This story is an unofficial story based, without permission, on the Warhammer/Warhammer 40,000 intellectual property owned by Games Workshop Ltd.
The old truck rumbled and grumbled like a petulant old man as it made its way up the dirt road, into the small town. On both sides, seemingly endless fields of yellow grain stretched off into the distances under a pale purple-pink sky. Two moons hung to the northeast, one to the south. A single, yellow sun, burned in the sky above. The small town was Santiago de los Cabaleros. The world was the (fairly) newly colonized Imperial agri-world of Salarnos Epzilon.
The truck was old, painted a dull olive drab. A heavy stubber was mounted in the bed and a vox-horn on the roof, through which the driver could make himself well heard. 'Sarlarnos Epzilon Planetary Defense Forces' was printed on the side in black, block letters. The driver was Major James de la Bautista. Commander of the local detachment of Planetary Defense Forces, he was as much a police officer as a soldier. His grandfather had seen action in the Kappa Gulf Crusade, which had recaptured this world from Ork control a good eighty years ago now. His father had been a rancher, a business that had been inherited by James' older brother. The Major had decided to enter the PDF with a commission instead of playing second fiddle to his brother's ranching business his entire life.
In retrospect, not a wise move. He spent his time rounding up drunk kids and bringing them home, helping old ladies with their groceries, and investigating lost dog cases. Nothing ever happened that could be considered remotely exciting. Orks were almost never fully removed from a world once they had inhabited it, due to their spore method of child-birth, but on Salarnos Epzilon, they had. But something exciting had happened, finally. There was an Inquisitor coming. More accurately, an Inquisitor had come. Bautista was to meet him at the local Adeptus Arbites precinct in Cabaleros. He wanted to speak to the Major.
Bautista yawned as he rolled through the town's dirt roads. A few little kids crossed the street, hitting each other with wooden swords. Playing Emperor and Horus, probably.
Bautista pulled up to the precinct and got out, running his hands through his close cropped blonde hair. Starting to gray, now. Premature graying ran in his family. He was clad in black combat boots, a green BDU, and a belt on his waist held a las-pistol, loaded, and with an extra power cell, and a long, sleek knife in a black scabbard. His eyes were a pale blue, and his features were fairly normal. A light scar ran along the right side of his jaw from when he had been cut accidentally by a harvesting servitor as a child, out on the ranch. He waved to old Ms. Perkins and smiled, wishing her well before ascending the black stone steps to the Arbites precinct.
The Inquisitor was waiting in the lobby. Clad in long, black robes, an Inquisitorial rosette and an aquila pendant hung around his neck. He was clearly old and rather decrepit, and a long, polished cane of Blackwood rested in his right hand. He was flanked by two men in black carapace armor. One held a flamer rifle, the other a combat shotgun. The man with the shotgun, the bald one, had had his left eye replaced by an augmetic. It glowed a sharp red. He was bald, and his neck, thick as a tree trunk, was laced in veins. The other was tall and slender, with close cropped red hair, pale skin, and emerald eyes. His appearance was somewhat disconcerting.
"Inquisitor Ricci?" Bautista asked, tentatively.
The old man pulled back his robes, revealing a long face, with a hooked nose and clean shaved chin. He was rapidly balding, only a few tufts of gray hair left. His eyes were gray, and when he opened his mouth to speak, he rasped;
"Hello, Major de la Bautista. I am Inquisitor Ferdinand Ricci of the Ordo Hereticus Kappa. These are my associates, Master Rostislav, and Master Rafferty."
The bald one with the augmetic eye was Rostislav, the red haired one was Rafferty.
Bautista tossed a quick salute their way;
"Pleasure to make your acquaintance, gentlemen."
They nodded. Neither spoke.
"To what do we owe the honor of a Inquisitorial visit, Master Ricci?" Bautista asked.
"Are you familiar with the hive world Hargon, Major?" The Inquisitor asked, his voice rasping and straw-like.
"Of course. Biggest economic production center in the sub-sector."
"You are, I imagine, familiar with its Ork problems."
"I am."
"What you, unless you have access to classified information level Beta, are not familiar with, is the problem is has with plague zombies."
"Plague zombies?" The Major asked, his eyebrows raised in concern.
"Indeed. Have you brought transport? It may be more prudent to speak there."
"Of course."
Bautista showed the way to the car, the Inquisitor hobbling after him. The two silent men in carapace armor leaped up into the bed. There was no cab. The Major opened the door for the Inquisitor and then went around to the driver's side. He offered the man a smoke, and was turned down.
"Three hundred years ago, a Chaos cult devoted to the foul god Nurgle popped up in the under-hive of the Hargon city of New Gurgenstein. Underhive 44, specifically. An outbreak of plague zombies, walking dead who feast on the flesh of the living, powered by a chaos plague known as the Creeping Death plagued the Underhive for five years, until my master and I -- at the time I was an Interrogator -- arrived in the hive and took care of the problem. The cult masters were killed, the plague zombies were limited to quarantine zone 44. For a long time, that ended the problem, more or less. One hundred and four years ago, this month, the world of Hargon came under attack from the Ork force known as Waaagh! Drazgar. In the course of the fighting, Quarantined Zone 44 was breached. The plague zombies have since become a problem again, though they are once more largely limited, thanks to my own more recent efforts. The Orks have become a more immediate concern on that world."
"Pardon me, Inquisitor, but Hargon is a sub-sector away. Why are you here?"
"I like a man who is to the point, Major. Commendable. I am about to tell you why, in fact. Are you familiar with the ranching family the Bees?"
"Yea, I know the Bee family. Nice people. See them in Church on Sunday mornings, talk to Mrs. Bee in the grocery store from time to time."
"It would appear that three months about the Bee family ordered a set of lasguns from Hargon."
"Yea, they have been having some problem with cow-tipping kids. Wouldn't be surprised if Mr. Bee fancied to take a few pot shots. Hardly Inquisitorial business though, yes?"
"We have reason to believe that, in the shipment in question, quarantine protocol was broken. We have reason to believe that one or more plague zombies may have been aboard the freighter when it left Hargon. Major, the Creeping Death may very well be loose on your world."
Hive World Terra