Inquisitor Damocles adjusted the load on his back, the weight of the comlink and auspex rig was partly offset by the strength of his power armor (a set of armor that would get him the death sentence if any Astares were ever to see him in it!) but they still slowed him. Still they were an essential link to his orbiting Gun Cutter and he had no intention of walking around this desolate world without it.

Meridian was a dusty space port, no more than some landing pads and huts. It's only reason for existance was to be found in its name, it was more or less equally distant from several mines and other settlements. Every year or two the ore ships would pull into orbit and this dusty cross road would become a hive of activity as mile-long truck caravans pull in carrying ore and pull out carrying machinery, foodstuffs and a not inconsiderable amount of cash.

The place would be filled with merchants, crewmen, traders, miners, press gangs, joy girls and travelers.

But not today.

Today there were five ships in the port. Three of them were wrecks that would never fly again. One of them was the Inquisitor's shuttle. And the last was an atmospheric transport belonging to a certain arms merchant.

Damocles shouldered through a pilgrim in his way. The wanderer muttered something but thought better of confronting a man wearing a quarter ton of armor and equipment.

He could hear the voice now.

"Guns! Git yer guns right here! Gil's guns! Best in the sector!"

There were rumors about Gil, there were always rumors.

Some said he'd been an Imperial Guard quartermaster who one day slipped away with a shuttle full of weapons which he'd been selling off bit by bit for years.

Others said he was a prospector who found an old troopship crashed and buried in the desert.

More fanciful tales spoke of warp portholes or a factory willed with enslaved Jokero.

No one knew where he got his stuff.

Gil's goons gave Damocles the once over. He could see the glow of the plasma from their pistols. They were serious. Even his illicitly-obtained power armor would provide no protection against that kind of firepower.

The rumor mill had 5 or 6 different accounts of bandits and gang-cults that tried to snatch Gil's weapons. None of them had survived.

Not too surprising that an arms merchant would keep the best for himself.

One moved to intercept his, his thumb moving to charge his pistol.

Inquisitor Damocles pointed at his backpack. Then at the sky. He pantomimed an explosion.

The guard let him through.

"Gilthanus Terrian." The Inquisitor said.

"Leric Damocles." The arms merchant replied.

"We meet again."

"12 silver skulls for the Widowmaker 5000 and not a brass bolt more!" The Inquisitor ejaculated loudly!

"15 silver skulls and that's only because I like you!" Gil shouted back!

"13 silver skulls and you throw in 2 extra clips!"

"14 silver skulls and 1 clip!"

The two stared at each other for a long moment.

"Deal!" they both shouted.

And five minutes later the Inquisitor's shuttle was on its way to orbit.

The shuttle lifted off surprisingly smoothly for such a decrepit-looking vessel.
Inquisitor Damocles noted Ardor's surprise.
"She doesn't look like much but this shuttle can out fly most combat fighters. Never let 'em know your true capabilities eh?" he handed Ardor a glass of amsec, Ardor noted the liquid barely shoot despite their acceleration.
"Good job with that Coven of Nine thing. Very good job. And to think I've been coming here to shop for weapons for years and never knew. And the boss took notice, wants to meet you."
He gestured towards a small porthole, already a point of light was growing, becoming a red-liveried Artemis-Class Strike Cruiser. It was an older pattern, her delicate towers and protruding hangers giving her an air of fragility. Where more modern ships pulled everything tightly, huddling behind an armored prow the Artemis Class sprawled out, confident its ancient shields could endure any attack.
"And there she is, our home for the next few months, the Hazard."
"Inauspicious name" Ardor noted.
"Its full name is the ISS Oliver Hazard Perry, named for an Admiral of Paleo-Terra who is said saved the Merican Empire from the White Walkers of Canadia."
Ardor nodded, pretending he both knew and cared who this Perry was.

"Nothing comes for free" Inquisitor Damocles told his younger counterpart. "Nothing."
"I mean yes, in theory you and I have the authority to kick down a Governor's door and demand the contents of his treasury, but in reality that will just get us a las blast in the back and a shallow grave."
"Take this armor I wear..."
"Astares plate is it not?" Ardor asked, stating the painfully obvious.
"Indeed. I got it a century ago after saving a local baron from a peasant rebellion. He fancied himself a collector of exotic arms and armor. He offered a reward but when my gaze lingered on this plate, he turned quite reluctant. So instead I began admiring his collection shuriken weapons..."
"Xenos artifacts? Prohibited?" Ardor added, once again pointing out the obvious. Damocles chose not to notice.
"Indeed. So I left his mansion with this suit of armor, a Cadian power sword and a Vostroyan plasma pistol!" He laughed and slapped his armored knee. The sound was like a ringing bell in the cabin.
"Of course it was useless to me, as I was not an 8' tall superman. It sat in storage for decades until I found a tech priest in need of assistance who, in turn, adapted it for use by a mere mortal." He delicately picked up a crystal glass with one armored hand. "Now it's like an extension of my body, I can fight, run, even sleep in it." He put the glass down and picked up a steel tray. He crumpled it into a small ball. "And it's lost none of its power."
"Most impressive." Ardor added, looking on in undisguised envy. Suddenly his armored storm coat felt most inadequite.
"You see the currency of power is favors. Always know who owes you one and who you owe."
"And always make sure you're in the black!" Ardor added, thinking himself clever.
"Not necessarily. There's no shame in groveling, in begging favors and assistance from everyone you know. As long as it moves you forward! I did that for my first century as built my network of contacts, followers and informants. After fifty years I was broke and at the beck and call of a dozen people across the sector. But I kept going, and when the Red Skies Crisis broke in '886, I was prepared to meet it head on. That's how I got this ship you know. I commandeered it at the height of the crisis and well, here I am. I'm sure Battlegroup Lyons would like it back, but after I saved their flagship they won't press matters."
A chime rang and Damocles gestured out the window.
"And there's your ride. I'm afraid the Hazard and I are needed at the Tinery Worlds. The Heart will take you the rest of the way."

Ardor spent nearly a month on the Heart of Nova Yeboracum, an Athena-Class Destroyer, dining each night with the lord-captain. The captain could drone on for hours about his homeworld, a festering hive world somewhere to the galactic east.
He boasted of its superior cuisine, its architectural wonders, even the superiority of their sportsman. The ship itself, he claimed, was built from steel recovered from two hive spires lost in a terror-cult attack some centuries ago.
It wasn't until several weeks later when the captain finally exhausted his list of virtues that Ardor was able to learn what he really wanted to know.
The ship was another product of the Olympian family, slightly less delicate looking than the Hazard, but still dependent on her void shields.
For that reason she had been pulled from front line and patrol duty until she was simply standing picket duty over Nova Yeboracum's hives. After an investigation showing that several relatives of Hizzoner (a local term for Lord-Governor) were involved in corruption the governor was more than happy to transfer the ship to the Inquisition. Inquisitor Kuroda had a collection of Olympian ships and had some of the few tech priests who could maintain their aging shield generators, thus the proud vessel returned to battle.

Deep below decks on the HDMS Endurance, Ardor ran down the catwalk, a las shot striking and scorching his armored storm coat. He heard a scream behind him as the junior officer who'd been escorting him fell to his death. Without pausing Ardor leapt to a neighboring walkway, scrambled to a ladder and half-slid, half fell, the dozen meters to the floor below. He pushed aside menials and slaves until his reached a hatchway, ducked inside and locked it behind him.

Take a tour of the ship Inquisitor! It sounded like a great idea, but no one mentioned the lower decks of the HDMS Endurance had been in a state of insurrection for the last fifty years and that armed bands of rebels were eager to get their hands on a tempting ransom victim.

He found a elevator platform and, after a few pulls on the activation cord, got the motor running. The metal cage slowly rose, headed back to the top decks, to officer's country.

As far as Ardor had been able to gather, the trouble began decades ago when Commissar Goodfield attempted to execute the 3rd mate or some forgotten infraction. The captain overruled her and ordered his armsmen to put her in chains instead. Unfortunately some armsmen were good students of the Schola Progenium and sided with the Commissar. The resulting gun battle killed half the bridge crew (including the damn 3rd mate) and the Commissar and her followers escaped to the lower decks.

The elevator paused as a checkpoint filled manned by arms men with shot cannons looked Ardor over. He flashed his credentials and was allowed to proceed upwards.

So fifty years later no one knew if Goodfield was alive or dead, but armed bands of freed slaves, rebel arms men and other riff-raff roamed the lower decks still dreaming taking the ship for themselves. The captain send out parties from time to time to purge them with fire, but a three-mile-long cruiser gave them plenty of places to hide.

The HDMS Endurance was an Ironclad-class cruiser in the service of the Inquisition. This class of ship abandoned void shields entirely in favor of meters-thick armor and a compact design offering few weak points to exploit. On top of that energy weapons such as lances were replaced with torpedos and macrocannons. The logic was simple, to create a ship with as few points of failure as possible. There are no shields to turn off, no energy weapons to sabotage. Firing the weapons required press gangs of thousands of workers to haul multi-ton shells into position. It was a slow, labor-intensive process but also a massive one, hard for one traitor, madman, daemon-possessed or warp gremlin to derail.

Even minor things like the ships elevators had their own engines and power supply. Other than the warp drive, reactor and geller fields there was nothing that could be sabotaged. And they were guarded by an army of servitors and crewmen.

It made the Endurance a slow but hard-hitting ship that could take a beating. It was the Inquisition's preferred vessel for dealing with warp incursions and other threats where the sanity of the crew might at stake. Her hull was pocked with craters, from atomic strikes to esoteric xeno weapons she bore her scars with pride.

Even a decades-long rebellion in her lower decks did little to jar the mighty vessel from her course.

Inquisitor Minorus Ardor ran into the hanger his pack bouncing behind him. He had just minutes to spare after getting horribly lost.

Why hadn't someone told him even numbered hangers were on the port side, odd on the starboard?

The aging cargo shuttle was already sitting on the launch circle, he tried to ignore how old the vehicle looked and how the shuttle's cockpit looked awkwardly bolted on. He was sure they would never have assigned it to him if it wasn't safe.

The servitor crew was already uncoupling the fuel lines and lights were turning from red to yellow. He sprinted the last 100 meters.

Ardor had to duck his head to get into the cargo pod of the Mk1999 'Eagle' shuttle. The hatch was low and narrow, as if designed for someone half his height. He vaguely remembered some hypno-lesson about early space farers being shorter and squater so as to need less air, food and water. And something about them having beards? He couldn't remember. Not that it mattered. The point is he almost had to squeeze in sideways just get in. And even then he hand to stoop a bit to stand up in the pod.

The pod was filled with crates and canisters, and smelt distinctly of dead marine life. A grynx hissed at him from a cage in the corner. Ardor looked left and right for a passenger couch but found nothing. He tapped the vox plate and yelled into the smiling skull face.

"Excuse me, excuse me, there's no accelleration couch here, excuse me-"

A burst of static cut him off and then the floor lurched and he went tumbling into a metallic crate. He muttered a curse, found a perch on top of an ammo box and waited. Then he heard the hissing. He carefully crawled around the pod holding up a small hand towel until he found the source near the floor. He jammed his towel into the crack and ran to opposite side of the pod.

Alone in the windowless pod he never even got a glimpse of his destination.

"Some place huh?" Colonel Bragg said slapping Ardor on the back.

"Uh..." Ardor grunted, he was still having trouble believing he could breath. He was standing on an arched bridge between two graceful towers under a starlit sky. The only problem, the starlit sky was in fact hard vacuum and the only think holding the air in was a power shield older than the Imperium. The burly Catachan officer next to him was even smoking a cigar!

"The boss must have been pretty impressed to fly you out here. How long did it take anyway?"

"Three months." Ardor muttered. Three months, four ships, and at least six potentially deadly situations.

"Well you're here now, and you may as well enjoy it. This place, I mean it's got everything, why the canteen on deck XXII even serves real meat every Thor's Day. None of that Soylent stuff. Y'know I never even had Soylent Verdant before I joined the corps, back on Catachan..."

Ardor tuned out the Colonel's words, he didn't need to hear another story about tyranocrox wrestling or carnivorous ferns.

Still he was impressed. The Jing Du wasn't huge by the standards of Imperial ships. At 3 miles it was dwarfed by many ship classes but it had a grace and age lacking from so many newer ships. Where most Imperial vessels hunched together like a fist, the Olympus family of ships sprawled out like an outstreched hand, towers rose gracefully into the void. Their shipmasters were supremely confident their shields would endure any assault and make armor unnecessary.

Ardor hoped this confidence would not be tested until long after he'd left.

Moreover the Colonel was right, the ISS Jing Du had everything. Libraries filled with ancient tomes, armories of exotic weapons, cells with some of the great heretics of the sector... It was a monument to Inquisitor Kuroda's life and career.

Which of course made it far too valuable to ever take into a hazardous situation.

So it wandered out here among the Dust Systems. An entire sub sector without habitable worlds, a place where there was nothing of any interest to anyone. Where no one would look for an ancient warship.

He'd dined with the ship master a few nights before, Lord-Captain Viktor Li. He'd gotten the sense the man was tremendously frustrated, a war captain on a ship that would never be allowed into battle.

"You're a luck boy" Bragg said. He stopped to puff again on his cigar. "They don't test the big boy that often."
"Uh, right, yeah, what exactly am I looking at?" Inquisitor Minorus Ardor asked. He'd just followed the crowds out to the walkway,hearing something about a demonstration.
"See that planet out there?" Bragg pointed to a redish sphere. Like everything else in the Dust Sector it was a lifeless uninhabitable rock.
Ardor nodded.
"And see that ship?"
Ardor squinted at the distant shape. He wished he'd worn his mag lenses but they always gave him a headache.
"Cruiser?" He squinted again. "Poseidon class?"
"Negative, heavy modification warranting new classification. Chronos class. Planet Killer." A new voice explained.
Ardor looked down to see a stooped Mentat, the spectacle above was not enough for him to raise his eyes from his book.
"Inquisitor Danil Ardor" he said offering his hand.
"Inquisitor Minorus Danil Ardor" the Mentat responded. "I read your dossier 134 days ago and have not seen any record of a promotion."
"Um, right. And your name?"
"Desmond Uman, Archivist 23rd class, Office of Demographic Threat Analysis."
Ardor tried to remember how many classes of archivist there were and whether they counted up or down. He failed and figured he may as well be polite.
"So what is a Chronos Class ship?"
"Using warhead of antipodal substances, anathema to ordinary matter."
Ardor looked puzzled.
"Y'see" Bragg explained, "that big gun there is loaded up with this uh... stuff that's so foul, so blasphemous when it hits a planet... BOOM!" He gestured with his hands to emphasize the point. "I saw them use it on some heavy gee world filled with mutants a while back-"
"The Crypton Affair" Uman added.
"It's a sight. Now usually they just use the atomics or the virus bombs, make a world unhinhabitable. But every now and again when you want the whole damn planet erased from the books, they use the big gun. Man I wish I could be on that ship. I mean it's not just the power, they say the crew on board live like kings. Every week transports full of fresh food, wines, women even. The boss likes to say they should have a taste of paradise, cause the work they do's gonna damn their souls."