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Chapter 2: Dead Men

Inquisitor Marenus stepped into his living quarters. Directly across from the door was a giant Aquila, gold thread woven into black cloth. Marenus stood for a moment, and saluted it, hands crossing across his chest with his thumbs pressed together to make the sign of the Aquila. After hanging his trench-coat, laying Aithenya against the wall, and flinging his cap onto the large bed, Marenus unclasped the Rosette from around his neck, and placed it within the small case that sat upon his desk. This was a much smaller desk, and less ornate, as Vladimir did not work much from his quarters. It was a simple metal contraption. Portable, and showing the scars inevitable from field use, complete with fold-down legs and data-slate slots. It was from one of these slots that Marenus pulled a slate. Upon casual inspection, it was merely a long, long list of names. If one were to peer more closely, one would see the small symbol next to each name. This was a symbol that would always appear on any data slate next to any of these names, as soon as they were typed, in order to prevent errors.

It was a list of ghosts.

Each of these men was dead, marked as such on the field of battle. It had taken Marenus years to ensure that this was so. Years of scouring sites of previous battles on planets on the fringe--no significant Imperial presence, other than the fighting units, listening for the weak moan or watching for the twitching hand that would indicate a life skipped over, a life left for dead. Marenus occasionally had dreams of those he couldn't save. The twisted visages of hundreds of mutilated soldiers...

Marenus could have just as easily taken live soldiers and marked them dead using the power granted to him through his Rosette, but actually finding them in this fashion served two purposes. First, it was impossible to trace his use of his Rosette to the soldiers, and second-- the men saw him as their savior. Were it not for him, they would have died, the Imperial ships gone from orbit, the battlefield deserted.

The first one to be found in such a fashion was the Commissar, Viacheslav Mikhailov Pavel Praetus. It was a tough decision to save him. The Commissar, much like the Inquisitor, comes in different flavors, different belief systems. Though it is certainly a fact that with a Commissar, there is much less 'skewing'; the far right was not so distant from the far left. Marenus mused on his luck. Had Praetus not seen Marenus as someone he owed his life to, he would likely have had to die, all over again.

The job of the Commissar was to inspire confidence in the men, through example and the teachings of the Emperor. The Guardsmen had been taught throughout their entire lives that the only path to redemption and salvation led through the Emperor, and the way to earn such a reward was to fight, and ultimately die for him. What the Commissar had spent years drilling into the men as they were collected was that the only path to redemption and salvation led through the Emperor. However, having already been left for dead--and in a few cases, having already died (albeit temporarily), the Emperor could now only be reached through their savior, the one who had decided that their life-debt was not yet paid--Marenus. At first, they had nearly rejected the philosophy, but all it took was one raindrop to begin the flood. As time went on, first one Guardsman accepted, one Heavy Weapons Team, one squad, one platoon-- it mushroomed from there. In the end, he had a group of men(some young, some not so young)who believed that he held just as much of a hand in their fate as did the Emperor himself.

The Inquisitor was snapped from his reverie by a sharp knock on the door. "Enter, Varsuvias."

The door swung open, and the acolyte-adjutant stepped inside. He wore his Interrogator Robes, which seemed to drown his thin frame. Unless the boy bulked up, he'd never make a very striking Inquisitor. Red-cheeked, bony and hollow-eyed was not a description that struck fear into anyone's heart. The boy had talent, though. For one, he had some psychic talent, the ability to use what was commonly called the 'will' (Something Marenus was secretly envious of). He was one of the few Inquisitors that were 'blunt', a slightly derogatory name for someone who has no psychic ability. This was not generally known, because the person standing next to the person who had sneered at him and referred to him as a blunt needed major reconstructive surgery. Of the one who had made the insult? After a thorough search through the blood, they had turned up nine bone fragments and three meters away, a strangely clean boot.

"Inquisitor, Sir..." Varsuvias bowed deeply toward Marenus. "I and the others have finished the cleaning detail." A slight grimace passed over his face, and for a moment, Marenus felt sorry for the lad. He hadn't told him what to expect when he said that one of the rooms needed cleaning.

"Good, good. He gave his life for the good of the Imperium. There is no shame, no dishonor for one who does such. He will receive the same remembrance in my mind as if he had died with a chainsword in his hand. May we all be so fortunate to give our lives for that cause." The Inquisitor nodded. "Varsuvias, I shall assume that you did not intrude upon my time of reflection in order to bring only such mundane information. What is it?"

Varsuvias looked slightly surprised. He had yet to learn that reading the mind of another was not necessarily a psychic endeavor. "Yes, Master." He began to fidget with one of his rings, and Marenus raised an eyebrow. "It has been said that you are inspecting the ranks tomorrow. I would ask permission to be your Second."

Marenus licked his lips. What Varsuvias was asking for was symbolic. The Second during an inspection was merely the one who followed directly behind the Inspecting Officer, and made sure that what was remarked upon was taken care of. Were this a traditional military setup, Varsuvias would have long ago began accompanying him along the lines, due to his hyphenated position as Marenus' adjutant. However, Marenus found it easier to direct such comments to the Commissar, with Varsuvias trailing along behind. Viacheslav himself had pointed out the breach of protocol privately and been told that when the time was right, Marenus would allow the Interrogator to take his rightful place.

Frowning, Marenus turned and looked at the blank wall, still speaking to Varsuvias. "What makes you think you have earned this right?"

"Well, sir, given my role, I..." Damn the lad. He thrived on protocol and rules, and excelled in memorization.

“Do not quote to me that which gives you the right. I asked you why you have earned it." There was no longer any emotion in Marenus' voice.

Varsuvias was silent for a moment. "Permission to speak frankly, Master."

Marenus raised an eyebrow, his head still angled away from the Interrogator. "Granted."

Varsuvias took a deep breath. "I have earned it through sweat and blood here, on the ship. Through fire and gore, on the battlefield. Through stealth and guile, in my training. Through mind and memory, in my studies. Through love and adoration to you, and the Emperor."

Marenus stood silently for a long while. Finally, he turned to Varsuvias and nodded. "Also through elegance verging on the bloody cheeky, in your speech." He smiled, a rare thing for an acolyte to see. "You may indeed follow as my Second in the inspection tomorrow. You are dismissed."

As Varsuvias turned and began striding for the door, a small throwing knife had appeared out of the Inquisitors belt. Deftly, Marenus tossed it and Varsuvias let of a howl of surprise and pain as he stumbled to his knees, a hand clutching at the knife that now protruded from the back of his lower leg. Marenus quickly closed the distanced, and hauled Varsuvias to his feet one-handed.

"I will not, however, tolerate disrespect to the Aquila. You did not salute! I did not train you to be such a bastard! Make the sign of the Aquila! Now!" Varsuvias, now ashen-faced, stammered incoherently for a moment and Vladimir reached down with his free hand and twisted the knife.

"Now." Howling in pain, the Interrogator used shaking hands to form the sign of the Aquila around the arm of the Inquisitor holding him off the ground.

Vladimir dropped him roughly to the ground, yanking the knife out as he did so, and causing a fresh howl to erupt from his acolyte. "You will remember this lesson, Varsuvias. Congratulations on your new responsibility as Inspector Second. See the medicae, can't have you limping about the bay during the inspection."

Varsuvias struggled to his feet, bowed awkwardly, and limped out of the room, bracing himself against the wall as he did so. Outside of the chamber, he paused to take a breath, his face and hands grey. He didn't hate his Master for what he had done...Marenus had always tried to drive the point home that respecting the symbols of the Imperium were of paramount importance. To many common men, symbols were all the Imperium was. If you did not respect them, those common people who beheld Inquisitors with an equal mix of fear and authority could not be blamed for desecrating them, either. Besides, Varsuvias figured that Marenus was an excellent Inquisitor to study under, one of the best (though you would be hard-pressed to find an Acolyte studying under a MAster whom they thought weren't the best), and thus the pain was part of the process.

Back in his quarters, Marenus grunted. Varsuvias's wound was nothing that a quick trip to the medicae wouldn't fix-- and the lad wouldn't likely see an Aquila again without flinching, and remembering to salute it.

Thumbing the pad, he sat down on his bed, taking a moment to reflect on how it all began…