CHAPTER FIVE: THE NAME

Schola Progenium Command Center, Terra, 773.M41

"Explicator Tertius Marn Vellux. Forty-seven years old. Assigned to Schola Progenium censorship coordination since 769.M41."

Theta Meridian's hololithic display showed a thin man with the pale complexion of someone who spent too much time in archives. Unremarkable face. Forgettable features. The perfect spy.   That an explicator was a trusted associate of Inquisitors and therefore above suspicion by those of lesser rank only made it worse.

Michael studied the image alongside Leilani, Prun-Devi, and Tandy. His office had become an impromptu war room over the past three days, datapads and intelligence reports covering every surface.

"He's been in my institution for four years," Michael said. "Handling censorship coordination. Reviewing what materials the progena can access. And all that time..."

"Feeding information to the network," Prun-Devi finished. "Your schedule, your contacts, your personal relationships. Everything he could observe or access."

"How did we miss him?"

"Because he's good at his job." Prun-Devi pulled up another display. "His censorship work is exemplary. No red flags in his performance reviews. No suspicious contacts that standard security sweeps would catch. He's a model functionary."

"Except for the part where he's betraying his inquisitor and working for a daemon," Leilani said flatly.

"Except for that."

Theta spoke from the vox-link, his augmetic voice crackling slightly. "Surveillance initiated forty-seven hours ago. Vellux follows consistent routine. Office work, 0600-1800. Meals in Administratum cafeteria. Returns to assigned quarters. No deviation."

"That's suspicious in itself," Prun-Devi observed. "No one's that predictable unless they're trying to be."

"Agreed. However, dead drop analysis reveals additional data point. Vellux transmitted message yesterday. Contents: 'Subject aware of Vaskim. Adjusting protocols.'"

Michael felt cold. "He knows we turned Vaskim."

"Affirmative. Network now aware investigation is active. Recommend accelerated timeline."

"How accelerated?"

"Historical pattern suggests elimination of compromised assets within 72 hours of exposure. Vaskim: at risk."

"Get him into protective custody. Quietly. Make it look like a medical emergency if you have to."

"Acknowledged. Additional concern: if Vellux transmitted warning about Vaskim, he may also transmit warning about your investigation team."

The implication hung in the air. Tandy, Prun-Devi, Leilani—all potential targets now.

"We knew the risks," Leilani said before Michael could speak. "Don't even think about pushing us out."

"I wasn't—"

"You were. I can see it in your face." She met his eyes. "We discussed this. Together. Remember?"

Michael exhaled slowly. "Fine. But we increase security protocols. No one goes anywhere alone. Varied routes. Random schedules."

"Already implementing," Prun-Devi said. "I've been running counter-surveillance since yesterday. No tails that I've detected, but that doesn't mean they're not there."

"What about using Vellux?" Tandy asked. "If he doesn't know we're watching him, we can feed false information through him."

"Risky," Prun-Devi said. "If he suspects, he'll warn the network and go dark. We lose our only link inside."

"But if we do nothing, the network adjusts and we lose the advantage anyway." Michael studied the hololithic display. "We need to give them something. Something that looks valuable enough to act on, but leads them into a trap."

"What kind of trap?"

Michael thought about Carmine. About how she'd run operations like this. About the methodical patience required to turn an enemy's assets against them.

"We give them a target," he said slowly. "Someone they'd want to eliminate. Someone who appears vulnerable. And when they move, we're waiting."

Silence in the room.

"You're talking about bait," Leilani said.

"I'm talking about a controlled operation. We choose the ground. We control the variables. We—"

"You're talking about using one of us as bait."

Michael didn't deny it.

"Who?" Tandy asked quietly.

"It has to be me."

"Absolutely not," Leilani said immediately.

"I'm the logical choice. I'm their primary target anyway. Vellux has been feeding them information about me for years. If I appear to be vulnerable—isolated, distracted, following a predictable pattern—they'll move."

"And if they move faster than we can respond?"

"Then we respond faster." Michael turned to face them all. "I'm not asking for volunteers. I'm telling you the plan. I make myself a target. You provide the trap. When they send their assassin, we capture them alive and extract everything they know about the network."

"This is insane," Prun-Devi said. "There are a dozen ways this goes wrong."

"Name a better option."

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Shook her head.

"The network is adjusting. We have maybe days before they relocate, change protocols, disappear back into the shadows. Vaskim gave us a thread. Vellux gives us a window. We use them both or we lose everything Carmine died investigating."

Leilani's jaw was tight. "If you're doing this, I'm on the protection detail. Non-negotiable."

"That defeats the purpose of appearing vulnerable."

"Then I'm hidden. Sniper position. Close enough to intervene, far enough to maintain the illusion." Her eyes blazed. "You are not dying on my watch, Michael. Not after everything."

Michael looked at her—fierce, protective, refusing to let him sacrifice himself alone. At Tandy, whose medical training meant she understood exactly how many ways this could go wrong. At Prun-Devi, whose intelligence officer instincts were clearly screaming warnings.

All of them still here. All of them still committed.

"Alright," he said. "We plan this properly. Every contingency. Every escape route. Nothing left to chance."

"When?" Prun-Devi asked.

"Three days. Enough time to set the stage, not enough time for the network to fully adjust." Michael turned back to the hololithic display. "Theta, I need you to create a pattern. Something Vellux will notice and report. I want them to think I've become predictable."

"Specify parameters."

"Evening walks. Same route, same time. Alone, or appearing to be alone. Grieving widower lost in thought, too distracted to notice surveillance."

"Confirmed. Route recommendations: Northern Schola grounds. Limited sight lines. Multiple ambush points. Optimal for controlled engagement."

"Perfect. Make sure Vellux sees me leave at the same time each evening. Let him report it."

"Acknowledged. Senator, probability assessment of operation success: 47%. Probability of your survival without intervention: 23%."

"Then we make sure there's intervention."

Two days later. Schola Progenium, Administrative Wing.

Michael walked the corridors with deliberate predictability, counting steps, maintaining the facade of a man too grief-stricken to notice his surroundings.

Vellux was watching. He could feel it. The Explicator had made three "coincidental" appearances in Michael's path today—once in the corridor outside his office, once in the refectory, once near the archive entrance. Testing patterns. Confirming the intelligence.

Good, Michael thought. Report it all. Tell them I'm vulnerable. Tell them I'm ready to be killed.

His vox buzzed silently—Prun-Devi's signal that she'd completed another sweep.

"Northern perimeter clear. Tandy's in position at the medicae station—cover story about emergency supply audit. Leilani?"

"Roof of the eastern administratum building. Clear sight lines to the garden path." Leilani's voice was professionally calm, but Michael could hear the tension underneath. "Still don't like this plan."

"Noted. Again."

"I'll keep noting it until you're safely back inside."

Michael suppressed a smile. Turned toward his office. Maintained the grieving widower persona.

Explicator Vellux passed him in the corridor, dataslate clutched to his chest, eyes downcast in proper Administratum deference.

"Commandant." A murmured acknowledgment.

"Explicator." Michael didn't slow down. Didn't react. Just another forgettable interaction.

But he saw it—the slight flicker of Vellux's eyes toward the chrono on the wall. Checking the time. Confirming the pattern.

Tonight, Michael thought. Tomorrow at the latest. They'll move soon.

That evening. Theta Meridian's analysis chamber.

"Intercepted transmission from Vellux, seventeen minutes ago."

The Logis-Magos played the recording—a burst of encrypted data that Theta had already decoded.

Subject follows established pattern. Evening walk commences 1900 hours. Route: northern grounds, garden path. Duration: approximately thirty minutes. Recommend immediate action.

Michael felt a grim satisfaction. "They took the bait."

"Affirmative. Network response expected within 24-48 hours. However, additional intelligence acquired."

"What additional intelligence?"

"Cross-referencing Vellux's communication patterns with historical network data. Identified secondary transmission point." Theta paused—unusual for a Magos. "Transmission routed through Hy-Brazil subsector administrative office."

Duke Nyphram. The tropical bay. The favors and the shipping contracts.

"You think the Duke is part of the network?"

"Insufficient data for direct accusation. However, communication patterns suggest his infrastructure is being utilized. Possibility: Duke is unwitting conduit. Alternative possibility: Duke is active participant."

Michael thought about the tropical paradise where he'd watched Leilani teach surfing. About the Duke's spluttering indignation at being dismissed for a Senator. About favors traded and contracts overlooked.

"Flag it for follow-up investigation. Right now we focus on the trap."

"Acknowledged. However, Senator—if Duke Nyphram's infrastructure is compromised, his subsector logistics may also be compromised. Transport contracts, shipping routes, supply chains. Corruption could extend throughout Hy-Brazil network."

More threads. More connections. The daemon's web stretching further than they'd imagined.

"One target at a time," Michael said. "First we catch their assassin. Then we unravel the rest."

The next evening. Northern Schola grounds, 1900 hours.

The garden path wound through carefully maintained hedgerows, past statues of Imperial saints and heroes of the Schola's history. Glowglobes cast pools of amber light at intervals, leaving stretches of shadow between.

Perfect ambush territory.

Michael walked slowly, hands clasped behind his back, expression distant. Every sense straining for warning signs while his body projected oblivious vulnerability.

Leilani was somewhere above—eastern administratum roof, bolter trained on the path. Prun-Devi monitored sensor feeds from the security station. Tandy waited at the medicae wing, ready for whatever aftermath came.

And somewhere in the shadows, an assassin was watching.

Michael felt it before he saw anything. That prickling awareness that came from decades of combat. Someone was there. Close. Getting closer.

He kept walking. Didn't change pace. Didn't look around.

Come on. Make your move. Let me see you.

A whisper of movement to his left. Hedgerow rustling where there was no wind.

Michael's hand drifted toward his laspistol—then stopped. Too obvious. He needed them committed.

"Good evening, Senator."

The voice came from ahead. A figure stepping out of the shadows onto the path. Hooded. Face hidden. Hands empty but stance ready.

"Do I know you?"

"You knew my master. Inquisitor Theeo Essen Nibali." The figure's voice was flat. Controlled. "You murdered him in an Inquisitorial cell."

"I executed a traitor condemned by his own words. That's not murder. That's justice."

"Justice." A soft laugh. "You speak of justice while hunting the servants of the Secret-Unknown? You don't even understand what you're fighting."

"Then enlighten me."

The assassin tilted their head. "Klammordian knows all secrets. Every hidden thing, every buried truth. Your lovers' deaths. Your nightmares. The way you still reach for a woman who isn't there when you wake." They stepped closer. "The way you've already found new women to warm your bed. So quickly. Carmine barely cold and you're already—"

"Leilani. Now."

The bolter shot took the assassin in the shoulder, spinning them around with the force of impact. Michael drew his laspistol as three figures erupted from the hedgerows—the assassin's backup, moving to extract their wounded comrade.

"Contact! Three additional hostiles!" Prun-Devi's voice in his ear.

Michael fired twice, dropping one of the backup team. The other two split, one dragging the wounded assassin toward the shadows while the other charged Michael directly.

Combat instincts took over. Duck the first swing. Block the second. Counter-strike to the throat. His attacker stumbled, gasping, and Michael put two more las-bolts into their chest.

"The primary is escaping!" Leilani's voice, frustrated. "I don't have the angle—"

"Let them go." Michael was breathing hard, standing over two corpses and one dying enemy. "We have prisoners."

Prun-Devi arrived thirty seconds later with a security team. The wounded attacker was still alive—barely. The dying one wouldn't last long.

"Get them to interrogation," Michael ordered. "The wounded one first. I want to know everything before they die."

"And the assassin? The primary?"

"They'll report back to the network. Tell them their attack failed." Michael looked at the blood on the garden path, the bodies being carried away. "Which means they'll escalate. Send something stronger next time."

"You say that like it's a good thing."

"It is." Michael met Prun-Devi's eyes. "Every escalation exposes more of their network. Every attack they launch costs them resources, assets, deniability. We're bleeding them. Forcing them to react instead of scheme."

"And if the next attack succeeds?"

"Then we plan better." He touched his cap Aquila. "For now, we have prisoners to interrogate and a network to unravel. Get Theta on the communication intercepts. I want to know how they're coordinating, who's giving orders, everything."

Three hours later. Interrogation chamber.

The wounded attacker was talking. Pain, fear, and the certain knowledge of death had broken through whatever loyalty the network commanded.

"Klammordian speaks through dreams," they gasped. "Whispers in the night. Offers knowledge. Power. Understanding."

"How do you contact the daemon?"

"We don't. It contacts us. When it wants something done, we know. We just... know."

"Who coordinates the network? Who gives orders?"

"No one. Everyone. The knowledge flows through us all. We each know our part."

Typical Tzeentchian structure. Decentralized. Compartmentalized. Each cell knowing only its immediate function, receiving direction through daemonic whispers rather than conventional command chains.

"The assassin. The one who escaped. Who are they?"

"I don't know their name. No one does. They're... special. Closer to the Secret-Unknown than the rest of us. They know things no mortal should."

"What things?"

"Your things, Senator." The prisoner's eyes rolled with fear and something like ecstasy. "Your secrets. Your loves. Your weaknesses. They know everything about you. Everything you've hidden from everyone."

Michael felt cold despite himself. "How?"

"Klammordian sees all secrets. And those who serve... we share in that sight." A bloody smile. "The daemon knows you, Michael Goldenrod. Knows what you fear. Knows what you love. Knows exactly how to break you."

"I'm not that easy to break."

"Everyone breaks. Eventually." The prisoner coughed, blood bubbling on their lips. "Your women will die. All of them. One by one. Just like before. And you'll watch. And you'll know it's your fault. Your love that killed them. Your weakness that—"

Michael drew his laspistol and ended the interrogation.

Silence in the chamber. The smell of blood and burnt flesh.

"That was premature," Prun-Devi said from the doorway. "They might have had more intelligence to share."

"They were ranting. Daemonic corruption does that." Michael holstered the weapon. "But they confirmed something important."

"What?"

"The network doesn't have conventional leadership. Klammordian itself is the coordinator. It speaks directly to its servants, gives them targets, instructions. No middlemen to find. No command structure to disrupt."

"That makes them harder to fight."

"It also makes them predictable. Daemons have patterns. Motivations we can understand, even if we can't fully comprehend them. Klammordian feeds on secrets. On hidden knowledge being revealed. Every time we expose part of its network, we're not just hurting it—we're starving it."

Prun-Devi considered this. "So the corruption audits, the network exposure, turning assets like Vaskim..."

"All of it weakens the daemon. Forces it to act more directly. Eventually it has to manifest to protect what's left." Michael walked past her, out of the interrogation chamber. "And when it does, we'll be ready."

Later. Michael's quarters.

He couldn't sleep.

The prisoner's words echoed in his mind. Your women will die. All of them. One by one. Just like before.

Six women dead. Six women who'd loved him, trusted him, been murdered because of that love.

And now three more—four, if he counted himself—putting themselves in danger. For him. Because of him.

A soft knock at his door.

"Michael?" Leilani's voice. "I saw your light on."

He opened the door. She stood in simple robes, hair unbound, concern in her eyes.

"Can't sleep," he said.

"Neither can I." She entered without being invited, closed the door behind her. "The prisoner said something that bothered you."

"They said many things."

"One in particular. I was listening through the security feed." She faced him directly. "They said your women will die. All of them. Just like before."

"Yes."

"And you're believing them."

"I'm..." He stopped. Started again. "I'm afraid they're right. That loving me is a death sentence. That I should push you all away before—"

"Before what? Before we choose to stay anyway?" Leilani took his hands. "Michael, we're not helpless victims waiting to be rescued or murdered. I'm a Battle Sister. Tandy survived forty years of military medicine. Prun-Devi runs intelligence operations that would terrify most people. We can protect ourselves."

"The others thought that too.  A Lord Inquisitor-Terran, a Lord Militant of the Astra Militarum."

"The others didn't know they were being hunted. We do. That's the difference." She squeezed his hands. "Stop trying to protect us by pushing us away. It didn't work before and it won't work now. All it does is make you suffer alone."

Michael closed his eyes. Felt the warmth of her hands. The certainty in her voice.

"I don't know how to do this," he admitted. "How to love people while knowing they're in danger because of me. How to fight a daemon while building a life. How to be a Senator and a soldier and whatever I am to you all at the same time."

"You do it one day at a time. One decision at a time. And you let us help." She released his hands, cupped his face instead. "We're not going anywhere, Michael. Not because of threats or daemons or your self-destructive guilt. We chose you. All of us. Now stop arguing about it and let us stay."

He kissed her. Soft at first, then deeper. Holding onto her like she was the only solid thing in a universe of chaos.

"Together," he murmured against her lips.

"Together," she agreed.

And for a few hours at least, the daemon's whispers faded into silence.

The next morning. Michael's office.

Theta's report arrived at 0600.

"Sigma-47 audit complete. Lord General Vaskim: fully cooperative. Found: systematic theft of medical supplies. 2.3 million soldiers' worth of medicae supplies embezzled over 3 years. Recovery: partial. 12 officers executed. System: restored."

One more node cleared. One more piece of Nibali's legacy dismantled.

"Additional finding," Theta continued. "Communication analysis complete. Network hub identified: Hy-Brazil subsector administrative office. Duke Nyphram's infrastructure confirmed as routing point for network communications."

Duke Nyphram. The tropical bay. The favors.

"Is the Duke a willing participant or an unwitting conduit?"

"Insufficient data for determination. However, transport contract irregularities suggest possible direct involvement. Recommend full investigation."

Michael thought about the Duke's spluttering arrogance. His casual assumption that noble blood meant he could bend rules. His willingness to trade favors for overlooked infractions.

The perfect target for daemon corruption. Someone already compromised by greed, already willing to skirt the edges of legality.

"Schedule a Senate hearing on Hy-Brazil subsector logistics. I want the Duke's contracts audited. Every transport route. Every shipping manifest. Everything."

"Acknowledged. Senator, one additional item."

"Yes?"

"Intercepted communication from escaped assassin. Message to network reads: 'Target prepared. Increased security noted. Recommend alternative approach. The women are vulnerable.'"

Michael's blood went cold.

"They're changing targets."

"Affirmative. Recommend immediate security upgrade for all associated personnel."

"Do it. Maximum protection. No one goes anywhere without armed escort." Michael stood, mind racing. "And Theta? Find me everything on Hy-Brazil. If the Duke is part of this network, I want to know before he knows we're coming."

"Acknowledged. Analysis commencing."

Michael stared at the hololithic display showing Klammordian's network—threads spreading across the Imperium, touching everything, corrupting everything.

The women are vulnerable.

Not if he had anything to say about it.

[END CHAPTER FIVE]