The dark shadow of vice fell over the Empire less than a decade ago. Slowly at first, of course, but then with rising gusto, and by the time we realised it was uncontrollable - having already reached critical mass. The creeping insidiousness of impurity spread through our civilization like cancerous tentacles, out of sight and under the radar. Fleeting and formless, like spectral wisps, the wind of change blew until the foundations of our Glorious Regime crumbled to dust.

It was the height of our technological prowess, as we collectively swooned at our own ingenuity and revelled in the marvels we had birthed. Truly, it was the conceit of vanity that brought our resplendent communion into disrepute.

Never before had the galaxy witnessed a zeitgeist of such intensity. The Empire of the Glorious Regime and our Neo Church of Techno-Valhalla raged through known space like an incendiary grenade, raining down from on high with the almighty fire of righteous judgement to all those deemed unworthy. The Unbelievers scattered from our path, cast out from their retched hovels and self induced blindness. However, all those who saw the light were given new eyes to see with, and each dawn a thousand times a thousand souls would awaken reborn and rejoice in the magnificence of the Neo Church.

It is my mandate to purge the uncleanness from those deemed to have defiled the Church and uphold the sacred doctrine of the Prophet Elysium. This is my story, my testament - my gospel.
Read ye, and beware.

An excerpt from: Mathusalus, Guardian of the Exalted Virtue, A History.

***

The Habitat blinked into orbit around Nex-Xen-8, like silent super nova. The space rippled organically around it, distorting between dimensions, as the Habitat smeared itself back into the real world. It was a sight beyond imagination, awe inspiring enough to rival any of nature’s masterpieces. Twin suns blazed in the background, illuminating the void with their duel infernos. The crackle of static broke the silence.

“Nex-Xen-8, Culture 1, this is Habitat. The cathedral has landed, over.”

“Welcome to our binary finery, Habitat, come on down. Decent trajectories being transmitted now, Culture 1, over.”

“Copy that, Culture 1. Downward spirals received. Expect the Inquisitor’s shuttle in T-minus twenty clicks. I suggest you roll out the red carpet, Culture 1, his Holiness is in a firebrand mood, over.”

“Thanks for the heads up, Habitat, Governor Addas will be informed. Culture 1, over and out.”

The Habitat’s communications officer broke off his conversation with his opposite number on the planet below and punched a few keys on his control station. A series of three-dimensional schematics charting the shuttle’s proposed decent to the surface flashed up on his holo-terminal, which he studied intently for a moment before turning to one of his aides.

“Everything seems to be in order. Best tell his Holiness that the launch time is go on his orders, Private.”

“Affirmative, Sergeant. On my way.”

The communications officer listened to clipped, military trained precision of the private’s footsteps echoing off into the distance behind him. His eyes returned to the holo-terminal and computer representation that probably symbolised his damnation. Nervous lips absently recited the Litany of the Trinity silently, stopping mid word after he realised the pure hypocrisy of the act, as the first of many beads of sweat formed luminously on his furrowed brow.

***

Inquisitor First Class Mathusalus knelt in front of the small Altar of Elysium in his private quarters, deep into the prayer-trance ritual, the physic meditation conditioning the truly devout use to purge their minds of unnecessary impulses. The deep red of his pupil-less synthetic eyes, opaque and dusky like a sunset, betrayed no hit of emotion. None of the ecstasy he experienced was revealed as his mind quietly soared through the twelve different dimensions of the universe. Mathusalus was like a wall of stone; impassive, unflinching - no one ever knew what lay behind his barriers. The windows to his soul remained locked eternal.

Flickering candlelight danced, casting erratic shadows on the walls around his sparsely furnished chambers, and mixed with the musky smoke of an incense burner to create a dense, smoggy haze. The taunt muscles on his back

heaved; contorting the tattoos he wore of the Elysium Scriptures and tearing at the self-induced scars of his flagellations until many bled anew, coating his skin with a slick of sweat and blood. The prayer-trance was as demanding physically as it was mentally, designed to hone and purify the body as well as the mind.

Mathusalus let out a final deep sigh, the air being expelled from his mouth in one lingering breath, and the features of his craggy face relaxed as he returned his mind to the present. His body was powerfully built and had not a single trace of hair except the thin shadows of his eyelashes and brows, but was ravaged by the spidery lines of ink and scars. The pointed angles of his nose, thins lips and slightly craning neck gave Mathusalus an avian look, but it was the passionless red orbs lurking ominously in his eye sockets that dominated his face.

As he stood up the hulking mass of scar tissue where his genitals used to be ached as it always did after the prayer-trance. The Castratos self-emasculation ritual was seen as the ultimate act of devotion, a sign that your body had forever been dedicated to causes the Neo Church, and removed you from any suspicions of faith-lack. Mathusalus reached for his simple brown under robe, pulling it tight enough around his body for the blood to soak in and form little scarlet patches on his back.

The Inquisitor was seen as both a hero and a tyrant by the masses. A titan of the Glorious Regime and fanatic of the Neo Church feared and adored in equal measures. He had amassed levels of power and distinction quite unheard of for a member of his religious caste, as his official ecclesiastical rank was comparable with that of a deacon. It was said he had the ear of the Empress herself, and was regarded by the populous as the figure of second eminence within the Neo Church, behind only the Patriarch. This had made Mathusalus very unpopular with some of the political factions of the clergy, who saw him as a dangerous vigilante, and possible threat to the already tremulous equilibrium that existed within the higher echelons of the Ecumenical Senate.

The Habitat he commanded was the first of its kind, and had been decreed personally to Mathusalus by the Empress. Designed as a mobile fortress, the Habitat had a population of over five million people, with a standing army of nearly five hundred thousand men and an entire naval war fleet onboard. It was recognised as the pinnacle of the Glorious Regime’s military strength, and, most dangerously of all, at its core was a Choral Warp Drive, a transcendent collective mind which allowed the Habitat near instantaneous travel to anywhere within the known galaxy. A countless number of wars within Great Crusade had been won by Mathusalus riding into battle at the last moment, which had lent to his legend being multiplied a hundred fold.

Tonight, however, something was troubling him. A gnawing sense of doubt had continued throughout his prayer-trance, a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach that he could not quite trace the source of. Mathusalus had learnt long ago to trust in his instincts. It was as if the will of the Trinity were speaking out to him personally. He needed council in this matter, so he let his mind expand again, spreading out through the Habitat until he felt the touch of the Choir.

Inquisitor?

‘’Choirmaster, I am sorry to interrupt you so soon after the crossing, but a dark cloud spreads heavy on my soul.”
We feel it too, oh just one. The filthy stain of deceit lingers foul over this planet. A dangerous voyage to the surface will yours be.

“This is my fear as well, great Choirmaster. Is it the touch of treachery I feel? Has the blight spread into my own flock again? So soon an occurrence would be a great disheartening.”

Of this we cannot speak. The inner workings of the mind are more open to you than to us. Such is the nature of your calling, Inquisitor. Guidance we can offer, but answers, alas not. Though we caution you to be aware, oh just one. Fear the blades in the hands of your own children; turn no blind eyes towards them.

“As always your council is heeded, Choirmaster. Now return to the rest that is justly yours, as if these tidings are true another crossing will be needed of you in the near future.”

We are yours to command, oh just one, humble servants of the Trinity all.

“A blessing upon you. Now sleep, no further action can you take in this matter. I fear the path of the sword lies out before me again.”

As ever, Matusalus felt the pang of longing prick him as he lost touch with the Choir. To be in the presence of something so pure and beautiful was like drinking the distilled innocence of childhood, and he dreamed that one day, as he walked the halls of Techno-Valhalla, his lot if life done, this would be the feeling that would infuse within him. He offered a last prayer to the Altar of Elysium, a plea for strength and the wisdom to carry out his duties, before he began the arduous task of dressing himself in the ceremonial battle-robes of his office.

The words of the Choirmaster had merely served to galvanise the suspicions he already harboured. Mathusalus was always cautious, his finely tuned senses on constant high alert, and this would not be the first time an assassination attempt would have been made on his life. The hold the Regime and the Neo Church had on their subjects had been weakening dramatically over the last few years. All great empires will fall in the end, as the twin evils of corruption and private vanity start to sour the integrity of the original message and ideals of any institution. There was a rising tide of discontent within the populous, a longing for more personal opportunity and a less autocratic centralisation of government. Though few only a few of the colonial counts, thanes and barons had offered open rebellion, all of which had been quickly crushed, the very fact that some had been willing to chance their arm told of greater struggles yet to come.

More worryingly still from Mathusalus’ perspective was the growing dissolution many seemed to take from the modern Church. What was once the paradigm of virtue was fast becoming the house of charlatans and frauds. True, the Patriarch was old and weak, but at nearly five hundred years of age even his bio-regeneration drugs had to start losing their power eventually. Mathusalus was well aware that some of the more senior cardinals within the Senate had started to make their power-moves as the state of play on the game board started to unfold. Grace and favour was being bought, and Mathusalus was left in the unenvied position of being the wild card in the deck.

This thought did not faze him, though, and he remained calm. The might of the Trinity would see him through these trials, and if it was his charge to turn the sword of justice against his peers then so be it. A thousand centuries of history would not be destroyed in the petty squabbles of the defiled and unworthy. If a purge was needed to right the wrongs and reset the balance of the Glorious Regime then the great Prophet Elysium would be sure to command him, the unimpeachable Mathusalus, Guardian of the Exalted Virtue, to be his weapon of rectitude.

So let them play, he thought, let them try and strike my heart. Let them bring upon me their sticks and their stones, so I may come down on them in return with such a deluge of venomous rage that the very foundations of this institution will tremble with the fear of my name, as the waters of my storm wash away the sickness that infests this sacred church who’s will they dare to blacken. Then, as they kneel before me in repentance, then, and only then, will they see that their banalities will not go unpunished, and they will squirm on their bellies, begging and mewing like the animals they are, as the holy fire of the Trinity baptises them anew.

Mathusalus had nearly finished dressing himself, and was clasping his long, black with yellow trim cowl - proudly emblazed with the triplicate interlocking rings of the Trinity - over the top of his carbo-titanium bodymesh armour as the intercom buzzed into action. Lieutenant Charlemagne, the head of his private Paladin suicide guards, let his voice come across rough and dry.

“Inquisitor, you have a message from one of the junior comms officers bellow decks. Shall I let him in?”

Good old Charlemagne, the most stoically loyal man Mathusalus had ever met. If there were more men like Charlemagne in the Glorious Regime’s military than the Empire would not find itself in the state of disrepute it is now. The Inquisitor took a moment to finish fastening his robes before answering.

“No, Lieutenant, I felt the Habitat come into orbit around Nex-Xen-8 several minuets ago. Tell the messenger to wait for me, I am nearly ready.” Mathusalus thought for a moment, as a flash of precognition surfaced from deep within him, then continued: “Lieutenant, detain the messenger. I fear deception.”

“As your Holiness commands.”

Mathusalus summoned the Habitat’s central computer. “Computer, display the proposed decent trajectories to Nex-Xen-8 on my holo-screen.”

“Affirmative, Inquisitor First Class Mathusalus,” the child like voice of the central hub answered.

The schematics instantly appeared on his personal terminal, and Mathusalus took a moment to study them. So that was their plan. So basic, so cumbersome, it was nearly an insult.

“Computer, who was the officer that first made contact with Nex-Xen-8?”

“Sergeant Hans Ulifee, Inquisitor.”

“Than you, computer.” Mathusalus then re-summoned his Lieutenant, “Charlemagne, contact the planet surface and request another flight path. Then send a squad down to apprehend Comms Sergeant Ulifee. We have been compromised, Lieutenant.” His voice was stern and reproachful; Charlemagne would have to be disciplined for his carelessness.

“Yes, your Holiness.”

Charlemagne’s professional pride did not allow him to sound embarrassed, and Mathuaslus was not about to undermine him in front of his troops - it was not his style - but the Inquisitor could hear the in delicate inflections of his syntax that the Lieutenant was mortally ashamed at his negligence. It was enough for now, but a future conversation would have to be had about the heightened need for security in such delicate times.

Mathusalus quickly surveyed his chambers one last time. Little more than a box room, about ten meters square, with a sleeping palate, clothing closet, wall mounted holo-terminal and the Altar of Elysium on a waist high plinth as its only signs of domestic habitation. The candles and incense burner were still smoking on the plinth next to the Altar, which was simple stone statuette of the Prophet, embellished with a pair of angelic, spread-eagled wings. As the Inquisitor blew out the candles and burner, plunging the room into darkness, his synthetic eyes instantly converted over to infrared.

Mathusalus had taken his organic eyes as display of devotion to his faith while only an acolyte, some two and a half centuries ago. Claiming he wanted to see the world uncluttered by the physical conditioning of life, which would in turn lead him to a greater understand the spiritual, the Inquisitor spent two years in self imposed blindness. Over the centuries he had made various modifications to his synthetic vision, and the spectral range he possessed now was far in advance of a normal man’s.

The Inquisitor did a final high frequency scan of his quarters for any bugs or surveillance devices, but found none. His last act was to retrieve his inquisitorial sceptre - a simple staff topped with a fist-sized golden ball engraved with the Trinity symbol - from the closet and buckle his blast-pistol gunbelt around his waist.
“Lieutenant, ready your men. I’m coming out.”

***

Governor Addas was nervous. His entire entourage had assembled in the vast docking hanger in preparation for the Inquisitor’s visit. Scores of courtesans milled around, each of them dressed in the height of modern fashion, like a conclave of multicoloured peacocks. A legion of Imperial guards lined the walkway from the shuttle bay to the service elevators at the far end, creating a human barrier between the Inquisitor and the civilian throng.

Addas had been informed of the attempted sabotage of Mathualus’ decent, and knew the Inquisitor was going to apoplectic with rage. He clasped his hands tightly behind his back in an attempt to disguise their shaking, as he watched the shuttle’s final approach into the hanger. Addas was an experienced politician, well versed in the cut and thrust and implied nuances of debate, but had received detailed files on the Inquisitor, all of which had noted Mathusalus’ distain for such practices.

The Inquisitor refused to get embroiled in the games of verbal cat-and-mouse that ambassadors and dignitaries thrived off. His style was less of a concourse and more like a sermon. He told you what he wanted and expected you to acquiesce, leaving little or no room for negotiation. Addas knew he was in for a blast of hellfire, and was trying to steel himself in the calm before the onslaught.

A tall and regal looking man - the product of good breeding patterns - well past his mid first century, with a high forehead and strong chin, Addas certainly looked the part. He was immaculately groomed, with his jet-black hair and beard cut short in accordance to the latest fashions. He wore a matching grey tunic and trouser suit, his very finest, and brown synthetic-leather boots that reached just below his mid calf.

To his right stood his wife, Penelope, tall, blonde and beautiful. She wore an elegant navy ensemble, once again at the very cutting edge of fashion, and her air of naturally assumed importance fit like a glove. Addas remembered the countless occasions she had been he secret weapon, distracting the visiting dignitaries with her effortless charm and subtle art of positive persuasions. She would be no good to him here, though, the Inquisitor was a renowned Castratos, and had renounced all sins of the flesh.

He wished more help could have been found on his left, where the Neo Church’s head representative on Nex-Xen-8, Cardinal Resvalent, flanked him. This was unlikely, however, as Masthusalus and Resvalent had been involved in a public spat about the philosophical interpretation of a passage from the Scrpitures many decades ago. Resvalent had apparently not appreciated the theological dressing down he had received, but was notoriously tight-lipped on the subject. This was to be their first major meeting since then. Just what I need, Addas thought, more fireworks.

The omens were shaping up badly for the Governor, who had been given little information as to why the Inquisitor was coming to Nex-Xen-8 in the first place. The Regime was spread thin on two fronts, and teetering on rebellion within, while the Neo Church was shaping up for a civil war of ascension - Cardinal Revalent had started shuffling his own pack in preparation of the Patriarch’s death, so Addas was well informed of that situation - so why here? Why now? As always, the answers would be shrouded so deeply by intertwining plots of subterfuge and misdirection that only a Mystic could hope to unravel them.

Addas realised his palms were getting sweaty, and casually wiped them on his trousers, in an attempt to retain his aura of false calm. He looked at his wife, who smiled the soothing smile she always did on occasions like this.

Calm down, my love, trust to your instincts.

Addas tried to compose himself, but deep down could not shake the fear that his number was up.

***

Mathusalus strode down the gangway with his usual air of over-domineering importance. Lieutenant Charlemagne and a squad of Paladin guards fell into step behind him, each of them in full heavy battle armour and armed with plasma disruption rifles. The Inquisitor’s staff clacked along the ground in time with their footsteps, like a herald of the court, as they made their up through the Imperial soldiers that separated Mathusalus from the mass of sycophantic courtiers and religious followers of the Neo Church. Some of these brethren started to sing his name, prostrating themselves in front of him as he walked past, and a wave of hysteria broke out in the crowds. One of their number, an old man dressed in ancient, ragged clothing, tried to break through the guards in an attempt to get closer to the Inquisitor.

“Your Holiness, your Holiness. Bless me, I beg you!”

Mathusalus was used to fanatics, and usually spent the time to talk to them - having respect for any of the truly devout - but after today’s attempted assassination he had given his Paladins a zero tolerance order. The old man was calmly swatted aside by one his guards, falling unconscious to the floor in a heap of flailing limbs. None of the other civilians tried to cross the barrier after that.

The Inquisitor had the synthetic rouge of his eyes trained mercilessly on Addas, and the Governor was unable to retain direct contact with them for more than a fleeting moment. Once again, this did not surprise the Inquisitor, as few could hold his unnatural gaze. He cycled up through some of his other visual frequencies in search of other emotional clues to the Governor’s disposition, and a quick scan for any unwanted electronic devises. Finding nothing untoward, or particularly suspicious, Mathusalus summarised that Addas was probably just nervous about his being here in the first place - which had never really been explained - and the earlier embarrassment with the docking trajectories. Well, Mathusalus thought, aren’t you in for a shock, my child.

The presence of the pathetic Cardinal Resvalent, the personification of the avarice and self-serving malaise that had infected the sublime institution of his beloved faith, was another matter. Had Mathusalus engaged in pride, he may well have allowed himself a small smile at the memory of the public embarrassment he had handed to Resvalent, but as it was he merely hardened his resolve for the battle of wills to come.

Relentlessly, he continued his procession towards the Governor and his entourage. Mathusalus had already made up his mind about his next course of action, and was forcing himself through this charade for little more than dramatic affect. Tiresome, yes, but of incredible psychological significance. Mathusalus knew the importance of retaining the high ground in every skirmish, whether on the battleground or in the boardroom.

He stole a last, final glance at the official welcome party, noticing Addas’ glamorous consort for the first time. Tricky little on there, but with sounder strength of mind than many, I suspect. That one must be kept at arms length, lest she interfere too much. Finally, the Governor broke his train of thought, and the tedium of state courtesy commenced.

“Inquisitor First Class Mathusalus, your presence here honours us. On behalf of Culture 1 City, and the entire planet of Nex-Xen-8, I bid you welcome…”
Undoubtedly there had been a whole raft of equally beguiling bilge to follow that, but the Inquisitor quickly cut Addas off.

“Save you sliver tongue for someone who cares, Governor Addas. My mission here is of the utmost importance, and, frankly, after the farcical disgrace my docking procedures, I am in little mood for pleasantries.”

“If you Holiness would allow me to explain...”

“Silence! How dare you interrupt this vessel of both the Empire and the Neo Church? Your taste for fawning parasites, with their gaudy, distracting camouflages is well know to me, Governor. I had hoped you would surprise me, but, alas, you have merely condemned yourself to be judged along with the rest of your pathetic mob. Now, you will listen to me, Governor Addas, and do exactly as I say.”

Mathusalus spat these words with such venom he could see each one land its intended blow upon the face of the crestfallen Governor. Knowing any debate had already been won, the Inquisitor pressed forward for the kill:

“This station had been compromised, Governor, and I will not stay within its confines. I will return to my shuttle and all discourses will continue there, and there only. You may bring two advisers onboard with you, but be warned: anyone wishing to gain access to my shuttle will undergo a full DNA and biometric scan - including yourself. Furthermore, I want this hanger cleared of all civilian activity in less than two standard hours. Any non-military personnel, who incidentally must also undergo a full DNA scan to confirm their identity if they wish to come within a fifty meter vicinity of this docking bay, still present at that time will be classed as unauthorised insurgents and executed in full compliance of Imperial Law. There will be no further discussions until all my demands have been met. I have a full platoon of Paladins standing by onboard the Habitat; their shuttle will be granted a docking code immediately. They will take personal control of my security from this moment forth. Your bungling has lost you any of the few bargaining chips you once had, Governor, and you will now comply with my wishes in their entirety. Do I make myself clear?”

The shell-shocked Governor Addas could do little but nod at first, but eventually forced himself to stammer: “Of course, your Holiness.”

“Then it is agreed. Lieutenant Charlemagne will take charge of the situation from here, with the full authority of my voice. I will see you in two hours, Governor. Lieutenant Charlemagne, begin lockdown procedures.”

The Paladin sprung into action instantly, barking orders left and right. Mathusalus paused for a minute before adding: “Oh, Cardinal Resvalent, how unfortunate for you to have to witness that. You, of course, are invited to my shuttle, providing you also submit to the DNA scan.” The Inquisitor did not wait to see the Cardinal’s reaction to what was an admittedly cheap shot, as he turned on his heels to begin the long trek back to his shuttle.

The clacking of his staff was lost this time, drowned out by the cacophony of beldam that now engulfed the docking bay.

Want to comment on this Short Stories? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Short Stories and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...