Xenohunter Acolyte with Alacrity
England
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Medrogus Lunaris was, by all accounts, a marvel of technology.
Orbiting above Jurdani Secundus, the colossal orbital platform functioned as a Hive City all it's own, with many spires and hab blocks reaching up towards the stars, or stretching down to scrape at the clouds of the planet below.
The platform was sealed in a gravity dome, a piece of ancient technology that allowed the people aboard to roam about outside without fear of lack of oxygen, or the possibility of floating off into the infinite darkness of space.
Alerts were periodically issued when the gravity dome needed deactivating, giving everyone time to get safely through the air locks.
People often questioned why anyone would live on a platform orbiting above the planet, when there was a possibility of death whenever something went slightly wrong.
Those people didn't know the beauty of stepping out onto the street, and being able to see countless stars, planets and aircraft just by looking up.
Unfortunately, Fenton Muir wasn't on the station to stargaze.
Clad in armour similar to that of a Cadian guardsman, he wore his black helmet with the visor and rebreather on to cover his face and eyes; It was important not to be seen in places where possible enemies could lurk.
Though his red flak-armour and black clothing made for an intimidating impression, underneath Fenton was a light-hearted, scrawny man with a love of strong drink and banter.
In his hands, he held a short, fat metal cylinder containing a blue-ish liquid, with a thin tube extending from either end and a clip mounted on one side to hook the device to a belt.
"How much?" He asked the stall vendor, a hooded fellow with so many augmented implants he couldn't have been anything but a Tech-Priest before winding up in the lower hive.
"Twenty-three hundred Thrones." The vendor replied in a monotonous, mechanical drone.
"Emperor's bleeding backside!" Fenton exclaimed, but the vendor showed no signs of any empathy, so he fished out his Data-slate from his pocket and set about transferring the money.
It was too much to just hand over in coin, after all.
"You're a bloody parasite, you know that?" Fenton sneered at the vendor.
"Love you too, honey..." The vendor jeered as Fenton trudged away with the device.
He had a modified Lasgun with a cylinder-shaped ammunition drum attached to it slung over his back, and it was usually enough to scare the hell out of most street dealers.
Evidently, ex-Mechanicus operatives knew he couldn't put a Las wound in them in the middle of a densely-packed market.
He pushed his way through the throng, heading out of the market district and through the Hab blocks towards the station's central cluster of spires.
Despite Medrogus Lunaris being an orbital station, it wasn't all cold metal and glass, the Hab district contained walkways where the lamp posts were crafted in a design similar to that of an old-Earth oil lantern, which were still used on some less-developed worlds.
Each street of the Hab district was divided up into two separate walkways by glass containers which housed exotic flora and fauna brought in from all across the Imperium, kept living in their own micro-climates and tended to by station officials.
People sat on benches, talking whilst children chased each other and street buskers played for money.
This was civilian life on non-working days, colourful, social, It almost made Fenton wish he'd settled down instead of joining Inquisitor Lucent so long ago.
That had all changed now; The Inquisitor was gone, and things were different.
He took one of the elevators from the Hab district to the upper floors.
It wasn't as if he was the only armed person in Medrogus Lunaris, but most had a tendency to stay to the bars and brothels in the lower quadrants of the city.
He got out on one of the upper floors; the view was less constricting here, he could clearly see the ships from the Merchant Fleet high above, being guided in to dock by Pilot-fish.
It always amazed Fenton how small, stubby ships like those could guide in something as monstrously big as a Merchant Fleet vessel.
He snapped his attention back to where he was going, and continued walking along the near-empty streets of the merchant sector.
As he walked, Fenton saw a group of Tau speaking in their strange language, their smooth, noseless, leathery gray faces seemed so out of place on a human settlement like this.
Xenos weren't forbidden in the Jurdani Sector, but they were alienated by most, and received more hassle from local law enforcement than any human refugees or mercenaries.
These were undoubtedly Water Caste diplomats; there would be no other reason for the Tau to be in the Merchant sector.
He kept going until he arrived outside a building of sheer glass shaped like a large bullet, it's smooth sides tapering to a point high above.
Fenton stepped into the lobby.
It was fairly empty, save for a businessman with a briefcase nestled in his lap, seated near the reception desk, at which sat a receptionist, and a tall, lean man stood in the corner with his arms folded.
Both the other occupants seemed put-off by the man, not least because his left arm was a prosthetic replacement of the real thing.
A full head of close-cropped hazel brown hair adorned the man's skull, and his azure-blue eyes studied Fenton as he entered.
Knee-high, leather boots creaked a little as he adjusted his position, tucked into these were dark-red combat trousers, much like those that standard Guardsmen got.
His coat resembled that of a Guardsman's as well, black, thigh-length, buttoned up on the left-hand side with brass buttons, each shaped like a skull.
Tucked into their respective holsters at his belt were two plasma pistols, each done in a matt-black finish, and a combat knife.
A bandolier with several ammunition pouches crossed over his chest from the left shoulder, with both shoulders in turn being covered by a crimson-coloured cowl.
His pouldrons were also reminisce of a Guardsman's gear, one the same dark-red as his trousers and cowl, with a steel rim, and the other being the same silvery colour as his prosthetic arm.
With gear like that, it was understandable that working class citizens would be nervous around Benjamin Mordecai.
Fenton nodded, removing his visor and rebreather with a wide smirk as he stepped over to Benjamin.
"You crafty bastard..." Fenton chuckled as he locked hands with Benjamin in a firm handshake, "Where did you get to these last few months?"
"Pulling strings and blackmail." Benjamin replied with a wry grin.
"Ah, Izzy would be proud."
Both men fell silent, their grins fading.
"He'll be expecting us." Mordecai said finally, "We'd best head up..."
***
Lord-Inquisitor Havard Lamal's quarters were lavishly decorated.
The walls were painted a deep crimson colour that complemented his reputation as a man who wasn't afraid to dirty his hands on the battlefield, and emerald-green draperies hung from the ceiling, each baring the golden insignia of the Inquisition.
It was enough to make what was left of his heart swell with pride whenever he sat at his teak-paneled, gold-inlaid desk.
Several monitors sat in front of him on the desk, on the first a stream of reports from his Acolytes all around the Sector, on the second, one of his favourite tracks, the Liber Cadia, played in a repeat loop; He could never get bored of the song.
And on the third, he labored over typing his memoirs.
His metallic fingers clacked lightly over the keyboard as he hummed along to the music through his respirator.
The incident on Chirgon Hive had ruined his face, his lungs and most of his body, taking away whatever respect others had had for him and replacing it with fear, but Havard Lamal could still take pride in his own indulgences.
Maybe he could even get his memoirs published before his untimely death on some Emperor-forsaken planet.
He glanced up as the door opened, and two young men, each in their mid-thirties, stepped in.
One had light brown hair and cyan eyes set into a thin, gaunt face, the other had darker hair, and avid green eyes.
"Benjamin Mordecai and Fenton Muir." He grinned behind his rebreather, his vocal simulators doing their best to emulate surprised intrigue, but only managing sarcasm.
Luckily, the two seemed to understand.
"How is Victoria holding up?" Mordecai asked politely, his hands clasped behind his back.
Havard sighed, thinking fondly of his old Krootox hound.
"Better than before, but her wounds trouble me greatly," He sighed, then glanced up again "You didn't happen to see any Tau diplomats on your way up, did you?"
He stood, emerald robes swaying around his boney frame, clasping his hands over his waist and walking over to stare out of the window.
"I saw three," Fenton offered in his gruff tone, that was one thing Lucent hadn't managed to shake out of the boy, "Bloody gray-skins were hanging around, looking all shady, like they were up to business."
"It's okay, I am expecting them, they are envoys of the Ro'Yal sept, a world on the edge of the Sector."
"What are they here for?" Benjamin asked curiously.
"They are here to discuss whether or not their system is part of the Sector," He frowned slightly, his augmented voice did nothing to get across concern, "And if so, whether or not they can travel unrestricted in Imperial airspace."
"And what do you think?" Mordecai inquired; Lucent really had raised the boy right.
"I'm all for relations with other races," Havard stated, "But it's a fine line, if Ultima Segmentum command doesn't like it, I'll end up with an Eversor paying a visit to my offices, and not to share a bottle of Uskavar."
Havard shivered as he thought of the skull-visaged assassins.
He forced the image from his head, focusing on the Merchant Fleet ships.
"I think I already know how I can help you lads." He stated confidently, his chest swelling with pride.
"You remember Isabelle's last words, then?" Mordecai asked, only the barest hint of excitement entering his voice.
"Aye," Havard stepped back over to his desk, opening one of the drawers.
He took from it a rosette, etched in gold, a capital I with three horizontal lines crossing through the middle, and marked with a skull; The Inquisitorial Seal.
Along with this, he pulled a document from one of the pockets of his robes, and handed both to Mordecai.
"I must say, I am glad you didn't take the Warrant of Trade," he smiled at the young Inquisitor, the only real hint of it being his cheeks lifting slightly behind his respirator.
"I may yet," Mordecai cautioned, "It depends on if they try and call me in to serve on the Council of Terra."
Havard laughed, a cold, prosthetic sound emanating from his respirator.
"We're on the Eastern Fringe, boy, Terra doesn't care to cast it's gaze this far out." He leaned in closer, lowering his voice, "This is why we need relations with the Tau, despite the pride and faith in our Emperor, we need to fend for ourselves out here, as well. After all, the Emperor does not see all at once, and we're not exactly his highest priority, what with the Sabbat Worlds Crusade and all."
"Thank you, Inquisitor Lamal," Mordecai said, "Where is the ship docked?"
"It is docked at Port fourty-six, I had it re-commissioned and repainted, as per your request."
"I knowe you didn't have too." The young Inquisitor replied, "Thank you."
"Make Isabelle proud, and we'll consider it even." Metal clashed as the two men locked arms, mimicking the formal greeting used by many Astartes, the Warrior's Grip.
As the two men exited, Lamal sat down at his desk, reclining in his high-backed, leather chair.
He frowned for a second, then began typing.
And I believe only time will tell if the boy will be as good an Inquisitor as Lucent was.
He smirked behind his respirator; A fine summary to the paragraph.
***
Port 46 was cold, the air seemed to carry the stale emptiness of space outside.
The ship was magnificent; Not a true Black Ship of the Inquisition, for the Razor Descent was a Rogue Trader class vessel, with a sleek, tapered prow, and a long, slender body, the paintwork was a deep, royal blue.
A small tunnel extended from the dock to connect with the ship.
The dock itself was a hive of activity, with Serfs lifting and carrying supplies and ammunition onto the ship, bridge officers directed them, often checking their data slates and shouting irritably at the lower members of the crew.
Fenton and Benjamin stood and watched as a Rhino APC; a lightly-armoured tank that served primarily as a personnel transport, trundled up the ramp and into a larger tunnel connected to the ship.
The APC was to serve as their primary transportation on the ground, Inquisitor Lamal had made sure to pull all the strings Benjamin had left un-plucked over the last few months.
In return? All he had to do was pull off more amazing feats than even Lucent had.
Benjamin started to wonder again if he'd end up like Havard in the end...
The distinct clack of a cane against the dock floor behind them alerted him to a familiar presence.
"Gambit, you daft sod..." He turned, grinning at the grizzled man.
Anton Gambit was a veteran of space warfare, and it showed.
Though only in his mid-forties, Gambit's hair was already a fine white colour, which only served to complement the triple-slash scar adorning the left side of his forehead.
The man wasn't fat, but he certainly wasn't a combatant or an athlete.
He stood with a constant air of pride, tucking his cane under his arm as he stood observing the ship.
He wore a crew uniform, crimson red with silver shoulder pads, an aquila done in silver proudly displayed on his collar.
A black cloak hung down behind him, fastened with a gold chain around his neck.
Gambit had been Lucent's Bridge Admiral, and Benjamin had only managed to convince him to come back after promising to get the ship fully restored and flight-ready by the time they all met on Medrogus Lunaris.
"It's a nice surprise, that's for sure." Gambit replied.
It was an irony that he lived up to his name; risky maneuvers were a specialty of Gambit's.
Anton kept his eyes on the ship for a long time before looking to Fenton.
"I owe you fifty Thrones, don't I?"
Fenton grinned, "At least I can start building back what I lost now, your trinket cost a bloody fortune, Benj."
"You have it with you?" Benjamin raised an eyebrow quizzically.
Fenton pulled the small, chunky Plasma-cylinder from his belt pouch, and handed it to Benjamin.
"Happy Emperor's Day, M'Lady."
Benjamin chuckled, clipping the device onto his belt and linking the two wires up to each of his Plasma Pistols.
The device was a marvel, scavenged from Tau technology, it cooled the plasma to prevent overheating, allowing for deadly bursts of rapid fire.
"So," He stated, looking up at the Razor Descent, "We have a ticket to anywhere, where do we go first?"
"I did pick up something in one of the bars in the Low-Hive," Gambit offered, "A Tau mercenary, an outcast, and an excellent sniper, by all accounts, might be worth taking a look."
"Xenos in our retinue," Fenton murmured, "Is that wise?"
"Since when did you care about wise, Fen?" Anton jeered back.
"Point taken."
"I have a location," Anton continued, "A system of tunnels and ruins on Jurdani Tertius, he's playing cat and mouse with the mercenaries trying to hunt him down there."
"Then let's make history." Benjamin smirked, setting off towards the Razor Descent as Gambit set about ordering final boarding checks.
Author's notes
There was a certain amount of description that had to be included in this.
This story centres around the first three main characters introduced into the storyline, and the first two Acolytes brought into Benjamin Mordecai's retinue.
As the characters knew each other prior to the events of this story, I tried to get across a certain familiarity between them.
It was difficult to squeeze in both the accurate descriptions of the characters, an idea of their typical behaviour, and the sense of familiarity and make it all flow.
I think I managed it well, though I'm not entirely certain.
There's no fighting in this story, sorry to all you gore-hungry jackals out there, but the primary purpose of this story is to act as an intro, into Benjamin's storyline, into the Jurdani Sector, and also into the relationship between the humans and the Tau in the sector, which will be tackled later in the plotline.
In the immediate future, a lot of Mordecai stories will be about gathering recruits.
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