# Playing with Fire



## Euphrati (May 24, 2009)

This started as an entry for the recent competition. It quickly grew past the wordcount required and, after trimming it back, I was displeased with the results. So, I set it aside for a while only to revisit it in the dark hours late last night when sleep was being elusive. Here is the lead in: comments are more than welcome.

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The shards of fused rockcrete sparked like fine jewels before falling back to the flame scoured stone.

_What a waste, countless months of work blown by some dimwitted fool’s haste._ The thought reared in Inquisitor Diane’s mind for the hundredth time as an arid wind tugged at her deep cobalt cloak; the breeze stank of flame and destruction. Heat still radiated from the stone beneath her boots; the blast had been phenomenal. 

The silver fur trim on the collar brushed her cheek softly as she crouched in the scorched rubble where once an entire hab block existed. The final rays from the fading sunset glinted off delicate inlay on the black leather scabbard at her hip and reflected golden from the medallion hung about her neck.

Rising with a soft sigh, she brushed the remaining flecks from her palm. Disquiet tugged at the edges of her senses as the blue shadows swallowed the ruins. The city seemed uneasy, like a grazing beast that had caught the fleeting scent of a wolf in the underbrush and had yet to decide its course of flight. A skittering of loose rocks resounded behind her, echoing in the descending silence of night.

She glanced over her shoulder to see Lance carefully picking his way down the blasted slope. The interrogator clutched a dataslate cautiously in his hand as he navigated the flame blackened rockcrete, nimbly avoiding the twisted metal beams that pierced the rubble. 

Lance was dressed handsomely as always; a shadowy grey trench billowed over his deep burgundy armoured bodyglove, twin Levarian daggers strapped in gilded leather sheaths graced his knee-high black boots. She knew that two smaller blades rested on his forearms under the sleeves of his coat; she had commissioned them as a gift for his unflinching loyalty to duty after a particularly trying mission. A chromed plasma pistol hung comfortable at his hip in its engraved holster.

His face was wolf lean, green eyes guarding a fierce intelligence. At mid-sixties he bore his age well; appearing to be a man just entering his thirties, vital and strong. A scar traced his right cheek, light against coppery skin. She had never asked about it, and he had never offered the story. His ice-blonde hair was bound in a precise short tail.

His expression was carefully neutral; she knew from experience that such an expression promised unpleasant information. She sighed and moved to meet him. When was any news unearthed these days pleasant? Pleasantries were not the nature of the galaxy.

‘Inquisitor,’ Lance’s voice held a cold edge that cut through the dusk like a specter. She had seen him break the weaker willed with his voice alone, never resorting to his potent psykic ability.

‘You found something,’ her voice was low and warm like the heat from a banked fire, a voice that men unconsciously listened to. It had served her well. Lance cocked a silvery eyebrow and chewed his lip thoughtfully before passing her the dataslate. Diane scanned the contents quickly, a slight frown creasing her brow, before handing it back.

‘So, the official report is the Arbites sanctioned the raid? Why do I have a feeling that isn’t the truth...’

Lance smirked; the expression was humourless, ‘Because, official reports hardly ever contain anything remotely resembling the truth?’

Diane chuckled softly and stepped past him to pick her way back up the crater’s flank. Brev rested at the lip, reclined on a chunk of torn rockcrete. The mercenary wore a bored look on his chiseled features as he flicked the butt of a lho stick into the rubble and exhaled a plume of twisting silver smoke. His autogun sat carelessly propped up between his knees and the stock of a combat shotgun peeked over his shoulder from its hoister on his broad back. The autogun was mundane, but the shotgun was deeply inscribed with silver and gold filigree in an intricate pattern of wards. The shells in its chamber were thrice blessed, each one a miniature work of art, carrying entire Litanies micro-etched in spirals on their surfaces. Brev’s flak jacket was draped on a nearby spar of twisted metal in the parody of a coat rack.

She felt the soft touch of Lance’s mind, a polite gesture she insisted upon whenever he wished to speak in such a manner. He had made the mistake of entering her mind without permission only once, and had been unconscious for nearly three days from the backlash of her wards. Telepathy was by far her weakest psy path, usually requiring physical contact with her target. But, her mental wards were forged from long, brutal hours of training beneath the mantle of Titan and powered by the blue-white flame caged deep inside her.

Justicar Ikarus had commented, on more than one occasion, that he was saddened she had the ill fortune to be borne female and thus unable to stand by his side as a battle brother. Diane had taken the gruff complement for its heart; replying in turn that her brother had made a habit of saying likewise in her youth. Jokingly declaring how much better things would have been if he had only had a brother, instead of a scrawny little sister. The Grey Knight had read the pain in the soft-edged memory and affectionately referred to her as ‘little sister’ ever since. It was a surprisingly human gesture from the noble Astartes, one that touched her deeply.

Telepathy was Lance’s only gift, the interrogator made up for lack of other abilities with the potency of one. The ideas and images he projected became reality to the recipient. Given enough time, the interrogator could even lift fragments of memories from mind scrubbed subjects. She had yet to find a sane mind he couldn’t crack and the range of his mental voice was impressive in scale. She had inherited him upon the death of her mentor, Inquisitor Tyburn Gravas, twelve standard years prior. Lance had been a loyal and irreplaceable member of her team ever since.

She reached a mental hand towards the touch and was rewarded by the steel-shod, yet cautious, grip of Lance’s psyche. He had never forgotten the searing pain of touching her wards.

*So, you did find something besides scapegoat reports,* she felt a slight hesitation before he replied.

*Yes. The tracks were hidden well, but Calikar found inconsistencies in the datastreams,* the techpriest was in orbit on Fate’s Wing, pouring over the mounds of data he had ripped from the planetary internal networks. *I’m sure of it. We are not the only ones here, Diane. Someone beat us to the punch.*

Diane spun on Lance in a swirl of whispering fabric. Her storm grey eyes held tiny flecks of crystalline blue around the iris, like star sapphires. She studied his face from above, a rare thing indeed since he stood just shy of two meters, a good head taller than her when standing on even ground. 

Lance stood quietly, the epitome of calm poise, but she could distinguish the telltale signs of exhaustion and irritation lurking just beneath the surface. They were all tired from the many months of work to get to this point, only to have that work go up in literal flames within hours of making planet fall. 

Brev hocked a glob of spit towards the rocks at his feet, ‘You’re thinking at each other again.’ The corner of Lance’s mouth twitched slightly and Brev gave a sharp hiss.

*You’re going to make me lose my lunch you savorian scumrat,* Brev’s mind voice was colored pale green with nausea, *you bloody well know how much I hate it when you do that.*

*Shut it gunslinger, we have a secondary team sniffing about here,* Lance’s voice was a low growl, at odds with his calm features. Brev’s relaxed posture didn’t change, but he was instantly alert.

*Find them.* Diane turned away and vaulted up the last few meters of rubble with the grace of a hunting cat, cloak billowing in the dusk like shadowy wings. *Take Brev and Calikar and find them. I don’t care how; you have full authorization of force here, Lance, so use it. Just keep the body count relatively low for once. It has to be Hereticus and I want to know who so that I may flay him personally.*

‘About fraggin time,’ Brev gave a wicked grin as he scooped up his autogun and retrieved his jacket, ‘this shadow play has been ruining my style.’

‘Not much to ruin,’ Lance smirked, receiving a vulgar but creative gesture in response.

The dark shape of their lander loomed out of the gathering dusk when Diane’s combead chimed in her ear; she touched the activator stud at her throat.

‘Yes?’

‘My Lady,’ Calikar’s voice was still human, something she favored about the peculiar techpriest, ’I have been blessed with the interception of a PDF communiqué. They have a surviving cultist in custody.’

‘Isolate where and forward the location immediately to Wing's Edge.’

'I have already begun the transfer ritual.'

She bounded up the lander’s ramp and into the main body of the craft. James Lorez, her pilot, looked up sharply at the harsh sound of boots on the steel grating. He took in her expression in an instant and began calmly removing his gloves to expose the inlayed circutry. Within moments he had begun keying up the ignition runes. Lance and Brev pounded up the ramp as she slid into the restraints beside Lorez. James had the engines hot when the data flashed across the picscreens and the craft shot off into darkness.

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## dark angel (Jun 11, 2008)

Great work. But one Question- Where am I?:laugh:


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## waltzmelancholy_07 (Sep 30, 2008)

Incredible work... Expecting the next soon:victory:...


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## dark angel (Jun 11, 2008)

Just re-read it and found something- looked up sharply at the sharp 

Thats a bit arkward to read IMO (Repetitive) But everything else is awesome :biggrin:


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## Euphrati (May 24, 2009)

Thanks, and yes I saw that after I posted it Dark Angel. I changed it on my word file but hadn't edited the post yet. TY for reminding me.


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