carrying the Deacon of Arnush； visiting Cadia for a promulgation seminar； had been shot down over the Sea of Kansk six months
earlier； simply because it failed to give the correct codes。 It made me wonder how our unknown foe had got his minions on and off
Cadia。
Unless； like us； he had an identity and a rank that easily turned aside routine security checks。
WE WERE DIVERTED sixty kilometres west of Kasr Derth because a war was going on。 The dawn light was filled with the flashes and
light streaks of a mass rocket attack。
Eight regiments of Cadian Shock； just a few days away from shipping out to a tour of duty on one of the inner fortress worlds of the
Cadian Gate； were staging a live firing exercise。
We finally set down on the minster's launch pad over an hour late。 The war…bells in every tower and shatrovy in the Kasr were ringing
to signal that the roar of battle from the nearby plains and moors was just a practice。
We divided our efforts。 Fischig took Aemos to the Minster's archivum to study the records we had ordered copied the night before and
do further research。 Bequin； escorted by Husmaan； went to search the stacks of the Ecclesiarchy's records in the apostolaeum。 Inshabel
and Nayl visited the Administratum's catalogue of records。
I went with Medea to the Ministry of Interior Defence。
THERE ARE NO arbites on Cadia。 A permanent state of martial law governs the world； and as a result； all civil policing duties are
overseen by the Interior Guard； a sub…office of the Cadian Imperial Guard itself。 In Kasr Derth； the region's administrative capital；
their headquarters is the Ministry of Interior Defence； a grey…stone donjon adjoining the fortress of the martial governor； right at the
heart of Kasr Derth。
Members of the Interior Guard are chosen at random。 Worldwide； one in every ten soldiers recruited into the Cadian forces is
transferred into the Interior force at the end of basic and preparatory； whatever their achievements and promise。 As a result； some of
the most able troopers ever raised on this planet of warriors serve out their time on the home world itself； and Cadia boasts one of the
most effective and skilled planetary defence forces of any Imperial world。
We were seen by a Colonel Ibbet； a powerful； lean man in his forties who looked like he should have been leading the charge into the
Eye of Terror： He was courteous； but mistrustful。
'We have no files on illegal or suspect immigration。'
'Why is that； colonel？'
'Because it doesn't happen。 The system does not permit it。'
'Surely there are unfortunate exceptions？'
Ibbet； his grey and white camoed uniformed starched and pressed so sharply you could have cut yourself on the creases； steepled his
fingers。
'All right； then；' I said； changing tack。 'What if someone wanted to get onto the planet anonymously？ How could that be managed？'
'It couldn't；' he said。 He wasn't giving at all。 'Every identity and visit…purpose is logged and filed and any infractions quickly dealt
with。'
'Then I'll start with the files annotating those infractions。'
RESIGNEDLY； IBBET SHOWED us into a codifier room and assigned us a military clerk to take us through the records。 We sorted and
checked for about three hours； slowly becoming bored with the interminable lists of orbital boardings； air…space interceptions and
ground…based raids。 I could tell that a thorough review of these records alone was going to take weeks。
SO THAT'S WHAT we did。 We spent ten and a half weeks scouring the archives and catalogues of Kasr Derth； working in shifts and
living out of the quarters on the gun…cutter。 Every few days； we returned to the Essene for a little rest and reflection。 It was the dead of
winter by the time we were finished。
FOURTEEN
WINTER BRINGS A CHANCE。
THE DAMNED HAS A NAME。
THE PYLON AT KASR GESH。
WINTERTIDE ON CADIA。
There had been glinting ice…floes in the gun…metal waters of the Caducades that morning； and light snow had fallen on the moors。 At
that time of year； the foul corona of the Eye of Terror was visible even during the fleeting hours of daylight。 The unholy mauve
radiance of the nights became a violet fuzz in the cold daylight； like a badly…blotted ink stain on white paper。
It made us feel like we were under surveillance all the time。 The Eye； bloodshot； angry； peering down at us。
Worst of all were the moor winds； cold and sharp as a Cadian's bayonet； blowing down from arctic latitudes。 The high lakes were all
frozen now； and lethal pogonip fogs haunted the bitter heaths and uplands。 In the Kasr itself； it seemed like the locals had a morbid
fear of heaters or window insulation。
Chilly gales breathed down the hallways of the minster and the Admin…istratum building。 Water froze in the pipes。
Despite it all； the war…bells sounded every few days； and the moors rolled with the sounds of winter manoeuvres。 I began to imagine
that the Cadians were simply shooting at each other to keep warm。
Ten and a half long； increasingly cold weeks after we had begun our systematic search of the Kasr's records； I was making my now
habitual morning walk from the minster of the Inquisition to the headquarters of the Interior Guard。 I wore a thick fur coat against the
cold； and spike…soled boots to combat the sheet ice on the roads。 I was miserable。 The search had left us all pale and edgy； too many
fruitless hours spent in dark rooms。
There had been so many promising leads。 Links and traces of the Sons of Bael； unauthorised starship traffic； suspicious excise logs。
They had all dwindled away into nothing。 As far as we could make out； no living member of the Sons of Bael； or any living associate
or family member； remained。 There had been no pylon…related cult activity； not even registered xeno…archaeological work。 I had
interviewed specialist professors at the universitary； and certain tech…priests from the Mechanicus who were shown in the records as
having expert knowledge of the pylons。
Nothing。
With Inshabel； Nayl or Fischig； I had travelled the region； as far afield as Kasr Tyrok and Kasr Bellan。 A worker in the gunshops of
Kasr Bellan； who had been identified as a Bael cult member； turned out to simply have the same name； misfiled。 A wasted ten hour
round trip by speeder。
Aemos had constructed a codifier model by which we checked record anomalies against the timetable of past cult activity。
There seemed to be no correlation at all。
I WALKED UP the steps of the Ministry of Interior Defence； and submitted myself to the clearance check in the postern guardhouse。 It
should have been a formality。 I had been arriving at the same time almost every day for the last seventy…five。 I even recognised some
of the guardsmen by sight。
But still； it was like the first time I had ever been there。 Papers were not only stamped； but read thoroughly and ran through an anticounterfeit
auspex。 My rosette was scrutinised and tagged。 The duty officer voxed my details through to the main building to get
authorisation。
'Doesn't this ever bore you？' I asked one of the desk officers as I waited； folding my papers back into my leather wallet。
'Doesn't what bore me； sir？' he asked。
I HADN'T SEEN Ibbet since the first week。 I'd been rotated between a number of supervisors。 One told me it was because of shift
changes； but I knew it was because none of them liked to deal with an inquisitor。 Especially a persistent one。
That morning； it was Major Revll who escorted me in。 Revll； a surly young man； was new to me。
'How can I assist you； sir？' he asked curtly。
I sighed。
Open log books and data…slates were piled around the workstation where I had abandoned them the night before。 Revll was already
calling for a clerk to tidy them away and make space for me before I could explain that I'd made the mess in the first place。
He looked at me warily。 'You've been here before？' I sighed again。
I HAD TWO HOURS。 At eleven； I was due to meet Inshabel and Bequin and fly out to a village on one of the islands in the Caducades to
investigate a rumour that a man there knew something about smuggling。 Another waste of time； I was sure。
I started in on the air…traffic day…book； reading through the lists of orbital transfers for a summer day two years earlier。 Halfway down
the slate was an entry showing a shuttle transfer from an orbiting ship to a landing field near Kasr Gesh。 Gesh was near to one of the
pylons frequented by the Sons of Bael。 Moreover； on checking； I realised the date put it three days before the last incident of cult
activity at the pylon。
I stoked up the data…engine； and requested further information on the entry。 I was immediately denied。 I used a higher decrypt key； and
was shown a report that withheld both the name of the ship and the source of its authority。 I began to get excited； and scrolled down。
Even the purpose of the visit was restricted。
Now I typed in the teeth of my highest decrypt key。 The terminal throbbed and chattered； sorting through files and authorisations。
The name came up。 My elation peaked； and plunged away。
Neve。 The mysterious entry had been a record of a classified mission by the inquisitor general。 Back to square one。
THE ISLAND WAS cold and bare。 A small fishing community clung to the rim of the western bay。 Inshabel swung