Honestly, whether it was the prosperous districts atop a Hive City or the shabby trash heaps of the Underhive, whether it was a barren Death World or some remote Feral World, no matter how different the cultures, how varied the landscapes, or how wildly their ways of worshipping The Emperor differed, they all had one thing in common. One thing that never changed.
A bar.
Vito pushed open the rickety gate of the local bar. It looked like it hadn't been repaired in ages. This part of every bar saw the most wear and tear. Whenever night fell and The Emperor's gift of rest arrived, every farmer, worker, and local Planetary Defense Force soldier would push through the door and come inside.
Every bar was lively at night, no matter what world it was on. The more desolate a place was, and the less it had been touched by modern civilization, the busier its bars became.
After all, this was the only place within ten kilometers where one could enjoy the comforts of a civilized world. Of course, aside from entertainment and socializing, bars served another well-known purpose: information.
Vito glanced around the bar. There weren't many people yet—just the bartender polishing glasses and a few scattered farmers sitting around. That was hardly surprising. The sun was still high overhead. Once The Emperor's sun went down, the place would surely come alive.
Vito walked up to the counter. The bartender eyed him suspiciously, clearly not liking this outsider one bit. Vito was used to it. Even though they were all citizens of the Imperium, the mutual xenophobia between people from different Imperial Worlds was deeply entrenched.
"What'll it be?" the bartender asked politely anyway. Vito smiled and pulled a few Imperial coins from his pocket, setting them on the counter. "Your local distilled liquor. And I'm looking for someone." "Who?" "Antonio."
The bartender's expression stiffened, but he still turned to search the shelves, muttering as he did, "What do you want with Antonio?" "Business. If he's willing, I think I can offer him something worthwhile."
Vito replied as he watched the bartender pour his drink. At the same time, he heard the sound of a gun being cocked behind him. Vito gave a wry smile and turned around. Sure enough, a few men who looked like locals were pointing guns at his head, their black muzzles trained on him.
Vito turned back and saw the bartender holding a shotgun he'd apparently pulled out of thin air. Vito smiled and took a sip of his drink.
"Drinking with your head about to get blown off—I don't know whether to call that composure or stupidity." A voice spoke as a man emerged from behind the shelves. He was polishing a glass ball and sat down at one of the tables as naturally as you please.
Vito smiled, took another glass from the counter, grabbed the bottle of distilled liquor beside the bartender, and walked over to the table. He sat down across from the man just as casually.
Vito poured him a drink, completely ignoring the several guns pointed at his head from behind. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Antonio."
The man called Antonio studied Vito, leaning back in his chair and watching him with interest. "I heard you dealt with my men—and gave them quite a beating."
"Ah, right. I almost forgot." Vito placed a money pouch on the table. "Your men were collecting protection money behind your back. Here it is, returned to its rightful owners."
Antonio raised an eyebrow. He glanced at the pouch, then at Vito's smiling face. He gave a cold laugh and waved for his men to lower their guns. They did, in fact, lower their very unfriendly weapons.
Antonio picked up his glass and took a sip. "I'm a man of my word." "Vito. Vito Constantine." "Mr. Constantine, I'll return this money to the farmers. I only take what I'm owed and do what needs to be done."
Vito smiled faintly and took a sip. "Fortunately, I only do what needs to be done too, Mr. Antonio—ask the questions that need asking." "So you're here to ask questions. I'm a helpful man. Ask around the street and they'll tell you Antonio is always willing to help—as long as it benefits both sides."
"Of course. I agree with that logic, so hear my question first." Vito said, swirling his glass. "Hmm, your liquor's decent. A lot better than the rubbish they serve on Hive Worlds."
"You came from the Capital World, Mr. Constantine?" "No, I came from somewhere else, but that doesn't matter. I'm trying to find out if you know what happened to a shuttle that recently arrived on this planet, and where its crew went."
"As you can see, Mr. Constantine, this is an Agri-World. Cargo ships and shuttles come and go by the countless every day—including yours." "That may be, but I imagine a military shuttle would stand out, wouldn't it? Especially if its crew were station personnel."
Vito's smile held a mysterious quality, as inscrutable as an Aeldari's. Antonio studied the enigmatic man before him. Perhaps he was an Adeptus Arbites agent? Or an employee of the Governor's Palace? Or even—no, that was impossible.
Antonio picked up the bottle of distilled liquor and poured himself another drink. When Vito lifted his glass, he poured one for his "honored guest" as well.
"So, I'm hoping you can tell me something, Mr. Antonio." "Perhaps I will, Mr. Constantine. You see, we don't trust outsiders much, so first I need to know whether you can be trusted."
Antonio lifted his chin slightly, signaling for Vito to look around. Sure enough, everyone nearby was watching him suspiciously, their hands instinctively resting on their weapons. Even the bartender had set his shotgun on the counter, polishing a glass while occasionally glancing at Vito.
Vito shrugged slightly, as if he didn't care. "So how do I earn your trust? I hope it won't be complicated." "We're not Ecclesiarchy fanatics, nor are we savages from some remote world. So no, it won't be complicated."
"You see, Mr. Constantine, this planet isn't as peaceful as it looks. There are some locals out in the wastelands—real natives."
"An indigenous species? Hmm. I'm curious why the planetary government hasn't wiped them out. After all, you know the Imperium's policy on aliens."
Constantine shrugged slightly, as if he didn't care. "That may be so, but I doubt the bigwigs back on the Capital World have much interest in leaving their mansions up on the top level to deal with our problems. The local Adeptus Arbites can't handle them either."
"It's not just us. There are plenty of unsavory elements in the Capital World's Underhive, and even in parts of the Mid Hive—things worse than heretics. But our dear Governor seems to ignore all of it."
Vito narrowed his eyes slightly, but soon smiled again. "Is there anything I can do to help?" "Of course. Those alien scum stole several of my cargo trucks. They were carrying Crimson Essence we planned to sell on the Capital World." "A potent hallucinogen. I've heard it's popular in the Underhive and Mid Hive." "I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Constantine."
Vito chuckled under his breath, his voice full of sarcasm. "Of course. Naturally."
The more Antonio looked at Vito, the more suspicious he became, but he chose to ignore his doubts—at least for the time being. Antonio leaned back in his chair and tapped the Lasgun at his waist.
"I need you to kill those scum and bring back my goods. After that, I'll believe you're trustworthy, and you can get the information you want."
Vito smiled, then stood and raised his glass. "Deal, Mr. Antonio." Antonio stood too and clinked his glass against Vito's. "Deal."
The two drained their drinks. Then Vito brushed off his trouser leg, turned, and headed for the door. "See you later, Mr. Antonio."
Antonio watched Vito with a frown, then sat down and stared at his glass, lost in thought. But after a moment, he sighed, poured himself another drink, and chose to swallow down that terrible, dangerous idea.
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