It does no justice at all to the monster it describes。
I have known hellholes and death…planets that from space look serene and wondrous： the watercolours of their atmospheres； the
glittering moons and belts they wear like bangles and jewels； the natural wonders that belie the dangers they contain。
Thracian Primaris is no such dissembler。 From space； it glowers like an oozing； cataracted eye。 It is corpulent； swollen； sheened in
grey veils of atmospheric soot through which the billion billion lights of the city hives glimmer like rotting stars。 It glares balefully at
all ships that approach。
And； oh！ But they approach！ Shoals of ships； flocks of them； countless craft； drawn to this bloated cesspit by the lure of its vast
industrial wealth and mercantile vigour。
It has no moons； no natural moons anyway。 Five Ramilies…class star…forts hang above its atmosphere； their crenellated towers and
buttressed gun…stations guarding the approaches to and from the capital world。 A dedicated guild of forty thousand skilled pilots exists
simply to guide traffic in and out of the jostling； crowded high…anchor reaches。 It has a planetary defence force； a standing army of
eight million men。 It has a population of twenty…two billion； plus another billion temporary residents and visitors。 Seven…tenths of its
surface are now covered by hive structures； including great sections of the world's original oceans。 City…sprawl fdls and covers the
seas； and the waters roll in darkness far beneath。
I loathe the place。 I loathe the lightless streets； the noise； the press of bodies。 I loathe the stink of its re…circulated air。 I loathe its
airborne grease…filth adhering to my clothes and skin。
But fate and duty bring me back there； time and again。
The encrypted Inquisitorial missive had been quite clear： I； and a great number of my peers； was summoned to Thracian Primaris to
attend the Holy Novena； and wait upon the pleasure of the Lord Grandmaster Inquisitor Ubertino Orsini。 Orsini was the most senior
officer of the Inquisition in the entire Helican subsector； a status that made him equal in rank and power to any cardinal palatine。
I was not about to decline。
THE VOYAGE FROM Lethe Eleven took a month； and I brought my entire entourage back with me。 We arrived just four days shy of the
start of the Novena。 As a tiny pilot boat led my ship in to anchor through the massed ranks of orbiting starships； I saw the dark
formations of Battlefleet Scarus； suckling at a starfort as if they were its young。 This was their heroic homecoming。 There was a taste
of victory in the air。 An Imperial triumph on this scale was something to be savoured； something the Ministorum could use to boost
the morale of the common citizenry。
'YOUR ITINERARY HAS been prepared；' said Alain von Baigg； a junior interrogator who served as my secretary。 We were aboard the
gun…cutter； dropping towards the planet。
'Oh； by whom？'
He paused。 Von Baigg was a diffident and lustreless young man who I doubted would ever make the rank of inquisitor。 I'd accepted
him to my staff in the hope that service alongside Ravenor might inspire him。 It had not。
'I would have presumed that the preparation of my itinerary might have included my own choices。'
Von Baigg stammered something。 I took the data…slate he was holding。 The list of appointments was not his handiwork； I saw。 It was
an official document； processed by the Ministoram's nunciature in collaboration with the Office of the Inquisition。 My timetable for all
nine days of the Holy Novena was filled with audiences； acts of worship； feasts； presentation ceremonies； unveilings and Ministorum
rites。 All nine days； plus the days before and after。
I was here； damn it！ I had responded to the summons。 I would not allow myself to be subjected to this round of junkets too。 I took a
stylus and quickly marked the events I was prepared to attend： the formal rites； the Inquisitorial audience； the Grand Bestowment。
'That's it；' I said； tossing it back to him。 'The rest I'm skipping。' Von Baigg looked uncomfortable。 'You are expected at the Post…
Apostolic Conclave immediately on arrival。'
'Immediately on arrival；' I told him sternly； 'I'm going home。'
HOME； FOR ME； was the Ocean House； a private residence I leased in the most select quarter of Hive Seventy。 On many hive worlds；
the rich and privileged dwell in districts high up in the top…most city spires； divorced as far as possible from the dirt and crowding of
the mid and low…hab levels。 But no matter how high you climbed on Thracian Primaris； there was nothing to find but smog and
pollution。
Instead； the exclusive habitats were on the underside of the hive portions that extended out over and into the hidden seas。 There was at
least a tranquillity here。
MEDEA BETANCORE PLEW the gun…cutter down through the traffic…thick atmosphere； threaded her way between the tawdry domes；
dingy towers； rusting masts and crumbling spires； and laced into the seething lanes of air vehicles entering a vast feeder tunnel which
gave access to the hives' arterial transit network。
Bars of blue…white light set into the walls of the huge tunnel strobed by the ports。 In under an hour we had reached a great transit hub；
three kilometres down in the city…crust； where she set the cutter down on a massive elevator platform that sedately lowered us and a
dozen other craft into the sub…levels of Hive Seventy。 The cutter was then berthed in a private lifter…drome and we transferred to a
tuberail for the final stretch to the maritime habitats。
I was already weary of Thracian Primaris by the time I reached the Ocean House。
BUILT FROM PLASMA…SEALED grandiorite and an adamite frame； the Ocean House was one of a thousand estates built along the
submarine wall of Hive Seventy。 It was nine kilometres beneath the city crust and another two below sea level。 A small palace by the
standards of most common Imperial citizens； it was large enough to house my entire retinue； my libraries； armoury and training
facilities； not to mention a private chapel； an audience hall and an entire annex for Bequin's Distaff。 It was also secure； private and
quiet。
Jarat； my housekeeper； was waiting for us in the entrance hall。 She was dressed； as ever； in a pale grey gown…robe and a black lace cap
draped with a white veil。 As the great iron hatch…doors cycled open； and I breathed the cool； purified air of the house； she clapped her
plump hands and sent servitors scurrying forward to take our coats and assist with the baggage train。
I stood for a moment on the nashemeek rug and looked around at the austere stone walls and the high arched roof。 There were no
paintings； no busts or statuary； no crossed weapons or embroidered tapestries； only an Inquisitorial crest on the far wall over the stairs。
I am not one for decoration or opulence。 I require simple comfort and functionality。
The others bustled around me。 Bequin and Aemos went through to the library。 Ravenor and von Baigg issued careful instructions to
the servitors concerning some baggage items。 Medea disappeared to her private room。 The others in my retinue melted away into the
house。
Jarat greeted them all； and then came to me。
'Welcome； sir；' she said。 'You have long been from us。'
'Sixteen months； Jarat。'
'The house is aired and ready。 We made preparations as soon as you signalled your intentions。 We were saddened to hear of the
losses。'
'Anything to report？'
'Security was of course double…checked prior to your arrival。 There are a number of messages。'
'I'll review them shortly。'
'You are hungry； no doubt？'
She was right； though I hadn't realised it。
'The kitchen is preparing dinner。 I took the liberty of selecting a menu that I believe you will approve of。'
'As ever； I have faith in your choices； Jarat。 I'd like to dine on the sea terrace； with any who would join me。'
'I'll see to it； sir。 Welcome home。'
I BATHED； PUT on a robe of grey wool； and sat for a while alone in my private chambers； sipping a glass of amasec and looking
through the messages and communiques by the soft light of the lamp。
There were many； mostly recent postings from old acquaintances … officials； fellow inquisitors； soldiers … alerting me to their arrival on
the planet and conveying respects。 Few needed more than a form reply from my secretary。 To some； I penned courteous； personal
responses； expressing the hope of meeting them at some or other of the Novena's many events。
There were three that drew my particular attention。 The first was a private； coded missive from Lord Inquisitor Phlebas Alessandro
Rorken。 Rorken was the head of Ordo Xenos in the Helican subsector； my immediate superior and part of the triumvurate of senior
inquisitors who answered directly to Grandmaster Orsini。 Rorken wanted to see me as soon as I was back on Thracian。 I responded
immediately that I would come to him at the Palace of the Inquisition the follow morning。
The second was from my old friend and colleague； Titus Endor。 It had been a long time since I had set eyes on him。 His message；
uncoded； read： 'Gregor。 My greetings to you。 Are you home？'
The brevity was disarming。 I sent an affirmative response that was similarly brief。 Endor clearly did not want to converse in writing。 I
awaited his reponse。
The third was also uncoded； or at least lacked electronic encryption。 It said； in Glossia： 'Scalpel cuts quickly； eager tongues revealed。
At Cadia； by terce。 Hound wishes Thorn。 Thorn should be sharp。'
THE SEA TERRACE was probably the main reason I had leased the Ocean House in the first place。 It was a long； ceramite…vaulted hall
with one entire wall made of armoured glass looking into the ocean。 The industrialisation of Thracian Primaris had killed off a great
part of the world's sea…life； but at these depths； hardy survivors such as luminous deep anglers and schools of incandescent jellies
could still be glimpsed in the emerald nocturnal glow。 The candlelit room was washed by a rippling green half…light。
Jarat's servitors had set the long table for nine and those nine were already taking their seats and chatting over preprandial drinks as I
arrived。 Like most of them； I had dressed informally； putting on a simple black suit。 The kitchen provided steamed fubi dumplings and
grilled ketelfish； followed by seared haunches of rare； gamey orkunu； and then pear and berry tarts with a cinnamon jus。 A sturdy
Gudranite claret and sweet dessert wine from the vineyards of Messina complemented the food perfectly。 I had forgotten the excellent
qualities of the house Jarat ran for me； so far away from the hardship of missions in the field。
Around the table with me were Aemos； Bequin； Ravenor； von Baigg； my rubricator and scribe Aldemar Psullus； Jubal Kircher； the
head of household security； a trusted field agent called Harlon Nayl； and Thula Surskova； who was Bequin's chief aide with the
Distaff。 Medea Betancore had chosen not to join us； but I knew the intensity of the piloting chores down through Thracian airspace
had undoubtedly worn her out。
I was pleased to see that Ravenor was present。 His injuries were healing； the physical ones at least； and though he was quiet and a little
withdrawn； I felt he was beginning to come through the shock of Arianrhod's death。
Surskova； a short； ample woman