Thaddius Cromwell
Thaddeus Cromwell (a.k.a. Rat)
As the second son of a minor Loian noble, Thad was commissioned into military service with the Imperial Guard. After serving a heroic 2Terran years and 16 days in the field, Thad retired himself from service by stowing away on a Rogue Trader vessel. Finding himself deposited on Scintilla with no usable identity, he fell in with an underworld gang who sought to use his recon skills in order to up their game and ransack several high-level noble properties, all the time dangling the promise of a new ID over his head. It was during one of these heists where he found himself somewhere he shouldn't be, and was appropriated by the Inquisitor.
Lt. Thaddius Cromwell, 57th Loian Recon, retired.
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Alignment
Loyal to the Emperor, loyal to his crew. Anyone else is fair game.
Age
22
Children
Gender
Male
Eyes
Brown
Hair
Black
Skin Tone/Pigmentation
Lightly tanned
Height
5ft7 / 1m70
Weight
70kg
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Interlude: Conception
"Your thumbprint here," he said, holding out the dataslate.
The room was cramped, no bigger than a hive city overnighting pod. After so many months on board this vessel where everything was grandiose as if to cow any observer into submission with its ostentatious display of glory, I wondered what sin the adept had committed to warrant this punishment. And how long ago. Still, the aged gentleman sitting on the other side of the desk seemed in his element. All the tools of his trade were nearby. Autoquills, reams of parchment, stacks of dataslates, and open tomes lay scattered across any available surface, the floor included. Perhaps I had interrupted some of his research with this errand.
"Come now, I don't have all day."
I hesitated. This was it. The thing I had been working for since before the Inquisition got hold of me. I pressed my thumb on the dataslate, and the edges flashed green.
"There you go. Lt. Cromwell's body was found by a reclamator crew and has been marked as killed in action. You are Arathis Fairfax, only son of Henrietta Fairfax, a Loian seamstress of little talent in Aro hive. Father unknown. You left home when you were young due to financial difficulties, and fell off the grid." He paused, as if remembering something fondly. "She was one of our finest agents, I'll have you know. Highly dedicated. But you, young man, are now nobody. This data update will be part of the regular synchronization as we reach Calixis, and so should arrive ahead of you in your travels. Your DNA re-sequencing treatments are nearly complete so that any scanners that have not yet been updated will reveal an unknown citizen instead of anything else, and ..."
I stopped listening for a moment and sighed, years of stress feeling as though they were lifted off my shoulders. I was free! Or at least, as free as I could be.
"... and he'll never eat tomatoes again."
I shook my head suddenly. "I'm sorry, what?"
The adept pursed his lips, obviously annoyed by my inattention. "Is there anything else you need? I have other assignments." He gestured at the literature scattered around the office.
It was now or never.
"The other request I had. Can you tell me what happened to Carlotti?"
"Are you sure you want to know? Thaddeus is dead. The news will reach her before you would, or before our masters would ever let you near her. I am sure she will weep at the funeral."
"Just some closure. It's been so long since I heard anything."
He tapped on another nearby dataslate and peered at the contents. "Yes, here we are. Last scion of your former household. Married into the Whitstone family. Hmm. It appears that she was expecting when we received the last update."
Whitstone, eh? I knew them. It sounded terribly unlike her, She was always better at the political game than me, though. And I was to be an uncle! Or would have been. No, I had to start thinking like a new man.
"One last question," I ventured.
"Of course."
"Did you really need my thumbprint?"
"Of course not," he grinned. "Emperor's blessings to you, young man."
Arathis, now. The name had grown on me over the last year and a half. It felt right that I kept it.
Interlude: Coward
*Thud* *Thud* *Thud*
I threw the covers aside and sat up. Six months into the latest journey through the warp and sleep didn't come as deeply as it used to. Truth be told, I felt that the monotony of the voyage was eating away at the edges. Days spent on practicing up skills. Times in the firing range with Yarn. Occasional bouts of pugilistic sparring with Braxton. Doing my best to keep up with Marya when debating some aspect of the Uplifting Primer, or whatever topic took our fancy. Occasionally, we would all cross paths in the mess and say such things as, "Remember the time when we though you were a heretic? Oh, good times."
I gathered my wits and opened the door to my quarters. A lone soldier stood there and snapped a salute. Years of drilling meant that I found it difficult to resist the urge to do the same.
"Acolyte Cromwell: your presence is required on deck 13 aft."
My mouth twisted reflexively at the sound of my old name, as if I had just accidentally inhaled from a grox's intestines. I looked down at myself. I was dressed in little more than underclothes.
"Gimme a moment while I make myself more presentable, Corporal..." I looked at his badge, "... Ellis."
"I regret that my orders are to escort you there, quote, however I find you and be quick about it if you want to keep your skin, end quote."
I raised my eyebrows. Nothing with this kind of urgency had happened in some time. Maybe there was some trouble. I motioned that Ellis should lead the way and I trailed behind him as we began the journey across the ship.
Old habits die hard and I had most of the ship scouted within a couple of weeks of arriving on the vessel. Massive though it was, it was good to know where to find things. The barracks were always a good place to go to let off a little steam. Soldiers get bored and will gamble anything. The armoury in case of attack, even the bridge and engineerium. Any cogitators with access beyond the very basics were off-limits, of course. And I had attended services in most of the ship's chapels already. But deck 13 had always been inaccessible. My curiosity was piqued.
Ellis eventually led me to an elevator shaft guarded by two marines. Carapace armour. Standard issue las rifles. No name tags. Their reflective plasteel-faced helmets obscuring any distinguishing features.
"Acolyte sigma 16 gamma, code purple!" he recited at the marines. A moment passed before one of the them nodded and motioned us forward with the tip of his weapon. "You are cleared," came his voice, slightly distorted through the helmet's vox unit.
We entered the elevator and took the slow ride down. The doors eventually opened into a surprisingly sterile corridor. The rest of the vessel was marked constantly with imperial iconography, signage, and personnel. This was just a plain metal walkway.
"This is as far as I go, Acolyte. Please go to the end of the corridor and enter the room you find there. They are expecting you." He all but pushed me out of the elevator. The doors closed behind me and I heard the whirr of the machinery grow quieter and quieter as I was left alone. The corridor was not long. Maybe a couple of hundred paces or so, with the promised door at the end. It slid open sideways as I approached.
Inside was a bleak room, barely distinguishable from the corridor. Metal panels covered the floor, the walls, and the ceiling. The only feature that set it apart was a black metal chair, in the centre.
"Be seated, Acolyte!" boomed a voice from everywhere. Probably some vox speakers hidden away.
"What's going on?" I asked the room.
"Be seated, Acolyte! Now!" I stumbled forward as if I had been shoved from behind. I turned, but there was no-one there. I took a breath, and sat down in the chair. Immediately, I felt my hands press against the arms of the chair. My heart began leaping in my chest and I fought to keep myself from hyperventilating. There were no manacles that I could see, but it was certain that I was not getting up until they were done with me.
The voice boomed once more. "We want to ask you questions. We want truthful answers."
"Ask away!" I said, a note of panic beginning to enter my voice. "I am but a loyal servant of the Emper-AAAAA!"
I felt as though a dozen frozen icicles were jabbed into my eyes, pressing into my skull. I jerked backwards, the back of my head bouncing off the metal of the chair. It made me dizzy for a moment but that was nothing compared to the rest of the assault.
As suddenly as it had begun, it stopped, and I slumped forwards, panting for air. I didn't even know I'd been holding my breath.
"Tell me," said the voice. It didn't feel as though it was aimed at me. I said nothing. Time passed.
"So he really is a deserter, then. Well, he has no use for cowards like that! Do what you do."
Icicles. With tiny points of white hot fire.
Air. Wonderful, beautiful air.
"What do you mean, not a coward? He deserted his company! He should have died with the rest of them!"
My head lolled as I listened to the words. I hadn't felt like this since the morning after we had shared that bottle of Du Languile amasec. The voice was right. I should have.
"I see. Well, that surely inhibits his effectiveness as an agent. Be rid of it."
No!
The icicles hit once more. I gritted my teeth as an unearthly groan escaped my throat. As soon as it started, it was done.
"He's holding on?"
An eternity passed.
"So he either keeps it or it's a full mind wipe?"
Right now, that sounded blissful.
"He's lucky I have orders... by the throne, this thing's been transmitting all this time? Acolyte! You will be returned to your quarters. Sleep well."
I had little time to process the sentence before I blacked out.
Interlude: Cursed
I burst into the captain's tent, dropping to my knees. "Mission complete, Sir!" I panted.
Captain Gresham looked down at me, the bedraggled mess that I was, before looking to the officer at his side. "Major, set the next phase of the offense in motion while I debrief this solider." The major snapped a salute and marched out, barking orders immediately at anybody in the vicinity.
"Get up, you fool," Gresham motioned that I stand. I caught my breath and came to my feet. "We could have done with this news earlier, " he continued. "What happened to Jacobson? Your vox operator?"
I flinched as I recalled the memory of him being hit by the enemy artillery. I stared at my feet and shook my head.
"I see. And the rest of your platoon?"
A memory of wild las fire, of bodies, of the thunderous clatter of small arms fire. Screams covering our retreat.
I shook my head.
Gresham sighed. "Very well. Report!"
"The western fortification was breached, sir. We executed the plan and supported the main strike team with our snipers, picking off greenskins as they charged. The strike team held them off valiantly, allowing us to inflict high casualties on their side. However, after the strike team were wiped out, it was only a matter of time before they saw our position. The first thing we knew was we were being hit by one of their lobbas. I ordered a fighting retreat so that we could draw them out and maximize our damage, sir."
Gresham raised an eyebrow, "A retreat?"
"Yes, sir. Knox had rigged our position with explosives, and so that allowed us to take some of them out as the reached our outpost. From there, we tried to fight from a distance, but they are so fast, as so you know, sir. Nevertheless, we managed to defeat the squad that was sent after us. Art and Den survived the battle, but with our medical supplies having been lost as well, they didn't survive the trip back. I surveyed the enemy encampment after the battle and it has been abandoned, as was your plan, sir. The remnants look to be massing near the southern mesa." I handed him the magnoculars that were strapped to my belt. The recording on that would be evidence of the mission's success.
"I see. So, one strike force and one platoon down, but mission complete." Gresham shook his head. "If it weren't for the fact that you deliver more success than most other operations, I'd be talking to the Commissar right now. You know the men already don't like being assigned to you. None of them make it back, and you scurry away like some kind of rat without a scratch on you. I myself am trying to work out whether you're blessed by the Emperor, may he live forever, or cursed.
Go, clean yourself up. There's a rogue trader arriving with some extra supplies tomorrow and we need all the help we can get if we're to take back this blasted rock of a planet. Dismissed, lieutenant!"
***
I awoke with a start, sweat beading down my face. I got up and splashed water from the washbasin over myself and stared at my reflection in the mirror. Three months had passed since we had been turned over to Inquisitor Rorkin. In some ways, it was the same old story: facing down the firing squad at the end of a mission. For Rathbone, it had been Braxton's testimony that had saved us. This time, Inquisitor Kristoff had been our saving grace. Appearing out of nowhere to corroborate our skills and motivation, giving just enough benefit of the doubt to be deemed an asset instead of a liability.
I squinted my eyes and shook my head as I tried to dismiss the memory of Kristoff gunning down the family during our escape from Luggnum. I had told him then that I thought it unlikely that we could work together. And there he was coming to our rescue. At least his own motivations and methods were clearer and ostensibly more righteous than Rathbone's. Some kind of vendetta between him and a heretek.
I wondered off-hand who my curse would get killed next. But then, maybe it was different now? I remained untouched by the enemy where everyone else been struck. But my squad had survived. We had survived on Luggnum, we had survived on Scintilla, and we had survived on Barsapine. A sign from the emperor that I my path was just and I had gained his favour, perhaps? Or perhaps something in the group counter-acted whatever fate I would usually bestow upon them. I muttered a prayer under my breath as I changed into my fatigues. A few laps of the upper decks should help clear my head, I decided.
I ran until my legs gave out.
7: Fully Operational
I heard Braxton's screams of agony. There had been an initial thought that perhaps he had been a plant, sent to spy on us and bring back the real story of how our adventure on Luggnum had proceeded, but it turns out that that was just paranoia. A paranoia that had been carefully nurtured over the last few years and a paranoia that had kept me alive more than once. But it's also a paranoia that is not conducive to a good night's sleep. And, in this case, plain wrong.
But it seems that our Inquisitor's quest for truth goes beyond a simple debrief. I'm surprised it wasn't me strapped into whatever contraption they have. After all, my own lie of omission about where I had heard of the Genestealer threat was almost the first thing that Braxton contradicted. I almost wish it had been me. I have too much survivor's guilt already. I don't need more!
And so, for our troubles, for our ingenuity, and for the Emperor, may he live forever, blessing us with dumb luck, we are rewarded with a new assignment. In this one, we are well-equipped. A new hardened bodyglove that, despite its rigidity, fits better than anything I have worn since I left Io. A new pistol that would be the envy of any hiver I have ever met. And I was given the choice of rifle. I remembered meeting up with some of the 45th on Eftis, and one of their officers sported an Armageddon. Ugly-looking thing with good stopping power. A little loud for recon, but it turns out that a custom silencer does the job, turning it's familiar rattle-blast into a door-knock. Not bad. Also a few extra toys to play with for when the situation requires. And a brand-new chameleoline cloak that would have made anyone in the 57th jealous.
Our mission: raid a noble's compound on Scintilla and steal his stuff.
I really struggled to maintain a straight face when hearing that. The Emperor can have such a sense of humour. This was almost the exact same heist that landed me here in the first place! But this time, I would be backed with a team of professionals and solid equipment and not just Bryce and his janky hardware. And by professionals, I mean that we would be attached to an assault squad as some kind of special forces infiltration unit. A fellow named Thrungg had apparently been collecting the wrong type of stuff. I can only guess at what Rathbone is looking for here, but she has made her direction clear to us. Destruction of these objects is a last resort. Containment should be attempted.
It was a a long trip back to Scintilla. I think my 23rd birthday happened during this time, but I had lost track of the days, and there was no cake anyway. Plenty of time to be had to practice up some of the old skills, though.
And then we were jumping out of a perfectly functioning Valkyrie, into the recently breached roof of the noble's chapel. Grav-shutes deployed and thank the Emperor, they worked.
A small number of troops were in the chapel. And a gun servitor. There is always a servitor. While I landed in cover behind one of the pews, the servitor's first shot blew Yarn across the room. We retaliated, with Veck's new pet flying skull ingeniously finding the servitor's kill switch and shutting it down. The first shot from my rifle blew off half of one of the noble's guard's mouth, which was just messy enough to make them thrown down their weapons in fear. Hired help, clearly. This rifle had received the Emperor's blessing this day.
I kept my weapon trained on the guards and ordered them to lie face down while Veck attended Yarn. His diagnostics had indicated that his armour had absorbed most of the shock, and that he was just winded and was suffering from a couple of cracked ribs. I was sure I had seen the bullets rip straight through him. Clearly, the Emperor had also blessed Yarn. All signs that our path forward, though it would be full of pain and terrible choices, was also one of righteousness and justice. We would prevail!
The guards would not, however. Yarn took his vengeance before I had a chance to question him by straight up shanking him. The remaining guard tried to make a run for it, but was shot in the back by Braxton before I could even raise my weapon. It was just as well. I searched the bodies and discovered a set of keys, and some spare ammo. I know it was just a job to them, and disrespectful to their line of work, but at the same time we shouldn't feel the need to cripple our operation for a little sentimentality.
I took a look outside through one of the stained glass windows. The rest of the troops had touched down in the courtyard and had engaged the remainder of the noble guard. With that massive distraction, we would be able to search the interior without much interference. It was a good plan.
The corridor from the chapel was on fire and smoke poured out from the doorway. That's no problem for someone with a rebreather like myself, but it did limit visibility. We moved along cautiously. It turned out that the key I had looted earlier unlocked the door at the end. We set up position and threw the door open.
Thrungg, waiting for us. Waiting for Braxton. It's seems that Braxton is even better known than I had thought. And so, Braxton insulted Thrungg's parties. That had to hurt. But not as much as whatever Thrungg had done to himself. His left arm had been replaced by something else. A grey mass of writing flesh, clawed, spiked. Unnatural. I could see it moving as Thrungg spoke. His facial expression telling agony or rapture or both from one moment to the next. But my attention was drawn away and back from this as he released his two hounds, both almost demonic in size. Foaming at the teeth, they attacked us. Well, mostly they attacked Veck, quickly bowling him over and biting madly at the air in front of his face as he did his best to fend them off.
There was a flurry of gunfire, flashes of knives and other hand-to-hand weapons. Before we knew it, the hounds had been dispatched and Thrungg had been forcefully separated from both his new appendage and his life. No casualties on our side this time. The Emperor had blessed us with another victory.
We surveyed the carnage. The detached demonic limb lay there, its hand clenched but for one finger. As if beckoning.
5: Vulnerable
I let them know who I was.
For weeks, they had known me as Rat, or some variation of it. Arathis Vanderbilt was a decent enough pseudonym when out and about, even if I possessed no cognomen with that upon it. But then, out in the middle of nowhere on a mining planet, who would care?
But I had seen them in combat. I had seen their true selves.
We had faced down the enemy; first a squad of chaos-worshipping nobles and their private PDF entourage. Veck struck first. I had not expected that, but Marya had identified the enemy's affiliation and there was no hesitation. Whatever it is they programmed into those Skitarii nerve implants kicked into full gear and he had his combat blade buried up to the hilt in one of the guardsmen. Marya herself also took pot shots at the nobles, using Veck as cover.
It was as that time that I also took out one of the other guardsmen from behind. A knife across the neck, and a handful of throat for punctuation. Corporal Knox has demonstrated that for me that on Eftis. We were setting about establishing a nest in the Aiurvian mountains so that we could observe the local troop formations. Little did we know that it was already occupied. It was as swift as it was silent; barely a last exhale and a gurgle. But back on Luggnum, I caught the collapsing guardsman and used him as a shield even as I grabbed his las rifle. One of the other guardsman turned to fire at me, but his shot was knocked wide by a precise kick from none other than Braxton. I had previously pegged him for someone more suited to others using weapons for him. But ever the enigma, he engaged with complete conviction of his actions. The off-balance guardsman was an easy target for my just-borrowed rifle. I looked over at the crew, and the enemy had been swiftly eradicated, leaving only one of the cultist nobles alive and being interrogated. I do not recall what was asked, but it appeared that the answer was unsatisfactory and he ended up with a knife through the eye.
Our escape from Luggnum was equally eventful, and I saw more of my compatriots' expressions of themselves. Equal parts compassion, determination, ruthlessness, and a will to do the Emperor's bidding, even as we argued precisely what that was on the return journey.
And so, I had seen enough. I am Lt. Thaddius Cromwell, 57th Loian Recon. It has been four long years since I put my las rifle down and left the Guard. I was lost, but it is clear to me now that the Emperor willed that I should broaden my horizons and see a different aspect of life before recalling me to Him. I take up arms once again in His service.
6: Disconcerted
Everyone has their own paranoia.
Yarn's decision to drug Braxton into a stupour on our return journey was questionable, but ultimately inspired. All the best crews I had been a part of over the last four years had had a wild card in them. A certain something in what they brought that kept everyone on their toes. As long as goals were shared among all members, they were unstoppable. But it made for very strange small-talk.
But the long journey back wasn't as long as we thought. We had spent a week getting to Luggnum, but our shuttle strayed from our expected path within the first hour of departure. Even as Luggnum was being bombarded to glass from orbit, our shuttle began heading back. Veck proved his usefulness once again, determining that we had been recalled to one of the cruisers in orbit: the Flame of Purity. We stalled for time by simulating a radiation leak while we decided our path. There were certain events that occurred on-planet that were not strictly related to the mission at hand. Should these be omitted?
While we decided as a group, our wild card slumbered. Awoken by Junior Biologos Zavros during our initial debrief by Inquisitor Rathbone, he gave an extraordinary, almost pattern-perfect recollection of the mission's events. It was to my surprise that his willingness to carry tainted weapons back for examination was downright praised, where our own reluctance to do so was met with equal disdain.
I find myself debating what it means to serve the Emperor. Does He require that we remain pure and clean? Or does He call upon us to make sacrifices greater than our own lives in His service? I suspect these answers will not come easily, and will intrude upon my dreams more than once. I should seek out Yarn for some of those pills he has.
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