have a heretic in your midst!" She declared, imploring the cardinal to see reason. I gave a small, psychic nudge to Emmaline and she followed my lead, in a manner of speaking. She fell to her knees and threw her hands out, prostrating herself. I knelt next, and throne be praised Gwydyn did as well, though he looked flummoxed and somewhat frightened. Emmaline looked up at the Cardinal even as Vorn withdrew his pistol, her eyes impossibly large and glistening with humble virtue. "This jackal has wormed his way into your counsel! I beg you not to listen to his lies!"

"Do not listen to them, your holiness. The fiends of chaos are unimaginably depraved, using your most sacred charitous heart against you." Tertius Vorn remarked, lip curled back as if he gazed at a nurgling dripping with venomous pus. "I will end them here so they may not taint this sacred place any longer."

"If this man is truly an Inquisitor of the Imperium, how have we bypassed his efforts to keep us from you? Is he not supposed to be the word of the one and his shield?" I added with authority, my eyes hard. The multitudes around us were still largely unaware of the confrontation, but a few dozen now watched, ranging from mild interest to rapt horror. The priests watching were an amalgamation of emotions ranging from disgusted to curious.

"If I am a Cardinal of the Emperor, how could I have allowed such a man into my circle?" Cardinal Molmeniue asked, trying to appear more sure of himself than he was. No doubt he was taken aback by our lack of aggression in his presence. More than not Vorn had instilled in him more than his fair share of horrific details on our supposed motives or methods.

"Everyone was fooled by the traitorous duplicitous Goge Vandire, but the Emperor himself sent forth Sebastian Thaw to uproot his evil and purge it from the most holy imperium." Emmaline remarked, her face a mask of soft determination. By the Emperor on his throne, real tears were streaming down her cheeks if I was not mistaken. I knew I was going to spend a considerable amount of our funds buying her icecream after this performance.

"She is not Adeptus Sororitas, your holiness. This is a witch and a trollop, and the servant of that one." Vorn hissed, pointing at myself. He cocked the hammer back on his pistol and aimed at my chest, a small dot of red settling over my heart. Luckily I woke carapace armor below my jacket and uniform, but it could not withstand more than two shots of a large caliber weapon. "I will end this here-"

"Wait, Vorn." The Cardinal said, placing a hand on the man's pistol barrel, lowering it. He tried to speak, unsure of himself. Vorn glanced at the Cardinal, and I knew at that moment what was about to occur. Tertius Vorn seeimgly acqueised, and quickly turned, ramming the gun barrel under Cardinal Molmeniue's neck and firing three rounds through his skull. The priests and attendants gapsed, but before they or the more attentive members of the crowd could wail or cry, it was over. I swiftly drew my own pistol, but Vorn was just as quick, gripping a small cartridge at his belt and squeezing it. Something shattered and a brilliant flash of light erupted from the device, blinding everyone in the vicinity even as their grief stricken moans left their lips. I managed to hit him in the chest, but the bullet ricocheted off his power armor in a spark before I too, saw nothing for the next handful of moments.

"Find him!" I ordered, tears of pain around my eyes as I stumbled forward, knocking aside the panicked members of the crowd in pursuit.

Everything was chaos. All around me people were scream, some who had seen the cardinal die, many more who had been caught in the blast of whatever device Vorn had just employed. Several of those closest to the false Inquisitor were down, blood leaking from shattered mucus membranes or burst orbits. Thousands of people were screaming and trying to flee. I saw a half dozen people go down under trampling feet to be pounded to death. Relics and oratories were knocked to the ground as people scrambled away in mass flight. A bronze brazier filled with burning coals was upended adding the smell of burned flesh to the scene. Church orderlies armed with heavy staves were trying to force their way towards the cardinal’s body, beating furiously at the panicking crowd, splintering bones and cracking skulls. Cyber cherubs flew in all directions, apparently infected by the berserk panic, in some cases zooming too close to the panic crowd to be pulled down and smashed to pieces. Bells and great brass gongs began to ring in alarm. The nave of the cathedral had been designed to channel choral music and the screaming and ringing amplified itself so much that I felt like the island was about to shake itself apart.

Somewhat ironically, my kneeling pose had granted me a degree of protection by placing my face below the blast. I sprang to my feet and lashed out at the retreating Vorn with my mind. The mental attack melted off his blessed power armor and I cursed myself for forgetting about it. Fleeing pilgrims in a ten foot radius went down, wetting themselves and frothing at the mouth from the psychic backlash. Without thinking I pulled the bolter free and fired it at the retreating Vorn. Clara had warned me against it but in my haste and panic I had forgotten. Sororitas train for years to use the blessed weapons and I learned why in the first few instants. The big weapon roared in my hands, emptying the magazine in a long burst. More by luck than skill the first round struck Vorn in the back. It splintered off his armor hewing down a pair of hapless pilgrims with shrapnel. The second round detonated the ribcage of a Church orderly in a spray of bone and entrails, by then the muzzle flash had lifted the gun to such a degree that I was raking the temple walls. A cyber cherub exploded, raining viscera and metal components down on the crowd, pieces of masonry and mosaic tumbled and fell, braining at least one person I could see. Mercifully, the gun clicked empty, the report still ringing in my ears as empty shells clattered to the ground.

“Frak!” I cursed, in most un-sororitaslike fashion as I took off after Vorn. When I say took off, I’m only barely exaggerating. Running in power armor is an interesting experience, and not something to attempt without training. I learned this last fact as I crashed through the crowd, flinging people aside with broken bones and worse. Vorn was out of the nave now running down a long hallway lined on both sides with intricate scenes of the Great Crusade, beginning on Terra and stretching to the stars in baroque splendor. I turned to follow and learned that a hundred or so kilograms of armor has thoughts of its own. I smashed into the mosaic on the wall, crushing the face of a savage looking Leman Russ before bouncing off and staggering to keep my feet. Several stunned looking orderlies looked on, but none appeared too quick to try conclusions with an apparent Sister of Battle. I reached out with my mind again. This time I didn’t aim for Vorn. An image of Horus Lupercal, rendered in marble and jet, pulled itself free of the wall and stepped into Vorn’s path. The rogue inquisitor smashed the image to dust a moment before Sanguinus brought a sword of glowing citrine down onto his shoulder. Vorn smashed the Angel with a fist before trampling Euphrataii Keeler underfoot.

I could hear Vorn laughing in contempt as my profane army continued to tear itself from the walls to assault him. Not a one of them did him any harm but that wasn’t the point. Vorn crashed head long into a wall that I had beglamored to appear like a doorway while his attention had been fixed on my mosaics. His power armor made a sound like a bell being struck with a sledge as he staggered backwards, head whipping to crack against the back of his armor. I slammed into him from behind, driving him into the wall again with the weight of my charge. Roaring in pain and shock, he smashed an elbow back into my chest plate in a shower of sparks, then spun, a power blade appearing in his hand. The humming steel would have gutted me if I hadn’t overbalanced and fallen on my ass. He glared down at me with hate filled eyes.

“Got any more tricks up your sleeve witch?” he demanded in a surprisingly cultured voice, raising the blade for a killing thrust. Bullets exploded off his chest in a shower of sparks and he staggered backwards under the impacts. Snarling in frustration he slapped something on his wrist. The fine hairs all over my body stood up and then Vorn vanished with a crackle and a whump of air rushing in to fill the space he previously occupied, leaving nothing but the faint effluvia of ionized air to mark his escape. I stared up at the empty air for a moment, turned to see Hadrian coming down the hallway with a smoking pistol, then sneezed violently as the remnants of the mosaics tickled my sinuses.

I spat a curse as my rounds ricocheted off his blessed armor, wondering why in the emperor's wisdom this chaos filth had been able to attain such a sacred item. I managed to get off four shots in the time it would take an average gunman two, but still Vorn managed to get away. I was thankfully Emmaline was alive, at least. When he had flashed us with whatever device he had discharged, I had foolishly encouraged Emmaline to pursue. I was so used to having more team-members, I had always signed my lover's death warrant. I caught up in short order, sliding over to my aide and embracing her.

"Are you hurt?" I began to ask, but she sneezed wildly, her shoulderguard striking me in the upper lip. Blood burst from my nose and gums, flecking my lips. I was stunned for a brief moment and Emmaline's eyes widened in shock and guilt. 'Had-' She began, but I shook my head. "Don't worry on it now. I had Gwydyn fetch the car. But we have to hurry."

"He's gone, we need to make it back to Fulstes," She lamented, but with my pride she did not seem perturbed by nearly being killed a minute prior.

"No, we can still catch him." I remarked, getting to my feet. She blinked curiously, lifting herself up as well. I reloaded my autopistol with a swift execution and kept it unholstered. "That was a personal teleporter," I said with distaste. Despite my liberal viewpoint on psykers and metahumans, I shared my ordo's disdain for certain practices and technologies that were theorized to bring one closer to the warp. Teleporters were one of those loathsome feats of engineering, but as all things heretical, Hadrian had studied them. "He could only travel one hundred meters with it, and that's without taking warp disruption and landscape into account."

"Then let's go," She said, hefting her bolter.

"Aye sister," I said, granting myself a small smile. She returned it a thousand fold, and we moved as one, past the long gallery of the now-ruined mosaics and into an antechamber furnished with busts of now long dead cardinals. Had I time to pause I would have almost thought it a form of righteous masturbation, as the bust of the recently dead Cardinal was at the very center of the room, all eyes gazing in his direction, his arms outspread to accept all praise to his person. We slid past his holiness and entered the tail end of the compound, hurrying down a large stairway, pilgrims screaming in surprise at our brandished weapons.

I believed I caught a flicker of movement turning the corner out of the archway at the far end of the chamber. Emmaline saw it too, springing off the last six steps, hitting the ground without pause as she raced ahead. I was not going to be left behind, making my own jump and landing in a roll, sprinting just behind her. As we ran under the arch, I holstered my gun and grabbed my power sword, getting the sudden thought that it might be the better weapon if we caught up to him once again.

It takes years of training to really master Sororitas power armor. They start them off in the scholam, making them wear it everyday while they eat, while they sleep, while they pray. After a few hours I managed not to crash into anyone as we rushed after Vorn. I was greatly aided in this by the natural reaction of the pilgrims, which was to fling themselves as far out of the way of a charging Battle Sister as they could manage. I mostly managed to account for my momentum as we rounded the corner and half ran, half flew down a broad flight of stairs into a massive cloister. Enormous stone effigies of the sons who stood faced down equally massive stone representations of the traitor Primarchs with an enormous stylized galaxy between them in tessellated tiles the size of my finger nail.

Vorn stood by a statue of Vulkan calling something into a communicator. He lifted a bolt pistol and cracked off three rounds as we dived for cover. Pieces of the ornamental foliage that wrapped the edge of the cloister exploded in all directions as the bolts detonated. I swung my own bolter, more or less in the direction of Vorn, and let off a long ripping burst that did considerable damage to the elaborate glaive held by Magnus the red but missed the renegade inquisitor entirely. I scrambled behind a plinth a moment ahead of a rain of cracking detonations. Overhead I could hear the scream of shuttle engines beginning to build. My mind balked at the idea, but I realized the cloister might be big enough for small shuttle to land.

“He has a ship coming!” I yelled to Hadrian and popped out. Something hammered my breastplate and knocked me on my ass. I cursed and scrambled back into cover, fumbling with a replacement magazine for the unfamiliar weapon.

The aquila lander's heavy engines roared, sending debris and dust across the landing pad. I watched as my ruinous counterpart made his escape, his shuttle lifting 50 meters into the air before it realigned itself, the ship shot into the sky with the increasing velocity of a plummeting asteroid. Emmaline cried out in dismay, slamming her fists into the ground as our quarry escaped. I turned away, my visage a neutral ease. My second and lover evidently noticed my manner, blinking with confusion.

"What? Didn't we just lose him?" She asked, frustrated from her confusion. Her eyes narrowed. "Another secret?"

I held me hand out to help her up, and she took it as gently as she could with the power armor. Once on her feet, I reached to my left arm and pulled down the sleeve of my coat. On my wrist was a psi-launcher, an ancient device powered through one's own psychic energy. I idly plucked at the mechanism and showed her the chamber was empty. I pulled the sleeve back up and gestured for her to follow. We needed to make good time to the aircar if we were going to be effective.

"I have placed an adeptus astartes locator beacon upon the shuttle." I explained, stalking through the now mostly empty corridors of the great monastary. What acolytes and pilgrims we saw were wide eyed or hushed, seeking respite or ways to hide. No doubt the violence in the grand hall would have been reported. Patriarchal forces were en route even now, and we needed to be gone before that happened.

"So we know where they're going?" She asked, but I could tell even when she said it, she surmised there was more to it. Astute as always.

"An adeptus astartes locater beacon is not a simple tracking device. Courtesy of Bacchus and the Red Scorpions. It is used by scout teams as beacons for their drop pods and terminator teleportation devices. It showcases the surrounding area as well as tactical details, and it is also a signal for teleportation devices to be used, if they are synched up." I explained. We had left the causeway and now stepped outside once more, approaching the cliffs as the sun stretched the shadows of the temple across the greenery, showcasing the time to be mid afternoon.

"I was not told we had teleporters." She said, a bit offended.

"We do not have long range teleporters, no. But there are pieces of equipment I have had little or no use for that have been left by Kronus, and this is one of them. Unfortunately, there are only three, and they are in a state of of...questionable repair. However, if we approach within half a kilometer of the shuttle, we will be able to appear exactly at its location with Lazarus's assurance of their reliability, and once we get a map up on the cogitator. Then we shall cut this snake off at its head. But first, let's see how Urien and the others are doing."

Urien, it turned out, had been busy. It was easy to dismiss the Rogue Trader as a mere barbarian and forget he had survived for years in the cut throat world of Imperial politics. Rather than using his men as a single unit, he had used them to take over one group of Fraternus militia at a time, then detached them with his own men to act as cadre. Even more ingenious, if somewhat less ethically, he had broken into every church and reliquary he could find and looted whatever relics he found within. Each group had then carried the relic at the head of their group like a banner, drawing dozens of pilgrims along in their wake as a mob of poorly armed but highly enthusiastic warriors. In this way he had swept through the city, gathering up no fewer than five of the missing Primate, some even of their own free will. He deposited them in the care of Primate Von Mandlebrot, a fact likely to ensure they voted, if not their consciences, then in a way Hadrian was likely to find acceptable.

We had returned to Von Mandlebrot’s palace. I stripped out of the Sororitas armor not so much to preserve my identity, but to avoid outraging a high churchman. Hadrian was openly wearing his Inquisitorial rosette now, a fact which had made Von Mandlebrot turn an even paler shade of white. I took a quick shower and changed from my sweat stained arming clothes into a quilted black and red checkered body glove, covered with a gown of sheer silk. I donned a gauzy veil weighed down with small religious icons to complete the look, though I didn’t have time to undo the severe Sororitas stye braids.

“We should call for a vote at once Salavere,” Von Mandlebrot declared to the Principal of Electors as he finished moving tokens across his lacquered counting board, the white pegs indicating a slim majority. Salevere gave an elaborate bow.

“They shall be cast at sundown your eminence,” the monk replied. There was a trifle more respect in his voice now that he was looking at a prospective Cardinal than there had been when Von Mandlebrot was just one of several contenders.

“Surely if you wait for news of Primate Hingaberg’s death that will make your victory greater?” Clara asked, perplexed.

“A great deal of… uhh targeted charity has already been arranged to ensure this result,” Osten Von Mandlebrot explained, “delaying will merely give my brothers of the cloth a chance to … reconsider the value of earthly things?”

I snickered and Hadrian made an unhappy face. I had spent more time with the aristocracy than he did, but he clearly understood that the election of a new Cardinal involved bribery and backroom dealing on a generational scale. Few of the bribes would be anything as crude as cash, it was more in terms of benefices, custody of certain relics, the promotion of one prelates' protege rather than anothers. There were doubtless clerics still howling into their pillows at what they had lost out when Rasini had been killed by the assassins blast. There was no point in allowing another candidate to emerge and muddy the waters, or for one to be manufactured for the sake of additional bribes. Hadrian was not naive about these things of course, but I think in his Mono-dominant heart he would have preferred that the Emperor's work proceed without earthly graft.

Further discussion of the political situation was halted as Lazarus threw open the ornate wooden doors of the office and strode in, scattering a handful of acolytes and servo skulls like so many pigeons.

“The shuttle reached the High Rhodes a half hour ago,” Lazarus said, “it docked with a Rogue Trader named the Even Chance.” We all stiffened, having expected our foe to go to ground somewhere on the planet.

“The Even chances is a Paralax class star trader built on the hull of the Sword model frigate. It is registered to Barabus Stoyman, officially credentialed Rogue Trader. She was built in the yards on Keffia in M39.532 before accidents linked to…” Hadrian made a chopping motion with his hand to cut off the former Skitarri, having recognized the tone which meant he was quoting from his internal databanks, a feat that he could and would continue for as long as there was relevant data. Relevant to Lazarus at any rate however tangential it might appear to the rest of us.

“He is running,” Hadrian declared, on his feet in an instant.

“Clara, get Urien and his men assembled for immediate recall to the Caledonia. Lazarus call the ship, have the tech adepts begin their blessing for departure. Get orders out to all local patrol ships, they are to fire on the Even Chance if she attempts to…”

All eyes cut to the windows as blossoms of fire began to light the night sky. They were faint, like the twinkling of particularly bright stars. Lazarus let out a string of binaric curses that I’m sure would have made me very uncomfortable had I been able to understand them.

“What is going on?!” Von Mandlebrot demanded, able to tell we were agitated but not understanding why.

“The Even Chance just opened fire on shipping in the void anchors,” Lazarus confirmed in a voice all the more terrible for the fact it lacked any emotion. Three massive fireballs were already beginning to form where the pilgrim barges, gutted by macrocannon and lance fire, began to fall burning into the upper atmosphere. As I watched one broke up in a silent explosion that threw burning debris over an area the size of a moderate hive city. Further blasts followed on its heels.

“The Emperor protect us,” someone breathed, and then a billion tons of burning metal rained from the sky.

My memory gets a little hazy after that.

Not hazy maybe, so much as fragmented. We got outside before the first debris came down. The initial stages of the Calamity, as it would come to be called, were silent as billions of pilgrims watched what appeared to be a particularly spectacular meteor shower. But as the wreckage rained down, flaming white with heat and trailing clouds of burnt air and sublimed metal, it tore tortured screams from the air. The first impact I remember as a piece of burning metal the size of a small titan smashing into the side of a fluted tower a dozen stories tall. The elegant structure seemed to hang for a second before making the decision to fall, showering blocks of masonry that alone must have killed thousands. There was fire everywhere as Hadrian and Clara shoved me along. Hadrian and Lazarus were screaming into the vox units, trying manfully to salvage any kind of order from the wreck. I watched a wheel of iron three stories tall, a drive nozzle I thought with irrelevant clarity, roll down a street reducing every structure it touched to an expanding cloud of dirt and gravel. There was smoke and fire everywhere and the greasy smells of hot metal and burning flesh were everywhere. At one point we reached a great square a few moments before a rain of fire fell upon the assembled pilgrims. Their white penitential robes blazed like so many embers from a kicked campfire, each one setting fire to others as they fled in mad panic.

Horror followed horror, until at last we were staggering up the ramp of our Aquila, miraculously undamaged in the holocaust around us. Urien and his men were there, firing into the crowd that surged in behind us, desperate for the safety they imagined the shuttle represented but more than enough to swamp the sturdy craft in their desperation. Two sharp cracks as Clara hurled her fragmentation grenades into the pack. Then we were lifting away and the ramp was closing. Cool reprocessed air flowed over me and I came back to myself as I looked out over the Cathedral world. It was burning from horizon to horizon. Hadrian thumped his fist into the bulkhead.

“How many?” he ground out between gritted teeth, “how many just to cover the escape of one heretic?”

I opened my mouth to answer but was interrupted by violent maneuvering as Urien’s pilot began making evasive maneuvers. Dozens of shuttles were lifting, as many descending from the wreckage of the orbital Rhodes, orphaned when their motherships went up. There were hundreds of pin pricks of light above us now, and I realized to my disgust that the carnage on the ground was only a secondary effect of the Even Chance’s callous butchery. Every ship that could get underway was lighting her drive, desperately trying to flee the tight packed orbital space before debris, panicking shipping or fire from the enemy added their ships to the funeral pyre. The Even Chance had deliberately provoked the panic so it could flee among the panicking minnows.

Fortune was with us in one regard, the fact that the Caledonia had arrived late into the election meant that it hung at one of the highest void anchors, untouched by the trouble and chaos below. After a tense half hour we rendezvoused with the ship, drives already lit and on an intercept course with our quarry. There was no way the scattered patrol ships could intercept the Even Chance before she hit the jump limit, but it was just possible, that the Caledonia might.

The Caledonia was a carrack-class freighter, a capable transport ship made a scant thousand years ago at the turn of the millennium. The Imperial manufactorums on Saturn had grown nostalgic, and whispers across the galaxy of the end times approach had made the more superstitious grow agitated and given cause for alarm. The ship itself was not built as a warship, and no modifications on it could make it a great one. But it was able to handle anything close to its own size if need be, and was outfitted with enough armaments and engine power to repel any pirates and wound anything brazen enough to attack a ship piloted by one of the emperor's own Rogue Traders. I was banking on its superb craftsmanship to see us through.

We stepped out onto the reclamation deck, greeted by the towering Thunder Warrior Lucius Raj, wearing his bronzed armor. Stationary he looked like an abandoned war machine left along the road during the time of the great crusade. I suppose that was not too far off the mark. Flanking him were two of Urien's men, who asked us to accompany them to the bridge. I gave a nod and ordered them to make haste.

"I heard there was a bit of trouble on the planet. It is fortunate you got out, though I guess I am not too surprised." Raj said, following us with easy strides. He lumbered on like a bear, deceptively slowly, though he kept pace with ease. Every three steps we took covered just one of his great strides.

"Trouble?" Clara asked, eyeing the antiquated super soldier but still unfamiliar enough not to know if he was joking, or whether to yell at him. She was confident, however, and decided to correct him. "There are flames a thousand feet high and some of the grandest artworks in the entire imperium have been destroyed, killing tens of thousands."

"Yes, a bit of trouble as I said. The Commander's firepits of Ursh would have swallowed up this calamity."

"Silence Raj, or I will silence you." I said, deathly calm. I did not look back at the big thunder warrior, and even if I had, I would not have been able to read his expression under the great helm. Luckily for the both of us, he followed my leave and kept his mouth shut for the remainder of the walk.

We arrived on the bridge, the ship's engines pulsating, causing the almost organic background noise of the ship to grow louder even over the buzz of activity. Urien stood on the platform his 'throne' would normally be situated on, eschewing the practice other Rogue Traders prized. He had not gained his position from being named an heir, as most rogue traders. He had been granted a special permit by the High Lords themselves. It was one reason he only had a small number of ships in his retinue, the Caledonia being the largest. Beneath him, the operations subdeck was manned by dozens of techno-barbarians, and the hololith gave a projection of the planet and the hundreds of ships in orbit. I did not need to be told the great red indicator signaled the vicinity of the Even Chance.

"Auld tech priest! In here!" A voice called out. Lazarus turned, spotting one of the Urien's shipmates waving him over to a chamber on the left, memory reminding me it was the navigation chamber. Lazarus's extra arms aided him in a half walk, half crawl toward the gruff looking fellow as they began to speak quickly to one another. I turned to meet with Urien, but Lazarus called me over a moment later.

"What? I don't have time." I told Lazarus.

There was a small whirr from the former Skitarii, as if a cogitator had just been turn on. A red light blinked in his left eye. "In four minutes, there is a sizeable chance I might be able to get you and a select few onboard the Even Chance if trader Urien can get closer."

My eyes widened a fraction. "How close?"

"As close as you can." Lazarus said, handing me the dataslate with the ship's beacon coordinates before bleating more binary and turning around to operate the navigational cogitator. I turned and relayed the information to Urien. I prayed to the God Emperor we made it in time.

There was an old naval saying: A stern chase is a long chase. The adage was proving true as the Caledonia slowly closed the distance on the Even Chance. Urien yelled into a series of brass speaking tubes, urging the engineseers to squeeze more speed out of the ancient and venerable drives. Lazarus lead the way down into the Enginarium where he had established what might only be described as a lair. Strange machinery of every type was scattered around, the air was thick with incense and sacred unguents, and robed acolytes droned in litanies of sanctification as they bent over obscure devices. Space had been cleared at the center of the enginarium and a large structure that looked something like an Astartes drop pod had been placed on the deck. Cabling ran from it in all directions, plugging into other devices or vanishing beneath the deck plates like a metallic waterfall. The air fairly hummed with electricity and I felt it prickle on my skin as we approached.

"This an improvised Teleportarium," Lazarus explained, "as soon as we approach within about ten thousand kilometers I will be able to transport you aboard the enemy vessel."

"How many of us can it send," Hadrian asked, glancing at the various petals, which now that we were closer, appeared to be pads.

"Three at most," Lazarus admitted, he reached out and gripped Hadrian's shoulder. "And it cannot be me, I have to stay here to operate the machine."

"I will go," Lucius Raj rumbled. Hadrian shook his head.

"If we get aboard, we will need to find the Heretic Vorn by stealth, we cant hope to fight the whole ships crew," he explained. Lucius tightened and released his fists, his knuckles popping unpleasantly.

"Once we disable the ship, we will need you to lead Caledonia's boarding party," I soothed, gently stroking his mind with my psykana touch to keep him from the killing rage that was building. He nodded and gave me a slight bow that was almost more disconcerting than him punching a hole in the bulkhead would have been.

"Clara, Emmaline, and myself," Hadrian decided. I felt my stomach lurch slightly, being teleported onto a hostile ship full of heretics and the Emperor alone knew what else didn't fill me with enthusiasm. I thought briefly about changing back into the sororitas armor but that would hardly make me less conspicuous.

"Are you alright Emmaline?" Hadrian asked. I nodded my head. I wasn't afraid to be thought of us a coward, but I could see the utility of having my talents along.

"Just thinking I should change into something less conspicuous," I explained, peeling away my veil. Hadrian nodded.

"Fetch her some coveralls."

I belted on my power sword after donning my modified carapace armor, craning my neck to make sure my movement was not limited. The devices were boxy but small, hooked to our arms through small mechanical appendages appropriated by Lazarus. Normally they would be inducted into the power armor of an astartes, but they needed to be modified in order to fit on a more average-sized user.

The three of us stood on the central walkway to the bridge, given a wide berth as we double checked our weaponry and ordnance.

"Fifty seconds until activation." Lazarus declared, the volume on his voice box increased to prepare us and keep any crewman from stepping into range.

"When we teleport, keep your eyes closed." I cautioned my subordinates, and took Emmaline's hand in my own.

"Why?" Clara asked, having just reloaded her submachine gun. She seemed understandably nervous. Even without the knowledge we were about to infiltrate an enemy vessel with just three of us, teleporting was something very few imperial citizens ever experience. Perhaps one in five billion, some estimates theorized.

"Teleporting technology is very similar to warp engines. Except this time we do not have gellar fields." I warned.

Emmaline blinked, the implications dawning on her. I squeezed her hand. Clara was a bit less reserved. Well, more accurately she likely had less qualms about showing her reservations, at least. The guard captain had known me longer, and though Emmaline and I were closer, Clara had less to prove. Emmaline hid it well, but I could tell her heart was racing even before I gave away that bit of information.

"What exactly are you saying?" Clara asked, eyes widening before narrowing suspiciously. "That we..."

"For a second, we will be exposed to the warp. The teleporting device will keep corruption off of us, but if any denizen spots us in that moment and manages to make it to us, we will have no protection. You should not worry Clara, you do not have the gift. You will be the least likely to be spotted or taken. And don't worry, Em, I'll be right here with you. I'll keep anything off you."

"Oh, so you can be taken instead of me?" She asked, a hint of resentment underlining the fear of the question.

"I will not be taken." I said simply.

"Ten seconds." Lazarus announced.

"Maybe you should have told us that before you put this on us." Clara said.

"Five seconds."

"Just be ready for when we make it across." I told her.

"Two...one..."

The entire world changed. I felt in that moment that I experienced a fever dream, as if I could suddenly see and know at least seven layers of reality. It only took a brief second, but I knew then I would never forget that experience. There was an...aftertaste on my soul I couldn't quite shake, nor would I ever. And yet, it was not nearly as bad as what could have occurred. I opened my eyes and saw familiar surroundings. Great tubes lining baroque walls enclosing around us. All three of us were there, unchanged and accounted for. I could feel the ship's systems brimming with energy all around us, and I knew were in the bosom of the Even Chance.

I unholstered my pistol, giving Emmaline's hand one more squeeze before I let go. "Let's move."

For the briefest of moments my eyes were opened to the glory of the Warp. I saw endless fields of golden possibility stretching out before my eyes, but unlike my normal human eyes my real eyes could see undimmed into infinity. There were colors for which we have no names, shapes for which our tawdry geometry cannot describe. In a single grain of sand I beheld palaces more grand and luxurious than ever graced the soil of Terra. My spirit soared in skies that burned a blue so bright it I could feel it tingle to my fingertips. There were wonders beyond counting and I suddenly felt that, for the first time in my life, I understood the universe. I could see my place in it, better I could bend the universe around myself and remake it in such wonders that people would cry out my name in wonder and terror. There were secrets I might learn that not even the gods had looked upon, pleasures which no woman had ever conceive of, much less experience. All of the universe could be mind if I but reached out my hand and...

Tawdry reality crashed in around us. I sucked in my breath in an effort to stifle a sob of loss. Hadrian squeezed my hand and I as back in my body. I let out a shuddering breath and reached down to my belt. I drew a hand gun, a rubidium plated kaiser 26, and flicked the safety off. I wished I could have brought my force staff, but carrying psycoactive material through the teleporter would have been insanely risky. Clara bared her teeth and spat as though clearing a bad taste from her mouth. I wished I could show her the glory that had seen but there was no time for any of that. She unslung a cut down las carbine.

"Ok, well we are on a miles long starship. Any idea where we should start looking?" Clara asked. Hadrian made a gesture with his pistol.

"Bridge and passenger quarters will be this way," he said, leading the way through the maze of pipes and girders. I followed along, wondering where the crew might be.

"We are near the shuttle bays, they wont be crewed during warp jump," Hadrian explained. That was right, the locator was on the shuttle, despite the uncertainty in Lazarus' calculations we must be somewhere near the hungers.

"Do we have a plan for getting off this boat once we bring the Emperor's justice to this heretic?" Clara asked.

"We will figure something out," Hadrian replied. A man in a spacer's jumpsuit and brass serf collar came around the corner. His eyes opened in shock to see armed strangers in a part of the ship where such folk rarely strayed. He opened his mouth to ask something, or perhaps to shout, but before he could do either my mind closed on his. He feel to his knees and abased himself before us.

"Command me mistress," he begged, tears of devotion starting from his eyes. Hadrian and Clara both eyed me.

"This isn't the time to be subtle," I said rather defensively.

"Where is the Inquisitor who travels with you?" I asked, taking a chance that Vorn wasn't using an alias.

"Forward Mistress, in his quarters on the officers deck," the serf babbled, his face raptorus with being able to provide information I wanted.

"You will lead us, by ways that will avoid notice," I instructed. He all but sprang from the deck and ran down to a doorway, turning with the earnestness of a puppy and beckoning us on.

Whilst I was perturbed at Emmaline's quick usage of her will to dominate a subject, I reminded myself he was either a worshiper of the great enemy, or someone aiding in its cause. As long as she did not shatter the fool's mind until I found out, I would bite my lip for now. Rather, I holstered my pistol and kept my powersword under the fabric of my cloak, concealing it along with my armor. Voidships were thousands, perhaps tens of thousands of meters in length, but I was intimately familiar with the design of the majority of Imperial warships. It was required in order to continue the alias of Blasius Deckard, who grew up amongst the Saturn naval shipyards in Sol. We had arrived in the engine deck of the ship, and if I was correct, we needed only to travel a relatively short distance to reach the captain's deck.

I ordered Clara to lower her rifle and conceal it, and the three of us followed the mesmerized spacer.

Perhaps it was lucky Emmaline had reacted as she had, for as soon as we turned the corner there was a congregation of enginemen welding a coupling the size of an old terran bus, whilst beyond them, maintenance crews marched across the breadth of the deck, methodically checking for leaks or tweaks that needed to be made to keep the ship at optimal operation. Sparks flew as the engineers shouted to one another, the ship's thrumming louder now that we passed by the main power of the ship.

We arrived at the plaza that was made before the lift that rose to varying levels. A handful of deckhands walked passed, intent on their work and only granting us a cursory glance. The baroque archway was alight with ethereal lights of operation. A sudden woosh of air brought our attention to the lift, and from above, the platform lowered down. Upon it was an officer, a small contingent of what looked to be militarum irregulars, and a tall, lithe, and very alien figure dressed in obsidian armor. Framing the visor were two pointed ears, and above was a tall head of dark hair tied in a ponytail. I remained impassive, not having expected one of the blasted eldar but having already prepared myself for the unexpected. Clara shifted uneasily but did not comment.

The xenos glanced in our direction, but mercifully followed the officer and the handful of men as they marched down the gangway from whence we came.

"This is the way to the captain's deck, mistress..." the man said, bowing low before Emmaline.

"Take us up to the correct floor." She ordered.

"A thousand apologies, but I do not have the access. It is the top floor however..." He said sheepishly, lowering himself from the shame of not fully providing for his new master.

"Who does? Speak!" Emmaline demanded, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow.

He abased himself, and I grew more nervous at his mannerism in front of potential eyes. "The officers, mistress. The closest would be Lieutenant Officer Naftor Sybdol, the man who just walked out of this area. He could help you ascend, please do not throw me aside!"

I all but ground my teeth in frustration. One of the problems with the kind of geas I had used was that the dominated tended to an over literal interpretation of order. I made a mental note to review the technique in the Malus Codicum when we were back at Agesalia, once void shielding and a lessening of Hadrian's curiosity allowed.

"Lead us to the Lieutenant, if anyone asks you have been assigned by the Inquisitor to guide us," I told him. Tears of gratitude brimmed in his eyes at the thought of being of use.

"Yes Mistress, this way," he gushed, springing to his feet and striding off down the hallway retracing out steps. As we re-entered the plaza we received more than our share of looks. The strange could be forgiven on a Rogue Trader, taken for granted even, but a party retracing its steps was more unusual. Fortunately, we headed down the passage before any comment could be made. I strode commandingly, with all the arrogance that life time of masquerading as Imperial Nobility had granted me. Hadrian was similarly gifted, though with a more martial gait. Clara could not help but effect the wary skulk of the professional soldier, but fortunately that relegated her to the entirely understandable category of Lifeward or hired muscle in the eyes of the on lookers.

We wove our way down a network of twisting ramps before emerging into what might have been a church at one point. A large statue of the Emperor stood at the far end flanked by flying buttresses. The statue had been altered, maybe sand blasted, so that its features were oddly indistinct and androgynous. Jagged Aldeari runs had been daubed on it in what I hoped was paint and a necklace of precious stones hung around its neck. The walls and floor were covered in what I first took to be an intricate sculpture of green glass, but on closer inspection proved to be a plant of some kind. It’s ivy like vines seemed to be climbing the buttresses and spreading tiny, perfectly symmetrical leaves of a disquieting green blue, with black veins running through them. It was an eerie combination of the beautiful and the sinister, the more so when the air recycle played over the leaves, rustling them just enough to reveal hook like thorns concealed beneath the greenery. Here and there small purple fruit shone opalescent, though they had a strange oblong cone shape to them which made them oddly repellant to my eye. I felt queasy at the sight and suddenly wished very much that we had brought Lucius with us. Better yet that Lucius had come instead of me. A hand caught my by the wrist and twisted my palm upwards.

"You stink of the warp," a strangely alien voice hissed. The Aldaeri warrior's grip was firm and its eyes were flat, red, and utterly alien. Followers of my career, with sufficient clearances, might be surprised to learn that this was my first encounter with the Aeldari. I knew nothing about them save for what all Imperial subjects do with a slight admixture of more esoteric tales of their decadence and debauchery.

"And you smell like a fire in a whore house," I snapped back, my aristocratic persona translating fear into anger. There was some truth to the insult, the alien had a disquieting scent, something like burnt cinnamon that cloyed at the back of the throat and tickled the sinuses. There was a gasp from the several humans that were emerging from an alcove behind the xenos. I jerked my hand free in the instant of shock and pointed my finger at the man in naval uniform that my thrall had identified as Naftor Sybdol.

"You, come with me," I snapped at the Lieutenant.

"Who are you?" he asked, bewildered and off balance by my deliberate insult to the deadly looking alien warrior.

"I am Heretoguidus," my thrall put in running the words together into a kind of name. The Lieutenant gazed at the peon in wonderment that an engineering-serf would dare speak in such company. I managed to cover my wince only with great effort.

"Something is wrong here," the Xenos hisses, "I do not know you."

"If you were meant to know who I was, the Master would have told you," I snapped. Something between a growl and a shriek was rising in the alien's throat. I had to get out of here and fast. I crooked my finger at Sybdol who took an uncertain step forward. Hadrian grabbed him by the front of the tunic and shoved him towards the door, deliberately forcing me to do the same while simultaneously interposing himself as a shield.

"Stop." the Aldeari commanded in a voice that could cut glass.

I laughed. It was a robust laugh, albeit hard and grating to my ears.

"What is it, scum? You think we stowed away? A liaison to a quaint agri-world on the fringes?" I inquired in seemingly good humor, but my grin was cruel.

"This is-" Emmaline began, but I backhanded her across the face. I was not gentle. I cringe now thinking of it, but as I sit here thinking of the moment, I am certain it saved her life. The Eldar was not convinced by mere words, no matter how clever. It needed a performance, and though I like to think of myself as more... congenial than many of my contemporaries, I am still an Inquisitor. I can steel myself for brutal acts and carry them out if need be. Even to the woman I cared for, if it meant saving her life. The stike also had the added benefit of jumbling her thoughts, disrupting whatever probing the dark eldar was no doubt attempting.

"Silence," I said with all of the authority of a warlord, my words dripping with venom as I loomed over her. "You've spoken enough, foolish girl." Emmaline lowered herself with widened eyes, no doubt from shock but also for the act she intrinsically knew I was no doubt performing. After she seemed sufficiently cowed, I turned to the Eldar, who's eyes were fixed on me. I had met the eyes of a Dark Eldar before, and I was well trained in the area of quelling psykers from Master Kronus. It lent credibility to my lack of fear. Additionally, I had read Emmaline's facial expressions whenever she had utilized the power, her face contorting with concentration or ecstasy through varying minute nuances in her usage of it. I could tell the Elder was attempting to read my mind even now, but I allowed the rage of having to stoop low enough to strike Emmaline to fill my mind, as well as the anger I felt for being so close to such unholy denizens as traitors and xenos.

"Do not forget your position, alien. We only suffer your disgusting presence because of Great Tzeentch's insistence. It is the only reason I do not have these men eradicate you. You may think of us as mere apes, but on this ship, you would do well not to forget your place." My eyes flicked to the left, seeing the spacer, Heretogius, who was still beglamored begin to attend to Emmaline. With the casual grace of a commissar fulfilling their duty, I unholstered my gun, placed it to his temple, and pulled the trigger. A sudden discharge of blood and bone spewed out of the opposite side of his skull, and he fell limp to the floor.

"There," I said sardonically, and turned my pistol on the contingent of men watching with confusion. "If you find yourself bored, xenos, you may clean up the flooring while we do real business for the true Gods of this universe." With a closed mouth smirk, I held my aim for a long moment before continuing. "Now Lieutenant, shall you come with us as commanded or will you stand there until I turn your contingent into a squadron. There are plenty more followers of the dark gods to recruit."

"Very well," Naftor Sybdol said, now standing at attention. I had noticed the Eldar was still standing there, rigid and ready, but not moving toward its weapon. With a sniff of derision, it spun with the grace of a fish in water and began stalking away. I watched it leave, not letting the walls of my mind come down for a single second. The officer asked me: "But first, may I know whom I serve, my lord?"

Satisfied, I holstered my pistol once more, so used to the motion I did not even glance at the gun-sheathe. The men still watched, at attention. "You did not believe your master was the only inquisitor who had received the calling, did you, Lieutenant Sybdol? Now move to the elevator, lest I lose patience. As for the rest of you, carry on your duties. Your commanding officer shall return shortly, or you will meet the Changer of Ways far quicker than expected."

The men hustled away in formation as we turned back to the lobby that contained the ship's main lift. Mercifully no one else passed, and as Lieutenant Sybdol keyed in the codes, I gave Emmaline an apologetic glance. The baroque chamber opened up, the pneumatic lift ready to ascend. Clara followed close behind, her submachine held casually in both hands.

I spat out a gobet of blood and saliva as the pneumatic lift carried us several decks with a series of grinding hisses. Sybdol chattered nervously, largely a series of complaints about the Aldeari and their pretentious arrogance. Hadrian responded largely with grunts and conversational parries. Sybodl continued to gnatter until the doors opened to reveal a large plushily carpeted hallways flanked by pillars carved with scenes of Imperial triumphs. His palarva cut off suddenly as, seeing no one in sight, Clara hit him behind the ear with the stock of her gun, dropping him in a boneless heap. We stepped out and closed and locked the lift, safeguarding the body from immediate risk of discovery.

"How will we know which room is his?" I asked.

"The one with the most gold inlay I suppose," Hadrian chuckled, then his face turned serious. "Look I'm sorry.."

"Forget it," I responded curtly, drawing my pistol from my pocket and checking the load. He looked about to continue but then nodded and moved off down the hallway. Not for the first time I was disturbed by all the Imperial iconography on the walls. I wondered if Vorn really believed he was still serving the Emperor, or if it was simply the fact that the pieces were beautiful. I've certainly seen aristos displaying art which is pleasing in form but blasphemous in content. Chaos worshipers do tend to be a tad more into enforcing orthodoxy. Toward the end of the hall we reached a large door with an impressive set of wooden doors carved to represent a vast hunting scene. Hadrian nodded and pressed the touch plate beside it. The door began to open on pneumatic jacks, revealing a large chamber beyond. The center of it was a fountain with several cupids blowing water through guilded trumpets. Fruit trees grew in shallow pots, carefully trimmed to look like wizend human faces. Towards the far side were several doors which lead into sleeping chambers and the like. Before those chambers was a large marble desk piled with slates and holoprojectors. Inquisitor Vorn dressed in black and with his rosette hanging around his neck stood behind it, three other men were with him. Well two were men. One was a thing out of nightmares. It was eight feet tall and dressed in heavy ceramite plate of archaic design. It was a lurid blue, inlaid with golden scrollwork of astonishing beauty. An ornate headdress rose from it's helmet, bedecked with more gold and bands of lapis that blazed with inner light. The runes on its armor made me queasy and compelled me at the same time. A traitor marine. The Emperor Save us. All four figures turned as we entered.

"You." Vorn said in a flat tone. Clara swung her submachine gun up and opened fire. The unholy warrior somehow managed to put himself between Vorn and the burst, his armor sparkling with dozens of hits. He strode forward unconcerned, drawing a sword of writhing shadow from his belt and unholstering a bolt pistol. Vorn dived behind the table and came up a moment later with his own bolter. I fired twice, one of my las bolts hitting the table and setting fire to several books. I reached out with my mind and struck at the traitor marine, something ancient and malicious struck back, shattering my will. Hoar frost bloomed on every surface, the leaves of the fruit trees freezing instantly.

YOU DARE! the voice echoed in my mind like the tolling of a great bell. The Traitor charged at me with incredible speed. Clara was reloading and Hadrian was shouting something and firing, trying to take down the unarmored Vorn. I drew all my will together, but knew from my brief brush with the marine's mind that I had no hope of besting him directly. Instead I gathered all the cold from the hoarfrost and focused it on the ground between us. A sheet of ice three inches thick sprang into existence. I sprang aside, evading the blade by no more than an inch as several thousand pounds of Marine went past, unable to alter its trajectory on the near frictionless surface. I emptied my gun into him as he went, but it didn't even mar the beautiful finish of the ancient armor. He hit the door with a crash, sending splinters flying from it before rolling to his feet. I ducked behind one of the pots, as shots cracked around me, fumbling to reload my weapon. One of Vorn's associates was hit in the side of the head, his brains splattering over the wall as he ran for cover. He collapsed to the ground, his ancient body spasming under unconscious control, the other human ran back into the bedroom, ducking behind the cover of the door. Now we had Vorn and his ally in front and the abomination behind us. We were in big trouble.

It all happened so fast, even my mind could only focus on so much.

I heard Emmaline's voice ring out and felt the power of her psychic gift burst forth. The cackle from Clara's submachine riddled the air. I was infected with tunnel vision, my eyes focused entirely on Vorn. The traitor had turned just in time to meet my wild charge. So quickly had this all transpired that I hadn't even the frame of mind to unsheathe my power sword.

Vorn recovered like a rearing snake, taking my first punch and rolling with it, letting the weight of the blow drive him into a counter strike. I shoved it aside before it took purchase, and the two of us struck, pivoted and kicked when applicable. Vorn attacked with furious strength, a wild look in his eyes with a barely suppressed snarl. His fists hammered into my arm as I blocked, and I fell to sweep his legs out from under him. He leaped, seeing the move a fraction too soon for it land. I rolled away from his falling knee, rising too quickly for him to take advantage. I dodged a blow and locked his arm, pressing a palm into his shoulder as my other hand pulled his arm out to the breaking point, but he spun and leaped, letting his body realign as he attempted to throw me to the ground with a drop kick. It struck my breastplate, but I altered my stance and held my ground, letting the carapace armor absorb the blow.

He went for a knife, yanking it out and stabbing at me with the alien surety of a scorpion's stinger, stabbing downwards. Unfortunately for him, I caught the knife on my armor's bracer and headbutted him in the face. He nearly fell headlong to the floor, but instead he just lost his knife from my wrenching it away, the blade clattering to the ground. To his credit, he did not seem too perturbed, instead he strode forward again, fists up, ready for more. He fought desperately and was growing tired, but still, he fought well. Almost too well. I had no doubt in my mind he was far older than I was, and thanks to either rejuvenant technology or accursed blessings by his masters, he was as youthful and hale as I was.

But I had caught him at a moment of weakness, and I was better armored, and most importantly, I had righteous conviction.

Finally, he feinted, and then lunged for the power sword at my belt. Only seconds ago had I realized I had it, so blinded by my mission. My mind worked quickly, and as his hand closed around the hilt of the weapon, I let him pull it out by a few marginal inches. I grabbed his arm with my left hand and struck him in the face with my right, my fist hitting his nose so hard I felt the cartilage shatter. The words 'die!' fumbled on his lips as he staggered, letting go of the hilt. I pulled it out for him, and with a swift stroke, the blade cleaved through his torso like a scythe through wheat.

It was then, even before he even realized he was dead, before his body began to crumble in two, did I let myself view my surroundings. My blood ran cold when I saw the chaos marine towering over Emmaline, her power nearly spent and armed with naught by her staff. Even if I were an adeptus astartes, I would not reach her in time, and so I gambled. As Vorn began to fall to pieces, I spun, gripping my power sword and swinging it in a terrible arc before I let it go. The blade, thrumming in the air, flew end over end across half a dozen meters before the blade sliced through ceramite armor as if it were paper. The sword burst forth from the chaos space marine's chest like a lance of lightning, and quivered there as the traitor astartes paused in its mad laughter.

I had followed the blade's arc, and seconds after the sword had sliced through the armor, I gripped the hilt. However, astartes were not killed so easily. With speed beyond what I thought he was still capable of, he spun and struck me with his elbow. The blow was powerful enough to send me and the sword flying back, skidding across the ground. Luckily the blow had hit me square in my breastplate, and merely cracked a piece of the armor.

Still, the traitor marine was heavily damaged from that. Its breath ragged and its left hand pressing to the gaping wound. I got to my feet, blade up and eyes set.

"You will not stop me! Lord Tzeentch has plans you cannot comprehend!" The astartes said, its voice reverberating from the augmented voice box integrated into its eldritch helm.

"It is my plan that you die here and now. Make peace with your bitch gods," I said, my voice steeled as I moved to hold my power sword two handed, its blade pointed straight up in an archaic duelist grip. Suddenly, bullets sprayed at the traitor marine, ricocheting off its armor and drawing its attention. Clara let out a battlecry, and I charged in.

It was only after the weight of the traitor marine's gaze left me that I was able to force my body to move. His will was as potent as it was ancient, and filled with the burning hatred of ten thousand years. I watched with morbid fascination as gold filigree swirled from his armor filling the gaps in it in a manner eerily reminiscent to sap oozing from a tree. Its swirling cloak seemed like a shimmering star field dancing with patters that I thought were maybe more than random light... I pulled my eyes away a moment and saw the companion who had ducked back into the room beyond reemerge. He was pointing a heavy caliber autogun of some kind right at Hadrian's back.

"No!" I shouted and my will reached out across the room. In retrospect I was glad I was forced to use it so unconsciously as I might not have dared to face the traitor marine again. One of the potted fruit trees burst from its vase, limbs twisting to grapple with the attacker. The autogun ripped out a long burst riddling the ceiling and raining a snow of shattered plaster down. I fumbled for a reload for my pistol and had just about managed to get the rounds seated when the doors to the outer chamber flung open to reveal a dozen men in breaching gear with shotguns. I screamed a shattering psykana scream which froze them in their tracks weapons half raised. I cast my handful of bullets into the air and sparked their percussion caps with my mind. Flame and smoke filled the air between me and the breaching team. Two or three of them went down, struck in the neck or head. One round struck a breachman's xythene tank and it went up in a brilliant white plume that rocketed across the room, miraculously passing between the chaos marines legs, bouncing off the floor, and flying over Hadrian's head. It cut the autogunner and my tree golem in half before smashing into the plexiglass view port and detonating. There was a sudden and tremendous roar as the chamber explosively decompressed, every piece of detritus from spent brass to pomegranate seeds whipping outwards in a great plum of gas and trash. Klaxons whined and I heard blast doors coming down in the hallway beyond. The breachers were sealing their suits even as their magnetic boots locked into place. The fallen astartes hardly slowed simply waded towards Hardrian, wielding his shadowy blade with both hands.

"Emma!" Clara shouted, the words already attenuating as we ran out of air. I unleashed my will and the flooring beneath us liquified. We dropped through the liquid but still cool metal likes stones sinking to the bottom of a pond, the rippling deckplates hardening behind us in unnatural frozen waves. We dropped onto a long mess table on the deck below. A score of ships officers in full dress uniform sat around glasses half raised as though they had been about to offer a toast. I landed on top of a roasted pheasant, scattering the bird and attendant vegetables in all directions. Clara landed chest first, sending a turine of soup spinning into the mess servants horrified faces. Hadrian landed, by some fluke on his feet a few inches from the end of the table, powersword blazing as he faced down the senior officer. Unfortunately that man was neither confused nor irresolute.

"Kill them!" he snapped and grabbed for his side arm a moment before Hadrian's blade took off his head. I shoved out both my hands and exerted my will once more. Knives and forks leaped up of their own accord and began stabbing and hacking at the screaming mass of officers and messmen. I saw one man get a saber drawn and slash at Clara who parried it with the stock of her weapon and fired a one handed shot that emptied the man's brain pan. Heavy naval pistols cracked and ricocheted wildly off the walls. A man grabbed my by the hair and yanked back to expose my neck. I grabbed him by the throat and poured my will into him. DEFEND ME. The man screamed and threw himself onto the ceremonial sword of another man poised to run me through, climbing up the blade to claw at his shocked companion with animal fury. An animate knife jumped onto the defenders shoulder and plunged its tip into the mans carotid artery in a spray of blood that slashed the ceiling. Whether by fate or some caprice of the Dark Gods the shadow sword of the Chaos Marine chose that moment to plunge through the roof and begins sawing a jagged hole in a half meter thick steel deck plate.

"We have to get out of here!" I screamed, patently obvious and completely useless in the insane melee. Clara rocked back howling with pain as shards of her ceramite plated flack jacket blew away under the strike of heavy 40 caliber naval pistol ball. Blood sprayed up over her face like war paint as she emptied her magazine into the melee. I think they would have run if they could, but there was no where to go and besides no one had the first clue what was going on. My defender was clawing his way across the table intent on using teeth and fingernails to rip apart his fellows. Hadrian was laying about himself with his blade, easily outclassing naval officers who wore swords as an affectation and not as a tool. The ceiling above us began to bow. My staff was hot in my hand, the psycoreactive crystal pushed close to failure by all I had been doing.

"Go!" Hadrian shouted, shoving me towards the door, I caught Clara and grabbed her helping her through the large brass doors at the end of the mess hall. Several servants were laying on the floor, praying to the emperor or vomiting. One was trying to push loops of entrails back into his chest cavity where a bullet, ours or theirs had ripped it open.

"Grenade!" Hadrian shouted and in a remarkable feat, struck it from the air with the blade of his powersword, thumbing it off a moment before impact to send it flying back towards whatever desperate fool had tossed it. I raised my hand and formed a square of force a foot across immediately behind the bomb. It went off like a great shot gun, scything down the remaining officers and staff into a ruin of chopped meat that blended with spilled wine and gravy. The ceiling above flexed again as a great blue fist seized it and peeled it back like a tin can. Hadrian slapped the autoclose and the great brass doors began to roll shut, two bodies were between the jaws and both were cut in half by the pressure of the hydraulics with a series of sickening crunches. The door boomed wetly shut and we all stood gasping. A crash like a great bell sounded from behind the door and I knew our pursuer had leaped from the deck above. Clara shoved herself to her feet, reloading her weapon with bloodied fingers. It was impossible to tell how badly she was hurt but the tremor in her arm didn't look promising.

"We have to get out of here," I gasped, sucking in great lung fulls of air. A psychic roar erupted behind the door and the brass began to quiver and melt under its force. A horrible sound came from behind the door, and I realized that the Marine was laughing.