Rendenstein was also capable of eidetic recall, due to the crystal storage device in her frontal cortex, making her ideal as a personal scribe, secretariat and assistant. She never forgot names, faces or dates.
‘You have visitors.’ There was no formality between the two of them. Rendenstein had quickly learnt that her mistress preferred accuracy and brevity over all other concerns. The two had saved each other’s lives many times and though Wienand held the rank, they considered themselves equals with different skill-sets. The fact that they were occasional lovers sealed the bond between them. ‘Lastan Neemagiun Veritus is requesting your attention.’
‘Veritus is requesting? That does not sound like the Veritus I know.’
‘Demanding. Sorry, I did not even know that he had arrived on Terra.’
‘Neither did I, which means he intended to turn up unexpected on my doorstep. That also means he won’t go away until I see him, so you might as well prepare a proper welcome and send him in.’
‘He is not alone.’
‘Oh? Let me guess…’ Wienand considered who would be likely to accompany the veteran inquisitor. ‘Samuellson? Van der Deckart? Asprion Machtannin?’
‘Two of the three. Samuellson is not here, but Veritus has Namisi Najurita with him, and another I do not recognise.’
‘Najurita? She is the last person I thought would find cause with Veritus. He and she could hardly be more different. All right, I will see them in the Octagon.’
‘Should I remain with you? Is this a conclave?’
‘Not yet, unless Veritus wants to make it official. I think I know what he wants, but let us find out from the man himself. But yes, I’ll want you present to record everything. Just in case.’
After Rendenstein had left, Wienand locked away her reports and then slid the file repository back into the wall, absentmindedly shutting the concealing panel as her thoughts turned to Veritus. There was no point keeping him waiting; it would only shorten his temper even further.
She found her fellow inquisitors waiting for her in the Octagon as she had instructed. If ever the Inquisition was accused of being paranoid, the Octagon would be cited in evidence for the prosecution. The eight-sided chamber had the appearance of a reading room or antechamber, about a hundred foot across, lined with wood panelling. It was built on three tiers, with cushioned seats between the eight sets of steps leading to the lower floor. This lowest level betrayed some of the hidden precautions of the Octagon; the white stone was inlaid with lines of lead in a complex hexagrammic ward. Behind the wooden panels on the walls was a similar labyrinth of anti-psychic sigils and designs, powering a null generator that suppressed the abilities of any psyker within the room.
Such precautions were taken, it was claimed, to ensure that inquisitorial conclaves could be held in the Octagon without favouring one participant over another. Those with telepathic abilities would not be able to glean any advantage from their talent, nor unduly influence other members of the conclave.
This being the Inquisition, it was well understood but never stated outright that the wards also prevented psychic events of a more pyrokinetic, bio-electrical or otherwise outright hostile nature. It was an internally known fact that members of the Inquisition had sometimes — rarely and regrettably, they would say — disagreed so fundamentally with each other that such conflict was eventually resolved through physical combat. Conclaves were meant to avoid these situations by giving parties equal chance to voice grievance, philosophy and defence, and refer such argument to an ostensibly objective authority in the form of fellow uninvolved inquisitors. The Octagon was proof that such conclaves, bringing together inquisitors of opposite but equally passionately-held beliefs and politics, sometimes acted as a catalyst rather than a cure.
As the current Inquisitorial Representative Wienand had a slight advantage over her guests, in that she was able to observe them for a few moments on the screen hidden behind a panel beside one of the entrances, via a link to the concealed digi-recording systems of the Octagon.
Veritus was easy to identify, though Wienand had never met him in person. The ageing inquisitor wore a full suit of powered armour — even here in the heart of the Palace of Terra — painted white and adorned with much gilded ornamentation. Eagles, skulls and other Imperial insignia almost covered the plates. Veritus’ head was showing: deeply lined, the signs of surgical scars on his bald scalp, skin hanging from his chin and throat like the wattle of some domestic fowl.
