V2 Chapter 67: I Prefer to Mark an Occasion With the Deaths of Enemies and Their Blood
After returning from the daemon world, Cawl made no proposal to continue exploring the other daemon worlds that had been flagged as high-priority targets.
This surprised Duvette somewhat. Based on his read of the Archmagos, Cawl should have been the kind of entity who would feed probes, Skitarii, servo-skulls, and various unnamed mechanical instruments into those coordinates and treat the resulting casualties as acceptable data costs.
But this time, Cawl chose to stop.
"Continued investment of limited units yields returns below the loss threshold. The Ark of Omen requires transit back through the stargate to re-establish survey models and await additional reinforcement." Cawl delivered the conclusion from the bridge without further elaboration.
Duvette had no argument with it.
Honestly, he had no interest whatsoever in visiting a second daemon world. The first one had already produced a relic of Vulkan's making, thirteen Shadow Wolves who had crawled out of ten thousand years of the past, and a Lord Inquisitor who was becoming steadily more unmanageable in a new direction. Further exploration would only generate further problems of unforeseeable variety.
So the combined fleet began its return. The Ark of Omen turned back toward the astronomical-scale stargate. The mechanical ark's hull pushed slowly through the dark, the Carpé family fleet and the Inquisitorial black cruiser maintaining formation on either side, like a group of ships approaching a deep-ocean rift.
The transit back through the gate was equally unpleasant.
Duvette stood at the observation viewport and watched the stretched light and the spatial turbulence rolling like a black tide outside. His stomach settled into a low, persistent discomfort. He had done this once already and it had not become easier. The sensation of being dragged through a crack in time by something that had decided the laws of physics were optional remained as unpleasant the second time as the first.
When everything stabilised, the Ark's Cogitator Arrays came to life with an urgent intensity. Several tech-priests chanted data confirmations in mechanical prayer, and a single projection appeared at the bridge's centre.
Their subjective time inside the Hadex Anomaly: less than one month. Real-universe time elapsed: approximately three standard years.
A brief silence on the bridge.
Duvette looked at the date figures and exhaled slowly.
This was, at least, a result that had been anticipated. Cawl had warned them before the crossing that the far side of the gate, in proximity to the Hadex Anomaly, would not maintain stable time flow. As long as they had not somehow gone backward and created the kind of temporal paradox that would require the Emperor himself to sort out, the outcome was within bearable limits.
"Bearable" being, of course, a theoretical assessment.
Three years.
Duvette ran the timeline quietly in his mind. They needed to go back.
Several hours later, Duvette and Lord Inquisitor Heinz Werner found Cawl together.
The meeting took place in one of the upper data-shrines of the Ark of Omen. Cogitator Arrays hung from every surface. Biological brain tissue floated half-submerged in nutrient suspension vats around the walls. Servo-skulls drifted through the space like small hanged things on invisible lines.
Cawl was standing before a black stone specimen, a dozen mechanical limbs operating different instruments simultaneously. He did not turn when they entered.
"If your purpose is to request return transit to the Sabbat Worlds sector, I have already modelled that request."
"Then this is easier." Duvette said. "The three-year term has elapsed."
Cawl's mechanical eye made one rotation.
"From our subjective experience, we spent less than one month on the far side of the gate. But the physical universe has moved on by nearly three years. Under the terms of the agreement, you are obligated to release us."
Cawl fell silent.
For a mortal the pause was only a few seconds. For Cawl, it was sufficient processing time for calculations too extensive to count.
Duvette knew he did not want to let them go.
Himself, the 112th, Entropy's Song, the Shadow Wolves, the gate data — every element of what he had assembled carried research value that Cawl would not surrender easily. The thirteen Shadow Wolves in particular were irreplaceable: survivors of the Sixteenth Legion from the Horus Heresy era, who had been through ten thousand years of Warp corruption and been restored to a clean physical baseline by something Cawl could not classify. Cawl releasing them without resistance would have been the genuinely surprising outcome.
"The agreement must be honoured." Heinz Werner's voice came out cold and without any of the warmth he sometimes performed. He was standing at Duvette's side. "Commissar Duvette and his regiment are not Mechanicus property."
"Correction." Cawl finally turned. "I have never categorised them as Mechanicus property. The more accurate designation would be high-value anomalous Imperial military assets."
"Interesting framing." Duvette gave a brief nod. "The conclusion is the same. I am leaving."
Cawl looked at him.
Duvette looked at Cawl.
Finally, one of Cawl's mechanical limbs produced a single, deliberate tap against the floor.
"I accept this contractual milestone."
Duvette released the breath he was not showing he had been holding.
"One more item," he said. "I am taking the Shadow Wolves with me."
Cawl's response arrived before Duvette had finished the sentence.
"No."
"I am not asking for your agreement." Duvette said.
Cawl's mechanical eye brightened. "Their gene-lineage, Warp-contamination recovery status, ancient power armour interface architecture, psychological stability profile, and correlation with the Entropy's Song event all represent irreplaceable research value."
"I understand that." Duvette nodded. "They are not your subjects."
"They are not your regiment either."
"They are now." Duvette said. "They have agreed to fight alongside the 112th as Black Shields. Lord Inquisitor Heinz Werner will assist with processing their official classification."
Heinz gave a slow nod. "They will be entered into Inquisitorial black-sealed archives. Their external designation will be a conscripted Black Shield Astartes detachment. Their original genetic lineage and historical origin will be sealed at the highest classification. No unauthorised party will have access to those records."
Cawl said nothing.
Duvette understood clearly how dangerous this still was. Thirteen survivors of the Sixteenth Legion — regardless of what they called themselves, regardless of their loyalty, regardless of their hatred for Horus and Erebus — were the kind of thing that could send multiple Imperial institutions into simultaneous crisis. Public exposure was not an option.
No Legion name. No history. No one outside this arrangement could know where they came from.
They could only be Black Shields.
After a moment, Heinz turned and left, apparently to begin the process of arranging the sealed classification.
Duvette watched the Lord Inquisitor move away, then looked back at Cawl.
"Also. Since they are coming with me, I would appreciate some weapons allocation and maintenance supplies for them."
This produced a visible response from Cawl. The face that performed no expressions came as close to one as it had in some time.
Duvette could read the thought behind the mechanical eye with reasonable confidence.
Why is this mortal so shameless.
He was untroubled by this.
"Don't look at me like that." He said. "We will continue to work together. The collaboration is not finished."
Cawl's mechanical limbs paused in the air.
Duvette glanced toward the direction Heinz had gone and lowered his voice. "For instance. Helping you obtain the trust of the Ultramarines, and access rights to the sanctuary on Macragge."
Cawl went quiet.
"At that point," Duvette continued, "my position may prove considerably more useful to you than yours. At the very least, in certain people's eyes, I do not carry the same immediate association with forbidden technology that you do."
"That assessment contains significant bias," Cawl said.
"But it is effective."
Cawl did not deny it.
Duvette lifted one shoulder. "The Carpé dynasty will be staying. They will continue assisting you with operations on this side of the gate. If you need to reach me, contact Venus Carpé. She has a way to find me."
Cawl produced a sound that, coming from the Ark's layered synthesisers, was the closest thing to a resigned exhale that a ten-thousand-year-old Archmagos was likely to emit.
"I will provide a limited equipment maintenance allocation." He said. "Designated exclusively for the thirteen Black Shield Astartes. The 112th Regiment is not included in that scope."
Duvette raised an eyebrow. "Accepted."
Internally, he registered the pettiness of it.
Though he understood that Cawl providing power armour repair components, bolter ammunition, void seals, reactor stabiliser units, interface converters, and potentially some additional equipment specifically for thirteen ancient Astartes warriors was, by any reasonable measure, already a concession.
Getting anything from Cawl for the 112th at no cost was evidently not going to happen today.
Before leaving, Duvette paused.
"One additional item. A piece of intelligence, offered freely." He said. "Regarding black stone polarity."
Cawl's mechanical eye turned toward him instantly.
"Continue."
"Black stone is not only a psi-null material." Duvette said. "It functions more like a medium that can be tuned. The direction of the tuning determines the outcome."
Every one of Cawl's mechanical limbs stopped moving.
"Source?"
"That is difficult to say." Duvette's expression remained completely unchanged. "You can verify it yourself, of course."
He turned and walked out before Cawl could formulate a follow-up question.
Over the three days that followed, the 112th began preparing to transfer.
The Ash Watchers-Eisenmark 112th Regiment's equipment and personnel were loaded onto the Inquisitorial cruiser in organised batches. Evan handled personnel accounting. Anderson managed the heavy equipment. Stroud and the other officers worked through the cargo, checking every crate being transferred, specifically on the premise that Cawl might have arranged for something that would emerge from a crate at three in the morning to do something unpleasant.
The thirteen Shadow Wolves completed their concealment.
Their power armour was entirely black, no Legion markings anywhere on the surface, only the Imperial eagle's identification mark preserved in a handful of positions. Each of them wore a heavy grey cloak over the armour, the hood drawn up to cover the helmet and shoulder guards, which made them look like a group of very large and very silent ghosts.
Markus stood at the front of the group. Chainsword at his right hip. Bolter locked to the magnetic mount at his back.
Duvette looked at them and an unbidden thought surfaced.
Well. The 112th has its own secret now. Hopefully the Dark Angels never make a wrong assumption about them.
He was still processing that thought when Venus Carpé's voice came from behind him.
"So you are simply leaving us here for the Archmagos."
Duvette turned. Venus was standing by the embarkation corridor, the smile on her face carrying a very specific quality that suggested she had given this considerable thought and arrived at a settled position on his character.
"This is an opportunity for the Carpé dynasty." Duvette said.
"Of course it is." Venus's voice was entirely level. "Daemon worlds. An alien stargate. A Martian Archmagos. An Inquisitorial black ship. And a secret that could get the entire family killed if it slips. What a deeply moving opportunity."
"You could decline."
Venus looked at him. "And surrender the first transit rights, resource extraction rights, and trade route establishment rights that may eventually belong to the Carpé dynasty to someone else?"
Duvette nodded. "So you will not decline."
Venus drew a slow breath. Then she produced the particular smile of a Rogue Trader who has run the numbers and accepted the risk as the cost of the return.
"I am beginning to regret meeting you, Commissar Duvette."
"Many people say that."
He turned and led the 112th and the thirteen Black Shields onto the shuttle for the Inquisitorial cruiser.
When the shuttle pulled clear of the Ark of Omen's docking bay, Duvette stood at the viewport and watched the enormous mechanical ark recede into the dark. The stargate still hung in the distance beyond it, like a wound that had not closed.
They were going back to the Sabbat Worlds.
A short time later, Heinz found him.
The Lord Inquisitor's psychological state was somewhat more stable than it had been immediately after the daemon world, but the particular quality of his gaze when it fell on Duvette had not moderated. The temperature behind it remained what it had been in the temple.
"Duvette." Heinz said. "I intend to arrange a grand ceremony for you. The Ministorum clergy should personally witness the miracle you have brought back."
Duvette raised an eyebrow.
"The most useful thing you can do right now is process the Black Shields' classification." He said. "Not present me to a room full of priests."
"Your miracle should not be hidden."
"It must be hidden." Duvette looked at him steadily. "At least for now it must."
Heinz was quiet.
"As for myself," Duvette continued, "what people call miracles — I prefer to mark them with the deaths of enemies and their blood. Hymns in a chapel will not save the crusade. A broken heretic line will."
Heinz looked at him for a moment. Then he gave a slow, deliberate nod.
"As you wish, Sa—"
"Commissar." Duvette said.
Heinz paused. "As you wish, Commissar Duvette."
Duvette said nothing further. He ran the timeline in his mind.
If the Sabbat Crusade's progress had not shifted too significantly in the three years they had been absent, Warmaster Slaydo would soon be turning his attention toward the world that history had already written a permanent entry for.
Balhaut.
Duvette exhaled slowly.
Time to get back to work.