Silon & Verbal

It was the original meth-lab used by Silon & Petr to peer into the shard. Now Verbal and Silon shared an easy drink at the same bland table.

“You’re still a bent cop then,” stated Verbal with an ageless smirk.

“Who isn’t in this trade?”

“The Arbites will take a dim view, as will Pitgober. The Malleus aren’t to be messed with, you know this as well as I. It’s pure luck, or perhaps skill on their part, that Sale and Uriah haven’t been found yet. Marr still stands custodian for Sand?”

“Last I heard, he did,” said Silon as he ignored his friend’s warning. “Unlikely that it’ll change the Sector’s policy with mind to this rock. My rock, soon,” he toasted with a wink.

“Ambition won’t take you all the way to Terra, Enoch…”

“No, but it might set me through to a long, pleasant retirement in the forty-second millenium.”

“Retirement from what? The Inquisition won’t forget about you out here,” continued Verbal, his gaze lingering on the Warden’s neck. The Warden, Silon, simply chuckled.

“No, I suppose they won’t, but they might forget about you. This Pitgober seems to be going after the Beast House for some inexplicable reason. He’s hired some Rogue Trader to ship you out, Estansen Ronto, I think. The last glimpse I saw…it looks like you’re eventually bound for destination: Strank.”

“I’ve never heard of it…”

“You’ve never heard of the Stenchbeast?”

“Oh,” said Verbal, his burned face fell.