His body rejected the implants. He awoke shriven of his pain and his dreams, but excised utterly from the obsessive faith he'd held before. He awoke a greedy, flawed bastard with the mind of a computer, and when his priest-masters ordered that he report for dismantlement, he laughed down his thrice-blessed comm-line and fled.

And now?

Now he was the self styled 'cognis mercator' of the Equixus hive: an information broker whose lattice of influence and spymongering extended to all points. He served the gangmasters with mercenary neutrality, sold his rumours to upcity analysts, hired himself to navy officials to direct pressganging and grew fat and rich in

the certain knowledge that he was too valuable, too vital, for any fool to kill.

He alone had collated information on all twelve of Sahaal's slayings. He alone noted the spiral scars cut into each corpse. He alone recognised the power, the lethality, of the killer on the loose. He alone had compiled maps and behavioural patterns, identifying the point central to each murder. He alone had found Sahaal's lair.

And he alone was bold enough to come looking for him, seeking influence and opportunity over whatever force of destruction had entered his territory.

And he alone was fortunate enough to be in a position to achieve both.

Sahaal cursed his name again, flexed his claws impo-tently, and prepared to cut him free.

MITA ASHYN

The knocking at her cell door, which she had been expecting, came in the evening of the third day. The cowled acolyte responsible sniggered as she read the summons he delivered.

Her master demanded an audience.

Having failed utterly to distinguish herself at the crash site of the Umbrea Insidior - its name being the only detail she remembered from her trance and subsequent blackout - she expected the summons to herald a formal discharge. The Inquisition was ruthless in defending its obscurity, and if that required ineffectual personnel to be cerebrally cleansed or, worse, culled, then so be it.

She had spent the intervening days meditating - neither scrying nor dreaming, but basking in the Emperor's light - and when the summons arrived she had prepared herself for death, or at least lobotomisa-tion, as best she could.

Kaustus received her alone - that was the first of her surprises; she'd assumed the retinue would turn out in force to witness the spectacle of its newest member being cast aside.

'Interrogator,’ Kaustus greeted her, not looking up. He sat at a simple desk in the centre of his suite, engrossed in a bundle of parchments and auspex pads, and delicately laid down his writing stylus as she dipped her head in return.

'My lord.'

The second shock, and one for which she was utterly unprepared, was that he had removed his mask. His face was unremarkable - somewhat gaunt, perhaps, bordering on the aquiline - and his hair, tied in a tall black tower that crested his head like a topknot, could hardly be described as outlandish amongst the clashing fashions of the upper hive. But it was his teeth that stood out. Two of them, at any rate.