The first blow destroyed over a million Imperials of the finest cyber-crystalline micro-surgery. The protective outer skull plate was deformed and knocked loose from its mounting gasket, many micro-fine golden nerve interfaces were torn free and the brain itself was bruised and exposed. This might not have proven fatal, but the next blow crushed the unprotected part of the skull like an old light globe. The third blow penetrated deeper and shorted out the micro-crystal battery that powered the back-up memory. The resulting power surge melted many wires, fused circuitry, cooked the bio-interface and destroyed the cerebral cortex and all brain function, voluntary and involuntary. Very soon after the internal organs stopped and died one by one. The only sounds were heavy breathing and the quiet dripping of blood.

**********

It was cold and windy but Inquisitor Brake didn’t notice. His body shivered slightly but his mind was gripped by rapture; glorious and uplifting. Earlier that morning, the beginning of the last full day on the Grav-Zeppelin “The Miracle of Saint Basil” journeying from Buford to the Provincial Capital at Pleasant Hill, Inquisitor Brake had set the alarm of his console early, performed his ablutions and had gone up to the Promenade Deck to offer his Devotions to the Shrine to the Emperor as Light Bringer before dawn. Then he had stayed to watch the sun rise. He had been moved two days earlier by the radiance spilling into his cabin and he had decided to experience the event outdoors in all its glory,. As he had waited he realized that he could not remember ever watching the sun rise. He had experienced many sunrises, but he had always being doing something else; tracking down Heretics, observing suspects or merely traveling about.

This morning he had watched as the almost indistinguishable grayness of the sea below and the cloudy sky above took on their own colors and forms. The sea growing lighter and lighter gray with the ripples from the waves and the wind on the surface, here and there the white foam of breaking waves. The sky also growing lighter, but purple, rose and pink as the sun over the horizon colored the undersides of the clouds. At the very horizon the harbinger halo of the sun itself in colors of purple and pink and blue finally burst into golden glory, almost in an instant transforming the clouds into the Golden Fleece worn by the Emperor, and the sea into a shimmering net of silver and gray. The sun had slowly risen to clear the horizon and Inquisitor Brake had kept his eyes firmly fixed on it, consciously over-riding the shades in his ocular implants until the danger level was reached. Then he shut his eyes and allowed the light and the heat to bathe his hands and face and penetrate to his very soul. Exultant and Inspiring. A small man in the vast sky. The Light of the Emperor’s Grace was upon him and it was a shame and a waste that others were not here to share the experience. The moment was brief, but Inquisitor Brake could sense the Emperor’s omnipresence and beneficence, as preached from one end of the galaxy to the other by the Ecclesiarchy.

A little later he could feel that the sun had risen well clear of the horizon so he turned and opened his eyes, the moment which had passed locked forever in his memory. He was still alone, except for the fading presence of the Emperor, as he went down the companionway back to his cabin to wait for breakfast.

The Inquisitor ate his breakfast quietly and slowly as he reflected on the last few days. His superior, High Inquisitor Sigismondo had ordered him on this long slow journey for some reason which he had not seen fit to share with him. There had been two deaths on the journey, a simple crime of passion and misunderstanding and an even simpler execution. It seemed inconceivable that High Inquisitor Sigismondo could have anticipated these crimes, or would have cared about them if he had. These were things to be dealt with by the Department of Safety or perhaps the Adeptus Arbites. They were beneath the notice of the Inquisition. However, High Inquisitor Sigismondo was both cunning and very subtle. Perhaps he wasn’t supposed to do anything. Perhaps the mere presence of an Inquisitor on the Zeppelin would be enough to disrupt plans. Perhaps he was a decoy of some sort. Of course that would work only if someone knew that he was an Inquisitor. As far as all the passengers and crew were concerned he was merely Investigator Brake, assistant to Senior Arbitrator-Investigator Abraxes of the Adeptus Arbites. If anyone doubted this, Arbitrator Abraxes had solved both killings very quickly, with a little help from his assistant of course. It was all a mystery beyond Inquisitor Brake’s considerable powers of analysis and induction. He would watch and wait, but he was going to relax and prepare himself for difficult times in Pleasant Hill.

Yesterday, what had merely been political unrest had burst into a full scale popular uprising as the Isolationist elements were in the process of trying to overthrow the provincial government. If this were a local matter, then the local forces could deal with it. If this were something more, then it was Inquisitor Brake’s job to find out and report back. As he finished his frangiberry juice, he was pleased at the thought of tracking down Heretics, the true mission of an Inquisitor, rather than mere criminals. Many years ago he had proven to High Inquisitor Sigismondo that an event that appeared to involve Daemons and Chaos influence was merely an ordinary and sordid murder. Since that time he had been assigned to investigate all similar cases within the Ordo Veritas, but these investigations distracted him from his personal inclination, the rooting out and destruction of the corrupt and the heretic. He muttered a brief prayer of thanks to the Emperor at the prospect of the work for which he had trained so long and hard.

**********

The information from Pleasant Hill was fragmentary and confusing. The usual situation in a civilian uprising. Imperial forces were being re-deployed including the crack 95th Cadian Rifles. Their commander, Colonel Jay Haygood, knew how do deal with rebels. Purification with fire and sword was something he was expert at. The Inquisitor was mildly annoyed when the gong for luncheon was sounded. He was not used to being disturbed in the middle of his work. However, while he needed information, he also needed to get to Pleasant Hill prepared to do the Emperor’s work, so he shut down the console and went back to the saloon.

Luncheon was a little more formal and the food a little better than usual since it would be the last luncheon on the journey, and the Captain at the first table thanked the passengers for their patronage and apologized for the unfortunate fate of Citizen Trude. The fate of Steward Alexander was not remarked upon. Citizen Hauser spoke for the passengers and thanked the Captain for a good journey. Of course his enthusiasm was heightened by the fact that he was the nephew to one of the owners of the Hauser-Huss Zeppelin Service, a fact not lost on most.

After the meal and speeches and toasts the Inquisitor made his way back to his cabin only to notice that Scriptor Karpus was waiting for him. The Scriptor, Inquisitor Brake’s chief assistant, had spent some of the day with the reports from Pleasant Hill, but he had merely downloaded the pertinent information into the enhanced memory of his electro-graft. The rest of the time he has spent with the other First Class passengers, living up to his Senior Arbitrator-Investigator Abraxes persona. The Inquisitor was a little surprised to see him here.

“My Lord, may I speak with you in private please?”

This was further surprising behavior. The Scriptor was normally the most passive and deferential of men. Something was clearly bothering him. The Inquisitor unlocked his cabin and beckoned the Scriptor inside. The cabin was very compact, so the Inquisitor unfolded the seat from the console and motioned for the Scriptor to sit on the bed. He waited for the Scriptor to speak. To some people marshaling ones thoughts before speaking was merely a turn of phrase, for the Scriptor this was almost literally true. From their long association, the Inquisitor knew that the Scriptor would speak when he was ready, and the Scriptor knew that the Inquisitor would not get too impatient, too quickly, although he abhorred time wasting and time wasters. The Scriptor was very careful not to waste the Inquisitor’s time.

“My Lord, I have noticed something strange about one of the passengers, Under-Deakon Johann, I have been engaged with him and others in our contests of Citations, and I have had time to observe him carefully. There is something wrong.”

The Scriptor was taking his Abraxes persona very seriously thought the Inquisitor. It was the Inquisitor who was responsible for the analysis in the Inquisitorial team, not the Scriptor. However, it was not the Inquisitor’s way to insist on his own prerogatives. It was important that the Emperor’s work got done. How it got done was much less important.

“My Lord, the Under-Deakon is many years younger than I am, young even for an Under-Deakon, and yet his knowledge of the Verses is nearly as good as mine. This should not be so.”

“But Scriptor, he is a member of the Ecclesiarchy. Surely his knowledge would be greater than yours.”

“Not really, my Lord. I know that you don’t indulge in contests like Citations, and I understand why, your electro-graft is optimized for other tasks. Mine is optimized for information processing and retrieval. To those not familiar with it, Citations seems like a simple memory game, and to normal people that is indeed the case, but not for me. The writings of the Emperor and His words recorded during his life are surprisingly brief. The bulk of the sacred texts are interpretations and analyses of his intentions and descriptions of how they relate to the Empire. At the moment, the total number of official works carrying the Imprimatur of the Ecclesiarchy numbers 1386 volumes. My electro-graft can carry that many with ease and ten times more besides. For the Under-Deakon to be able to compete with me as well as he does, he must have an electro-graft similar to mine. That is unprecedented for a someone of his apparent age.”

“Also, Citations is not a memory exercise for someone with an electro-graft as powerful as mine, it is an exercise in information retrieval. The information is there, but finding the appropriate Verse and Counter-Verse requires excellent information management and retrieval discipline. It is because of this constant practice that I can maintain my efficiency. And it is also for this reason that the Ecclesiarchy, the Administratum and the Adeptus Mechanicus encourage these contests. They are blessed in the sight of the Emperor.”

This was a revelation to the Inquisitor. Although he and the Scriptor had worked together for years, he had been totally unaware of this aspect of the Scriptor. He muttered a brief prayer of Abasement and Humility. The Inquisitor has always ascribed much more lowly motives to the Scriptor for his pride in success at these contests. Making unfounded assumptions was another in the many things that the Inquisitor tried to avoid. He made a note to re-evaluate his analysis of those close to him. If he could be this wrong about the Scriptor, what other things much more dangerous might he have missed?

**********

“The Deakon, my Lord, should not be able to compete so well. Also, although he can retrieve the Verses quickly, by the fourth or fifth level, his Counter-Verses get increasingly unorthodox. It is almost as if he can link to the information, but he doesn’t really understand it. If it weren’t for this flaw, I don’t think that I could beat him at all. In one contest it was not until the twenty-third level that he faltered. I am expert and experienced. He should never be able to go that far.” He said this with no pride or anger, merely as a matter of fact.

“My Lord, I am convinced that he is an impostor, and certainly not from Norcross. The work required for an electro-graft of such complexity is totally beyond anything available here.

There is also another thing, the Arch-Bishop shows no sign of doubting. Who ever he is he can fool a senior member of the Ecclesiarchy, so he has no taint of the foul gods on him. It may be that his electro-graft is optimized to fit with the Ecclesiarchy, and that is why the Arch-Bishop seems so confident in him,”

“What do you think that this means Scriptor?”

“I do not know my Lord. I felt that it was my duty to bring this information to your attention. You cannot work in ignorance. It is my duty to provide you with information. I believe that this information is something that only I could have noticed. You may already know all about him. I have searched the planetary data system and all the records I can find there fit Under-Deakon Johann. There are no unexplained gaps, and he has never even been off Norcross. Either this man is an impostor, or the records have been falsified. In either case, if you do not know about it, it is my duty to present you with the facts.”

With that the Scriptor fell silent and waited. This was indeed interesting. The Scriptor’s facts were sure to be true. If his analysis was also true, then indeed something strange was going on. Something the Inquisitor had not noticed.

“Thank you for bringing this to my attention. As you say, it is your duty, but recognizing duty and then carrying it out is not always easy. You were right to do this’”

There was no visible sign of relief from the Scriptor, but the Inquisitor knew him well enough to sense it anyway. With a brief nod he dismissed the Scriptor who bowed, opened the door and left the cabin. Just as the Scriptor exercised his mind with Citations, the Inquisitor exercised his mind with the formation of hypotheses. For the next hour he considered all the facts and recent events, and having devised a course of action picked up his copy of the Book of the Word, locked up his cabin and headed for the First Class saloon.

**********

If there was one thing that would ensure that he was not bothered by the other passengers, it was an Imperial official deep in contemplation of the Book of the Word. Thus Inquisitor Brake was able to commandeer a table and chair in the corner from which he could survey the entire saloon. Under-Deakon Johann was here. If he had not been, the Inquisitor would have tried the lounge or the Promenade. The first thing that the Inquisitor noted was that the Under-Deakon was sitting alone at the table in the other corner of the saloon, also apparently contemplating the Book of the Word. Also sitting in a location from which he could watch the whole room. The Inquisitor instantly recognized the look of someone on watch. He’d done the same thing so many times himself. The Inquisitor had given everyone in First Class a brief examination when he first came aboard, but the distraction of the murders of Citizen Trude and Steward Alexander had kept his mind occupied elsewhere. Other thoughts sprang to mind, perhaps these murders were an elaborate decoy scheme. If so then a very subtle hand was at work here. The Inquisitor continued to watch the room as he thought.

His first problem was how to keep watch on the Under-Deakon without him realizing that he was being watched. Then came the sudden revelation that he was Investigator Brake of the Adeptus Arbites on a Zeppelin where two people had been murdered in four days, He needed no excuse to watch anyone. In fact it would be expected that someone form Arbitrator Abraxes’ party would be watching.. It was only at the end of this chain of thought that Inquisitor Brake realized that his natural thought processes were impaired, much as a tipsy man can sense his own impairment. ‘It must be the height’ he thought, but just to confirm, he ran one of the standard efficiency diagnostic routines for his electro-graft.

Electro-grafts were wonderful and powerful things, expanding a man’s mind enormously, allowing vast amounts of information to be carried, allowing new skills to be imprinted quickly. But all this came with a price. Every reprogramming had a finite chance of failure. Perhaps the information would not take, perhaps it would become permanent, or perhaps the electro-graft itself would begin to degenerate. The Inquisitor had seen the husks of other Inquisitors, now mindless Servitors or Examiners, whose electro-grafts had failed, now serving the Inquisition and the Emperor in the only way available. Both the Inquisitor and Scriptor Karpus were very lucky. As an information retrieval specialist, the Scriptor required little or no reprogramming, and his artificial cyber-crystalline memory matrix could be replaced when it deteroirated without significant damage to natural brain function. According to his most recent performance analysis, Scriptor Karpus had an almost unbelievably large 96% electro-graft efficiency, and still had 78% of original brain function. His loss of the sense of taste, and unreliable sense of smell, and the inability to process music, all were very minor defects. He might just as easily have lost the power of speech and hearing, and have to communicate entirely by electoo.

The Inquisitor was even luckier. His electro-graft had an enhanced memory, but only a tenth the power of Scriptor Karpus. No, his electro-graft was configured to improve his natural brain functions, his ability to process and analyze information. It required no reprogramming and very little maintenance. According at his most recent performance analysis the Inquisitor had shown a good 89% of optimum performance and his original brain function was 92% of that expected for someone of his age and experience. While the test was running it occurred to the Inquisitor that Scriptor Karpus’ outstanding efficiency must be because of his constant practice at Citations. Three times he murmured the prayers of Abasement and Humility for his petty judgment, and then he said the prayer of Thankfulness for good measure.

The results of the efficiency routine were both breathtaking and disturbing, his electro-graft was operating at 46% of optimal efficiency, and his natural brain function was down to 77%. His mind was going away, and he couldn’t even tell. The diagnostic also showed that the deterioration was general not localized, and could detect no particular cause. The Inquisitor was a strong man with an adamantine will, but he was now afraid. Afraid in a way only a man with a great education and a great imagination can be afraid. Afraid of losing himself. He started on the Litany of Loyalty, something he often did in times of stress. The first soothing verses reminded him that he served the Emperor, and that it was his Duty and an Honor to Serve Him.

His composure restored, he contacted the Scriptor and asked him to run his own diagnostic, and in a few minutes discovered that the Scriptor’s electro-graft was down to 92% and his brain function down to 71%. The Inquisitor thought about this for a moment and then realized that the Scriptor’s electro-graft was far more cybernetic than his own, and that the reduction of natural brain function could explain the deterioration in his electro-graft, rather than the other way around. That would also explain how Scriptor Karpus had managed to solve the murder of Steward Alexander while he had been mystified. What could he do? If he arrived in Pleasant Hill like this, he would be almost useless, worse than useless. Duty to the Emperor demanded Perfection, or as close to it as was possible, and the Inquisitor was indeed very far from perfection.

**********

While continuing to watch the room, the Inquisitor thought more about his problem. He didn’t feel ill, electro-graft failure was nearly always localized or complete, general loss of function was unknown as far as he knew and there was no sign of poison. What was the problem? No answer. He the asked the Scriptor to search his data base for any pertinent information and went back to his watch.

It was now clear to the Scriptor that the Under-Deakon was indeed on watch himself, and it was equally clear that he was watching the group of six Norcross Naval officers by the bar. Early in the journey the officers had seemed uncharacteristically abstemious and subdued. But now they were beginning to live up to their reputation for hard drinking, and loud talking.

The Norcross Navy was very little respected by the other services, and was seen as the final resting place of those who had military obligations but could not be trusted in the other services or who lacked the necessary backbone. The Inquisitor didn’t entirely hold this view. He had been caught in the open sea by a huge storm on Caldur. Although not actually afraid, he had been sure of his imminent death, but the Captain of the vessel had been very nonchalant. Anyone who would risk storms of that intensity, and the storms on Norcross were even stronger than those of Caldur, had a certain sort of courage.

It was probably more a matter of traditional prejudice. Before Reunion, the Norcross natives, the Spartans, were expert seafarers, Teuton, on the other hand, had a very large number of smallish lakes and some larger lakes, and even some small seas, but no real oceans. Accordingly, the Teuton Navy consisted exclusively of patrol, rescue and small raiding craft. There was very little honor in it. On Norcross, this was compounded by the fact that the native people included many natural sailors, while as the Teuton aristocracy provided none, or at least no one who was prepared to admit to being a sailor.

After what had been an unusually long time, the Scriptor responded with good news. The oxo-blast culture in the morning an evening milk was designed to make up for the reduced oxygen content of the air at five thousand feet. The atmosphere on Norcross was naturally nine percent deficient in oxygen. However, although the oxo-blast could improve the oxygenation of the blood and other organs, it could not permeate the brain directly and, in particular, it could not help the organo-crystalline interface of the electro-graft. Accordingly, as long as the Inquisitor remained at this altitude, his electro-graft would remain impaired, but would not deteriorate further. As soon as he arrived at Pleasant Hill, down at sea level, his electro-graft would return to full function within about a day. The Inquisitor was very relieved to know that he would be fully fit for the important duties of rooting out corruption and chastising heretics.

Thus the remainder of the afternoon passed until the gong sounded to clear the saloon so that it could be set up for dinner. The dinner was to be formal, which meant unending courses, speeches and traditional Teuton toasts, based on the Inquisitor’s own limited social experiences here on Norcross. He had already instructed the Under-Chef/Steward that his glass was to be filled with frangiberry juice or water, and nothing else. The Under-Chef had not really understood and had to be told a second time. Again the Inquisitor said a prayer for Duty Well Done in remembrance of Steward Alexander.

Back in his cabin after his primary devotions, the Inquisitor packed up all the documents and materials in preparation for disembarkation tomorrow. The important documents were packed into what looked like an ordinary medium-sized portfolio, but appearances were deceptive. Almost all Inquisitors carried a private document case, but they usually were a lot heavier than they appeared with thin but very strong adamantium plating, a self-destruct charge and one or more booby traps. In addition, the Inquisitor’s case was a little more bulky than most and also contained a small grav-plate which reduced its weight considerably. The case had been presented to him by Arch Magos Alchemys Lavoisier of the Adeptus Mechanicus. He had been briefly attached to the Adeptus Mechanicus nominally to aid them in their evaluation of genetic corruption in an Adeptus Astartes force, but in fact to refute the Inquisition’s suspicions concerning corruption in the Adeptus Mechanicus itself. The culprits had been discovered, the Arch Magos Alchemys exonerated, and this gift, and some very interesting bionics for High Inquisitor Sigismondo had been the result. The Inquisitor was no longer surprised at the public demonstrations of loyalty which followed an Inquisition investigation.

The Inquisitor knew that the coming meal would be just a waste of time, and he hated wasting time. He was pleased by the memory that the Litany of Loyalty was three hundred and sixty-seven verses long, a strange number and chosen by the Emperor himself, supposedly one for every day of the year on Terra, except that there were three hundred and sixty-nine days in a year. However, the Emperor was Infallible. Perhaps the scribes were not.

**********

The evening meal was everything that the Inquisitor had expected and feared, although he gained some slight satisfaction at the attention and toasts directed to Arbitrator Abraxes. Scriptor Karpus seemed genuinely surprised at the attention he received for doing his ‘job’. The Inquisitor was well aware that much of the enthusiasm was as a result of the people realizing that they were neither the victims nor the criminals and so not subject to further investigation.

Toast followed toast, speech followed speech, boredom followed boredom. At least things sped up a little as the participants became more intoxicated. Like almost all Inquisitors and high Imperial officials, the Inquisitor did not drink alcohol except when required by duty. There were several good reasons for this. Firstly, alcohol could weaken the iron control and resolve required by an Inquisitor at all times. Judgement was also impaired. Also, alcohol in the bloodstream interfered with efficient electro-graft operation. If that were not bad enough, the toxic effects of alcohol could actually kill the interface cells, permanently degrading electro-graft efficiency. In the Inquisitor’s case his toxo-implant would protect him since alcohol is a poison like many others. Finally the Inquisitor didn’t like the taste of the peculiar alcoholic beverages he had been duty bound to sample on so many words. None of these things seemed to be a problem with the people of Norcross.

After the meal and its ceremonies were completed, the family groups retired to their cabins to prepare for an early arrival in the morning. Those who remained seemed determined to get the most out of their last night before arriving in Pleasant Hill. The Inquisitor did notice that the Under-Deakon was almost conspicuous by his solemnity and reserve. He doubted that anyone else would notice though. Almost everyone’s attention was held by the Naval officers who were indulging in some sort of drinking contest. The Inquisitor was disgusted by the though of anyone so impairing their ability to do their duty to the Emperor. He was however very surprised when one of the junior officers, a Senior Midshipman broke away from the restraints of his fellows, and weaved his way, surprisingly steadily, to the table occupied by the Under-Deakon.

Unfortunately the angle was such that he could not read the Midshipman’s lips, or see more than the occasional denial from the Under-Deakon, but it was obvious that the Midshipman was angry or agitated. It was still a surprise when the Midshipman struck out at the Under-Deakon. To the rest of the room it might have seemed that the blow missed, but the Inquisitor was just able to discern the lightning fast block made by the Under-Deakon which caused the blow to miss. In his follow-through, the Midshipman overbalanced and tumbled across a nearby table. His fellow officers came to his rescue, abject apologies were made and the spilled drinks were replaced. Honor was satisfied. Only the Inquisitor seemed to have noticed the Under-Deakon slip out of the saloon during the commotion. He had seen enough to know that the Under-Deakon was definitely not what he appeared to be and so was worthy of a very thorough investigation. Only the Inquisition knew what a thorough investigation really meant.

The Purser took this opportunity to remind everyone that the Saloon was closing in half an hour, and that the Lounge would not be open. With this news the last drinks were ordered, the last toasts proposed and the last songs sung. Finally, everyone made their way back to their cabin, walking, herded or carried, as appropriate to their condition.

**********

Although the Inquisitor slept soundly, his electro-graft was constantly on watch. Within a very few seconds of his awakening he was fully functional and ready to act. It was still night, about an hour before dawn. He had been awakened by a cry from the corridor and now someone was banging on a cabin door can calling for Under-Deakon Johann. It sounded like the Under-Chef calling. The Inquisitor woke both Scriptor Karpus and Proctor Paramedes, although he was pleased to discover that the Proctor was already awake. He then dragged on his undress robe, unlocked his cabin and looked out into the corridor. He was not alone, several other doors were open and several other heads were looking out.

Unfortunately, further down the corridor, he was noticed by the Under-Chef who ceased his banging and hurried towards him. As the Under-Chef passed across part of the carpet with a light colored pattern, the Inquisitor realized that he was leaving dark footprints behind. Footprints of blood.

“Investigator Brake.” He said, the words running like a river in full spate, “I think there’s something wrong with Under-Deakon Johann. He doesn’t answer his door, and look.”

At this he lifted up his foot so that the Inquisitor could see the blood soaked into the felt sole. By now Proctor Paramedes had appeared from his cabin and he had brought Guardsman Osfolio. Other passengers were emerging from their cabins too.

“Stop all of you!” shouted the Inquisitor with his best tone of command. The passengers stopped in their tracks. “Something may have happened to Under-Deakon Johann. If a crime has been committed Arbitrator Abraxes will need to investigate. If Heresy is involved we will need to call in the Inquisition.” His words were well chosen. The Inquisition was known and feared. No one wanted to be selected as a witness for the Inquisition, to spend an indeterminate time as a Visitor before being Examined. Quickly or slowly, depending on the thought processes or personalities of the individuals, the passengers returned to their cabins. The Inquisitor could hear as the many security bolts were fastened firmly.

With a nod and a look, which had been used frequently in the last few days, the Inquisitor indicated to Scriptor Karpus that he should adopt his Arbitrator Abraxes persona. The four of them and the Under-Chef went back to Under-Deakon Johann’s cabin. The carpet was dark outside the door, and the lighting at night was kept dim to conserve power. Careful examination revealed that a considerable amount of blood had come from under the cabin door and soaked into the carpet.

“Shall I wake the Purser and get his over-ride code, sir?” asked the Under-Chef.

“You don’t have an over-ride code of your own?”

“Yes sir, but it is for use only in emergencies. If I use the code, it will set off an alarm through out the Zeppelin”

“Arbitrator Abraxes, I believe that I can open the lock. I have made a special study of such things.” said the Inquisitor.

“You may try Investigator Brake” said Scriptor Karpus with feigned doubt. He knew perfectly well that the Inquisitor could open the lock since he had himself retrieved the access code from the Zeppelin’s machine spirit and had sent this information to the Inquisitor’s electoo. The Under-Chef made to speak but was silenced by a gesture from the Inquisitor who entered the correct code with a theatrical flourish. The door opened. It was always good practice to exaggerate the capabilities of the official forces of the Imperium. The better to create fears and doubts in the minds of the Enemies of Mankind.

When the light was turned on, the true scope of the crime was revealed. Under-Deakon Johann, or at least a crushed and battered skull attached to a body in Under-Deakon’s bed, was very dead. A large pool of blood had drained from the body, covered much of the floor and leaked out under the door.

“Under-Chef, please wake the Purser and notify the Officer of the Watch. Proctor Paramedes, guard the corridor. Investigator Brake, assist me in the cabin please.” The Under-Chef hurried off and Proctor Paramedes and Osfolio adopted guard positions in the corridor.

**********

“I hope that was appropriate my Lord? “ said Scriptor Karpus when they were alone with the door to the cabin closed to hide the body from the curious.

“Yes Scriptor, entirely appropriate. Now let me examine the body. Go into the Lavatorium so that we don’t stand in the blood.”

The body was on its side facing the wall, the skull was crushed from several blows, and there were spots of blood on the walls and even the ceiling. There was no sign of any struggle. It was just as if someone had beaten in the skull of a sleeping or awakening man. There was no sign of a murder weapon either. The Inquisitor looked more closely, and noticed the characteristic cyber-crystalline interfaces of an electro-graft. It was as the Scriptor had suspected. Disturbing as little as possible, the Inquisitor pulled back the bed clothes and bared the corpse’s left forearm. There was a standard Ecclesiarchy electoo. The Inquisitor palpated the skin around the electoo and was not surprised to discover a second, invisible, subcutaneous electoo.

“Scriptor, come here at once. This man has a subcutaneous electoo, the blood has not yet congealed, the crystalline batteries may still have some charge, see what you can find out.”

The Scriptor and the Inquisitor did a peculiar dance as they exchanged places without stepping in the large pool of blood. While the Scriptor bent to his task, the Inquisitor examined the pool of blood. He dipped the tip of his smallest finger in the blood. The only foreign chemical present was a low concentration of oxoblast. With this information, he was sure that Scriptor Karpus would be able to calculate an approximate time of death. The Inquisitor stood up and surveyed the rest of the cabin. He had become somewhat expert in surveying cabins on this journey. This one was little different from the rest. In fact it was an exact duplicate of the Inquisitor’s own cabin although on the other side of the corridor. The same lower bed with an upper berth folded and locked away, the same two portholes, the same command console, even the same neatness. He studied everything carefully.

“My Lord!! This man is an Inquisitor!!” gasped Scriptor Karpus. He was a man who was not surprised by much.

The Inquisitor folded up a towel and dropped it into the blood and stood on it so he could look over the Scriptor’s shoulder. Although its owner was very dead, there was still a little power left in the electoo and, as he watched, the Scriptor was able to activate the recognition circuit in the electoo. The unmistakable Inquisition sign was displayed, although faintly. The Scriptor quickly turned the left hand over, and there too he was able to activate the Mark of Ease and the Mark of Command.

Although this explained a lot, it also raised many new questions. It explained why the man had an electro-graft, it explained why the Scriptor had found him so suspicious. It even explained why the official records concealed these facts. However, who was this man, why was he on the Zeppelin, and why was he murdered? His death raised the stakes of any investigation too, If there was one thing that the Inquisition prosecuted beyond any other, it was the murder of an Inquisitor. It was part of the aura of dread that surrounded the Inquisition that all who attempted or succeeded killing an Inquisitor were always caught, identified, Examined, Interrogated and Corrected. Such people were beyond the Emperor’s Blessing. Their remains, and those of any confederates, were displayed in special cages outside Inquisition headquarters.

The circumstances were very favorable in this case. The killer was on board and could not escape for the moment. If necessary, every member of the passengers and crew would be Examined and Interrogated to determine their complicity. No one from the Captain and the Arch-Bishop to the engine room Sweeper and the lowliest body servant would be spared to find the culprit. Their only hope was that all those involved in the murder could be identified before it was their turn to be Examined. The Inquisitor also realized that when word escaped that an Inquisitor had been murdered, some of the passengers and crew would become very desperate to escape the attentions of the Inquisition from fear or for their own petty reasons. Let them try. No one escapes from the Inquisition!! He decided to conceal the exact circumstances of the crime for now. Only the murderer and his conspirators probably knew that the victim was an Inquisitor. That might well be the key information to prove their guilt.

“I’m sorry my Lord, the power is too low, the interfaces have decayed too far, I cannot identify him. I have downloaded all that I can from his electoo. It may help.” He kept his eyes low and his tone very deferential. Inquisitor Brake was normally a good master to serve, but a brief glance at the look on his face told the Scriptor that no one would be spared from this investigation, not even him. He was also relieved to realize that a brief Examination of his electro-graft would prove his innocence. So there was some advantage to remembering everything.

**********

“Scriptor, go out and start a search of the Zeppelin. Mobilize every resource. I want the murder weapon found if possible. It might have been dumped out of a porthole, so look for traces of blood. I want an account of the movements of every passenger in First Class and all the crew from midnight to the present. Wake up the rest of the Guard, have them assist you, leave Proctor Paramedes to guard the door. We have only a few hours before we arrive in Pleasant Hill. I want as much as possible done by then. Keep me informed of your progress and I will tell you if I require anything further. Under no circumstances let it be known that an Inquisitor has been murdered. Treat this as an investigation into the murder of a member of the Ecclesiarchy.” This was delivered in tones that would crack adamantium, not loud, but very, very hard.

The Scriptor hesitated for a moment and opened the drawer in the command console, took out the Book of the Word, and offered it to the Inquisitor. He had been looking at the corpse and waiting for the Scriptor to leave. He turned quickly to face the Scriptor to see what was delaying him and the intensity of his gaze might well have killed a weaker man. His look softened, but only slightly, as he took the book and the Scriptor left the cabin. With great solemnity, the Inquisitor read the Prayer for the Dead, the Prayer for Forgiveness, and the Entreaty of Dire Retribution. The unknown Inquisitor had given his life in Service, his union with the Ever-living Emperor was certain. The soothing effect of these moving prayers was great, and by the end the Inquisitor was completely in control of himself. Again he reflected on the competence and thoughtfulness of Scriptor Karpus. He said a brief prayer of Thanks for Duty Performed then went back to searching the room very carefully indeed.

After an exhaustive search the had come to the following conclusions. All of the Inquisitor’s baggage was packed except for his night clothes, toiletries and the change of clothes for his arrival in Pleasant Hill. All the luggage and it’s contents were consistent with Under-Deakon Johann. Inquisitor Brake expected nothing less. There was an empty glass which had contained the fortified milk in the service tray of the valet compartment.

The significant things were items that were not there, There was no murder weapon in the room. There was no sign of it having been thrown out of either of the portholes and anything big and hard enough could not have been flushed out of the Lavatorium. There was also no sign of a struggle, the Inquisitor was probably asleep. His blood and the milk showed no signs of drugs or poisons. Also missing was the key to the cabin. Whoever had killed the Inquisitor had taken it for some reason. There was a small empty Ikon case with a padded depression made to cradle an Ikon of the Emperor about eighteen inches tall. From the richness and intricacy of the case, the Ikon inside must be very sacred and valuable. There was no other sign of the Ikon in the cabin. There was also no sign at all of any documents, document case or notes which would reveal what the Inquisitor was doing.

The search completed, Inquisitor Brake remained staring at the cabin for a few more moments burning its image into his memory, almost literally in his case. He wanted to be able to study the scene later in his memory after the body had been taken away. He wanted to be able to add the memory of the scene of death to the Shrine of Fallen Heroes back in the High Inquisition Headquarters back on Terra. He had promised himself that he would also add the details of the fate of those responsible for the murder too. His reverie was broken by the insistent pricking of his electoo. Only Scriptor Karpus would bother him, and only for very good reason. He sent back an acknowledgment, said a brief Prayer of Peace, and went out into the corridor, locking the door behind him.

Out in the corridor things were in a state of great agitation. It appeared that Scriptor Karpus was conducting a cordon search. He had started at the bow and was systematically searching every cabin on his way to the rear of the First Class section. He had locked all the passengers in their cabins and then roused them out for a thorough search, one at a time. The Inquisitor could only imagine the protests that would be sent concerning the conduct of Arbitrator Abraxes. This time the facts supported almost any action he chose to take.

“Proctor Paramedes, stay outside this door and let no one in unless I am with them, that includes the Captain, the Arch-Bishop or even Scriptor Karpus. Under no conditions whatsoever are you to go inside or look inside yourself. Am I clear.” Inquisitor Brake was not one who usually spelled things out in such detail. He left the nature of the punishment for disobeying his orders to the Proctor’s imagination. The Proctor had a very vivid imagination.

**********

Inquisitor Brake then glided off down the corridor to the cabins that the Scriptor was now searching. Just in time he remembered who he was supposed to be, and resumed the demeanor of Investigator Brake.

“You summoned me, Arbitrator Abraxes?”

This took Scriptor Karpus slightly by surprise too. “Yes Investigator, would you please look at this and tell me what you think?”

Two cabins were being searched on opposite sides of the corridor. Outside the cabins, standing to attention, or at least as at attention as it was possible, were four men. On the left were the Midshipman and his cabin mate another naval officer, an Ensign if the Inquisitor remembered correctly. It was not easy to tell who was holding up who. When the Inquisitor had last seen them, they both had appeared to be the worse for drink. On the other side of the corridor were two more men, also officers, Lieutenants he thought. They seemed rather bleary-eyed but more able to stand upright on their own.

The Inquisitor followed the Scriptor into the Midshipman’s cabin. Although it was the same size and layout as the Inquisitor’s, it seemed so much smaller with the upper berth folded down. The Scriptor pointed to the luggage spread out on the lower bed. There were three items of interest. A blood-stained shirt which had been wrapped around an Ikon of the Emperor, the Ikon itself, and a blood spattered undress robe, with an Ensign’s insignia on the hood. With a gesture the Scriptor invited the Inquisitor to follow him into the other cabin, a mirror image of the first. The Scriptor produced a small mirror, and using it showed the Inquisitor that a cabin key was stuck to the underside of the command console.

The Inquisitor said nothing. Normally he would have praised the Scriptor for his efficiency. In this case he expected nothing less than perfection. Was all this just a robbery?

“Arbitrator Abraxes, … I recommend that we get these men under guard at once. Perhaps they could be guarded in Osfolio’s cabin. Someone has also stolen a valuable manuscript and case from Under-Deakon Johann. If you continue with the search, I will go to the Saloon and start questioning some of the passengers.” The Scriptor nodded in assent and issued the Inquisitor’s orders. Now he knew that he was also looking for the dead Inquisitor’s document case. The reliability of the search would be complicated by the fact that some of those searching might well have been involved in the murder and might be doing all in their power to make sure that things were not found. Well that was the Scriptor’s problem.

The Inquisitor made his way forward to the First Class Saloon where he found some of the tables set up and Purser Grunwald and the Under-Chef waiting for him. The experiences of the first two investigations had prepared them for what would come next.

“Purser Grunwald, do you know who delivered the oxo-blast to Under-Deakon Johann tonight?” the Inquisitor asked quietly.

“Yes Sir. I did Sir. You see Sir, Under-Deakon Johann had gone to his cabin early, my staff was helping some of the passengers back to their cabins Sir. To save time I started to deliver the oxo-blast, Sir” It was now clear that honorifics were the standard cover for confusion and anxiety on Norcross. It seemed that everyone thought that if you threw in enough ‘Yes Sirs” and ‘My Lords” other lapses would be ignored.

“Did you actually speak to him?”

“Yes Sir, I did Sir. I told him that there might be some noises form the cabins nearby as we put the last of the passengers to bed. I didn’t want his Devotions disturbed.”

“Very thoughtful of you. But are you sure that it was him you spoke to?”

“Oh yes Sir. He opened the cabin door Sir. I saw it was him Sir.”

“Was he alone in the cabin?”

“Yes Sir, he was…… Now I think about it, I couldn’t see into the Lavatorium. Sir. Someone might have been there.”

“Who delivered the remainder of the oxo-blast?”

“Under-Chef Spirikos, Sir”

The Under-Chef nodded in agreement.

“Yes Sir, I delivered the rest of the oxo-blast. Purser Grunwald has only just started.”

“Did either of you see anyone else wandering the corridor as you went about your duties?”

“No, Sir” the both said almost in unison. The Inquisitor wished sometimes that he could find a case where the perpetrator was caught leaving the victim’s room carrying a blood drenched axe. Of course crimes like that didn’t need his talents.

“Under-Chef, would you please go and bring Arch-Bishop Kosmedes here.”

“Investigator, Sir,” interrupted Purser Grunwald. “I think that it would be better if I went for him. The Under-Chef does not have the lock code and the Arch-Bishop will react better if a senior member of the crew escorts him.” The Inquisitor bit back a sharp reply, he did not tolerate questioning of his orders, but realized that the Purser had a point. With a nod he sent him on his way. He realized that he must be very careful. His impaired electro-graft would make him much more liable to making mistakes and he HATED making mistakes. Mistakes were Dereliction of Duty and Duty was Everything.

While the Purser was gone, the Inquisitor activated the command console checked the passenger roster, and confirmed from the baggage manifest that Under-Deakon Johann had indeed brought on board a piece of luggage which was probably the Ikon case, and another piece of luggage which was his document case, now missing.

After a rather longer delay than he expected, Arch-Bishop Kosmedes was both ushered and herded into the Saloon by the Purser.

**********

The Arch-Bishop had the tall, and lean build, and swarthy complexion typical of a Norcross native. He walked with a sense of majesty and this was further enhanced by his impressive robes and multiple implants, all burnished to the highest shine. Since Reunion, and in particular the Miracle of Saint Basil, the Ecclesiarchy was the only branch of the Imperium which allowed great scope for Norcross natives. With the example of their own Arch-Redemptor Kyrinov before them, the scions of the greatest noble houses flocked to the church. There their background was an advantage. Any one of them might hope to succumb to the ecstatic vision of the Emperor, just like Saint Basil.

It was clear from his demeanor that the Arch-Bishop was much more used to commanding rather than submitting, and the Inquisitor was sure that it was no accident that the Arch-Bishop was dressed in his formal robe, not an undress one. He was reminding everyone, and not too subtly, that he was the direct representative of the Emperor’s Spirit. The Inquisitor decided to take a deferential attitude, to begin with at least.

“My Lord Arch-Bishop, I am sorry to disturb you, but I think that you may be able to help me. A terrible crime has been committed and only you may have the information I need to discover the criminal.” The Inquisitor was quite pleased with that little speech. Deferential and flattering at the same time, and worded to pique the interest. The Arch-Bishop had made to utter some protest, but stopped and thought for a moment, then allowed the Purser to seat him.

“Yes, my Son, what has happened?”

“Under-Deakon Johann has been murdered, and something of great value has been stolen” The Inquisitor noted carefully that the item of great value caught the Arch-Bishop’s attention far more than the mere murder.

“The Ikon has been stolen?” he said in almost a whisper.

“Yes, my Lord, someone had killed Under-Deakon Johann and an empty Ikon case was found in his cabin.” The truth and nothing but the truth, but not the whole truth. “Can you tell me something about Under-Deakon Johann and the Ikon?”

“Under-Deakon Johann was a messenger from the Ecclesiarchy on Terra. He told me that he was bringing the Ikon of Pella to Pleasant Hill for the celebration of this year’s Soldiers Day..”

“The Ikon of Pella, my Lord? I am just a simple Investigator for the Adeptus Arbites. I know very little of the Ecclesiarchy’s business on Norcross.”

“Ah my Son. It is all to do with the Miracle of Saint Basil. When Norcross was rediscovered five hundred years ago, the people had degenerated into pagan worship. They refused to resubmit to the authority of the Emperor. Praise be to the Ever-Living Emperor. Forces were sent to subdue them, but they still fought on in a hopeless conflict which could have only one result. A priest named Basileos, had an ecstatic vision if the Ever-Living Emperor, Bless His Name, and in this vision it was revealed that the pagan god was just an aspect of the Emperor, His Word conquers all. In a single day all resistance ceased. This Basileos had an image made of his vision, by the best artisans in Pella, that’s now called Pleasant Hill. This was an image of the Emperor, may His Wisdom guide us all, as a Man, something Basileos had never seen. When the image was brought to Terra, it was found to be a perfect likeness, thus proving the truth of the vision. Every ten years, the Ikon is brought back to Norcross to celebrate the Emperor’s Infinite Mercy. This is such a year. The celebration is due in two weeks. Arch-Redemptor Kyrinov himself is returning to his home this time. It will be a glorious celebration.”

“Is the Ikon valuable, my Lord?”

“Valuable!! How can you value Mercy? What price can you place on Divine Revelation? It is an item beyond price.”

“I am sorry my Lord. I meant is it made of valuable materials?”

“That is a blasphemous thought!! The Ikon is a representation of a direct manifestation of the Emperor, may we always follow His guidance,.”

“Apologies my Lord. I am only trying to punish the guilty. Under-Deakon Johann seems rather junior for such an important task. It is a long way from Terra.”

“Yes my Son. I have always hoped that the Ikon of Pella would be displayed in the Shrine to the Emperor as the Defender of Mankind in Buford. To transport it backward and forward puts it at risk. However, the Conclave of Terra has determined that the Ikon should be displayed on Terra where it can be a constant inspiration to the High Lord of Terra themselves. Under-Deakon Johann was selected to transport the Ikon from Buford to Pleasant Hill by the Imperial Commander himself. He was about the same age as Basileos. It is traditional.”

“Did you notice anything unusual about the Under-Deakon on the voyage, my Lord?”

“He seemed very knowledgeable. He spent most of his time in study. Your superior, Arbitrator Abraxes spent a lot of time with him. It is unusual to meet an member of the Adeptus Arbites who knows the Sacred Verses as well as Arbitrator Abraxes.”

“Yes my Lord, I am very lucky to serve such a man. One last thing, did you see Under-Deakon Johann after you left the Saloon this evening?”

“No. I remained behind. He left early to perform his Devotions. He was very pious. I left for my cabin just before the Saloon closed.”

“Thank you my Lord. You have been very helpful. I won’t disturb you any further tonight.”

The Arch-Bishop waited a moment, long enough for the Purser to hurry over and hold his chair, stood up and left the Saloon.

**********

The Inquisitor spent some time digesting this new information, but his analysis was interrupted by the noise of a commotion in the corridor and the insistent pricking of the Emergency circuit of his electoo. Proctor Paramedes was in trouble. He hurried out to investigate. Proctor Paramedes was not one to cry demon without reason.

Outside the cabin of Under-Deakon Johann was a curious tableau. Arch-Bishop Kosmedes was exhibiting all the Righteous Fury that can be mustered by a senior member of the Ecclesiarchy. Eyes ablaze, drawn to his full height and aura of majesty on display. Proctor Paramedes was staring back with the look of Duty Obdurate, assisted by the muzzle of a hell pistol a few inches from the Arch-Bishop’s nose.

“Is there a problem, my Lord?” asked the Inquisitor quietly but very firmly.

“This man refuses to let me perform my duty. He will not let me in to pray over the body of Under-Deakon Johann. I want him disciplined for refusing to obey my orders.”

“I am sorry my Lord, he was acting on specific instructions from Arbitrator Abraxes not to let anyone into the cabin under any circumstances. It is the scene of a terrible crime. You might accidentally disturb evidence. The Emperor’s Retribution is more important than anything else….”

“More important to you, perhaps. It is his soul I am worried about. Without the proper prayers, his soul can never be joined with the Glorious and All-Loving Emperor. It will take only a few minutes. I insist.”

“The Prayer for the Dead and the Prayer for Forgiveness have both been said already. Arbitrator Abraxes is very knowledgeable about such things. As you know my Lord, Arbitrator Abraxes has complete authority in this case. If you wish to protest, you may contact Adeptus Arbites headquarters in Buford when we arrive at our destination. I know him. His instructions are final.”

Bluff having failed, the Arch-Bishop acknowledged the authority of Arbitrator Abraxes, drew his dignity around him like a great cloak and withdrew to his cabin.

The Inquisitor could read the look of vast relief on Proctor Paramedes’ face. The Proctor had been spared the choice between assaulting an Arch-Bishop and disobeying Inquisitor Brake. The Arch-Bishop could only damn his soul to eternal torment in the Eye of Terror. Inquisitor Brake could do much worse.

With a nod of acknowledgment of Instructions Obeyed, the Inquisitor continued to the cabin of Guardsman Osfolio. There he instructed him to bring the prisoners to the Saloon for questioning, one at a time, starting with the most sober.

Lieutenant Kankredes had the short build and swarthy, weather-beaten complexion of an inhabitant of the South Coast, one of the traditional recruiting grounds for the Norcross Navy. Also, if the Inquisitor was any judge, he had a serious hangover.

“Lieutenant Kankredes, account for your movements from the time that you left the Saloon last night until now.” This was delivered in the harsh voice of authority, recognizable by any soldier.

“Sir. Lieutenant Stavros and I left the Saloon when it closed. We went directly our cabin. We went or bed. I was awakened when Investigator Abraxes knocked on our door. Our cabin was searched. You were summoned. We…”

“You did not leave your cabin at any time during the night?”

“No Sir!”

“Did you say your evening Devotions?”

“No Sir. I was too tired Sir?”

“Too tired? Don’t you mean too drunk!!!”

“No Sir!! I had a lot to drink, but I have drunk more before. No, I just felt very tired. I will ask for Forgiveness later today.”

“Did Lieutenant Stavros leave the cabin at any time during the night?”

“I don’t know Sir. We were on our bunks. He did not leave before I fell asleep.”

“How did that key get there?”

“I don’t know Sir.”

There was little difference between ignorance and official ignorance. The man seemed to be telling the truth, but given the limited amount of information there was little scope for lies. A man could survive for years in the military without saying more than Yes Sir, No Sir and I don’t know Sir. The Inquisitor summoned the next prisoner and had Guardsman Osfolio lock Lieutenant Kankredes in the Lounge, so he could not share any information with the others. There was no sign of any information being passed when the two Lieutenants passed, not even a knowing glance..

Lieutenant Stavros was a carbon-copy of Lieutenant Kankredes Except for a thin beard covering a weak chin the two could be brothers or even twins, right down to the hangover.

“Lieutenant Stavros, account for your movements from the time that you left the Saloon last night until now.”

“Sir. Lieutenant Kankredes and I left the Saloon when it closed. We went directly our cabin. We went or bed. I was awakened when Investigator Abraxes knocked on our door. Our cabin was searched. You were summoned. We…” Either their explanation had been rehearsed or this was another example of the uniformity and regimentation of military thinking.

“You did not leave your cabin at any time during the night?”

“No Sir!”

“Did you say your evening Devotions?”

“No Sir. I was too tired Sir?”

“Too tired? Don’t you mean too drunk!!!”

“No Sir!! I didn’t have that much to drink. No, I just felt very tired. I will beg for Forgiveness later today.”

“You do have a hangover though?”

“Yes Sir. I don’t know why. They must serve the drinks much stronger here.”

“Lieutenant Kankredes says that you left the cabin last night. Where did you go?”

“No Sir. Lieutenant Kankredes must be mistaken Sir. I’m sure I fell asleep before him. I did get up to use the Lavatorium. I did not leave the cabin.

“How did that key get under the command console?”

“I don’t know Sir.”

Another fount of information. Things were not getting any easier.

**********

The Inquisitor himself locked Lieutenant Stavros in the lounge and then went back to the Saloon. Before any more questioning he needed to analyze what little information he had. This process was interrupted by additional information from Scriptor Karpus. Firstly, the key was indeed the key to Under-Deakon Johann’s cabin. The Scriptor also admitted that Proctor Paramedes had allowed him to test the lock, but not open the cabin door without permission. The Inquisitor was gratified at this display of initiative by the Proctor. It would have been very easy for him, especially following the incident with the Arch-Bishop, to refer everything to the Inquisitor. Secondly the search had revealed no sign what-so-ever of the document case. Accordingly, he was starting an even more painstaking search. He was prepared to dismantle the entire Zeppelin if necessary. All of this was helpful, but provided no really new information, so the Inquisitor summoned the next officer, Ensign Demetrios.

Ensign Demetrios wasn’t feeling very well. It was probably because he was a naval officer and used to walking on heaving decks in the open sea that he was able to stand upright at all. The Inquisitor motioned him to sit, and he collapsed into a chair. Ensign Demetrios was tall and slim and dark, but with penetrating blue eyes, showing obvious Teuton ancestry. The Inquisitor stared for a moment.

“Confess!! Your confederates have told all. If you confess, the Emperor’s Blessing can be given.” The Inquisitor delivered this in his most compelling tone. Few could resist his tone and fierce gaze. The hypno-sub-vocalizations helped too. In this case he got no response. The Ensign blinked, licked his lips, and nodded slightly. It was a miracle he was even conscious.

In a single fluid motion and with preternatural speed, the Inquisitor reached across the table, drew the Ensign’s Blade of Honor, and slashed his right earlobe. The Ensign barely reacted. Not even in self-defense. He didn’t even notice the warm drops of blood falling onto the table or the Inquisitor catch two or three on the tip of the smallest finger of his left hand. With a nod, he beckoned Purser Grunwald to bring the Healer Kit and dress the wound. The results of his action were very interesting. There were slight traces of alcohol in the blood, but only very slight. However, there were traces of two different poisons, both fatal in large doses, and merely narcotic in small ones. The Inquisitor was no expert, but it seemed likely that the Ensign would live. He summoned Guardsman Osfolio who brought Senior Midshipman Panathenaikos. The Midshipman was in even worse condition than the Ensign, and a sample of his blood showed even greater concentrations of narcotic. He very well might not live.

“Purser Grunwald. Help Guardsman Osfolio to take these two men back to his cabin. Summon the Zeppelin’s Healer. This is an emergency. These two men have been drugged with Catbane and Phazon. The Midshipman may die. The Healer will need to know.”

Catbane is a local toxin used as a primitive medicine from the earliest history of Norcross. Phazon was a synthetic, often used in the Examination process by the Inquisition. In small doses it loosened the shackles of the mind and diminished the power of the will. It also reacted very badly with creature of the Warp and was an infallible test for demonic possession of all sorts. It was not common.

“Osfolio, when you have finished, bring Over-Captain Hogar to me” The Inquisitor knew of the Hogar family from this travels. There seemed to be a Hogar on every planet in the Imperium of Mankind. The family had a reputation for sharp business practices, and was rumored to control the largest Archeo-Techno smuggling ring. The Inquisitor knew this for a fact. He also knew that the Hogars passed much useful information to the Inquisition. This Hogar was a descendent of the only officer to survive the original contact with Norcross, before Reunion. The Inquisitor also remembered that the Hogars had reputation as survivors too. You would need to be a survivor to prosper on Norcross, neither a Spartan nor a Teuton. There were no other choices.

Over-Captain Hogar was short and wide. Unfortunately there was no genotype of Hogars, they came in all shapes and sizes, but none of them were stupid, or at least none who were allowed to reach maturity.

“Over-Captain Hogar, I am Investigator Brake. I need your help. There is a problem with your subordinates.” The Over-Captain made no attempt to hide his lack of surprise.

“What is the problem Sir?” He gave nothing away.

“Last evening, I saw Midshipman Panathenaikos strike Under-Deakon Johann. This morning Under-Deakon Johann is dead. What happened?” It would have been easy for the Over-Captain to deny any knowledge. Easy but futile.

“Senior Midshipman Panathenaikos thought that he recognized him. During training there was a scandal involving participation in forbidden rites. Several Cadets were denounced and arrested by the Inquisition. A small cell of Pleasure Lovers was discovered. Senior Midshipman Panathenaikos thought that Under-Deakon Johann was the leader of the cell. He was very sure indeed. However, thus seems impossible. The best he could expect from the Inquisition was a slow and painful death as he was Corrected. It could not be the same man.”

“Why did he challenge him?”

“I don’t know Sir. Panathenaikos had been drinking, and there was something about the way the Under-Deakon looked at him that set him off. He had gone after him before we could do anything. I find it impossible that he could have killed the Under-Deakon. He could scarcely stand. We had to carry them to their cabin. I though that they could handle their liquor better than that.”

“How long have you known these men?”

“Senior Midshipman Panathenaikos joined the crew eleven months ago, Ensign Demetrios joined two years ago, Lieutenant Stavros just over four years ago, and Lieutenant Kankredes about four and a half years ago.”

“I see that you didn’t mention Commander Polyandres.”

“No Sir. He couldn’t be involved. He shares the cabin with me. Neither of us left the cabin tonight.”

“Thank you, Over-Captain Hogar. The Healer is tending to the Midshipman and the Ensign. Once they are sober, I may need to question them again.”

The Over-Captain stood, made a small bow of submission totally inappropriate for an Over-Captain to a mere Investigator, turned and left the room. This left the Inquisitor wondering what the Over-Captain knew about him. No the Hogars weren’t stupid.

**********

Inquisitor Brake sat alone in the empty saloon, sipping from the glass of frangiberry juice which had mysteriously appeared on his table. His mood was neither one of anger nor despair but rather one of extreme frustration and disappointment in himself. The crime had been uncovered, witnesses and suspects identified and questioned and yet he was no closer to solving the crime than when he had started. He had handled things in his usual manner and yet no inspiration had struck him. By now he ought to be tying up the last few threads having identified the culprit. This time he had betrayed his duty, his duty to the Emperor, his duty to the Inquisition and, worst of all, his duty to the unknown slain inquisitor. Electro-graft impairment was no excuse. He would not accept that explanation from anyone else. It was his own fault for not having researched Zeppelin travel better before he had departed. There should have been something he could have done to prevent the effects of oxygen deprivation. The fact that he was traveling under orders from High Inquisitor Sigismondo was no excuse either. Inquisitors followed orders, but it was their own responsibility to ensure that they were capable of action at all times.

His meditations were interrupted by the arrival of Scriptor Karpus and his search team. He picked up the glass of juice and moved out into the corridor to observe as the Saloon was searched. Whatever was wrong with him, there seemed to be nothing wrong with Scriptor Karpus. As Arbitrator Abraxes and with the assistance of the Inquisitor’s two off-duty Guardsmen and various members of the crew, the Scriptor managed the search with ruthless efficiency. The floor was taken up and all the storage compartments underneath were emptied and examined. Closets, cupboards and cases were all opened emptied and examined. Mirrors were used to probe into confined places. Access and inspection panels were removed and the spaces revealed were searched. The crew were in awe of the Scriptor, impressed and intimidated by his ‘magic eyes’. From time to time he would stare into space as if looking through walls, then order some hidden or forgotten panel uncovered and opened. Looking for anywhere that would hide a two foot by two foot by four inch case.

This was no magic. Scriptor Karpus had a relatively rare corneal electoo that allowed information to be projected as if into the space in front of him. This added greatly to his value to the Inquisitor, they had been together for fifteen subjective years, and most corneal electoos resulted in blindness in five years. In this case he was doubtless retrieving construction plans and diagrams from the Zeppelin’s machine spirit and projecting them into the space in front of him, probably scaled to match the walls and bulkheads that he could see. Thus hiding places could be discovered and revealed. The Inquisitor was truly lucky to have such an assistant.

The small pantry behind the bar was searched and even the delivery chutes that brought the food up from the kitchen on the lower deck. Finally the search was complete but the saloon had been restored to its original condition, complete with single table, two chairs and fresh glass of frangiberry juice. The Scriptor sent the team up to search the promenade deck while he joined the Inquisitor.

“My Lord,” he said quietly so that they could not be overheard, “I have completed the second search. An examination of the Zeppelin’s machine spirit records shows that no one opened any of the secure doors last night from the time that the companionway to the promenade deck was closed until just recently. Unfortunately the use of individual cabin locks is not recorded. However, I am sure that the murderer and the case must be still in the First Class section. I just cannot find it. The second search is now complete and I have failed. If you would care to check, My Lord?” With this he ushered the Inquisitor over to the command console. There he displayed the schematics of the two levels of the First Class section with the search progress shown as areas of different color.”

“What is that?” said the Inquisitor as he pointed to a small blank area.

“That is an auxiliary ballast tank my Lord. It is filled with water. There is no entrance from within the Zeppelin. It is filled and emptied through hose connections and the only inspection hatch is at the bottom. This is both inaccessible and, since the tank is currently over half full, impossible to be the hiding place. And that, my Lord” he said pointing to a grey colored area on the other side of the gondola, “is a similar tank, that is now filled with liquid waste and sewage and equally inaccessible. The entry pipes are too narrow for the case to be there.” Scriptor Karpus certainly knew what he was doing.

“What about that?”, he pointed to a small blue area in contrast to all the red.

“That’s Under-Deakon Johann’s cabin. It is blue because you have searched it once. All the red areas have been searched twice. Proctor Paramedes was following your orders to let no one in.”

“Yes, I have searched it, but you now have considerable experience as searching cabins. There may be somewhere I missed. We shall go and search it again.”

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Proctor Paramedes was still at the door. Standing like a statue.

“Proctor Paramedes, you are relieved. Find another guard to take your place, then go up to the promenade deck and fetch the Scriptor’s search team. They are to wait out in the corridor.”

The Proctor departed and Scriptor Karpus opened the door into the cabin with the key he had been carrying. They went inside and locked the door and engaged the security bolt to make sure that no one disturbed them. The spartan cabin was exactly as the Inquisitor has left it, except that now the pool of blood on the floor had congealed into an almost black mass. The Inquisitor stood at the foot of the bed while the Scriptor searched the Lavatorium annex. The Scriptor found nothing new, but the Inquisitor was surprised to discover that there were hidden fasteners which allowed the entire floor to hinge upward for maintenance of the ducting and piping. There was nothing there either. The Inquisitor moved into the Lavatorium while the Scriptor searched the main cabin. The Inquisitor noted that the Scriptor’s search was as thorough as his own. The Scriptor struggled with an inspection panel at the foot of the bed. When the Inquisitor had looked there, the screws were painted over so many times that it was clear that the panel had not been opened for many years, perhaps since the Zeppelin had been constructed. This was not going to stop the Scriptor. He excused himself as he opened the door and went back out into the corridor and soon emerged with a box of tools. After fifteen minutes of solid effort the panel finally surrendered. There was nothing there, but the space revealed might have been large enough. Finally, the Scriptor stood up an pulled on the handle of the upper berth. It was locked in place just like all the upper berths in single cabins. Again the Scriptor was not to be denied. This time he produced another key from inside is robes and carefully pulled down the berth.

There it was. The missing document case, disguised as a standard Ecclesiarchy Holy Picture holder. The Inquisitor said a brief but very heart-felt prayer of Thankfulness. He had tested the berth and made sure that it was indeed locked in place, but he had no key and could not open it up. The Scriptor was indeed thorough and had learned something in his searches. When investigating the murder of Citizen Trude, the Inquisitor hadn’t sought to look in the upper berth either. He had failed in his Duty. He would pay his penance when he got to Pleasant Hill. The Scriptor looked at the case carefully, it might be booby trapped. The Inquisitor realized that if the case had survived being shut up behind the berth, then whatever booby trap might be active, it wasn’t a sensitive motion detector. He also remembered the sudden shock of the updraft three nights ago. He moved over and looked at the case. It was locked. He tapped it lightly and nudged it. I exhibited the classic rigidity and weight of a case lined with adamantium plates. He looked at the Scriptor.

“I’m sorry my Lord, I was unable to retrieve the access code when I downloaded the information from his electoo. I cannot help you open the case.”

“It is good that you found it. I failed my Duty when I searched the cabin the first time. I should have looked there.” The Scriptor was well aware that Inquisitor was very hard on his subordinates when they failed in their Duty. But he was not one of those who sought to blame his own errors on others. That was another reason why the Scriptor was so grateful to have Inquisitor Brake as a master.

The Scriptor went outside and dismissed his search team thanking them officially from the Adeptus Arbites for their diligence. The Inquisitor summoned Proctor Paramedes and passed the case over into his care, and the Inquisitor and the Scriptor returned to the Saloon. There the Inquisitor went back over all the facts of the case looking for something he had missed while the Scriptor sat and waited. They would be in Pleasant Hill soon.

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The Inquisitor’s electro-graft is performing badly. He needs your help to solve this case. The murderer is a character named or mentioned in this story. Who is it and what clues should the Inquisitor have noticed? Help him.

The Emperor Expects Every Man to do His Duty.

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