They say that it’s not the fall that kills you, it’s the very sudden stop at the end. In this case they were certainly correct. The body was traveling at terminal velocity when it hit the water. In that instant bones were broken and crushed, organs were ruptured, the skin itself was burst. Death was instantaneous. The body continued under for about ten feet before floating back to the surface, trailing blood. In a few moments small fish were attracted by the taste of fresh protein in the water. They came to graze. Shortly after the fish arrived. Finally, the largest predators of all arrived and fought over the remains and with each other. In less than an hour the body was gone, with no obvious sign of it ever having existed. The small organisms feasted on the minute particles of skin and flesh which remained, and the smallest of all hungrily consumed the blood dissolved in the water itself. Nothing was wasted.

**********

Inquisitor Roberto Brake was lying back, his eyes closed, absorbing the warmth from the setting sun and reciting the second hundred verses of the Litany of Loyalty to himself, when his reverie and concentration was broken by the saloon steward placing a fresh drink of juice on the table beside him, after picking up the empty one and mopping the table clean. The Inquisitor opened his eyes and moved his head slightly so that one of the mullions in the windows of the observation deck blocked the sun from his eyes. With the habit of long practice, he dipped the tip of the smallest finger of his left hand into the drink as if to test its temperature. The sensors in the electoo of the finger signaled no detectable poisons, so the Inquisitor picked it up and took a good mouthful. Norcross might be a backward planet, but the Inquisitor had come to like chilled frangiberry juice, which showed that some good could be found anywhere. Too cold and the taste buds were anaesthetized, too warm, and the juice had an unpleasant bitterness. Alexander, the steward for the First Class Saloon, had it at exactly the right temperature.

It was certainly not in the Inquisitor’s nature to spend the day doing very little but reviewing and reciting his prayers, but he had very little choice and he had resigned himself to his fate. For reasons best known only to himself, High Inquisitor Sigismondo had directed Inquisitor Brake to go to Pleasant Hill in person and investigate serious charges of corruption and heresy in the Provincial Government. Certainly a worthy and necessary task. However, instead of providing military transport, or allowing the Inquisitor to make his own arrangements, High Inquisitor Sigismondo had suggested, which is the same as commanded, Grav-Zeppelin as a good way to travel. Good perhaps, but very slow.

Norcross III is a relatively backward world, rejoined to the Imperium of Mankind for less than five hundred years. For nearly twenty thousand years before that it had been isolated from the rest of the galaxy. Over that time, much of its technology had regressed, although it still produced some of the finest optical equipment in the Imperium. The factories of Beaver Ruin had also lost the ability to make small, efficient anti-grav plates, but they were renowned for the manufacture of very large plates. These have very little military application. What use is a thousand square foot skimmer?

The Grav-Zeppelin ‘The Miracle of Saint Basil’ consisted of a rigid envelope nearly a thousand feet long, filled with hot air provided by crystalline batteries, partly recharged with solar power. Beneath the envelop is slung a long gondola, over twenty feet wide, eight hundred feet long and two levels high. The bottom of the gondola was made from the large grav-plates which support most of its weight. The electric engines on the sides of the gondola, drive the Zeppelin along at the steady speed of about 100 miles per hour. It is no accident that the Zeppelin is a sitting duck, and very vulnerable to attack. On Norcross, anything with military applications is kept out of civilian hands as much as possible.

It would take Inquisitor Brake another three days to reach Pleasant Hill, a journey which could be completed in less than an two hours by shuttle. Since he couldn’t bring himself to enjoy the situation, the Inquisitor had resolved to spend as much time as possible observing, to see why he had been thrust into this situation. He was traveling incognito with a small staff, Scriptor Karpus, his valuable administrative assistant and Master Proctor Paramedes, leading a small three man Nemesis squad. Any of the locals would surely take the party for some sort of important Imperial official or businessman with his bodyguard. However, all but the most observant would conclude that Karpus was the leader, and the Inquisitor the assistant, something the two of them practiced frequently. Scriptor Karpus was a tall, well-built, broad-shouldered man of indeterminate age, with the natural movements of a leader. A trait that he had to fight constantly in the normal service of the Inquisition, but which Inquisitor Brake appreciated and used. Master Proctor Paramedes was even bigger, but his speech and movements marked him as a bodyguard or police agent. Inquisitor Brake, on the other hand, was not an impressive physical specimen, below average in height and with a slight build with the worn and world-weary look of those who have traveled frequently in the warp.

At the moment, Scriptor Karpus was sitting at a table involved in a game of Citations with an Under-Deakon of the Ecclesiarchy, something the Deakon was sure to lose with the Scriptor’s electrograft enhanced memory and recall matrix. The Inquisitor, with Proctor Paramedes by his side, was basking in the final rays of the sun just before it dipped below the horizon.

The quiet conversation in the saloon was suddenly broken by a woman’s shrill scream.

This was a sound more suited to the Examination and Correction chamber but, it seemed to the Inquisitor, this was the normal mode of greeting for Citizen Trude. The Inquisitor wasn’t sure whether it was the altitude, the slight danger inherent in Zeppelin travel, or the sense of relative anonymity amongst the passengers, but the normal shackles of public social behavior were considerable loosened here. The men were louder, the drinking was harder, and every contest was almost a life and death struggle. The women were dressed more daringly and acted more flirtatiously. Citizen Trude’s shackles were as flimsy as the majority of her wardrobe, and in spite of the presence of her father and mother, no man seemed unmoved by her attentions. Even the Inquisitor was affected, although only slightly. ‘Perhaps it’s something in the food,’ he thought.

Steward Alexander banged the gong which announced that dinner would be served in an hour. The Inquisitor got up to go to his cabin and change into more formal robes, but the majority of the men were in no hurry to leave. It appeared that the Under-Deakon was better than the Inquisitor thought, because the Scriptor had still not won yet.

The Inquisitor’s cabin, though luxurious by Norcross standards, was scarcely larger than a Section in the Visitor’s quarters at the Inquisition. Everything was there, just very compact and made of the lightest materials. A bed which folded into the wall, with another folding berth above it locked shut for family use, a small desk with a limited control console with his own Ikon of Purity of Purpose on it and a cupboard above it flanked by an Ikon of Faith and Ikon of Devotion. Between the bed and the berth were two portholes which allowed the occupant to view the world passing below and, since the Inquisitor had one of the favored portside cabins, allowed the morning sun to flood the Inquisitor’s cabin. At the foot of the bed was the smallest Lavatorium annex the Inquisitor had ever seen, and he was used to spaceship travel. Beside the annex was a tall shallow cupboard with a separate valet compartment. This allowed those who had not brought personal servants to put shoes or clothes out for cleaning by the Zeppelin’s staff, and for the stewards to deliver drinks and light meals without disturbing the privacy of the occupants. Although homey enough, there was nothing in the cabin to encourage its occupant to stay there when they could be out in the public rooms spending their money on food and drink provided by the Hauser-Huss Zeppelin Service.

The Inquisitor muttered a brief prayer of Thanks, and another of Patience. He didn’t like wasting his time by having to change his robes three times a day merely to conform to the social requirements of Norcross society, but he knew that he needed to fit in. The Steward Alexander had loaned him a formal cummerbund from the Zeppelin’s store. Somehow Proctor Paramedes had recognized his need and coaxed the item out. They were both Norcross natives so it must have helped.

After changing, but before going to dinner, the Inquisitor collected Proctor Paramedes and Scriptor Karpus, who had eventually won, but only in the little known depths of the Fifth Proclamation of Chiros, and the three of them went up to the open Promenade Deck above the gondola to take care of their primary devotions. A proper shrine to one of the usual aspects of the Emperor would have used up valuable space and weight, but here on the ‘Miracle of Saint Basil’ the shrine was to the Emperor Bringer of Light, one occasionally used in an outdoor setting. And here it was cleverly woven into the six foot high railing which surrounded the deck. If the weather tuned bad, many passengers would have to brave the elements or arrive at their destination with the great weight of missing their devotions on their soul.

In a miracle of organization, the saloon had been converted into dining room, the upper third of the observation windows let in the last light of the dusk and the first light of the stars, the middle third where now reflective, and the lower third black and opaque. It gave the room a completely different look, as intended. Most of the men were dressed in splendid and brilliant dress uniforms of one sort or another. Of course on Norcross, there was an official uniform for the men that swept the streets. They were organized into platoons and companies too. Pleasant Hill was the staging area for the Suwanee Basin campaign, so many planetary officials and military men were going there or returning to their homes, although a Zeppelin was hardly the fastest way to get back to defend your loved ones.

The Inquisitor’s table sat eight, and was located about two thirds of the way down the hierarchy, with the Officer of the Table being Lieutenant Navigator Damocles of the third watch. He sat at the head of the table, at the foot was Inquisitor Brake. This showed someone in the Purser’s staff was clever, by appearances, the assistant of an undefined official, he should have the lowest rank position, not the second highest. Class and rank was also a very important thing on Norcross. On one side of the table sat Citizen Jaeger, his wife Marte, and their daughter Trude. Citizen Jaeger had mentioned that he was related to Graf Jaeger, the Governor of Suwanee Province, but to be sitting at this table, he must be a very distant relative indeed.

The other side of the table was much more interesting. Up until luncheon today, a very self-important man, who described himself as the Imperial Commander’s Fireworks Expert, his wife and his adolescent son had been seated there. The man had done nothing but ramble on about the wonderful ceremonies that would have been impossible without his expertise, and how he was being sent to Pleasant Hill to deal with an urgent problem. The Inquisitor muttered a brief prayer for Forgiveness and Tolerance, recognizing his dislike of the man. In the Inquisition, Emotion was the first step to Perdition. The fellow was now seated at the Captain’s table with an Arch-Bishop, the Deputy-Commander of the Bureau of Information for the Suwanee Department of Safety, an elderly industrialist from Beaver Ruin, Citizen Hauser, a nephew of one of the owners of the Zeppelin Service, and a Captain, perhaps Over-Captain in the Norcross Navy, the Inquisitor wasn’t certain as to the rank insignia. It would be interesting to see what sort of reception the fireworks expert got there.

The men now sitting at the Inquisitor’s table were much more interesting. Firstly there was Storm Leader Eric Junker, everything a handsome, dashing young officer should be, complete with some interesting facial scars and a black eye patch which matched his silver and black Department of Safety dress uniform. He had been injured in Pleasant Hill by an Isolationist terrorist attack on Founder’s Day, and was just returning from the Heroes and Veterans Hospital in Buford. Sitting next to him, in the somewhat gaudy brown and black, red and gold uniform of Major in the People’s Guard, was his elder brother Karl. He was a People’s Guard staff officer and had been in Buford meeting with the Imperial Commander’s staff. The People’s Guard had a long and glorious history of over three months. It often seemed that the amount of gold and braid was inversely proportional to actual glory. Finally there was Citizen Gunther Anhalt, younger brother to Suwanee Provincial Councilor Anhalt, and nephew of the recently assassinated Planetary Senator Anhalt. Citizen Anhalt handled the business side of the family, and dressed in the impeccable and expensive style of an upper class magnate. Either the fireworks expert had unusual influence with the Purser’s staff, or these three had offered their own inducements for a change in the seating arrangement. Evidently none of them had thought of an additional inducement to prevent others from trying the same trick, or if they had, the recipient of their largesse was not the honest sort of crook who having been bought, stayed bought.

As far as the Inquisitor was concerned, the meal was rather dull, just the way he liked it. The Navigator Lieutenant the three new arrivals barely acknowledged his existence, and given the amount of attention they were paying to Citizen Trude, might have been slow to react to the Second Coming of the Emperor himself. The Inquisitor expected her father or mother to put a damper on the more outrageous conversation, but this did not happen, and, as the meal progressed ,it became clear that a conspiracy was afoot. Trude was acting in this way with the full support of her parents, evidently this was a carefully planned husband hunt, and the First Class Dining Room of a Zeppelin was the ideal place to find the best big game.

The Inquisitor himself had no time for marriage or emotional attachments. This was a weakness the Inquisition could not afford. The Empire needed new citizens, he had done his duty there, but a permanent attachment was a distraction that he could not afford. He often wondered how so many other important men could do their duty to the Imperium of Mankind to their fullest ability, with the weight of a wife and a family dragging behind them.

Steward Alexander contributed daringly to the general gaiety, and it appeared that he was under orders to provide Citizen Trude with all the service she could handle. Steward Alexander was probably an expert at this ,being a professional with years of Zeppelin experience, in spite of his relative youth. The occasional looks that Citizen Marte gave the handsome young steward suggested considerable Sin in Thought, if not Sin in Action. The Inquisitor murmured a brief prayer of Salvation for them both. This was a problem for the Ecclesiarchy or her husband. The Inquisition fought to protect Mankind itself in general, not one Citizen at a time.

After the meal was over, and the dishes cleared away, most of the tables were folded up and stowed under the floor, the families retired to their cabins for the evening, and those that remained divided into the three traditional groups as such times. There were ‘the men at the bar’, generally older men, sometimes with their wives, who would spend the evening talking and drinking before making their way, however unsteadily, back to their cabins. Next there were ‘the young things’, people young in age or spirit who danced together to the broadcast music. Trude and her growing male entourage joined this group, much to the disgust of a number of their women, who realized that they could not compete with one who has so much natural talent. Finally, there were ‘the observers’ who sat in groups at the tables and talked amongst each other or alone and watched the other two groups. Inquisitor Brake, Proctor Paramedes, Scriptor Karpus and Yagi the third shift guard joined this group. They were joined by the Arch-Bishop and the Under-Deakon who wanted another chance against the Scriptor. The challenge was accepted, and the Scriptor started off with his first Verse. The Inquisitor moved off slightly by himself have a good hard look at the passengers. He was here for a reason. He did not ask High Inquisitor Sigismondo what it was, because he knew he would get the standard. ‘I don’t want to prejudice your thinking’ answer. He had scanned through about half the room when his attention was drawn to a group of Norcross Naval officers sitting at a table, talking together in a very conspiratorial fashion, and lead by the Over-Captain. They drank only a little, unusual in itself for naval officers, but their conversation was getting louder. The Inquisitor concentrated his attention on his audio implant and listened in to the conversation. It appears that they had recognized, or thought that they had recognized a former disgraced shipmate and officer amongst the passengers, and were discussing with the Over-Captain, how to make a positive identification, and what to do about it.

Before he could hear any more, Steward Alexander sounded the gong announcing the closing of the Dining Room, that left only the Promenade Deck and the Smoking Lounge open, so the Inquisitor decided to go to bed, while Scriptor Karpus, the Under-Deakon and the Arch-Bishop went along to the lounge to finish their game. The naval officers went up to the Promenade Deck, and Citizen Trude went back toward her cabin surrounded by her proprietorial entourage.

The Inquisitor prepared for bed, and went through his evening prayers with unusual thoroughness. The opportunity was rare to have so much free time, and he planned to take full advantage of it. A short time later he heard a noise at his closet. This had wakened him from his light sleep last night, and he had been about to call Proctor Paramedes and the other guard to check the cupboard when he remembered about the milk that was mentioned in the cabin information. It was provided free, every night, and passengers were highly recommended to drink it, for a good night’s sleep. When he had tested it, at first the electoo sounded a warning, but on further analysis it revealed that the milk was only fortified with an oxoblast culture. This was harmless but added to the milk to help the passengers accommodate the lowered oxygen content in the air at the altitude the Zeppelin flew. It was typical of the attitude and secrecy which pervaded every level of Norcross life, that this was not pointed out to the passengers. Only a request that they DRINK IT!

Inquisitor Brake woke with a very sudden start, and a terrible sensation of falling, but he was lying in his bed. One of the many advantages of his electrograft was that he came awake instantly, with this mind unclouded. He realized that the Zeppelin must have hit an airpocket or a sudden updraft, and had lurched while he was sleeping on his side, fooling his body into thinking he was falling. He switched on the night light and noticed that his Ikon of Purity of Purpose had fallen from the command console to the floor. As he replaced it, a notice from the Captain appeared on the console to the effect that they had just passed through an updraft, this was normal, and there was nothing to worry about. Since it was just after three o’clock, and technically morning, the Inquisitor took the opportunity to say his morning devotions with special emphasis on a prayer to the Emperor as the Protector of Mankind, then he went back to sleep.

The Inquisitor awoke with the new light of the morning streaming trough the portholes, bathing his cabin with an almost divine radiance. He could see now why the Shrine was to the Emperor as Light Bringer. Anyone at their morning devotions this late, a common practice on Norcross, might well feel themselves filled with the beneficence of the Emperor. The Inquisitor also realized how rare the sight was for him. Either he was up and about his business long before now, or his sleeping chamber had no windows, a constant reminder of the danger he lived in merely by being one of the minority Open Inquisitors who went about in public in their robes and regalia. A physical presence representing both the person and authority of the Inquisition, but always one of the first targets to be attacked in times of unrest.

After completing his ablutions and purification, and while dressing, there was the sound of a quiet commotion from the corridor. The cabin walls were not as sound-proof as the Inquisitor would have liked. He used his sub-vocal communicator to speak to Proctor Paramedes, who said that there was a problem with the cabin of Trude Jaeger. His words and tone betrayed the effect that she had had on him. Citizen Trude was not answering the door to her cabin, and she had not been to the shrine for the morning devotions and her parents were worried that she might be ill. Steward Alexander had gone to fetch the Purser to get the master over-ride for her cabin door.

The Inquisitor asked Proctor Paramedes to keep observing while he finished dressing, and at the same time told Scriptor Karpus to go and witness what had happened. This would save the unnecessary Examination of highly ranked Citizens, or the unnecessary pain of servants. Should there have been a crime committed , Scriptor Karpus could testify perfectly to what he saw without the need for Examination of witnesses..

The Inquisitor arrived outside at the same time the Purser arrived, and there was quite a crowd gathered in the very narrow corridor. There was Proctor Paramedes and Scriptor Karpus of course, and Osfolio, the first shift guard, was further down away from the crowd. Then there was the Purser, Steward Alexander and Citizen and Marte Jaeger. Finally, and slightly surprisingly, there were the Junker brothers and Citizen Anhalt. The Purser knocked very loudly on the door, and called out several times, he then used the over-ride to open the door. The Inquisitor could not see inside, but whatever she saw caused Citizen Marte to cry out and then collapsed into the arms of her husband. A very emotional woman, Citizen Marte. The Purser emerged from the cabin and shut the door again, locking it.

“There’s nothing to worry about, Citizen Trude is not there. The cabin is empty.” He announced in his most formal “I’m in charge, don’t worry” tones. “We will put out a call and search the ship. Don’t worry, she has probably gone down into the Second Class section by mistake. Let us all have breakfast while the crew searches,” and with that he began to herd everyone to the dining room, including the ashen-faced Citizen Marte, in his best Servant/Master manner.

The simple, but nutritious, breakfast included another glass of oxoblast milk, but the tone of the meal in the rest of the room was more like an under-hive market than a First Class Saloon. There was a loud and constant buzz of conversation, and twice the meal was interrupted by official announcements over the communications system requesting the Citizen Trude Jaeger meet her parents in the First Class Saloon at the bow, immediately! At the Inquisitor’s table it was more like a funeral breakfast. No one said a word, even requests for condiments were made by sign language. Toward the end of the meal Commander of the Watch himself came in and asked the everyone to remain while the search was completed.

He set up camp at the Purser’s desk and a steady stream of Stewards, Valets and Under-officers came in to report, but no Citizen Trude. The stream slowed to a trickle, and then stopped. The Inquisitor got up to stretch his legs and at the same time signaled the Scriptor and the Proctor to join him. After a brief conversation, with more looks, nods and gestures than words, the Inquisitor gave out his orders.

Scriptor Karpus, with the Inquisitor and Proctor Paramedes in tow presented himself to the Commander of the Watch as Senior Arbitrator-Investigator Abraxes, Assistant Investigator for the Adeptus Arbites on Norcross, with his assistant, Investigator Brake, and his bodyguard Proctor Paramedes. The Adeptus Arbites electoo was recognized by the command console, as were the credentials. This was technically a breach of the agreement made at the Conclave of Terra 284.M36, where the protocols for official cooperation between the Inquisition and the Adeptus Arbites were decided, This was not any sort of emergency. On the other hand, it was unlikely that the Adeptus Arbites would lodge an official complaint. Even if they did, by the time the complaint was forwarded to Terra, examined by the Adeptus Arbites, sent on to the Inquisition, passed back through the Administratum, checked, considered by the Ecclesiarchy, and finally brought before the Council of the High Lords of Terra, Inquisitor Brake and Scriptor Karpus would probably be dead for at least two hundred years. The look on the face of the Commander of the Watch was not one of Joy through Duty well done, but rather Relief of Blame Avoided, not the proper attitude of a servant to the public, but understandable. As a Norcross native, he would have to live, or die, with the results of any investigation and any blame that would attach. Now it was all the responsibility of the Arbites.

Seating himself at the Purser’s desk, Scriptor Karpus reviewed the scanty information. Citizen Trude had gone to her cabin some time after midnight. She had not answered her parent’s knock in the morning. According to the buoyancy readings from the Engineering Officer, it was possible that she had fallen overboard and was not on the zeppelin at all, but the error in their calculations was significant and could not be reduced further until the zeppelin warmed up at about midday. So far, every compartment in the gondola had be searched twice, and the crew were slowly going through the hundred or so hot air cells in the envelope, although there was no indication that she could possibly be there.

‘Very thorough,’ said Karpus, ‘if she’s on board, I’m sure that you will find her.’

The Commander of the Watch’s expression showed how pleased he was that he was not being accused if inefficiency or incompetence.

‘I will remain here to gather and review the information as it comes in. Please take Investigator Brake to Citizen Trude’s cabin. I want it examined carefully. When he has finished he can report back to me.’

His tone and expressions of command were honed from careful practice. He and Inquisitor Brake had played these roles, and others similar, many times. The Scriptor often thanked the Emperor for bringing him to the service of Inquisitor Brake and for opening the Inquisitor’s eyes and mind to the talents that he possessed. What the Inquisitor valued, others found to be a flaw. Many Inquisitors expected and demanded continuous and unwavering deference from their subordinates. Inquisitor Brake expected, demanded and got unwavering Duty to the Emperor , the Inquisition and himself in that order. If the Inquisitor’s dignity must suffer a little in the name of Truth and Duty, then that was a suffering he would undergo willingly.

‘Proctor Paramedes, go with Investigator Brake, Osfolio can stay here with me.’

Proctor Paramedes was very new to Inquisitor Brake’s service and had not seen the inversion of authority before. His expression was much more impassive than usual, but inside he was deeply shocked by the way Scriptor Karpus casually ordered the Inquisitor to do his bidding.

The Commander of the Watch took the opportunity to guide the Inquisitor back to the cabin in person, and thus remove himself from direct involvement of what might become a messy scandal. Suicide was a grave crime against the Emperor, Murder was a grave crime against the Emperor, and allowing passengers to fall from your zeppelin was both a crime and bad business. You could always ask for forgiveness from the Emperor. Chairman Hauser had special ways to punish employees who reflected badly on his business.

Citizen Trude’s cabin was a mirror image of the Inquisitor’s. There were a few more personal items and the definite signs of a female touch and the strong smell of perfume. From his knowledge cabin the Inquisitor could tell that there was no place in the room for Citizen Trude to hide, dead or alive. The bed was made and, although turned back and slightly rumpled, showed no sign of having been slept in. The command console was crowded with the potions, pots and paints that women seemed to find essential, and except for some flimsy undergarments, the Lavatorium was empty. The cupboard was full of clothes and shoes, including the outfit that Citizen Trude was wearing last night. The Inquisitor made a note to get cabin maid to check for any missing clothes, Citizen Marte would probably be useless. The valet compartment contained a pair of freshly polished shoes and on the service tray was a full glass of milk. It appeared untouched, but as Inquisitor Brake examined it more closely, he could detect the smell of something foreign. Testing with his finger revealed an eight percent alcohol content as well as the milk, and the oxoblast had been killed by the high alcohol concentration.

Looking back around the room the Inquisitor’s attention was drawn to the two portholes, from this angle they seemed different somehow. He then realized that the porthole over the bed was closed tight, but the catches on the other one were undone although the porthole remained closed. Looking more closely, the Inquisitor could see that the porthole was open, very slightly ajar. He tried to push is closed, but there was firm, but slightly soft, resistance. He pulled the porthole open, letting in the tearing cloth sound of their passage through the air, but very little wind. He could now see why the it would not close properly.. There was a strip of white embroidered cloth caught in the hinges. The other end seemed to vanish into an air intake duct for the next cabin. The Inquisitor had neither the stature nor inclination to retrieve the cloth, so he called Proctor Paramedes into the room.

‘Use your height and reach to recover as much of that strip of cloth as possible’

Proctor Paramedes looked at the porthole, looked at the end of the cloth caught in the hinge and looked outside very apprehensively, Duty fought a heroic battle with Reluctance and Fear and vanquished them both. The Proctor was able to thrust his head and one arm out of the porthole, and at the very limit of his reach was able to disentangle the other end of the cloth. It was then that he found that he could not get back in. For a few seconds Panic and Terror ran rampant and the Proctor considered the possibility of a long fall to the sea below. The Inquisitor, seeing his struggles, eased the Proctor’s uniform from the hinge, edge and catches of the porthole and helped him back inside, cloth held by a death grip and all. The Inquisitor closed the porthole himself to give the Proctor time to warm back up. From his ashen expression it must be colder outside than he thought.

The cloth proved to be a strip of linen with embroidery at one end. Just the sort of material from which a night shirt might be made. He looked at Proctor Paramedes.

‘Suicide my Lord?”

“I don’t think so Proctor, although it is possible. As you saw, it would take considerable determination to force yourself through a porthole. It would be much easier to leap over the railing on the promenade deck. I will keep it in mind though.” While he was speaking he noticed that Proctor Paramedes was sniffing the air. It reminded him a little of a Hell Hound sniffing for the psychic scent of Chaos and Mutation.

“Its perfume of some sort Proctor. Used by women to attract men.”

“Yes my Lord. Fidelity Aeternal if I am not mistaken.”

“I never realized that you have an osmo-implant Proctor, it’s not in your file.” said the Inquisitor with some surprise.

“No my Lord. no implant, just sisters with expensive and refined tastes.” He continued sniffing the air moving around the room, even moving the Inquisitor to one side, showing no sign of deference. The Inquisitor was even more surprised when he got down on his knees and started examining the carpet carefully.

“Look my Lord,” he said pointing to the carpet. The Inquisitor could see nothing, but such was the certainty in the Proctor’s voice that the Inquisitor got down on his hands and knees. The Proctor was right, there was a damp stain the size of a dinner plate on the floor.

“The smell is coming from there my Lord.”

“Citizen Trude must have spilled her perfume Proctor.”

“No my Lord, I don’t think so. Fidelity Aeternal is very expensive and comes in a special pyramidal bottle. It is almost impossible to tip over and the bottle is constructed so that it will land upright if it falls. To make a patch this big would require the contents of a whole bottle. Is there one in the cabin?”

The Proctor was proving to be a fount of knowledge and, although rather arcane, it was certainly of assistance in this case. The Proctor was back to his normal Joy through Duty mode, and moved over to the console to look at the other cosmetics there. The Inquisitor rubbed the mark with his little finger, but there was too little material and too much dust and protein residue for his electoo to identify anything. The Proctor continued his search of the room, the cupboard and the Lavatorium.

“No my Lord, there’s no bottle here.”

The Inquisitor rose from his knees without using his hands as if propelled hydraulically, which in a sense he was. He did it from habit and appeared to be unaware of the sense of unease this caused in even someone who knew him well like the Proctor.

“I have finished my investigation here, let us follow our orders go back and report to Senior Investigator Abraxes.” Although delivered in his normal quiet controlled voice, the Proctor could sense as much excitement and humor as the Inquisitor ever displayed.

When they arrived back at the Saloon, Scriptor Karpus was just completing his identification of all the First Class passengers, so Inquisitor Brake waited for him to finish like a dutiful subordinate. The atmosphere of the room was tense, but much more filled with indignation than fear. All the passengers in the First class section were wealthy, from privileged backgrounds and or ranking officials in the Norcross government, church or armed forces. They were not used to being ordered about. From Inquisitor Brake’s experience this seemed to be the normal reaction by the elite, be they back-water nobodies here on Norcross, or High Lords on Terra. Everyone serves the Ever-living Emperor . All are merely servants in his eyes and there will be no difference between the lowest and the highest when their purified spirits finally join with Him. Inquisitor Brake himself was occasionally tempted to exercise his power for his own minor benefit. But all men are tempted, only the weak succumb. His prayers of Humility and Compassion always reminded him of his place in the universe

Scriptor Karpus dismissed the last of the staff and beckoned .the Inquisitor over. While apparently receiving the Inquisitor’s report, he himself was able to tell the Inquisitor that he had identified everyone and had an accounting of their movements for the night, such as they were. Also a check of the zeppelin’s security door records had revealed that no unauthorized person had entered or left the First Class section during the night, and the only crew members to do so were on duty at the time. Scriptor Karpus had also identified all the people who were likely to have been the last to see Citizen Trude the previous night. As Inquisitor Brake glanced through the information on the Purser’s console, he marked various of the names. With a slight nod to the Scriptor he stepped back, his report delivered.

Scriptor Karpus rose to his full and considerable height and addressed the room.

“I am about to read a list of names. Would everyone else please go to their cabins and stay there until they receive new instructions from me.”

The buzz of dismay in the room rose to new heights and a number of them got up to protest. They has missed their morning sun, their late morning café and cake, and might well miss a very relaxing luncheon. It was clear that some of them could already feel the ravages of starvation and dehydration.

“Quiet,” boomed the Scriptor in a voice he normally reserved for Visitors or servants. “I am investigating a serious crime against the Emperor. For those of you who are thirsty, there is water in you Lavatorium. For those of you who are hungry, fast and purify yourselves in the sight of the Emperor.” Even the Arch-Bishop would find it hard to dispute this.

“Would the following staff and passengers please remain. Purser Grunwald, Steward Alexander, Under-Maid Helen, Citizens Jaeger, Citizens Junker and Citizen Anhalt. The remainder of you will please go to your cabins now.” The tone of command left no doubt as to the hardness of the iron fist concealed by the velvet glove. The crowd shuffled out of the Saloon with very little further complaint.

The Purser was standing behind the bar with Steward Alexander and the Under-Maid was sitting nearby. The Jaegers were sitting at a table near the console, and the Inquisitor beckoned the three young men to come and sit at a nearer table.

“Investigator Brake will conduct the preliminary Interrogation… I mean questioning,” announced Scriptor Karpus. The slip of the tongue reminded all present that what the Arbites could not discover by investigation and questioning, perhaps the Inquisition could discover by Interrogation. He sat down at the console, obviously a master of Information, ready to note down the replies to the questions and cross-check the answers with the information he already had. A man not to be trifled with.

Inquisitor Brake started with Under-Maid Helen.

“Do you recognize this?” he asked as he produced the thin strip of cloth. Under-Maid Helen examined it much as she would a dead snake, but the Inquisitor made sure that she took a good look.

“Yes, yes it’s a piece of Citizen Trude’s night dress. I recognize the embroidery from when I turned her bed down.”

“Can you confirm this?” the Inquisitor demanded as he turned and showed the cloth to the Jaegers. Citizen Jaeger looked a little puzzled but his wife grabbed the scrap and dissolved

into tears and nearly hysterical sobs. The Inquisitor was used to cries and hysterics, but his normal methods for silencing them were hardly appropriate to this place, these people and this circumstance. Ever the dutiful steward, Alexander was there with a drink to steady Citizen Marte’s nerves.

“Yes, it’s Trude’s,” she gasped between sobs, “she’s gone and done it.”

“Done what,” asked the Inquisitor.

“She’s killed herself, she’s disgraced us all. I never thought she would do it. Never.”

The Inquisitor agreed. During the Interrogation process the Inquisition saw all sorts of desperation. Preventing suicide before correction and the Emperor’s Blessing was a constant concern of Inquisitors and Interrogators alike. Citizen Trude didn’t show any of the signs which might lead to suicide. The Inquisitor looked to Citizen Jaeger for more information.

“Trude was always very emotional, she seemed to fall in love every other week. Sometimes the boys were unsuitable, sometimes the were already spoken for. Nearly everyone she became infatuated with was captivated by her spirit too, but she was unable to find a husband. We decided to go and visit our cousin, the Provincial Governor, in Pleasant Hill. He said he knew of a number off well connected men who would be perfect for Trude. Then she met him.” He glared directly at Citizen Eric Junker, who made to speak but was silenced by the look he got from the Inquisitor.

“He’s just the youngest son of a minor functionary in the Department of Safety, totally unsuitable for a Jaeger.” Any thoughts of reply by Citizen Junker were killed stone dead by a preemptive glare that might well have stopped a clock.

“I told her that her Uncle Franz had much better in Pleasant Hill. Besides, she had hardly known him for two days. I forbade her to get involved with him. She said that she loved him, and would kill herself if I kept them apart. She had said the same thing many times before. I did not expect her to be serious this time. “

“What a waste, a good marriage would have done so much for the family.” he mused and then turned back to comforting his wife.

The Inquisitor now turned his attention to Citizen Eric Junker. “How were you involved with Citizen Trude?” he asked.

“I wasn’t, “ he replied firmly. “Trude was pretty and vivacious and every man she met was entranced a little. Well nearly every man,” he said as he realized who he was talking to.

“She seem to like me, we talked and danced, but she really isn’t my type.”

“If she wasn’t your type, why did you have yourself moved to this table?” the Inquisitor asked.

“I didn’t. It was my brother who wanted to move. He suggested that it would be less obvious if we both moved. He talked to the Purser.”

The Inquisitor looked at Purser Grunwald who nodded in agreement.

“When did you see her last Citizen Junker?”

“The three of us, me, my brother and Anhalt finished talking just after midnight and we escorted her to her cabin. She said goodbye, and went in. We all went to our cabins, and that’s the last I saw of her.” The Inquisitor realized that in spite of his youth, this was a man with the sort of spirit Mankind needed badly. He would go far if he lived long enough.

“It took three of you to escort her to her cabin?”

“It wasn’t that simple. She would have come with me, but Anhalt was afraid that she might invite me in…

“Fool,” interjected Citizen Anhalt. “No Anhalt has ever considered a Junker as a rival, they have always been our servants.”

Eric Junker made to reach for his Blade of Honor, only to discover his arm blocked by the Inquisitor, who was looking now at Citizen Anhalt. Eric Junker was a young fit soldier, recently recovered from some wounds but in peak physical condition. Even so, he could not move the Inquisitor’s arm. Karl Junker made to move more slowly, but the Inquisitor’s command

“SIT” stopped him.

Proctor Paramedes noted with some amusement that Purser Grunwald and Steward Alexander both nearly fell as they tried to sit in nonexistent chairs behind the bar.

Citizen Anhalt stopped but then continued “The Anhalts have been Planetary Senators for centuries. The Junkers are nobodies.” He glared back at Inquisitor Brake. “Don’t look at me like that Investigator. Don’t think I’m scared of you or the Adeptus Arbites. You’re not on Terra now. You’re here in my home.” His resistance to the Inquisitor’s gaze showed some kind of advanced psycho-conditioning that was not at all expected on Norcross. His words showed an impulsive and arrogant attitude, and bad judgment as well. What ever faults his assassinated uncle had, bad judgment wasn’t one of them. Inquisitor Brake muttered a brief prayer of Control and Forbearance. High Inquisitor Sigismondo had ordered him to travel incognito for a reason, and the fate of Citizen Trude did not seem to be it. Citizen Anhalt might not fear Investigator Brake, but Inquisitor Brake could have him summarily executed. The brief delay brought a look of triumph to Citizen Anhalt’s eyes.

The Inquisitor turned slightly toward Proctor Paramedes and said

“If this man speaks out of turn again, shoot him. Please try to keep him alive, I still have some questions to ask”.

Before the words had fully registered, Proctor Paramedes had executed a fancy fast draw and Citizen Anhalt found himself looking at the bright end of a hell pistol in the hands of a man who clearly knew how to use it.

“I’m…….AAAAAGH!!”

Everyone else in the room froze in place. Citizen Anhalt clutched his left arm, grimacing in pain. The fact that he was even conscious was a surprise to both the Inquisitor and the Proctor. The shot should have wounded him more severely. The Inquisitor nodded to the Purser who produced a Healer Kit and attended to the wound. If looks could kill, and the Inquisitor knew that they could, and Citizen Anhalt had been a trained psyker, the Inquisitor might well be a blackened smear on the Saloon floor. Proctor Paramedes approached to examine the wound.

“My lo… my goodness, he has an ablative thread woven into his jacket. It would have stopped an ordinary las-pistol shot,” which of course was why members of the Nemesis squad were armed with the much more powerful and rare hell pistol.

Ignoring the ministrations the Inquisitor continued to Eric Junker,

“So the three of you walked her to her door and she went in and you all went straight to your cabins?”

“Not quite. My brother and I went up to the Promenade Deck to say our evening prayers. We talked for a about half an hour and then went to our cabins.” His brother nodded in agreement but there was something about the way he spoke which suggested to the Inquisitor that although this might be the truth, it might not be the whole truth.

“There were other witnesses who saw you and your brother talking at the shrine?”

“Yes Investigator. Steward Alexander saw us there when he closed the companionway to the Promenade. We weren’t actually at the shrine, we were at the top of the companionway.”

The Inquisitor mulled this over for a moment. “You were sitting on the skylight over the companionway talking. A position where you could see down into the corridor and make sure that Citizen Anhalt didn’t make a private visit from his cabin!” The Inquisitor stared into his very soul. The Truth was revealed. Both brothers nodded and looked sheepishly at the floor, embarrassed much more by the admission in front of Citizen Anhalt than the deed itself.

“Do you have anything to add to this?” said the Inquisitor as he brought his baleful stare to bear on Karl Junker. He might be the elder, but he was the weaker and quailed before the Inquisitor.

“Yes Sir, I arranged to switch tables. I paid the Purser to us to your table Sir. I found Citizen Trude to be beautiful and exciting and I wanted to be closer to her.”

“But she ignored you and preferred your brother?”

“Yes Sir, but I would never hurt her. It’s as Eric said. She invited him to escort her to her cabin, Anhalt invited himself and I tagged along. We said goodbye, Anhalt went to his cabin and we went to the shrine to pray. I knew that afterward we could wait and I could make sure that Anhalt didn’t go back to see her, Sir.” Another man for whom the number of Sirs in his speech reflected his anxiety. Perhaps he was related to Proctor Paramedes.

“Citizen Anhalt, do you agree with this version of events last night?” asked the Inquisitor.

“Yes,” he replied very curtly.

“Did you pay the Purser to move tables?”

“No.” It appeared that Citizen Anhalt was embarking on a campaign of defiance through brevity, something the Inquisitor was very familiar with.

“Why did the Purser move you then?”

“I warned him what would happen if he didn’t. Anhalts are important, servants are not.” He said this looking directly at the Inquisitor. His meaning was clear. Part of the Liturgy of Meditation passed through the Inquisitor’s mind. It was going to be a struggle to suppress the natural antipathy that Citizen Anhalt was arousing. Personal emotions and involvement play no part in the make-up of an Inquisitor.

“Why did you want to be moved?”

“I wanted to observe Trude more closely.”

“To what end?”

“None of your business.”

Inquisitor Brake had had enough of this. The insults to his person and others were unimportant. The insult to the Adeptus Arbites and thus to the Emperor was something he could not tolerate. It was the attitude of people like Citizen Anhalt that incited revolution and rebellion. He turned to Scriptor Karpus.

“Senior Investigator, this subject is refusing to cooperate. I would like permission to question him under duress. I have the drugs and equipment in my cabin. He is already slightly wounded, so it shouldn’t take too long to break him down. I am certain that I can get the answers I need before any serious damage is done.” This was delivered in the Inquisitor’s flattest, most casual tone, but the look he gave Citizen Anhalt spoke volumes. Citizen Anhalt could see how great a pleasure it would be for the Investigator to question him. Joy though Agony. Citizen Anhalt knew all about that!

“I think that is appropriate Investigator Brake. We can do it on the Promenade Deck. The cries will bother the other passengers less up there”

Citizen Anhalt’s face, already gray and drawn from the pain of his wound, tuned almost completely white. The Inquisitor thought that he might fall unconscious. After a few moments Citizen Anhalt managed to compose himself.

“That will not be necessary. I was looking for a companion for the journey. I thought the Citizen Trude would do.” Citizen Jaeger made a move to get up, but then subsided as the Inquisitor willed him to sit down.

“What did she say to that?” the Inquisitor asked.

“I didn’t get a chance to ask her. She was always hanging around these two.”

“After you went to your cabin last night, you made no attempt to see Citizen Trude?”

“I sent her a message from my console, she replied and told me to keep away, so I did. One woman more or less won’t make a difference to me”

“Very good. Passengers, go to your cabins and stay there. Under-Maid Helen, see if you can be of assistance to Citizen Marte. Purser Grunwald, have the Zeppelin’s doctor sent to Citizen Anhalt’s cabin. I want a full report on the extent of his injuries. Proctor Paramedes, make sure that Citizens Junker get back to their cabin without any problems. Steward Alexander, wait here.”

Proctor Paramedes caught the Inquisitor’s meaning. Grave insults had been exchanged. Citizen Anhalt might well meet with an accident. If so, Citizens Junker would be at the head of the list of suspects, closely pursued by Citizen Jaeger. The Inquisitor wanted no more trouble. The various parties were guided back to their cabins. After they were gone, the Inquisitor turned his attention to Steward Alexander.

“What did you do last night?”

“Well Sir, after the Saloon closed, I cleared up and prepared everything for breakfast. I prepared the oxoblast culture and delivered it to all the cabins. I didn’t see anyone. I then went and closed up the Smoking Room and the Promenade Deck. After everyone had gone to their cabins, I checked everything and went to my cabin off duty.”

“What time was that?”

“It was four minutes past one. I remember because I tripped over the rug in my cabin and fell onto the console. I saw the time there.”

“Can anyone verify this?”

“Yes, my cabin mate, the Under-Chef. He answers any Steward calls at night while I sleep. He is allowed to sleep when he can, and he doesn’t need to report to the kitchen until luncheon. I can wake him up now and have him come here if you wish Sir.”

“No, that will not be necessary. Do you know if there were any calls for the Steward last night?”

“Yes, there were. We hit an updraft at about three. A number of passengers called. The Captain made an announcement and we all went back to sleep.”

“Did you notice anything unusual when you delivered the oxoblast to Citizen Trude’s cabin?”

“No Sir, I could hear her moving around, but that was all.”

“Was there anything special about this delivery?” Steward Alexander paused for a moment.

“Well Sir, Citizen Trude asked for a special drink. She liked a shot of Ouzo in her evening oxoblast. Its not actually against regulations, and my job is to provide what the passengers require. You’ll see the charge on Citizen Jaeger’s account. I have nothing to hide.”

“You are certain that you did not see anyone coming or going in the corridor?”

“Yes, Sir, but I did have work to do, and I wasn’t there all the time.”

“That’s what I thought. You can go to your cabin now. I need to confer with Senior Investigator Abraxes. Please close the door as you leave.”

Who killed Citizen Trude?

Citizen Trude, the love struck girl

Citizen Jaeger, her angry father

Eric Jaeger, the young hero

Karl Jaeger, the not so young, not so hero

Citizen Anhalt, the arrogant elitist

Steward Alexander, the attentive employee

Purser Grunwald, the pliant employee

How does Inquisitor Brake know?