This story is an unofficial story based, without permission, on the Warhammer/Warhammer 40,000 intellectual property owned by Games Workshop Ltd.
Madeline Bee sighed contentedly, sipping on a cool glass of lemonade, looking out over her ranch. The servitors were branding the cattle, and then herding them out to feed. Quickly, quietly, efficiently. Her husband, Jonathan, had ordered the servitors from Hargon almost four years ago now. It had made their lives immensely easier, and they could now contentedly enjoy a semi-retirement, the servitors doing nearly all their work for them. That reminded her, another shipment from Hargon was due in today. Jonathan had ordered a shipment of lasguns. He planned to fit them onto some of the servitors to keep kids from coming in and tipping the cattle, or throwing rocks at the servitors. It really was an irritant, and Madeline, usually a very peaceful and forgiving person, could hardly blame him. Though she did insist that he keep the rifles on a low setting so as only to deliver an uncomfortable sting to those who it struck.
A rumbling on the road caused her to turn, and look out her kitchen window. A large, blue truck was rumbling down the long, dirt, driveway. That would be the delivery now, she thought to herself, wiping her hands with a towel and walking out onto the porch as the truck pulled up.
"Hey there, Mr. Miller!" she called out, smiling to the delivery man.
"How ya doin' Ms. Bee. I got those lasguns that your husband ordered. He in?"
"He went into town. Probably will be back in a few hours."
Miller nodded, walking to the back of the truck and opening it, pulling out a large, cardboard box, and bringing to the deck. Handing her a form, she signed and returned it to him.
"You want any lemonade?"
"Don't mind if I do, Mrs. Miller."
That was when she noticed the tourniquet wrapped around his left forearm, a red stain indicating blood seeping through.
"Oh, Throne, what happened to your arm?"
He looked down at it, as if just noticing it himself;
"Oh, you wouldn't believe. When we opened the freighter, the crew had gone mad! Started biting people! Anyways, one of them tore some skin out of my arm before they managed to restrain them. They are down in the infirmary at the starport now, the local Officio Medicae is trying to figure out what's wrong with them. Anyways, they bandaged it up and administered something that has numbed it up real good. Doesn't hurt, anyways. They said it should heal up within the next few days."
"Oh, that's awful!" Mrs. Bee said, genuinely sympathetic, as Miller placed the box on the table and she turned to make some lemonade;
"So, any other interesting news from town lately?"
"Well not really, just the usual stuff. Though a car was stolen a week or so ago."
Mrs. Bee tut-tutted;
"Oh, some people. Kids these days don't get enough church, that's what I say. We need more good preachers around this place, wouldn't you agree, Mr. Miller?"
No response.
"Mr. Miller?" She asked again, as she finished mixing him a glass of lemonade and turned to look at him.
And screamed.
Night had fallen over Salarnos Epzilon by the time they pulled up to the Bee ranch, which was several hours out of time. Bautista decided to try one more time;
"Inquisitor, I assure you, I saw the Bees in church just the other day, they are fine." The church in Santiago de los Cabaleros was the only one for miles around.
"None the less, Major, it is best that we check."
Bautista nodded silently, pulling up the long driveway presently. As they reached the ranch house, Bautista could see flashing lights and large, matt black trucks. Arbites.
The truck pulled up, kicking up dust as Bautista got out, Inquisitor Ricci slowly climbing out behind him. Rostislav and Rafferty came after them.
"Sergeant Stephenson?" Bautista called out, recognizing one of the Arbites with their helmet off.
Sergeant Maria Stephenson, as with the rest of the Arbites, was clad in black riot gear, with a bean bag shotgun slung over her shoulder and an auto pistol and nightstick hanging on her belt. However, her riot helmet, with its black face plate, was cradled in her left arm, not over her head. She was a women in her mid-thirties, with black hair tied tightly in a ponytail behind her, and brown eyes. Her skin was unusually pale for an inhabitant of Salarnos.
Turning, she nodded to the Major.
"Major Bautista, hello. I'm going to have to ask you to leave, this is a crime scene, and while you are an officer in the PDF, this is Arbites business and-" She was cut off.
"Sergeant, I am Inquisitor Ferdinand Ricci of the Ordo Hereticus Kappa. The major is here at my behest, and I assure you that I have the authority to be here."
Maria balked, her jaw nearly dropping in awe as the old man hobbled towards her, flanked by the two huge warriors in black carapace.
"Masters Rostislav and Rafferty, my associates. Now, Sergeant, if you please, the Major and I would like to investigate the crime scene.
Inquisitor Ricci brushed past her bodily, his men following. Bautista raised his eyebrows at Maria before following them. She was quick to tail the company.
Ricci was moving fast now. Much faster than he had been before, and he was carrying his cane, not leaning on it. That weak old man act was a ruse, Bautista realized.
The Inquisitor entered the house before anyone else, and only moments after he did, a roar of rage emanated from it. The team of Arbites agents that had been milling around stopped immediately, turning as one towards the ranch house. Bautista stopped in his tracks,
"What the hell is that!?!" he thought to himself, shocked.
The door slammed open and the Inquisitor emerged, his eyes fixed on Sergeant Stephenson;
"Where are the bodies?" he asked, his voice cold and low.
"W-What?" she asked, heavily taken aback.
"The bodies. Of the victims? I assume there are bodies, this is a crime scene, and there are chalk markings on the floor. Where have you taken them?"
"They were loaded onto a truck, its en-route back to town."
"Oh, that's just farkin' great, babe." Rafferty had finally spoken. His voice was thick with a rough accent, and slurred.
The Inquisitor shut his eyes and began to chant a prayer of some kind or another to himself, silently. When he finished, he opened them again.
"I can only pray, and hope, that the men driving that truck were killed before returning to an inhabited area, Ms. Stephenson. If they were not, your entire township may already be dead."
"Excuse me?"
"No time to explain. Major Bautista, return me to town. Sergeant Stephenson, by the power invested in me by the Imperial Inquisition, and I am taking command of your group. Follow us to town immediatey."
"Inquisitor, the crime scene, we-"
"Irrelevant. Follow me."
The Inquisitor hurried past Bautista, knocking shoulders with him as he climbed in the car. Rostislav racked the slide on his shotgun loudly, before he and Rafferty turned and hurried back to the car, leaping in the bed.
"What exactly is going on, James?" Maria asked him.
"I have no idea. Well, close to no idea. But you wouldn't believe me if I told you. I'm not sure I believe it."
Maria Stephenson raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
"Just...just do as the Inquisitor says, Maria," James said, not knowing how to explain what the Inquisitor had told him without sounding insane.
At first he had dismissed the idea that some kind of Chaos plague had broken loose and there were zombies wandering around as insanity. Some crazy old Inquisitor reading a few too many forbidden texts. But now, Major James de la Bautista thought to himself, he was starting to become worried.
Very worried. He pulled the truck door shut hard next to him and turned the key in its ignition.
The pale green truck started off into the night. Major James de la Bautista would never see the Bee family ranch again.
Hive World Terra