'Pilgrim.'

The Pilgrim bowed slightly, as if in mockery. 'Colonel Vinn has assembled his men and has them ready for review.’

'Good. What do you think of them?'

'Me?' The Pilgrim paused. 'They are mostly veterans of reconnaissance formations or counter-insurgency on primitive worlds. They are skilled and determined soldiers. They will probably die well, but not much else.'

'You think this is insane, don't you?' Thaddeus had the feeling that the Pilgrim, if it possessed a face, was snarling under its cowl. 'When you have seen the things I have seen, inquisitor, insanity has no meaning. I think it will fail, if that is what you mean. Better soldiers than your storm troopers have tried such ventures before and have not made it past the laser grids.’

'I haven't actually told you what I need the troops for, Pilgrim. You seem very certain I will fail, so you must know what I am going to attempt.’

You are going to Pharos, inquisitor. There is no other way. And if I can guess it, Lord Kolgo can.’

'Lord Kolgo,' said Thaddeus, rising from his bed and dropping the data-slate into one of the trunks he had nearly finished packing, 'would like nothing better than to see me try. If I fail, I will have tested the defences for him. If I succeed, he will know how to crack that particular nut and will probably try to put me under his direct authority so I can do it again if needs be.’

'Perhaps. But you are going to Pharos, inquisitor, that much is so obvious to me there is no reason for your secrecy. If you are found out and survive you could make enemies who will never forget.’

'Are you trying to discourage me, Pilgrim? Don't you want to see the Soul Drinkers found?'

'More than you do, inquisitor. More than you. Never forget that.’ A note of irritation crept into the normally inscrutable mechanised voice. You asked my opinion. I believe you will die. But if I were in your position, I would choose probable death too, for otherwise the chances of ultimate success are nil. I am simply saying that your mission is impossible.’

'The Emperor slew Horus at the dark one's moment of triumph. That was impossible, too.

They say Inquisitor Czevak saw the black library and lived. Impossible, again. Protecting the Imperium from a galaxy of evil is impossible, too, but it is an inquisitor's duty to try. My duty. The only weapon I have now against the Soul Drinkers is information, and if I must do the impossible to gain it then that is what I will do.’

'Of course, inquisitor.' The Pilgrim, as ever, was being obsequious. 'Colonel Vinn has his men awaiting inspection.'

'Tell Vinn I trust his judgement. If his men are as dead as you think then I hardly need to inspect them. Have them embark onto the Crescent and make sure it's fuelled up. I'll be at the spaceport in an hour.'

The Pilgrim melted into the darkness beyond the door. Even though he was essential to Thaddeus's hopes of ever finding the Soul Drinkers, there was a constant nagging voice that told him he shouldn't have brought the Pilgrim along with him. Treachery seemed to ooze from him like a stink - and it lingered in the chamber after he had gone. But then again, inquisitors had always dealt with the foulest of mutants and aliens as long as they were useful. But the Pilgrim at least was no heretic or daemon, so Thaddeus would have to endure his company for a while longer.

Thaddeus finished throwing his few clothes and possessions into the trunk. He travelled light, and had not followed the holy "orders of the Inquisition long enough to build up a library or collection of artefacts as longer-serving inquisitors had. His only possessions of note were the Crescent Moon itself, his copy of the Catechisms Martial and the heavily modified autopistol he kept on the ship. The pistol had been given to him by the citizens of Hive Secundus on Jouryan after he had wiped out the genestealer cult in the depths of the hive's heatsink complex. He had felt like one of the heroes from the Imperial epics then: a crusader crushing corruption and evil wherever it broke through to threaten the blessed Imperium. He felt very different now.

Had the Ordo Hereticus chosen the right man? Thaddeus was certainly good, there was no doubt. He was intelligent and tenacious, and had the patience to marshal his resources until he could execute a final, critical strike against his opponent. But there were so many inquisitors with more experience. There were some who even specialised in dealing with the Space Marine Chapters - which though they were amongst the Imperium's greatest heroes - possessed an attitude of individuality and autonomy that meant they had to be constantly watched. Was Thaddeus up to the task of finding the Soul Drinkers? Had he been picked for some political reason, by an inquisitor lord like Kolgo who had to balance a million interests against one another?

It didn't matter. He had the job, and he would do it. A thousand inquisitors were working in the warzone on a hundred different missions, and even agents of the Officio Assassinorum were creeping across the stars towards targets in Tetu-ract's empire. And that included Teturact himself. Thaddeus had his own mission, and it was no less important than any of the others. He would hunt down the Soul Drinkers or die trying. Was there any greater devotion than his? No, there was not, he told himself.

He called for one of the fortress staff to take his trunk to the Crescent Moon and left the cold, draughty fortress quarters for the spaceport. He would leave for Pharos as soon as possible - that was where the final pieces had to lie. He would find what he needed there. Because if he did not he would fail, and that was not going to happen.

FOR THE MOMENT, the fleet was silent. The fighters had paused in a quiet system, waiting for a break in the heavy traffic of Imperial warships and transports between them and their objective. The system was dark and silent, its sole human structures the mine heads on a burned-out mineral world, its star mottled and dying.

The alien fighters hung in orbit around the system's gas giant, the blue-white strata of gas swirling beneath them in an unending storm. The star's sickly light cast the other half-glimpsed planets and moons in a faded greyish glow. The light muted the bright silver of the fighters, so they looked like just one more handful of mining debris thrown into orbit and left behind when the humans departed.

It was only after the rebellion of the Soul Drinkers that Sarpedon had begun to appreciate the galaxy. In some ways, it was a marvel - every remote corner held something new and extraordinary. Even in this washed-out system there were sights of beauty, like the constant torments of the gas giant below or the endlessly complex orbits of the planet's moons. But it was also a terrible and dark galaxy. In every one of those corners darkness and corruption could be waiting, hidden and frozen, ready to wake and ravenously hunt the stars.

Chaos could be anywhere, and by its very nature it was never in the open but hidden in the galaxy's corners like filth that could never be washed away. That was why the Imperium was such a malevolent thing - it was a part of the galaxy that provided so many hiding places for the Enemy, and most of the best places were within the corrupt structures of the Imperial organisations themselves.

When Chaos had most threatened mankind, it had not sent a tide of daemons from the warp, but had corrupted its greatest heroes - fully half of the Space Marine primarchs - and ripped the galaxy apart in the wars of the Horus Heresy. It had only been men like Rogal Dorn, the Soul Drinkers' pri-march and hero of the Battle of Terra, that had kept mankind from falling completely. Now Sarpedon saw what Rogal Dorn really was - a heroic man created as such by the Emperor, but a hero who found himself trapped in the decaying hypocrisy of the Imperium when the Emperor was confined to the Golden Throne and the Adeptus Terra turned His master plan into a mockery of humanity.