Monday, 12 November 2012

Klein's Arrival



Steam condensed in dramatic coils from the humid air around the lander. Twenty paces away heat from its re-entry made Warden Torst’s skin prickle beneath his already uncomfortable dress-amour. 

Around him the rest of the honour-guard shifted restlessly. They thought they had better things to do and he couldn’t disagree. You can’t leave ten thousand of the sectors worst to their own devices for long and not expect some trouble. Once this pissant little duty was over there’d be more work than there should for everybody. Fights to break up, punishment to mete out and bodies to move. 

Stupid fucking inquisitors and their projects. Don’t they know I have a prison to run.

The lander’s ramp thudded open and Torst snapped to attention. Here we go, he thought. 

The inquisitor was the first out. All arrogance and gold amour. He stopped at the bottom of the ramp. “Who are you?” he said. Looking Torst up and down.

“Ah, Torst. Warden Torst.” 

“I see. I am Inquisitor Klein. You will call me my lord.”  There was a loud crash at the top of the ramp. “Is that clear?” said Klein.

“Yes.” Torst watched a huge crate start down the ramp followed by a hunched tech priest. Klein raised an eyebrow. “Err, my lord,” managed Torst a little late.

“Good.” Klein turned to the box. “Have your men help the magos biologis with the cargo and take it to the holding pens.” 

“Of course, my lord.”  Torst gestured to the other men on the landing pad.  “What’s in it?” Torst asked and instantly regretted it. 

The inquisitor didn’t turn to look at the warden. He watched the men shuffle the crate off the ramp.

“The future, warden.  All our futures.”

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