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Interregna

Scene: Archeodeck, The Pillar of Penitence, The Hadronia System Yvonne had been distressed. He was pouring over the vellum-stacks, data-slates and As'patchic communicae data-logs spread haphazardly across his private study. There had been multiple variances and instances of suspected heresies, potential leads and a countless multitude of pleas for assistance emerging in a disturbing pattern throughout the last decade. Yet, despite all these, his anger with pure ichor staring at the latest report he had received when the Pillar of Penitence had emerged from the immaterium, allowing the vessels venerable Astropath to enter a Nuncio trance and receive the encrypted reports from the Mandragora Conclave. He was being summoned for censure That backwater world of Cezaerus II was proving to be an ugly thorn that remained embedded in his consciousness. The taint was clear - the populace allowed a genetic deviancy beyond the acceptable parameters, and had he not bombed the world the recidivistic nature of the deviant-blooded Abominates would only escape into the grander Mandragora, polluting the purity form the Imperium held so dear. He would have to think hard on an adequate response. He was not a man of eloquent words like his former mentor, nor was he charmer with a honeyed tongue like so many priests of the Missionarius Galaxia. He sat, drumming the auto-quill impatiently waiting for the words to formulate in the blankness of his mind - yet all that ever came was ever more emptiness. It was, perhaps, this lack of words that made Yvonne appreciative of the sudden intrusion to his quarters by his acolyte, seconded from the Ordo Bestilius not too long ago. Silas - a prodigal youth with a technical knack few outside the Priesthood of Mars could truly appreciate. His face was scowling, but the break from his own agonising would be welcomed. He bade him with a hand, unaware of Silas' own grievances...
Silas was patient. Calm. When he opened the door, he kept his face passive. Not yet. Wait till he's in the corridor. The grisled Inquisitor looked introspective, thoughtful, and preoccupied. Good It had been several hours since the new team had made a narrow escape from the now dead planet of Cezaerus II, and almost everyone else was tending to their own preoccupations. The noble they had just rescued was tending to communications with his various contacts, the warrior brute Aksai was in the training barracks using machines typically reserved for Astartes, the Cog-boy was rubbing oil on his "holy" implants while gibbering about the Omnissiah, and the preacher/psyker/person-Silas-wanted-as-little-to-do-with-as-possible was praying. They were in the corridor now. Menske turned and started to speak. It would have been something like "What is it that you wish to speak with me about?" if Silas hadn't already buried his elbow in the man's face. "SHUT YOUR HOLE!" It was less a voice then a roaring sound that Silas didn't even know he could make. "How many?" He yelled as the one eyed man picked himself up off the floor. "How many died on that planet so you could have your clean gettaway?"
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u6lKjfHUxdI" rel="nofollow">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u6lKjfHUxdI</a> Yvonne had been accustomed to being hurt throughout his life. From lasburns, to the icy sting of warp weapons, he had suffered them all at the hands of the myriad enemies of Mankind the Inquisition sought to defend against. Yet the simplicity of being struck by a belligerent acolyte, rising well beyond his station to express his anger - was quite profoundly insulting, and on a deeper level, embarrassing that he had lowered his guard and had for a moment lowered his shoulders. He rose slowly to a knee, before he sprung out at the Acolyte. With anger fueling his movements, adding more strength than he had intended, Inquisitor Mengsk instinctively grasped the Acolyte by his throat with his right hand, wrenching Silas' hand that moved to defend with his left. He spun the youth with a hastily placed boot behind his legs, tripping him. He bore down on Silas, his knee driving into his abdomen and expelling the air from his lungs. "Clean gettaway!?" Yvonne yelled after spitting a mouthful of blood to the plasteel decks beside them. "You, boy, dare to pass judgement on me!?." He breathed, waiting for the man to start to calm. His own breathing began to settle again. "You know nothing of the world you live."
Silas wasn't shocked at suddenly finding himself on the deck with an armored knee in his gut. Frack, he'd known it wouldn't end well after striking one of the most-No, THE most powerful man in the subsector. Shows what good having morals does you. " You know nothing of the world you live." Said Mengsk. He had calmed down now. Still breathing heavy, but no longer raging with indignation. Silas swallowed something that tasted like blood, and hoped it wasn't as bad is it felt. "I know enough to appreciate life, Imp. I know I look young to you, but I've been traveling through this 'verse since I was born. I ran the Black for years before you people showed up and started preaching the gospel of your own guns. I've seen sights beyond description in human language, and been witness to nightmares only humans could dream up. And through it all I learned that only two things matter in this world: Knowledge, and Life. You just threw away more lives then you could count. For what? So you could stop some hive-gang riot? You just shot at a vent wasp with a missile launcher. You call that strength? I say it's the worst kind of weakness." Silas was more than a little light headed now. He wasn't sure if it was the gut-check he'd just taken, or if he was just coming down off of too much adrenaline. Either way, he'd said his piece. His conscience was clean. [Exposition addendum: the Black is a spacer term either referring to space as a whole or the Black Run, a smugglers circuit made up primarily of asteroid stations and dark planets outside of stellar gravity fields (hence Black Run), run by the Rogue Traders. In this case it refers to the latter.]
Yvonne's eye narrowed. Fierce, piercing - yet Silas could see a glimmer of recognition. But of what? "You think I'm weak?" Yvonne breathed out. "Acolyte. The destruction of Cezaerus II was inevitable. Between the mutant deviation, insidious cults and the anarchist revolts there was no saving that world. At worst, I helped speed it's demise at a time when there were relatively few untainted citizens on the planet. You speak of seeing the wonders of the void and the nightmares only humans can dream..." He lessened his grip on Silas' throat, rising slowly to stand above the man. The arching lights from the overhead illumen globe flooded from behind his head, shadowing his features as he looked down upon his Acolyte. "Then you know what my job is. What my job has always been, and shall always be. Those nightmares you speak of are real, Silas. They await in the dark, waiting for the leniency of a single mind to break free. It is a burden I hold, to pass judgement on entire worlds, but it is a burden I do not hold lightly or without regard." Silas motioned to speak, but gurgled some unintelligible spattering before his eyes rolled back and he passed out. Yvonne frowned. He had not intended to hit him with such force. He waited for a moment, before he spoke once more. "An Inquisitor's life is to die, Silas. It is my job to go to places where I can die - In the name of the Emperor, whose protection guides us all. One day you'll understand, when it is your time to pass judgement on a few, so that many can live." He turned to move away, but after a few steps stopped. He whispered to no one in particular, since Silas had drifted far beyond consciousness and none were around to witness. "There were 2,432,032,372 who died that day." And then with a trail of his coattails, he dissappeared...