Other Fan Fiction ❯ ravenor: the return ❯ Anniversary ( Chapter 1 )

Before I start: "This is normal speech."

This is a thought. It is also the name of a starship (for example)

+This is telepathic speech.+

And while I'm at it, I am not Dan Abnett, nor do I really wish to be - the pressures of writing to a deadline seem beyond my ability to cope with. But IF he ever reads this, then I hope he'll feature a certain character in his next `Ravenor' book, if there will ever be one.

That's all.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Eechan. It was essentially a hive world, but once you got out past the hives and into the shantytowns, that was where things were a little ugly. Not that you could ever call the hives pretty.

The midday sunlight had a fair amount of trouble penetrating the thick, gloopy rain that fell from the sky. It wasn't really rain, but sap vapour spurted from the gargantuan harvesters making their way along the crops. It was thick, sticky, constant and covered virtually everything.

"I hate this planet," grumbled Thizor from the window of a rented room. He stood looking out at the landscape, watching the huge beetle-like harvesters go about their way. He saw an occasional red tinted mist accompany the usual sap spurt - the bloody remains of another crop rodent.

"You hate every planet we go to," replied Arnett from the other side of the room, performing maintenance on a short frame autogun with professional speed. A variety of tools were laid out in front of him, including screwdrivers, cleaning brushes, a few bullets of different type and calibre, empty and loaded magazines for the autogun, a Tronsvasse Parabellum with its action locked open.

"That's because every planet we go to is a miserable shit pit." Thizor stalked over to where Arnett sat, and plopped down across from him, taking up the pistol and a barrel cleaning brush.

"Well, once you overlook the twist end of the planet, it's not so bad," said Lionel from the doorway of the room. The well-built man was leaning up against the doorframe, a lit lho-stick sticking out of his mouth, a combat shotgun resting in the leather scabbard strapped between his shoulder blades, "Unless you have something against hive worlds."

"Our dear friend Thizor here happens to hail from Thracian Primarus, let's not forget," Arnett smiled snidely, "He can't possibly have something against hive worlds."

"I damn well can, and I do," said Thizor, dropping the brush and grabbing a loaded magazine. He slapped it into place inside the pistol's grip, and cocked it with a declarative click, "And I blame it all on Thracian."

"Someone's coming!" hissed Lionel, quickly disappearing around the other side of the wall.

Thizor got up quickly, opening, stepping through, and closing another door in one movement. Arnett stayed where he was, sitting on the floor cleaning his autogun. Another man stepped into the room a moment later, lifting the hood off his long, sap drenched coat and revealing his face. Arnett took one glance and returned to work. He'd known as soon as he could hear the footsteps that it was Bass. Lionel reappeared in the room's main doorway, and Thizor stepped out of the closet he had chosen as his hiding spot.

"Sorry if I alarmed you," Bass said as he peeled off his coat and hung it on the wall-mounted hook. He was no youth, and since he was wearing a pair of filled thigh holsters he was evidently no newbie when it came to a fight.

"So everything's ready?" Lionel asked, lighting another lho-stick.

Bass nodded.

"Good," Arnett said, locking a loaded autogun clip into place and chambering a round, "With nightfall shall come a new fortune gentlemen, and that calls for a small celebration."

He stood up, disappeared into another room for a moment before returning with four glasses of grain-liquor. He took one and held it in the air, "To our continued success, and to our new fortune."

"Indeed," murmured Harlon Nayl, adjusting the focus on his zoom scope for the umpteenth time. "Damn this sap."

Nayl had been to Eechan a few times in his lifetime, once in the old days with Eisenhorn, and a couple of times back in the really old days when he was still bounty hunting. The Loki-born bounty hunter turned Throne agent shifted his position slightly under the heavy tarp that he was lying under. It was a trash pile that someone had found reason to cover with the tarp, but it was in the perfect spot, allowing Nayl a clean view through the window of the hotel room. Unfortunately, it was the middle of the day, and Nayl sweated freely. The voices from within the room rang again in Nayl's mind, but it was meaningless chatter.

+Heard enough yet?+ Ravenor asked. His mind voice sounded drawn and tired.

"Yeah, I've heard enough," Nayl replied to the inquisitor. At once the other voices ceased. "Sorry to wear you out like that."

+Don't be sorry to me,+ Ravenor replied, +Be sorry for yourselves that you couldn't plant a vox bug in their room.+

"You're too kind," Nayl muttered, "They're leaving."

+I know.+

Then why am I here? Nayl thought as the tarp rustled.

+So you can follow them. Now, if you'll please?+ Ravenor said. He sounded edgy, and he was more stiff than usual, even broadcasting from the Hinterlight in orbit.

Nayl took no heed of the inquisitor's unusual demeanour, instead crawling out from under the tarp and into the open. Immediately he lowered his goggles into place and put up his hood. From the single storey rooftop, he traced the four men with his eyes, before making his way back down to ground level, tracking them on foot.

His quarry walked brusquely through the streets, hiding their clearly off world weapons but walking with a confidence that seemed to say "Any twist that gets in our way won't be there much longer."

Aside from his zoom scope, which was safely hidden in his pocket, Nayl looked every bit a twist, with his eye covered neck. The goggles over his real eyes were a nice ironic touch that Nayl added to the twist disguise. Tech levels were forever low on Eechan, and so instead of his usual auto pistol Nayl had opted for a basket hilted hunting sword. It had been a while since he had used this particular disguise. The last time he'd used it was with Eisenhorn - exactly how many years ago he never bothered to count - chasing after the rogue Inquisitor Lyko, who in turn was linked to the legendary case of Quixos. It had been just after the events of the Atrocity on Thracian. He tried not to think about it. It never did Ravenor good to think about what happened that fateful day.

+Don't worry about it. It's an event long passed, I'm over it now.+ Ravenor said to Nayl, reading his surface thoughts.

"Ok, boss," Nayl replied. One twist looked at him funny, then looked away.

There was a good reason why Nayl had picked this disguise to use: no matter how many years had passed, today was actually the anniversary of the day they - Aemos, Alizebeth, Interrogator Inshabel, Duj Husmann, him and Eisenhorn - had come to Eechan. Of all of them, only Nayl himself remained, but he had no trouble pushing away the emotions that washed up as he thought of them. Dead, all of them. Well, except Alizebeth, who still rested on board the Hinterlight. And except for Gregor Eisenhorn, and throne knew what had become of him.

Nayl watched as the quartet of men entered one of many twist bars and noted the name of the place. The minder at the door didn't like it, but he let them in.

"I've seen and heard enough," Nayl said to Ravenor, "I think we should wait until night before we do anything else. I'm going back to the room."

+Ok then. I'll let them know that you're coming.+ replied the inquisitor.

"Is Kara still out and about?"

+Yes.+

"Ok then."

The room was shabby, as most things were in a twist town, but Nayl had chosen the room anyway, out of nostalgia. The Twist'n'Sleep. Once again, something that was used back when Nayl worked for Eisenhorn. He opened the door slowly, making sure that nothing was out of the ordinary and stepped inside, closing the door and taking off his sap-heavy coat, draping it over a chair.

"Anything?" Nayl asked Thonius, who tapped idly at his cogitator. With both hands, that was. Even though it had been a year and a half since it had been severed that fateful trade moot on Flint, but it had recovered remarkably.

"What do you think?" the interrogator replied wearily, "Even the hive's give up nothing. No one cares about the twist end of the planet. Why would they? What about you? Anything good?"

"If I had something really good I wouldn't be here," Nayl said, plopping down on a chair and pouring himself a shot of amasec. Thonius looked at the alcohol disapprovingly.

"Shouldn't you be keeping your mind sharp?"

Nayl sank the shot and slapped the glass down on the table in front of him, "I am."

"So do you have anything at all?" Kys asked from where she was. The telekinetic had sat herself lazily on a threadbare couch, and with no visible effort was levitating a variety of objects around her.

"Didn't The Chair tell you?" Nayl replied.

+I wish you didn't call me that, Harlon,+ Ravenor's voice rang, +And yes, I did tell them. I'm going to be out for a while. Do you think you can survive without me?+

"We should do fine, boss," Nayl replied. Ravenor didn't send back, bringing to Nayl's attention his obvious but mysterious sense of hurry.

"What's with him?" Nayl asked.

Thonius shrugged.

"He didn't tell us either, but I can just sense something, just the faintest psychic taste," Kys said, returning the levitated objects to their places, "I think that he can sense it too, but it must be so much more acute to him."

"Another Kinsky?" Thonius wondered. He still hadn't forgotten the immensely powerful psyker that had been part of the betrayal in Angelus sub a year and a half ago, and hoped that they would never have to face another, even if it was Ravenor who fought with him.

"I sure as hell hope not," Nayl muttered, pouring and sinking another amasec.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was so baffling. I could feel it, clear as a man might feel a pinprick. There was undoubtedly another psyker on the surface of Eechan, one of amazing strength if I could sense him from orbit. And I didn't even have the psi-boosters connected to my chair. As clearly as I could feel it, I could not discern who it was, although it felt unnervingly familiar. I dare say that it felt like that mind of my long gone master, Inquisitor Gregor Eisenhorn. But that was impossible, since he was dead, according to several reports. But others said contrary, and while I never asked my superiors on the matter, I still sometimes believed my own theory that he was still alive, if not active. If he were in fact still an active field inquisitor, then his reasons for being on Eechan would not be entirely unconvincing: there was the chance that we were both following leads on the same case.

I was tired from both keeping telepathic connections with Nayl and Kara and scanning for more of the mysterious psionic signature without my psi-boosters. I withdrew my mind back into the cocoon of my body, which was in turn cocooned inside my force chair. I needed to rest before I connected the psi-boosters and reached out again.

"Do you want me to push you back to your cabin, Gideon?" asked Cynia Preest from where she stood.

"No thank you, Cynia," I replied using my vox speaker rather than my mind. Although Mistress Preest had renewed her contract as my certified transporter - giving as a reason her sudden memory of how exciting it really was - her conditions remained the same, in that she did not wish me to be inside her head. It was not always like that, but since Majeskus and the whole bloody affair on Bonner's Reach, a lot of things had changed. "But I need someone to connect the psi-boosters, if you'd please."

Preest shrugged, walking over from her main bridge station to where my chair was mag-locked to the deck. The access ports slid open at my command, and Preest began connecting the cables.

My name is Gideon Ravenor. I am a member of the Emperor's Holy Inquisition. An inquisitor, Ordo Xenos, to be brief, of the Ordos Helican. I have already mentioned my need for a force chair, and you may have noted that I have significant mental powers to aid me in my work. The image which you may begin to build of me is quite possibly a withered man seated in an anti-grav chair, acting through my band of field agents with my mind. You would be partially right. Yes, I do in fact perform a majority of my work through my field agents like Harlon Nayl, Kara Swole, Patience Kys and Interrogator Carl Thonius to name a few with my mind. However, your image of the withered man is incorrect. I'm not exactly withered, but more melted. What people see of me is typically the sleek black shape of my armoured force chair. Very, very few people have seen my real body as it is now. A knotted bag of flesh, lacking arms or legs. A useless lump for a head. I am crippled beyond repair, but my mind survived the Atrocity on Thracian all those years ago, back when I was still an interrogator studying under the tutelage of Eisenhorn. And because of my surviving mind, I am not entirely crippled. Some people say that I was crippled. I, on the other hand, believe that I was liberated…(ok, ok, that line sort of comes from the book…)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was time.

Nayl made sure that his twist disguise was live, checked his sword, long dagger and black powder pistol, and made his way towards the entrance of the twist bar.

"I'm heading for the door," he whispered into his vox.

+Copy that,+ replied Kys from inside the bar, +Me and Kara are already inside.+

+Be careful, Nayl,+ said Ravenor.

You know me, Nayl thought so Ravenor could `hear'.

The big minder at the door was impassive about Nayl, and paid no heed to the weapons that he carried under his long hooded coat, waving him through the door without visible interest.

As soon as he stepped inside Nayl was almost overcome by the sheer scale of noise trapped inside the place. A steady pound track hammered from the speakers placed at various locations and built into the floor. He made his way to the bar where Kys and Kara sat, sipping at drinks and looking discreetly at a table, and sat down on the free bar stool.

"Well?" he asked.

"They got here just after we did," Kara replied, toying with her crest of quills, "They're big fish, no twistiness, off world guns."

"Twistiness?" Nayl raised an eyebrow.

"Here we go," Kys said, smiling despite herself at Kara's new word.

Nayl saw them too, a pair of twists, one carrying what looked like a data slate. He wasn't big, about the height of a normal man. His face seemed to have been inverted, with his mouth on his forehead and his eyes near his chin, but aside from that no other mutations could be seen, but his clothes could have been hiding it. His companion was a tall, thick set one, his small, beady eyes sunken back into his skull, his head - and entire body for that matter - a podgy blob. A fin rose from the top of his head, like the dorsal fin of a fish. He was openly carrying a big club of wood with assorted rusty metal sharp things sticking out from the end. He wore no shirt, and his baggy pants were held around his waist by a length of white cord. The pair talked with the four men at the table - the men that Nayl had followed earlier in the day - before leaving through the back door. Soon after the men stood up, leaving through the front of the bar.

"Do we follow?" Kara asked.

Nayl nodded, "That was the plan."

+I want Patience to stay in the bar,+ Ravenor said to the three of them, +If anything crops up, I want you to warn Nayl and Kara.+

"But what about you? Are you leaving us again?" Kara asked, as if talking to herself.

+Yes. I just picked up that psychic trace again. I need to use all of my concentration to track it, even if I'm using the boosters.+

Suddenly, Ravenor was gone.

"What happened?" Kara asked, "Did someone stick a nullifier onto his chair?"

"No," Kys replied, "He's just concentrating on other things. Go on, you heard him."

"Alright. Have fun here," Nayl said as a passing remark, before walking with Kara towards the door. Once outside, they both put up their hoods against the ever-present sap rain, before finding their quarry and following it.

They had walked for maybe five minutes when Kys's mind voice drifted into their heads, +Shit, heads up. Arbites are here, asking questions about the guys that you're following. I'll meet you as soon as I can.+

"They're heading into a storehouse," Nayl murmured into his vox, hoping that Kys could hear him over the cacophony inside the bar, "We're going in after them. It's the third one on the second street."

"We're going in?" Kara asked with a certain degree of nervousness.

"Problem?" Nayl smiled.

"Nayl, you're carrying a black powder pistol, a sword and a knife. They're carrying a shotgun, and autogun and a real pistol. Not to mention the twists that they have with them."

"What are you carrying?" Nayl asked, not breaking his step.

Kara opened her coat for a moment, revealing the pair of laspistols holstered in underarm rigs. Like Nayl she had worn a twist disguise. Unlike Nayl, she did not risk blundering into a fight without weapons she could count on, especially against non-twists with guns. In preparing for one risk, she was running another in that if the Arbites caught her then there would be an interesting time explaining to them what a twist was doing with laspistols, and with Ravenor constantly popping in and out of contact she was not willing to count on his influence.

"I thought you liked the stealthy approach," Nayl said, clearly enjoying the hunt.

"I do."

"Then trust me."

From a hiding spot across the street, Nayl and Kara watched as the men and mutants stepped through a door into the storehouse. Once they were clear, they slipped around to the rear of the building, trying to find another way in. It was a line of large windows at the top of the building. Smiling at the challenge, Nayl began to climb the wall, using the large variety of pipes and protruding bricks as holds. Shrugging, Kara followed, and they slithered through one of the windows silently. They found themselves on a suspended walkway about five metres up. The inside of the storehouse was well lit, and they were lucky that there was an ample amount of cover where they were. Peeking through gaps in the crates they used as a hiding spot, Nayl and Kara watched the scene unfolding on the ground.

"My clients are expecting the best, Mr Arnett," said the mutant with the mouth on his forehead.

"And they shall receive it. Have I ever failed you?" Arnett replied, leaning back slightly in his seat. His autogun lay on the table in front of him. Bass sat next to Arnett, while Thizor and Lionel stood on either side of them. The fat twist stood behind Mouth-Head.

"How will you pay?" Bass asked the twist seated across from him.

"As per usual: when I see the merchandise," Mouth-Head replied.

"How the hell did his mouth end up there?" Kara whispered.

"Shh!" Nayl hissed, "Shit."

As if alerted to something, the fat twist began looking around curiously. Then he fixed his beady stare on the crates hiding Nayl and Kara, and snarled.

"There!" he yelled in a phlegmy voice.

At once, twists of all shapes and sizes burst out of hiding all over the damn place, and Nayl realised finally that they had walked right into a frigging trap.

Nayl rose, reaching his right hand behind him and his left hand into his coat pocket.

From the back of his belt he drew his miserable excuse for firepower. With his left hand he took the inquisitorial crest from his pocket - which in his opinion was a more potent weapon than the pistol.

The rushing twists stopped moving, and now everyone focused their attention on the twist that had just revealed himself and pulled a silver "I" out of his pocket, and a pistol from his belt.

Arnett laughed loudly.

"I never knew that the Inquisition took in twists," he said, reaching for his gun.

Nayl trained the cocked pistol at the man's head, "I am Harlon Nayl, certified agent of the inquisition under the authority of Inquisitor Ravenor. And as crude as this weapon is, it will still collect sufficient force to punch clean through your skull."

Arnett sniggered, and Bass stood up, "Mr Nayl, you must understand. You are in the middle of a clump of twists, mutants, who unlike many others do not give a rat's arse about your authority, or the authority of this Inquisitor Ravenor.

"Kill them."

At once, the twists surged forward again with renewed zeal.

"Well, I tried," Nayl said, putting the rosette back in his pocket and firing the pistol at Arnett…Or more precisely, the twist that had dived into the way.

Cursing, Nayl turned to face the mutant which had managed to reach him and pistol whipped it. Then he heard the overlapping cracks of paired laspistols. Glancing over, Nayl saw that Kara moved quickly along the walkway, firing down at the mass of mutants that had appeared out of absolutely nowhere. The window that they had entered through had mag-sealed behind him, as had the rest of them. There was no way out. So Nayl drew his other weapons, and leapt off the walkway onto a thundering brute of a twist, slicing into its neck with both blades. At once Nayl was moving again, heading after the four men and two twists who had just negotiated some sort of trade that should never have been. His blades flashed ahead of him, carving a path through any who decided to attack him. He was lucky none of them were using a gun, otherwise he'd be in trouble by now.

Something loud and fast screamed through the air behind him, and Nayl dropped just in time to avoid the blade of a chainsword. He was up in a flash, bringing his own blades up, facing off with Mouth-Head, who held a new looking chainsword two handed in front of him.

Now things get messy. Nayl thought with dismay, as the revving chainsword came up for a slash.

Kara had reached the ground, and taken up a long knife to replace her drained laspistols, slicing deftly at the mutants in her way. She was only a few steps away from the door where she had last seen the quartet of men disappear into, when a large hand grabbed her face, covering her mouth and nose. Kara squeaked as the fat twist's other arm wrapped around her neck tightly, lifting her off the ground. She gripped the hilt of her knife tightly, refusing to let go, but the arm around her neck tensed. Kara gurgled, struggling to breathe, as she felt the knife slide from her hand. The hand over her face opened a fraction, allowing her the luxury of breath. Laboured breath, since she was still being held off the ground her neck.

"Mr Nayl, I do believe that you are in a small predicament," Mouth-Head sneered, setting his blade into a ready position.

"Oh I can keep going until the sun rises," Nayl replied, trying but failing to ignore the pain where the chainsword had winged his hip. Surprisingly he still had possession of both of his weapons, despite the fact that they had both almost been ripped out by the spinning teeth of the chainsword. Nayl suddenly realised that no one else was attacking. Mouth-Head's statement hadn't been a passing remark, it had been a declaration.

"I'm quite sure that you can keep going, but can she?" Mouth-Head looked past Nayl at Fat Twist, and Nayl turned, taking one glance at Kara's helpless form, sighing as discreetly as he could.

"Ok," Nayl conceded, letting his weapons drop with a clatter, "Fine."

"What makes you so happy at a time like this?" Fat Twist asked when he saw Nayl's smile.

But Mouth-Head had seen it, a moment after Nayl had. Kara's long knife made a sucking noise as it embedded itself into the back of Fat Twist's neck. The mutant dropped to his knees, and Kara squirmed away just as the crushing bulk fell onto its face. Behind the corpse, Patience Kys furrowed her brow and raised her hands to the ceiling, lifting a pair of wooden crates into the air. As if throwing a pair of balls at the same time the telekinetic hurled the crates at Mouth-Head.

+Duck.+ Kys's voice was strained, but Nayl heard her just the same and dropped down as the crates whizzed past him. He snatched up his weapons at the sound of the chainsword tearing apart the pair of wooden crates. The ex-bounty hunter wheeled around.

"Ready for the second round then?" Nayl said, angry by now.

Mouth-Head merely sneered, and lunged into an all out charge.

Kys tossed one of the two autopistols she was carrying to Kara before cutting down a gaggle of twists with her other one.

"Won't the Arbites hear all this?" Kara yelled.

"No, you picked a perfect time to start this," Kys replied, "All of the nearby Arbites units are suppressing a twist riot that spontaneously began."

Kys was about to say something else when something smashed into her shoulder, jerking her roughly and throwing her to the ground. Kara turned around, aiming her pistol up at Kys's attacker when a monumental blow felled her from behind. She dropped without a sound, blacking out almost instantly. A tiny trickle of blood dripped from the end of Lionel's shotgun butt, and he pumped it loudly, standing over Kara's prone form and lowered his gun until it was aimed at her head. Kys had lost her pistol, and holding her wounded shoulder tightly in an attempt to staunch some of the bleeding, she rolled over, seeing Arnett standing on the gangway, his autogun aimed at her and still smoking. Mouth-Head had desisted in his attack, but only because Thizor held his pistol to Nayl's head. There were only seven twists left alive - eight if Mouth-Head was counted - four of which were writhing on the floor in their death throes.

"I must admit you've done well," Bass said, "We had thirty mutants hidden in the basement, and you've managed to kill twenty three, and incapacitate four."

Kara moaned, and rolled over, her eyes half opening. She moaned again when she saw the end of the shotgun aimed at her face.

Horny ninker, Kara thought to herself when she caught sight of Lionel's hungry stare. A dangerous glint flashed by, and Kara began to truly understand how much shit they had just walked into.

"Now, Mr Nayl," Bass said, pulling a long barrelled pistol from his belt, "It ends."

Nayl waited for the high pitched bark to scream out his doom, resigning himself to fate. But it never came. In its place was a totally different noise. It was the almost continuous overlapping shots of a pair of Hecuters. It was so fast even Nayl closed his eyes for a moment. He got a glimpse of a stocky man, holding a flaring gun in each hand, standing on the other side of the gangway from Arnett and Bass.

Nayl reopened his eyes to a flurry of different weapons discharges. He just stood there, not seeing anything he could do. Two of the discharges were the Hecuters hosing away. Another came from Kara, who had taken up Lionel's fallen shotgun. One came from Arnett's autogun as he attempted to hit this new combatant, and the last one was Bass's gun, taking more careful shots. At Nayl, to be precise. Nayl scurried away desperately, trying to get something between him and the pistol, and he saw Kys on the other side of the place, cowering behind more crates, still clutching her shoulder. Suddenly a voice rang out, loud and clear.

"Stop."

Nayl stumbled as he obeyed the command, and all of a sudden the gunfire died down. Nayl looked back at the source of the voice.

He came from the staircase leading up from the basement - one of four staircases used by the hidden twists - walking slowly, as if he had all the time in the world. He was dressed in flak armour robes, over which was a long and heavy button sleeved leather coat with armoured shoulder pads. Despite the bionic callipers supporting his legs, he walked with the aid of a waist height cane. At one side of his belt was a bolt pistol. Slung over his back in its leather boot was an intricately carved steel staff, ending with a perfect carving of his skull. The electrum cap piece had been made into the form of a sun's corona. His face was an impassive mask of skin. A silver "I" was pinned at his throat. An inquisitor's rosette, one Nayl hadn't seen for a while, and never thought he would see again.

The figure continued to stride forward, and now that his psychic command had died down, Arnett and Bass raised their weapons, but before any of them could pull a trigger, the Hecuters roared again, and Arnett buckled, his knee jerked out at unhealthy angles. The Hecuters registered a dull click then, and their owner swore. Bass smiled as he raised his pistol at the new intruder. Who cared if he was an inquisitor?

No way can this old man be fast enough to draw that bolter, he thought snidely to himself. But the figure kept walking, and as he neared, Bass could see something different.

With a sharp gasp he stepped back, letting his gun drop. He backed himself up against the wall, his feet continuing to slide forwards, trying to push him back further.

"What are you doing?" Arnett growled, and despite the pain he hauled himself onto the railing of the gangway, aiming his autogun. But then he saw it too, and promptly soiled himself, too gripped by fear of the inquisitors psychically projected visage to move.

"Out!" barked the inquisitor, and with almost relieved sighs the two men fainted.

"You can come out now, Kara," the inquistor said. To the man with the paired Hecuters he said, "Devlan, bring those two down here."

"Sure boss," the man addressed as Devlan replied, "Can I just throw them?"

The inquisitor didn't reply, instead walking towards where Kys was. She had just emerged from behind cover, and stared at the approaching man with a mix of relief and hostility.

"I'll take that as a no then," Devlan murmured.

Nayl rose, and called out to the inquisitor, "Eisenhorn."

The figure stopped and turned around to face Nayl, as if he had just realised that he was there. "Hello there, Harlon," he said, "It's been a long time."

Gregor Eisenhorn didn't seem to have changed one bit, but it also seemed that he was a totally different man.

"Ravenor? Are you getting this?" Harlon said to his boss, "Ravenor?"

+I don't believe it,+ breathed Ravenor in reply, +At first I couldn't even work out who it was. But, he seemed to let me.+

+Yes, Gideon,+ said Eisenhorn to his former pupil, +It's me.+

Kara appeared beside her former boss, staring at him in wonder.

"So," Kys said, standing up and still clutching her shoulder, "Who are you again?"