The Scriptor sat and waited some more. In only about three hours they would be docking in Pleasant Hill. Inquisitor Brake came out of his own deep contemplation and, with a nod, instructed the Scriptor to go to his cabin and prepare for the arrival. Troops would be needed to seal off the landing field, holding cells would be needed for the passengers and crew, Interrogators and Examiners would be needed to find the guilty and additional Examination chambers would be needed for them to work in. Given the importance of some of the passengers, Inquisition Headquarters needed to be ready for the inevitable protests of innocence and loyalty. ‘There is no Innocence, only degrees of Guilt’ is one of the watch-phrases of the Inquisition. With the murder of an Inquisitor, even a junior one, no effort would be spared, no excuses accepted. Even so, it was better to be prepared.
Scriptor Karpus was in deep concentration composing orders in Inquisitor Brake’s name on the control console in his cabin when some small movement was detected by his bionically enhanced senses. He turned slightly toward the movement, and so the knife that would have otherwise plunged into his neck, merely glanced off his skull plating, bounced off his active sensor mount and cut deeply into his right fore-arm. Scriptor Karpus was no expert in hand to hand combat, but like all members of an Inquisition field team he was trained in basic self defense. He threw up his arm in defense, and if the second blow had not hit the mounting point on his right arm it might have been severed. As it was, the knife bit deep into the hardened metal. At the same time, the Scriptor slid off the console seat and sent out an emergency call.
The assailant was lightning fast and easily beat the Scriptor’s ineffective blocks, scoring both his arms and cutting deeply into his left shoulder. It was only because several thrusts hit plating, implants or subcutaneous actuators that the Scriptor was not killed in the first flurry of slashes. The Scriptor wore full robes in public at all times, and his assailant was obviously unaware of the many bionic enhancements and replacements. The Scriptor had weak spots, but the were not where one might expect. The Scriptor also noted through the blood, sucrosol and pain, that the knife must have a field reinforced mono-molecular edge in order to cut through his robe and armor and flesh so easily. The attacker wore a mask but Captain Hogar owned an heirloom mono-knife. Now all Scriptor Karpus had to do was survive until help came, so he crouched down in the corner behind his bunk where the bulk of his body was protected and only his head, with its reinforced plating, was really exposed. He used his right arm to ward off as many blows as he could, hoping that he would be rescued before he lost any more fingers.
Proctor Paramedes delivered a mighty kick and the door to Scriptor Karpus’ cabin folded inward, along with part of the frame. The construction on The Miracle of Saint Basil was opulent but very flimsy. He leapt over the wreckage, teeth bared, battle cry of the Paramedes on his lips, hell pistol and power sword at the ready. At the far end of the cabin a figure in robe turned to face him as the Proctor fired three blasts from the hell pistol directly into its chest. When the enemy’s charge was not slowed in the slightest Proctor Paramedes realized the mistake that he had made. A power sword is a valuable and potent weapon for combat in corridors and open spaces, but in the confined space of a cabin it was more of a hindrance than a help. The enemy attacked with a storm of lightning fast slashes, one he blocked with his hell pistol at the expense of a large patch of sacred enameling, another he blocked with the hilt of his sword, yet another chopped a piece out of his holster. Three more blows cut though his robes and under-armor and scored his flesh in lines of fire. The Proctor was not afraid, but he was very worried as he slowly withdrew in the face of unceasing attacks. In this situation his strength was of little use and his bulk was a distinct disadvantage. At least his muscles protected his vital organs. It was only with his great skill powered by desperation that he prevented a killing blow from sinking home, but it was only a matter of time before he tired or some ligament was cut as he fought his bloody retreat. As he prepared to throw himself backward through the door into the corridor a telling blow got through his weakening defenses and crippled his right calf causing him to fall back onto the floor and only a desperation slash with his sword prevented the knife from gutting him.
“STOP!”
The mighty cry of Inquisitor Brake, reinforced by his hypno-sub-vocalization at full power, echoed down the corridor. Proctor Paramedes had received counter-conditioning, but even he was slowed for a moment. Unfortunately, the attacker was not slowed in the slightest, but did break tempo as the attack was redirected against the Inquisitor.
Now it was the turn of the attacker to be surprised. Inquisitor Brake was below average height, of light build and had the Warp-weary look of someone who has traveled long, far and often. He was a complete contrast to the much more imposing Scriptor and even larger Proctor. However, appearances were deceptive. As a senior Inquisitor of the Ordo Veritas he had access to the Catechism of Faith, a series of verses which allowed him to invoke a small portion of the Emperor’s power. Anticipating desperate circumstances, he had taken the time to invoke the verses of Glorious Smiting, Swift Striking, Purity of Purpose, and Righteous Fury. This was at some risk and he was fortunate not to be wracked with agony as the power of the Emperor flowed through him.
His hell pistol shots had no more effect that the Proctor’s, and he appeared to be unarmed otherwise. As fast as was the attacker, the Inquisitor was faster and his left hand flashed out and engaged the attackers right hand, holding the knife. The attacker was wracked with pain, muscles twitching uncontrollably. Even so, he did not drop the knife, and with hysterical strength wrenched his hand free and struck back. To the surprise of all, Inquisitor Brake caught the knife with his left hand and let it slip down the blade, a little blood dripping from his hand. The Inquisitor blocked a left hand blow with his pistol and fired two shots into the hand, blowing off all the fingers. His left hand now firmly gripped the hand holding the knife, and the muscles of the attacker could be seen writhing under the robes. With one last spasm the attacker fell to the floor, but the Inquisitor was not to be fooled and he did not let go. He continued to hold the hilt of the knife and the attacker continued to twitch for several seconds, the spasms sufficiently strong to break his left arm against the door jamb. Only then did the Inquisitor let go.
Upon his commission as Inquisitor, Roberto Brake had undergone surgery to have his electoos and implants inserted. At the same time he had all the finger nails on his left hand, with the exception of that of the smallest finger, removed and replaced with adamantium reinforced contacts and the circuitry of a neural disruptor installed into his forearm. One never knew when it would be necessary to conduct a field interrogation. When tuned to a subject’s nervous system, carefully metered impulses could be introduced to allow basic Examination and Interrogation. At full power and unfocused, the neural disruptor was a powerful, but generally non-lethal weapon. Inquisitor had learned of the interaction of the neural disruptor field with a power field in a moment of desperation during a previous assassination attempt.
As his other guards rushed to help, the Inquisitor turned the attacker over and threw back the mask covering his face.
**********
Purser Grunwald!!
The Inquisitor bent down carefully and examined the face more closely. It appeared to be Purser Grunwald. He carefully scored one cheek with one of the sharpened nails on his left hand. The skin cut as it should, but there was something wrong with the consistency of the skin and the way that it bled. The Inquisitor touched the blood with the tip of the little finger of his left hand. Warnings of many sorts echoed through his brain. Quickly, he reactivated his neural disruptor and shocked the apparently inert body again. It twitched and writhed in response to the vicious impulses coursing through the nervous system.
By this time, Osfolio and several of the crew had also arrived on the scene. Osfolio had checked to see that his master was safe, and then started to help Proctor Paramedes to his feet.
“Leave him Osfolio!” the Inquisitor snapped. “Summon the Zeppelin’s Healer immediately. This is an emergency. Get a stretcher from the emergency kit down the corridor, and go to your cabin and fetch two Web Grenades.”
Under-Chef Spirikos had arrived by now with the Healer kit from the saloon and started tending to Proctor Paramedes. While Inquisitor Brake waited for Osfolio to return, he continued to shock the body every minute or so, but Osfolio soon hurried down the corridor and made to help Proctor Paramedes.
“Not him!. Help me with this one.”
The limp form of Purser Grunwald was placed on the stretcher and secured firmly in place with the restraint straps, very necessary for the injured on as mobile a platform as a zeppelin. The Inquisitor motioned for Osfolio to lift the head end and the two of them carried the stretcher into the saloon. There the Inquisitor put the handles on one end on the back of one chair, and supported the other end of the stretcher on another chair. He then placed a towel over the Purser’s face and a blanket over his body. He motioned for the Web Grenades and directed Osfolio back into the corridor. One grenade he placed under the back of the body, the other he placed on the chest under the blanket and then activated the grenades on a five second delay and went out into the corridor to avoid the blast. Things went much as he planned. There were two dull thuds, the body lurched slightly, the blanket bulged and a little of the web reached the floor and the ceiling. Messy it might be, but Purser Grunwald wouldn’t be going anywhere soon. Guard Osfolio was entirely mystified, but then his duty was to guard, not think.
Inquisitor Brake went back to the body and pulled the towel back. It had protected the face from web splash. He then bent over and examined it very carefully, running his finger along the jaw line and the edge of the scalp. With a small and rare sigh of triumph he lifted the complete face away. A mask behind a mask!
Much was clear to Inquisitor Brake, but he had a serious problem on his hands. He wished that Interrogator Grauman was here. He would be able to handle the problem, he was an artist. On the stretcher he had the unconscious body of an Assassin of the Venenum Temple, one of the deadly Chem-killers, experts in poisons of all sorts. Also, unlike the crude monsters of the Eversor Temple, subtle users of drugs to enhance their own abilities. Inquisitor Brake would very much like to have the assassin Examined. The problem was that should the assassin return to consciousness fully, he might well suicide rather than reveal anything. Alternatively, for all he knew, the assassin might be able to heal his wounds, secrete websol and escape. In any case, if the assassin remained unconscious for too long, the uncontrolled action of his own chem-implants might kill him.
Inquisitor Brake realized that things were a lot more complicated than they first appeared. Perhaps Purser Grunwald had killed Citizen Trude, or at least provoked Steward Alexander into the deed. A little drug here and there could have driven the Steward into an uncontrollable passion. As a deliberate action, this could have been done to try and unmask the Inquisitor traveling on board. Instead, he had caught Arbitrator Abraxes and Investigator Brake. Then Steward Alexander had been eliminated. Purser Grunwald had used his pass key to get into the cabin of the unknown Inquisitor, who really hadn’t concealed his identity that well. In spite of his enhanced senses, the Inquisitor would have been no match for the assassin. The assassin had nearly killed Scriptor Karpus and Proctor Paramedes and they were wide awake. Even Inquisitor Brake was not sure that he would have survived if attacked suddenly and silently at night. Again, subtle drugs might have been used, although his examination had revealed none. Purser Grunwald alone had both the pass key to the cabin that could by-pass the alarm and the key to the upper berth so that the document case could be concealed. But what was the purpose? Was it to murder the Inquisitor? Was it to implicate Captain Hogar and his officers. Was it to taint the reputation of the Hauser-Huss Zeppelin Service? Was it to steal the Inquisitor’s notes? And who else on board was involved? Assassins usually operated very much alone, but this one was employed by someone, unless this was all a very elaborate training mission.
Inquisitor Brake now had a minor political problem. He could always insist on his absolute authority and have all the passengers and crew locked up and Examined, but now with the killer apparently identified, the many rich and powerful on board would bring whatever pressure they had to bear to avoid this. He had the authority, but High Inquisitor Sigismondo had dropped him into this situation. He was bound to know more. Let him decide what to.
The look on Inquisitor Brake’s face was by no means a smile, but it was a great deal less grim than it had been.
