Silas watched his old ship land in the VIP bay with the same twinge of regret he often felt when he remembered what had been done to his first baby, but he had come to terms with it. The boarding ramp lowered just prior to Mengala appearing, who stepped down from the the ship with a slow gait but an undeniably sour expression on his face. His eyes met with Silas’ darks immediately, giving the black runner a nod of recognition as he approached. “I have news from afar,” The Lord Inquisitor said, stopping to take into the recycled air that pumped through the station. “None of it good. None of it you’ll like to hear. Who do we have present?” “Meeting Barkus and the others on the Angel. CIC’s finally finished so you won’t have to worry about extra ears. Just the essentials.” Said Silas, motioning the way to his own ship’s hanger. “Gotta ask, how’s the old girl treating you?” “Reliable, trustworthy,” Pious stated idly. The normal, almost-gingerly tone to his voice vacant. He walked with Silas for some time before he stopped just short of the entrance to Silas’ new ship. “The Black Run is beginning to fall apart at it’s seams,” Pious said flatly. “Battlefleet Mandragora has returned from the Angevin Crusade, and it has begun to take an offensive zeal to obliterating the ports.” Silas cursed idly in a mixture of alien tongues and Black Speech. “Great. Because another sector’s worth of Imperials trying to kill us all is just what we needed. Perfect. brilliant. Never bothered us before, but a couple of inquisitors get their panties in a bunch and now killing us is the most important thing they can possibly find to do with their time.” He punched the boot-hatch console, opening the way for Mengala and himself to climb up the inside of the thick landing pillar and into the ship. “More than that,” Pious said, retrieving from a satchel at his waist a small parchment which he unfurled and laid on an utility table. “I was able to make contact with some of my personal informants. There will be a shipment from Shaehol crossing the sector, carrying what you need for your plan.” “Save the details for two seconds…” Said Silas as he pulled open the door to the room just behind the cockpit. It had been converted into a command and control center comparable to those on an imperial warship. Overhead screen-turrets displayed auspex and sensor readouts, and an almost-functioning holo table dominated the center of the space. Around it stood Barkus, Jamery Corman, and Coriola. “OK. Everyone’s here. Barkus, hit the overpressure and we can get down to business. Old Man says he's found us some goodies, care to share?” “Imperator-Class Cogitator Cortex earmarked for the Heraion Explorator Fleets,” Pious said, tracing his finger across the parchment he had placed below. The line he traced followed a trajectory across a grid. “Straight from the Forgelines of Shaehol, across the Cappodocian Sub, through the Drift Worlds, and ending at the borderlands of the Marjories subsector. It makes two stops, only one of which is lightly guarded. The ore-yards of Metallus Quartus, where the Commercia Fleet oathsworn to the Mechanicus will join with the greater Navis Migrant Fleet.” Barkus ground the end of his charoot in his teeth. “Lightly guarded he says.” “Two heavy fleets,” Said Corman “Plus whatever local protection the ore-yards have.” “The least amount of resistance you could hope for with such an important route. The Adeptus Mechanicus are quite punctual about safeguarding their lanes from raiders. Ork incursions are not unknown elsewhere. Here at least, at the heart of the sector, they believe they need only to protect their routes from foolhardy pirates and would-be corsair-kings.” Pious rejected the disagreement. “My informants died bringing me this information. I would hope you would not dishonour their commitment by belittling this intel they bought with their blood.” “Nobody’s bilittling anything.” Said Silas. “This is exactly what we needed, and exactly where we needed it.” Jamery looked at him suspiciously. “It's the heart of their fracking war-machine. In case you didn’t hear, he just said there are two whole fleets meeting there. Fleets with orders to kill us.” “So imagine what they’ll think when we waltz right in there and take whatever we want?” Silas grinned in that way unique to him and a few fictional evil-geniuses. “There’s more. Someone give me an Auto-quill, a stylus, something!” Pious said, almost excitedly. There was a glimmer in his eyes that nearly matched Silas’ own insanity. Silas tossed him a pen. “Here is Annazir,” Pious put the tip to the dot that marked the world. He moved the tip, not marking the parchment until he was just off to the left of the dot. Then he traced a line to two different grid boxes. “This is your own ‘secret’ route between Heideki and the Dead Fjordes. It cuts right across the Drift Worlds, and just a few light years away from the ore-yards. You can use this to lane to get close enough without detection.” “Not secret enough if you know about it.” grumbled Corman “How do we know more of you imps don’t have eyes on it?” “The Ordos already have,” Pious admitted finally. “It has never been a secret to those who tread more modest paths. Even now a battle rages across the sector between Inquisitors. Many have come to know the run as a source of invaluable information, and have stayed many a hand from destroying it in the past. It is...unfortunate that now they are growing in the minority.” “That doesn’t matter too much.” Said Silas. “The ships we fly are the real trick to our stealth, not the routes we fly. Even if they are watching it, we can get through if we prepare properly. Soon enough, those routes won’t even be there anyway. We’re leaving Mandragora behind, hence our need for this cogitator. So, where would it be kept, and under how much guard? Besides the ships themselves that is.” Pious gripped something in his hand, just beneath the folds of his robes. “There will be a Mass-Conveyor Transporter. Only one of it’s kind, bigger than everything else. Within will be a entire decks dedicated to the STC equipment needed to refit the Explorator Fleets returning from the Crusade. You need only one of these, you’ll find it quite easily. The real trick to getting close is this,” He said, tossing an object to Silas who had not been quite ready for the sudden gifting. “How’d you know it was my birthday?” He said. When he opened his clenched hand that had caught the object, it revealed itself to be an Inquisitorial Seal. “Fake ID? Think that’ll be enough to get us onboard?” “No,” Pious said. “The ciphers are quite real for a short time, but your ident will fail to biometrics aboard the vessel. I’ve had this programmed to one Inquisitor Silas Mandragor. A tad cheeky, but I was pressed for time.” Silas pursed his lips, contemplating a plethora of possible outcomes. “Any way to make it code to somebody else?” “I trust in you,” Pious said. “To change it, more would have to die in your name.” “Silas,” Coriola finally said. “This plan can work. I can sense it.” Coriola looked down at the map, and then briefly exchanged a look with Pious before she gave the assembly a look of certainty. “I would have seen something by now. Death is the catalyst for my visions, and I see nothing now. Only death can resonate with such force across the veil.” Barkus spat out the nub that was left of his cheroot. “Trust me, honey. Just ‘cause you can’t see it don’t mean folk ain’t gunna die in there. I’ve been pulling heists since before your great great grandpa was an itch in his daddy’s breeches. I look at these odds and the skin of my ass twitches.” Coriola motioned to say something, but grew red in the face instead and quietly retreated. There was a cough before Pious began anew. “Is there a better option? I’m open to suggestions,” Pious asked, giving Barkus a raised brow. “Perhaps you’ve done something similar with your gracious lifespan, Master Barkus?” “Similar?” Barkus put another cheroot in his grizzled mouth and struck a match to light it. “Subtract a hundred thousand bad guys and it's a carbon-copy of what I used to get payed by the hour doing when I got bored. The method’s not the problem. We know how to make it work. The problem is that plans never work. On smaller ops you can compensate for that. Improvise, adapt, overcome. This? The hammer’s gonna be too damn fast and way too damn heavy.” “So we get real choosy with the crew.” Said Silas. “Professionals. I say we give our friends in the Mephatumi Group a call. We’re giving them a ride, least they can do is help pay for the gas.” Jamery looked up. “You’re not thinking-” “Yeah.” Said Silas. “Edgecoat. Those guys are drilled like a fracking ballet. They can handle moving the cargo, quietly or otherwise. They look the part too. If I’m gunna be posing as an Inquisitor, they can pass as personal stormtroopers real easily.” “Silas,” Coriola gripped his sleeve. “I’m going with you.” Silas turned to face her. “You heard what we’ve been saying right? You know what it is you’re signing up for?” Coriola gave him a warm smile. “Do you even know how to play the part of an Inquisitor? I’ve been following them all my life. You’ll need me.” “That’s not what I asked.” She didn’t back down easily. “I can see the future, I know exactly what I’m signing up for.” Silas hugged her with one arm for a moment, kissing her forehead lightly. “OK.” he half whispered, then turned to the rest of the assembled group. “Anything else? Because if we move on this, we’re all in. No second guessing. Speak now or forever shut the frack up.” Pious gave a look at Silas, before he placed his hand down upon the map. He waited with a pause, looking at each of the assembled solidly before he spoke. “Then it is decided by merit of no fracks given. Master Corman, I believe it is your duty to make contact with the council and the Mephatumi. Silas, Barkus, I believe you two need make preparations to your shuttle.” Silas gave Mengala an insulted look. “Shuttle?” Pious gave a half-crooked grin, almost chastising him in that way only a grandfather could. “You have a role to play. No self respecting Inquisitor would leave his shuttle unadorned.” Silas realized the implications then, and his black eyes went round as saucers. “Oh no. No-no-no-no--” Barkus cackled smokily. “I’ll get the welding torch.” Fin
