Inquisitor Elizabeth Horncastle wasn’t expecting company, nor was she expecting said company to storm in and grab her by the throat. 

The hold of the First Blood had been quiet – characteristically so. It was one located low in the decks of the great and venerable battle barge, one where its’ Space Marine overlords rarely ventured. This was the realm of their unaugmented human auxiliaries in their drab olive fatigues, as well as the occasional servitor, muttering to themselves as they shambled to and fro on the tasks programmed into their lobotomized, half-machine minds.  It left the Inquisitor to work in peace – unravelling the mysteries of the Imperium’s various alien foes. 

She’d commandeered the hold to use as her work space – a combination of a laboratory, library, and workshop, depending on what specific fancy had struck her. A trove of data – both physical sheaves of parchment and data-wafers, were scattered about tables and shelves that stood alongside banks of cogitators. Here and there, were an assortment of esoteric machines and mysterious artefacts: A cube, pulsing with blue light that was connected to an array of measuring machines as well as to the cogitators. A tiny, silvery drone, roughly the size and shape of an ancient Terran beetle, sitting amidst various tools, half-disassembled. A long, blocky squarish rifle, its casing ochre-yellow. 

It was over the cube that Eliza worked, a cable running from it into a jack on her augmetic left arm – a direct neural connection. The green glow of her eyes had dimmed as she probed the data within.

She didn’t even notice when a bulkhead hatch hissed open, retracting into the ceiling, nor who stepped through – not until her Spooky, her faithful Servo-Skull, squealed an alert. It was enough to snap the Inquisitor back to reality, at least.

It was the Chapter Master.

Branwen Lycaeus – the ‘Old Crow’, as her Chapter called her, was in her battleplate – the olive drab of the Raptors, still scarred and pitted from the recent fighting on the planet they’d so recently abandoned. This was not unusual, Astartes could go years without removing their armor. What was unusual, however, was the thunderous expression of rage on the woman’s pale face, as well as the bared sword in her hand. Tyrant’s Due was a massive, nearly eight foot tall greatsword, inscribed with the High Gothic words Sic Semper Tyrannis upon the flat of the blade. It was the Chapter Master’s favored weapon, and if records were to be believed, a relic of the Great Crusade itself.

Before Eliza could get a single word in, Branwen crossed the hold in a few quick strides, snatching the Inquisitor up in her free hand. She was easily two feet taller, and Horncastle felt her feet leave the ground as she let out a surprised gasp for air.

“Not one word,” Branwen snarled, her dark eyes boring into Eliza’s as she pulled her closer. “Not one word before I’ve said my piece – lest I cut you down here and now. Nod if you understand.”

The Inquisitor nodded.

“Fifty Raptors killed. Fifty Astartes no longer defend the Imperium. And for what? Exitus was a failure. It lies in the hands of the Ruinous Powers – and your Apocrypha Engine?” She scoffed, a harsh noise. “If it even existed, it is with them or the Necrons. We heeded your call, Inqusitor. The Raptors have long had strong ties to the Ordo Xenos, and I have considered you an ally for years. And yet… You recruit my Task Force, pull us from the struggles against Hivefleet Leviathan – a struggle that might I remind you threatens Terra itself? For what? To chase shadows? To have one of my closest kin nearly lose her mind? To meddle with Xenos technology and bend it to your will?”

Horncastle rasped, trying to speak, but she felt Branwen’s grip tighten and her head swam as she fought to not pass out. After a moment, that grip relented enough for the Inquisitor to take a ragged breath. Spooky flitted about the Astartes’s form, letting out squalls of protest, but they fell on deaf ears.

“Do not think to deny it! I saw what you did, alongside my Astartes! For what purpose did you bring the Raptors to Exitus, and to spend our lives? Explain yourself!”

Releasing her grip, the Space Marine tossed Eliza to the ground, causing her to stumble and collapse back onto the floor in a heap. Scrabbling to sit upright, the Inquisitor reflexively brought a hand to her augmetic arm in an attempt to activate her Phase Shifter, but she was met with the point of Branwen’s sword, levelled at her throat. Spooky went to drift protectively near the blade – still squealing in outrage.

“I-Listen to me,” Eliza stammered, her voice still ragged as she gasped for air. “I did not know resistance would be so fierce, that news of the Engine had spread so far! Y-you saw what we dropped into, the Tyranid ambush. We were lucky to escape that landing zone with our lives! I figured your Astartes would be equal to the task-”

“Do not question the ability of my Raptors!” Branwen boomed, loud enough that Eliza flinched back. “They fought and died for this fool quest of yours!”

“I-I understand that, and it is the misfortunes of war that we were outmaneuvered! It is why I sought such desperate measures with the Necron structures. I hypothesized that I could infiltrate their networks and use their own information to our own benefit – and the defenses to bolster ours! Surely you saw that I set the beacon for the orbital strikes myself? The lance strikes that burned the structure to slag when we were finished?”

The Old Crow shook her head, her mouth pulling back in a sneer. “I have fought the Xenos for well longer than your organization has ever existed, Inquisitor. You know this. I have seen what meddling with alien technology has done. I should kill you right now.”

“Does your Chapter not prize pragmatism?” Eliza countered, perhaps a bit bold with the sword at her throat. “Of putting the mission before all other concerns? Our mission was never to take Exitus. It was to find the Engine. That was our best opportunity to do so, and so I took it. Can you truly blame me for doing so?”

The blade at the Inquisitor’s throat dipped – not much, but enough to match the sudden conflict in the Space Marine’s dark eyes. She rolled her free hand with a growl of her armor’s powered systems, gesturing for the Inquisitor to continue.

“You must understand that my hope was naught but to secure this Engine, to keep it from our foes. I want to protect the Imperium, to protect the Pilgrim Sector and its citizens wherever I can. It was to this end that I secured your Mobile Task Force, that I spent the lives of your Raptors, I swear this to you. I could have requisitioned Inqusitorial Stormtroopers, called upon Lux and Cato to provide forces, but I did not. Because I knew that I could count on your Raptors, that they were among the best the Imperium could offer.”

“They are the best,” Branwen amended. Her sword dipped slightly lower, enough that Eliza let out a sigh of relief. The Astartes’s expression dropped in worry. “You still must answer for Corbin, though. If not for her injuries, then for whatever malady has befallen her.”

Horncastle nodded, sitting a little straighter. “I don’t know what the Lieutenant found – it was not under my mandate. That said, Exitus is an old world, and stranger than most. I suspect either Archaeotech or some Xenos technology is the culprit. If you allow me to analyze her-”

“-Not without supervision,” Branwen found her scowl again. “Nor without the Senior Medicae’s consent.”

“Of course, of course!” Eliza nodded vigorously, perhaps even with a touch of panic. “Apothecary Addivaria is welcome to join me. I’d appreciate her insight on Astartes physiology. That said, if whatever’s befallen the Lieutenant is of a more… Empyrean origin…”

Branwen took a single step forwards, her heavy footfall ringing out across the hold. It brought a yelp up from the Inquisitor’s throat as she scrambled backwards across the floor grating, green glowing eyes wide. Spooky shrieked in alarm.

“D-Different counsel! I’m no expert in such matters! That’s all I was going to say!”

The Space Marine paused once more, and then, after a moment’s consideration, lowered her blade. At that, Eliza let out a longer noise of relief that was joined by a long whistling noise from her Servo-Skull. She moved to stand, still eyeing Branwen warily.

“Let’s say I believe you,” Branwen began, her eyes drifting to the deck in contemplation as her scowl eased. “That I let you leave this hold to see to Corbin, and to keep your life. What then? We failed at Exitus. Will you release us from your duty? Continue to chase the Apocrypha Engine yourself?”

The Inquisitor turned to a nearby desk, taking up a dirty metal Militarum-issue mug. With a murmur of ‘recaf’ to Spooky, the little drone whistled cheerily and began to dispense the hot drink into Eliza’s mug from a nozzle on its underside. Taking a long sip, she turned back to Branwen, her own expression set and determined.

“I will continue my search. There may yet still be a chance to intervene. If not to secure the Engine, then to disable it and prevent the Necrons from making use of its power. Aid from Cato and Lux should be forthcoming, perhaps they’ll have forces of their own.” She gestured with the mug, her eyes growing remorseful. “As for the Task Force, they are your Raptors to command. If you wish to continue with me, then I welcome you. But if you wish to return to Tarrengast to re-arm for the war against the Tyranids, you are welcome to do so.”

“How do you hope to discover this chance?”

Eliza gestured to the cube, now some distance away. The cable she’d hastily disconnected from her arm dangled off the work table’s edge, sparking every so often with the databank’s energy as it sought to – and failed – to make connection.

“Our expedition to Exitus was not without merits. I’ve been able to make a few modifications to the device we retrieved from Nyx-Beta, along with newfound insights into the Necrontyr’s communication network. A couple of pieces of battlefield salvage – all inert, I assure you. I – ah, had some help.”

“Your Infocyte?”

Eliza nodded.

“What will you do, if we leave?”

Inquisitor Horncastle flashed her teeth.

“Do as I always have, Chapter Master: Seek knowledge, and with it, victory for the Imperium.”

Branwen stared at her, for a long moment. She was no longer angry – instead, she just looked tired. It was as if the weight of her years began to settle more heavily about her. At that moment, the Old Crow really did look ten thousand years old.

“Help my friend – and then we shall see what warfront awaits this Mobile Task Force.”

“Certainly, Chapter Master. I shall expect an escort to arrive to spirit me to the Apothecarion – unless you wish to bring me there yourself.”

Branwen turned, making for the open hatchway. She gave a quick hand-signal as she did, and there was a shimmer amidst the bulkheads to either side of the hatch. It was the tell-tale de-activation of cameleoline cloaks as they dropped its’ mimicry of the walls behind to take on a jagged camouflage pattern. Concealed beneath were a pair of Raptors – Eliminators, by the look of their sleek Phobos-pattern power armor and the long, suppressed bolt rifles they carried. Those rifles dropped away from drawing a bead on the Inquisitor as the Space Marines fell into lockstep with Branwen.

Inquisitor Horncastle did her best not to let out another shuddering sigh of relief. Nearby, Spooky warbled an anxious little tone.

“Someone will be down to fetch you, shortly.” Branwen called over her shoulder as she reached the hatch. Eliza could swear that the Space Marine was smirking. “For now, others have arrived and wish to speak to you.”

She gave a nod down the hallway, before departing with her Eliminators. In her place, three more figures stepped into the room. While Spooky squealed happily, Eliza found herself conflicted between relief and a fresh spike of anxiety.

“You sent for us,” Inquisitor Cato deadpanned. “I would apologize for our late arrival, but it seems we’ve arrived at a rather perfect time for a discussion.”

Inquisitor Lux’s face was locked in an all-too familiar expression, somewhere between bemusement and exasperation. “God-Emperor on his Golden fucking Throne, what sort of shit have you gotten yourself neck-deep into now, Elizabeth?”

E’lara Veilwalker just smirked. It’s all she needed to do.

“I-I can explain…”