//------------------------------// // The Merchant // Story: Visions of Darkness // by SFaccountant //------------------------------// Visions of Darkness The Merchant **** Canterlot City - Rose Garden Cafe "The big problem is warehousing," Delgan decided as he looked over his dataslate, tapping a fork against the marble stone table, "none of your settlements have post-industrial storage facilities to begin with, but installing more buildings in Canterlot is impossible. Which is problematic, as it's Equestria's main commerce center." He paused, glancing up at the pony across from him. "Not that it makes a very good commerce center, being so hard to get to." Across the table from the Trademaster, Rarity hummed thoughtfully to herself between bites of her lilac salad. "Well, we don't take efficiency quite as seriously as you do, Mister Delgan," Rarity pointed out, "you can't make shipments by air when necessary?" "No, I cannot. Fuel is a strategic resource, and thus it's managed by the Mechanicus at the behest of the Astartes," Delgan groused, "that makes it difficult for me to get for my commercial pursuits, no matter how successful they prove. It might be different if any of those pursuits produced fuel materials, but carbons are not a resource your people can provide me just yet." Rarity took a moment to dab her lips with a cloth, and then levitated the dataslate over to her. It had a low-detail map of the trade routes Delgan used to get products into Canterlot, as well as prospective routes into the surrounding settlements. "Why not build some in Ponyville?" Rarity asked, tapping a hoof to the screen. "When the mag-lev is complete, you'll have a rail route directly to the Ponyville train station, which can serve as a hub to Canterlot and the northern territories. There's plenty of empty property on the south side of town you can snap up." Delgan frowned. "Ponyville seems somewhat... rural for our purposes, don't you think?" "Darling, compared to what you're used to, all of Equestria is rural," the unicorn smirked, "besides, like you said, you'll never be able to get enough property here in Canterlot. Even if all the city administrators DIDN'T treat you like Public Enemy #1." "I'm quite used to that sort of attention by now," Delgan assured her as he took up the dataslate again, "I suppose Ponyville could work... it just doesn't sit well with me to locate a storage unit in such an underdeveloped and poorly defended region." "Security is an easier problem for you to solve than transit and dearth of space," Rarity reasoned while she went back to her salad, "of course, the situation in either Canterlot or Ponyville might look very different a week from now. As awful a prospect as it is, by then Ponyville could be overrun with new residents and Canterlot may have large stretches of land full of rubble instead of buildings." "Or vice-versa," Delgan remarked, glancing down at his empty bowl. His own fruit salad was long finished; while he had nothing but compliments for equine cooking (at least regarding those foods humans could eat), they tended to be served in portions more appropriate for something a third his body mass. "So you really didn't bring your power armor with you?" Delgan asked suddenly, shifting the topic to small talk, "you didn't think you could need it up here? Or that it might provide some advantage for you to have it?" Rarity took a sip of iced tea before she sighed contentedly. "Oh, not at all. I'm quite glad to leave it back at the base, along with the rest of the weapons and wargear." She shifted her empty bowl forward a bit with her magic before she continued. "I'm quite grateful for the Warsmith's gifts, make no mistake, but I don't want to get used to wearing battle armor or toting deadly weapons about, much less actually using them." Rarity leaned back in her seat and turned her gaze toward the city, a small smile on her muzzle. "Some of my friends take pride and even joy in having and using such marvelous tools of destruction - even Twilight isn't nearly so reluctant a warrior as she pretends to be - but I do not. Combat is an awful and terrifying chore to me; something I have to do if I don't want my situation to deteriorate further. I'm a lover, not a fighter." Delgan smirked slightly. "Are you, now? Is there some lucky equine back home whom I've left pining for your company by taking you into my service?" Rarity's expression wilted instantly, and her cheeks puffed up as she pouted. "... Not as such, no," the unicorn grumbled. She quickly gulped down the rest of her tea before dropping the glass harshly onto the table surface. "Good stallions are few and far between in Ponyville, I'm afraid." "From what I've seen, stallions of any quality are few and far between," the Trademaster pointed out, "what about that big red one? He's usually around when your squad deploys." Rarity chuckled, grinning behind her hoof. "Big Macintosh? Oh, don't misunderstand, he's a wonderful pony, but just not my type." Delgan nodded absently as he thought over the few male ponies he knew. "I think I met a unicorn stallion in Ferrous Dominus who turned out to be a talented overseer. Prince Blue? It was something like that." Rarity's grin vanished. "And in that one we have the opposite problem. Why does love have to be so elusive?" she sighed, slumping in her chair. "I fear my prospects haven't improved in the 38th Company, either." "Well, with that kind of luck with love, it's a good thing you have fighting to fall back on," Delgan mused as a unicorn waitress floated over the check. Five minutes later, Delgan and Rarity were engrossed in a different conversation as they strolled through Canterlot's commercial district toward the Iron Chest. "I'm just saying that you have no need to be stingy," Rarity said, shaking her head, "if you're paying for lunch, why should it always be up to me to cover the tip?" "Because I'm the merchant lord and you're the Element of Generosity," Delgan replied without hesitation, "it's part of why our partnership works so well; you compensate for my societal misconduct, and I compensate for your morals and sense of fairness." Rarity's eyes narrowed. "That isn't really something that needs to be compensated for." "There. See what you did there? You couldn't get away with that if I wasn't on your side. You'd be eaten alive on most starbases. Perhaps literally." The snow-colored mare huffed quietly to herself as she walked alongside her employer. Then she suddenly turned on the corner of the plaza, heading toward the park. "Miss Rarity?" Delgan asked, halting and pointing along their previous course. "The shop is that way." "I know where the shop is, Mister Delgan," she said dismissively as she kept heading through the plaza, "I was just thinking that it's a lovely day, and for once I don't have to spend it in a sterile metal room sheltering from a heavy fog of poison, or on a scorched battlefield surrounded by howling aliens. Let's enjoy it a little longer before we return to business, shall we?" Delgan seemed uncertain at first, but eventually he shrugged and submitted himself to the mare's reasoning. He found himself doing that a lot around her, he noticed. As he caught up with Rarity, they entered the park. The area was clearly constructed entirely from imported soils and vegetation, no doubt aided by the application of equine sorcery and the limitless resources of the nation's social elite. It was sparsely occupied on this particular afternoon, perhaps because of the Dark Mechanicus constructors at work next to the palace and the new additions to the royal statue garden drawing tourists and gawking residents away from the more mundane areas. "Oh dear, they still haven't fixed that?" Rarity asked, looking up at a statue of Celestia that dominated the upper tier of the park. It was currently missing its horn, had a dark stain over much of its head, and numerous gouges and scorch marks from errant pulse gun fire slashed across its wings and body. "They'll probably need to commission a new one," Delgan admitted, "it will be near impossible to fix all the impact marks. And vespid ichor stains are COMPLETELY impossible to remove with anything less than a flamer and a broom. I know from experience." "Perhaps you should buy a statue for the city, then," Rarity mused, "it would reflect well upon your reputation with the nobles - and aggravate the local bureaucrats to no end - if you had lasting, highly visible symbols of your wealth and 'generosity' scattered about the public spaces." The Trademaster raised an eyebrow, running a finger along his augmented cheek. "That's... not a bad idea, actually. Hmmm." After a few more seconds of walking silently, Rarity tilted her gaze up toward her employer. "So, Mister Delgan, earlier you got to hear of my dreadful fortune with romance. What about you?" The Trademaster halted in place, which was about as close as the man ever came to stumbling over himself in surprise. "Pardon?" "Do you have a family?" Rarity asked more bluntly. "You know a great deal about me, but I know very little of your personal life. I don't even know if there is a Mrs. Delgan." "There isn't," he replied simply, looking up at the statue again. "Ah, I see. You probably have a similar problem to mine," Rarity sighed, "there aren't too many human females in the Company, are there? The mercenary corp is overwhelmingly male, and the Iron Warriors completely so." "Actually, that isn't a problem for me," Delgan admitted, "my tastes run the other way." There was a very long lull in their conversation as he kept staring up at the statue, imagining the sort of piece he might commission to replace it. Rarity's mouth opened and closed like a gasping fish, but the only words that managed to come out were hesitant and refused to form a sentence. "You... You're... You like... You mean..." "I'm a homosexual, yes," Delgan said, his eyebrow arched. Rarity's jaw snapped shut, and she blinked repeatedly before she spoke again. "I... never would have guessed," she mumbled. "It doesn't come up often," the Trademaster deadpanned, "I don't have anything so asinine as a spouse or lover, and I've never had much taste for romance when there's work to be done. And there's ALWAYS work to be done." He moved on from the statue, and Rarity trotted after him. "Well, that's a juicy little tidbit," she said happily, "what else?" "What do you mean, 'what else'?" Delgan replied. "Well, knowing which gender you prefer is a start, but by your own admission it's actually quite unimportant," the white unicorn said, walking closer to her employer, "tell me something else about you." "Why?" Delgan had a decidedly defensive edge to his voice as he stared down at Rarity. "Because I want to know you, Norris," she said with an exasperated sigh, "because I think we're close enough that we can tell each other personal details about our lives. Because if somepony asks me what Norris Delgan is like, I should have more to say about you than 'the Trademaster of the fleet, a clever businessman, and oh, it turns out he's actually gay'." "I don't see the point," Delgan insisted as he reached a stretch of railing that blocked off the edge of the city's mountainside platform, "I'm just a merchant. I'm about money, and little else." "Oh, rubbish," Rarity scoffed, "you're a merchant attached to a fleet of evil super-soldiers and cultists with an agenda to overthrow a vast intergalactic empire. Alien or not, Chaos or not, you can't possibly tell me there's nothing strange about that." Delgan frowned as he looked down from the railing. "You're different, Delgan," the unicorn continued, "Gaela fits in quite well with the Iron Warriors as she is. Mercenaries like Daniels don't, but they're still soldiers, and they're tightly controlled and have an obvious role. But you? You're not like them. You pay lip service to Dark Gods and the Iron Warriors while rummaging through their supplies and doing as you please. You have little to do with dark worship or Chaos magic, and hold together a small enclave of disciplined lackeys that perform refreshingly mundane commercial tasks as the other legs of the fleet destroy and plunder other planets. You're an island of genuine equinity - or, I suppose, humanity - surrounded by madness and monsters." She smirked up at the man. "In an army of the insane, it's the sane person who stands out. I want to know more." Delgan leaned against the railing, still staring at the vast forests far below the city. "... I don't understand it, really. Chaos, that is. Oh, sure, you can reap some impressive short-term gains through proper worship, but there's that very substantial chance of being eviscerated, eaten, dismembered, mind-blasted, soul-scorched, or becoming some other sort of exotic casualty of daemonic powers." He shook his head. "I'm a businessman, and as such, I know how to judge risk. And the immortality lottery that the Dark Gods are running is NOT a good investment." Rarity stood up to place her forelegs on the railing. "Then why are you with them? What is Chaos to you?" Delgan sighed. "To me, Chaos is a faction, that's all. Merely another force struggling for supremacy in the great intergalactic rat race. And not the best one, not by a long shot." He snorted. "This does not leave this balcony, but I have rather severe doubts as to the ability of the Dark Gods to overcome the myriad secular challenges of this galaxy. And if they should 'win'? What kind of wretched future can we look forward to as the playthings of Gods and daemons? No, Miss Rarity. I do not have any great faith in the darker powers. I ally with them out of fear." "Well, I can hardly judge you for that," the unicorn said, "Gaela, too, said she converted at gunpoint." Delgan chuckled. "You misunderstand. While I have a healthy fear of the dark sorceries and daemonic powers of Chaos, that isn't what drove me to serve them. Horrifying as those things are, I am no less terrified of a simple lasbolt to the forehead. THAT is the fear that drove me into the arms of Chaos reavers." Rarity blinked up at him. "So, it wasn't Chaos that forced you into the 38th Company..." "No. It was the Imperium of Man. And an Inquisitor by the name of Locus." **** Altima V, Delgan Estate orbital platform "An Inquisitor? Here? I don't understand. What could the Inquisition want with us?" I was merely fifteen at the time. The third child of the Delgan clan. Wealthy, to say the least, my family's commercial empire spanned four star systems and utterly dominated the local planetary economies. We had an Adeptus Mechanicus Archmagos at our beck and call, thoroughly indebted to us. Fleets of starships plied the void for our corporations and protected our freighters. A family of merchant kings. "You and your family are simply important people, Master Norris," said Harrel, my seneschal, "it is the prerogative of the Inquisition to know as much as possible about the regions they investigate, and the Delgan family exercises considerable power in the region. They would be remiss and negligent NOT to speak to your father." I nodded slowly. "So they are merely performing their due diligence. They do not suspect US of heresy." Harrel hesitated. "The Inquisitors... do not place you or your kin above suspicion," he admitted, "this, too, is a crucial aspect of their duty to us." I stopped walking and frowned up at the man. "But we are NOT heretics. We perform our duties in the name of, and with sanction from, the holy Emperor, do we not?" "That is why you need not fear the Inquisitor, Master Norris," Harrel assured me, "suspicion is the watchword of the Inquisition. But your father, your siblings, and your servants are pure. She will see this." I nodded curtly in agreement, and continued walking through the brightly lit hall. Harrel was right, of course. We had no dealings with traitors or blasphemers, and funded the Imperial Cult generously. We would be swiftly vindicated and cleared of doubt. "What horrific irony." It must seem so now, yes. As we approached the observatory, I noticed that Harrel was becoming visibly nervous, and my seneschal wiped at his forehead with a cloth. "Master Norris, there are some matters of conduct I should relay to you before you meet with the Inquisitor," he said, clearly trying to project confidence into his tone. "Speak," I commanded, hands clasped behind my back. Etiquette was important, and I knew what kind of power Inquisitors held. Whether or not they thought us heretics, it simply would not do to offend such a powerful individual. "Answer her questions directly and honestly. Do not attempt any half-truths or misdirections, and do not judge the relevance of her questions. Inquisitors are unimpressed by ignorance, but are incensed by lies and resistance. Finally, do not ask her ANY questions. She will tell you everything she thinks you need to know, from who to investigate to whether or not she would like something to drink, and you are not to presume that she has made a mistake." I nodded again, and then stepped toward the door. The observatory was a large, sealed dome that stood at the tip of the orbital hab, giving a wide and largely unobstructed view of the stars. A statue of the Emperor stood sentinel in the middle of the room, a reminder of whom we had to thank for our dominance of the stars. "I'm hearing a lot about this 'Emperor' fellow. You speak of him like he's some sort of god, rather than just the leader of your government." The Emperor is many things. An icon, an ideal, and a leader. In more practical, literal terms, however, he's an undying corpse wired into a giant life-support chair to act as a glorified Warp lighthouse. "And you humans call OUR government strange." Quite. Beneath the statue was the Inquisitor. An aged woman, hardened by her career and station, with short, silvery gray hair spilling out from her wide-rimmed hat and a vibrant black cloak. There was a ring of Stormtroopers lining the observatory dome; a rather severe breach of protocol, to bring armed guards to such a meeting, but obviously we didn't get to make the rules for this encounter. My father and elder sister were already there, seated on a carved wooden bench and looking as disinterested and calm as possible while surrounded by armed, masked men in their own home. My father was speaking as I entered, but I didn't catch what he said before he finished. The Inquisitor turned toward me, and I stopped and bowed. "Greetings, Inquisitor. I am Norris Delgan, reporting as requested." I might have added an innocent query, something petty and complimentary like "how may I assist you?", but Harrel's words had stuck with me. No questions meant no questions, even the polite ones. "Good," the Inquisitor said, "I am Inquisitor Locus, and I am conducting an investigation of possible heretical activity in the Altima system," she explained immediately. Not one for pleasantries, apparently. "The Delgan family has considerable influence in local economic activity, and as such you are all suspects and possible accessories." My sister's expression tightened, but she held her tongue. She's never been especially impulsive, and always devout, but these circumstances were clearly trying her patience. I said nothing, staring at the Inquisitor expectantly. Her head tilted slightly to one side as she regarded me. I think she might have been impressed by my restraint. "There is one more child, is there not?" she asked suddenly. "Yes, Inquisitor," my father, Tyell Delgan answered. He was quite upset by the intrusion and accusations, but you couldn't tell from looking at him. "However, Qarren departed from the orbital before we received word of your investigation." "Why?" Locus asked with an arched eyebrow. "I can't say precisely, but the boy frequently goes planetside for recreation and some discrete entertainment," my father explained, some exasperation in his voice, "I generally let him be, but I can locate him for you if it is absolutely necessary." Locus considered the offer for a few seconds. "No. That will not be needed." She nodded to a Stormtrooper, and he nodded back and left the room without exchanging a word with anyone. The Inquisitor launched right back into her questions as the door slid shut. "So, then. Norris." I straightened up and raised an eyebrow. "Do you know what this is?" Locus withdrew a small, beaten leather booklet, and held it open for me. On the pages she had revealed was an ink sketch of a wheel with eight pointed spokes. My sister shuddered, and my father inhaled a breath slightly sharper than normal. "That's a forbidden symbol," I answered calmly. "Oh? Why is it forbidden?" asked Locus. "Because the Imperial Cult and our laws say it is," I replied. It seemed simple enough, and straightforward, but the Inquisitor was unsatisfied. She leaned down closer to me. "But what IS it, Norris? What does it mean? What might it do? Why are you meant to fear a mere symbol?" I frowned as I considered the question. "I don't know what it is, or what it does," I admitted, "but I am meant to fear it because it is a symbol of heresy, and to behold it may somehow endanger my faith in the Holy Emperor and compromise His protection. And if for no other reason, I would fear it because to behold such things may lead to... well, this." I gestured at the surrounding Stormtroopers. Locus snapped the book shut. "Good answer," she mumbled, glancing over at my father, "you could learn from your son's attitude, Tyell. He's better at this than you or your daughter." "Better at convincing you of his purity, perhaps," father answered, "but no better at serving the Emperor faithfully than every other one of my children and servants. You'll find no traitors here, Inquisitor Locus." "I'll be the judge of that," she replied dryly, turning back to me. "Norris, it is my understanding that you have had several passionate trysts with servant boys and your tutors." "Oh HO! Juicy!" Oh, stop it. I was young. At her comment, every shred of stoic composure I'd managed up until then boiled away in an instant. My father groaned, but he was fully aware of my proclivities. My sister was not, and she started sputtering in shock. "I have no particular interest in such affairs," Locus drawled, "but this means you may possess a closer and less formal relationship with the workers than the rest of your family or the overseers. As you might imagine, I do not have the time to interview each of the menials on your station one-by-one." I quivered angrily in place, my face burning red. "Are there any servants you may consider suspicious, or less than devout?" Locus asked me bluntly. "Or perhaps an educator that has tried to sow knowledge skeptical of or contrary to that of the Imperial Cult?" "No, Inquisitor," I said tightly, "I would not... associate... with anyone of questionable faith." "Then was there anything odd that the servants have noticed recently? Unusual orders, or suspicious shipments?" "No," I said again. I started speaking again, but then I hesitated. There was something. Sarandus, one of the servants, had been idle just the other day and had wanted to fool around. I didn't really think anything of it, and I didn't particularly want to tell the Inquisitor of it. But she had noticed it already. "What is it?" "... A servant, Sarandus," I said reluctantly, "Qarren sent him away from his usual duties without explanation four standard solar periods ago. And then Qarren skipped his supper that evening, and said he didn't want it taken to his room." "And this is evidence of what, exactly?" Locus drawled. "Nothing of relevance, Inquisitor," I said with a shrug, "merely a noble wishing for some solitude. But you asked if there was anything at all amiss, and I have answered." "Good," she replied, "then let's move on. I have some questions about recent shipments to the orbital..." **** Canterlot City "That encounter went quite well. The Inquisitor was hardly polite, but nor was she hostile. In time she finished her questions, none of them leading anywhere interesting, and then she and her soldiers left the observatory." "Oh, dear, that sounded quite stressful," Rarity offered, her eyes gleaming, "so, tell me more about this Sarandus fellow." "No," Delgan gave the unicorn a withering glance, "I keep such encounters PRIVATE, Miss Rarity. And it has little to do with the rest of the story." He pointed to a set of small stone seats standing in the shade. "Let's sit down for the rest of this, shall we?" Rarity pouted as she followed the man across the grass. "No details?" "No details," he confirmed, "I don't tell this story to titillate. It's a tragedy, you know." Rarity blinked repeatedly as she took her seat. "I see. My apologies, Mister Delgan. That was quite inappropriate of me." Then she placed a hoof to her chin. "So then, it seems that this Inquisitor was the root of your problems. I can't imagine being driven from my home and family on a false accusation. That must have been terrible." "It was terrible," Delgan admitted as he sat next to the fashionista, "though the circumstances were more complex and dangerous than you're probably imagining. It wasn't long before I met the Inquisitor again." **** Altima V, Delgan Estate orbital platform I was in my study brooding. Although I had weathered the Inquisitor's interrogation quite gracefully, on the inside I felt humiliated. My sister Sharen had tried to corner me after the questioning was over, no doubt to perform an interrogation of her own, but I had shut myself in my room and insisted that no one was to bother me. Obviously, on an orbital hab owned by the Delgan family, a Delgan's word was law. Which was why I was fairly stunned to hear my bedroom door open. I was expecting my father. In part because he might wish to talk to me after the interrogation about what was said there, but mostly because he was the only one who should have been able to get to me. Then Inquisitor Locus walked into the room. I spent a good fifteen or so seconds gaping as she walked in and started looking around, as if she had wandered into my bedroom by accident while simply exploring the station. I didn't say anything, caught between anger and fear. My first instinct was to demand the privacy of my own room, but the words died on my tongue. One cannot demand anything of an Inquisitor, least of all privacy, and she literally had the right to shoot me then and there if she thought of a reason. I kept waiting, my hands balled into fists. Locus stepped over to my bookshelf, reading over the spines. "Business manuals. Accounting laws. Scriptoria..." she mumbled aloud as she looked over my shelf. "There's nothing here that isn't part of your lesson plan. Don't you have any hobbies?" "I think you know plenty about what I do for fun," I snapped. Locus tilted her head to the side to stare at me. "Does it embarrass you?" she asked. "I don't see why. Your passions are quite normal and reasonable. Citizens of your wealth and influence are often party to great depravities and abuses of their power." "I wouldn't know about that," I growled, turning away from her. "No, I suppose you wouldn't," the Inquisitor mumbled, "of that much I'm convinced. But others of your family may not be so pure." I looked up at her, my eyes narrowed. Again, angry words and heated demands caught in my throat as I refused to give voice to my emotions. "I had the Techpriests check the departure log for the orbital," she said suddenly, "it turns out it's been tampered with. Your elder brother, Qarren, went planetside AFTER you were informed of my visit, not before." A chill crawled down my spine. "Trying to evade an Inquisitor is not a good way to divert suspicion from one's family," Locus drawled, "your brother is now of prime interest in my investigation. Furthermore, as I cannot determine who, exactly, altered the log at the void docks, your father is suspected of aiding him." I kept staring up at her silently as she crossed her arms under her breastplate. "You, however, I trust." "If only she could see you now." I'd rather she didn't. My career largely vindicates hers. "You're innocent, but not naive. I'm going to give you the chance to clear your family of my charges." "I'll do it," I said immediately, standing up, "the sooner we finish with this nonsense, the sooner you can get out of our way and go back to tracking down REAL heretics." It was perhaps a bit too much to say, but Locus merely raised an eyebrow. "... I don't dislike your attitude. You have a decent reign on your emotions, Norris, and a keen mind, at that." She turned to look at the bookcase again. "As you might suppose, I have already searched your brother's room." "How-" I cut myself off, quickly lowering my head. "... That's better," Locus said after a moment, "although there were some suspicious books and journal entries, I did not find any substantial evidence of heresy. Nor did I find the item that brought my attentions to the Altima system. However, a heretic living among the pure and righteous servants of the Emperor would not leave obvious evidence lying within their sleeping chambers; it is, naturally, the first place investigators look. Is there somewhere else? Somewhere on this station, nominally used for commercial endeavors and your housing, that neither your servants or your family normally go?" I wanted to say no, that there was no such place. I should have said no, and let her judge my falsehood. But she gave me the chance to clear my family from suspicion, to show her that there was nothing on this station to justify holding a blade over our heads. I wasn't going to lie and take the easy way out. Nowadays I know better. "There is a place," I said with a sigh, "there is... was... a garden deck that my mother maintained before she died. After she passed, Father had it sealed off out of grief. I don't think anyone's been in there in four years." "Your mother died? I'm so sorry, Delgan." My entire family is dead now, Miss Rarity. "Oh. But it sounds like your mother didn't even pass during a series of highly dramatic and life-altering circumstances. Nobody should have to live through that when they're so young." "You don't think anyone has been there?" Locus mused as she turned on her heel. "Well. Let's find out." **** Altima V, Delgan Estate orbital platform - garden block The garden block hadn't been abandoned for so long that it had fallen into disrepair, but approaching it still provided a stark contrast to the rest of the orbital hab. The floors were grimy, and there was the odd tool or part lying against the bulkheads. If my father had seen such things, he would see the workers responsible sacked and left to rot in the slums on the planet surface. But my father had not seen these things. He treated this entire section of the station like it was cursed. "I don't know if we'll be able to get inside," I said as we approached the main access doors, "as I said, Father had the area sealed off." "Did he, now?" Locus asked, raising an arm to point at the doors. "Then I doubt he'd need a thing like that." Much to my confusion, there was a machine attached to the side of the access doors, where the control panel should be. Unlike the rest of the area, it was clean and in good working order. "That's... a gene-lock?" I mumbled in confusion. "I don't understand. Father doesn't use this area." "Let's find out," Locus mumbled, removing a device from her coat pocket. I couldn't get a good look at it, but after fiddling with it for a second, she held it up to the gene lock panel. It flashed red and buzzed harshly at her. "Lord Tyell Delgan is not allowed past this lock. Interesting," she mumbled, fiddling with the device again. My eyes bulged. What the Inquisitor was fooling with was some kind of genetic lockpick. I didn't know how, but evidently she had acquired my father's gene-print for that machine. She held it up to the scanner again, and this time it flashed green and the doors slowly slid open. "Qarren," Locus said, answering my unspoken question, "I have quite a case by now for having your eldest sibling detained, Norris. But there's one final piece to the puzzle that's missing." The door finished opening. "Let's go find it." The air in the garden was stale and dusty, as the ventilation systems in this part of the station had been inactive for some time. Desiccated bushes and dead, dry vines crawled over the garden interior. At one time, there had been large armorglass panes to let in sunlight, and the rotation of the station had been set so that the gardens always received it from our distant star. No longer; metal sheeting had been put up over the windows to block out the sun and shield the garden deck from any outside observation. This room was dead. Inquisitor Locus didn't wait, ask any questions, or give any orders. She walked in and started searching the area. It wasn't a sprawling labyrinth, as some of our cargo docks were, but it was still big enough and had enough side rooms that it would take at least an hour to search with care. I split off from Locus and went to see the statues that decorated the gardens. It had been a long time since I'd last been here, after all. There was quite a collection of art work that had been locked in here, and four years would have hardly degraded them much. A cherub, a giant hawk, an enormous cat... there was even a statue of a pony, come to think of it. "How delightful! What kind? A unicorn?" The real kind. "... What does that mean?" Never you mind. As I made it toward the rear of the deck, I saw that there was a statue of a Sororitas Hospitaler kneeling in prayer near the back. The detail on her armor was exquisite, although the artist didn't include any weaponry. Which made it quite startling to see a black dagger clasped between the statue's palms. I stared at it. The blade was wavy, and serrated on one side to resemble teeth. There was a symbol on it too, but I had not been extensively schooled in heretical glyphs. I could recognize the Star of Chaos, but not the Mark of Slaanesh. "Ah, that's the one the Iron Warriors hate, yes?" It is. And for good reason. I started to reach for the dagger, but my fingers stopped short, trembling. "Inquisitor?" I said. I had meant to shout to call her, but my voice emerged in a hoarse whimper. "Take it." I jumped, whirling around. Inquisitor Locus was standing right behind me. For someone wearing plate metal, she could be shockingly quiet. "I didn't touch it!" I said, my heart thundering in my chest. "I don't know what that is! I don't know what it's doing here!" "I know, Norris," she said, "I hardly think you'd have led me straight to an extremely suspicious item if you had anything to do with it." Her eyes moved from me to the blade. "Now. Take it. Remove the blade and hold it for me." I opened my mouth to protest, but then noticed that the Inquisitor already had one hand resting on the handle of her power sword. Well, okay then. Holding my breath, I wrapped my fingers around the dagger's handle and pulled it free of the stone palms that held it in place. There was no dramatic flash of light or voice in my head, but the weapon felt strangely warm, and my skin tingled where it touched the metal. I held it in my hand, and looked up at Locus helplessly. "Inquisitor," I croaked, my throat feeling impossibly dry, "may I ask a question?" "Follow," she commanded, turning on her heel and heading toward the hall, "you may ask one question, Norris. A... reward, of sorts, for aiding me here." "What... What is this blade?" I asked. My voice trembled as I clutched the dagger with both hands. "That question has many answers, Norris. The dagger is a daemon weapon. It is the final piece of the puzzle missing from my investigation," she replied, shutting the door behind them, "but most importantly, that blade is a death sentence." **** Altima V, Delgan Estate orbital platform - receiving hall "I... I don't understand," mumbled Tyell Delgan as he stared down at the dagger I was holding, "you found this where?" "Delgan, I tire of reminding you of our respective stations," Locus sighed, "YOU do not ask questions. I am being most generous in showing you the evidence of heresy that is to be used to complete my investigation here and condemn your son. I hardly expect thanks for this particular service, but you will not insult me further by thinking to interrogate me." The Inquisitor was meeting with my father, my sister, and about a dozen aides in the main hall. She had summoned four Stormtroopers to her side, all of them very obviously trying not to stare at me and the object I still held. One of the Inquisitorial Stormtroopers handed her several sheets of parchment, and she started writing on them with a stylus. "There has to be a mistake, Inquisitor," Tyell said tightly, his voice faltering, "this... this thing is not even obviously heretical. Qarren didn't know what he was doing!" "You'll brook no argument from me on that point," Locus drawled, "but heresy rarely stems from great foresight and deep understanding, nor is it necessarily the product of willful rebellion against the Emperor's teachings." She finished with one sheet and handed it to a guard before starting on another. "He can be redeemed!" Tyell said desperately, clasping his hands together as tears threatened to crawl from his eyes. "This is surely nothing more than a curiosity in an exotic trinket! I can punish him! Bring him back to the Emperor's light! Let him see the folly of his path and learn the truth, please, I beg of you! Just don't kill him!" This caused some of his retinue to recoil. Tyell Delgan didn't BEG anything of anyone. "He knows well the folly of his path," Locus replied, moving on to the last sheet of parchment, "else he would not have fled once my arrival was announced." As my father groped for something else to say, Locus finished with the last of the papers. "There. The death warrant for Qarren Delgan has been completed. He is to be captured alive if possible, so that he may have the opportunity to recant his heresy before his execution." She held up the sheet of paper for the stunned room to see. It was surprisingly short and simple, with the stylized "I" of the Inquisition stamped on the bottom. My sister turned away with a gasp, hiding her face under her hands. I myself hiccupped as tears started streaming down my face. Qarren and I weren't the closest siblings, but we got along fine and for all I knew he had been a perfectly good person. Father had often been exasperated that he was more interested in spending money than making it, but until now he had never caused us any great embarrassment or legal trouble. But now he was declared heretic. An outcast to all of the Imperium, and soon to be added the pile of bodies heaped in an Inquisitor's wake. And yet, even while trying to hold back sobs, still clutching the damned weapon that had sealed his fate, I couldn't help but notice something strange. "Inquisitor, you had four papers," I pointed out, my voice hitching at the end. She smiled at me. "Observant as ever, Norris." Then she drew her plasma pistol and shot my father. Tyell Delgan's death was quick as could be, and probably quite painless. The plasma bolt incinerated his upper torso completely. By the time our aides and guards were drawing their own weapons, his disembodied legs had tumbled onto the floor. "Oh, Norris..." Our men hesitated, though. Their first reflexes were to side with their paymasters, but nobody crosses the Inquisition lightly. Unfortunately for them, brandishing weapons at an Inquisitor is a capital offense, and the Stormtroopers did not hesitate at all. As a full firefight started to break out, my sister Sharen grabbed my arm and pulled me toward an exit, screaming and crying the whole time. "Let it be known that the Delgan family is to be purged so that this corruption and tragedy does not compromise your faith in the holy Emperor and turn you away from His light," Locus announced over the crack of hellguns and the screams of the dying, "you are all presumed innocent of heresy, so you may die quickly, and without the needless complications of recanting false faiths." "Norris, RUN!!" Sharen shoved me forward as Locus fired again, and I felt a wave of heat wash over my back as I stumbled onto my knees. My sister was dead. One of the aides managed to reach a security alarm panel, and he activated an emergency lockdown. Turrets slid down from the ceiling, forcing the Inquisitor to turn her weapon elsewhere for a moment while the automated guns were still deploying. The blast doors were closing too, and I scrambled toward the exit, practically jumping into the connecting corridor. The doors slid shut. The sounds of the turret guns shooting and exploding bounced through the interior. And through it all, I still held that damned dagger. Having your family suddenly murdered in front of you can be a mentally exhausting experience, so I'm not completely sure what happened next, but I recall eventually running into Hine, the head Enginseer for our orbital. I started blubbering about the Inquisitor and my family, but it was a bit foolish to expect someone of the Cult Mechanicus to sympathize with someone who now had an Inquisitorial death warrant. I was forced to reflect on this fact as Hine aimed her laspistol at my forehead. "Wh-What? What are you-?" "Apologies, Master Delgan. But the current orders registered on the noosphere are to apprehend you and turn you over to the Inquisitor. I must comply," she droned. She didn't seem especially sorry. "Hine, this is wrong! I'm not a heretic! I'm innocent!" I shouted, tears still soaking my cheeks. "I believe you," Hine said in a bland monotone, "but innocence proves nothing." She shifted the laspistol slightly and reached toward me with her servo arm, and as it tightened over my shoulder, I struck. All my fear, anger, and grief seemed to seep into a single point as I plunged the blade into her arm holding the gun, and Hine released a gibbering wail laced with stuttering binary. The wound shouldn't have been enough to stop her from crushing me with her servo limb, but the machine-arm went slack before she collapsed onto the floor and curled up into a twitching ball. I didn't know exactly what was happening, but I knew there was no way I could let Hine live if she was ready to hand me over. I drew the dagger from her arm and then plunged it between the respirator tubes in her throat. I left the blade there. A part of me said I should bring it with me, that it seemed an unusually effective weapon, but at that time I wasn't considering how many more lives I might have to end in order to survive. That damned dagger had gotten my family killed, and could yet see me dead as well. No whispers or temptation could break through my grief and hatred at that moment. As I stumbled down the halls, the lockdown alarm still blaring, the reality of my situation started to fully dawn on me. I was wanted by the Inquisition, and by extension, the Imperium at large. The orbital was locked down now, but eventually the Inquisitor would talk the surviving security team into releasing the alert or else breach the security control room and do it themselves. How could I escape them? A ship. I could take a ship. But if a void ship were to leave the station now, it would be obvious that I would be aboard. There were surely planetary defense vessels or Inquisition ships guarding against escape. A shuttle leaving the orbital would be boarded at best, blown out of the void at worst. Probably the latter, with the way this Inquisitor handled things. A plan began to take shape. I wasn't exactly a high-priority target, but the Inquisition knew I wasn't dead. I no longer had the daemon weapon, so they might collect that on their own, but they wouldn't stop searching so long as they thought I was alive. So I had to make them think I wasn't. I spent a few more minutes moving through the station. Luckily, any member of the Delgan family could manually override blast doors during a lockdown with our gene-code, but I was impressed by how long the security team was keeping up the alarm. At the same time, I hoped they wouldn't push Locus too far. She could order the entire station destroyed if she wanted. "Why didn't she?" Too much collateral damage. There were hundreds of people on that orbital that certainly had nothing to do with the evidence of heresy that she'd uncovered. This case wasn't severe enough to kill ALL of them. "But it was enough to kill you?" Special case. Some in the Inquisition figure that if our families are killed for heresy, then the survivors are likely to turn to heresy for revenge. Which is exactly what happened in my case, so, you know, they have a point. In any case, it wasn't long before I reached my first destination, and opened the door to the room adjacent mine. Harrel's room. "Master Delgan! You're all right! What's happening?" he said, standing up from his bed. "What's happening is that the Inquisitor's gone mad," I spat, walking up to his desk. I took a dataslate and started encoding a message. "Father's dead. Sharen is dead. I'm next." Harrel paled. "I... I don't understand! The interview went so well! How could-" "Harrel!" I shouted, saving my message on the dataslate. "There's no time! Are you still loyal to the house Delgan?" He hesitated. Not very long, but longer than he really should have. Harrel was loyal, but he was also smart. I seriously doubted he would willingly give his life for me to be spared. My plan didn't really rely on any "willing" sacrifices, though. "What do you want me to do, Master Delgan?" he asked hoarsely. "We're going to the launch bay. Then you're going planetside." I walked out of the room, holding up the dataslate as I led my seneschal toward the docks. "Find Qarren. Give him this message. No one else is to read it, understood?" Harrel nodded slowly as he took the message. "What... What of you, Master?" "I cannot escape," I growled, "if I go with you, they'd kill us both. I'll stay here and submit myself to the Emperor's servants. But YOU need to get that message to Qarren. Do NOT allow yourself to be boarded." Harrel sucked in a breath. "Is... Is there really no other way? The Delgan family-" "Is not any kind of authority compared to an Inquisitor," I interrupted, "faster, Harrel." By the time we reached the docks, the lockdown had ended. I had no idea what had transpired, but the docks were still shuttered; obviously the Inquisition wasn't letting ships leave the station until their warrants had been satisfied. But ALL the station security was subordinate to the blood of my family. A swipe of my hand, and the dock shutters unlocked. I opened up a small shuttle, and Harrel entered nervously. "I'll serve your brother as best I can, Master," he said, quivering, clutching the dataslate to himself, "I'm sorry." I felt a surge of guilt. "No, Harrel. When you find him, deliver the message and then make your own way. You don't serve us any longer." I clasped his hand. "Any association with us can only put you in danger from now on. Now, please, go." "Farewell, Master Delgan," he said to me as the access doors started to close, "the Emperor protects." The doors shut, and I backed away as the shuttle's engines started warming up. "No," I mumbled to myself as I headed for the cargo bays, "He really doesn't." **** Canterlot City "... I gathered later that when they contacted the shuttle, Harrel begged for his life to the Imperial frigates and cruisers that made up the Inquisitor's fleet," Delgan said, his attention unfocused as he watched a pair of colts wrestling in the grass, "he swore up and down that I wasn't aboard. But the orbital cogitators clearly showed that I had cleared the shuttle for launch and released the dock lockdown, so they didn't believe him. The shuttle wasn't made for combat; a single small turret volley reduced it to metal vapor." Rarity didn't have an immediate comment about that, so he sighed and kept speaking. "I hid in our vast cargo houses on the orbital. I had to dodge a few sweeps from Inquisitorial search teams, but they were clearly in a hurry to leave and didn't put too much effort into it. They didn't expect to find anything, and still had one more heretic to hunt planetside. I managed to sneak off the station weeks later, after Qarren had been captured, the Inquisition had left, and the orbital was seized by the planetary governor. I couldn't access my funds or use my family's power, of course, since the entire Delgan family was publicly branded as heretics by our commercial and political rivals." "How did you ever escape that world?" Rarity asked, suddenly wishing she had a drink. Her mouth had been hanging open for some time now, and her throat was dry. "I did it the old-fashioned way," Delgan said, "I got myself press-ganged by a Mechanicus crew and worked my way up from deck slave." He chuckled. "From there, it was quite a trip building my personal fortune enough to get away from the Imperium entirely. That eventually led me to join a Rogue Trader fleet, and that fleet had the grievous misfortune to encounter our friends the Iron Warriors. I did not take much convincing to see things the Dark Gods' way." Rarity pursed her lips, questions bubbling around her mind. She had so much more she wanted to know, but she already felt that she had opened up an old wound. Delgan was not an embittered or broken man; she'd really had no idea that he'd been subjected to such a cruel tragedy. "Over the years I've carved out a role for myself with ingenuity, business skill, and no small amount of back-stabbing," Delgan continued, "the Iron Warriors, luckily for me, are just about the only Chaos Legion that would judge my skills as useful, rather than the delusions of an uppity slave. Still, you were correct, Miss Rarity: I have no particular devotion to Chaos, or my current masters. My role as Trademaster is merely the convergence of desperation and fortune." The unicorn sitting across from him took several seconds more to decide what to ask. "It can't just be that, can it? You've worked hard and risked much in service to the 38th Company. What exactly do you hope to achieve, Delgan?" "'Hope' is such a... fanciful word, Miss Rarity," he replied, "I work each day to survive, and gather resources and power to ensure my future survival and that of my servants. It may not be obvious, looking at my relatively plush lifestyle in the fleet, but if at any time I cease being useful to the Iron Warriors then they'll hand me and my employees lasguns and have us on the front lines in an instant." He paused. "But... if you want to hear a nonsense fantasy of mine, I would like to ply the stars with a corporate fleet of my own some day, perhaps belonging to an independent colony. No more piracy, no more Chaos. The life of a trader and businessman." He paused again. "Failing that, I'd like to meet Inquisitor Locus again, some day. And then cut her open." Rarity squirmed. "I'm sorry, Delgan. I shouldn't have pried. I had no idea your past had been so... painful." He was silent for several long seconds after that, staring up at the clear skies. Rarity could tell he was sorting out his feelings, although she couldn't guess at the moment what those feelings were. "On the contrary, Miss Rarity. I'm... surprised to admit it, but it felt rather cathartic to tell that story. I have confidants within the fleet, of course, but we heretics tend not delve into each others' pasts. Too depressing. You're the only one I've told about this." "Well, I'm glad to learn more about you," the unicorn said, smiling again for the first time since they sat down, "you know, when I first met you, I thought you were a smarmy, cheating scoundrel." Delgan arched an eyebrow. "... And you don't think so anymore?" "Well, of course I do," the snow-colored pony scoffed, "but now I also see that there's so much MORE to you than that." She stepped off from her bench and tossed her mane to the side. "We've probably whittled away enough time. Shall we get back to business?" "Gladly," the Trademaster said, standing up and brushing off his coat, "all this talking without the prospect of selling anything is exhausting." **** Canterlot City - Rose Garden Cafe, the next day "This is SO cool! I can see the little data displays and everything!" Rarity quietly sipped her tea as Orchid Flair gushed over Twilight's helmet. The purple alicorn was sitting next to her, in her power armor, and giggling as the shopkeep unicorn tried on her head piece. "You'll get some rudimentary data from the heads-up display, but most of the helmet functions are inactive without a neural uplink. Well, besides the function of deflecting projectiles away from your face, obviously," Twilight explained. "Why don't we have stock like this?" Orchid asked as she pulled the helmet off her head. "The Guard Commanders would eat this up!" Rarity remained silent as Twilight put an armored hoof over the force harmonizer, which was laying flat on the table. "Centaur-pattern armor isn't a design that's easy to replicate, apparently," Twilight admitted, "it requires a lot of custom design work since all the armor forges are used for bipedal power armor models. The Dark Mechanicus COULD create new forge processors, but they don't really take the prospect of arming ponies seriously. So the only pony power armor available is what Solon personally makes for us." "Well, that's a shame, because this thing is AWESOME," Orchid said, grinning, "can I take a few pict-captures of you later to hang in the store? This'll be great marketing!" "Of course!" Twilight agreed, levitating her tea cup. Rarity looked up from her own tea as Twilight and Orchid each leaned back to take long sips of their drinks. "Delgan's gay," she said. "PFFFFSHT!" Perfect double spit-take.