In the black void of space, there are places where one could travel for billions of years, and find nothing. This describes most of the universe. A universe in which life, that rarest and most precious of things, is commonly as cold and apathetic as deep space itself. Living things have more to worry about than stars, and the crude amalgams of matter called worlds. For life brings with it not death, for all things come to an end, but cruelty. As life brings cruelty, there must follow those who hunt down those infected by it, and administer justice through a brand of cruelty all their own. Through the depths of space, an immense vessel plows through the vacuum, speeding on its way to its destination. The vessel is strange, yet somehow elegant in design. It looks as if the designer attempted to merge the essence of both an ancient galleon, and an imposing cathedral, and then was forced to place the stuff of warfare wherever it would fit, giving the outline a slightly erratic appearance. On the great prow of the ship, there are large windows, but only one figure stands before them. It is a woman, imposing in stature, and beautiful enough to intimidate all not suitably impressed by her bearing. She is dressed in simple robes, unadorned but for a simple emblem of a stylized “I”. That alone would be enough to inspire fear in all whom recognized it, for it was the symbol of the Emperor’s Holy Inquisition. An all-powerful organization, dedicated to eradicating traitors, mutants, and heretics from the Imperium of Man. Her face, skin porcelain white, was marred by a small scar across her cheek which somehow only served to accentuate her beauty. She pushed an errant strand of her long, raven black hair out of her face, and regarded the view with piercing and intense grey eyes. Her vision lingered on the inconceivably huge nebula before her. It swirled with deep stirring gravitic currents, and the occasional blink of light from a dying star only served to punctuate its sickly reds and purples. The miasma of the cosmic storm only served to remind her of what she sought. A naval rating approached her, looking suitably apprehensive.
“Inquisitor.” He swallowed nervously. “The captain wishes me to inform you-“
“The captain wishes to inform me that we cannot use our Cherknov drive in the nebula, is that correct?” Her tone was imperious, annoyed, and left no room for interpretation in her meaning. “So it would be safe for me to assume that the nebula is so active due to the effects of a warp storm?”
“A very powerful one Inquisitor Cain.”
“Just so.” She sighed. “I told my Lord Inquisitor that there was nothing of the Emperor’s faith to be retrieved in this forsaken place. The closer we get the more certain I am.”
“Then you may be wishing us to turn about My Lady?” At this remark, she turned about and faced the lowly midshipman. Her eyes flashed with righteous anger, and her fists clenched at her sides. She advanced upon him with a graceful, powerful gait, until they were face to face. The navy man cleared his throat, trying to cover his fear. Without warning, she struck him savagely in the face, knocking him to the decking. She stood upon his neck and looked into his terrified eyes.
“Coward,” she spat. “I may think this futile, but I know my duty and my place. All I see in you is the desire to abandon your duty to the Emperor in the face of fear. Where is your faith worm?” Her eyes narrowed. “Furthermore, I am no one’s lady. I am Inquisitor Amberly Cain, and I will be addressed as such. The crew on this decrepit vessel needs to learn their place. You will serve as a useful example.” The rating’s eyes widened in terror as he felt her shift her weight to the foot on his neck. With a sudden twist of her foot, she snapped his neck, and walked away. She left his body there, dying on the cold deck plating, alongside her inquisitorial robe. There would be no doubt as to why the coward had died. She smiled. In his ignoble death, he served the Emperor better than he had during his entire life. There was a poetic balance to that she thought. As the doors to the observation deck slid closed heavily behind her, she began to chant the Last Rites of the Departed, lest his soul not be judged by He on the Golden Throne. Meanwhile, the great and ancient star cruiser plunged forward into the abyss of swirling, chaotic gas, and disappeared from the rest of the galaxy.
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