I looked at her from behind my veil and scrutinized the woman, and then grabbed the cloth that swathed my face and tossed it aside. The room was acrid with smoke and strange perfumes, but the air was refreshingly cool. Had I not been working, I would have given the woman a smirk, but none touched my face. Instead I probed her psychic form with my mind. I did not invade her consciousness, but estimated just what exactly she could be playing at. She had an incredible girth of the talent, that much was plain. But it was unrefined and cumbersome, likely what she could perform was but second nature and natural skill. I would not make the judgement there, but I felt the woman was of at least delta level, perhaps even gamma. How she had not been possessed by a daemon or burned herself out was either a miracle or incredible dumb luck. 

I would learn such distinctions meant little when concerning Emmaline Grimelhausen Teobaldina von Morganstern. 

Out of the smoke, a Tallarn heretic with three eyes and the tongue of a snake leaped at me with abandon, having lurked behind the ruined furniture for the right time to strike. He must have seen I was the one in charge of the outfit. I only caught a glimpse of him as he pounced, but I was less frightened of him and more cautious of the ozone that suddenly filled the air, time slowing as my eyes widened a fraction from what I knew was to come. 

There were not many projectiles that could match the strength and ferocity of a bolter round, but the transuranium shell of a transuranic arquebus was certainly a contender. I felt the shockwave of the bullet's passing as it tore into the heretic, leaving naught but gibbets and blood to rain down around the central chamber. Blearily, I could see there was not only a hole in the wall I could fit my head through, but it pierced through the next two rooms and embedded itself into another six feet of solid stone. Such a projectile was made to punch through moderately armored tanks with ease, the resulting pressure killing the entire crew inside. Even Brother Bacchus would have a difficult time surviving a hit. 

As my hearing returned, I could make out the heavy footsteps of Lazarus approaching from behind me, his arquebus still smoking from the well-aimed shot. It was impossible to confirm, as his mouth had long ago been replaced with an audio 'voice box' on his lower jaw, but in my eyes, I imagined he looked to be smiling at his handiwork. He did not get to use the weapon much, and for good reason. "I told you not to use that thing during indoor actions." 

"Apologies Hadrian. You seemed preoccupied." 

"You have your lascarbine for a reason." 

"Had I reached for that instead, the chances of the attacker reaching you would have increased by 17%." 

"You should have already had it on you." 

"The damage of a lascarbine's shot is due to hyperburns significantly more than concussive fo-" 

"I would have been fine," I insisted, pulling the barrel of the arquebus away from my vicinity. Reluctantly Lazarus handed the weapon over, but rather than keep it for myself, I leaned it against the wall a mere pace away from the skitarii. He unholstered his lascarbine with his dual mechanical arms that presided within his robes, distributing the weapon into his main arms of (mostly) flesh.  Satisfied, I pointed at the woman. "Watch her, and give her some fatigues to put on. Brother Bacchus!" 

Suitably drenched in the blood of mutants, the Red Scorpion astartes approached, placing a fresh magazine in his weapon. Had he the knowledge I did, I would not have been certain he wouldn't have killed the blonde then and there. The Red Scorpions were reliable for a monodominant, even one as...liberal as I. The Chamber Militant Grey Knights were specialized for incursions against daemons, and so I only called them as a last resort. Less casualties that way, as it was standard procedure to kill any imperial citizen not of the Inquisition to keep the Grey Knights a secretive ordo. Chapters such as the Red Scorpions and Black Templars served in their stead in normal circumstances, my late mentor had taught me. Puritanical to a fault, they abhorred the mutant, the heretic, and the xenos, and distrusted the psyker. He would not assault me, but I still did not actively display my power before him so as not to complicate the issue. The large meta-human approached. "Yes, inquisitor?" 

"Lead the assault below with sergeant Al-Adun. Leave at least a two heretics alive so that I may question them. Expect a score of foes." I said, and he gave a dissatisfied grunt. I was in charge, but it was never advisable to order about a space marine as if they were your lackey. Of course, in this instance, the order wasn't the problem. Leaving heretics alive, was. Still, he did not argue beyond showing disapproval, saluting me and pressing forward. The Tallarns followed, having crossed the arms of their one deceased to keep dignity until he could be properly buried later. 

As Bacchus went below, I lifted my saber and autopistol in the dueling fashion, stepping lightly over torn furniture and corpses, beginning a search of the upper rooms beginning clock-wise. The first was merely a storage area of food, of which I promptly burned due to the likely taint. Next was a room that had likely been a storage room, and instead of effects or traveling gear, it was filled with corpses. I prayed to the God Emperor and advanced, finding myself in the rooms that Lazarus had pierced with his rifle. The second room was merely a restroom. The bedroom itself had a wide, canopied bed. Four women lay scattered, sobbing and attempting to huddle together when I entered. Two men were dead. One from a saber cut to the neck, and the other had lost his torso from the stray shot that had punched through the stone. Gazing at the corpses, I ascertained the latter was more interesting. I tilted his limp head with my boot, recognizing him as the man we had pursued. Leaning down, I knelt beside the corpse and opened his eyes, checking for any overt taint. I opened his mouth, finding naught but yellowed teeth. Sliding his sleeve back, I finally caught a most unholy mark. Embedded into his flesh, the mark of Tzeentch was writ, the symbol itself...transformed. The symbol's flesh was not the flesh of the man, as if he had fused with something wholly alien to acquire it. In his clutched hand was something strange. An object of unknown material, green and black, in the shape of a T, if the greater line curved into the horizontal, with a chip at its butt. It smelled faintly of sulphur, and I deduced the man had procured it from the Tomb. I would not dare touch it with my bare hand, but with my gloved fingers I pulled it out of his grasp and stepped out into the central room, where the woman was now getting dressed. I tossed the item to Lazarus, who caught it with his third hand and immediately began examining it curiously. 

"Most interesting, Hadrian."

"Run diagnostics on that. I want to know where it has been and what it does. And call the orbital astrotechs, giving us records of every warp trail leaving the planet in the last five hours, and call Urien. We need a pick up. Now." 

[hr] 
[i]Thirty minutes later[/i]. 

The shuttle was a modified dropship, repurposed for quick transportation between the Caledonia Freighter and any inner-orbit travel. Urien had greeted them with the usual candor, glad he hadn't had to stay in orbit for more than a few days. I imagine now this entire affair must have been daunting for Emmaline, but at the time I did not consider it. The shuttle was large enough to accommodate two score guardsmen shocktroops, but instead it merely had myself, two heretics in stasis, Lazarus, Brother Bacchus who needed transport back to his chapter, and Emmaline. The woman had a knack for being positively distracting in any clothing, even a baggy military outfit, which I would later use to great effect in our missions. Ironically, it was likely the most untrue statement I could make at the time in the shuttle. I was too engrossed in thought of our current course of action, Urien was flying the ship, and both Lazarus and Bacchus were augmented to ignore their lesser human needs of base flesh. 

Only once the Caledonia was in plain sight did I remember to ask Urien a pertinent request. 

"Ah haulding cell, Adr-r-rian?" He inquired. 

"Yes, have her escorted to one. But grant her a meal and make her comfortable. Brother Bacchus, would you do me the favor of escorting the crew that does so?" 

"Is she so dangerous?" Bacchus asked suspiciously, having taken a moment to reply to see if I were making a poor joke. 

"No, but one can never be too careful. I'll be by shortly to speak with her."