In the council chamber of the High Lords of Terra on Holy Terra, the Imperium's twelve supreme rulers-ancient politicians who had lived for centuries, most of their bodies replaced by machinery and life-support systems-gathered around a vast holographic star map, locked in an inefficient argument.
Inquisitor Van Helsing's report, laden with venom and warnings, was projected into a corner of the chamber like some inconsequential electronic file. It had been submitted seventy years earlier, but the Imperium's vast, bloated bureaucracy, like a beast suffering from indigestion, had passed this urgent document back and forth between countless departments for review, filing, and forgetting. Only today had it finally been placed before these twelve powerful figures.
"A... Chapter corrupted by a false saint?" The Fabricator-General's throat, composed of countless gears and pistons, emitted a grating metallic rasp. "The report claims that it has displayed 'inexplicable miracles' and 'the beguiling charisma of heresy.' That sounds dangerous."
"Dangerous?" The supreme commander of the Astra Militarum, a man so fat he seemed about to spill out of his powered chair, snorted dismissively. "General, how long has it been since you left Mars? Thousands upon thousands of reports like this arrive every day across the galaxy. What corner of it doesn't have a few self-proclaimed saints with honeyed tongues and light shining out of their arses? If we mobilized over every such 'miracle,' half the Imperium's fleets would be busy dealing with these charlatans."
"But the report was submitted by Van Helsing, a veteran Inquisitor," the minister of the interior countered shrilly. "His judgment has always been renowned for its severity and precision."
"Precision?" The supreme commander of the fleets sneered. "His last precise judgment was to mistake a hive city governor hallucinating after eating expired fungal rations for a worshipper of Tzeentch. He ordered Exterminatus