Prologue

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"Why have you come, Kryptman Junior? My Order is not welcome to you."

Even seated, the giant seemed two heads taller than Fidus, who was standing. The shapeless cloak-like garment, with its many pleated folds, slid down to the floor, widening like the base of a spire. The cloak seemed to show a deliberate peacefulness on the part of its wearer. To reach the power spear, which rested on a stand of plain wood without polish or varnish, one would have had to tear through the fabric, wriggle out of his clothes. But Fidus wasn't fooled; if anything happened, no obstacle would stop the spear's master.

Kryptman averted his eyes; it was too hard to bear the unblinking gaze of his interlocutor. The dark dots of his pupils stared fixedly, immovable, like laser sights. The blue irises were a remarkably clear shade, without a single speck or string of blood vessels, multiplying the impression of inanimate optics. Nevertheless, the space marine's eyes were real, alive. They had simply seen a lot in their owner's long life. Perhaps too much.

"I have enough time ... Inquisitor..." the giant paused for a barely perceptible moment, a graceful stroke of disregard for his guest's status. "I can afford to spend it lavishly, without being stingy. The question is whether you're in a hurry."

The captain of the thirteenth squadron finally took his eyes off the inquisitor and looked out the window. An ordinary wide window with an angular frame. A perfect copy of the original from times immemorial, when Terra was not yet the center of the universe, the wellspring of the true faith and the luminous Astronomicon. The porthole of the captain's prayer room now faced the shaded side, so there was half-darkness behind the armored glass. But soon the cruiser would change course, and the fierce light of the yellow star would flood the octagonal chamber.

The smoke from the incense lamps flowed low as if clinging to the wooden floor. On it was the symbol of a two-pointed arrow, inscribed in a circle, with a steady hand. A barely perceptible circulation of air pulled gray streams along the walls, stripped of ornamentation and decoration. Only pristine metal, steel with frequent rivets, just like a thousand years ago, the hour the cruiser came off the shipyard slipways. The metal, though, was almost hidden beneath the scrolls that covered the ten-foot walls in several layers, like fresh shavings. Precious parchment, cheap paper, scraps of leather from devoted adepts, even wooden planks. With seals of consecrated sealing wax, simply glued, in some places nailed through metal like soft wax. Different material, different words, but the handwriting is the same, machine-accurate. Not prayers, more like notes. The memory of the ages.

"My Order is not pleased with you," the giant repeated. "Neither am I. But now that you're here, it would be impolite to chase away... the Inquisitor."

There was that pause again, barely noticeable, almost imperceptible. Clear and direct clarification of what the speaker was thinking about Fidus. The big man's voice sounded smooth and deep, with an intangible warmth. It was the humming of an engine, all its parts fingering together and working in perfect harmony, under the meticulous supervision of a well-tempered spirit. Fidus was not deceived, the warmth was not for him. The great warrior was simply at peace with himself and saw no reason to be annoyed by an insignificant visit from an insignificant man.

"I see that your soul is in turmoil and your thoughts are confused. We could pray together," the captain suddenly suggested. "Then you'll tell me what your concern is. But I'll tell you right away..."

The giant shook his head, the snow-white strands of hair trembling in time with the movement. Usually, warriors of the Order shaved their heads to make it easier to maintain and repair interface connectors, and to treat head wounds. But Sage was the exception, perhaps because he rarely participated in combat. Now the Order claimed his other talents.

"You definitely came with a request, but given the preceding events, this is a drum whose pounding will not reach my ears."

"I don't understand..." Now the inquisitor shook his head. He wanted to put his hands in his pockets, cross his arms over his chest, or otherwise build a psychological defense. Fidus was in no danger here, and yet he felt awkward and uncomfortable.

"Well, let me be clear," the captain's voice had lost much of its good-naturedness, and now it reeked of the coldness of a cryogenic chamber.

"Inquisitor Kryptman, you did not kill two of my brethren, but you are responsible for their absence. You can justify yourself all you want, but your words are like a distant drum in the night. It sounds, but its thumping doesn't touch my heart. I think that analogy makes sense to you?"

Fidus clenched his teeth and bowed his head low, trying to hide the blush of anger. It was more of an instinctive reaction, though. He can't fool the giant's supernatural senses anyway.

"Sleepless men can think what they like," Kryptman lifted his chin and looked straight into the captain's blue eyes. "I don't take the blame! I didn't call them to break the embargo!"

"That's a fact," the space marines agreed sadly. "But your report number four, written in panic ink on a sheet of horror, encouraged them to do so. However, your mistake could be understood. Not forgive, but understand ..."

The giant sighed with an unpretentious sadness that, for his size and chest width, looked like a gust of warm air from a small blast furnace.

"We could if you admitted your guilt and repented. Instead of persisting in tales of some terrifying xenos that no one has ever seen and that guard in the darkness like wolves against lambs. The bona fide delusion of the seasoned inquisitor is an original quirk. But when performed by a young boy, it is no longer a stylish folly, but annoying foolishness."

Fidus was silent because there was nothing to say. More precisely, there was a lot to say, but it was all useless. Kryptman had already realized clearly that they did not believe him, just as they did not believe his father, and it was useless to persist. At least, to persist openly and directly.

"I need help," he finally said. "I've really come to ask... for advice."

"Advice?" The giant seemed genuinely surprised. "From me? What could a lone servant of the Order of the Sleepless say to you?"

"I need your wisdom," Fidus said firmly. "The knowledge of a man who has lived for centuries, and though he was born for war, he has made a name for himself in another field."

The captain smiled coldly, with a faint note of superiority.

"I am not a human being, young inquisitor. I am both more and less than mortal. But in a way, you're right, I have seen many things... Well, let your drum sound in the darkness."

Fidus inhaled and exhaled as if to oxygenate his blood before throwing himself into the abyss, toward the invisible beasts.

"I need to save a woman."

The captain's thin eyebrows raised by themselves, his eyes gleaming in the distant glow of the star. "Wrath of the Righteous" was completing a U-turn maneuver, the line separating light and darkness sliding across the hull as it approached the prayer hall. Suddenly the bloodless lips of the thirteenth squadron commander stretched into a miserly smile.

"That girl? The young creature that has been transported through the millennia? Are you talking about her?"

"Yes," it sounded like an exhale of relief, and Fidus was glad that there was no need to go into a long explanation. However, the captain's next question was expected and heavy.

"Why?"

Kryptman thought for a while.

Why? Why indeed?

"I owe it to her," Fidus said through gritted teeth.

The Inquisitor repeated these words many times, imagined the conversation with the sage, and seemed to have achieved perfection. But now the usual smoothness of speech was gone, melted under the gaze of the Emperor's angel.

"She saved me despite the horrors that surrounded her. She saved me without even knowing who I was. Simply because she was compassionate."

Each word was literally forced through his throat, clawing at the sharp edges, scratching at the very soul.

"I owe it to her. And I want to help."

"You had an opportunity to simply prevent such an outcome. But you didn't use it at the time," the captain reminded him impassively. He remained motionless, only the bright eyes gleaming in his stone face and the cape barely visible rising on his chest.

"Yes, it's true."

A wave of searing shame came again, burning Kryptman's soul.

"I had an opportunity, but I didn't use it. I chickened out."

The main thing was said, and Fidus exhaled, feeling a little better, just a little.

"I want to get her out of the Purification Service," he said firmly as if cutting the safety strings. "I want to save her from death."

"In Adepto Purificatum, people survive."

"Three percent. That's common knowledge. One and nine-tenths percent. That's for real."

"But how can I help you?" surprised the captain. "You're still an Inquisitor, that's your business. I am infinitely far from the Purification. Though, if one accepts that any act for the glory and good of the Imperium are uniting, then we are all, of course, brothers in service."

"I tried, but I did not succeed. My group was disbanded, and the adepts were transferred to other inquisitors. The Council strongly advised me to refrain indefinitely from any investigative action. I'm almost under house arrest. I have contacted our archivists and lawyers, and they have found no way to resolve the matter officially and legally. Until the term of obedience expires, it is impossible to get a person out of Adepto Purificatum."

"You forgot the case of the Great Deed," the captain reminded.

"No, I haven't. She is a weak girl, she will not survive even docility. What to speak of Deed..."

"The weak girl was strong enough to drag a certain inquisitor through the air ducts," the space marine grinned. "Don't look so surprised, Fidus, two of our men died there. Of course, the Order meticulously studied and double-checked all the materials of the investigation. And at the same time, Olga, not even knowing Gothic, managed to get through quite a bit of the Ballistic Station, running away from mutants, servitors, and heretics.

"Mu..."

"Mutants," the captain repeated with polite firmness. "Yes, we took note of your version and checked it, too. No, you're wrong, the Order, the Inquisitors, and the Gearmen have gone over the station one by one and found no trace of the Xenos described. Mutants, yes, as in any facility that is sufficiently inhabited and large. However, no more than that. Take that to heart and don't indulge in any more fantasies. At least not here."

Bright light slipped into the prayer room with its first rays, like a swordsman testing his enemy's defenses with a test lunge. There were no filters on the windows, and Kryptman automatically squinted his eyes, wondering how a space marine could tolerate the brightest light.

"However, I agree, she will not survive docility. And you decided that I could replace your army of archivists?"

"You're not just the Emperor's chosen warrior. You are a ma..." Fidus hesitated a spark of restrained amusement flickering in the titan's eyes for a moment. "Astartes, who has devoted his life to knowledge, diplomacy, languages. The art of negotiation, of achieving goals without war. You have spoken and succeeded with men, heretics, xenos, and God knows what else. You have communicated as equals with the Ecclesiarchy, the arbiters, my colleagues, all administrations. And I thought ..."

Fidus took a breath, took a deep breath.

"Maybe you can advise me on something no one else knows. Find loophole in-laws and precedents that no one else has taken advantage of."

The giant rose with unexpected ease. His cloak fluttered like wings, pulled itself up to his waist, and formed wide sleeves. Apparently, the material was unusual, with shape memory. The captain walked to the window past Fidus, looked at the star without even squinting, though the inquisitor already had to cover his eyes with his palm. Kryptman saw only a dark silhouette against the blindingly bright background.

"I'm afraid I can't help you here."

Or you don't want to?

"I don't want to," the captain said as if he hadn't noticed the inquisitor's insolence. "Your weakness is your burden. But if I wanted to..."

The blinds clicked, lowering one step at a time, blocking out the bright light with an intricate system of slats. Now only the soft light of the lamps illuminated the room.

"Some laws and rules can be circumvented, others arbitrarily interpreted. Sometimes it is possible to collide norms, taking advantage of the differences. But in this case, all these avenues are closed. When one becomes a novice in the Adepto Purificatum, there are three ways one can leave the Service."

The space marine raised his fist and enumerated, flexing his fingers:

"Purified after six years of docility. Forgiven, having done the Deed. Or dead. There are no other ways."

Fidus looked at the broad palm with three fingers, each more the size of a small projectile. The inquisitor realized that the nails used to fasten the captain's notes to the walls were not nailed with a hammer.

"That can't be," Fidus blinked, struggling to keep from sighing. He had hoped to the end that the old sage, equally adept at war and peace, would be able to help. The captain smiled, very sparingly, in a way that made the inquisitor wonder if he was dreaming in the shadows.

"I've seen a lot..." the space marine said slowly, measuredly. He stood beside Kryptman, and the man could physically feel the incredible energy sleeping peacefully in the spacemarine's modified body.

"I saw burning planets whose deaths shone in the darkness of space as funeral pyres. The dark light of warp illuminated the galaxy from nothing and nowhere. The storming of orbital fortresses and the deaths of innumerable armies as billions of tragedies united in a single torrent of suffering that drove astropaths mad. Manifestations of entities are so astounding that the mind cannot even perceive them, much less understand them. All these moments of life dissolved into the river of time disappeared."

"The giant touched his index finger to his temple under the white strand of hair."

"And yet they remained in my memory. Memory and knowledge have made me, as you put it..." Astartes hummed, "A diplomat. Sometimes you have to live many lives and see millions of deaths to realize a simple thing. Every problem has a solution. But sometimes that solution requires looking at the problem from a very special angle."

"I don't understand."

"I can't help you get the girl out of the Purification Service by unprohibited means, it's impossible. However, if you decompose your task into its constituent elements and look at them more closely, more broadly, shall we say, then... who knows? There's a lot to think about."

"So my drum was loud enough after all?" Kryptman grinned, unhappily, with the corners of his mouth down. Hope struggled in the inquisitor's soul with apprehension.

"It's hard to surprise me. I thought you would ask for yourself, so I agreed to the meeting, and the Master allowed you to come aboard the "Wrath of the Righteous". I wondered how willing his father's son would be to humiliate himself and diminish the worthy name of the Kryptmans. But I was wrong, and it is interesting. Almost unusual. It is my personal experience that when a man sets foot on the road of cowardice, he follows it to the end. Perhaps you are an exception. Perhaps..."

"So there is a solution?" Kryptman repeated the question, holding his breath.

"Yes. But you won't like it. And you'll probably die performing it."

Fidus licked his lips, nervously smoothed his sideburns, ran his fingers over his sunken cheeks, lowered his hands, and clenched his fingers into fists until his knuckles cracked. And he uttered one short phrase:

"What I must do?"

* * *