Chapter 31

* * *

"To the side," Schmettau repeated, taking the classic two-handed aiming stance.

"No," Kryptman echoed, stepping between the hell-gun and Olga. Luct staggered to his left, standing to his master's left. Everything happened quickly, like in a theater, as if the parties were rehearsing an exchange of actions and lines. The girl cradled the infant fearfully, hiding behind Kryp's broad back. The baby squeaked, his lips curling, apparently sensing Olga's fear.

"Fidus, you idiot," said Schmettau irritably. "Stand back, or you will die with them."

Essen stepped to the side, holding his gun to hit all or most of the purifiers if necessary.

"You wanted me dead," said the young inquisitor, his hands and lips trembling a little, but on the whole Kryptman Jr. held himself as well as could be expected from a man under the muzzle of a melta pistol. "Well, do what you want to do with your own hands. No middlemen."

"Idiot," Schmettau repeated. "And a defender of heretics. Step aside!"

"She was right," Fidus said softly. "There is a time for ruthless cruelty. And there is a time for mercy. I think it's appropriate to show... a little kindness."

"This child is Evil incarnate," Schmettau was boiling, losing his composure and composure. "He must die! And he will die! With or without her! But I do not want to burn you with her. You will dig your own grave."

"It's an innocent child who doesn't know what he's doing," Fidus shook his head.

"Innocent?" Schmettau roared. "Do you have any idea how many people he's already killed? His panic has covered a quarter of the planet! How many have died!!! How many more have been poisoned by Warp Poison, how many more have been mutilated? The consequences will last for centuries! Get out of my way, you silly boy, and let others do the work if you're a useless wimp!"

"No."

"Well, maybe that's even better," Schmettau cut off as he made his decision.

His finger tensed on the trigger, Fidus crouched slightly as if intending to lunge at Kalkroit, but at that moment the tech-priestess stepped forward.

"Adeptus Mechanicus takes this woman under the patronage and protection," Wakrufmann proclaimed in an alien voice. "This is the direct will of Parliament and the Fabricator-General of Mars. You will receive all proper notices officially."

"You... her...?" Schmettau got confused. "What?"

"The "Olga" object pleases the Machine God and Mars," Jennifer explained as she stood side by side with Kryptman. The servo skull above Jennifer's body gleamed ominously with its red lens, and the tech-priestess held out her palm, on which she rested her head, in a commanding gesture.

Pale moved, even more, to capture in one shot the tech-priestess with the inquisitor and the dead servant. Apparently, the rapid multiplication of new targets did not please the inquisitor.

"Take it," Schmettau said contemptuously, after a moment's hesitation. "Copperheads play with the forbidden all the time, but that's your concern. The spawn of evil is my responsibility. Leave him and go wherever you want. You might as well take this travesty of an inquisitor with you. He's used to hiding behind someone else's back."

Kryptman just smiled and shook his head. Olga hugged the child tighter, whispering: "No... I won't."

"As you can see, your 'object' herself is looking for death," Schmettau pointed out.

"It's a dilemma," the iron head hissed. "Mars does not yet have a consolidated position on the permissibility of the Child object. However, at the moment, it poses no danger. I am inclined to say that we should not rush to a final decision, but in the meantime, we should take all measures to isolate the object in the most comfortable and secure conditions."

"That won't work. If you defend the brat, you're not worthy of life either," Shmettau sentenced.

"Are you ready to oppose the will of the Martian Parliament, Inquisitor?" Jennifer clarified. "Given that your every word is recorded? Failure to obey the High Lord of Terra is punishable by death and deprivation of the Inquisitor's rank."

"In my service, I'm ready to stand up to anyone," Shmettau grinned wickedly. "For I have sworn an oath to him who is above the Lords of Terra and all Rustyheads. I keep the Emperor's house, and if that requires burning an apostate, a heretic, and an iron fool, so be it."

"No," Demetrius muttered, and in the silence of the grave hall, the young man's words came out with a distinct determination. "You can't do that."

He swung forward, took a tiny step as if intending to join Olga's living shield.

"Calm down," Bertha grumbled. "It's none of our worries anymore. It's none of our business. Let them decide among themselves."

"No," the Priest said suddenly. "This is our business."

"What?"

"This is our business," the monk repeated, crossing himself with his aquila. "Everything we've been through is just a prelude."

"Are you insane with worry?" Bertha hissed softly, trying in vain to speak so that no one else could hear.

The priest turned to her and said: "Here is our main test. The choice the Emperor awaits."

"What choice is there?!" Bertha shrieked, unable to restrain herself.

"But there it is," the Priest said helplessly. "Here we stand before a child who is possessed by great power. We have two choices to make. Should we show mercy, but knowing that kindness today may well turn to terrible misery tomorrow. Or..." he swallowed noisily. "To be cruel. To kill a child whose only fault is that the wicked have done wrong to him. But maybe that cruelty is mercy for the archvillain's future victims."

"What are we supposed to do?" Bertha asked. "What's the right thing to do?"

"I..." The Priest looked lost, which was surprising and incongruous, considering the energy and courage with which he had behaved before. "I don't know... There are no omens, nothing... Perhaps the Emperor wants each of us to choose for ourselves."

Essen Pale licked his lips and clarified: "What are your orders, sir?"

"Wait," Schmettau grinned even more ominously. "Let the unstable in spirit and those prone to heresy mark themselves. Adepto Purificatum will thank us for cleansing the ranks."

"I choose."

Demetrius's second step was much larger and more confident than the first. The orderly marched past Kalkroit, accompanied by Essen Pale's sight, stood next to Kryptmann, adding: "She brought us here, protected us from the emanations of evil. She stopped the utter terror. If the Emperor did not lead her, who did?"

"Mars thinks your choice is reasonable, young man," the head bobbed ceremoniously in Jennifer's palm.

"And I'm not going to choose shit!" he told the world, he stepped aside and sat down defiantly with his hands out in front of him. "The nose was enough. Now I serve and follow orders. From here to the Old Stars. What the commandant commander orders, I'll do."

"I'm with the Inquisition," the Holy Man looked past Demetrius guiltily, as if afraid to meet his eyes. "They know better. If they say it's evil, it is. And we've all seen what nasty things this... thing has done. Maybe he didn't do it on purpose, but we can't bring Crybaby back. And the Sinner. The Madman again. And all the others."

Radioman sighed heavily and retreated toward Schmettau, but not so much that the inquisitor considered it an insidious rapprochement.

The Priest looked at Bertha; the Commandant mechanically ran her hands over the jumpsuit under which the Detachment's banner was concealed.

"About kindness, of course, it's beautiful... and right," thought the commander aloud. "But we have the Inquisitors with us. They showed up at just the right moment, and they crushed the Sixty-fourth, or we'd have been finished, with or without the little froggy girl. Sounds like a sign to me. It's the best sign ever. And if there's even a slim chance that this," she pointed to the side, "will happen again, the kindness is in not letting..."

She was at a loss for words, waved her hand, and stepped closer to Schmettau.

"Father?" Kalcroit raised an eyebrow. "Your choice? Die ignominiously with the heretics or go out with the righteous?"

"You are a bad fisher of men, inquisitor," said the Priest. "Your question already contains the answer."

"I don't think a shepherd can hesitate to choose between lambs and goats," said Schmettau. "On the other hand, such doubt is an answer in itself. Well, two righteous men aren't much, but it's better than none."

"Hey, hey," Savlar exclaimed, "Your math doesn't add up!"

"Everything that is not good is the opposite of it, that is evil," smiled Schmettau benevolently. "Neutrality is the same heresy."

Savlar screamed and ran, stumbling over the corpses. Everyone clutched their weapons tighter, realizing that the time for talking was over. Olga turned away and squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the warm little body in her arms, drenched in blood. Schmettau smiled even wider and even scarier as if savoring a moment of triumph, but before he could command "fire," there was a rumble under the high vaults of the hall:

"Stop! In His name I forbid murder!"

Rattling equipment, rattling weapons, new fighters of quite a human appearance poured into the hall in a steady stream. And not human, either, for the warriors, were accompanied by automatons. The new group was led by a giant Astartes in white armor, unadorned, unmarked, and devoid of any insignia. Only the right side of his breastplate bore a small badge resembling a two-pointed arrow inscribed in a circle. The giant held his power spear with seeming carelessness, slung over his shoulder. The spacemarine wore no helmet, and his surprisingly bright blue eyes glowed like laser beams. Blond, almost white hair came down to his throat, hiding the connectors and pins underneath.

"Captain..." exhaled Fidus. "Sleepless."

"My respects to the Emperor's angels," Schmettau sulked. "But you have nothing to look at here. This is our business, the business of the Inquisition."

"We'll solve that problem," the spaceman muttered, striding with the leisurely pace and poise of an automaton. His companions divided into two wings, moving along the walls of the hall with the dexterity of experienced warriors, checking every meter for traps and mines. Behind Angel's back were two women in the same white armor, only without the arrow. Olga held her breath, recalling that she had seen grim women in similar armor with shamrock signs before. The prisoners on the church-prison ship called them "Saritas" and were very afraid of them.

"Nothing. To decide here," Kalkroit mouthed and took aim at the spaceman. Immediately several bright scarlet dots slid across the Inquisitor's torso, and a moment later the sights were on Essen as well.

"I am with you, sir," the aide assured me, aiming at the giant, although he could die at any second. "Give the orders."

"Inquisitor," the angel said, stopping a few meters away from Schmettau. The Astartes seemed genuinely amused by the situation, despite the fact that a melta gun at that distance could cause quite a bit of trouble. "I do not understand what you intend to dispute. Your actions displease Mars. Your actions displease the Order. They are hasty and dictated more by fear than common sense. Stand down and, if you see fit, appeal our decision to the proper authorities."

The power spear on the giant's shoulder crackled slightly, the blade exuding a barely perceptible light. Jennifer Wakrufmann stood so that Olga and Fidus were right behind her.

"A deflector shield?" asked the space marines over Schmettau's head.

"Not exactly," someone answered in the mechanical mouth of a techno-girl. "A palliative, which allows achieving a similar effect, using the design features of the power source. Unfortunately, only once and at the cost of destroying the host."

"Once," Essen licked his lips and took a tighter grip on the hilt of his melta. "Once..."

"That's enough," this time the space marines answered. He spoke calmly and peacefully as if he were talking about something unimportant. "You won't get a second try. Moreover, a firefight might upset the child and make him scream again. Would we want that...?"

"Maybe that's better," Kalkroit whispered, still keeping the hell gun. "Then you'll have no other choice..."

Space marine came even closer, without blinking looked at the gun in the Inquisitor's hands, at Kryptman and Olga peeking out from behind his shoulder.

"So that's what you really are..." the giant said softly, with a touch of good-natured irony. "Interesting," he then turned to Schmettau, more sternly. "Inquisitor, any scene, even the most dramatic one, if it is too long, becomes a parody. You should have tried to kill the baby at once, without the theatrical remarks separating the clean and the unclean. Or you shouldn't have aimed at me but should have shot the girl with the baby immediately. You made several significant errors and topped them off with a tactical miscalculation by missing the chance. Now you're only making the Inquisition and yourself look bad. Give it up."

"No."

"Then you will die," said the giant. "Infamous and pointless. The Ordos have already suffered great losses here, is there any point in multiplying them?"

The women in white armor froze on either side of the captain, "Saritas" faces expressionless, no weapons in their hands, but for some reason, it seemed to Olga that these harsh women with the same hairstyle and tattoos on their faces here are very dangerous and fast.

"I've already died once," Jennifer said softly, and Fidus realized that the "cog" was talking to Olga. "There is a chance that I can be reanimated after the activation of the shield."

"The Emperor's will demands it!" Shmettau shouted, aiming directly at the angel's face, ignoring the aiming beams that slid across the Inquisitor's tattered spacesuit. "It's necessary for humanity! He would have wanted it!"

"Not for you to say what the Emperor would have wanted!" The Astartes' voice rumbled unexpectedly, his bass like a tank track, his bright eyes shining like shards of the purest lapis lazuli. "I know His will, for I have heard it! I have known God's word, undistorted by interpreters!"

"W-what?"

"A relic of your order?" Jennifer's head asked softly and unexpectedly. "So it's true, then?"

"Yes," the giant muttered suggestively. "One of His chosen warriors survived the Heresy and became the founder of our order. Sacred armor, forged in the forges of Terra, holds the record of a staff meeting from the time of the Great Crusade. A meeting led by the Emperor himself, explaining the meaning and purpose of his actions."

"It is truly an amazing relic. I would consider it an honor to allow your order to share in the sacred knowledge," asked the unknown man in Jennifer's head.

"It is possible," the Astartes nodded. "As a symbol of our alliance and unity in the face of threats. But I think we'll discuss the matter later. At least, because it is not in my power to make such a decision alone."

"Absolutely," the head agreed.

"The Emperor could not approve the heresy!" Smettau exhaled, feeling that he was losing time and position so that instead of a punishing hand, he was rapidly becoming a pitiful obstacle in the way of far more powerful forces. "You are mistaken, or it is a fake!"

The spacemarines looked at the inquisitor with a spiteless pity, as if he were insane.

"What does heresy endorsement have to do with it, you fool?" asked the Astartes. "The Emperor was saying that every obstacle is a challenge. A challenge that toughens us, makes mankind stronger, smarter, more powerful. It is only through struggle that the right of men to dominate the universe is asserted. There is no shame in retreating before overwhelming force. There is no shame in accepting its challenge and losing. But worthy only of ridicule and oblivion is the refusal to accept the challenge dictated by fear. This is what He said. And His words the Sleepless have carried through the millennia."

"The child is a monster," Kalkroit whispered in despair, the Inquisitor's hand trembling, the barrel of the hell gun zigzagging. "He must be killed before he can wreak terrible havoc on the lmperium."

"This is an innocent child," the Emperor's angel shook his head. "Innocent, for now. He could be a monster, you're right. Or he could be a great psyker, a deed that would make the Empire great. The vessel of his life is not yet filled, and his destiny is not yet written. And what it will depend on us."

"This is a risk!" Schmettau cried out in despair; he seemed ready to fall to his knees to beg.

"Which is acceptable," Jennifer clarified.

"It's a challenge," the space marines answered adamantly, and he took another step and stood next to Schmettau, closer than an ordinary man's arm's length. The giant in the snow armor now towered over the Inquisitor like a mountain.

"You will regret it," Kalkroit whispered, without threat or hatred, but rather in infinite despair, like a man unable to keep the blind men at the edge of the abyss. "The time will come when you will remember my words and regret that you did not commit a small evil to destroy a great evil."

With unexpected participation and peacefulness, the giant placed a huge palm on the shoulder of the slumped inquisitor.

"Perhaps it will be," the Astartes said softly, like a peer. "But this child is a gift to mankind. It is a challenge to our faith and our reason. By killing it, we acknowledge that we are weak and insignificant. That we cannot raise a great psyker in conscious love for humans and His heritage. And thus, by showing weakness, we take a step back from His dream."

Kalkroit looked up at the giant from below and silently shook his head.

"No," he whispered. "No... you're wrong."

"I didn't expect you to understand," the angel sighed. "I hoped you would, though. Well, maybe someday you'll be right about me. Our rightness. Or maybe the other way around... you'll be closer to the truth."

The space marine voice grew stronger, losing the touch of friendly concern. Now there was only unyielding will.

"In any case, this child's life is not in your hands today. Put away your weapons and get out of my way, inquisitor, or you will die, as much as I detest it."

The stern women in white bypassed the inquisitor and headed toward Olga. The girl trembled and recoiled, but Kryptman held her by the elbow.

"It's all right," he encouraged. "It's really over."

"You can give the child up now," Jennifer said. "He's not in danger anymore."

"Can... I...? May I? Him?"

"Of course," replied the voice of the unknown Martian. "But not now. The child must be bathed, fed, and given medical attention. He must have a high-level sanctioned psyker with him at all times, to calm him down, to quell his emotional outbursts. You'll be sure to meet him a little later. We should talk."

"Doturov, if I'm not mistaken?" The Astartes asked, smiling faintly at the edge of his lips.

"Yes," the head replied laconically. "Good thing I didn't have to use the Kronover's guns to neutralize the threat. It's hard to predict the trajectories of the rocket fragments as they shoot through six walls."

"I don't dispute the prerogative of Adeptus Mechanicus," the space marines reported. "But I would be interested in talking to this girl. Afterward. In a quieter setting."

"Of course," replied the Martian. "Strengthening the alliance between Mars and the Order of the Sleepless is a two-way process."

The "Saritas" silently took the baby from Olga, carefully and gently, like well-trained medics. An old man in a shapeless robe with a snow-white bandage on his forehead appeared out of nowhere, touched the baby's bloody head with his long fingers, then nodded, one by one, to the Astartes and the women. The white-robed aunts carried the infant away with the same care, accompanied by the old man, whose fingers moved incessantly as if weaving an invisible yarn.

"Let's go, Fidus," murmured the captain. "We have much to discuss, let's not postpone the conversation."

Kryptman looked back at the purifiers and Schmettau. The inquisitor, still with his pistol in his hand, looked lost and pitiful. Essen towered, as usual, deaf to everything but his master's orders.

The Purificators had already been taken in by their colleagues from the orbiting stations, treating them with apparent deference. Kryptman silently saluted his armored train mates, and they responded at random, even Savlar.

"Your service in the purification is over," the giant said, shifting his spear to his other shoulder. "And in my opinion, you've done well. So good, in fact, that you can hang the insignia around your neck again."

"Frankly, you're the last people I expected to see here."

Fidus felt overwhelmingly tired and even ignored the mention of his probable return to Inquisitor service.

"I told you, I wondered where the road of cowardice would take you. I must say, I am pleasantly surprised, including the fact that you survived."

"Your solution," Kryptman went through the events of the past days, remembering the death, the horror, the fire, the war, the dead. "I really didn't like it. But... it worked."

"I'm glad," the space marines said simply. "But the end of any event is always the beginning of others. What you have done is great and meaningful. But what you have done belongs to the past, and the future lies ahead."

"And... she...?" Fidus looked in Olga's direction. The girl was standing and talking to Jennifer about something, and they were surrounded by several skitarians, the Martian warriors didn't look like guards at all, more like escorts of honor.

"She will be taken care of. And yes, ahead of the next question, no one will stop you from meeting again if you both express such an intention. But not now. And her fate is no longer up to you."

"I thought-" Kryptman sighed. "I thought I'd put her in the manor. Let her run our family library. A nice, predictable life of peace and quiet, set for decades to come. But it was... different."

"The future never meets our aspirations," smiled the Astartes. "But rejoice, thanks to your efforts, the girl has that future, even if it is not connected to you. Wasn't it life for Olga that Fidus once wanted, when he came to me for help?"

"Yes," Kryptman returned the smile, quite sincere. "Yes. That's what I wanted."

"Excellent, now let's take a walk. There's a lot to discuss."

* * *

It was raining outside, or rather snow melting on its way between the clouds and the ground. Kryptman was even surprised and put up a wide palm with broken fingernails, it was quickly dotted with tiny drops of moisture. It was warm, nothing like the morning chill that had frosted the tips of Fidus' nose and ears.

"Yes," the inquisitor said to himself, in response to unspoken thoughts. And he repeated. "Yes, that's right."

The sun was setting. In the smoky sky glowed the fiery traces of landing ships - the Martians continued to redeploy the army, besides, the orbital troops of Beacon's self-defense and arbitrators finally came to their senses. There was still gunfire in the streets, but it was less frequent and more organized now, and it was no longer a fight, but more of a shoot-out. There was a pungent smell of promethium and burnt flesh in the heavy, damp air as special teams set about burning the corpses, but most of all the carcass of the sea-monster, which had been stopped by a napalm shower less than a block away from the theater building. Perhaps the abundance of fire had warmed the downtown area to the point that it was the first time it had seen rain in years.

The Priest passed by, lost and miserable. He mumbled under his breath: "I couldn't choose... The only one of all. I couldn't..."

"That's okay," said Fidus, not sure why.

The Priest stopped, looked at the inquisitor with inflamed eyes, and answered: "You don't understand. I am the shepherd of souls. I must always be first, I am the torch that shines in the darkness, I am the mirror that reflects the light of the Emperor. But if my flock chooses decisively and firmly, and I hesitate, what kind of shepherd am I?"

The monk hunched over and moved on, hands deep in his pockets. Fidus shrugged and moved in the opposite direction, finally spotting what he was looking for. Or rather those he was looking for.

Kalkroit Schmettau sat on the rocrit wreckage, spinning the hell gun aimlessly on his index finger threaded through the brace. Pale had removed the melta and the fuel tank but otherwise remained unchanged, as if fatigue and wounds had no power over Essen.

"You look better with a wig," Fidus remarked as he came closer. Essen stayed silent.

"I don't see Luct," Kalkroit grunted mirthlessly. "Has he finally broken down?"

"The Martians took to the recovery. He deserved it."

"Yes, it's hard to argue with that. A useful servitor. What about the girl?" Shmettau asked a second question. "Did the rusty-heads get their hands on her, too?"

"I would say "invited to visit". However, she did not mind at all, and Olga was quite understandable. Her acquaintance with the Imperium was... rather one-sided."

Schmettau hummed, putting an abyss of emotion into one short exhalation.

"She's a heretic after all..."

"No," Fidus cut him off.

"Did the Martians come for her?" asked another question Shmettau. "Personally?"

"In some ways. They were planning some big operation of their own at Beacon. A group of agents, including Wakrufmann, was deployed in advance for this purpose. In the course of events, the priestess was reassigned to the additional task - to monitor the "object", to protect, to transfer to Mars."

"Well, she did it," said Schmettau thoughtfully. "That's to our misfortune."

"Yes," Kryptman agreed. "She did."

"And you... the purifiers, respectively - are redemption forthcoming?"

"It will be decided," Fidus shrugged. "But I think it will. We've done a pretty good job, after all. It's quite a Wonderful Deed, I'd say."

"A happy ending for everyone," Schmettau sighed. "Almost for everyone. Except for the humans, who will eventually be killed by this wonderful little guy. But that is a matter for the future... If you are here, you are of no use to the Martians or the Astartes. Neither was she. Isn't there a beautiful ending to this story?"

"There's a time and a place for everything," said Fidus. "I wanted to help her, and I did. Not for thanks."

"So she didn't even thank you," Schmettau affirmed. "Must be offensive, huh?"

"No. It's..." Kryptman thought for a few moments. "It's more of a balancing act. She saved me, and I was ungrateful. Now I've paid back my debt and walked away without expecting anything in return."

The inquisitor looked up at Fidus. He, in turn, looked down at the Inquisitor, rocking slightly from toe to heel.

"Is there anything else you need?" The inquisitor asked indifferently, lowering his head. Dirty artificial hair hung in sad icicles, shoulders slumped, Schmettau's figure reflected endless fatigue and desolation. Essen Palais stood motionless beside him, like a sentry long forgotten but still on duty.

"I did everything I wanted to do. Almost everything. I decided to take one last look at you," Kryptman replied bluntly. "Of my own free will and choice, not because you honored me with your visit. To stand like this, against each other. And look into each other's eyes."

"Did you want a triumph?" Kalkroit raised his head again and stared straight into Fidus' eyes. "Well, enjoy it. You won. Winning at everything."

"No," Kryptman said quietly. "I'm not looking to win over you. I never wanted to."

"Indeed?" the old inquisitor queried sarcastically. Now, after the ordeal and the brutal battle, after Schmettau had lost, he no longer seemed like an honorable middle-aged burgher. Kalkroit's full age was clearly visible in his face, in his posture, and his gestures. Before Kryptman sat a deep and broken old man with only despair in his soul.

"Yes," Fidus confirmed. "I've never seen you... in combat. In service. But I wanted to see it. All my life my father had told me how great Inquisitor Schmettau was. How ruthless he was to the enemies of the Imperium. How many times Fidus Kryptman owed his life to an old comrade."

"Get off," demanded Schmettau angrily.

"If you say so..." Fidus was quiet and finished with unexpected warmth. "Uncle."

"I am not your uncle!" The elderly inquisitor snapped.

"What else to call the man who was your father's sworn brother? The one who first took Kryptman Jr. in his arms?"

"Nothing has changed, nothing is over," Shmettau clenched his fists so that the armored fabric of his spacesuit crunched. "Nothing! Yes, we were brothers. You came into this world through my hands. But your father betrayed me. He betrayed everything that was between us. The past cannot be undone. You can't glue what's broken back together without a trace unless you're a sorcerer. And we are not sorcerers, boy..."

"As you wish," Fidus sighed and said firmly. "But I didn't want this vendetta, and I won't take part in it from now on. That... the Emperor's Angel... he may have been wrong, but he was right about one thing. Some deeds degrade us. And some elevate us. You're trying to avenge a dead man. It's pathetic and undignified, but it's your choice. I would rather remember the man who delivered my friend's wife while he was transfusing her blood. That's the kind of man I would tell my children and students if I had any. And that would be my choice."

Fidus took one more look at Schmettau, then walked on, past the skitarians who were setting up some kind of cannon right on the pavement.

"You will not become an inquisitor!" Shmettau shouted at his back and then broke off into incoherent, desperate shouts. "You never will! You are pathetic and useless! You are nothing! A weak nothing! And that will never change! Never!!!"

Fidus stopped and looked over his shoulder. A very faint and surprisingly kind smile appeared on Kryptman's face.

"Maybe. But my father used to say that the road to perfection begins with an awareness of imperfection. I realized that I was a bad inquisitor. I met people who were better than me and taught important lessons. So my path is still ahead of me. Tell me, what road are you on now?"

Having said that, Kryptman went on without looking back.

"What road?" He didn't even shout but somehow screeched after him. "Do you want to know my road? I will tell you, boy! What you do not know because of the stupid solidarity of the elder Kryptman's friends!"

Fidus slowed his pace a little. Perhaps it only seemed that way, though.

"The Cult we hunted is our greatest cause! The greatest cause in defense of the Imperium! A cult against the Civistas Imperialis of the Sabbat worlds!!! Successful because of the treachery of Kryptman Sr.!"

The former inquisitor did not look back.

"If your father had been alive by this time, his execution and deposition for aiding heresy would not even have been discussed!!! Thousands of worlds where billions of his subjects have become the food of the Destructive Power! This is your father's true legacy. That, not pathetic drawings and delusional tales!"

Schmettau sighed deeply. The rage with which he uttered his denunciations was beyond what was acceptable to the exhausted body of the old inquisitor.

"My life will not be enough to fix a tiny fraction of this "legacy". But this is the path I have chosen. And I will follow it to the end."

"Sir," Essen helped the inquisitor to his feet and put his hand under his arm, on which Schmettau leaned heavily. The old man felt as if his loins were about to collapse into separate vertebrae, and if not for Essen's support, Schmettau would probably have fallen.

"It's time to go back," Essen said. "The capsule is waiting, with enough fuel to reach orbit."

"Yes," Schmettau exhaled heavily. "It's time."

He looked once more at Kryptman's back.

"There's nothing left to do here. We must go," the inquisitor repeated quietly, and Essen helped him take the first step, preventing him from falling into a muddy puddle filled with flakes of soot.

* * *