[M] The Prophet In Silver - IC

[Azazeal849]

Rated M for violence and distressing themes.
Potential strong language and drug references.


LINK TO OOC (http://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=56940)

https://imagizer.imageshack.us/v2/500x200q50/546/i2qy.png

"We must have been...what, 15 or 16?" Kelly Black was saying, pausing as she tried to convert Solomon years to Imperial standard for Vincent's benefit. "They never checked ID in Plenus Luna, so we could just walk in. We never got recognised either because most of the folk who went there were from Spire 12. Though there was one random guy who came up to me like 'Hey, do I know you from somewhere?' - when I said I didn't he asked me what school I went to and then answered 'Hey, me too!' You know, blatantly trying it on, not even bothering to hide his Twelver accent..."

Kelly grinned, and laid her cards carefully face down on the table so she could gesticulate with her hands. She was an angular faced woman, with brown eyes and dark, shoulder-length hair.

"I'd have buckled laughing if this guy wasn't six foot and looming over me, but the best part is when he says 'Small hive isn't it?' and Marc turns up with our drinks, squares up to the guy without missing a beat and answers 'No pal, it's a very big one with one billion other women in it - frak off'. Bearing in mind that this guy is twice our size and maybe three times as wide..."

"He hit me first." her brother Marc put in defensively. He and Kelly shared the same angular features, with straight noses and arched eyebrows. Marc sat with the elbows of his rolled-up shirt sleeves resting on the table, his ever present PDA tucked into the inside pocket of the suit jacket thrown over the back of his chair.

"Need to pick your fights better, kid." Vincent grunted, scowling as he sat back in his chair and tapped ash off his lho. In spite of the relaxed atmosphere, the grizzled ex-guardsman seemed to be in one of his dour moods. 'Kid' was his nickname for Marc, which he had stubbornly retained ever since their first meeting nearly a year ago. Although Marc was hardly a juvie, anyone looked young compared to the scarred, weather-beaten Vincent Nyl. "And while all this is very interesting, you still haven't told us if you're in or not."

Marc peeled his face-down cards off the table, just far enough to see the numbers in their top corners. "Well...I'm pretty sure you can't make the full house you're aiming for, because I was handed the last 7 two hands ago. I think Kally's got something, because she's been quietly calling every bet. And I know Kelly's got something impressive, because she never raises unless she's got an absolute premium hand. Knowing all that, there's only one thing stopping me from taking this one."

"What's that?" Kelly asked, looking sidelong at her brother.

"My cards are shit." Marc admitted, and pushed his hand into the centre of the table.

Kelly grinned. "You know what your problem is, Marc? Sometimes you focus too much on the worst case scenario."

She leaned to one side to show him the cards in her hand, and whatever they were caused Marc to lean back in his chair with a good-natured "Oh, for frak sake..."

"You know," Vincent said irritably, fixing the Blacks with his mismatched stare. One eye was storm grey, the other milk white from an ancient war-wound. "You two covering each other's asses shouldn't apply during card games. Some of us are trying to take this seriously."

He looked at Kally Sonder, the fourth member of their group, for support. The blonde haired ex-bounty huntress had just been smirking quietly throughout the exchange.

"Oh, I agree completely." Kally grinned. "But what you haven't noticed is that Marc has a tell. His eyebrows do this little up and down thing when he sees his cards for the first time. And I'm betting Kelly has the same one."

She put her cards face down, then threw a blue chip into the pile.

"I'm in, and I raise twenty. Because this time I'm sure Kelly's hand is grox shit as well."

"Vince," Kelly grimaced as Vincent reached out across the bottle-strewn table with his augmetic arm, sweeping Marc's cards into the discard pile with an awful grinding of servos. "You ever thought about getting that arm upgraded?"

"I love this arm." Vincent replied stubbornly. "The middle finger works perfectly."

At that moment, Marc's PDA chimed. He turned in his chair to fish it out of his suit pocket, and frowned when he read the contents of the message.

"What is it?" Kelly asked.

"A summons." Marc replied. "From interrogator Machairi."

Alongside Javid Schafer, Alia Machairi was one of lord Sidonis' highest-ranking acolytes on the True Bane. The inquisitor lord's staff was monolithic, and Marc had never met Machairi in person; having been assigned instead to interrogator Schafer after that hideous business with Kally, Sapphira and explicator Strelilov had been resolved. He did know that Frank Priest - his group's one-time leader - had trained under Machairi briefly before being posted off to the Malfian sub with agent Van Der Mir. Of the interrogator herself he knew very little, other than Schafer's occasional assertions that she was a manipulative, two-faced bitch.

"What's the script?" Kelly asked, raising her eyebrows.

"All it says is she needs us to assist a mission team that she's putting together."

Vincent growled. "It's the middle of shift 3. Doesn't she know we're off duty?"

"Truth never sleeps, apparently." muttered Kally, sighing. "Lets go see what she wants."


+ + + + + +

With the exception of lord Sidonis' own offices, none of the True Bane's conference cabins could be called luxurious. This one was no exception; well lit, but made cramped by the long blackwood table that dominated the floor space with seats for fifteen people, most of them unfilled. Claustrophobia was allleviated by a trio of pict screens along the rear wall that served as windows, projecting the slowly-turning star field captured by the Bane's hull sensors. A tall glass-fronted chronometer hung on one wall, its brass innards ticking softly.

Interrogator Machairi sat at the head of the blackwood table in a plain, high-backed armchair, the lumoglobes studded around the rim of the table illuminating her long oval face. Around her were gathered her six closest agents. Ex-arbitrator Glabrio Hybrida lounged on one side of her; the Tallarn infiltrator Abdur Salah sat quiet and unobtrusive on the other. Aleksandr and Malpais sat apart, both psyker swordsmen, but of different callings - the one a young and strong willed Carthaen of the Esw Sadyr clan, the other a quiet but volatile pyromancer. Both exemplified speaking softly while carrying a big gun, which was why Machairi favoured them. Solvan Balannor, her personal confessor, had pride of place on her right hand side. Standing while the others sat was her personal bodyguard Tomas Prinzel, as always never far from the interrogator's side.

Machairi's eyes flickered to the chronometer and then to the door, one elbow resting on the table with her fingernails rubbing thoughtfully against the ball of her thumb.

"Try to be nice to them." she told her team as she sat back in her chair. "They might have trained under Schafer but I don't think they've been with him long enough to turn into his yes-men."

[Cfavano]

Abdur Salah bowed slightly. "Asalyamu Alayakum, comrades." He waited a moment, and from the stares that came at him, he adds, "In the tongue of my people, it means 'Peace be upon you', it is a greeting." His speech was muffled and distorted from the mask and rebreather he wore, which he never seems to take off, except when he eats, but then he puts it back on after he puts food in his mouth, and takes it off again when he takes another bite. "My specialty is infiltration and demolition. My people are noted for bursting from the shadows, striking a crippling blow, and disappearing once more. In this manner they are different from other regiments. I am an expert with explosives, and hope I can prove to be a useful asset. Imperator Akbar!" He said, using his people's version of 'Ave Imperator' to end his speech. He then became quiet and still once more, and only the slight hissing of his breathing was heard from him.

[Thrannix]

++2 Hours before de meeting++

Keeping to his daily routine while on the True Bane Solvan Belannor had been praying in the small chapel close to his cell for almost an hour now. As he knelt in front of the altar his green eyes gazed at the gorgeous mosaic that filled the ceiling depicting the God-Emperor smiting the enemies of humanity, leading the faithful to victory. To a bystander he looked like one of the marble statues of the saints, with his angular well-proportioned face, the grey hair and beard closely trimmed and the expression of exaltation with glistening green eyes. His deep voice broke the silence as he intoned his usual final prayer.

“Oh Emperor, my soul thirsts for You, though undeserving as it may be she seeks You in the darkness.

My soul thirsts for You, glorious God-Emperor, because I am weak as You are strong.

I am corrupt as You are Holy. I am lost and only You can show me the light.

God-Emperor help me accept Your divine inspiration so that I may follow the path You intended.

Do not allow my path to be perturbed by neither man, daemon or xeno, and may the holy fires consume whoever tries to stand between your servants and their duty.

For only you know all things past and future, only You see the souls and hearts of men.

And should I ever be lost to heresy, Oh Sublime Emperor! Let my soul burn for eternity and weep in unfathomable agony knowing that it shall never know the bliss of your presence.

Amen.”

Solvan stood slowly, his knees protesting heavily to the time spent on the cold marble floor. His 6 feet of height were lost to his usual hunched figure, as if he carried a physical burden as well as a spiritual one. The former bishop went back to his cell and had a hearty breakfast ending 48 hours of fasting as he usually did before a mission. “After all” Ballanor thought, “the Emperor has no use for someone half starved to death.” Fasting was a tool to sharpen the soul and train the body, if overdone the body and mind withered and with them your duty to serve the Emperor.

He glanced through his wardrobe and was tempted for a moment to wear his ceremonial robe, richly embroidered with gold and silver. But decided against it since it would only show arrogance and a need to awe his fellow teammates on the first meeting. Instead he went for a plain white robe with a few sober gold details. Nevertheless the bishop’s ring of solid gold and a large amethyst at the center stayed, he never parted with it.

++Meeting Room++

Solvan arrived right after Machairi and Tomas, he gave them a respectful nod and beatifical smile and said. “May the Emperor blessings go with you both, so that He may guide you in today’s endeavors.” Then he walked to his seat and said in a more intimate tone to the interrogator. “My Lady, I know you have been terribly busy with the Beraspine case and now this mess falling out of nowhere. But it has been some time since I saw you in the chapel or for confession. I understand that to fulfill the Emperor’s duty the tending of the soul sometimes must be put to wait. But when you have the chance my old soul would greatly rejoice in seeing you look after your spiritual wellbeing.” He ended with a humble bow. He said old soul despite looking only 45 standard terran years because his body carried 143 years of life artificially prolonged by rejuvenation drugs. It was almost 15 years since he decided not to continue using them, and his body was quickly catching up with the years as his still throbbing knees told him.

He clasped his bony hands in prayer and silently whispered a psalm for Saint Ezra as the rest of the team shuffled in.

"Try to be nice to them." she told her team as she sat back in her chair. "They might have trained under Schafer but I don't think they've been with him long enough to turn into his yes-men."

“For to judge in your eyes and not the Emperor’s is a most terrible sin. This I tell you; those who let their brothers be scorned by the weakness of men shall be punished by the law of the Almighty Emperor.” Solvan quoted in a whisper, almost without thought, from the book of Saint Ariette.

[MrAGrimm]

++ 3 hours before the meeting ++
Tiny brightly coloured creatures of paper sit atop the small rooms only shelf, with the few well worn books, looking down at the young silver haired man sitting naked on the floor. Light psykic frost covered the floor nearest to Aleksandr, his lips moved silently repeating the mantras taught to him in his youth, focusing his mind in a meditative trance. The layer of frost thickened and expanded as the young man’s mind gathered its strength, the mantras repeated faster and faster, only to stop suddenly. Frost dissipated quickly leaving beads of condensation behind, as he stood to his full height of 6’11. Pale grey eyes open slowly, taking in the small spartan room that he lived in, coming to rest on the small brass chronometer.

Time to get to work Aleksandr thought to himself, as he dressed in nondescript grey fatigue pants and plain black t-shirt, pausing momentarily to gaze at the glossy black carapace of the bionic that replaced his left arm. He slipped on a leather shoulder rig, the holstered scipio pattern naval pistol resting under his left arm, with two spare clips under his right, a combat knife was sheath horizontally across the back of his waist. The chances of having to need weapons aboard ship were negligible but he was taught to always be prepared. Almost as an afterthought before leaving , he grabbed the long tanned leather coat on his way out the door.

++ meeting room ++
Having arrived only a few moments after Confessor Slovan, Aleksandr greeted Interrogator Machairi, Tomas, and the priest with a polite nod and smile, before finding his seat at the table. He tried his best to hide an amused smile when Slovan spoke to the Interrogator about her absence from the chapel, and did his best to remember the last time he said his devotions to the emperor, but not being able to recall he shrugged to himself. A few words and nods of greeting were passed as the rest of the team filed into the meeting room.

"Try to be nice to them." she told her team as she sat back in her chair. "They might have trained under Schafer but I don't think they've been with him long enough to turn into his yes-men."

Aleksandr had never met Interrogator Schafer, but from what he has been told the man was impatient and a bit of a rude arsehole. With arms crossed over his chest he leaned back in the chair, and waited for the members of Schafers team to come in.

[Atrum Daemon]

--A few hours before the meeting--

Malpais sat in meditative silence, the lights in his quarters turned low. His masters at the temple had infused in him in meditative routines, especially early in his day. The point of the exercises were to help him have a better handle on his rather volatile temper. But at the same time, that temper had proven to help push his pyromancy to more effective heights. Being in control of his temper turned him into a better warrior and made interacting with teammates easier.

His dark green eyes opened at the end of his mental exercises and he pushed himself up, stretching his lithe body. He dressed in his dark garb, minus the matte black flak armor, and belted his force sword about his waist. The weapon had been expertly crafted for him, the hilt molded for his hand, and while he did not expect to have need of the weapon, he found its presence a familiar comfort. A reminder of the only place in his life he had ever truly called home.

--The Meeting--

Malpais arrived a few minutes after his fellow psychic swordsman. He greeted the Interrogator with a respectful bow before taking his place at the table. He had left the hood of his garb down and his normal mask off. Sanctioning scars stood out on his shaved scalp and down the back of his neck while his face was dominated by a tattoo of the Imperial aquilla. He listened to the exchanges, the confessors words prompting him to make a mental note to attend his daily prayers in the chapel.

"Try to be nice to them." she told her team as she sat back in her chair. "They might have trained under Schafer but I don't think they've been with him long enough to turn into his yes-men."

Malpais had never met Schafer, but had heard as much about him as anyone else on staff. He sat quietly at his place at the table, awaiting the arrival of the members of Schafer's staff along with the rest of the room.

[kardar233]

Lia wandered into the spartan conference room as early as she felt comfortable arriving, as she really did not want to cause a repeat of her previous late arrival. She had remembered to bring her hellpistol with her to the meeting, and it rested in a shoulder holster on her right side which she had attached over her vest. Being slightly too long for her, the hems of her trousers brushed against the floor as she walked into the room barefoot.

At the head of the long table sat the woman that Lia remembered being reassigned to, who had a name that most of the other people seemed to have trouble saying. On her last mission, she remembered hearing the grumpy Interrogator saying some quite unkind things about her but he was grumpy about everybody so she thought that wouldn't be a problem. Still, meeting your new boss was supposed to be worrying, so she waved tentatively towards the Interrogator as she made her way towards a seat about halfway down the length of the table.

Her gaze tracked over the other members of her new team and she repressed a slight shiver as she noted that not one, but two of them had the Eyes.

A masked man addressed the room and she started slightly, but then she broke into a smile as she made a short return bow. "Motasharefon bema'refatek!*" she responded in a similar though slightly rusty dialect.

Suddenly becoming re-aware of the other people in the room, she ducked her head and took her seat. "Ummm.... hi. I'm Lia." she said in a small voice, to no one in particular.


*Pleased to meet you.

[Jarms48]

The Hive-world of Dux, a world plunged in eternal darkness. A world structured on the roots of mineral and manufacturing sectors, a world which its resources were stretched to the limit, and had fallen into chaos. Where numerous political factions attempted to rise to power, Imperial peacekeeping forces held the populace in check, maintaining a symbolism of order. But where there is chaos, there will always be those to seek fiscal gain and an escalated position.

Even the lower stores and warehouses held a certain awe to them, carrying the guise and looks of Imperial infrastructure. One could feel the oppression from the very stone-works, the obscene, absolute scale made ordinary men feel dwarfed and helpless. Grey upon grey, black upon black, with golden skulls and eagles on every face, always staring, always watching; and often-or-not, they were. The lower stores were plagued with gangs, of hiding spots and holdouts. Each of them backing a certain power, each of them profiting from the chaos above them.

The gantries hovered over crates of mineral hoppers, and catwalks ran along the upper floors, snaking and following the ground levels, or made their way to numerous alcoves housing the crane controls. High above them were the rafters, girders supported the weight of the roof, and above that, continued the rest of the hive proper. All connected and arrange in a fashion that could have mirrored an arachnids web.

A lone figure made way across the heavy gauge plasteel, footsteps feathered despite the equipment he wore. Below him, he could hear the conversations of patrolling hooligans. His task was to neutralize political threats, and install new gang leaders which maintained pro-imperial values. These new leaders selected by a committee of Arbiters, mediated by Imperial governance, and approved by an Arbiter Judge.

A task Hybrida wasn't unaccustomed to. He hovered over a pair of gangers, both of them armed with military grade auto-rifles. He reached into his webbing, retrieved a length of high-tension repel line, and looped it around the girder below him. He let out a heavy breath, lowered himself over the side of the support rafter and made his way down.

He remained quiet, the sound of the repel line drowned out by the numerous conversations shared below. Hybrida made his way in between the two gang members, unfastened himself from the line and unsheathed his blade from the scabbard on his shoulder. He lunged forward, wrapping his hand around the first gangers face, and held his mouth shut. The blade tasted the mans flesh, licked at his neck, and spilled his blood across the catwalk.

The other turned, curiously, his friend suddenly quiet. His eyes went wide, a fist landed hard into his neck, and a knee swiftly followed into his chest. The man let out a ragged exhale, gasped for air, and felt his hands go limp, his gun falling away from him. Hybrida hushed him, wrapped a hand around his chin, rose his head back, and let his blade slide home. It was brutal but efficient, time was of the essence, patrols were numerous, and radio contact at constant intervals.

He kept moving, sprinted across the catwalk, his eyes shifted to his corners and over the sides down to the lower levels as he moved with earnest. He reached into his webbing, pulled out another length of repel cord, and clasped it to the catwalks guide-rails. Hybrida dove over the side, grasped the rope, and slowed himself with a squeeze of his hands.

His feet felt rockcrete, and he unclasped the line once again. His hands fell to his holsters, and drew out his matched pair of side arms. A light flickered in his against his visor, before trailing down to centre mass, another soon followed, then another, and another again. Beads of crimson hovered across his form, dulled but visible thanks to his helmet optics. He counted a dozen.

The facility lights flashed on, the darkness cascaded into illumination in a mere instant.

"Well. This is hardly fair." Hybrida nodded, and said with a click of the tongue. Even with everything against him, he still managed to sound almost, bored.

"I mean, a dozen gangers against a lone regulator. The odds are against you. I mean, well, fucking ay, I took on a rowdy lot of ya' three times your size before breakfast. This'll be easy-" He was cutoff as a lone auto-round caught one of the pockets of his webbing, sending a shower of jelly beans across the floor.

"Oh, you don't know what you've just provoked my friend. Right... You have the right to be ventilated. I have the right to burn your home and destroy every vestige of your existence. Do you understand your rights as I have read them to you?" He declared as he ejected the magazines from his matched auto-pistols.

Hybrida brought himself to one knee, began to move his hands behind his head. A thumb surreptitiously caught the ring of a smoke grenade hanging on his left shoulder. Before it erupted and consumed the area in a dense cloud of white-grey smoke. He dove to the floor, auto-rounds discharged and flew above him. Hybrida reached for his magazines, slid them back home, and pulled the sliders. His optics had shifted into the infrared, both of his hands snapped to potential targets and he squeezed the trigger.

Two rounds fired, and two men dropped a second later. Again, his sights fell to another two gangers, where they fell in a ringing of lead and the smell of powder.

Then he awoke.


* * * * *

"I got a reply from my sisters, did I ever tell you that?" Remus stated, matter-o-factually.

He walked down the halls of the True Bane with one of his fellow company-men from Task Force Carbon, they'd just finished their latest bout of PT and were headed back to their barracks. The troops of the TFC weren't privileged with individual dorms, they worked as a team, slept as a team, ate and showered as a team. They were schooled in a certain professionalism, but no amount of physical or parade drills could stop them from being themselves. They joked, laughed, played games, reminisced, and some of the more daring, forged relationships.

People were people, and not even the great Inquisition could change that. No amount of oppression, no amount of fear could hold back what was inside, humanity. Emotion was something Remus often held back, suppressed and attempted to ignore. He tried to distance himself from those he worked with, to avoid the feelings of loss, the rage, the need for revenge. This was the Imperium, loss was to be expected. But, that would be denying who he was, and his peers were often right, he was a family man.

"No, you haven't. I assume you will though, if I like it or not." Tavus joked. He leaned over, and gave Remus a small nudge.

“Don't be a smart arse, we're professionals, I'm just trying to converse with you.” Remus returned.

“Always the cynical one, Remus. I'm just playing with you, man, that's all. Tell me.” Tavus insisted.

"Roxanna's tour on Gravio II has come to an end, the outbreak that had plagued the planet is now at an end. The populace has taken a hit, but, forever onwards, as the Imperator puts it. She's been redeployed, sent back to her sanctuary, she'll be safer there. I'm thankful for that at least." Remus said, with the hint of a smile.

"Lady Chrysanta, it's business as usual for my beloved eldest. Her Inquisitorial runs do not allow her much freedom, her duty is one ongoing. But, she is well. She has another staff now, a ragtag bunch, as you would expect. I doubt I won't be seeing her for a time, she no longer needs me." He continued, an uncertainty in his voice.

"You're getting soft old man. I may need to drag your ass down to the training room floor, clearly you need some kind of tough love. Wouldn't want the Interrogators finding out your a softy." Tavus accused, as he gave Remus a playful jab on the shoulder.

"My martial prowess is lacking, I'll give you that, but, I have years on you, and they don't teach you everything in the Progenium." He returned.


* * * * *

"Try to be nice to them." she told her team as she sat back in her chair. "They might have trained under Schafer but I don't think they've been with him long enough to turn into his yes-men."

"Hey. I take offense to that. I'll have you know, I'm a sparking semblance of Imperial citizenry." Hybrida spoke up, a feigned disgust in his voice.

[dakkagor]

+++ Tomas Prinzel, Several Hours Ago +++
Tomas flopped onto a bench, sweating profusely. His bastard sword dangled from his right hand and his shield was dropped unceremoniously on the floor. He looked up at the practice cage, and smiled. At least the servitor was in worse condition, hacked apart by his sword blows. He groaned as he reached down to his kit bag an grabbed a water bottle, before drenching his face and swallowing gulps of it.

He felt like he was slowing down in his old age. He didn't like that. He forced himself back up and started to do his cool down exercises. This particular training area was a bit out of the way, and relatively unknown, with older equipment. Only himself, Khadath and a few of the older officers from Task Force Carbon still used the place. It had become informally known as the 'old mans club' because everyone who used it these days seemed to have one too many grey hairs, and the occasional trick knee or bum joint.

Which was why he was surprised when a short, athletic woman with blonde hair strode in as if she owned the place. She slung her kit bag in the corner without a glance in his direction, and walked over to the weapon rack. He watched, suddenly wary, as the woman took a single sabre and a short dagger with guard from the wall and walked over to the nearest practice cage.

"You don't want that one." He shouted as she reached to activate the controls. She turned, and his wariness multiplied to unease as she fixed him the kind of gaze that angered country wives saved for their drunk husbands and Queens saved for recalcitrant subjects. "The servitor doesn't listen to the emergency shut down commands. The damn cogboys should have been in weeks ago to fix it."

"Thanks." she responded, smiling. The uneasy feeling faded somewhat. "Maybe you'd like to spar instead?"

Tomas couldn't help but smile at that. "Very well, though I warn you, I'm, not as spry as I used to be."
"And I prefer shooting and punching things to using a sword. I promise I'll go easy on you anyway."
Tomas chuckled, and headed over to the practice ring, recovering his bastard sword and shield. He watched as she put on a padded duelling jacket and kicked of her boots. She had the kind of tightness, the raw physicality, that normally sent men like him head over heels in desire. But there was something about her that put him constantly on edge. Like he expected her to turn and have the face of a daemon.

They squared off in the arena set aside for duels. Tomas rolled his shoulders and put his shield up.

"First to three?"

She nodded fiercely. "Age before beauty, old man. En Garde."

Tomas snarled at that, roaring a challenge as he charged down the piste. She stepped back and raised her weapons in defensive stance, but Tomas easily bashed the sword and dagger aside before laying his shoulder into her. The woman crashed to the floor, as much surprised as winded.

"Age and Cunning over Youth and Skill." He responded. He sheathed his sword and offered his hand.

"I see that." She took the hand, and Tomas helped haul her to her feet. "First to three, right?" She grinned wolfishly. "Lets see what else you got."

+++Tomas Prinzel, The conference Room+++

“May the Emperor blessings go with you both, so that He may guide you in today’s endeavors.”

"And to you, Solvan." He smiled. He liked the old priest, he was one of the only members of Machairis retinue he really trusted. The old priest reminded him of home, somehow. Maybe it was his resemblance to the priests back on Casteria, or maybe all old priests looked kind of the same. "Its been a while since we saw you down in the practice cages, you old coot. Hope you're not letting old age catch up with you."

"Try to be nice to them." she told her team as she sat back in her chair. "They might have trained under Schafer but I don't think they've been with him long enough to turn into his yes-men."

“For to judge in your eyes and not the Emperor’s is a most terrible sin. This I tell you; those who let their brothers be scorned by the weakness of men shall be punished by the law of the Almighty Emperor.”

Tomas shrugged at that. It wasn't his place to judge. Just his job to keep people safe.

"Imperator Akbar!"

Tomas shot a look at Abdur as he introduced himself. "Keep your sand language to yourself Abdur, on this team we speak Gothic and with good reason."

He resisted the urge to sigh and pinch his nose. Abdur was probably a good soldier, but he still hadn't been broken of his worst practices from his homeworld, and that included his obnoxious dialect of Gothic.

He waited quietly as Schafer's team filed in in dribs and drabs. First Lia, the scary little witch girl who put people through bulkheads. That would mean they had three psychics on the team.

Then the blonde woman from the training deck stepped through the door, wearing an armoured bodyglove, her blonde hair tied back in a pony tail.

"Agent Sonder reporting as requested, Interrogator Machairi." She nodded to the room and immediately took a seat. For just a second, their eyes met across the room and she smiled that same wolfish grin.

"By the Kings Balls." He muttered in Casterian, under his breath. "This is going to be interesting."

+++Kally Sonder, the conference room+++

"Agent Sonder reporting as requested, Interrogator Machairi."

Kally looked over the room once as she sat down, offering Lia a rare smile. She hadn't had much chance to work with the pint-sized terror on Venatora, but Kelly had been kind enough to share some stories over a drink. She didn't really know anyone else, except for the swordsman. She hadn't guessed he was one of Machairi's minions. That was. . .kind of interesting. Did she detect a sudden flush of colour on his cheeks? She placed her hands on the conference table and waited for the others, who had been trailing just behind. She also suppressed a chuckle.

[Atrum Daemon]

--Sanctum Mechanicum--

Vizkop had holed himself up in his provided quarters shortly after receiving an overhaul to his external cybernetics. The overhaul was a maintenance concern as some of the internal components of his arms and legs had started to degrade from prolonged use. Replacements was a simple, if not mildly prolonged, process that Vizkop had grown used to in his service to the Omnissiah. He had sought solitude quickly after the procedure to be among his own thoughts and devices.

The name “Dragonslayer” had come up a few times in reference to him since the incident. He cared little for nicknames, especially one so ostentatious. He escaped from such things by concerning himself with his teammates during the incident on Venatora. For a time, he observed a select number of them, watching closely for any questionably deviant behavior. He found nothing out of the ordinary and soon grew content to cease his observations.

On the day that he and the rest of that team were to report to Interrogator Machairi, Vizkop's eyes drifted over the code-locked weapon cabinet in his quarters. The contents were varied, tools for many situations should he need to arm himself accordingly. He knew two of the weapons within very well as they had once belonged to a fallen Archmagos named Mikera, a woman who had come to believe that it was the destiny of all “true children of the Omnissiah” to rule the galaxy. Taking her on had been his first solo assignment in service to his faceless masters and the fight atop her massive land crawler had nearly cost him his life. But, he had triumphed and after recovery teams went through the remains her twinned blades had been recovered. Elegant power weapons, they had been reconsecrated and gifted to him as a reward for his work. They had yet to see use in his hands.

--The Meeting Room--

“Techpriest Vizkop reporting as requested.”

Vizkop trailed in behind Sondar, eyes flitting from person to person as he walked around the table to a vacant place. He had chosen not to wear his helmet for the meeting, thinking it best to show his face rather than seem like he was hiding. Among those in the room, he only really knew Kally and Lia and even then he did not know those two that well beyond working with them on Venatora.

[Thrannix]

"Its been a while since we saw you down in the practice cages, you old coot. Hope you're not letting old age catch up with you."

“Ah, yes. You are quite right Tomas, I have been too lenient on physical exercise as of late. The Emperor needs servants fit in body and soul after all. Perhaps after the meeting you may find the time to give me a thorough beating?” He answered cheerfully. Solvan was very fond of Agent Prinzel, he was not only a devote believer, but also shared many of the priest's interests and was an excellent training coach. “Which reminds me; I’m expecting a delivery from one of my contacts that deals in rare books. He assures me he has found a true jewel this time. I’m still half through The Life and Legacy of Solar Macharius, perhaps you would like a first look at this new acquisition when it arrives?” He added with a knowing look to the bodyguard.

Lia wandered into the spartan conference room as early as she felt comfortable arriving, as she really did not want to cause a repeat of her previous late arrival.

Solvan regarded the young girl entering the room with a pang in his heart. “How old is she?” He thought. “Surely she isn’t an adult yet.” He repressed a sigh as he reminded himself that such was the way of the Inquisition, no one was too young or too old to be called to carry out the Emperor’s work. Yet he also was certain that such calls only became necessary due to the weakness of other men which had no qualms in letting kids fight while they enjoy a life free of worries. After all Solvan used to be one of them. It didn’t matter to him that she was able of great feats of psychic prowess, she was still a child. He kept a warm smile on his lips, nothing of his thoughts got to his face since hiding his emotions was something that he learned early in his formation as a priest.

The word witch fluttered in his mind for a moment. Decades of calling psykers witches and other derogatory names had stuck with him. But in the service to lady Alia he had come to accept that sometimes they could be committed servants of the Emperor worthy of trust and respect, as Aleksandr and Malpais had shown in every occasion. He blinked and muttered a prayer of forgiveness for his unworthy thoughts.

"Motasharefon bema'refatek!*" she responded in a similar though slightly rusty dialect.
Suddenly becoming re-aware of the other people in the room, she ducked her head and took her seat."Ummm.... hi. I'm Lia." she said in a small voice, to no one in particular.

The girl spoke Tallarn, despite clearly not having the appearance of being born there. Solvan eyed Salah to see his reaction, but he couldn’t tell behind his mask. The girl looked shy. Solvan didn’t blame her; after all she was alone in a room full of strangers.

He let the reprimand of Tomas to Salah go unhindered. They needed to work their differences by themselves. A priest cannot try to fix every division within the team.

"Agent Sonder reporting as requested, Interrogator Machairi."

Solvan had enough years of tending to the troubles of the soul to sense that something was afoot between the stunning blonde (he was a young man once) and Tomas. He made a mental note to probe this suspicion in a more intimate setting with agent Prinzel. Perhaps it was nothing and he was just getting old as everyone kept saying, but he was usually right.

“Techpriest Vizkop reporting as requested.”

An almost imperceptible frown formed on Solvan’s forehead as he saw the tech-priest walk in. He wasn’t too fond of the cult to the machine god. It was his belief that it deviated too far and operated in a way far more independent than most of the Ecclesiarchy would like. But he couldn’t deny that when needed they were valuable assets in the fight against the enemies of mankind. A necessary evil as many would put it.

“Welcome Lia, agent Sonder and Tech-Priest Vizkop. I am father Solvan.” He said in a friendly tone while opening his palms to the ceiling in a gesture that signified to seek the Emperor’s Will. “Here with me are agent Prinzel, agent Hybrida, agent Salah, which has already introduced himself, and swordsmen Malzel and Esw Sadyr.” He went through his teammates with slight movements of his head or hands, and last he gestured towards the Interrogator as he stood up to portray the importance that was needed when introducing your superior in Ecclesiarchy protocol, the bishop's ring shining with the motion. “And may I present to you, Interrogator Alia Machairi whom we all serve in the name of the God-Emperor.” He ended with another slight bow before being seated once more. He decided not to go into more details, further explanations would be shared in due time.

[MrAGrimm]

++ During the meeting ++

“Which reminds me; I’m expecting a delivery from one of my contacts that deals in rare books. He assures me he has found a true jewel this time. I’m still half through The Life and Legacy of Solar Macharius, perhaps you would like a first look at this new acquisition when it arrives?” He added with a knowing look to the bodyguard.

Seated at the meeting table, Aleksandr waited for the members of Shafers team to arrive at the conference room, Solvans comment about acquiring a new rare book piqued his interest. In the few years since joining the team, he would from time to time borrow a book or two from the confessor and the bodyguard, instead of rereading his rather meagre selection of books.

The presence of a young but powerful mind, accompanied by the soft padding of bare feet, drew his attention to the door as Lia wandered into the room. He would have been shocked at the age of the girl and her presence on the ship, if he hadn’t known she was a psyker, he had heard of Alpha-plus level psychics half her age. What intrigued him about the girl was what he had been told of her powers, from what he gathered she seemed to be a powerful biomancer. He noticed the slight shudder run through her when she looked towards Malpais and himself. His pale grey eyes seemed to look of in the distance, unfocussed as he let his mind drift over the few pieces of information on biomancy.

"Agent Sonder reporting as requested, Interrogator Machairi."

Aleksandr’s eyes snapped back into focus as the blond woman entered the room, it wasn’t her apparent beauty, but the rising unease and simmering anger he immediately felt towards her. In his short time serving in the Inquisition he had only encountered a mere handful of pariah, his reaction to them was always the same towards them. Closing his eyes for a moment, he drew in a long slow breath, focussing his mind and will, pushing the urges to berate and push the woman from the room to the back of his consciousness .

For a brief moment he caught a passing glance between Tomas, and the pariah woman Sonders, lifting his brows in a silently asked question when he looked towards the Interrogators bodyguard.

“Techpriest Vizkop reporting as requested.”

During his slight reverie Aleksandr had nearly missed the techpriest entering the conference room, though to his young eyes the man didn’t look like many techpriest he had encountered. He wondered at that, though he supposed that no two techpriests were alike, in methods or mannerisms, just like no two inquisitors were alike. Flexing the hand of his bionic arm, thoughts of how most react to the appearance of adept of the machine god.

Schafers team seemed to be as odd a mix match as his own, when speaking and introducing the members of Machairi’s team, he nodded his head in greeting when the confessor spoke his name.

[Jarms48]

Remus made his way to the conference room, his face was one of grim beholding, his expectations were never high upon meeting opposing staff. Most squads in Carbon held small competitions amongst themselves, confirmed kills, PT times, room inspections, gambling, or whatever else they could think of. Most prizes were simple things, booze, books, trinkets, porn, anything a trooper could get when on shore leave. He assumed most Interrogators and their staff did the same, a little less subtle of course, for favour or promotion. They were all potential Inquisitors in the making, and spots were in a premium, one might develop a friendly rivalry to those in equal position.

"I'm here for the summons." Remus stated as he passed through the door threshold. He took position to the doors side, his eyes studying those he was unfamiliar with.

On the other side of the room stood a man in ex-Guard drab, another Vincent, another Gun-ho who thought they could stand up to the real men. A survivor no doubt, with an unprecedented knack for killing, though there was only so far brute force could take you. Perhaps that's why he was allocated to bodyguard duties, oh, they would get on swimmingly.

He was familiar with the woman on the end of the table, Interrogator Machairi, the origin of his summon. She was perhaps, more than he had expected, a fact that made her seem more approachable than Interrogator Schafer. His assumptions could be dangerous, and under what he could consider as friendly, could have been a cruel ploy, a lure. For what, well, he couldn't point his finger on that. His mind only dawned on one thing, she was a member of the Inquisition, she wasn't expected to be ones friend.

To her left slumped a figure in an odd variant of carapace, the man looked at him, and gave him a
cursory wave. It took a Remus a moment to recognize the mans kit, a heavily modified version of otherwise traditional Arbiter kit. He knew the type, reckless, a maverick, perhaps good at his job; the man wouldn't be here otherwise.

Across from him was another man, this one of a more sun-kissed skin. Next to him, a pair of bolt-magnets, sitting across from one another. Remus closed his eyes, he could still remember Shere, no one deserved to go like that. Not in a bloodied mess, that was not mercy, it was murder. Then there was the priest, the men of the cloth were always guilty in Remus' eyes. You can predict ordinary men, preachers, they do as their lord commands.

[Ixajin]

Sebastian knew he was running late, late to the point he might be the last to enter the briefing. This was never a good thing, but sometimes it simply was. A lesson he had learned many times over in his research. No matter, he decided that he would not use the soreness in his left arm as an excuse, though he would not pretend it was getting any better. Whatever virus had gotten in to his system this time, it was being very elusive and he still was unable to track it down to its source. Not the first time, and most likely not the last.

As he figured, he was the last, well most likely the last to enter the room. Machairi was seated at the head of the table as rightly she should, the rest of her usual team surrounding her. The others he did not recognize, though with so many servants aboard ship this did not surprise him any. Glancing around it occurred to him that research was not likely to be high on the priority list for this mission; he just hoped there would be no need to zombify any of these agents before returning to the Bane.

With a curt nod to Machairi and the others Sebastian grabbed the nearest seat and started to page through his most recent research notes as he waited for Machairi to begin the briefing.

[Azazeal849]

<OOC - Quotes have been truncated to keep the post length manageable.>

"And to you, Solvan." Tomas smiled. "It's been a while since I saw you down in the practice cages, you old coot. Hope you're not letting old age catch up with you."

"Ah yes. You are quite right Tomas." Solvan answered cheerfully.

He turned back to Machairi. "But when you have the chance, my old soul would greatly rejoice in seeing you look after your spiritual wellbeing."

Down the table, Alexandr tried his best to hide an amused smile.

Interrogator Machairi let the mirth at her expense slide, and merely nodded to father Solvan. "After the meeting, father. You have my word."

Father Solvan Belannor, trusted by her as by the rest of her team, was one of the few people she would accept such criticism from. Even aspiring inquisitors needed guidance, up to a point. Father Solvan was someone the whole group could look up to, and indeed it had been father Solvan that Machairi had been thinking of when she had been putting words to paper in her cabin. What if the man you must sacrifice is a friend, a relative, a lover? That is why most men will never be inquisitors. Although father Solvan lacked other attributes that were necessary for an inquisitor, he had proved that ruthless objectivity was not one of them.

His own sister... Machairi mused, as her eyes flickered to the chronometer and then to the door.

"Try to be nice to them." she told her team as she sat back in her chair. "They might have trained under Schafer, but I don't think they've been with him long enough to turn into his yes-men."

"For to judge in your eyes and not the Emperor's is a most terrible sin." Solvan quoted in a whisper.

"Hey." Hybrida spoke up, a feigned disgust in his voice. "I take offense to that. I'll have you know that I'm a sparking semblance of Imperial citizenry."

"Semblance is the word, Glabrio." Machairi said, smiling tolerantly. Hybrida might be more loud-mouthed than the others, but he was by no means all talk.

Abdur Salah bowed slightly as Lia walked into the room, barefoot. "Asalyamu alayakum, comrade." He waited a moment, and from the stares that came at him, added, "In the tongue of my people, it means 'peace be upon you'. It is a greeting."

Lia started slightly, but then she broke into a smile as she made a short return bow. "Motasharefon bema'refatek!"

Suddenly re-aware of the other people in the room, she ducked her head and took her seat. "Ummm...hi. I'm Lia."

"You know Tallarn." Machairi observed, cocking her head slightly. "Have you been hanging around with Kadath?"

Kadath was major Kadath Al-Omar, the Tallarn-born commander of Task Force Carbon, which was lord Sidonis' personal stormtrooper company. Technically, the grizzled major was filling a captain's role, but it would have been impolitic to have formally demoted him. The implied rebuke remained, however, and with some appreciation for how her lord inquisitor's mind worked, Machairi could chalk it up to the fact that until quite recently Kadath had worked for inquisitor Massani - a former protege of Sidonis who had gone off the rails in a rather spectacular manner.

Tomas shot a look at Abdur. "Keep your sand language to yourself, Abdur. On this team we speak Gothic and with good reason."

Machairi, like father Solvan, didn't comment. Neither priest nor interrogator could fix every division in the team, and what mattered more was that she could trust both men to work together and do their duty when it mattered. There were a few moments of silence as Schafer's team filed in.

"Agent Sonder reporting as requested, interrogator Machairi." Kally nodded to the room and immediately took a seat. For a moment, her eyes met Tomas' across the room.

"By the King's Balls." Tomas muttered in Casterian, under his breath. "This is going to be interesting."

"On this team we speak Gothic." Machairi whispered in the same language, smiling as she teased him with his own previous rebuke.

"Tech-priest Vizkop reporting as requested." said an armoured machine cultist as he trailed in behind Sonder.

"Adept Vizkop." Machairi returned, favouring the secutor with a slight smile. "I hear they're calling you the Dragonslayer now after what happened on Venatora."

Vizkop was followed by a silver-haired stormtrooper, who sat down next to Lia; a battered, thickset Guardsman; a man and woman with similar faces; and last of all a Sister of the hospitaller in a modest, dove-grey dress, who looked slightly surprised to see the first four. The fleur-de-lys tattooed on the Sister's cheek was surrounded by a scatter of small but noticeable scars.

“Interrogator Machairi,” Sapphira addressed the regal woman at the head of the table with a respectful nod. “Lord Sidonis has assigned me to your team, if you would have me.”

"I would, Sister Sapphira." Machairi answered, linking her thumbs across her chest and signing the aquila towards the grey-clad sister before letting her hands fall to rest on the table.

"Remus." Vincent grunted, acknowledging and then immediately dismissing Machairi's people as he sat down next to the Carbon stormtrooper. "How's that bastard Eugene getting on with you and your flyboys?" Eugene Roebuck was another of the old Solomon group, an irreverant old Catachan who had been assigned to Task Force Carbon after Sidonis recruited them all.

"Welcome agents." father Solvan said in a friendly tone. "I am father Solvan Belannor. Here with me are agent Prinzel, agent Hybrida, agent Salah..."

"My speciality is infiltration and demoliton." Abdur said. "I am an expert with explosives and hope I can prove to be a useful asset. Imperator Akbar!"

"Swordsmen Malzel and Esw Sadyr." father Solvan finished. "And may I present to you, interrogator Alia Machairi whom we all serve in the name of the God-Emperor."

On cue interrogator Machairi stood, impressive in a long dress of blue velvet threaded with gold. She nodded to the newcomers who she hadn't greeted yet in turn.

"Agent Nyl. Trooper Remus. Verispex Black."

One of the interrogator's thin eyebrows flickered as she worked her way round the table to the tall, wiry man who was glancing around her team with an enforcer's eye for detail. Profiling. she thought quietly. I know that look. She pictured herself at the other end of the table, knowing the first impressions her team usually made, and wondering how far beyond them the tall man would get.

"Agent Black." she identified the man with a smile. "I hear you just passed urban combat training."

"Yes ma'am." the agent replied, his stance slightly rigid as he faced her. "My last couple of missions seem to be telling me that flak and a laspistol won't always cut it. Kally went one step further and took the TFC jump assault course."

"Congratulations to you both." Machairi nodded, and produced a sheaf of papers from a drawer built into the underside of the conference table. There was a copy for everyone around the table - sixteen in total. It was a larger team than Machairi would normally take on her operations, but every one of the Venatora investigators could potentially help her find Schafer, and more importantly Machairi was wary of splitting the established team up. Lord Sidonis tended to let McKenzie mix and match his task forces based purely on their skill sets, which said a lot about his mentality of seeing his agents as tools rather than people. Machairi preferred a more ergonomic approach, knowing that teams who were allowed to work together for longer gained the benefits of cohesion and knowing each others' strengths. Then again, Sidonis' retinue was much larger than hers, and assessing his agents individually was thus far less practical. Machairi wondered how she would handle things when she one day attained the rank of inquisitor lord.

It was a pleasant thought, but a distracting one; and so she began.

"Thank you all for arriving so promptly." she told the assembled agents. "I understand that this is your off-shift, so I won't keep you long. I just want to make sure you all understand the basic situation - and give you all a chance to meet each other before we set off."

"Set off, ma'am?" repeated Kelly Black, the dark-haired verispex who sat next to her agent brother.

"All of you here are my chosen team for an expedition to the planet Hercynia." Machairi elaborated. "To assist your old supervisor, interrogator Schafer."

Machairi was normally a gifted actress, but she couldn't entirely hide the acid in her tone as she spoke her fellow interrogator's name. To cover it, she began to pass the papers she was holding around the table, gliding the briefing documents across the smooth wood. Each one was topped by a rendering of a nondescript grey planet, the seas and continents carefully inked in by one of the Bane's quill servitors. The statistics printed beneath listed the planet's tithe grade as Suspensus.

"This is Hercynia." Machairi said. "A frontier world in the binary system of the same name, recently rediscovered and earmarked for assimilation. As you might be aware, Schafer went there to assess the tithe situation. The planetary governor is claiming aptus non due to an ongoing war with non-aligned natives. However, for that to apply he would have to be in a full-scale war, and this full-scale war has apparently lasted for the last ten years. Either he's spectacularly incompetent or he's ripping off the Emperor, and the inquisition doesn't tolerate either."

"This sounds more like a hereticus job." frowned the scarred, one-eyed agent Nyl. "Shouldn't we be sending one of their inquisitors?"

"Suffolk, Reiker and Lucullis are all busy." Machairi answered. She glanced at Nyl sharply before pointing to the second page of her notes. "Also, have a look at this."

There was a rustle as the assembled agents turned their papers. The second page of the brief showed docking logs for the planet's orbital trade hub, and in amongst the shipping records the name "Roose Harlock" was underlined in a heavy scrawl.

"Harlock?" agent Black spoke up. "The xenotech dealer we were staking out on Venatora?"

"Before those replicants turned up." his sister added, flicking her eyebrows.

Machairi nodded. "Old Man Schafer's little pet project. I believe he was thinking that rogue trader Harlock must operate on Hercynia, possibly selling xeno weapons. If we can prove it, we've got him."

The interrogator was careful to conceal a slight smile. If Schafer was still alive, seeing her be the one to close his case for him would no doubt put her hard-nosed rival into fits of anger.

"Schafer hasn't reported in for some time." she went on, "And lord Sidonis thinks he might have run into trouble. So our mission is two fold: find Schafer, and if necessary help him to bring Harlock and the planetary governor to account."

She turned the page again, and swept her dark eyes over the assembled agents.

"That's the short version; now here's what we need to consider about the planet itself. Like I said, the Imperial designation is Hercynia, but the natives still call it Jeminosu, which is apparently some low gothic reference to the system's two suns."

She tapped a star chart dominating the third page, on which the binary suns were labelled as Kressida and Kudara. Hercynia itself was the second of eight planets, though none of the others had been settled or developed while Imperial control of the primary planet was still being established.

"From what I've been able to dig up," Machairi continued. "Imperial missionaries have converted or conquered all of the eastern primary continent, which they've named Illyrium. Planetary governor Pergantis operates out of there, and it also holds all of the orbital transit infrastructure. The rest of the planet isn't as developed though - so far they've only secured a small enclave on the western continent, which is simply called the Enclave. Most of the western continent is still owned by the regressed natives. The missionarius galaxia has two main religions catalogued among the western indigens - the Vilysian Solar in the north, and the Ramado Sept in the south. I don't pretend to know the finer points of difference between them, but apparently both believe in a sun god that the missionaries think can be adapted to the Imperial Creed."

"Which obviously isn't working if the governor's at war with them." Marc Black pointed out.

"Apparently not. As you can see, there are three loose nations or alliances on the western continent: Rytu axis in the north, Uru axis in the centre and Zakarn axis in the south. Now even though this information is a decade out of date, we know that these three axes aren't united against us, and they're at a tech level somewhat below Imperial standard. Nothing suggests that this war that the governor is claiming tithe exemption for should have dragged on for ten years...certainly not at full mobilisation."

Machairi flipped her briefing paper closed with a flick of her long fingers.

"We're going to get to the bottom of this. McKenzie has requisitioned us a trader ship, which should get us to Hercynia in three weeks. The closest thing to a trade language on Hercynia is something called Obrantu - literally, 'the tongue'. We'll be posing as rogue traders from offworld so you won't have to blend in flawlessly, but I expect you to all be fluent by the time we arrive." Machairi paused and smiled at Lia, who had already demonstrated a knowledge of Tallarn. "I assume you won't have too much trouble."

Machairi walked round to the back of her chair, and rested her hands on the high back.

"Does everyone understand? Remember, there aren't any stupid questions - only dead people who were too stupid to ask them."

[Cfavano]

Abdur nodded at Lia's response, and winced at the rebuke he got. It was a very small movement, only someone who had been looking directly at him and trained to detect facial changed could have see nit, such was his restraint. He looked deeply over the packet given to him, and then looked at Machiari. "I request detailed maps of all areas we are to be working in, as well as detailed dossiers on all major persons that we may encounter in said area, including potential targets. As the first rule of combat says: Know thine enemy. I would also like to know what was Schafer's last message and known location on the planet. That may clue us in onto what may have happened to him."

[Thrannix]

Although father Solvan lacked other attributes that were necessary for an inquisitor, he had proved that ruthless objectivity was not one of them.

++15 years ago++

"She didn't know." He whimpered alone in the darkness of his room. "Oh dear God-Emperor! She couldn't have known... it was a mistake... she was deceived." While he tried to convince the walls of his sister's innocence unconsciously his right hand began caressing the bishop's ring in his left. He looked fearfully at the purple amethyst and withdrew his hand as if the ring was on fire. "Please Emperor don't let it come to that." He begged.

The clock on the wall told him it was time. Solvan tried to stop his hands from shaking as he went over his plan step by step. It was desperate, but it could work, it had to work and consequences be damned. Since the local prisons were at double maximum capacity the Inquisitor had made the Ecclesiarchy dungeons into an improvised prison for all involved in the heretical artifacts trading fiasco. Therefore his sister was somewhere in the lower floors beneath him. He had one week left before the trial, the Inquisitor and his closest servants were away still tracking down the last handful of tainted artifacts that Allana had trafficked. If there would ever be a time when security was lacking it was now. Wearing his ceremonial robe he began the decent towards his sister's cell with his jaw clenched and cold determination in his eyes. "I'm coming Allie... I'm coming."

++Present Time++

"Does everyone understand? Remember, there aren't any stupid questions - only dead people who were too stupid to ask them."

Solvan blinked away some troublesome thought he couldn't quite get his finger on and focused on the mission. He listened with great interest to Abdur's questions before speaking. "If I may my Lady, I have a few questions." He said as he flipped through the pages on the dossier with delicate finger strokes. "First: since we are more than likely to depose the current Planetary Governor do we have any suitable candidates for his replacement in the local nobility or arm forces? Are we to find one once on the planet? Or is there a third option I'm not seeing?" In his political experience the worst scenario wasn't an incompetent leader, but a lack of one. Primarily because of the bloodshed that would ensue as every power-thirsty aspirant struggled for the throne. The Inquisition could always name Governor someone trustworthy from off planet, but that usually led to even more trouble and unrest with the locals.

He closed the report in front of him, intending to go through it once more in his private cell. "Second: on what activity does the economy of Hercynia rely on exactly? Some worlds in the Imperium dedicate exclusively to very rare products, difficult to produce. In these cases a few well placed acts of vandalism could very well cripple a world's capacity to pay its tithes. Ten years is still a disgrace though." A tired sigh left his lips as he thought on all the fools that had positions of power across the Imperium, so much wasted potential. "And last: how significant is the population that still refuses to accept the Emperor's word numerically and economically speaking?" Solvan didn't finish his thought, he asked this to know how detrimental for the Imperium as a whole would be to have the rebels cleansed to the last man. So far he was of the opinion that the resources spent trying to convert them far exceeded the cost of total anihilation. Ignorance could be tolerated, refusing The Truth once presented to you was a sin that demanded severe punishment.

[Azazeal849]

Abdur looked deeply over the packet given to him, and then looked at Machiari. "I request detailed maps of all areas we are to be working in, as well as detailed dossiers on all major persons that we may encounter in said area, including potential targets. As the first rule of combat says: Know thine enemy."

"I'll see what I can give you." Machairi said fairly, "But bear in mind that most of what we've got is a decade out of date. The only yearly data we get out of there is the tithe updates. I also think we may need to get planetside before we can comb the local networks for persons of interest."

Abdur dipped his head in the slightest of nods. "I would also like to know what was Schafer's last message and known location on the planet. That may clue us in onto what may have happened to him."

Machairi pulled a dataslate from under the table to add to the briefing papers, and pushed the glossy black screen with its green text across the table towards Abdur.

"He sent a message when he arrived via the starport choir in Illyrium, another two weeks later to say he hadn't located Harlock and was moving to the Enclave to get first-hand evidence of the war situation, and a final one from the Enclave choir saying that the fighting around Rakosu had increased. Rakosu is the capital of the Uru axis, about 200 kilometres west of the Enclave. That last astro was over a month ago; since then, nothing. We'll be using the Enclave as a starting point for looking for him - although unless he's in deep cover infiltrating the local PDF or something, I think it's more likely he's stranded somewhere in the Uru axis."

The interrogator folded her arms on the table.

"This probably goes without saying, but make sure you pack combat gear as well as your standard kit."

Solvan blinked away some troublesome thought he couldn't quite get his finger on and focused on the mission. He listened with great interest to Abdur's questions before speaking. "If I may my Lady, I have a few questions." He said as he flipped through the pages on the dossier with delicate finger strokes. "First: since we are more than likely to depose the current Planetary Governor do we have any suitable candidates for his replacement in the local nobility or armed forces? Are we to find one once on the planet? Or is there a third option I'm not seeing?" In his political experience the worst scenario wasn't an incompetent leader, but a lack of one. Primarily because of the bloodshed that would ensue as every power-thirsty aspirant struggled for the throne. The Inquisition could always name someone trustworthy from off planet, but that usually led to even more trouble and unrest with the locals.

"It's a fair point." Vincent Nyl grunted in agreement. "Leadership changes don't always go as well as on Venatora."

Xenos action during Schafer's last mission had led to the death of Venatora's planetary regent, and though the handover of power had gone about as smoothly as could be expected, co-ordinating the reconstruction had only been harder without the competent and well-liked Malachi Faroven. Picking up the pieces after the alien threat had been removed was not the ordo xenos' job, but they would have to have been fools to not at least acknowledge the wider strategic impacts.

"If it comes to that," Machairi said, "I'll be deferring to lord Sidonis' judgement before acting against the governor."

The interrogator's close team knew that she didn't always like admitting the limits of her own authority, but her tone was neutral.

He closed the report in front of him, intending to go through it once more in his private cell. "Second: on what activity does the economy of Hercynia rely on exactly? Some worlds in the Imperium dedicate exclusively to very rare products, difficult to produce. In these cases a few well placed acts of vandalism could very well cripple a world's capacity to pay its tithes. Ten years is still a disgrace though." A tired sigh left his lips as he thought on all the fools that had positions of power across the Imperium, so much wasted potential.

Machairi glanced at her notes. "Promethium...metals...heavy elements and rare earths. I'm assuming that's what prompted the mechanicus to sponsor the initial settlement."

"Maybe most of the resources are on the unsecured western continent?" Kelly Black offered.

"If that's the case," Machairi said, rubbing her thumb thoughtfully. "Then you would think expanding the Enclave would be a higher priority."

"What if," Marc Black put in, pressing his fingertips into the table for emphasis, "Exactly how far below Imperial standard are these indigens, tech wise? And what forces does governor Pergantis have available to him? A ten year war doesn't make sense for a full invasion against primitives, but on a half-developed world...?"

He glanced at Kally and Vincent as he spoke. Kally could tell that he was thinking about Vitani Craddock (http://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=40923&page=22&p=1901233&viewfull=1#post1901233). After seeing one victim of circumstance punished as a necessary demonstration of inquisition authority, he was cautious of letting the same thing happen again.

"How significant is the population that still refuses to accept the Emperor's word?" father Solvan asked, seemingly adding to the investigator's theory. "Numerically and economically speaking?" He didn't finish his thought - he asked this to know how detrimental for the Imperium as a whole would be to have the rebels cleansed to the last man. So far he was of the opinion that the resources spent trying to convert them far exceeded the cost of total anihilation. Ignorance could be tolerated, but refusing The Truth once presented to you was a sin that demanded severe punishment.

"That's the trouble with frontier worlds." Machairi said, giving her priest a knowing look - and Marc a more appraising one. "Like I said, most of our records are ten years out of date, and there's no census data for the unaligned continent at all. From the size of the world I might guess anywhere from ten million to as many as a billion. And our information on their tech level is just what it says on the brief - 'below Imperial standard'. Schafer's reports weren't particularly informative in adding to that data either."

[dakkagor]

+++Tomas+++

"On this team we speak Gothic." Machairi whispered in the same language, smiling as she teased him with his own previous rebuke.

Tomas winced slightly. “Apologies Ma’am” he whispered. “Shan't happen again.”

He eyed the group as they filed in. He had been listening to the scuttlebutt below decks, and they fit the bill. Marc was the one who caught his eye, however.

He looks sharp. Tomas assessed him as Marc assessed the room. Dangerously sharp. Might make a good interrogator himself, if he doesn't kark it first. He continued watching the room as Machairi rattled through the briefing, listening with half an ear. He had already perused the documents and got the basics. With three weeks of transit ahead, he would have plenty of time for reading.

+++Kally+++

Kally met Marcs look and nodded once.

She was just doing her job.

"Like I said, most of our records are ten years out of date, and there's no census data for the unaligned continent at all. From the size of the world I might guess anywhere from ten million to as many as a billion. And our information on their tech level is just what it says on the brief - 'below Imperial standard'. Schafer's reports weren't particularly informative in adding to that data either."

"So it could be anything from swords and crossbows all the way up to proper tanks and artillery." Kally put in. She grimaced at the thought of that. "We should pack some of the heavier gear if we have it, cookers and plasma guns make the most sense for traveling light and could 'impress' the natives, maybe a missile launcher with krak and flakk missiles if we can scrounge it up."

She shrugged her shoulders.

"I don't like the idea of being caught out against a heavy gunship or tank and having to improvise again." She smiled wrly at that particular memory, glancing over at Marc and Vince. "Me and Vince can handle most heavy weapons."

"As can I" offered the swordsman, who hadn't moved from behind Machairi. Had someone called him Tomas?

She closed the briefing document. In truth she had just looked at the pictures, she still wasn't strong at reading and she imagined that everyone else would be a bit annoyed if she started reading it aloud.

"No questions from me Interrogator, I think everyone else got the basics."

[Atrum Daemon]

--Malpais--

Malpais listened carefully, rolling the information around as it came forth. That so much was ten years out of date was troublesome, but nothing that could not be adapted to. He felt a bit more comfortable with two other psykers on the team, not envying the techpriest for being the only one of his ilk at the table. He kept his silence, not having any burning questions of the Interrogator.

--Vizkop--

“We may as well be walking in blindfolded with our hands tied behind our back,” Vizkop said, a little louder than he meant to, “for all the good this out of date information is.”

To say he was irritated was a mild assessment. He had been “irritated” for several days due to his inability to attain a full sleep cycle and that irritation had started to show through in some ways. However, the questions he would have asked ended up being voiced by Solvan and the answers were as informative as he hoped.

"Like I said, most of our records are ten years out of date, and there's no census data for the unaligned continent at all. From the size of the world I might guess anywhere from ten million to as many as a billion. And our information on their tech level is just what it says on the brief - 'below Imperial standard'. Schafer's reports weren't particularly informative in adding to that data either."

"So it could be anything from swords and crossbows all the way up to proper tanks and artillery." Kally put in. She grimaced at the thought of that. "We should pack some of the heavier gear if we have it, cookers and plasma guns make the most sense for traveling light and could 'impress' the natives, maybe a missile launcher with krak and flakk missiles if we can scrounge it up."

“I would suggest foregoing plasma weapons given the surroundings of the world,” he said. “Their volatile nature does not lend well to prolonged operations with limited resources.”

[Cfavano]

He nods at the interrogator's answers. "I understand."

Abdur looks up at the mention of Missile launchers and plasma weapons. "If I may. My people specialize in those two weapons. I know several tricks that can be used when you use them, as well as ways to get around some of their defects, like if the plasmagun were to overheat. If we do elect to bring them, I can train the designated carriers of these weapon on how to use them the best ways possible."

[Ixajin]

Someone mentioned going in blind after Machairi finished the brief, to Sebastian, this was nothing new. Of course this was also the way of the medical researcher; after all, if you knew what you were researching, it wouldn’t be research. Still, it bothered him that an agent would complain about the lack of information. Still others were already thinking about the current situation on planet and just how involved the team would need to get.

“Did Interrogator Schafer go to Hercynia on his own? If not, do we know who went with him?” If he was not alone on planet, there might be someone else still active to contact. “If not, injured or dead, he would show up at a medical facility of one sort or another; I’ll start there.”

Sebastian knew it was unlikely that he would actually find Schaffer at any such facility, legit or otherwise, but they still needed to be investigated. There would be no chance of finding him at a med facility if he had agents with him. On the flip side, if agents went with him and they too were missing, this too would provide information to work from, even if it was little to nothing.

[Azazeal849]

"So it could be anything from swords and crossbows right up to proper tanks and artillery." Kally put in. She grimaced at the thought of that.

"We may as well be walking in blindfolded with out hands tied behind our backs," Vizkop said, a little louder than he meant to, "For all the good this out of date information is."

"Believe me, adept." Machairi answered, turning her dark eyes on the tech priest. "That worries me just as much as you. We'll be gathering information before we make any moves. And we should pack under the assumption that we won't be getting any easy opportunities to resupply."

"We should pack some of the heavier gear if we have it." Kally opined. "Cookers and plasma guns make the most sense for traveling light and could 'impress' the natives, maybe a missile launcher with krak and flakk missiles if we can scrounge it up."

"I would suggest foregoing plasma weapons given the surroundings of the world." Vizkop said. "Their volatile nature does not lend well to prolonged operations with limited resources.

"If I may." said Abdur, looking up. "My people specialise in these weapons. I know several tricks that can be used when you use them, as well as ways to get round some of their defects, like if the plasma gun were to overheat. If we do elect to bring them, I can train the designated carriers on how to use them in the best ways possible."

"Guardsman Salah does know his way around a plasma gun." Machairi put in, her eyes switching quietly towards Vizkop to try and ascertain if the tech priest had been offended by the interjection of an outsider to the priesthood. "His former regiment had full mechanicus sanction."

Kally shrugged her shoulders. "I don't like the idea of being caught out against a heavy gunship or tank and having to improvise again. Me and Vince can handle most heavy weapons."

"As can I." Tomas offered.

Machairi favoured her bodyguard with an approving smile, and then nodded once. "Good. I'll arrange open access to the armoury so McKenzie can get you whatever you need. Any more questions?"

"Did interrogator Schafer go to Hercynia on his own?" the young medicus Sebastian spoke up. "If not, do we know who went with him?"

"Eight of his best." Machairi replied, "Most of them soldiers. I assume he took them all with him, wherever it was he went, because otherwise whoever was left behind would have astro'd some sort of report."

"Any injured or dead would show up at a medical facility of some sort or another; I'll start there."

Machairi nodded. "That sounds sensible."

"Unless he's feeding the crows somewhere out in the native territories." Vincent pointed out.

"That's true, too." Machairi said neutrally.

[Atrum Daemon]

"If I may." said Abdur, looking up. "My people specialise in these weapons. I know several tricks that can be used when you use them, as well as ways to get round some of their defects, like if the plasma gun were to overheat. If we do elect to bring them, I can train the designated carriers on how to use them in the best ways possible."

Under normal circumstances, Vizkop would have let such a comment go with only a slight facial tick to give away any irritation. But, fifty-two hours without sleep had done wonders for breaking down his social graces, especially with those outside the Priesthood. His jaw visibly clenched and he rolled his neck. “It remains a high-maintenance weapon,” Vizkop said. “With the possibility of spending extended time in uncivilized country, bringing such a weapon would only result in serious injury and dead weight when the limited ammunition supply inevitably runs dry. If there is serious worry about vehicles, bring melta charges fitted with delay triggers and magnetics.”

He cast a surprisingly angry glance at Abdur and let a small blurt of binary escape him. +If circumstances were different, I'd have his head on a spike for such blasphemy. Mechanicus sanction or not, he no longer stands among his regiment.+

[Thrannix]

++15 years ago++

The cell was dark and humid. The stench of fear and feaces was heavy in the air. Solvan stood for a second in the doorway and said to the guard. "Do not disturb us under any circumstance." The guard nodded. He had been his church boy before joining the arbites, a good lad, considered Solvan a saint the poor fool.

The door made a metal clang as it closed behind the bishop, he was blinded for a moment as his eyes agjusted to the dark, then he noticed a figure wearing rags trembling in a corner. "Little brother? Is that you?" Came a frightful whisper he recognized as Allana's. His sister was also addicted to rejuvenation drugs, keeping the looks of a woman only 40 terran standard, but now she appeared at least 50 after the time spent imprisioned. Solvan went down on his knees fighting back the tears and held her in an embrace. "Yes it is me Allie." He said with a breaking voice. "Don't worry, I'm getting you out of here."

As soon as the words left his mouth his sister panicked "No! You can't! Solvan, you musn't." Allana began protesting.

"What are you talking about Allie? Are you mad?" The bishop asked in a mix of surprise and anger looking into her panic filled eyes. He was risking more than his neck here, this wasn't the moment for histerics. "We have to go now!"

"No Solvan, listen to me!" She sobbed. "You don't understand... you don't..." Her voice trailed into a whisper and her face made a blank expression for a second. Then she smiled enigmaticaly and said. "Fine Solvan, I'll go with you. What's the plan?"

Solvan stepped back confused by the sudden change his sister was showing. Was she truly crazy or was it something else? She looked at him with eyes that felt unnervingly strange to him. He felt cold sweat run down his back as a suspicion started to form in the back of his mind, the meaning of it too horrible to even imagine.

"Allana..." He said through instantly parched, trembling lips. "Let us... pray first."

++Present Time++

"Unless he's feeding the crows somewhere out in the native territories." Vincent pointed out.

"Or worse..." Murmured Solvan ominously. "Death may be a blessing in this line of work."

He cast a surprisingly angry glance at Abdur and let a small blurt of binary escape him. +If circumstances were different, I'd have his head on a spike for such blasphemy. Mechanicus sanction or not, he no longer stands among his regiment.+

"You rise good points, agent Vizkop. But I'm sure we are all doing our best to contribute to the success of the mision." Said the priest in an even tone after the outburst of that horrible tech lenguage the machine god's followers used. "And calm and civil conversation, in a lenguage the rest of us can comprehend is much more conducive to mutual agreement." He turned to Abdur before continuing with a smile. "And Interrogator Machairi has the final say on the issue. I'm sure she'll take both your advice under consideration."

Finally he looked at Alia and added. "In case we do bring plasma and heavy weaponry I hope we have a good excuse as to why some random rogue traders going to a pseudo-primitive world at war are carrying such rare and precious weapons." A touch of irony could be heard in his voice. "One or two may not be that suspicious. But more is definitely going to atract attention."

[PaintSerf]

--- An hour previously ---

The room had once been a chapel, as was hinted by the high vaulted ceiling and exquisitely stern imagery of the God-Emperor’s sons. Now it seemed more like a hunting lodge, with hardwood furnishings and a push carpet along the floor. Several dozen xenos artifacts, undoubtedly trophy-relics of a long career, decorated the interior on plinths or behind stasis fields. More than a few actually were xenos, stuffed and mounted on the walls. The space was commanded by a large wooden desk and high-backed leather chair, both of which were surrounded by faintly glowing cogitator screens.

“Lord Sidonis.” Sapphira addressed the figure behind the desk, with a differential curtsey. Lord Inquisitor Immanuel Sidonis was the most dangerous individual she had ever met. His unassuming and weathered features did not betray that fact. With silvered hair and short beard, Sidonis appeared more like a scholar with his spectacles, perched as he was behind a large tome. The small rosette of a senior Inquisitor, which was pinned to the lapel of his elegant smoking jacket, was enough to dispel that false illusion.

“Sister Sapphira. Please, take a seat.” Sidonis acknowledged her with a nod, and gestured invitingly. “While you were on Venatora, I commissioned Archmagos Brunswick as my new primary explicator.” The Inquisitor arched a knowing eyebrow as Sapphira sat down. “No doubt you would approve of Nathaniel’s replacement.”

“Not that you need my approval, or explain where you were.” Sapphira politely differed, before she answered with a slight nod. “But I do, my lord.”

“Wonderful.” Sidonis replied, and looked at her expectantly. “Now, Sister, I believe you have a report for me.”

“Yes, my lord.” Sapphira answered, and handed her file over to Sidonis. “My summary; which includes the purity checks on assets Kally Sonder, Marcus Black, Kelly Black, and Vincent Nyl. I have uploaded the complete file, as well as my full report on the Venatora incident, into your personal data archive.”

“You found them to be pure,” Sidonis immediately noted, with a mild frown and note of surprise, “even though most of them had primary exposure to Subject Omega-Omicron?” The Inquisitor glanced up at her over his spectacles. “Sister Sapphira, you are aware of what Lucius Pembroke was by then end?”

“That I am, Lord Sidonis, at least so far as I can accept and understand such a profane concept.” Sapphira reflexively made the aquila as she spoke. “But no, after several months of close examination I found no evidence of taint. The non-purity concerns I do have about Kally, Marcus, Kelly, and Vincent have been individually noted in the sections beneath. While some have issues that are more worrisome than others, overall I have no doubt they will be capable agents.” Sapphira frowned contemplatively. “And perhaps some of them will rise even further.”

“I see.” He intoned heavily, and leaned back in his chair. Sidonis studied the Sister appraisingly, with fingers pressed together in a steeple as he posed a question. “Has your objectivity about the Makita survivors been compromised?”

“Absolutely not!” She snapped quickly, with an almost offended expression. That look quickly vanished as Sidonis neutrally stared at her, silent and unmoving. Sapphira fidgeted uncomfortably as she bowed her head and promptly offered an apology. “Lord Sidonis, please forgive my tone and my continued impertinence. But I must ask you, is my work not to your satisfaction?”

“My opinion is quite the opposite, Sister. You know I had to inquire.” Sidonis replied, and shifted so he could continue to read the document. “I see you have assessed the other agents on the Venatora mission. That was not part of your assignment.”

“No, my lord, it was not.” Sapphira acknowledged, and glanced back up at the Inquisitor. “However, I am obligated to act and report on concerns as necessary. I take my responsibilities as a Sororita and Inquisitorial asset very seriously.”

“That diligence is precisely why I chose you, Sister Sapphira, and you have not disappointed me in the slightest.” Sidonis archly replied as he then continued to read on. One of the Inquisitor’s brows raised slowly as his eyes narrowed fractionally. “Although I am surprised you included a self-assessment…where you indicate possible exposure to the ruinous powers?” Sidonis folded his arms over the report and leaned in, with a curious expression on his wizened face. “Well that’s no good. Would you care to elaborate further?”

“I should have died on Venatora, my lord. The final replicant had me dead to rights, a headshot.” Sapphira recalled, and her posture and affect immediately became very tired. There was a notable strain in her voice. “The sain-” She winced and corrected herself. “Pardon, rather, my servo skull interceded and took the fatal shot for me. He…I mean it, was destroyed and I was wounded yet mission capable. After the immediate threats had been dealt with, Agent Nyl…informed me that he knew the truth of my attendant. I investigated his allegations, and I found evidence that corroborates his story.” Sapphira paused as she struggled to manage the words, as Sidonis patiently waited with the same curious expression. “Saint Lehner was a real Guardsman, whom Vincent Nyl did serve with, that has never officially beatified. Inquisitor Rask was unable to conclusively determine the source of his supposed miracle. Although there was definite residual taint aboard the Governor Seydlitz, as the Inquisitor had to euthanize over a hundred and fifty passengers and crew.”

“My esteemed colleague had the compromised executed, as is proper and as you have noted.” The Inquisitor replied, as he removed his spectacles and placed them on the desk. Sidonis interlocked his fingers and directly regarded her. “Sister Sapphira, did you believe that your assistant-familiar was an Imperial saint, graced by the God-Emperor’s divinity to aid His soldiers in their time of need?”

“Yes, my lord. I genuinely believed.” Sapphira quietly responded, with palpable shame for that fact.

“You are hardly alone in that regard, Sister.” Sidonis rationalized, and started to illustrate his point. “First his regiment, then the planets they helped liberate, followed by the planets their veterans settle on. Factor in decades of trade between those planets and the wider Imperium? Potentially billions of faithful have been exposed to his miracle.” Sidonis nodded knowingly, and continued his impromptu lecture. “Faith is no abstract concept. Faith is tangible. Faith is power. You believed in corporal Lehner’s divinity, and only the God-Emperor alone knows how many others do. Whether or not your familiar was the real Nicolas Lehner, I cannot say. But the fact you believed that it was Saint Lehner?” Sidonis reclined back and contemplatively stroked his beard. “Perhaps that genuine belief made it a conduit for a genuine miracle to happen, regardless of what the original truly may or may not have been. How interesting.”

“I-” Sapphira started, quite uncertain of how to process the Inquisitor’s words. “I have no idea what to say to that, my lord.”

“I suggest you thank the God-Emperor, and all His saints, for your good fortune to still be here.” Sidonis concluded, with a definitive edge, as he leaned over to squint at one of the cogitator screens. “Now, Sister Sapphira, you look like a woman in desperate need of need productive work.” Sidonis picked up a stylus and wrote onto a notepad. “Alia is forming a retinue at my direction, and I do believe that you could be of use there.”

“I am ready to serve, Lord Sidonis.” Sapphira affirmed with an intent nod, as she stood and accepted the slip of vellum. The Inquisitor gave her an encouraging pat on the hand and smile as he did so. Still unable to find her words, Sapphira could only nod her appreciation and thanks to him.

“Most excellent. Go with the God-Emperor, Sister Sapphira.” Sidonis offered his benediction, and watched the Sister depart from his office. His warm smile dropped away once the thick oak door closed. Lord Inquisitor Immanuel Sidonis picked up the Sister’s report, and crumpled it in his fists with a deep scowl of frustrated annoyance.


--- Presently ---

Sapphira froze momentarily in the conference room threshold, quite surprised with what she saw. The Sister had expected Interrogator Machairi and a collection of her chosen agents, but not the Venatora mission team. It had been months since she had seen most of them in anything more than passing or at a distance, and yet here they all were; Kally, Vincent, Remus, Kelly, Marcus, Lia, and Adept Vizkop. Everyone was present except Doctor L’Hoace, and of course John Shere. Sapphira blinked and rallied from the unanticipated circumstances to make her introduction.

“Interrogator Machairi,” Sapphira addressed the regal woman at the head of the table with a respectful nod. “Lord Sidonis has assigned me to your team, if you would have me.”

"I would, Sister Sapphira." Machairi answered, linking her thumbs across her chest and signing the aquila towards the grey-clad sister before letting her hands fall to rest on the table.

Sapphira returned the gesture, and kept it as she nodded respectfully to the confessor by the Interrogator’s side. She offered a polite smile to everyone else and promptly took a seat as the Interrogator began her briefing. For the most part Sapphira was content to quietly soak in the details and review the information packet. The Sister could not quite hide her disapproval when she heard Machairi’s subtle contempt for Schafer. Javid had spoken ill of his opposite in her presence, and Sapphira had been just as disapproving of him in those moments.

After the confessor spoke, Sapphira finally interjected. “To build off that last point, the two of us will attract attention. While that could be a valuable asset in Illyrium or the Enclave, out in the Uru axis it could be a dangerous liability.” Sapphira said, and gestured to the unsubtle tattoo on her face. “The axis is also divided between the Solar and Sept. While both are violently resistant to the Imperial Creed, it’s also plausible there could be sectarian violence in the region as well.”

[Thrannix]

“To build off that last point, the two of us will attract attention. While that could be a valuable asset in Illyrium or the Enclave, out in the Uru axis it could be a dangerous liability.” Sapphira said, and gestured to the unsubtle tattoo on her face. “The axis is also divided between the Solar and Sept. While both are violently resistant to the Imperial Creed, it’s also plausible there could be sectarian violence in the region as well.”

The priest leaned forward slightly before answering. "Indeed we would... if I had any qualms about pretending to be something other than a priest, which I don't if it benefits the mission. I can pass quite convincingly as a merchant of wine, foods and luxury items, to give you an example." He paused for a second, the smile gone from his face and asked respectfully. "Forgive me if I sound brash, but would you have a problem with this sort of impersonation? The tattoo certainly is a problem. But as Abdur here could tell you there are many places in the Imperium where women have to cover their faces, I would add some facial paint just for insurance though."

Solvan had learned quickly that to fulfill many of the inquisitorial assignments he couldn't show that he was a priest, and he would do anything if it meant the destruction of the Emperor's enemies. His talent for political intrigue and deception did the rest. He wondered if Sapphira would be offended by this trick, to hide her sacred duty as if she was ashamed of it. He leaned back on his chair and waited for the response.

[PaintSerf]

The priest leaned forward slightly before answering. "Indeed we would... if I had any qualms about pretending to be something other than a priest, which I don't if it benefits the mission. I can pass quite convincingly as a merchant of wine, foods and luxury items, to give you an example."

A merchant of wine, food and luxury items... and a role he’s played before. How curious that profession and those delicacies was the example of choice. It had not been Sapphira’s intention to add to the undercurrent within the room, but none the less here they were. She returned the confessor’s smile politely as she watched him appraisingly. That would imply familiarity with such indulgences, as a merchant should be expected to be a connoisseur of their own product. Sapphira mentally filed that interesting revelation of the confessor’s away to consider further at a more appropriate time.

He paused for a second, the smile gone from his face and asked respectfully. "Forgive me if I sound brash, but would you have a problem with this sort of impersonation? The tattoo certainly is a problem. But as Abdur here could tell you there are many places in the Imperium where women have to cover their faces, I would add some facial paint just for insurance though."

“There is nothing to forgive, Father Belannor. You were merely speaking to the point, and I should have extended you that courtesy instead of being indirect. For that you have my apologies.” Sapphira contritely responded to the confessor. Her polite smile faded as she answered his question. “Although I can assure you, I’ll do whatever is necessary on my part for the success of this mission.”

[Cfavano]

Abdur nods. "This is good. If, perhaps, any of you need stealth training, or guidance, I can instruct you in the ways of the Tallarn Desert raiders. I warn you, being unseen is far more difficult than it looks. It's more than just 'hiding', as most people think. Blending in with a crowd, moving silently, and leaving no trace you were ever there. I do not think stealth was rated highly in the skills you were Father, Sister. I mean no offense, though. I merely point out that, in my experience, those of the Ecclesiarchy make more of an attempt to go the extra kilometer to 'put on a show', as it were, meaning no offense. Perhaps a merchant in a frontier world would work, but it might not. Mayhap a missionary would suit you better? It would allow you to fit what you are more easily into your role. The Interrogator did say that there are many. Who would notice two more? Or, sister, you could simply be a doctor. We are taught that, sometimes, being unseen is impossible, and it is better to 'look like you belong there', as it usually arouses less suspicion. The harder you try to conceal your true identity, the easier it is for you to 'slip up', as it were." He look around. "I do not mean to ramble or speak out of turn." He returns to his silent breathing.

[Thrannix]

"I do not mean to ramble or speak out of turn." He returns to his silent breathing.


"I understand your argument Abdur, and I agree that stealth is clearly not one of my strengths. I will look forward to some stealth classes, though I'm afraid I won't be the most brilliant student." Solvan said smiling again. "But given that the planet has been in a religious war for ten years, added to the absence of recent data, I think it’s safe to assume that the acceptance of missionaries in non-loyal territories has only deteriorated until proven otherwise." He rested his chin on the palm of his right hand while the left played with the golden bishop's ring. "On the other hand, money in the figure of a merchant appeals to human greed, which is a flaw that is impervious to creed. Don't worry, It is not the first time I need to use subterfuges of this nature, I'll manage."

---

After the discussion was done he addressed everyone around. "Before we leave I wish you all to know that I am available at all times should you have any concerns, doubts or spiritual needs." He realized that the trust needed for such counseling would take more than a few days, but the first stone had been laid. Solvan joined his hands in prayer and said as the meeting came to an end. "Dear Emperor grant us the strength to overcome the trials ahead. For only through You can true victory be achieved."

As the party shuffled out of the conference room he approached the grey clad sister. "Excuse me sister Sapphira, I just wanted to add that it is an honor to be working beside a Sororita. May Him on Earth watch over you." He said before leaving to perform the next service at the chapel.

[Azazeal849]

After the discussion was done he addressed everyone around. "Before we leave I wish you all to know that I am available at all times should you have any concerns, doubts or spiritual needs." He realized that the trust needed for such counseling would take more than a few days, but the first stone had been laid. Solvan joined his hands in prayer and said as the meeting came to an end. "Dear Emperor grant us the strength to overcome the trials ahead. For only through You can true victory be achieved."

"Imperator vult." Machairi murmured, signing the aquila across her chest and then following father Solvan to the chapel, as she had promised.

"So," Vincent growled as Marc and Kelly began to gather their papers, his good eye following the interrogator and her picked agents out of the room. "How long before we end up as dead as that poor bastard Shere (http://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=40923&page=20&p=1844085&viewfull=1#post1844085)?"


+ + + + + +

Machairi had estimated three weeks to reach the breaching point in Hercynia's inner system, but the navigator of their borrowed sprint trader managed it in two and a half. The inquisition team proceeded to the surface in a snub-nosed lander, leaving the trader in orbit with a skeleton crew of servitors and serfs - most of whom genuinely believed they were working for an up-and-coming rogue trader out of Spartax. It was impressive the variety of strings that lord Sidonis and his organisation could pull.

The weather above the western continent (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GVkFukSw57c) was grey and overcast, and a heavy rain began to splatter down on the lander's hull as they dipped below the cloud layer. The lander circled to kill velocity as it made a leisurely final approach, giving the agents inside a few brief glimpses of the city they were descending towards. Akkan was the only city in the western Enclave with a starport, and it certainly looked like a city under siege. The high rockrete walls were studded with fully-manned las batteries, and were scored black with missile impacts despite the hydra interceptors which revolved slowly atop every bastion. The ground for nearly a kilometer around was bare, muddy earth with razorwire and dragons' teeth blocking all the roads. Beyond the exclusion zone were poorly-defined fence lines crammed with haphazard collections of tents and rusted iron shacks. Pallid figures went to and fro along the waterlogged tracks between tents, bent double against the rain. Inside the forbidding perimeter of the city walls, Akkan was a starkly regimented grid of blocky prefabs, with PDF soldiers in long grey raincoats standing at every street corner. Several manned a checkpoint outside the starport, and as the team watched they flagged down a ground car carrying three pale women, and aggressively ushered them out with the muzzles of their lasguns. Pedestrians funnelled along winding streets, though here and there an ashen-skinned figure simply lay slumped against a wall. When a pair of PDF soldiers saw one, they encouraged him to move with kicks of their iron-capped boots.

Blast shields swung up around the lander as it made a vertical descent onto one of the starport pads, eventually closing overhead and cutting off the steady drum of the rain. Steam rose from rockrete kissed by the lander's retro rockets as the team made their way down into the starport. The starport was small, and relatively empty, but it was surprisingly well equipped. It had its own med-lab and machine temple, and a golden statue of the Emperor dominated the entrance hall, its gilded hands resting on the sword of judgement. The hallway between the quarantine bio-scanners and the identity checkpoint was lined on either side with marble busts of Imperial saints, and the security scanners at the checkpoint were deftly crafted into the eye-sockets of double headed eagles - an unsubtle metaphor of Imperial vigilance carved in exquisite blue marble. A possible reason for the opulent decor became obvious as they reached the lounge area beyond the checkpoint - a cluster of rogue traders and their attendants sat talking over dataslates and portable hololiths while servo skulls drifted to and fro, long metal callipers clamped around drinks trays. Many of the attendants were openly armed, though the rogue traders themselves seemed unconcerned. A woman whose face was concealed behind a smooth silver mask was pointing at a hololith, while a man with elaborately jewelled clasps restraining his long hair sat smoking with a second man in a dark blue suit, pinstriped with metallic thread that shimmered in the light. The strangest was a painfully thin man with his skin dyed pale lilac.

Marcus Black felt slightly out of place. Not because of the high-class surroundings - he had recently stood inside a planetary governor's palace - but because he was clad in black carapace armour. Usually cast as the face of the team, he now could have passed as a ship's provost or bodyguard. The armour suit had an auspex suite in the vambrace that he was still getting used to using, although the autogun in his arms sat more comfortably. It was a compact, bullpup design of the kind that was equally at home in a starship's corridors as in the streets of an urban warzone, and its pattern stamp was the one of Decker hive on his own home planet of Solomon. Marc was still deciding what he really thought of interrogator Alia Machairi, but he had to admit that the weapon choice had been a nice touch. Still, it felt odd to be carrying it so openly. On Solomon, personal firearms had been legal purely because it was impossible to halt the underhive gun trade. Here in the Enclave, it seemed that people considered them almost mandatory.

While Marc forewent his standard professional look, his sister Kelly maintained it with a dark green day dress and business jacket. Vincent, who couldn't look non-threatening even in casual wear, had embraced the image and donned his off-white carapace with its high gorget. Lia stood next to Remus. Marc had been discharged of his duty of looking after the psyker - after seeing her easy rapport with Remus, and reasoning that Marc was better freed up for his primary role as investigator, Machairi had reassigned the Carbon stormtrooper as Lia's handler. Marc hadn't failed to notice the slightly too-controlled look on the interrogator's face as she revoked Schafer's original decision. The antipathy between the two interrogators obviously ran just as deep as Schafer's more blunt comments had suggested.

Marc had to admit, that of all their team, interrogator Machairi fitted the garb of a rogue trader the best. Clad in an elaborate purple gown with a golden shawl, her pleated hair twisted into a coil at the back of her head, she commanded instant respect with her long oval face and imperiously arched eyebrows.

"Lady Machairi, I presume." a steward dressed in Imperial grey beamed as he crossed the reception area towards them. He spoke faster and with a thicker accent than the vox tapes that the team had been learning from, but was still just about understandable. "Welcome to the Enclave, and to the planet Hercynia."

"A pleasure to set foot on this new and worthy addition to the glorious Imperium of Man." Machairi answered, inclining her head. She deliberately injected an upper-class Spartax accent into the words, a more carefully enunciated version of the low gothic that interrogator Schafer spoke.

"Will you be moving straight on to your destination, or staying a while with your colleagues?" The steward swept his arm towards the other rogue traders conversing in the lounge area. "I can bring you a wine list."

"That would be perfect, thank you." Machairi said with a smile.

Following the arc of the steward's hand, Marc swept his eyes over the rogue traders, then the PDF and their attendant gun-servitors standing quietly near each exit, and finally back at his fellow agents.

"Vince?" he asked softly. Vincent was staring at the rogue trader with the pale lilac skin, quietly but relentlessly. Unfortunately, Marc was not the only one who had noticed.

"Someone you know?" interrogator Machairi asked, deliberately focusing her attention on the fine frescoes that dominated the ceiling as she asked the question.

Vincent started slightly, and then hesitated as if deciding whether to answer or not. Finally, he said: "That purple bastard over there is Ottik Emmanuel Klimment. I served on his ship for a while before I washed up on Solomon."

"Did you part on good terms?"

Vincent grunted. "Not particularly, but he always responds well when he scents money."

"Hmmm." Machairi said, dropping her eyes from the ceiling to regard Vincent, and then motioning towards Kally, Lia and father Solvan. "Go and talk to him. Couch it in terms of business opportunities, but the information we want is the situation on the ground - what exactly has been going on down here; who the major players in this war are. Also ask if he's heard anything about Harlock. Rogue traders tend to keep an eye on what their competitors are doing."

Vincent muttered something in his native Delphic, which might have been an acknowledgement or a curse, but he stepped away towards the seated rogue traders without argument.

"Sebastian, Sister Sapphira," Machairi went on, flicking her eyes towards the med lab with its red medicae helix above the archway, "That might be a place to start looking for records on Old Man Schafer, whether he was injured or just being innoculated against local diseases. Secutor Vizkop? Now seems like a good time to pray."

She raised her eyebrows towards the small machine temple, currently empty of other tech priests. If Vizkop could commune with his brothers across the planet he could assess what assets the mechanicus had available. If he could do that, he could assess the military capabilities of the Imperial settlers - and perhaps the natives as well. If anyone would have taken an interest in the local technology level, it was the adeptus mechanicus.

"Security's tight," Kelly murmured quietly as Vizkop and the others peeled away from the group. "But there does seem to be something missing around here."

"Aye." Marc whispered back. "Hundreds of PDF and local cops...but no arbites."


+ + + + + +

Strange when viewed from a distance, rogue trader Klimment was almost macabre up close. His limbs were stick-thin beneath a flowing silken robe, and his fingers were almost twice as long as a baseline human's. The quiet whirring as he tapped them on the table revealed them to be augmetics. A nest of steel-jacketed data cables studded his bald, lilac head and hung down his back.

"Are my eyes malfunctioning?" he exclaimed in a strangely metallic voice, blinking sparkling silver bionics at the approaching agents, "Or am I being haunted by an unwelcome ghost? Is that Vincent Nyl?"

The freakishly tall rogue trader rose to his feet, as did a black-skinned man with a permanent toothy smile.

"Vincent Nyl?" the grinning bodyguard asked, resting his hands on the brace of autopistols at his waist. "Your mother call you that?"

"You don't want to know what my mother called me." Vincent growled at them in stilted Obrantu. "But it's not me you want to talk to. I guard this guy's ass now." He jerked his head at father Solvan. "And this is Solvan Belannor, chief business prospector for Lady Machairi, heir to this that and the other of Spartax. I know how you think so you won't be interested in all that, but what you will be interested in is that he and his advisors here have a lot of Thrones to invest."

"Really?" Klimment said, turning his whirring augmetic eyes onto the others accompanying Vincent.


+ + + + + +

Machairi chose a set of sofas near the rain-streaked windows, sitting down and crossing her legs as the steward returned with a projector that showed the wine list as a rotating hololith.

"If you don't mind me saying so, my lady." the steward said as he gestured towards the sofas, inviting the other remaining members of Machairi's entourage to sit. "You have a very distinctive accent. Another offworlder with a similar cadence passed through here not long ago. Perhaps you'll find a friend."

"What a coincidence." Machairi smiled, cocking an eyebrow. "Do you know where he was staying?"

"I haven't the foggiest." the steward shrugged, and pulled out a dataslate and stylus as Machairi picked out one of the more expensive wines on the list. "Excellent choice, ma'am. I must say, we are glad to see traders of your calibre visiting our world. The war has driven a good deal of prospective clients away."

"Are the business opportunities bad?" Machairi inquired.

"Not at all. Well, Uru's an unholy mess, of course. The Ghosts won't stop causing trouble."

Machairi tilted her head slightly. "Ghosts?"

"Oh, my apologies ma'am. The indigens. Presumably by some quirk of the original settlers, almost all of the natives on this western continent are albino. It's fortunate that they're easy to identify, because they're the most belligerent and unreasonable people you'll ever have the misfortune to meet. We smash the Uru axis, and they go right on murdering and raping each other as well as any Imperials they come across. No doubt you saw the refugee camps outside the city walls. There's more refugees limping into the Enclave every day, but even they can't be trusted. Their camps are just swarming with armed infiltrators."

"Oh." Machairi said, putting a hand over her mouth in a delicate expression of shock. She looked at her agents, inviting them to speak up.

[Cfavano]

The trip seemed shorter than it was, such was the activities that Abdur had engaged his team-mates in. He had set out to train them in the ways of his ancestors, but did his lessons take effect? Only time could tell.

Two-and-one half weeks ago:

"Greetings, comrades." Abdur said, standing at the head of the 'classroom' as it were. "You all know me by now, and I am here of my own free will. What I am going to teach you, is what I was taught. However, this process usually takes six-to-eight months normally, but we do not have that time." He nods. "Some of you may think you know how to be stealthy. Some of you may be right. But I doubt highly that all of you know how to be silent harbingers of death." He looks around the room.

"Firstly, you must forget any notions you have of 'honor' and 'glory'. Nothing that is done in this way is either of those things, nor will it bring you either of them. Working in this manner, the only way to have success, is for no one to know you were even there. The first thing to keep in mind, and what most people don't know, is to never leave any indication you were there. This includes taking any trash or leavings with you. This includes, but not limited to, spent power cells, food wrappers, lho stick butts, and excrement. Leaving garbage behind is one of the the quickest ways to get caught. Secondly, strive to make as little noise as possible. I know this seems a simple concept, but this cannot be stressed enough. Even something as small as a cough or a sneeze can give you away. Thirdly,weapons are always a last resort. Leaving a trail of bodies behind almost assures you'll get caught. If you must kill, strive to do it with your knife, and not a gun. And also be sure to hide the bodies."

He then went into a lecture about camouflage, how to use it, what you can use to make your own in the wilderness, and how to properly paint your face. "While your garments might be right, nothing sticks out worse than an uncovered human face to sentries. Especially if it is a good-looking woman. That is it for the lecture today. Your training for this evening is to use the supplies I have here to make your own set of camouflaged uniforms."

But before they leave, an assistant comes in wheeling a cart with several small cages. "One more thing. These are what are known as 'Martyr Hares', among the faithful of several systems. They are about the size of small dogs, and very furry rabbit-like animals, but their eyes look almost human. They seem very relxaing and calming. "They are called such because some believe that, when a good person dies, part of their soul returns to us in the form of one of these. There are legends of families having loved ones die, and a Martyr Hare appearing, unafraid, at the doorsteps of the grieving families. You will, each of you, be given one to take care of for the duration of your training. You will name it, play with it, and take care of it." The assistant hands out the cages for the students to take home.


The training goes on for several days, before heading onto the next topic.

At the front of the classroom is a pile of crates. The marks on these crates denotes that they contain such fineries as 200 year old Amasec, aged cheeses, chocolate, and other sweets. It's a veritable cache of hard to find and expensive things. "Tempting, isn't it." He says, gesturing to the cache. "Most guardsmen would jump at the chance to open one of these things and just look at the contents. But what if I told you that they weren't what they looked like?" He kicks the side of one, and the front falls out, revealing several missiles strapped together with several glass jars of nails and sharp metal bits to a detonator, and it looks like it's going to explode and kill them all. "Be not afraid, this is only a model, can't hurt you." He points to the device. "This is what is known as an IED, or, 'Improvised Explosive device'. They're used by insurgents and other soldiers when you lack conventional explosives, and wish to set up a trap. They can be made of anything that explodes, really. I've even seen some very low-tech ones made from gunpowder shoved inside of a length of pipe. They can take on many forms, from an explosive-stuffed aircar, to a comrade's corpse with a jar of nails and a grenade shoved inside his belly. I will now demonstrate the construction of one."

From another room he brings along a portable vox unit, a few tools, and a sack. "This is what I call, the 'vox volcano'." Using a screwdriver, he removes the front face-plate of the main vox unit, revealing the circuit board. "Most of these circuits will no longer be necessary, so I'll be removing them." He removes most of the circuits and fuses, leaving only the one for sending and receiving, permanently locking it into one frequency. From the sack, he removes several small canisters. These, to trained eyes, are the compressed promethium cans used as ammunition for meltaguns. "Don't worry, they're empty." Using tools, he removes the safety mechanisms on the nozzles, and connects them to the remaining circuits on the vox set, sets them in the hollowed out body, and closes the plate, screwing it on. "And there you go. This Vox unit has been rigged to blow if it sends or receives a signal on the frequency it is locked on. This could then be buried or just places somewhere, and then, when an enemy comes by..." He taps his microbead. "Kaboom. No fancy mines or esoteric rituals. Just a vox set, a few tools, and some melta ammunition canisters. This makes an IED equivalent in power to several meltabombs, and, in my experience, this can even penetrate the armor of a Land Raider very easily. And it's been seen to heavily damage, or outright destroy even a Baneblade. I don't expect you to grasp how to do all this all at once. These are simple, yet complex devices that can take years to master how to make, transport, and hide. I only show this so you can know what we may be up against." He then shows and demonstrates several, more simpler IEDs.


The next lesson involves using knives. "While I am aware some of you know how to use a knife at least somewhat, what you were taught were only the basics. What I am going to teach you, is probably some of the most useful knifework you'll ever see." He takes out a small and slender knife (http://images.knifecenter.com/thumb/1500x1500/knifecenter/ixl/images/SHE006nw.jpg). "This is the knife in question. It is small-bladed, double-edged, and has a sharpened point. This knife only has one purpose, to kill. It cannot skin, cannot open cans, or do anything else, making it a unitasking fighting knife. But it is one of the deadliest and most useful unpowered weapons available to you. "It is narrow, meaning it can slip through the ribs, and is extremely sharp, meaning any wound made by it will be deep, and will bleed very profusely. I owe my life to this knife. It is the most effective at silencing a sentry undetected that you can carry. I suggest you each take one and learn how to use it. It could very easily mean the difference between life and death." He then shows them some ways to kill silently with it, as well as some knife-fighting techniques and some other hand-to-hand unarmed techniques. The rest of the day would be spent with them pairing up and practice-fighting with each other using paint-stick models of the knife.

The next few days are all about exercise. He has them running laps around one of the cargo bays, in full IG kit (or, at least weighed down with as much weight as a guardsmen would carry), as well as climbing up and down cargo nets, and rappelling up and down the cargo bay walls. They would do this in varying lighting conditions, and sometimes with servitors firing at them with lasguns with the intensity down to the lowers level, which would simply hurt like hell, but be harmless. There is also a room set aside which he calls the 'hot' room, which has it's temperature elevated to 98 degrees, and they alternate at random from lifting weights, to doing jumping jacks, punching bags, doing push-ups, and boxing or wrestling each other.

The final day of the exercise portion involves them running a simulated gauntlet, and would encompass all the skills they've learned. If, at any point they mess up during this gauntlet (which, is also done in full kit), they receive a painful electric shock, and are then sent back to the beginning.


Finally, on the last day, the students are gathered together, and are told to bring their hares. "Your training is almost done. There is but one task left for you. Take your pets, hold them as you would a child. Look deeply into their eyes...And kill them. With your bare hands. And not by snapping their necks. Strangle them. And watch as the light of life fades from their eyes. My last lesson is this. It is one thing to shoot a nameless foe. It is another thing to kill something that has a name, even more so up close. Especially if you have a connection to it. When using stealth, you will likely be holding your foe's body in your hands, and you may even see him die. Many people can't take this. This is to show that you can. Now do it. Kill your Martyr Hare."

That was the end of the training, and after it had all been done, Abdur left.

Present time, at the space port.

"Excuse me, lady. I have errands to run." He would then leave the space port and begin exploring the town, keeping an eye out for anything, or any one, suspicious.

[kardar233]

+++ Then +++

Lia was delighted to learn that the tall man whose name she couldn't remember wasn't going to have to look after her any more, and that Remy would be doing that instead. She hadn't seen much of him for a while, because he'd been hanging out with all the other shooty-people, but she was looking forward to catching up.

She had to admit, the Interrogator's ship was pretty cool. All sleek lines and ornate bulkheads, it was way cooler than the other ships she had been in, which, granted, wasn't saying much. The first day, she'd gone to the sandy-man's lesson but it had been boring stuff she already knew so she left a couple hours in.

Now she was on the prowl. Where did that one guy go... She had been investigating every person-weighted thing on each deck she came across for close to an hour now, but still she continued. Her briefing binder tucked under her arm, she rounded a corner detailed with a gilded frieze to find the other shooty-person from the Interrogator's team, the bodyguard. Yes! she exclaimed internally, looking up at the soldier. Well-built, old, younger than Remy, though. Lia remembered that he was always very close to the Interrogator, and wondered idly if he was in love with her. Poor guy.

Lia looked up at him a bit nervously. "...hi. At the meeting, you said something in a language that I didn't know." She looked down and then back up at him with a hopeful smile. "Will you teach me it?"

+++ Now +++

Lia stared out of the window of the shuttle as they spiraled down towards the city. It was irritating that she couldn't see much of the natural terrain past the massive city and the denuded land around it, so she turned her attention to the city itself. Batteries and keeps towered out of the walls like an Ork's jutting teeth, and the city didn't look much better. A mold of camps huddled outside, while others huddled within. It felt like a place that was dying, and everyone there had realized it.

The spaceport was much more comforting, even beautiful in many ways. The statues, friezes and stone carvings were intriguing enough that Lia almost overlooked the myriad observation and security systems arrayed within. As her eyes fell upon the cabal of Rogue Traders her eyes narrowed. Despite their innocuous appearance, she was sure each one of them was eminently lethal in their own fashion. She prepared her mind for her armour just in case.

An idea took shape as Machairi ordered her, the priest, Remy and the metal-armed shooty-man to go talk to one of the Rogue Traders. There had been lots of clothes on their ship, if one knew where to look; some of them even fit her. Lia hadn't had that much to do except explore, and thus had had quite a time dressing up while hidden away in the ship's dusty staterooms. It had been hard to decide what she was going to end up wearing, but she had eventually settled on a royal blue sleeved dress that nicely offset her dark hair and bright green eyes, while its slightly too long hem concealed her bare feet. Lia was very proud of how she looked in it, and was even more impressed that she could fit some more normal clothes under the impractical thing, for the inevitable moment where there would need to be some thrilling heroics.

As the priest and shooty-man made introductions, Lia subtly pulled Remy down to her as if he were whispering in her ear. Then, with a carefully measured push, she shoved him away from her with as much force as the petite girl she looked might actually be able to muster. Squaring her small shoulders and adopting a regal yet petulant air, she looked up at Remus. With a high-class tone that mimicked the Interrogator's accent, she addressed him. "Father's not here, so I can do what I like!"

Adopting the self-assuredness of someone who had inevitably gotten everything she wanted in her life, Lia swept up past Solvan and Vincent to stand in front of the heavily-augmented rogue trader. "And I am Lady Imelia Genofonia," she declared. She raised one gloved hand up towards Klimment to be greeted in whatever way he chose, her posture expressing relief at finally dealing with a civilized person. "And I have traveled to this quaint backwater in search of trade and profit. I am sure you have heard of the great Genofonia foundries; an endless flow of weapons beyond compare. I could be convinced that our product would be in demand on this shiteball of a planet, and if that were the case I would be empowered to draw up a shipping contract, if you are available."

[Azazeal849]

"Excuse me, my lady. I have errands to run."

Machairi knew exactly what the Tallarn meant by that. She nodded. "Don't be too long, Abdur. Once you've sorted out the hotel, see if you can't find us a decent restaurant."

After presenting his convincing false papers to the men at the doors, Abdur headed out of the starport and began exploring the town, keeping an eye out for anything, or any one, suspicious. The rain hit him as soon as he stepped outside, driving down into the high-walled courtyard that separated the tall, round towers of the starport from the city proper.

Once outside, there was little in the way of separation between the buildings. Space was clearly at a premium. For some distance around, every one of the narrow streets leading up to the starport was blocked by checkpoints, with armed PDF and even the occasional Chimera IFV, its hull camo-painted in rockrete grey. Rain dripped from the protruding gun barrels on the vehicles' turrets and flanks. Abdur was stopped and had his identity confirmed at every roadblock.

Further out, there were more people, and Abdur was able to blend in without drawing the eyes of the soldiers. He was drawn towards what sounded like chanting from a main market road, and he turned into it to see a crowd blocking the street. They were wrapped up in coats and plastic waterproofs, but their exposed faces and hands were albino white. Most wore black flare goggles, giving them a strange, bug-eyed appearance, and a couple carried rain-soaked placards with crude pictures of a sun drawn on them. The people who had been hawking their wares in the shops either side of the street had retreated behind their doors nervously, while other natives were shouting down from the tenaments above in angry Obrantu. The return shouts of the gathered crowd however were directed towards a thin line of PDF soldiers who had formed a cordon just ahead of Abdur. The first rank had powered riot shields that crackled and sparked as the rain hissed off them in thin wisps of steam. The men behind them had lasguns.

"This is your final warning." one of the soldiers in the second rank announced. He was speaking into a vox caster that dangled from a hovering servo skull, his words amplified by the loudhailer mounted on the skull's nose and upper jaw. "Disperse now or we will open fire!"

Two of the protestors charged across the few metres that separated them from the PDF. They were immediately bashed to the ground, riot shields discharging with a sound like a thunderclap. A red light suddenly flickered as a bottle with a lit taper arced out of the crowd, shattering across the helmet of one of the PDF and sending flames licking across the pavement behind him. Then there was the sharp flash and crack of lasfire, and people were running and screaming.


+ + + + + +

As the priest and shooty-man made introductions, Lia subtly pulled Remy down to her as if he were whispering in her ear. Then, with a carefully measured push, she shoved him away from her with as much force as the petite girl she looked might actually be able to muster. Squaring her small shoulders and adopting a regal yet petulant air, she looked up at Remus. With a high-class tone that mimicked the Interrogator's accent, she addressed him. "Father's not here, so I can do what I like!"

"Dissention!" Klimment frowned, cocking his head towards Lia. "And who might you be, my volatile young lady?"

Adopting the self-assuredness of someone who had inevitably gotten everything she wanted in her life, Lia swept up past Solvan and Vincent to stand in front of the heavily-augmented rogue trader. "And I am Lady Imelia Genofonia," she declared. She raised one gloved hand up towards Klimment to be greeted in whatever way he chose, her posture expressing relief at finally dealing with a civilized person. "And I have traveled to this quaint backwater in search of trade and profit. I am sure you have heard of the great Genofonia foundries; an endless flow of weapons beyond compare. I could be convinced that our product would be in demand on this shiteball of a planet, and if that were the case I would be empowered to draw up a shipping contract, if you are available."

Klimment blinked, a flash and click of silver in his lilac face.

"Forgive me," he said to Vincent, frowning as if annoyed. "But I thought you said you were negotiating on behalf of a lady Machairi? Still, if there are multiple potential partners here..."

He turned back towards Lia, smiling now, but the bodyguard behind him wore the amused look of someone who had identified a potentially easy target.

"The young lady clearly knows what she wants." Klimment said, sitting back down and reaching a skeletal arm over to the nearby table. He moved slowly and sinuously, as if he were underwater. He retrieved the tube of a tall hookah that was bubbling away on the table and inhaled deeply, breathing out a cloud of pale smoke that smelled like cinnamon. "And it just so happens that I specialise in smoothing the transport of military equipment from A to B. I also have PDF contacts that might be of interest to one such as yourself. But the Hercynians are well-supplied with arms dealers at the moment...so what, if you don't mind me asking, would be the unique selling point of Genofonia weapons?"

[Thrannix]

Solvan walked out of the transport with a wobbly pace. He wasn’t made for flying as his pale and greenish colour could tell anyone that looked at him. But was quickly comforted by the symbols of Imperial power and he had to restrain himself from ushering a prayer in front of the statue of the Emperor, staying in character now was the priority. His attire was chosen to show opulence; he wore a deep blue, high quality silk robe embroidered in silver covering a tight black body glove, and over his shoulders hung a green cashmere cloak with a golden outline. Several jeweled rings adorned the priest’s hands; he had taken off the bishop’s ring which was now hidden in one of his pockets. Also out of sight was the rosarius hanging from his neck beneath the robe.

As for arms he carried his blessed autopistol, the silver carvings too small to be made out as an Ecclesiarchy weapon. His warhammer he had given momentarily to Vincent, since it wouldn’t look right on a business advisor. The priest eyed the richly decorated lounge with a painful smile on his face; he had once been accustomed to such surroundings. “How blind I was.” He thought bitterly.

"Go and talk to him. Couch it in terms of business opportunities, but the information we want is the situation on the ground - what exactly has been going on down here; who the major players in this war are. Also ask if he's heard anything about Harlock. Rogue traders tend to keep an eye on what their competitors are doing."

Solvan gave a slight nod and appraised the target. The rogue trader was certainly an unsettling sight, at a glance one could almost say the man was a xeno, but it also meant extravagant tastes, which were usually quite expensive, he could work with that. But he needed more information.

“Agent Nyl, you know the freak, I need a crash course on Klimment.” He stated to the ex-guardsman matter of factly before they started to cross the lounge. “The bionics are due to preference or to injury? Does he respond better to flattery or strength? What items does he usually trade? Quickly, before he sees you.” The questions came pouring down as he started to think his strategy, usually he would have days, even weeks to study the people he would have to get information from. This time he had to improvise.

Vincent grunted, shifting the head of Solvan's warhammer to a more comfortable position on his carapace shoulderpad. "The mad fok just likes it that way. He'll act offended, but he prefers straight talkers to ass-kissers. And he mostly deals in Guard surplus - mediating for stood-down regiments to transfer their vehicles to planets that want to beef up their PDF...that sort of shit."

While Vincent answered, Solvan took a glance at the wines and beverages menu. “What kind of drink does he like?” the priest asked absently. Vincent gave him a puzzled look.

The priest sighed. “Diplomacy and negotiation are just like flirting, but instead of trying to get into someone pants you want to get into wallets, houses, vaults, secrets, etc. The similarity ends in that both roads usually finish with people getting screwed. Which reminds me, any idea of his sexual tastes? Adiction to any substances? Any other information you think might be useful?” Through the whole interrogation he kept a relaxed and cheerful attitude, to the surrounding crowd it looked like any normal conversation.

Vincent chuckled appreciatively at Solvan's metaphor. "Maybe I should take up diplomacy then. Ottik doesn't drink, but he smokes spiced lho by the tonne. He's had his lungs and voicebox replaced at least once. From what the crew told me, Marc or your boy Aleksandr might have been his type a few decades ago, but I never saw him take an interest in anybody while I was working with him. Either he's had that replaced too or he only gets hard for Thrones nowadays."

“Agent Sonder." He didn't turn to Kally, his focus now on the figure of Kilmment on the other side of the room. "I need your dampening device turned down a bit without making it unbearable for Lia. I want him to know that you are a blank. Hiring blanks is expensive, it gives us an extra punch, the more factors he has to consider the more confused he’ll get which can make him share things he did not intend to. Stand close to me.” After a pause he continued. “Lia step away a little from Kally please.” He felt at ease, these were his favorite weapons; lies, extortion and deceit. Solvan thanked the saints that he was given the chance to turn the flaws and vices from a lifetime of sin into weapons to bring about the Emperor’s will.

"You're funeral your Holiness." Kally muttered, reaching up to her ornate choker and turning it down to its lower setting. "but in my experience it tends to dampen team cohesion, and draw the wrong kind of attention."

Solvan felt the nausea and the gut wrenching feeling of the blanks aura hit him. He clenched his jaw as a layer of sweat covered his forehead.

"Forgive me," he said to Vincent, frowning as if annoyed. "But I thought you said you were negotiating on behalf of a lady Machairi? Still, if there are multiple potential partners here..."

"The Warp take her!" The undercover priest thought fumming in the inside. On his face only a mild annoyance made its way to his features. "Fine, I can work with this. Is that the name of a real foundry? Damn it I think it isn't. Damn her!" Still cursing Lia to the Warp and back he went to work. He knew he had to take the attention away from her before Klimment got suspicious. He stepped beside the child with a warm smile and said as he sat down across from the rogue trader. "Indeed Mr. Klimment, I'm Solvan Belannor chief financial advisor for lady Alia Machairi. Lady Genofonia here was sent along by her father to learn from this trip, get some experience on negotiations. And most importantly, learn something about real life outside of ponies and mansions. She is of course authorized to make deals in her father's behalf. Since they usually deal by intermediaries as GWT, Galarex Weapons Trade, you may not have heard of them." Now that he was sure was an actual weapons dealer active in nearby sectors. He spent a good part of the trip getting to know the active trading companies that may have business on this disgrace of a planet. Was that enough for Klimment? Would Lia play along? "Dear Emperor put some sense in that girl's head." Solvan thought, as he glanced to Remus and Kally to see if they would help with the delicate situation.

"so what, if you don't mind me asking, would be the unique selling point of Genofonia weapons?"

"I've seen the weapons in use now. They are outdated, few specialist weapons and most importantly very hard to maintain." Solvan made use of Vizkop's comment during the meeting to his advantage. "Genofonia can provide solutions to all that."

"So let's talk business. I like to think of every crisis as an oportunity, specially wars. Now, my lady Machairi does not enjoy staying on places as unpleasent as this planet for long. So we would be willing to delegate most of the profitable trades to efficient individuals, paying a generous percentage of the income of course." He let that statement sink in before adding. "I'm thinking perhaps you could be such an individual, I would bet you are appraised with the local situation and as a result where are the best venues of investment. Are you not?"

As Klimment digested all this the priest noticed the hooka was almost empty he turned to a male waiter, green eyes, slightly bronzed skin, like Solvan, but younger, the kind Klimment may be interested in. "Son, bring us some Urgandan Spiced tobacco, and Margantine wine. I know It's not on your menu, which by the way is a disgrace, but ask the sommelier, if he knows anything he should have a bottle or two stashed away. There's a big tip for you if you bring it." He turned back to the rogue trader waiting for his response.

[Atrum Daemon]

--Sanctum Mechanicum; In Transit--

+Trouble sleeping? Do you have any clue as to the cause?+

+Weight on my mind.+

+Airing the trouble may relieve you+

Vizkop nodded, biting the inside of his mouth. He had approached the senior Magos aboard the Bane with his uneasy sleeping. He knew he needed to talk about it. He had been avoiding it and pushing it down for too long. His guilt, whether true or brought on himself, had kept him awake for almost three full days. He raised his head to meet the bionic gaze of the Magos and vocalized his binary confession.

The world was Anatolia, a respectable Forge World. Vizkop and several other priests had been sent to it after a few disturbing allegations leveled at a few of the senior Magi. At first, all had gone well and was looking like the allegations were overblown and held no water. Until they started to dig deeper and walked into a collection of secret projects. By the time Vizkop and the others figured out what was happening behind the scenes, it was too late to stop it. Techno-abominations spilled into the streets, slaughtering civilians and workers while a powerful machine curse wormed into the data streams. If the viral strain made it off-world, it could have threatened the whole system.

Vizkop recovered as much uncorrupted data as he could while the other members of the team set to pull of their solution: overload the main reactor of the primary manufactorum. They had hoped to contain the problem before it spilled from the city. Instead, the world burned in nuclear fire.

+We burned that world. Condemned billions to die to kill so few. Nuclear holocaust for one corrupt forge. It has never set right with me. Or any of us. This I confess.+

+The act was necessary, Vizkop. The right decision was made and you even managed to recover untouched data so the forge may someday be rebuilt.+

+Thank you, Magos.+

Vizkop stood before his cabinet once again. The cabinet was open and the contents on display, a myriad of weapons some of which Vizkop was more familiar with than others. His gaze was set on the pair of elegant power swords that dominated the middle of the cabinet. He let out a held breath, reaching for the weapons. He had known that one day he would have to pick up the swords, but that did not mean he looked forward to it.

He drew the weapons from their sheaths, looking upon the blades for the first time in years. The last time he had set his eyes on the blades they had been pointed at him in violence. The hilts were wrapped red with oval shaped cross guards. They were surprisingly lightweight, the blades curving up slightly to the point at the end. Weapons designed for slashing rather than stabbing, but Vizkop knew all too well that adding a power field changed the way a blade was useful entirely. The assassin moved to the center of his quarters, blades held out at his sides, and began running through training forms. He needed to re-familiarize himself with wielding a pair of held weapons rather than a pair of implanted weapons.

--The Chapel; In Transit--

Malpais had his head bowed in prayer. Praying for the strength and resolve to serve the Interrogator in his full capacity. He found prayer, coupled with his regular meditation, kept his mind clear of unwanted thoughts and his temper under much better control. But the psyker was also restless, as he tended to get before an operation.

--Present Time; Planetside; Vizkop--

Vizkop took in as much of the gloomy, overcast surroundings as he could when they first arrived. His face was hidden behind the cross-shaped visor of his helmet and he wore the twin blades belted near the back of either side of his waist, the sheaths crossing behind his back. His official rank among the Martian Priesthood was Secutor, allowing him to move with ease while being openly armed. Within his robe, in a shoulder holster, was the familiar weight of his revolver and he wore a very particular pistol at his side.

The activities of the very wealthy had always intrigued Vizkop. He found their choices of dress and body augmentation very interesting and worth observing. It seemed that the more outrageous the augmentation, the more wealthy and important the person was in the eyes of his peers.

“Secutor Vizkop? Now seems like a good time to pray."

He gave a short nod to Machairi and broke away from the group, his stride taking him to the machine temple. The space was small, but not so small that the priests could not perform the duty of their charge. He found the temple vacant when he crossed the threshold. The machines were still powered and the temple held signs of being manned by priests. Vizkop moved through the temple, making mental notes of where the smaller shrines and cogitators were set. He made his way into the back area of the temple where the communication hub was.

From the small bank of cogitators and vox links, Vizkop could sent mass communications to the other Mechanicus installations on the planet. He set up a secure link for his access and broadcast his request for a resource assessment along with his authorization.

--Planetside; Malpais--

Malpais had not altered his normal garb for the operation planetside. His normal dark uniform complete with the mask and hood allowed him to have the appearance of a simple bodyguard and not advertise his true nature. Under his sleeves, his wrist mounts were fitted snugly in place while his sword sat comfortably at his side. He stood near Machairi, listening to her conversation with the steward. His mask hid his expression at hearing about the so-called “Ghost” indigents. “Is there any plan to deal with them at all?” he ventured after the lady's invitation.

[dakkagor]

+++Kally+++

Vincent slapped her leg with his heavy augmetic limb. She nodded once, and shouted 'Ease!'
Vincent reacted by covering his ears and opening his mouth as Kally gently pulled the trigger on the Accatran pattern XV missile launcher. Light, man portable, and compact, the pattern XV was favoured by Elysian Drop troopers for its size and ruggedness.

Accurate too. The missile, a training round, leapt from the tube and raced down the impromptu firing range. Vincent had scrounged a chunk of hullplate from somewhere (Kally hadn't asked, so Vincent hadn't lied) and Kally had painted a big red cross on the middle of it after he had wrestled it into this largely abandoned hull space. The round smacked into the plate with a sonorous 'clang' dead centre. Smiling, she got up from her prone position and lowered the missile launcher into its carrying case.

“Good shot Kally girl.” Vincent rumbled. For the duration of the trip they had drilled their way through a case of practice rounds. “Call it day?”
“Sure.” Kally locked the weapon system, and its six rounds of krak and six rounds of flakk missiles, back into its carry case. “As long as we don't head to Abdurs little murder and mayhem class. I don't need some misogynistic Tallarn telling me how to do my job.” She sat down on the case and hauled a different crate towards her, cracking it open and then tossing Vincent a green bottle.
“Fokkin' pisswater again.” He snapped the cap of and took a swig. “Better than nothing I suppose.” Kally smiled, and the two knocked the bottles together in a small toast. Another day alive in the Inquisitions service.
“So, I thought you where sweet on Marc? What's happening between you and that bodyguard, Tomas?”
Kally snorted, half in laughter, half in disgust. “Nothing. And mind your own damn business.”
“Nothing?” it was Vince's turn to snort. “That whole room saw the look. A man has that look, and it ain't nothing.”
“Alright, fine.” she sighed. “I made a pass at him, in the practice cages. He turned me flat down.”
“Really?” Vincent took another long pull on the drink. “So you giving up on Marc?”
“No!” Kally looked down at the deck. “I just have some . . .needs, and I'd misread the messages. That's all.”

+++Tomas, in transit+++
“Forgive me Tomas, but I’m finding all this hard to believe.” Said the bishop thoughtfully.
“I swear, Solvan, thats all it was. She pretty much jumped me after training, and I turned her down. Politely and firmly, like a gentleman. After I pried her off me with a crowbar.”
He cursed inwardly. He had gone to Solvans quarters to peruse his newest tome and sip some fine amsec he had brought with him, not to face action three. But Solvan was always hounding after everyones dirty little secrets, it was just in his nature. So he found it incredulous that someone who had been as. . .eager as Tomas had been in his younger days, could have turned down someone as attractive as Kally. So suddenly the small table they where sat at, with glasses and bottle on the table, felt like an interrogation cell.
Solvan of course was relishing all this while he tried his best not to fall down of his chair laughing. It was hard to get such a restrained and self aware a soldier as Tomas against the ropes because of a dame, at his age at least. He didn’t say it, but the priest was almost proud of his old friend.
“No, I believe you Tomas.” Solvan held up his hands in a placating gesture. “So. . .why, if I may enquire?”
“Because she made my skin crawl!” Tomas shouted, louder than he had intended. He paused, breathed in. “Sorry Solvan, sorry. I didn't mean to snap.”
“Ofcourse, ofcourse. I’m the only one to blame for pressing the issue. Worried about the mission, then?”
“Always.”
“You should have more faith, in the Emperor and in our Interrogator.”
“The Emperor looks after those who look after themselves first.” he responded.
“Ah, but the one doesn’t forbid the other, my dear Tomas.” Replied Solvan taking another sip with a wink, tasting the exquisite tang of the liquor. Tomas always got the good stuff and by the Emperor it was glorious.
“Sooo… what would have happened if she didn’t made your skin crawl?” He teased yet again before quickly backing off. “I’m only messing with you. I know a priest shouldn’t be so childish, but only the Emperor is perfect. As a sign of peace I will lend you my new little treasure.” The priest turned to his desk where a package was resting. “I believe you have earned the honor of opening it, after putting up with this insufferable old friend of yours.” And laid the package on the table in front of Tomas.
"I suppose just a quick roll in the hay." Tomas offered. "I got the feeling she didn't want more than that."
He watched as the priest turned and placed the book on the table, and his breath caught in his throat.
"A First edition." He run a hand over the dust cover "A real, first edition Ravenor." He looked up at the old priest and smiled. "You are a good man, Solvan." He raised his glass. "Heres to you."
Their glasses chinked in the toast, and Tomas slowly peeled the cover of, relishing every moment of opening such a treasure.

Later, he found himself jogging the corridors, to keep fit, but at least in part to avoid another of Abdurs interminable lectures. He came to a halt as he spotted Lia walking towards him as he came to the end of a lap.

Lia looked up at him a bit nervously.*"...hi. At the meeting, you said something in a language that I didn't know."*She looked down and then back up at him with a hopeful smile.*"Will you teach me it?"

“I don't know about that.” Tomas said, rubbing his chin and smiling wryly. “I won't be able to swear with only the Interrogator knowing.” He laughed at Lia's suddenly crestfallen face, not cruelly but enjoying the moment. “But, as it would be nice to have someone to converse with in my native tongue, and to promote team cohesion. . .very well.”

He started to walk on, beckoning Lia to follow.

“Casterian, the language of my home, is very much like low gothic in structure. Infact, with an 'Imperial' dialect, as you find with those from schola, it sounds very like gothic. All the difference comes from some key words, turns of phrase, and the accent, which is quite distinctive. . .”

+++Kally, on the ground+++

Kally was playing bodyguard, so she affected 'bored' and 'alert'. While the descent down had revealed that the town was probably going to feel like home, she was back to fish out water territory in the star port.

"Hmmm." Machairi said, dropping her eyes from the ceiling to regard Vincent, and then motioning towards Kally, Lia and father Solvan. "Go and talk to him”

Kally nodded once, sharply. “Yes Ma'am.” as she turned on her heel she fell into step to the left of Solvan, just behind the old priest.

When Lia jumped at the opportunity to take centre stage and so cleanly undercut Solvan, she almost laughed, but just coughed into her fist instead and looked away. Yeah, she could work with that. Body guarding 'Daddy's special girl' could make a lot of sense, it would certainly explain why a ten year old was running around in noble clothes in a warzone.
Solvan shot her a furtive look, and she just shrugged her shoulders. Sighing, she leaned in closer to Lia.
“Mamzel, please, you had promised your Father you would let Belannor lead the negotiations. . .” She tried to sound like a long suffering servant, a bodyguard playing nursemaid, rather than a throne agent who at any moment might burst into fits of laughter. She gently, ever so gently, placed a hand just hovering over Lia's shoulder, hoping it wouldn't cause her to freak out. Then again, if it did cause a trantrum, she would be the only person in the whole building able to handle it, and that might add to the 'long suffering bodyguard' act.

+++Tomas, on the ground+++

"Aye." Marc whispered back. "Hundreds of PDF and local cops...but no arbites."
“Perhaps.” Tomas agreed, muttering to Marcs back as he watched Abdur and Vizkop peel off. “but you'd be surprised at the worlds that don't have a heavy presence of Arbites, or one where the Arbites only sit in their little ferrocrete boxes and do largely nothing. It depends on the local commander, and how many men he has. But considering what could be going on, the local politics that could be at play. . .asking after them might not be a bad idea for a line of enquiry. Keep an eye out for their equipment, but not the men. That's my advice.”

During the conversations, he had stayed very close to Machairi. His role never changed, bodyguard and protector first, everything else distant second. When the food and drink arrived, he broke out a sensor wand and ran it over the offered provisions, and when it checked out clean, he took a small sip or bite of everything himself. If there was a heretical force afoot, it paid to be paranoid. And it wasn't above Rogue traders to assassinate each other to keep their precious markets to themselves.

[Cfavano]

Abdur moved to a sheltered alcove where he could watch the battle, while also being hard to see. He activated his microbead, and patched in to the Interrogator's private channel. "This is desert shade, copy." He awaited her response. "Be advised, a large crowd insurgents have engaged local PDF in battle within 2 kilometers of your current location. The insurgents have pale skin, and most are wearing large blast goggles. My exact location is one of the main mercantile roads to the north of you. Orders? Over."

[Ixajin]

Once the briefing was over Sebastian got up from the table and left the room without word. His arm was still aching and he wanted to run what test he could before they arrived at Hercynia. It was bothering him that he was unable to determine what he had contracted; he was certain that nothing from the last mission he was on could cause the symptoms he was feeling now. Lost in his thoughts Sebastian found himself back at his quarters before he realized it, not a good sign he thought to himself. He set about quickly to gather his field equipment and activated Fluffy, loading in a new sample of his blood to be analyzed. Once he had everything he needed he left his quarters, Fluffy floating along beside him as he headed to the trader ship they were using as one last thought trespassed in Sebastian’s mind: what will come from the shadows this time?

The trip proved mostly uneventful, he continued to analyze his blood and while the virus in him was starting to show signs of replication, it had not yet gotten to the point where he would need to let Machairi know what was happening. His arm was still stiff, but the physical workouts that Abdur was conducting gave him relief from the pain and an excuse for his arm being sore. What was interesting was the gift of the Martyr Hare. At first he was not sure why Abdur would give them one, but neither did he care. He named his hare Fate, and without hesitation upon taking the poor fated hare back to his quarters infected it with a sample of the budding virus taken from his own blood.

As it turned out, the virus was quick to affect the hare. Within a matter of days the hare was having trouble moving its hind legs and lost all appetite to eat anything. Analyzing blood from the hare showed a rapid growth of the virus and Sebastian quickly set about to analyze the difference in the Martyr Hare’s unaffected blood and his own healthy blood. He knew there had to be a key difference, and this could provide him the means to create an antidote. Only a few days before Abdur instructed those that attended his training classes to kill their hare’s, Sebastian found Fate in a state of advanced rigor mortis. On the last day he brought the hare back to class as instructed and when told to kill the hare he simply replied in an unemotional voice, “May the Emperor forgive if He so chooses, but this hare has already served a higher purpose.” And then he simply walked out before hearing anyone’s reply.

The flight down to the surface was as much as he expected, nothing special. Akkan did nothing but remind him of the outer edges of the hive where he grew up, and would be happy to leave the city to investigate the other territories of the world. When the lander finally settled and the team disembarked he exited without word, Fluffy hovering just above and to the side of his right shoulder. He quickly noticed the med lab and quickly acknowledged Machairi’s suggestion to start his investigation there. Stepping to Sister Sapphira’s right side he started to make his way to the med lab’s entrance.

[Jarms48]

Tomas shot a look at Abdur. "Keep your sand language to yourself, Abdur. On this team we speak Gothic and with good reason."

"And which Gothic would that be exactly?" Hybrida returned, a grin wide across his face. He canted his head towards Tomas, his smirk fading steadily. "I'm fluent in over a dozen dialects, and I can write at least a dozen more. I'd know more, but you know what they say about human memory. I'd go for Cult augmentation, but, I'd rather lose a limb first."


* * * * *

"Remus." Vincent grunted, acknowledging and then immediately dismissing Machairi's people as he sat down next to the Carbon stormtrooper. "How's that bastard Eugene getting on with you and your flyboys?" Eugene Roebuck was another of the old Solomon group, an irreverant old Catachan who had been assigned to Task Force Carbon after Sidonis recruited them all.

Remus gave him a polite nod, this was no longer his off duty hours; much to the contrary that the Interrogator would have him believe, and as such, a certain level of professional was required of him. Eugene, an eccentric with little understanding of the word salutation. To say he didn't approve of the mans fast-track into the company was an understatement. Lucky enough for him, Remus didn't share the same squad.


* * * * *

"This sounds more like a hereticus job." frowned the scarred, one-eyed agent Nyl. "Shouldn't we be sending one of their inquisitors?"

An Inquisitor is an Inquisitor. His sister would have him believe, at the Ends, the outlying worlds that skimmed the edges of the Astronomican the lesser Inquisitors, or those facing punishment often found themselves doing the runs. Going from world to world, handling the cases that held warrant, that needed an Inquisitorial touch.


* * * * *

"Does everyone understand? Remember, there aren't any stupid questions - only dead people who were too stupid to ask them."


"Yes, actually." Remus said, "what are we getting in the way of mission support? Our last op, we had numerous security breaches that could have been avoided with additional security forces. Will we be seeing additional members of Carbon on standby, should this go pear-shaped?"


* * * * *

"It's a fair point." Vincent Nyl grunted in agreement. "Leadership changes don't always go as well as on Venatora."

"They do if we make the selection." Hybrida returned.


* * * * *

"If you don't mind me saying so, my lady." the steward said as he gestured towards the sofas, inviting the other remaining members of Machairi's entourage to sit. "You have a very distinctive accent. Another offworlder with a similar cadence passed through here not long ago. Perhaps you'll find a friend."

Hybrida took the offering wholeheartedly. The ex-regulator plopped himself down on one of the nearby lounges, threw his legs over the end, and laid his head on one of the pillows. He turned his head to the side, watching the display with interest, observing, taking personal notes.

During the course of their journey, he had formed his alter-ego. Hybrida had taken the guise of a personal assistant slash bodyguard. Formal attire, complete with a three piece suit, the vestment a black military grade flakvest, and a chest-holster containing one of his trademark auto-pistols. The other was tucked away, hidden in a waist holster under his suit jacket.


* * * * *

"Oh." Machairi said, putting a hand over her mouth in a delicate expression of shock. She looked at her agents, inviting them to speak up.

"Why isn't the Imperial Guard present?" Hybrida asked conversationally. "You would think that a conflict that's been ongoing this long would demand attention from the Munitorum."


* * * * *

As the priest and shooty-man made introductions, Lia subtly pulled Remy down to her as if he were whispering in her ear. Then, with a carefully measured push, she shoved him away from her with as much force as the petite girl she looked might actually be able to muster. Squaring her small shoulders and adopting a regal yet petulant air, she looked up at Remus. With a high-class tone that mimicked the Interrogator's accent, she addressed him. "Father's not here, so I can do what I like!"

Remus gave her a rather confused look, he was taken aback for a moment before his mind coined onto what she was going for. His confusion turned to a feigned anger, the handler of some spoiled merchants daughter, perhaps good payment, but a profession wasted on a man of his stature.

"Girl, and what would father say if he heard you like this?" Remus warned.

((Not proud of it, but there's something.))

[Azazeal849]

Briefing (past)

"Yes, actually." Remus said, "What are we getting in the way of mission support? Our last op, we had numerous security breaches that could have been avoided with additional security forces. Will we be seeing additional members of Carbon on standby, should this go pear-shaped?"

"On standby yes..." Machairi answered, twisting her mouth. "But back here on the Bane. Sidonis told me he needs to keep his options open in case Priest and Van Der Mir need support against the Orks on Karamazov. He thinks we can get by on local resources if we need to organise some sort of rescue op for Schafer."

She folded her arms, knowing what the agents must be thinking. If an interrogator doesn't make priority, where do we stand?

"Using local resources." Marc spoke up from further down the table, a deep frown on his face. "That won't work out well if we're trying to arrest the governor. It certainly didn't on Venatora."

"We're going to play it safe." Machairi responded. "Until we've gathered enough information to make a case, and then we can lie low if necessary until Carbon arrives. For any rescue operation, the same. Local help or not, we're not going in blind, and I'm not going to throw your lives away."

Certainly not for Schafer.


+ + + + + +

Starport Lounge (present)

Solvan stepped beside the child with a warm smile and said as he sat down across from the rogue trader. "Indeed Mr. Klimment, I'm Solvan Belannor chief financial advisor for lady Alia Machairi. Lady Genofonia here was sent along by her father to learn from this trip, get some experience on negotiations. And most importantly, learn something about real life outside of ponies and mansions. She is of course authorized to make deals in her father's behalf. Since they usually deal by intermediaries as GWT, Galarex Weapons Trade, you may not have heard of them."

"I have not." Klimment admitted, raising one of his spindly arms and waving vaguely. It seemed a careless gesture, but Solvan saw a white-robed tech adept near the back of the lounge respond by discreetly pulling out a dataslate and beginning to tap away. He was clearly investigating who it was his master was dealing with.

"I do find it slightly insulting," Klimment said mildly, "That your lady Machairi doesn't deign to talk to me personally if we are to talk business."

"You can blame me for that." Vincent grunted. "She told us to just come and say hi while she settled in and maybe talk business later, but I know how under all the polite words you prefer to skip the grox-shit."

"You know me too well, dear boy." Klimment said with a smile. He craned his cable-studded head round to look at his tech priest, and although Solvan and the others didn't see any obvious communication, there must have been one because Klimment raised his eyebrows and nodded to himself in satisfaction.

"And besides," the rogue trader said, "If there are multiple potential partners here..."

He turned back towards Lia, smiling now, but the bodyguard behind him wore the amused look of someone who had identified a potentially easy target.


+ + + + + +

Machine Temple

From the small bank of cogitators and vox links, Vizkop could sent mass communications to the other Mechanicus installations on the planet. He set up a secure link for his access and broadcast his request for a resource assessment along with his authorisation. From the location-tags of the return streams alone, Vizkop could see that most of the planet's heavy industry was on the eastern continent of Illyrium. To focus on the pacified area of the planet was only logical, although Vizkop also received pings from a major manufactorum here in Akkan, as well as several relatively recent mining operations that had been set up in the territory that Machairi's outdated map had labelled the Uru Axis.

The ad mech's military forges in Illyrium reported maximum capacity with available resources, churning out Leman Russ tanks, Chimeras, Basilisks, Thunderbolts and Marauders at a rate that was objectively slow, but as high as could be expected from a frontier-grade manufactorum. The refineries originally intended to supply the planet's tithe were similarly overworked. To a man, all the overseer magi of the Uru-based facilities queried if Vizkop had been sent to assess their requests for additional security.


+ + + + + +

Med Lab

Stepping to Sister Sapphira’s right side, Sebastian started to make his way to the med lab’s entrance. The room beyond the arch was a simple reception area picked out in pale blue and cream, with stacks of paper and data-crystals filed away beneath shelves of textbooks and small bottles. A faint smell of counterseptic drifted through the blacked-out doors of the medical area beyond, but unless the doors were also sound-proofed the lab did not seem particularly busy.

There was a single doctor working in the antechamber, standing up behind her cogitator desk where she was busily scrawling labels onto bottles. She was a petite woman in a white tunic, her brown hair tied back in a ponytail.

"I'll be with you in just a moment." she called over in pleasantly-accented Obrantu when she saw the two agents enter. She put down her stylus and sidestepped round the desk to meet them, before looking in alarm at the misshapen cat's skull that served as Sebastian's drone. "Good grief. What is that?"


+ + + + + +

"Oh." Machairi said, putting a hand over her mouth in a delicate expression of shock. She looked at her agents, inviting them to speak up.

“Is there any plan to deal with them at all?” Malpais ventured after the lady's invitation.

"The infiltrators?" the steward asked as he took down the drinks orders. "The PDF has established an exclusion zone around the city, as you no doubt saw on the way in, and they're currently lobbying the governor in Illyrium to get the Uru refugees sent back. And they're keeping a close watch on all the Ghosts already in the city - don't worry, sir, they're very good at their jobs. As long as you all stay out of the ghettoes you shouldn't be in any danger."

"Why isn't the Imperial Guard present?" Hybrida asked conversationally. "You would think that a conflict that's been ongoing this long would demand attention from the Munitorum."

"Perhaps, but it never looks good when a governor has to ask the Guard for help against indigens, does it?" the steward shrugged. "We're in a ring of fire here I'll admit, what with those unpredictable Rytus and Zakarni on either side of us, constantly plotting to wipe us off the map... We've got enough firepower to keep them in check for now, which is in no small part thanks to rogue traders such as yourselves - but there's no doubt in my mind they're still shipping weapons to the rebels in Rakosu and the other Uru cities, trying to chip away at us."

"What exactly is it they want?" Marc asked, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"I don't pretend to understand them, sir. When they aren't murdering every Emperor-fearing Imperial they can get their hands on, they're killing each other over which of the two suns their god lives on."

"Shouldn't there be missionaries working on this?" Machairi asked delicately.

"The governor hasn't sent missionaries over there in years, my lady. Not safe, as you might guess. Force is the only thing that works on the Ghosts, and our PDF have been doing just that, even if I personally don't agree with using psykers to target the servitor kill teams." The steward paused to close down the glowing menu hololith. "Anyway, if you'll excuse me ladies and gentlemen, I'll be back with your drinks momentarily."

He sketched a bow and retreated, turning smartly on his heel towards the bar area. Marc and Kelly looked at each other, and then at Machairi. The interrogator sat back and steepled her fingers, digesting the information, until her microbead pipped.

"This is desert shade, copy."

"We can hear you, Abdur." Machairi responded softly. "What have you found?"

"Be advised, a large crowd of insurgents have engaged local PDF in battle within 2 kilometers of your current location. The insurgents have pale skin, and most are wearing large blast goggles. My exact location is one of the main mercantile roads to the north of you. Orders? Over."

Machairi's surprise was evident in the way her eyes widened and her mouth drew tight. "Continue or return at your discretion, but do not intervene."

"So much for no danger." the interrogator murmured to Tomas and the others, before hitching up a smile as their steward returned with the wine.


+ + + + + +

"So what," Klimment went on, "If you don't mind me asking, would be the unique selling point of Genofonia weapons?"

"I've seen the weapons in use now. They are outdated, few specialist weapons and most importantly very hard to maintain." Solvan made use of Vizkop's comment during the meeting to his advantage. "Genofonia can provide solutions to all that. So let's talk business. I like to think of every crisis as an oportunity, especially wars. Now, my lady Machairi does not enjoy staying on places as unpleasant as this planet for long. So we would be willing to delegate most of the profitable trades to efficient individuals, paying a generous percentage of the income of course." He let that statement sink in before adding. "I'm thinking perhaps you could be such an individual, I would bet you are appraised with the local situation and as a result where are the best venues of investment. Are you not?"

"I think it would be fair to say that I am." Klimment said, sitting back and folding his elongated arms. His silver eyes were still on Lia.

Solvan noticed the hooka was almost empty he turned to a male waiter, green eyes, slightly bronzed skin - like Solvan, but younger, the kind Klimment might be interested in. "Son, bring us some Urgandan Spiced tobacco, and Margantine wine. I know It's not on your menu, which by the way is a disgrace, but ask the sommelier, if he knows anything he should have a bottle or two stashed away. There's a big tip for you if you bring it."

"Urgandan, very good!" Klimment nodded appreciatively. "Always reassuring to know that the people you are talking to are men and women of taste. Now, the first question would be what kind of arms your lady Machairi and of course the fiery young lady Genofonia would be pitching. Air power and servitor-mounted weapons systems are what the Enclave are demanding right now to counter the native threats."

"What kind of threats are we talking about?" Vincent growled, the old soldier's Guard background stopping the question from seeming out of place.

"Well," Klimment said, taking a last draw from the hookah before carefully replacing the tube on its hanger, "Provided the natives don't unite, Uru was the only axis that could have really challenged the Enclave in a straight conventional war. They'd sharpened their claws often enough against the Rytu Axis in the north, and they never had any love for us Imperials. Smashing them into city states hardly changed that mentality, but it's a much less symmetric war that the Enclave's fighting now. They need missiles and tanks to defend Akkan and the mechanicus mines, yes, but they also need more fluid weapons to keep all the rebels suppressed. So what could you potentially offer them?"

[Thrannix]

--The Chapel; In Transit--

Malpais had his head bowed in prayer. Praying for the strength and resolve to serve the Interrogator in his full capacity. He found prayer, coupled with his regular meditation, kept his mind clear of unwanted thoughts and his temper under much better control. But the psyker was also restless, as he tended to get before an operation.

Solvan entered the chapel in silence, the incense burner in his hand leaving a trail of spiced smoke. He walked around the altar and the figure of the emperor whispering the Benedictus Imperator. He saw the swordsman deep in prayer and smiled. Malpais was one of the team members who showed up most regularly to pray, and even though it was a sign of his spiritual connection to the Emperor going to the chapel on a too regular basis often hid some personal concern. He left the incense burner on the floor and slowly sat beside the swordsman.

“May the Emperor be with you my son. It is good to see you in this holy place.” He raised his gaze to the mosaic ceiling leaving a few moments go by in silence. “Is something troubling you, Malpais?” He asked in a whisper. He sensed the swordsman tense under the question so he explained. “I am sorry if it comes across as an invasive enquiry. If you wish to be left alone to pray you need only to ask.”

"Nothing of any particular trouble, father," Malpais said. The reply came after a slight delay, the swordsman unfamiliar to such concern being leveled his way. "The act is...mentally cleansing for me. Visits become more frequent on the eve of an assignment, is all. I thank you for your concern and you have my assurance that if I do find myself the owner of troubles, I will come to you for guidance.

"That is good to hear my son." Said the priest. "I'll leave you to it then." He made the sign of the aquila and went about his daily duties.

--Present--

Solvan was relieved that both Remus and Kally had quickly adapted to the spoiled brat charade, by Klimment’s reaction he had bought it, for now at least. The waiter had just arrived with the wine and hookah refill.

"Provided the natives don't unite, Uru was the only axis that could have really challenged the Enclave in a straight conventional war. They'd sharpened their claws often enough against the Rytu Axis in the north, and they never had any love for us Imperials. Smashing them into city states hardly changed that mentality, but it's a much less symmetric war that the Enclave's fighting now.”

“I was unaware of this development. How long since the Uru axis was broken? It would be a pity if the opposition crumbles too soon, too little margin for profit.” The priest said in a concerned tone hoping to get clarification on the present magnitude of the threat.

"They need missiles and tanks to defend Akkan and the mechanicus mines, yes, but they also need more fluid weapons to keep all the rebels suppressed. So what could you potentially offer them?"

Solvan reached for another tube from the hookah and took a deep breath.

"Depends on how messily the imperial authority wants to deal with them." He said with a venomous smile, letting the smoke out through his nostrils, feeling the slight tingle of the spices. "For standard measures within the city we could provide riot shields and shotguns, shock mauls, tear gas grenades... the usual arbite grade equipment if required." He left the tube and received the glass of wine offered by the waiter. "Which begs the question why don't I see any arbite presence? Not that I complain of course, the less there are the more we sell." He gazed at his glass and stared at the red liquid swirling against the crystal as if the answer was of no interest to him.

"If we are aiming for more aggressive control, for the city wall and mining sites, for example, then servitor mounted heavy stubbers would be the economic choice, heavy bolters being the expensive one. I would recommend a mix to suit the buyer’s budget, adding a flamer servitor for every ten of the others for good measure, at half the price. The same weapons could be provided in man portable configuration, if servitors are a problem." He tasted the wine, the wooden flavors mixed with the perfect acidity and excellent texture, just as he remembered.

"Then depending on how successful the business proves to be we could add missile systems, plasma weaponry in small cuantities and assorted anti-tank weapons. As for tanks lady Machairi is at the present moment out of stock, though I can tell you that a group of hydra flak tanks will be made available in the near future. I’m guessing that would be an interesting offer around here." After a pause he asked. “Who do you reckon would be our main client in all this?"

"Oh, I almost forgot. Lady Machairi is very fond of... exotic items, especially of non-human origin." Solvan left the empty glass on the table to be refilled and joined his fingertips. "Do you know anyone who may be in the business of trading such products in the vicinity?"

[MrAGrimm]

++ During Transit to Hercynia ++

Sweat beaded on Aleksandrs skin, as his body flowed through the different meditative sword techniques, designed to focus and channel his will into his force sword. The blade glowed a hard pure white, leaving an arcing after image as the quickening took hold, his body movements becoming a blur as his psychic power sped his reflexes to a super human level. Around him time seemed to slow, the tick of an analog chronometer seemed to take an eternity, his movements slowed and he came to rest in the exact stance he began his exercises.

There weren't many others in the area of the ship designated for training, when he towelled the drying sweat from his torso and pulled on a sleeveless shirt and the shoulder holster holding his naval pistol. Sitting cross legged on training hall floor, he rolled out a silk sheet laying his sword reverently on it, before opening a small box that held tools to clean and maintain the sword, that had become as much a part of him as the bionic that replaced his left arm. And so went his days during the voyage to Hercynia.

++ Planet side, Hercynia ++

Like many of the others he dressed somewhat outside his usual attire, in a sombre black suit over his armoured body glove with his long silver hair tied back with a simple strip of black ribbon. The scipio pattern naval pistol holstered in a shoulder rig under the suit jacket, he carried his sheathed sword rather casually in his left hand.

Trailing along with the main group, as the others peeled off under the various directions of Machairi, Aleksandr kept quiet, and took a seat on one of the sofas snatching a drink from the tray of a passing servo skull. While he sipped on the strange cocktail, that seemed to be a mix of a local grain alcohol and fruit juices, he affected careless glances around the lounge, taking in the placement of PDF troopers, and the various body guards and other members of the rogue traders retinues.

He listened intently to what the steward said of the local inhabitants, and their insurgency. Pondering over the information, he wondered how the local governor could allow it continue for so long and not be either corrupt or incompetent. “You mentioned the use of psykers, does the PDF employ a large number of them?” He asking the steward in Obrantu, with a slight carthaeian accent.

[Azazeal849]

“I was unaware of this development. How long since the Uru axis was broken? It would be a pity if the opposition crumbles too soon, too little margin for profit.” The priest said in a concerned tone hoping to get clarification on the present magnitude of the threat.

"Oh, there'll be trouble from the indigens for a long while yet." Klimment said with a smile. "The Rytus are sabre-rattling in the north; the Zakarni down south are a bit more pragmatic, but a trade deal with Illyrium isn't stopping them watching for weaknesses. The Uru Axis effectively ceased to exist 9 years ago, but the PDF lost so many men trying to keep the peace that they mostly pulled out and went on the defensive. Now they're trying to keep the rebels down with servitor purge sweeps, but the cities are still positively crawling with angry Urus, Rytus and Zakarni. The old Uru capital of Rakosu is the worst."

"The other two axes are involved?" Vincent said, raising his eyebrows.

"Naturally. The Uru cities split up more or less along sectarian lines, so the Rytus are quietly supporting their fellow disciples of the Vilysian Solar, and the Zakarni are helping the Ramado Sept just to stop the Rytus and their oh-so-blasphemous northern religion." Klimment chuckled, shaking his head. "Still, either one winning and uniting the old Uru cities is generally regarded as bad news for the Enclave. And that's not even counting all the potentially dangerous indigens already living in and around Akkan."

Klimment paused to pick up the hookah again.

"The Enclave need missiles and tanks to defend Akkan and the mechanicus mines, yes, but they also need more fluid weapons to keep all the rebels suppressed. So what could you potentially offer them?"

Solvan reached for another tube from the hookah and took a deep breath.

"Depends on how messily the imperial authority wants to deal with the rebels." he said with a venomous smile, letting the smoke out through his nostrils, feeling the slight tingle of the spices. "For standard measures within the city we could provide riot shields and shotguns, shock mauls, tear gas grenades... the usual arbite grade equipment if required." He left the tube and received the glass of wine offered by the waiter. "Which begs the question why don't I see any arbite presence? Not that I complain of course, the less there are the more we sell." He gazed at his glass and stared at the red liquid swirling against the crystal as if the answer was of no interest to him.

"Ha, I know full well what you're really asking, dear boy." Klimment chuckled. "Don't you worry - due to the standard Administratum delays, the arbites aren't due to set up on Hercynia for another few years yet, and as far as the local enforcers are concerned we're the governor's best friends. No-one is going to give you trouble for undercutting the Munitorum here, not when it keeps the locals safe."

"If we are aiming for more aggressive control," Solvan went on, "For the city wall and mining sites, for example - then servitor mounted heavy stubbers would be the economic choice, heavy bolters being the expensive one. I would recommend a mix to suit the buyer’s budget, adding a flamer servitor for every ten of the others for good measure, at half the price. The same weapons could be provided in man portable configuration, if servitors are a problem." He tasted the wine; the wooden flavors mixed with the perfect acidity and excellent texture, just as he remembered.

Klimment tapped his mouth thoughtfully. "I fancy that servitors shouldn't be a problem. The Enclave always needs more of them for the kill teams. Persuading the locals to overhaul the city's defences might be tricky, although if the Ghosts oblige us with a few more guerrilla attacks I'm sure they could be convinced."

"Then depending on how successful the business proves to be we could add missile systems, plasma weaponry in small cuantities and assorted anti-tank weapons. As for tanks lady Machairi is at the present moment out of stock, though I can tell you that a group of hydra flak tanks will be made available in the near future. I’m guessing that would be an interesting offer around here."

"Almost certainly." Klimment nodded. "Aircraft and missile strikes from the Rytu Axis up north are some of the Enclave's biggest fears."

After a pause, Solvan asked. “Who do you reckon would be our main client in all this?"

"I could sell it directly to the PDF for you. Steady client, minimal risk. At a pinch we can also sell to the mechanicus magi with assets out in Uru. They don't like receiving equipment from us but they don't like relying on the PDF either - at least these guards would be under their direct control. I have tech priests who can handle the negotiations, if you can provide me proof that all of your wares have the proper mechanicus sanction."

"Oh," said Solvan, "I almost forgot. Lady Machairi is very fond of... exotic items."

"Aren't we all?" Klimment grinned lazily.

"Especially of non-human origin." Solvan left the empty glass on the table to be refilled and joined his fingertips. "Do you know anyone who may be in the business of trading such products in the vicinity?"

The bodyguard behind Klimment stopped smiling for the first time, his smooth features drawing into a frown, but Klimment himself merely hummed in thought.

"Hmmm." The rogue trader craned his neck slowly round to glance at one of the other rogue traders, the woman in the silver mask who was currently reading reports with the help of four colourfully-dressed retainers. "You might try Natalia's friend Harlock. I swear that man sells everything. You won't find him around here though."

"No?" Vincent asked, frustrated with Klimment's partial answer.

"Mister Harlock is of that young and ambitious breed who jumps at opportunities that the rest of us are too sensible to get mixed up in. The kind that usually ends up broke, dead or charged with heresy within a few years. Although I have to hand it to the young man, nothing unpleasant seems to have stuck to him so far, so it might just be possible that he knows what he's doing. In any case, I believe he's currently out in Uru somewhere."

"Doing what?"

Klimment shrugged expansively. "Construction materials for the mechanicus, perhaps? Or medicine for the indigens? He always professed to be the soft-hearted type. Or maybe he's even selling them weapons? The Urus and Rytus might hate us Imperials, but they've got no problem buying our guns."

The rogue trader chuckled, the sound underlayed by a hollow metallic ring from somewhere inside his throat. "But I wouldn't advise you to go down that route. Like I said, most of us are too sensible to get mixed up in that sort of nonsense."


+ + + + + +

Aleksandr listened intently to what the steward said of the local inhabitants, and their insurgency. Pondering over the information, he wondered how the local governor could allow it continue for so long and not be either corrupt or incompetent. “You mentioned the use of psykers, does the PDF employ a large number of them?” He asking the steward in Obrantu, with a slight Carthaeian accent.

"A significant number, sir." the steward nodded as he uncorked the wine and poured a small measure of the pale gold liquid for Machairi to sample. "The AAT has a training complex just north of the city. The indigens seem to generate a slightly higher than average number of psykers, but both of the local religions push hard to keep them down - one of the Ghosts' few virtues."

[Cfavano]

Abdur activated his microbead after getting the answer. "Noted, I will continue my observation. I'll report any changes to you. Desert Shade, out." He removed his finger from the button and slunk out of the alcove. He then traveled down a deserted alleyway between two buildings, keeping eyes out for followers. He sa that the building walls were old, and had several bars connecting them to each other. Getting a running start, he ran up the wall a small bit and grabbed a handhold in the rockcrete, and began climbing up the wall, sidling to one of the connecting bars and pulled himself up to his feet. He then began to jupm from one to the other, steadily making his way up to the roof.

Once he had got there, he dropped to a crouch and sneaked over to the lip of the roof edge overlooking the battle. After he did that, he then made sure to don his camo-cloak to blur his outline, and make himself harder to detect. He then, after that, took out his rangefinders and looked through them to get a better look and see up close.

[Azazeal849]

Once Abdur had got there, he dropped to a crouch and sneaked over to the lip of the roof edge overlooking the battle. After he did that, he then made sure to don his camo-cloak to blur his outline, and make himself harder to detect. He then, after that, took out his rangefinders and looked through them to get a better look and see up close.

By the time he reached the roof the protestors had already fled, leaving behind five albino bodies with their blood diffusing into the puddled rainwater. One stream of red had snaked across to one of the sun banners that lay dropped in the street, slowly soaking the white cloth pink. PDF soldiers stood over the casualties, checking the dead and pressing booted feet into the backs of those who were trying to crawl away. The thin line of soldiers with their crackling riot shields had advanced and reformed further up the street, keeping back a crowd that was gathering to see what had happened. A woman with the pale skin and bug-eyed goggles of the indigens caught a glimpse of the bodies in the street behind the cordon, let out a cry and tried to break past the PDF, but the nearest soldier shoved her back so hard that she fell and disappeared into the crowd. Abdur thought he saw one of the other citizens spit on her.

Behind the picket line, the remaining PDF were spreading out into the shops that lined the road. They seemed to be trying to reassure the citizens who had ducked for cover at the first crack of lasfire, but at the dull grey prefab across from Abdur two PDF spotted something and barged their way inside. They appeared a few moments later with a young indigen, handcuffed and with blood running bright down the pale skin of his face, who they bundled into the back of a Chimera that had just rumbled into the bottom end of the street. Some of the soldiers were on their vox casters, and Abdur could hear sirens and gunshots as other units hunted down the scattered protestors.

[Ixajin]

“I think it best that you play the role of crew doctor,” Sebastian commented as they approach the med lab, “I’ll take things from the angle of a researcher looking for new toxins and such that require antidotes and other uses.”

“My thoughts exactly, mister Tee.” Sapphira agreed, using Sebastian’s assumed identity, as she spared a glance at him. Her eyes briefly wandered over to his unique assistant. For a moment Sapphira considered saying something, but then perished the thought. This was no time for distractions.

"Good grief. What is that?"

Turning his head in the direction that the doctor was looking, Sebastian quickly realized that she was referring to Fluffy.

“Ah, this would be Fluffy,” he nodded to the servo skull floating just above his right shoulder. “It serves as my analysis cogitator when I am working in the field for my Lady Machairi; which in fact of point is why we are here. May I present Doctor Sapphira Wilder, and I am researcher Stian Tee.”

Fluffy. Sapphira blinked, somehow surprised and yet not at the same time. Fortunately the other woman was too captivated by the drone to notice her reaction. Sapphira rallied, and smiled pleasantly as she extended a hand. “Pleased to meet you, Doctor...?”

“Birch,” the doctor said absentmindedly, before she seemed to actually notice Sapphira. “Doctor Susanna Birch.” She hastily accepted the handshake, before continuing to stare at Fluffy, “That doesn’t seem like something the cog-boys would allow anyone to have. Certainly doesn’t look safe.”

Sebastian shrugged, “It might look threatening, but it really isn’t. As for the cog-boys, some do take offense to it, but working for a Rogue Trader does have it privileges.”

Doctor Birch then turned to face Sapphira. “I see. And you, Doctor, what do you think of your colleague’s….assistant?”

“Fluffy is certainly unconventional,” Sapphira answered, and raised an eyebrow after a moment’s thought about recent events. (http://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=40923&page=9&p=1431624&viewfull=1#post1431624) “But, then again, unconventional is in our job description.” She shook her head dismissively, and refocused. “Could you be of assistance to us, Doctor Birch? I’d like to arrange for sixteen inoculation courses, expedited if you please. Lady Machairi will, of course, compensate well for any inconvenience.”

“Straight to business as always,” Sebastian grinned, “Of course Doctor Wilder is as ever thinking of our shipmates."

"Er, yeah, I can get those sorted out for you." Doctor Birch nodded, and crossed over to her cogitator desk to find a stylus and paper. "It'll take a week or two for the immunity to kick in, but you shouldn't have too much trouble as long as you stay in the city. It's been a very rainy summer and it seems to have killed off most of the biting insects. You should stay out of the refugee camps, but of course that goes without saying..."

"Biting insects, is their doing what had you occupied?" Sebastian asked. "If it is not too out of line, I would be interested to see what you are working on. That is if you are not too busy.”

“I’ll admit, Doctor Birch, I feared for the worst when coming here.” Sapphira confessed as she glanced around the room. “The quiet is unexpected, but much more preferable than the alternative.”

"It's always quiet enough here." doctor Birch shrugged. "We only deal with people passing through the starport, and it's rare for a ship to arrive with casualties they haven't already taken care of, so it's mostly just screening and immunisations. Obviously the medicae across town are a lot busier. But I'm actually glad to be rotated out here after having to deal with that raid a few months back."

“Would you mind telling us what happened?” Sapphira asked, with genuine concern, as her expression darkened. She crossed her arms, with her fingers splayed like the aquila’s wings.

“Bloody affairs raids; I myself am quite happy not to be tied down to a surgical ward.” Sebastian commented as he slowly turned a circle, minutely gesturing with his right hand to indicate to Fluffy to get a reading of the work area that Doctor Birch was in when they arrived. “Does the city get raided often?”

[Cfavano]

Abdur beeped his microbead. "Update, the riot has been scattered, 5 of the pale insurgents have been killed, several have been arrested and thrown into a chimera, I.D. number on the side is Alpha-Alpha-Bravo-Two-Niner-Seven. My guess is they are being taken to either a standard prison, or someplace worse. Also, Citizens seem to hate these people, as I noticed one spit at a female that was not in the riot, but tried to aid the fallen. PDF showed violence to this female. I believe that perhaps this situation is more deep that we think. Permission to attempt capture/abduction of one of these pale folk for questioning? Over." He then removed his finger from the button so he could receive a reply.

[Azazeal849]

"Biting insects, is their doing what had you occupied?" Sebastian asked.

The doctor shrugged. “They're just the carriers for a few diseases that might give offworlders trouble. I was just putting the prescriptions in order.”

"If it is not too out of line, I would be interested to see what you are working on. That is if you are not too busy.”

Doctor Birch frowned, and Sebastian saw her glance at the binder that was sitting open on her desk. “Erm...I'm afraid patient data is confidential – outside the Imperial authorities, of course.”

“I’ll admit, Doctor Birch, I feared for the worst when coming here.” Sapphira confessed, heading off the danger by changing the subject as she glanced around the room. “The quiet is unexpected, but much more preferable than the alternative.”

"It's always quiet enough here." doctor Birch shrugged. "We only deal with people passing through the starport, and it's rare for a ship to arrive with casualties they haven't already taken care of, so it's mostly just screening and immunisations. Obviously the medicae across town are a lot busier. But I'm actually glad to be rotated out here after having to deal with that raid a few months back."

“Would you mind telling us what happened?” Sapphira asked, with genuine concern, as her expression darkened. She crossed her arms, with her fingers splayed like the aquila’s wings.

Doctor Birch winced slightly. “Some rebels set off a bomb in one of the refugee camps. When the PDF went out to investigate, they got ambushed. Twenty six casualties, not counting the indigens.”

“Bloody affairs, raids; I myself am quite happy not to be tied down to a surgical ward.” Sebastian commented as he slowly turned a circle, minutely gesturing with his right hand to indicate to Fluffy to get a reading of the work area that Doctor Birch was in when they arrived. “Does the city get raided often?”

“Sometimes the rebels fire frags down from the hills around,” the doctor said, distracted from the humming servo skull by Sebastian's question. “But that's the closest they've come to the city in years, thank the Emperor. Outside the Enclave it's a hell of a lot worse though.”

While she talked, Sebastian could see the pict-captures of the doctor's desk popping up on his dataslate as they were streamed through Fluffy's auto-link. The folder that doctor Birch had glanced at was, as she had said, a list of prescription records. Most were signed off, and the ones which were not corresponded to the bottles she had been labelling; no doubt for some of the rogue traders sitting through in the lounge area.

Due to the low volume of traffic passing through the Enclave's only starport, the list was relatively short – but two names immediately jumped out at Sebastian. Javid Schafer, grouped with a dozen other names that had arrived in the Enclave about three months ago, and Roose Harlock, three months before that. Harlock had been prescribed only a single booster shot, suggesting that this was not his first visit to Hercynia's Enclave.


+ + + + + +

“Also, Citizens seem to hate these people, as I noticed one spit at a female that was not in the riot, but tried to aid the fallen. PDF showed violence to this female. I believe that perhaps this situation is more deep that we think.”

“Hate the indigens?” Marc Black murmured from his seat between Tomas and Aleksandr, “We could have told him that from the way the steward was speaking about them...”

Antipathy would only be natural when the settlers had been at war for several years. And no doubt there would be unrest among the subjugated locals as well. Still, what had sparked the so-called riot?

”Permission to attempt capture/abduction of one of these pale folk for questioning? Over."

“Denied.” interrogator Machairi answered him softly. “We're going to try not to stir up any trouble or draw any attention until we have a better idea of the situation. You can talk to the locals, but no renditions...yet.”

[Atrum Daemon]

{ The music for this fight (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aoP5NGLsWR0) }

Vizkop sent out a confirmation of his purpose. An assessment might do the facilities on the planet some good and get them the equipment and security they needed. He logged the specifics of the facilities on his personal data slate and copied a more updated regional map so the team would have correct information on locations and borders. He was about to continue the discourse with the collective magi, but a sound in the forward area of the temple caught his attention.

Vizkop's hand dropped to the hilt of one of his swords as he crept his way toward the front of the temple. He found a trio of figures in the front hall of the small temple, one of the pushing the metal doors of the temple closed. They were all dressed in dull colored surcoats with black boots and gloves. Vizkop guessed that the coats were ballistic by the way the three men carried themselves. Each man carried a compact lasgun, a heavy autopistol, and a long knife in a sheath. Vizkop's hands rested on the hilts of his blades as he stepped out from the shadows. The close space in the temple made them the best choice from his on-hand arsenal.

The three assassins turned at the sound of Vizkop clearing his throat. The air became thick with tension as Vizkop stared the men down. The three men dropped their rifles and drew their knives, free hands shifting and splitting open. The bionic hands pulled back into the forearms and extended short barrels of implanted weapons. 'Oh,' Vizkop internalized. 'Fantastic.'

Carbon fiber muscles tensed in Vizkop's legs moments before he launched himself at the trio, the power swords flashing from their sheaths and flaring into life. He narrowly avoided the potent laser blasts from the implanted weapons and he aimed his blades home only to have them turned aside by powered knives. He altered his angle of attack, keeping the third assassin in his peripheral so he could control the dance to keep the other two between himself and the third assassin.

Vizkop's body twisted away as the first two fired again, one of the shots grazing Vizkop's side. The heat seared through his bodyglove, his subdermal armor the only thing stopping the shot from really opening his flesh. His boot connected with the gut of one of the assassins when he tried to take advantage of Vizkop's pause after being grazed. He shoved the assassin back and practically pounced at the other he had gotten in close with, one of the power swords piercing through the assassin's chest and dropping him to the floor.

The next laser shot caught him square in the chest. Surprise jolted through his mind as the unexpected force knocked him on his back, the blades dropped from his grip and clattering across the floor. The combination of the armor padding in the bodyglove's chest and his own chest armor absorbed the shot. The laser was definitely more focused than any standard lasweapon, most likely hot-shot based on the force and heat output. He lay on the floor, remaining still as the remaining two assassins moved closer to him, speaking to one another in a dialect he could not identify.

One assassin stepped close and leveled his implanted weapon to Vizkop's head. It only took scarce seconds for one of Vizkop's implanted power blades to extend and for his arm to arc up, removing the assassin's weapon arm at the elbow in a single clean cut and a shower of sparks from suddenly severed wiring. He used the elbow of his raised arm to push himself up and brought his other arm around, the blade extended, and severed the assassin's head. The final assassin drew his autopistol and unloaded at Vizkop.

Vizkop felt the rounds impact his body, unfazed by the dulled pain. His legs carried him forward and his blades found their home in the assassin's face and chest. He withdrew his blades and the assassin crumpled, the Mechanicus assassin finally letting himself relax. He shifted his gaze from assassin to assassin, checking for any movement. When he was satisfied, he knelt and began to search the assassin at his feet. He figured one of them, if not all, carried the contract details.

[Thrannix]

The bodyguard behind Klimment stopped smiling for the first time, his smooth features drawing into a frown, but Klimment himself merely hummed in thought.

Solvan registered the change that his question had provoked on the man. But decided to let it slip without comment.

The rogue trader chuckled, the sound underlayed by a hollow metallic ring from somewhere inside his throat. "But I wouldn't advise you to go down that route. Like I said, most of us are too sensible to get mixed up in that sort of nonsense."

"Of course." replied the bishop with a nod. He decided that he wasn't going to get more information from Klimment at this point and was already stretching his luck.

"Well it has been a most enlightening conversation Mister Klimment." He bowed slightly after standing up. "I'm sure lady Machairi will be looking forward to this mutually beneficial enterprise. We will be in touch." He stood, leaving the rogue trader and his bodyguard to finish the expensive liquor and lho.

"I can hardly wait." Klimment smiled, waving lazily. "And you, my dear," he added, his glittering eyes flashing over towards Lia, "If some other business proposition crosses your intrepid little mind, my door is always open!"

He gave another metallic chuckle.

"Taking a few extra Thrones out of your inexperienced little hands will be an honour and a pleasure." he added, once Solvan and the others were out of earshot.

+You dissuaded them from the sale of hunter-killer servitors as well as defensive ones+ the tech-priest who had been hovering behind Klimment observed noospherically as he sidled over.

+Of course.+ Klimment replied through his own skull-grafted transmitter. +We don't need their competition in our most profitable field, now do we?+

The lilac-skinned rogue trader glanced at his bodyguard, and his silver eyes clicked as his eyebrows knitted together.

"What's the matter with you, my dear Xanthius?" he asked with his ordinary voice.

The man called Xanthius was still staring warily after the inquisition agents as they moved away. "I'm not sure. That question about xenos artefacts seemed...out of place." He turned to the tech-priest. "Are you sure their background checks out?"

The red-robed priest simply nodded, though to Klimment he offered elaboration in the form of another microburst data package. +Galarax Weapons Trade is certainly active throughout this sector, although obtaining a full list of their contractors would require more leverage with their senior tech-priests than I am capable of exerting+

"Hmmm." said Klimment, and his bionic eyes whirred as they turned after the retreating agents to settle upon Vincent Nyl.


+ + + + + +

Solvan stopped in the center of the lounge and turned to Kally. "See if you can get Klimment's bodyguard on his own. He seemed uncomfortable with me asking after Harlock. He knows something, find out what it is."

"Why me?" Kally asked. “I’m a gakking blank!”

"He is a man, you are an attractive female. I'm merely playing the odds. Let us pray to the Emperor that he swings that way." There was no jest in the priest's tone. “Also, my options are limited. Lia is too young and Dr. Wilder is otherwise engaged at the moment.” He added looking towards the clinic, he paused suddenly and smiled. “You could ask agent Kelly Black to come along, superior numbers always help.” He ended with a wink.

"Belannor here." Solvan spoke into the intercom pretending to be speaking to Vincent. "Uru axis broken into city states nine years ago, but still rebellious, helped by the other two axes according to religious belief. Enclave on the defensive, heavy harassment of Akkan and Mechanicus mining sites. Arbite presence not expected for a few years. They are all desperate to buy as many weapons as they can get their hands on."

"Good work, father." Machairi's voice returned, with genuine-sounding warmth.

"Do we know how reliable this information is?" whispered another voice, which Solvan recognised as that of the ex-enforcer, Marcus Black.

“As reliable as any information from a man that would happily sell his mother for a few Thrones I suppose.” He answered. “Though I believe he was more interested in getting the best out of the fake deal rather than lying about the geopolitical reality.”

Solvan glanced at the silver masked rogue trader, who, as luck would have it, had just split off from the others in the lounge to approach the bar.

"I also got a lead on Harlock; presently in Uru territory on unknown business. I think it’s probable that Schafer went after him. Silver masked female is a friend of his. On my way to investigate." He began crossing the lounge once more. "How do you want to play this? Make her nervous and force her to try and contact him, or keep a low profile? Try to set up a meeting perhaps?"

"Keep a low profile." Machairi advised. "If we scare Harlock too early he might run, or start covering his tracks."

Solvan didn’t reply, he didn’t have to.

“I’ll do this alone.” He told Vincent so he would stay at a prudent distance. Approaching a lone woman with a bodyguard wasn’t usually the best way to get her talking.

On his way to the bar he snatched a glass of amasec from a tray and dipped his finger in it. Then he pretended to scratch his eyes.

“Warp damn it, that stings.” He grumbled as the liquor burned the white of his eyes, the priest then drank the rest after washing his mouth for a few seconds. When he got to the bar he was red eyed and smelling of amasec. The perfect drunk.

He stumbled into the seat next to the woman who Klimment had called Natalia, without giving her much notice but taking a quick glance at her attire up close and to the drink she was having.

“Barman.” He said with a slight acted slurring. “Another one!” And laid his empty glass on the bar.

“By the way, you should add some tangerine juice to that.” He commented distractedly to Natalia as the barman refilled his stolen glass.

The rogue trader glanced round and, despite the glass-eyed silver mask, somehow managed to convey an expression of utter contempt before turning to leave.

"That's the way it is in this place." Solvan began, still slurring as the rogue trader turned. "Give good drinking advice, they treat you like filth. Offer good trading opportunities, they reject them. Say you want to buy some nice xenotech, they run away scared." He sighed and started talking to himself out loud in grumbles, but the words 'Harlock' and 'xeno' were deliberately better pronounced for the masked woman to make them out. Just as Solvan had intended, she froze. She turned slowly, before stalking back towards Solvan with the sashes of her long emerald gown rippling behind her.

"A word of advice, you drunken fool." she hissed at the undercover priest. "Don't mention xenotech quite so loudly in an Imperial establishment!"

An expression of convincing compunction mixed with confusion rose to Solvan's face. The trap was set - someone might suspect a stranger who appears out of nowhere with infinite amounts of Thrones and offering to buy all their illegal merchandise, but a drunk idiot was much less intimidating.

"Fine, fine. I'm sorry." He whispered painfully. "But I have to find Roose Harlock. My employer doesn't like being denied her toys." He seemed to almost doze off for a moment.

Natalia seemed to look at Solvan a little more closely. "Wait a minute. Aren't you the man who was just talking to Ottik? What do you want with Roose Harlock?"

"I'm sure he is here on..." Solvan frowned as if lost for words. "Hercynia." he continued suddenly, as if talking to his glass. "But where? No one will tell me. Like he has the plague or something." He sighed. "I'll just have to keep asking I guess." He hoped that the threat of a drunk idiot who knew too much asking questions to the wrong people would make the rogue trader start talking. Once again his instincts were good, although in this case perhaps a little too good. The masked trader lunged towards him, seizing his arm with a long-fingered hand.

"Listen you." she hissed quietly. "Are you trying to frak me? You don't frak with chartered trader Natalia Viess. I have the ear of the governor! I've been working with him since before the Enclave even existed!"

She released her grip as the barman reappeared with another bottle, and dropped her voice to a sharp whisper.

"You won't find Harlock here because he's on business in Uru. You can make an appointment when he returns. But if you value your skin, stop openly asking after things that will get you burned as a heretic!"

"My lady?" someone asked from behind them. Both Solvan and Natalia turned to see one of the colourfully-dressed retainers who had been attending the masked woman back in the lounge. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes." Natalia answered, a little stiffly.

"Adept Pallas has just received the risk assessment you requested on the new mining development."

"Excellent." the rogue trader said distractedly, and with a final warning glance at Solvan she allowed the retainer to escort her back to the lounge.

The barman saw the fancy dressed drunk smile enigmaticaly as he gave his back to Natalia. Solvan stood up once more still stumbling.

"Confirmation on Harlock's whereabouts." Solvan cracked into the intercom. "Also, Natalia Viess, chartered trader, just admitted that the governor is in her pocket." He let that piece of information lay in the air for a second while he walked back to Vincent. "She's working on some new mining opeartion. Perhaps its worth a look."

Right at that time the gunshots from the mechanicus temple could be heard and all hell broke loose inside the lounge. The priest pinched his nose.

"Well, there goes your low profile."

[dakkagor]

Solvan stopped in the center of the lounge and turned to Kally. "See if you can get Klimment's bodyguard on his own. He seemed uncomfortable with me asking after Harlock. He knows something, find out what it is."

"Why me?" Kally asked. “I’m a gakking blank!”

"He is a man, you are an attractive female. I'm merely playing the odds. Let us pray to the Emperor that he swings that way." There was no jest in the priest's tone. “Also, my options are limited. Lia is too young and Dr. Wilder is otherwise engaged at the moment.” He added looking towards the clinic, he paused suddenly and smiled. “You could ask agent Kelly Black to come along, superior numbers always help.” He ended with a wink.

Kally watched incredulous as Solvan walked off. A part of her just wanted to pull out a laspistol and cap the bastard for his presumption, but another part of her wanted to beat him to a pulp to figure out why he thought he could get away with making a suggestion like that. Then she looked back to Machairi, and Tomas hanging over her shoulder. . .

That son of a bitch!

Her hands clenched into fists for a second, but then she took a deep breath and relaxed. Fine, what to do? She didn't feel like approaching a guy while he was working and trying to pump him for information in front of his boss. That seemed like a plan doomed to failure and arousing suspicion at the same time.

With a resigned sigh she turned the limiter back up to its maximum level and fell in with Vincent and Lia as they returned to the main body of the party.

As they approached where Machairi was holding court, gunfire rang out from the machine temple . Kally immediately doubled back, breaking into a run and dashing for the bronze doors. She barged through them with her shoulder, boltgun ready, and stepped into a room that stunk of blood and spilled mechanical fluids.

"You alright?" Kally asked as she approached Vizkop, who was hunkered down over. . .an attacker? Vizkop didn't seem the kind to go off on one and murder someone, and they seemed to have been heavily armed.

"Friends of yours?"

[Ixajin]

“That doesn’t sound like frags coming down the hills.” Sebastian commented as gunfire sounded from outside the med lab. “I would say someone has gotten a lot closer.”

Turning around to look back out the entrance, Sebastian could see Kally running in towards the Mechanicus shrine. “Doctor Wilder, it would appear that one of our mates may have found some trouble to get in to, perhaps we should let Doctor Birch prepare for any injured individuals and check on our Lady’s wellbeing. Doctor Birch, it was a pleasure to meet you, I hope we will get the chance to speak further, perhaps over dinner?”

Waiting only for a moment for Doctor Birch’s response Sebastian exited the med lab and started making his way back to Machairi’s group. Fluffy had found something, not much, but knowing Schafer had been through here, and Harlock not so long before was something. Of more import was the detail of Harlock not requiring the same level of immunization; indicating that he has been here before and more than once.

[Azazeal849]

"Confirmation on Harlock's whereabouts." Solvan cracked into the intercom. "Also, Natalia Viess, chartered trader, just admitted that the governor is in her pocket."

"That's...interesting." Machairi answered quietly. "Do you have any idea of the scale of her assets?"

"She's working on some new mining opeartion. Perhaps it's worth a look."

"And the psyker training camp at the AAT complex." Aleksandr contributed. "We should investigate that as well. We should be able to get in under the pretext of wanting to send an astropathic message."

"We could also check for any messages from Schafer that were not sent or got lost in transit." Machairi agreed. "Vizkop, can you find us the location for any new mining operations belonging to a trader Veiss?" The vox was silent. "Vizkop?"

At that moment, there was the muffled but distinctive whip-crack of lasfire from the direction of the machine temple. The team snapped round, to see that the doors were closed.


+ + + + + +

Vizkop shifted his gaze from assassin to assassin, checking for any movement. When he was satisfied, he knelt and began to search the assassin at his feet. He figured one of them, if not all, carried the contract details. However there were no immediately obvious hard copies. With a swift probe with his binary comms transmitter, Vizkop checked for retrievable implants. He discovered to his alarm that although the assasssins boasted extensive concealed bionics, every data storage node came equipped with a dead man's switch - the stopping of the assassins' hearts had served as a signal to wipe them clean.

Just then, Kally barged through the bronze doors with her shoulder, boltgun ready, and stepped into a room that stank of blood and spilled mechanical fluids. Marc and Vincent were right behind her, lasguns snapping round to secure the corners of the temple atrium, and Machairi herself was not far behind. Keeping in character, she gasped and raised her hands to her mouth. The performance was for the benefit of the other rogue traders, whose own bodyguards had rushed to the scene just as fast as the team had. Klimment's man Xanthius slowly returned his guns to their holsters as he assessed the scene, while the tech-adept behind him let out a binary shriek at the violence that had just profaned the Omnissiah's temple. As Sapphira and Sebastian arrived from the med lab, Dr Birch came running up with them. When she saw what had happened, she paled and violently exclaimed, "Holy throne!"

"You alright?" Kally asked as she approached Vizkop, who was hunkered down over. . .an attacker? Vizkop didn't seem the kind to go off on one and murder someone, and they seemed to have been heavily armed. "Friends of yours?"

"Step aside!" someone shouted, and a number of starport security guards pushed their way through the gathering crowd. The leader, a stocky man with rank pins fastened to his collar, immediately singled out Vizkop. "You! Tech priest! What happened here?"

"This space is sacred to the machine god!" wheezed Klimment's tech adept, with an organic voice that sounded like it hadn't been used in years. "And you will show proper respect to a brother of Mars!"

"What the Horus is going on?" demanded the sharp voice of rogue trader Veiss.

The starport guards were forming a cordon, and everyone apart from Vizkop was finding themselves pushed back into the main lounge area.

"My apologies ladies and gentleman but this level is now under lockdown." a tall guard called over the heads of the crowd. "Please make your way calmly to the main gallery below."

"I'm a medica." doctor Birch's voice protested from somewhere behind Sebastian. "Let me help."

"Someone get a ranking cogboy over here!" the stocky lead guard called into his handheld vox.

"What about my tech priest?" Machairi demanded, sounding convincingly shaken as she addressed the guard who was ushering her back with his arms spread wide.

"I'm sorry ma'am, we send him back to you as soon as we know what's going on..."

"I think..." Machairi hesitated, "I think I'll need to send an astro..."

"Certainly, ma'am. The PDF escorts a convoy to the AAT complex twice daily."

"A PDF escort?" Kelly Black queried from beside the interrogator.

"Yes, ma'am. Standard procedure given the current security situation. Now please proceed downstairs."

The team were swept along with the ushered crowd, listening intently to the guards question Vizkop until they moved beyond the effective range of their microbeads. Vincent stubbornly resisted, falling towards the rear until he heard a whir and felt an augmetic hand touch his shoulder guard. He turned to see the distorted lilac features of rogue trader Klimment looking down at him. The freakishly tall trader gestured towards his ear. When Vincent feigned confusion, the rogue trader smiled.

"Come now, dear boy. I know you, remember? You never felt comfortable without one."

Vincent scowled, but something made him pull the microbead out of his ear and twist the dial to receive only.

"Ah, Delphic pattern." Klimment said, nodding appreciatively as he examined the tiny vox unit. "Just like your old regiment - how sentimental."

"What do you want, Ottik?" Vincent growled as he resumed walking, his mismatched eyes scanning the stairs ahead in an attempt to locate Kally and the rest of his group. "We said we'd get back to you once we'd talked to the boss."

"So you did." Klimment agreed as he fell into step beside the ex-Guardsman. "Do not misunderstand me, Vincent, I'm thrilled to see you successfully employed again. Are you enjoying your new work?"

Vincent grinned nastily. "Why do you care all of a sudden?"

Klimment met the rictus grin with a delicate smile of his own. "You wound me, dear boy. You know, I actually feared for you a little after that bad business on Solomon. Was it true, did they really send the angels of death down into the hive?"

"Oh yeah." Vincent grunted.

"At least you're not dead or in prison then! I'm given to understand that there's rarely another option for anybody when the astartes get involved."

Vincent snorted down his nose. "I'm in a prison called the Imperium, Ottik. It doesn't matter if I'm here, dead on Solomon or even in the next fokkin' sector."

"I'm sorry to hear that. But you know, I really could help. If your new employer isn't taking you as far afield as you would like, I just so happen to be sponsoring an expedition beyond the Koronus Passage. Virgin territory, of the kind that men like you appreciate."

"Hmph." said Vincent, guardedly. "And, because this is you we're talking about Ottik, what are you wantin' off me in return?"

"That can wait until later." Klimment replied airily, and produced an ornate silver cube inlaid with spirals of interlocking High Gothic runes. It was small enough for Vincent to close his fist around it with relative ease, as Klimment pressed it into his hand with spidery fingers. "Here, take this. It's an animus vox, a kind of psychic amplifier. A bit like an astropath's throne, but portable. There aren't many of these little beauties left nowadays."

Klimment allowed himself to drift back behind Vincent as the crowd funnelled out of the stairwell into the starport's lower gallery.

"I'm assuming that your new mistress has a psyker about her somewhere? They can use that to contact mine if we're out of vox contact. Think about it."

For a moment, Vincent entertained the idea of sneering at Klimment and tossing the obviously expensive artefact to the floor. But after mulling it over, he tucked the cube into an empty pocket of his carapace webbing instead. Stepping away from Klimment without bothering with any falsely polite goodbyes, he lengthened his stride and pushed his way through the knots of rogue traders who were recongregating about the gallery, heading for Machairi's group by the exit security checkpoint. Guards and grey-clad administratum personnel dashed to and fro, and a trio of tech priests glided in from a side door to fire an angry machine gun of binary at the chief adept.

"What did he want?" Marc asked, cocking an eyebrow at Vincent as he approached. The kid never did miss much, Vincent reflected. He must have seen Klimment falling into step with him on the stairs.

Vincent snorted. "Trying to get a private meeting with 'lady Genofonia'." He glanced at Lia. "She certainly got his attention by playing the easy mark. I just wish that next time she fokkin' tells us what she's going to do in advance."

Marc accepted the lie without reservation as both men turned their attention to Machairi, who was questioning the steward once again about securing passage to the AAT complex north of the city.

"Er...well, ma'am," the steward began, still clearly ruffled by what had just happened upstairs. "There's usually a fairly significant waiting period for the daily convoys...but for esteemed clients such as yourself, I'll see what I can do."

Machairi nodded curtly, and the steward sketched a bow and left.

"We'll collate everything we've got back at the hotel." the interrogator told her team softly. "For now, we need our tech priest back."

[PaintSerf]

"Imperator vult." Machairi murmured, signing the aquila across her chest.

"Imperator vult." Sapphira echoed, and lowered the aquila as assembly started to disperse. No sooner had she collected the briefing file when Father Belannor addressed her.

"Excuse me sister Sapphira, I just wanted to add that it is an honor to be working beside a Sororita. May Him on Earth watch over you."

“The honor is mutual, Father Belannor, and may He watch over you as well.” Sapphira responded, again with a respectful nod. Now up close, Sapphira recognized ring on his hand for what it meant. Bishop. She watched him leave with a curious expression, and considered his blanket offer to speak. Perhaps they would, sometime.

"So," Vincent growled as Marc and Kelly began to gather their papers, his good eye following the interrogator and her picked agents out of the room. "How long before we end up as dead as that poor bastard Shere?"

Sapphira stiffened as she overheard Vincent’s remark; which undoubtedly had been his intent. The files she held crumpled as her fists clenched involuntarily. You never gave a damn about John, you impossible bastard. Some part of her wanted to scream that at the old mercenary. Instead she turned and glared at Vincent with a positively wintry expression. It softened as Sapphira registered Marc and Kelly, who she wordlessly acknowledged with a nod before she exited.

“Secutor Vizkop,” Sapphira called out, having caught him in her peripherals. She nodded respectfully as the distance closed between them. “May I have a moment of your time?”

“Of course, Sister Sapphira,” Vizkop said, turning to face her. “What can I help you with?”

“Thank you, Secutor.” Sapphira responded with a polite smile. “I could use your advice on how to disguise myself, because I have no idea where to even start.” She frowned slightly. “I’ve never had to be anything but a Sororita before.”

“A very reasonable request,” he said with a small nod. “Walk with me.”

He resumed his pace down the corridor, beginning as concise an explanation as he could: “I would start this discussion by asking who or what you intend on disguising yourself as. It is the most important detail to start with. If you are disguising as a specific person, which I find doubtful given our mission, it would be important to learn everything about them. From how they dress to their social mannerisms. Disguising as a member of a group is much simpler, requiring only wearing any uniform the group has and learning their specific language and social cues.”

Vizkop paused to let Sapphira absorb his spiel, finding the act of instruction rather pleasing to his sleep deprived mind.

“With my limited experience outside of the Sisterhood, I should definitely try and blend into a group.” Sapphira reasoned, after some contemplation. She glanced at Vizkop, and nodded differentially with a slight smile. “I’ll leave assuming a specific identity to the experts.” There was no judgment in Sapphira’s tone, simply the respectful acknowledgement of skill from one professional to another. “Perhaps I should be associated with an organization that recruits from the Schola Progenium? That way I could fall back on some prior experience and knowledge.”

“With your most applicable skills,” Vizkop said, “I would suggest a medicus. Playing a doctor from the Officio Medicae would be the simplest guise for you. All it would require is simple research on how they operate. A simple task, I would think, given the resources available.”

“Officio Medicae. That could work.” Sapphira echoed, with a trace of hesitance. For a while she seemed distant, as if lost in contemplation. “I could also pass myself off as a former military medicus. That could also help explain my weapons training, scars, and temperament.”

“It could also better explain your association with a Rogue Trader,” Vizkop said.

“I’ll be sure to settle on a cover before we depart.” Sapphira replied. “Do you have any technical suggestions for disguises? I’d prefer if my tattoo was covered by something more resilient than a veil or skin paint.”

“You'd be surprised how far basic know-how in make-up will take you in this kind of work, Sister Sapphira,” Vizkop said with a slight smile. “I can send you a comprehensive tutorial, if you like.”

“That would be very helpful.” Sapphira said, with a gracious nod, in spite of her embarrassed flush. “Thank you for your knowledge and time, Secutor Vizkop.” She scrutinized the shadows underneath his eyes, with a mild frown of concern. “And if I can be of assistance to you as well, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

“I shall keep that in mind,” he said with a nod. “Now if you excuse me, Sister, I must attend confession.”

“May your burdens be eased, Secutor.” Sapphira replied, as she watched him depart. The Sister stood and contemplated how she would have to pass herself off as a civilian. I’ll need civilian clothes...and that means McKenzie. Sapphira fiercely resisted the urge to audibly groan as she pinched the bridge of her nose. “God Emperor, give me strength.” She murmured, and sincerely made the aquila.


* * *

“Any better?” Sapphira asked, in Obrantu, as she turned around from the mirror with a skeptically optimistic expression.

"Much." Kelly reassured her in the same language. Her soothing tone was somewhat offset by the fact that she seemed to be trying not to smirk. No doubt she had been familiar with this sort of angst when she and her friends were teenaged juvies, but wasn't used to dealing with it from a grown woman. "Don't worry so much. One of the perks of being a medica is that people are more interested in whether you can sew their arm back on than how well you're dressed. The Hercynians probably have their own fashion sense and think we all look like clowns anyway."

“This is absolute torture.” Sapphira groaned in frustration as she sagged back into her chair. She glared witheringly down at her long discarded heeled shoes. “Correction, those vile things are absolute torture.”

Kelly laughed. "If it helps, I don't like them much either. I will always carry a pair of flats to change into at the end of a night out."

"Used to, not will." Sapphira corrected her, switching back to gothic. "Assak na is past tense. Arrak fa is future tense."

"No it's not."

"I assure you, it is."

Kelly rolled up her sleeves, and crossed over the dresser to pick up an active dataslate, tapping through the pages of the Obrantu dictionary it displayed.

"Huh." she said after a moment, and gave Sapphira an inordinately cold look until she changed the subject.

“McKenzie was almost indecently enthusiastic to ‘help me’ choose my wardrobe.” Sapphira said, as she shook her head. “I’ve almost prayed that we don’t have to attend a fancy social event.”

"Kenzie doesn't often get willing models to share her clothes fixation with, I expect." Kelly said, her earlier resentment softening back into a slight smile.

“Willing is such a loaded word.” Sapphira replied, with a faint smile, before she shot Kelly a completely serious look in the mirror. “I suppose I’ve already provided the team with more than my fair share of amusement, but some of the dresses McKenzie included…”

Kelly rubbed the bridge of her nose, guessing that they weren't just talking about clothes any more. She matched Sapphira's serious expression and sat down on one of the cabin chairs that had had several outfits thrown haphazardly over its back.

"No-one's amused." she said carefully. Sapphira closed her eyes with a pained wince. "You did the best that anyone could have done, under the circumstances. We're grateful - Marc and Kally and me. Especially they two, even if they probably won't tell you it."

“What I should’ve said was,” Sapphira sighed as she opened her eyes, “Vincent’s been very entertained by my present struggles, and I wouldn’t be surprised if some of the others were also amused.” She turned to face Kelly, gesturing to her civilian attire, and clearly discomforted by the misconception. “I didn’t intend to sound so cavalier, or imply that anyone on the team took what happened lightly.”

"Sorry." said Kelly, looking just as uncomfortable at her mistake. "Vince is...well, he's been up and down recently. It might be he's just bored - he's fine when he's got something to keep him busy. To be honest I don't have much time for him, at least not the way Marc and Kally do, but don't take anything he says to heart."

“No need to apologize. I try not to take anything personally.” Sapphira admitted, with a flicker of doubt in her eyes, before she ghosted a smile. “You know, not that long ago, I would’ve been laughing at myself for behaving like a nervous schola girl over this nonsense.” She said, with a mildly annoyed expression. "I suppose that I am nervous, and afraid. Terrified, even, of failure…of my failures, especially since what happened on Ventora still feels like one of them.”

"How so?"

“Arval’s replication still bothers me, even after a whole month of castigation, and penitence.” Sapphira answered, while she fidgeted slightly in her chair. “I can’t help but think that if somehow, if I’d been able to see what it really was, and purged the abomination before it got to Faroven…a hundred thousand people wouldn’t be dead, and a planet halfway ruined.”

"That wasn't just your fault." Kelly said, clasping her hands and leaning forward to rest her forearms on her knees. "If there were any signs to see in Clement, we all missed them too."

“Javid said as much when we talked about it. They’d been friends since before I was recruited, and even he couldn’t tell the difference.” Sapphira said, as her fists clenched at the memory. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I treated, prayed with, and was comforted by a xenos.” (http://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=40923&page=8&p=1425600&viewfull=1#post1425600)

"Ah." Kelly said. She sat back and rubbed her nose. "Look, I understand where you're coming from when you say you're afraid of failing. Really, I do. Just ask Marc about how dad used to hammer us about duty in the Enforcers, and now we've got more lives hanging on our decisions than we ever did back then. But trusting someone...something...you thought was your friend isn't failing."

She paused again, trying to find the right words.

"These replicants...clearly they were designed to perfectly mimic their originals. I didn't know Clement as well as you or Schafer did, but he seemed like a nice guy. The replicant would have prayed with you because obviously that's the sort of person Clement was. Aye, you got conned. We all did. At least with Vizkop's detector it won't be happening again. And...I'm borrowing from Kally here, but you've got to trust somebody." She flicked her eyes briefly upwards. "Even in this job. And I'm not just talking about when you're out on a mission.

“I trust you, Kelly. Otherwise I wouldn’t have voiced my doubts to you.” Sapphira admitted. “As you said earlier, Marcus and Kally have a lot of time for Vincent. The Pembroke case bonded them, and they care about one another, whether they’ve explicitly admitted that to one another or not.” Sapphira frowned, as she recalled a memory. “Your brother was very…intense, when we recovered Kally from Nathaniel’s clutches. Marcus clearly wanted to kill the explicator for what he’d done.”

"Aye, he would." Kelly said, looking pensive. "Off the record, I can't blame him. Marc takes threats to family seriously, very seriously. Maybe even a wee bit too seriously. There's been a couple of times I've had to hold him back. At least he listens to me - most of the time."

“You and Marcus are fortunate to have one another." Sapphira said. "Strong bonds can help you in this calling…although they can also hinder you.”

Kelly nodded. "Don't worry about me, I can keep my feelings separate. I'd go mad in my line of work if I couldn't. But just because I can stay objective, doesn't mean I don't care."

“I don’t doubt that.” Sapphira said, before she sighed. “The honest truth is that I’m so used to not having close relationships, since they were always…discouraged. Even now, I suppose I try to avoid them out of habit. First I kept away from Arval, and now the same with the Venatora team."

Kelly cocked her head. "I could understand us - we were on probation at the time. But why stay away from Clement?"

“I may have grown up in a convent, Kelly,” Sapphira answered, smiling mischievously, “But I’m still a red-blooded Imperial woman.”

Kelly blinked in surprise, and then laughed aloud. She unclasped her hands and stood up. "Well don't bother trying to suppress that." she returned semi-seriously. "It never ends well." She adopted a playful stage whisper. "And if you find more than one suitable candidate, please let me know. I've been climbing the walls since we left Solomon."

“Yeah, it’s been a while for me too.” Sapphira commiserated, with a rueful chuckle. “Anyway…once again, thank you for your help.” She said, and opened the cabin door with a smile. “And thank you for the talk, Kelly.”


* * *

"That might be a place to start looking for records on Old Man Schafer, whether he was injured or just being innoculated against local diseases.”

“Of course, Lady Machairi.” Sapphira replied, as she glanced at Sebastian. “We’ll make arrangements for the inoculations.”

Sapphira sighed inwardly as they walked towards the med lab. Unsurprisingly, and still disappointingly, interrogator Machairi persisted with her casual distain for Schafer. She knew from personal experience that Javid absolutely despised the unwelcome ‘Old Man’ moniker. Interrogator Machairi perpetuates it. Maybe she even instigated the whisper campaign? Sapphira frowned again in disapproval at the thought.

[Atrum Daemon]

There were no immediately obvious hard copies. With a swift probe with his binary comms transmitter, Vizkop checked for retrievable implants. He discovered to his alarm that although the assasssins boasted extensive concealed bionics, every data storage node came equipped with a dead man's switch - the stopping of the assassins' hearts had served as a signal to wipe them clean.

Vizkop's fist impacted the floor of the temple as his frustration peaked. There was nothing he could have done to anticipate the existence of a dead man's switch as he assumed the assassins would simply commit suicide if he had managed to capture one. He wracked his brain to try to come up with a specific name for one of the many enemies he had who was likely to send assassins after him.

Just then,*Kally barged through the bronze doors with her shoulder, boltgun ready, and stepped into a room that stank of blood and spilled mechanical fluids.*Marc and Vincent were right behind her, lasguns snapping round to secure the corners of the temple atrium, and Machairi herself was not far behind. Keeping in character, she gasped and raised her hands to her mouth. The performance was for the benefit of the other rogue traders, whose own bodyguards had rushed to the scene just as fast as the team had. Klimment's man Xanthius slowly returned his guns to their holsters as he assessed the scene, while the tech-adept behind him let out a binary shriek at the violence that had just profaned the Omnissiah's temple. As Sapphira and Sebastian arrived from the med lab, Dr Birch came running up with them. When she saw what had happened, she paled and violently exclaimed, "Holy throne!"

The sound of the doors being forced open brought Vizkop out of his thoughts and he looked up as the crowd of people formed in behind Kally.

"You alright?" Kally asked as she approached Vizkop, who was hunkered down over. . .an attacker? Vizkop didn't seem the kind to go off on one and murder someone, and they seemed to have been heavily armed. "Friends of yours?"

“I'm all right,” he answered, the burned section in the center of the chest of his bodyglove and bullet holes that dotted his robe and body seeming to tell a different story. “He was friendly enough to want me dead.”

"Step aside!" someone shouted, and a number of starport security guards pushed their way through the gathering crowd. The leader, a stocky man with rank pins fastened to his collar, immediately singled out Vizkop. "You! Tech priest! What happened here?"

“I-” he was cut off before he could properly start.

"This space is sacred to the machine god!" wheezed Klimment's tech adept, with an organic voice that sounded like it hadn't been used in years. "And you will show proper respect to a brother of Mars!"

“Well-”

"What the Horus is going on?" demanded the sharp voice of rogue trader Veiss.

The starport guards were forming a cordon, and everyone apart from Vizkop was finding themselves pushed back into the main lounge area.

“If you would just-”

"My apologies ladies and gentleman but this level is now under lockdown." a tall guard called over the heads of the crowd. "Please make your way calmly to the main gallery below."

"I'm a medica." doctor Birch's voice protested from somewhere behind Sebastian. "Let me help."

"Someone get a ranking cogboy over here!" the stocky lead guard called into his handheld vox.

"What about my tech priest?" Machairi demanded, sounding convincingly shaken as she addressed the guard who was ushering her back with his arms spread wide.

“I'll be-”

"I'm sorry ma'am, we send him back to you as soon as we know what's going on..."

Vizkop slumped his shoulders in frustration and defeat, giving up on trying to make himself heard until the authorities decided to begin questioning him. He watched as the rest of the team made their way from the temple and hoped he would be able to meet up with them in a timely manner.

[Azazeal849]

In the end, it was less than 24 hours before the local mechanicus released Vizkop back to the team. The exhaustive debriefing had turned up little about where the attackers had come from or who had sent them, and the local priests were troubled by the assassins' arsenal of seemingly cult-sanctioned augmetics. If the assassins were still a mystery, at least Vizkop had been able to learn more about the situation from his fellow tech priests. After converting or destroying the indigens to establish a base on the eastern continent now known as Illyrium, the Hercynians had been left to pacify the rest of the planet more or less alone. The natives were hardly spear-wielding savages, though nor were they the equal of a civilised Imperial world. Regressed by isolation, they possessed a few recognisable STC designs, though most of the technology that the magi had catalogued was hopelessly debased or else had been modified to the point that it was an affront to the Machine God. On paper, they were no match for an Imperial army - and the planetary governor had duly established the Enclave, and then preemptively smashed the biggest threat to its existence, the Uru Axis. Assisting the venture, both militarily and economically, were the rogue traders.

The rogue traders had assisted the mechanicus in developing the resources of the defeated Uru axis; pacifying small, strategic areas beyond the reach of the PDF and in return extracting a premium from the magi who built there, while a mixture of the PDF and the rogue traders' own forces working to keep the supply lines back to Akkan secure. It seemed to be a relatively well-established procedure. The mine that Solvan had heard Veiss talk about was one such operation, currently planned for a rich uranium seam about a hundred kilometers southwest of the Enclave. Some of the mines and wells were new developments, while others were simply built over the top of smashed native infrastructure, but all of the plants tended to be remote from the various cities of the former Uru Axis, which remained plagued with violence. A steady trickle of albino natives limped east every month to escape the fighting, much to the chagrin of the Imperials in Akkan, while more fled north or south into the opaque native bastions of Rytu and Zakarn.

It was two days after that before the eager-to-please starport steward had brushed aside enough poorer supplicants to secure Machairi and her team spaces on a convoy to the psyker complex north of Akkan. The two days grace that this gave them proved unproductive in generating any new leads on Schafer or Harlock - nor on the assassins, even with Vizkop liaising constantly with the mechanicus, and with Marc hacking into the Enclave enforcer datalinks to follow the locals' own investigation. Meanwhile, the city's pict casters continued to beam calls to vigilance and renewed warnings against indigen subversives. The team watched or witnessed several more protests over the two days; all by the albino indigens, and most of them carrying the crude sun banners. After sending Kally and Abdur out into the city to ask questions, Machairi and her team were able to deduce that they were symbols of the native religions - the system's primary sun featured on the banners of the Vilysian Solar, and the secondary sun on those of the Ramado Sept. Once, Kally saw both flags represented in the same group of protestors. Some of the marches were more peaceful than others, but all were dealt with decisively and violently by the PDF. The rest of the citizens - both Imperial settlers and natives from the eastern continent who had been converted to the Imperial creed - seemed to approve, but nervous suspicion still permeated the streets.

The grey, heavy evening on which the team set out for the AAT complex seemed to match the overarching mood of foreboding. The rain was holding off, but only thin shafts of sunlight were breaking through the clouds as the vast adamantine gates of the city were hauled open and the column of cargo-8s began to pass through, flanked by PDF Tauroxes and Sentinels coloured the same drab grey as the sky. Travelling in an open-sided, canvas-roofed lorry near the front of the convoy, the team had only just passed under the ten metre thick arch of the gate when the vehicles in front of them ground to a halt.

"What's wrong?" Machairi called out.

"There's a bunch of Ghosts blocking the road." one of the drivers cursed back at her.

The interrogator reached up to grab one of the canopy support struts, and pulled herself up to peer round the side of the truck. About half a dozen of the albino natives were indeed standing in a line just outside the city walls, blocking the exit of the convoy with outstretched arms. One of them had even sat calmly down right in the middle of the road, facing down the slab-fronted Taurox that led the convoy.

A megaphone mounted on the front of the Taurox was cursing the indigens and ordering them to move, while the driver revved the engine threateningly. When the picket line didn't budge, the driver released the handbrake and the blocky transport surged forward. The indigens backpedalled, then scattered. The one who had sat down scrambled to regain his feet, but was too slow and rebounded from the Taurox's thick crash bars, before disappearing under the tracks with a scream that was abruptly cut off.

"Get moving!" a PDF officer urged, and the convoy slowly complied. Sentinel cockpits pivoted to follow the fleeing indigens with their long-barrelled autocannons, until the pilots judged that they had fallen sufficiently behind the column's rearguard. Looking back, the team saw the albino natives edging back towards the crushed and mangled heap that had been left in the convoy's tyre tracks. An older indigen had dropped to his knees beside the body, and was wailing loudly.

"Frakking albinos can't see worth a damn." one sentinel pilot voxed disparagingly as his walker thumped past the team's truck.

"Don't worry," crackled a cheerful sounding reply. "The enforcers will clean up the mess."

Machairi pressed her lips together in a thin line and swung herself back down into her seat, looking around at her team. Marc and Kelly in particular seemed subdued as the convoy went on its way.

The column wound steadily north along the muddy road to the mountains, each vehicle driving carefully through the tracks of the one before in a clear precaution against landmines and booby traps. The Tauroxes escorting the convoy threw up plumes of dirt and engine smoke as they rumbled along. From their vantage point, the team were afforded a view of the distant refugee camps, then of the sodden wasteland that stretched between infrequent, servitor-manned farms. They clattered over a bridge that forded an artificial river, which had been diverted to feed the sprawl of an open-cast mine and the heat exchangers of a power plant beyond. Weathered skull-and-cog icons grinned from the sides of fat, hyperboloid cooling towers as they pumped clouds of steam into the darkening sky. Yellow floodlights illuminated the mechanicus facilities as the secondary sun followed the primary beneath the dull smudge of the horizon.

As they continued north, a dull flicker in the distance resolved itself into the familiar shape of an astropathic spire, crackling with psychic energy. The low-slung complex of the AAT base was spread out around it, the hard edges of the prefab buildings picked out with pale running lights while the spire's glow swirled over the flat roofs. A crenulated curtain wall ringed the base, with searchlights sweeping back and forth from the watchtowers, and squat Tarantula sentry guns formed a silent perimeter. The convoy halted briefly while the PDF authenticated themselves and the sentry turrets were deactivated, then a section of the wall lowered into a concrete recess below the ground and the modified cargo-8s drove through one by one.

The floodlit courtyard behind the wall proved to be as much a military base as a stronghold for the Telepathica. A large mechanicus workshop dominated one side of the complex, with a row of Chimeras sitting outside; feeder hoses looped from fuel tanks, and hull panels had been removed where skeletal enginseers were busy probing the vehicles' engines with snake-like mechadendrites. The whole north end of the base was given over to a row of landing pads, with a fleet of Valkyries and Sky Talons nestled inside the rings of strobing guide-lights. In the very centre of the complex was an octagonal structure familiar to the Venatora team, cordoned off with hexagrammically-warded gun servitors and topped by the crackling spire that dominated the complex.

The team's driver, a vital young woman in PDF fatigues, jumped down from the cabin of the cargo-8 and unfolded the ramp to allow them to disembark.

"Couldn't we have come in one of those?" Machairi asked, still playing the entitled rogue trader as she nodded towards the idling Valkyries.

The driver chewed the inside of her cheek. "Sorry m'lady, those are for kill team ops. The AAT have been informed of your arrival and major Crenshaw will be with you shortly."

Major Crenshaw turned out to be a lean and powerful-looking man, his face olive skinned and hazel eyed above an angular suit of carapace armour stamped with the wireframe eye of the telepathica. He swung a power maul casually back and forth in his right hand while his left rested on a holstered bolt pistol. Behind him was a pale, gangling youth with pinched features and a shaved head, which when combined with his thick round spectacles gave him the unfortunate appearance of a baby chicken that had recently emerged from its egg. His temples were ridged by ugly surgical scars and he moved awkwardly, each step accompanied by the thump and hiss of two obviously bionic legs.

As Crenshaw and his aide came to a halt in front of the disembarking visitors, the major swept the scene with an appraising gaze. The aide stayed silent and avoided eye contact.

"Well, well." Crenshaw said, with a patently false smile and insincere warmth. "Lady Kembi...trader Harazan...it seems we have quite the rogues' gallery to deal with this evening."

The officer duly waved those known to him through, but held up a hand to block Machairi and her fellow newcomers. He eyed them hard, blatantly making a threat assessment, before he brusquely introduced himself.

"Major Crenshaw, Adeptus Astra Telepathica. Now who are you and what do you want?"


+ + + + + +

There was almost nothing left of the ruined church. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AMDn17uwjPU) The wall at the rear of the building was mostly intact, insofar as the outlines of its round windows could still be seen, but towards the front the walls were little more than fire-blackened lumps giving an impression of the church's original dimensions. A few arches of rotted scaffolding were the only indications of the former curve of the roof, and the floor had collapsed into the cellars below. The cellar was filled with pale, dark-robed men and women, standing in the rubble-strewn space between the catacombs that formed a row of dark mouths to either side. Several of them were hunched, or bore visible scars on their chalk-white faces and hands. All of them were armed, with bulky pre-Imperial autoguns hanging from straps round their shoulders, and thick-bladed machetes thrust into leather belts.

Some of the congregation wore black flare goggles, while others sported augmetic eyes that shone with a dull green light. Every one of them was focused towards the rear of the church. In the ruined city around them, gunfire and screams echoed distantly, punctuated by the sharp thunderclaps of explosions. The indigens didn't even react. The roar of Marauder engines or the hydraulic tread of approaching kill servitors might have roused them to action, but for the citizens of the former Uru Axis, the sounds of violence were subject to the amnesia of habit. They looked up the still-intact set of granite steps that defined the rear of the church, where a trio of figures stood framed by the fire-blackened rear wall. Two of the figures wore black, hooded cloaks - the one stooped and shapeless beneath the folds, the other with a long sabre scabbarded at his waist. Sitting on the steps in front of them were a number of iron crates.

"Step forward." said the third figure, in Obrantu. Unlike the other two men he was cloaked in red, and his voice echoed with a metallic timbre. "And receive the blessings of the prophet."

As the indigens nearest the front began to shuffle forward, the robed man with the sword raised his head. Beneath his hood, his face was hidden by a mask of beaten silver, unadorned except for the curved impressions of eyes and nose, and with small slits for vision and breathing.

"We have focused on the visible threat for too long." he said. His voice was low and rough, but carried across the church despite the muffling effect of the mask. "We need to turn our attention from the marionettes to the ones pulling their strings."

"Heretics!" a woman in the crowd shouted. "Heretics and hypocrites!"

The masked figure dropped his hand to the basket hilt of his sword, and dragged it free of its sheath. The dull silver blade was etched with interlocking hexagrams. "They condemn witches, but they use them to mark our sons for murder. They condemn violence, but they massacre whole families with soulless automatons. Their punishment is long overdue."

[dakkagor]

Kally: Earlier

Kally was wearing local robes, to help her move about without drawing attention. She was also lightly equipped: her bodyglove sans its protective plates, a laspistol and a combat knife. Again, any more than that might draw attention. Heavy weaponry like the bolter would stick out like a sore thumb.
So far, she hadn't got any further in finding Schafer. But she had learnt a lot about the local indigens. She'd even got some practice in with the language.
Right now, she was following her own leads, worked up from yesterday. She was interested in the two cults the locals had, the Vilysian Solar and Ramado sept. Asking around had directed her to an indigens shop keeper that sold trail supplies to refugees. Often the refugees would flee with their valuables stuffed into their pockets, and Arashi, a trader on the edges of the Enclave, was more than happy to take their jewellery and heirlooms and give them rations and equipment to travel on from the Enclave. The rumour was that he knew more about the current state of the old Uru Axis than anyone else, and the disposition of the two cults. Some people linked him to the Rogue Traders as well, and Kally could well imagine a local making a small fortune selling knick-knacks to a Rogue Trader for resale somewhere else in the sub. Machairi had agreed, and sourced some local currency and a tacky idol for her to trade for information.

She found the shop easily enough. It had large glass windows that showed a display of jewellery, decorated with a few choice items on velvet pedestals. With her hood up, she missed the Imperial heavy watching the door from the other side of the street.
As she stepped into the shop, she pulled back her hood. Kelly had done a good job with the makeup that evening. Only close examination would reveal that she wasn't a ghost, a ruse assisted by her hivers pallor. Kally blinked to resettle the contacts slightly and then blinked again as she realised she wasn't alone in the ornately appointed shop. Three men, big, bull necked thugs with bared arms, stood over a huddle of bloody cloth on the floor. She immediately spotted the improvised weapons, lengths of metal pipe and heavy tools, and the heavy breathing from recent exertion. Some of the cases, filled with glittering jewellery, had been knocked over, spilling glass and their contents over the floor.

She stepped back, hand reaching for her laspistol. As one, the three of them looked up at her, and smiled ugly smiles.
“Varshti dan” she muttered. She had a handle on the locals swear words, at least, and she realised she needed to keep her cover. If an Imperial killed or injured another Imperial. . .that could lead back to the rest of the team. As a native, any investigation would look elsewhere, and wouldn't be pursued hard if she didn't put anyone in the morgue.

As one, the three thugs advanced. Kally pulled her combat knife, not the pistol, and settled into a fighting stance. Three versus one was bad odds, even for someone as seasoned as Kally was. She backed up to the door.
Her back hit someone's chest. Before she could turn, a brawny arm locked round her neck, starting to choke her. She cried out, her dagger digging into his forearm, but not eliciting more than a pained grunt and a tightening of his lock. She tucked her head in as tight as she could, and staggered forward, pulling her attacker forwards as well. She spotted one of the others, wielding a length of lead pipe, step up for a swing at her stomach. She bent her knees, and pulled with all her strength, rolling her attacker over her shoulder and flinging him into his friend, sending both into a tangle on the floor.
She gasped in a breath and then ducked from a wild swing from one of her other attackers. Adrenalin surging, she powered up underneath his arm and slammed her fist, wrapped around the knifes hilt, straight into her attackers jaw, sending him reeling. A swift booted kick to the crotch sent him down immediately.

Ok. Back to three on one.

Two of them rushed her at once. She threw the knife, hard, and it slammed into one of her attackers shoulders with a satisfying thunk. He spun to the floor, howling in pain as he dropped his weapon. She sidestepped the other one, snapping a kick into his ribs. He staggered, and lashed reflexively out with his wrench. Kally pulled her arms up to block, and was herself staggered back from the heavy blow. Before she could recover her last attacker grabbed her ponytail and yanked, hard. She stumbled to the floor and narrowly avoided a knee aimed for her face. Her left hand, propping her up, curled around piece of glass. With a feral yell, she slashed the shard across the grabbers wrist and then jabbed it into his crotch. He crumpled, but before Kally could recover, a heavy kick caught her in the ribs and sent her skidding across the floor. She slammed into a glass case filled with necklaces, and struggled back to standing. Before she could regain her feet, the wrench caught her a glancing blow on the head and she spun back to the floor. For a second she was dazed, the room spinning around her. Then the final attacker hauled her up and slammed her into the top of the case, winding her. The wrench was jammed into her neck, and the Imperial leaned into it, choking her.
Kally hadn't wanted to kill anyone. That would make things a lot more complicated, going forward. An investigation would be likely, and it could blow their cover. But she liked the idea of dying even less.
Her right hand reached for the pistol, and found the holster empty. Her eyes flicked across the floor of the smashed up shop, and spotted it lying on the floor, knocked loose in the brawl. Her hands reached around for something, anything she could use.
Her left hand closed on an ornate hat pin. Good enough. She got a good grip on it, and punched it into her attackers right eye. He jerked back immediately, stumbling and clawing at his face with a wordless howl, the wrench forgotten. Kally slumped, choking down a breath, before she scrambled back to her feet. Her right hand closed on the wrench and she swung it into her opponents head, sending him crashing to the floor. She dropped the weapon on his chest, then retrieved her laspistol, tucking it back into her holster.
A cursory check of the shopkeeper revealed that he was dead, and she could hear movement outside. Retrieving her knife after knocking its current owner unconscious, she darted out the back door. She made sure to grab the dead man's ledger from behind the counter, in case it had anything useful in it. She got back to their quarters without any issues, and reported to Machairi.

Tomas: Now

Tomas so far had an easy mission. Now, he was on alert. Travel in the region was dangerous, he had done his research. He was never further than a step and a reach from Machairi at any time.

“There's a bunch of ghosts blocking the road.”

Tomas got up when Machairi stood, and watched the scene unfold warily. The six locals were brave, he gave them that much. A bit stupid maybe, but brave. When the Taurox lurched forwards he looked away, listening to the awful scream followed by the ominous crunch. He had seen some pretty terrible things done in the name of Imperial security during his tour on Tranch, and during the fighting near the Hadex anomaly. But this wasn't like that. This was a systematised oppression, flavoured with a layer of callous apathy. And if Kally's report from her inadvertent brawl was anything to go by, it was endemic. This wasn't a situation the Imperium would be able to solve any time soon.
When Machairi sat down again, he read her body language very clearly. She was somewhere between disgusted and annoyed, thinking of the ramifications of what she had seen and angered by it, but unable to act to fix it. He wondered if they might end up coming back here once they had found Javid, and getting involved. He didn't put it past her.

He stayed standing for a little while longer, watching the native Ghosts.

Poor Bastards. He mused. There would be a lot more senseless death before the Imperium consolidated its grip on the continent.

On the horizon he could just make out the bruising in the sky that indicated that they where closing on the AAT facility. As he sat he flicked his gaze over the team. He smirked when he realised Kally had slept through the whole incident. Then again, she had had a busy night.

Kally: Now

Kally jerked awake as the truck came to a halt, rubbing sleep from her eyes and yawning expansively as she clambered from the back. She tagged along with the group as they walked up to the entrance, putting her game face on.

“You OK?” Marc inquired as he walked alongside her. “Heard you had a rough night.”

“Nothing I couldn't handle.” She rolled her shoulders. “Just tired.”

"Major Crenshaw, Adeptus Astra Telepathica. Now who are you and what do you want?"

Kally paused, glancing over the mismatched pair. The man behind Crenshaw flinched away from her gaze before redirecting his gaze at the ground.

Psyker.

She looked Crenshaw over. The heavy carapace armour, shock maul and pistol spoke of someone who knew how to look after themselves in a fight. For a second their eyes met and Kally blinked in surprise. He didn't flinch away. In fact he just kind of glazed over her, as if she was completely normal.

Ok. . .now that's interesting. . .

[Atrum Daemon]

Vizkop spent the better part of his day in the custody of local mechanicus authorities, answering pointless questions and coming away with no more information on the assassins than what he had before he had been manhandled to the “debriefing room.” But, the debriefing had not been a total loss as far as gaining information. He had been able to learn a bit more about the local situation from his fellow priests and had cataloged all relevant information to present to the Interrogator at the appropriate time.

“What an exhausting day this has been.”

Vizkop tensed at the sound of the feminine voice off to his left. He knew who owned the voice and how impossible it was for her to be speaking to him. “Bothering me again, Mikera?” he asked.

“Someone has to,” she said, falling into step next to him. She was dressed in a resplendent scarlet robe trimmed in gold, her eyes glittering in that way only exquisitely bionics did. “You're in no shape for that kind of activity. Before this mission was your first decent night of sleep in how long?”

“I don't know,” he snapped.

“Yes~ you~ do~” Mikera sang, smiling devilishly at him. “You can't lie to me, Vizzy. Just like you can't deny that you barely eat these days. And when you do it's always nutrient paste or intravenous supplements. We both know your sense of taste is fully intact, so I'm curious why.”

“Because everything tastes like ashes!” he said, a little louder than he meant to. “At least if I eat something tasteless, it won't sicken me to the point of vomiting.”

“And you are sick aren't you?” she asked, moving around him as her tone became dark. “Full of so much guilt and so many lies that it's hard to think straight. And it all builds up until it becomes like a sickness festering within you. You are nothing but the lies you tell everyone around you. You have no friends and nothing else to define you. You're worthless beyond your ability to mindlessly kill and she abandoned you because of it!”

+Shut up!+ he screeched in binary, his hand lunging out and closing around Mikera's throat.

Someone was shouting nearby, blurts of panicked binary. But it all sounded so muted as Vizkop stared death into Mikera from beneath his mask. His grip tightened and he felt her throat strain beneath his bionic grip. +Secutor! The adept is not an enemy!+

The loud blast knocked Vizkop for a loop and Mikera's grinning face faded to reveal that of a young tech-adept. He had him by the neck and was holding him off the ground a few inches. He quickly released the young man, letting him drop as the tech priests who had followed him to make sure his injuries were no more severe than he looked inquired about his well-being. He ignored them and stalked away toward where the team was staying.

--Malpais: Presently--

So far, Malpais had been enjoying a relatively easy assignment for his part. Standing about and looking intimidating was something he was good at, having had plenty of practice at coming up with threatening scowls in his life. The masked cowl around his head helped a great deal, as well. Most of the time a good stare from the blue eyepieces was enough to send most people stammering away. So far, the mission had not called for such things.

He had heard about Vizkop's outburst on his way back from the local Mechanicus. News of it had traveled fast, which was unsurprising for a small location. Malpais wondered if he would be all right, the Secutor having spoken about it willingly to no one.

“There's a bunch of ghosts blocking the road.”

Malpais broke his gaze away from where the Secutor sat to look toward the road. His brow furrowed as one of the trucks sped forward and crushed an innocent beneath its wheels. He knew senseless oppression when he saw it, but kept his peace. It was not his place to speak out against such matters despite how it made his temper flare.

Both Malpais and Vizkop remained silent as the team arrived at the AAT outpost, taking stock of the surroundings and man Crenshaw who met them at the entrance.

[PaintSerf]

Doctor Birch winced slightly. “Some rebels set off a bomb in one of the refugee camps. When the PDF went out to investigate, they got ambushed. Twenty six casualties, not counting the indigens.”

“Thank you, Doctor. I have no doubt you handled yourself and the situation well.” She said with sincerity. Sapphira had only gotten a quick glance at the refugee camps during the descent, and that was enough to know the situation wasn’t promising. Of course she had seen worse before, particularly in the pilgrim camps, but public health crises were hardly a competition. No doubt the risk of violence towards Imperials within the camps had stymied aid to them, which was likely appallingly necessary. Such charity was also an excellent means of spreading the true faith.

“That doesn’t sound like frags coming down the hills.” Sebastian commented as gunfire sounded from outside the med lab. “I would say someone has gotten a lot closer.”

“I’d say so as well.” Sapphira agreed as Sebastian glanced out the window. She unbelted her over jacket, and unsnapped her shoulder holster. The revolver was likely unnecessary, as a flock of private security had charged by the lab towards the gunfire. I don’t want to be caught unprepared, at least any more unprepared than I already am. What a stupidly impractical outfit to wear into a firefight… She irritably thought while considering her damned heels and skit.

“Doctor Wilder, it would appear that one of our mates may have found some trouble to get in to, perhaps we should let Doctor Birch prepare for any injured individuals and check on our Lady’s wellbeing. Doctor Birch, it was a pleasure to meet you, I hope we will get the chance to speak further, perhaps over dinner?”

“You really should stay here,” Sapphira started as Doctor Birch started around from behind the desk. She noticed that look in her eyes, and more importantly recognized it. Throne knows I have that look down cold myself. Sapphira noted and sighed audibly. “For your own safety, would you at least come with us then?”


* * *

Sapphira remained seated through the unpleasant incident, able to quite vividly piece together what happened by the sounds. Her expression darkened as an engine revved and a scream was truncated. She exhaled slowly at the pained wail. By the Golden Throne, she knew what that type of primal cry meant. Sapphira glanced sharply at the vehicle’s cabin at the crackled vox conversation, and sadly shook her head to hear the soldier’s banter. She knew the spiritually wounded when she heard them.

Up until that point Sapphira had been quietly thrilled to be more active in the investigation. Interrogator Machairi hadn’t yet directly tapped her for an assignment, so Sapphira made her own work. Per usual the Sister converted a spare room in the hotel into medical suite, which God-Emperor willing would remain unused on this mission. Once the med lab had been reopened, she ventured back over to collect the inoculation doses. Sapphira made certain that everyone on the team received their treatment, although some were naturally more recalcitrant than others.

With the rest of her time, Sapphira either diligently studied their acquired intelligence or prayed. When on assignment, she habitually prayed for the success of their mission and her colleagues. Some agents featured in her prayers more frequently than others, and not because of petty favoritism. Sapphira surreptitiously regarded Secutor Vizkop and the dozed off Kally as she settled in for the long ride. So far they had had the roughest time on Hercynia, even if only one of them physically showed their trauma.


* * *

“Thank you.” Sapphira politely acknowledged their driver. It was a relief to be on solid ground again, as the ride had been a long one and none too comfortable. She casually stretched and formed up with the others, their progress arrested by this Major Crenshaw. The Telepathica’s facility was clearly more of a military outpost that happened to have an astropathic spire in it, so it made sense to Sapphira that someone would keep an eye on them. She silently waited, leaving an introduction to someone like Machairi or Solvan, and appraised their new minder right back.

[dakkagor]

Tomas

"Major Crenshaw, Adeptus Astra Telepathica. Now who are you and what do you want?"

"I am Seneschal Prinzel, in service to Rogue Trader Machairi of Spartax. This man to my left is Solvan Belannor, Chief Business Prospector for the same." He inclined his head to Solvan, setting him up for his part. How many times had the two of them played this particular ruse for Machairi, he idly wondered as he ran through the spiel. "The young lady in the dress is Lady Imelia Genofonia." He indicated Lia, smiling slightly at the memory of Solvan, flustered, complaining about the young agents improvisation. "We are here to make use of the Astropath Relay to contact our off world agents. This planet is looking very good for our business."

"And what business is that?" Sneered the Telepathica man. Tomas frowned slightly, irritated at the man's presumption and attitude. There was something awfully familiar about the flavour of that annoyance.

"The sale of weapons, and other commodities. Any more than that does not concern you, Major. You are a military man, after all. We both know that the big guns never tire, and that the Enclave could use as many big guns as it can get its hands on."

[Jarms48]

"Perhaps, but it never looks good when a governor has to ask the Guard for help against indigens, does it?" the steward shrugged. "We're in a ring of fire here I'll admit, what with those unpredictable Rytus and Zakarni on either side of us, constantly plotting to wipe us off the map... We've got enough firepower to keep them in check for now, which is in no small part thanks to rogue traders such as yourselves - but there's no doubt in my mind they're still shipping weapons to the rebels in Rakosu and the other Uru cities, trying to chip away at us."

"What would I know?" Hybrida turned his head toward the ceiling, letting it rest on the end of the couch. He rose his shoulders, and gave the man a shrug. "I'm just the hired help - here for the money."

"What exactly is it they want?" Marc asked, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"I'd put a crown on freedom and local autonomy, I doubt many are approving of having their lives invaded. All for what? His name?" Hybrida's gaze moved to Marc, "oh, excuse me."

He gave the man a smirk, and made the Aquila across his chest.

There was a part to play, a character to act out. Had he just insulted their lord Emperor? The thought crossed his mind, his manner was hardly serious, nor would he had let the gesture go without penance. Perhaps a visit to their squads new Sister? That's what she was here for, right? A test of faith, to measure their devotion. That couldn't have been right, then what was the point of the Interrogators favourite Confessor? The remnants of their prior team, they were here to help locate their prior Interrogator after-all.

He sketched a bow and retreated, turning smartly on his heel towards the bar area.

"Before you leave, get me a spirit, something distilled from wheat or rye. I'm not familiar with the local names, so I'll rely on your judgement for this one." Hybrida ordered. He rose a hand and gave the steward a courtesy wave.


* * * * *

Scum. The lot of them.

Remus held back his disgust; without his re-breather mask he was denied the luxury. He bit his cheek, motioned his gaze from left-to-right, not focusing on anything in particular. He had to, he could feel anger boiling across his form, an enraged look developing in his eyes. These traders made him sick, profiteering off the backs of dead Imperials. Men and women were dying, yet they lived in extravagance.

He could find nothing good from what he was hearing, they only drove the nail deeper. Selling to both sides, taking advantage of a desperate government. A population was suffering around them, and all they thought about was coin.


* * * * *

""Major Crenshaw, Adeptus Astra Telepathica. Now who are you and what do you want?"

"Well, I certainly know what I want. A flat by the water, a long-legged blond; funny, cute, nice. Hell, a stiff drink would be nice too. I don't suppose you have any of them in there, do you?" He paused for a moment, not letting the man get in a word edgewise. "I'm going to send a message, over the land and across the sky, to all the people down the river."

Hybrida cleared his throat, and wiped away his smile.

"Don't you think it's a little obvious what we want? We wouldn't have joined the convoy otherwise. Hybrida, private security for Trader, Machairi, I'd trust you'd rather speak to her."


((I'll probably edit this later, it's rather lacking))

[Thrannix]

-Before the Mission-

“And so, dear brothers and sisters.” Solvan began wrapping up his sermon, standing in front of the altar beneath the mosaic of the Emperor. “It is not in us we must place our faith, not in our brothers, friends... lovers even.” Solvan paused and his gaze went through the attending faithful recognizing the gray eyes of sister Sapphira in the back. “For we are all flesh, we are all flawed and we can all stumble and fall. To deny this is just petty arrogance.”

The chapel was built in such a way that the priest’s voice reverberated against the walls giving it an unnatural feeling, without distorting the words themselves. He stared for a moment to the marbled floor in thought. “Should we be ashamed of this? Should we punish ourselves for such weakness?” He stopped for another dramatic pause. “I say no! It is not the flaw, the weakness which is the sin, it is to be ruled by them. For that is the greatness of mankind: we are flawed, we are weak, we are afraid, but despite all that, we resist, we fight and we will prevail.” He declared with fire in his eyes.

“Because it is Him on Terra, blessed be His name, who has our trust and our faith and only Him.” He continued raising his eyes and hands to the ceiling. “For no matter how great the temptation, how terrible the foe or how weak our resolve, with faith in the Emperor we will find victory. Our faith in Him gives us the tools to overcome our own limits, to be more than ourselves, better than ourselves. He is the light in the dark, the calm in the storm, the water for our thirst.” He made the sign of the aquila, brought his hands up to his lips and turned to stand behind the altar. “For in the Emperor all things are possible, and without Him we are nothing.”

After a moment of silent prayer in which the chapel stood still, the wisps of smoke from the incense burners slowly trailing their way into the air, he stretched his arms with his palms open towards the congregation. If looked carefully old burn marks on the skin of both hands could be seen.

“May the blessing of the Almighty Emperor descend upon you and stay with you always.” The audience echoed an Imperator Vult and made the sign of the aquila.

“We have celebrated holy mass. You can all go in peace.” He leaned over and kissed the altar before proceeding to the exit. He stood at the door frame shaking hands and giving more blessings until the chapel was empty, except for Sister Sapphira. Solvan saw her still sitting in one of the benches, perfectly still, her black hair reflecting the dimmed lights, her head bowed in prayer. He approached in respectful silence, but making sure she was aware of him.

As he neared he realized that Sapphira was not wearing her usual garments. She dressed as a civilian in... were those high heels? Solvan managed, with no small effort, to keep his jaw from dropping. He stood there dumbfounded for a second collecting his thoughts before proceeding.

“Excuse me sister.” Said Solvan with a nod and smile, his hands clasped together in front of him. “I apologize for interrupting your prayers, but I wanted to ask if, after you are done, I may take a moment of your time?”

“Of course, father.” Sapphira replied, as she paused in her prayers to glance up at Solvan. “I mean you no disrespect, but from now on I won’t be using your title and I would ask that you not use mine.” Her look was intensely serious. “We need to break ourselves of that habit, so please address me as Sapphira.”

“Ah, I see. A very wise decision no doubt. I’ll see you later then, Sapphira.” Without further explanation Solvan went about his business cleaning the chapel and making sure the incense was replenished and that he still had bread and wine for communion for the next service. Then he stood outside the chapel’s door until Sapphira exited.

“This way please.” He said gesturing to the hallway and began walking towards his cell.

---

He opened the door into the humble room and ushered Sapphira in. A tidy bed rested in a corner near a working desk, while on the opposite side laid a simple wooden table with two chairs where Solvan and Tomas had shared amasec the previous night. Next to the table stood a bookshelf that contained tomes of various subjects, mainly religious, all of them extremely rare and hard to find. The priest pulled a chair for Sapphira who politely smiled her thanks for the gesture as she sat.

“Would you like some herbal tea?” Solvan offered as he went to the pot on the desk and took two cups from the drawer.

“That would be lovely.” Sapphira answered, in Obrantu, as she smoothed her pencil skirt and surveyed the room. She glanced at the books in particular, although had to admit that most of them were unknown to her.

He spoke in very good Obrantu, as a child he had learned more than ten different languages, one of his parents requests together with perfect calligraphy and playing music instruments amongst other elitist needs. Afterwards as part of the formation within the Adeptus Ministorum he had to learn a few more. Thanks to this, learning new tongues was an easy task for the bishop.

“I could offer something stronger but as you might have guessed this is a business oriented meeting. I find that clear minds usually help in these instances.” He chuckled softly as he sat down with the cups of steaming perfumed liquid.

“Thank you.” Sapphira said as she accepted the saucer, and blew away some of the steam. She took a sip and gently put down the porcelain with an appreciative nod. “The tea is more than acceptable, as I honestly tend not to drink - and especially so when on a mission.” She regarded Solvan with a raised brow. “So, what did you wish to discuss?”

“Well then. I’ll start by saying that I am glad that you manage to make time for mass and personal prayer in what must be a busy schedule.” He started with sincerity, a painful smile across his face, while sipping slowly from his cup. “I have sadly found that, ironically, this line of work tends to... distance inquisitorial agents from the Emperor.”

“My schedule is no more crowded than anyone else’s,” Sapphira replied, and shook her head. “I suppose that I’m praying more now, since when we reach Hercynia there will be less time for prayer and reflection. There could even be no time, God Emperor forbid.” She said with a frown. There had been no time for prayer on Ventora, after the replicants had been discovered. “That almost sounds blasphemous…although we both know it’s the truth, especially since this mission is guaranteed to be an active one.” She sighed, but forced a smile. “Our work is the God Emperor’s will, so in a sense our deeds are an act of worship.”

“They certainly are.” Solvan answered approvingly leaving the cup on the table. “Yet being exposed to the sort of work we do too often can have a heavy toll on the spirit. The pain and suffering of the innocents, the corruption of once loyal colleagues, love ones dying… by our own hands even.” Sapphira nodded grimly, her eyes distant as Solvan continued while running a finger down one of the burn marks on his palm.

“Skepticism or fanatical zealotry are common ways to deal with such burdens, I find both to be equally tragic and dangerous.” The priest’s face lines grew deeper for a moment. “Only a strong faith in the Emperor and His plan, like the one you seem to carry in your soul, can help us withstand it.” He ended as a sincere compliment, the smile returning to his face. Unsure of what to say in response, Sapphira offered another polite smile. She shifted her posture to cross one knee over the other.

“You can take those off by the way.” He signaled to the high heels Sapphira was wearing. “I know how uncomfortable those can be.”

“They are that.” Sapphira agreed. She glanced down witheringly her shoes, and even started to push one off. The shoe balanced on her stocking clad toes while she considered it with narrowed eyes. “However a modicum of discomfort is inconsequential to a Sororita.” Sapphira declared as she slid the shoe back on. “I also have to become more comfortable with wearing such things.”

“I see you have taken to heart the idea of a new identity, I commend your dedication. I must tell you that it is refreshing to see you wearing some color instead of your usual gray. So apart from the attire, have you fleshed out this new character of yours?” Asked the priest raising an eyebrow.

Sapphira blinked at the compliment, and bought time to answer by taking a sip of tea. “Thank you,” She answered, “but all the credit for my transformation goes to Ms. Black, Adept Vizkop, and Ms. von Rousch. Without their expertise I would be a complete disaster.” Sapphira sincerely admitted. “On Hercynia I shall be Doctor Sapphira Wilder, a schola trained Navy medica who recently resigned her commission to serve Lady Machairi.”

“Ah, but talented teachers can only go as far as the student allows them, so bravo to you all.” Solvan took another sip from the tea and fidgeted with his ring for a second. Sapphira accepted the additional compliment with a nod, and lowered her cup and expectantly regarded the priest.

“Which brings us to the reason behind this meeting.” Solvan leaned forward on the table and joined his fingertips. “You know the rest of Schafer’s staff. You worked with them on Venatora, and as life threatening circumstances often foment, I think it is safe to assume that you have become close with a good number of them.”

“I, on the other hand, don’t know any of you.” He continued. “Of course I’ve read the files, but words on the screen of a data slate are a poor substitute to first hand experience.”

“And if I have learned anything after 15 years with the inquisition is that not knowing who you are working with can be problematic, to say the least.” The priest sentenced taking the cup once more to warm his hands. “So I was hoping you could shed some light on the issue.”

“I see.” Sapphira said, and pursed her lips as she leaned back into her seat. After some contemplation, she sighed. “Since we returned to the Bane I’ve barely even seen most of the Venatora team.” She smiled faintly, and picked up the tea cup. “The two of us have spoken more than I have with most of them.” Sapphira took a sip. “Any direct insight that I might have is now months old and perhaps irrelevant.” She cradled the cup and cleared her throat lightly. “I’m not certain how helpful that will be, although I’ll try to answer what questions you have. Was there anything particular you wanted to know?”

Solvan seemed to ponder Sapphira's statement for a moment, his gaze lost in the contents of his cup.

"Well that is unfortunate." Replied the priest not trying to hide a small degree of disappointment in his voice. "I'll adjust my line of enquiry then. Whatever answers you can give will be most appreciated."

"So." As he began talking the bishop's eyes went up again to look into Sapphira's to evaluate her reaction. "How confident are you with the screening performed by agent Vizkop's device to test for possible replicants within Schafer's team?"

“Confident.” Sapphira answered levelly, as her tempestuous gray eyes narrowed fractionally. The black liner she wore, on Kelly’s recommendation, only emphasized their intensity. “I trust the Secutor’s device because it detected a replicant. I trust him, and the rest of them, because we all acted to the detriment of the xenos agenda.” She placed her cup on the table, never breaking eye contact with Solvan. “However, to my knowledge the replicants are an unprecedented development. It’s possible that we missed something, and it would be foolish not to acknowledge that chance.” She arched an eyebrow. “Although, I suspect we would’ve been executed by now if Lord Sidonis seriously questioned our authenticity.”

Few people were able to answer questions that could possibly get them killed with such certainty. Solvan was pleased by Sapphira’s resolve, yet the priest didn’t voice it and limited himself to a slight nod at her response.

"What is your opinion on interrogator Schafer? As you might have perceived there is no lost love between Schafer and Alia." The bishop brushed his chin with his fingers. "I would like to hear your assessment of the man."

Sapphira smiled fractionally at Solvan’s use of Machairi’s given name, as she similarly used Schafer’s. “Well, for starters, Javid’s an absolutely terrible patient.” She shook her head and chuckled at the memory (http://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=40923&page=5&p=1371134&viewfull=1#post1371134). “I attribute that to his instincts, which are solid as otherwise he wouldn’t be an interrogator. Because of that drive he has earned a taskmaster’s reputation, which is understandable, but also somewhat undeserved.” She sighed. “While he’s not a soft touch, Javid truly does care about the development and welfare of agents under his command. Agents need to live long enough so that they’re experienced enough to know what they’re doing, to better serve the Imperial cause.”

“As for the interrogator’s rivalry,” Sapphira said, with an undisguised note of disapproval at the subject. “Javid is only candid about it with agents known to him. On the Venatora team that was…the late Arval Clement and I. Lady Machairi is noticeably less inhibited with her opinions.”

“Would you say that a bad habit reserved for intimate circles is less bad than one more openly displayed?” Asked Solvan with an amused smile on his face.

"It is not the flaw, the weakness which is the sin, it is to be ruled by them." Sapphira easily recited Solvan’s own words. “Bad habits are to be expected, as we’re all only human. Interrogator’s included.” She paused to consider her words. “A professional rivalry between them is expected and even understandable.” She sighed. “But this is arguably more of a personal feud.” Sapphira shook her head. “Behavior like that undermines both Machairi and Schafer, which neither needs if they become Inquisitors.”

“I’m glad that someone was listening after all.” The bishop replied with a wink. “I agree that it is a childish behavior, unbecoming of both of them. But they are still young, I'm confident that with age their tempers will mature into real inquisitor material. Don’t worry, if Schafer is somewhere on Hercynia she will find him, even if it is only to piss him off.”

“From your lips to His ears.” Sapphira said, with absolute sincerity. She sighed, and leaned forward to mirror the bishop’s earlier posture. “So, since we’re on the topic of interrogators…I’d like to know more about Machairi, and her agents.” She smiled and regarded Solvan. “Surely it’s only fair that we alternate questions?”

“It's the least I can do.” The priest answered as he refilled his cup and offered to do the same for Sapphira, who accepted with a gracious nod. “Quid pro quo, as an old terran saying went, something for something. I will do my best to answer your questions, but you must know that as confessor I may not reveal anything bound to the oath of secrecy of the holy sacrament. Outside of that, ask away.” He leaned back on the chair with his cup and smelled the herbal scent of his tea.

“Of course, I would expect nothing less.” Sapphira agreed with a complementary nod, and took a sip of fresh tea. “So...how about we even up the score? I would be interested to hear your assessment of interrogator Machairi, and to know about your team’s last assignment.”

“Hm, where to start.” Hummed Solvan with his gaze lost in an indefinite point in the far wall. “Alia is doubtlessly a brilliant woman and outstanding investigator. She usually prefers to outwit her opponents in the intellectual arena rather than direct confrontation by force.” The bishop paused and returned his look on Sapphira. “She spends a significant amount of effort into knowing her agents, trying her best to establish a closer relationship than the usual cold professionalism one can expect from most interrogators. You might have noticed this in the brief meeting we already had, congratulating agent Black for the urban combat training.”

“I noticed.” She confirmed. I noticed that she’s interested in Marcus. Sapphira gazed contemplatively into her tea. I also noticed how I was not originally summoned for this team. She glanced back to Solvan, and smiled guiltily. “My apologies, I must have lost myself there for a moment. Please, continue.”

He took a drink from the tea and sighed briefly. “If that apparent concern is truthful or just a desire to manipulate the people around her you will have to make up your own mind. My personal opinion is that she truly has an interest in her agents, especially the ones who stand out. It is evident that this sort of proximity achieves better cooperation from some agents, depending on personality.” He left the cup on the table once more and interlocked his fingers on his lap. “But despite that she will have no second thoughts in sacrificing all of our lives, hers included, if service to the Emperor demands it.”

“Lady Machairi wouldn’t be an interrogator if she had such reservations.” Sapphira agreed, with a knowing nod. She’d had to exercise that authority before, and had the scars to prove it.

“As for our latest assignment, I’m afraid it is nothing as spectacular as your recent activities." Solvan looked up as he remembered. "Beraspine, standard Hive World, we received information that a group of powerful individuals were financing riots in the underhive." The priest tilted his head slightly towards Sapphira. "Later we realized that the aim was to force the resignation or violent removal of the governor, whom was loyal, so they could appoint some puppet in his place." He reached for his cup once more. "After they achieved this goal the new governor would officially accept to trade with the xenos called Tau. Of course there was a blackmarket put already in place by the same conniving lot, so after the governor's approval they would exponentially increase their illicit income. With the Emperor's help we managed to put a stop to it and most of the traitors are now dead. There was a suspicion of an actual Tau leader on the planet but it was never confirmed."

“Surely the God Emperor blessed your team’s endeavor.” Sapphira said approvingly, and then smiled. It evaporated the particularly dark expression she’d had when Solvan mentioned the traitors and their particular sins. “I believe that makes us even now.” She cradled her cup and raised an eyebrow. “Your next question?”

--- The convoy ---

“Eternal rest granted unto them, Oh Emperor, let perpetual light shine upon them. May they rest in peace.” Solvan whispered as the screams rose through the air above the roaring of the engines. He thought that he should feel more outrage, instead he just felt the unfairness of it at an intellectual level. In the end they were just another couple of screams in the endless list of screaming.

She didn’t scream though. A voice said in his mind. He remembered the heat on his face, their gazes locked through the rising flames, neither of them blinking, then the smell of burnt flesh. He pushed away the memory shaking his head. He realized he had stopped breathing and exhaled slowly, his ringed hands balled into fists.

--- AAT Base ---

Solvan regarded Crenshaw while Tomas made the well rehearsed introductory speech. The man looked the part, authority and confidence all wrapped in with the attitude of having pleasure at annoying powerful rich people. The priest noticed the Major’s and his aide’s reactions to Kally and the well-known uneasey feeling he transmitted.

Before he could follow Tomas queue Glabrio chipped in with his accustomed caustic sarcasm. The bishop was used to it so he managed to avoid rolling his eyes. He didn’t favor the strategy that began by possibly angering the people that you needed to be cooperative towards the team.

“Greetings, Major. Forgive my colleague’s candor. It has been a long trip from Akkan and it was hardly uneventful as you can imagine.” Solvan began moving forward, his silken robe fluidly following his steps, a warm smile on his lips. “Now, what would the usual protocol be so that we can make use of your astropathic services as expediently as possible?” If the major was one of the myriad of corrupt officers in the Imperium he could ask for a bribe at this point, the man didn’t gave that impression to the bishop, but it never hurt to keep the option available.

[PaintSerf]

Crenshaw - Present

"Don't you think it's a little obvious what we want? We wouldn't have joined the convoy otherwise. Hybrida, private security for Trader, Machairi, I'd trust you'd rather speak to her."

“Greetings, Major. Forgive my colleague’s candor. It has been a long trip from Akkan and it was hardly uneventful as you can imagine.”

“Your ride in was uneventful by Enclave standards. Congratulations on that good fortune, and welcome, everyone.” Crenshaw said, with pronounced apathy. He regarded Hybrida with what might’ve been actual humor, and glanced back at Solvan. “There is no need to waste an apology, mister Belannor, as the help did not bother me. I appreciate candor, and I always take an interest in a trader’s hirelings.”

Crenshaw appraisingly eyed over the retinue again as Solvan began moving forward, his silken robe fluidly following his steps, a warm smile on his lips. “Now, what would the usual protocol be so that we can make use of your astropathic services as expediently as possible?”

“Why, mister Belannor.” Crenshaw slyly responded, as he offered a pleased smile. “When it comes to 'expediting' the usual protocol,” His conspiratorial expression morphed into contempt. “Thrones are absolutely worthless, beyond the standard fee for the standard service.” Crenshaw gestured for Solvan to step back. “Be aware that the Telepathica prioritizes Imperial communications, and everyone else is served by their business’ current relevance to the Enclave.” He smiled, and glanced back towards Tomas. “And what is your Lady’s business, anyway, mister Prinzel?”

"The sale of weapons, and other commodities. Any more than that does not concern you, Major. You are a military man, after all. We both know that the big guns never tire, and that the Enclave could use as many big guns as it can get its hands on."

“Wow. I haven’t heard anyone seriously use a platitude like that in ages.” Crenshaw said, with raised brows as he noted the man’s slight reactionary frown. He chuckled briefly, and ended it with a calculated hum of amusement - the perfect coda of condescension. “Thank you for that, Seneschal, but do try to restrain yourself from dusting off any more classics. Those trite antiques will not impress the Hercynians, as they are sensitive about their predicament and already dealing with other ‘weapons and commodities’ traders.”

[Thrannix]

Solvan stepped back again, the smile never leaving his face. It was good to know that not everyone on this pitiful rock was out to make a profit from the suffering of the locals, it was a shame though that dishonest personnel made inquisitorial undercover investigations much easier.

"Well Major, since you appreciate candor I will be frank." Said the priest unclasping his hands and smoothing his robe. "As our Seneschal already explained we have important business to sort out. The most prominent aspects of said business are the procurement of weapons, to help the imperial efforts, and machinery for the various mining operations. Well known traders such as Ottik Klimment and Natalia Viess are interested parts in these initiatives." Solvan hoped that Natalia's previous statement on the governor was true, it would give his argument more leverage as well as shedding some light on how much influence the rouge traders had gained within the government bodies. "Would that qualify as a high priority issue for the Enclave?"

"Also, we are worried by some of lady Machairi's acquaintances, Roose Harlock and Javid Schafer, perhaps the names ring a bell? We haven’t heard from them in a while and we would be very interested in knowing if, by any chance, they happened to drop by recently." The priest looked up to the threatening gray sky, he could feel a headache starting to boil behind his eyes as it often did before the rain. "I understand this is an unusual request to make, but with the current planetary situation surely you can see why we are concerned for the wellbeing of our friends." It was hardly a subtle line of enquiry, Solvan reflected, but Crenshaw had made clear that he wasn’t messing around.

[PaintSerf]

"As our Seneschal already explained we have important business to sort out. The most prominent aspects of said business are the procurement of weapons, to help the imperial efforts, and machinery for the various mining operations. Well known traders such as Ottik Klimment and Natalia Viess are interested parts in these initiatives. Would that qualify as a high priority issue for the Enclave?"

“No.” Crenshaw simply answered. “Priority is assigned once a trader has actually formalized a contract with the Enclave and delivered on it.” He smiled without warmth. “Since your Lady is new and unproven? Brace yourselves for a considerable wait.”

"Also, we are worried by some of lady Machairi's acquaintances, Roose Harlock and Javid Schafer, perhaps the names ring a bell? We haven’t heard from them in a while and we would be very interested in knowing if, by any chance, they happened to drop by recently." The priest looked up to the threatening gray sky, he could feel a headache starting to boil behind his eyes as it often did before the rain. "I understand this is an unusual request to make, but with the current planetary situation surely you can see why we are concerned for the wellbeing of our friends."

“Huh.” Crenshaw grunted, as he regarded Solvan suspiciously. “It is very convenient that you claim to either be in business or even friends with Harlock, Klimment, and Viess. Most newcomers are cagey enough to only name drop one of the primary military contractors.” He shrugged apathetically. “Next time, mister Belannor, I suggest you try to blend in a few more nobodies.” Crenshaw glared up at the sky, heavy with pending rain, almost as if offended. “Now, come with me. We will have plenty of time to become acquainted indoors.”

"I think he's onto us." Kelly murmured as Crenshaw led them towards one of the prefab barracks blocks around the main AAT spire. "Trouble?"

"He's a prick," Marc agreed quietly, "But at least he's an open book."

"An open book still only shows two pages." Machairi cautioned them both as the team filed into a spartan office, which featured a cogitator and a brushed metal desk with only two chairs. Machairi took one, smoothing the back of her dress under her legs as she sat down, although Crenshaw himself remained standing. His aide shuffled in behind them and closed the door.

“Now that we have some privacy,” Crenshaw began, as he leaned his knuckles on the table and stared down Machairi. “This is where you show me your rosette and warrant.”

Machairi rested her elbows on the table and laced her fingers, leaning slightly towards Crenshaw. "How did you know?" she asked politely.

"I met Interrogator Javid Schafer." Crenshaw answered, levelly. "Two months ago, also disguised as a rogue trader here to send an astropathic message. He did so, and afterwards presented me with his rosette and warrant." He unsubtly held out a gloved hand, eyes locked with Machairi. "You will now do the same."

"I see." Machairi said. She held Crenshaw's gaze for a few moments, then unclasped her hands and pulled her shawl off one shoulder to unpin a brooch. "Very well."

A squeeze of the brooch's centre projected a small red hololith, forming the familiar imperial I bisected with the skull and triple crossbar of the inquisition. Machairi slid the device across the table towards Crenshaw.

"And when you're satisfied with it, perhaps you can tell us where my colleague Schafer is now."

"Ah." Crenshaw quietly exclaimed, and scooped up the concealed rosette. He simply held it out, and his assistant cringed reluctantly and came forward to accept it. "You must be the 'passive aggressive bitch' herself." He mildly regarded Machairi as his assistant hastily thumped back to the cogitator. "Javid told me all about you, Alia. What a pity." Crenshaw neutrally continued without elaboration.

Machairi stared at Crenshaw for a long moment, with a slight smile that fell short of reaching her eyes. Across the room, Vincent chuckled quietly at the palpable tension.

"I imagine that he did." Machairi said at length. "But that's not what I asked you, major."

“After identifying himself, your rival requested Valkyrie transportation into the Uru. We obliged Schafer, and have heard nothing from him since.”

"And where exactly did you transport him to?"

“Rakosu.” Crenshaw answered, as his aide tromped back and waited outside of arms reach. He made to speak, but Crenshaw snapped his fingers and gestured for him to return the rosette to Machairi. “The old Uru capital, which is now ground zero for the indigen civil war.”

Machairi sat back in her chair, rubbing her fingernails gently against the ball of her thumb. "We might need a repeat of the favour, major Crenshaw. As well as your indulgence for a priority astro and some brief inquiries with your staff. After accommodating the Emperor's inquisition once, I hope it won't trouble you to do so again."

“Lady Machairi will follow the usual protocol and wait her turn.” Crenshaw stated, almost conversationally, as he sat down and mildly regarded her. “Or else the whole Enclave will know she is inquisition.”

Machairi turned away from Crenshaw to receive her brooch back from the aide, and carefully pinned it back onto her dress before replying. "And why would that be, major? That almost sounds like a threat."

“Not a threat.” Crenshaw casually answered, as he comfortably reclined back. “In your self-righteous haste, Alia, you are overlooking one slight detail. I never said I would not authorize a priority message for you. However, it would be monumentally stupid to request one.” Crenshaw arched an eyebrow. “This is the Enclave and you are undercover as a rogue trader, on a military base with very strict protocol for traders. It will be noted when you obviously buck that protocol, and someone will figure out that you are inquisition.” He leaned forward. “Do you really want to risk your cover, and your agents' lives, to prove an uncontested point?”

Machairi blinked at him, mirroring the slight lean forward. "And I assume that you and your aide couldn't find some clever way of getting round that - putting the astro in your name, for example?"

“We can always find a way.” Crenshaw said, and shrugged apathetically. He gestured for his aide, who had frozen after that exchange, to continue back. “I am curious though, Alia. Do you need a priority astropathic message, or do you want one? Schafer was sensible enough to know the difference, and perceptive enough to realize how established my gratingly uncooperative reputation is with the most important men,” Crenshaw smiled slightly, “and women, in the Enclave. Your rival’s intelligent way of getting around that, and preserving his cover, was to publicly comply with the Telepathica’s usual protocol.”

"This is the situation, major." Machairi said. "Schafer believed that rogue trader Harlock could be involved with trafficking forbidden xenotech, and we have circumstantial evidence that he may be involved in other subversive activities here on Hercynia. Schafer hasn't made contact of any kind with us since entering the Uru. Also, my tech-priest Vizkop was attacked a couple of days ago in Akkan, not long after we arrived. It's possible that someone already knows who we are."

“Request that priority and everyone will definitely know.” Crenshaw levelly replied. “It is known that Telepathica representatives are loyal to the Throne, rather than to Thrones. If I inexplicably break protocol and send an astro after talking with you behind closed doors? It would hardly take an interrogator to solve that mystery.” He paused, and pointedly regarded Machairi. “Here is my alternative, Alia. Wait your turn and validate your psykers like any other newly arrived rogue trader has to. While we wait, I can bring you and your agents up to speed with our intelligence.” He raised a brow. “Does that sound reasonable?”

Machairi mirrored the raised eyebrow and smiled. "Uncommonly so."

“I have never had to convince an interrogator not to blow their assignment,” Crenshaw agreed with a nod, and matched her smile, “especially with information that was going to be offered anyway. ‘Old Man’ Schafer might be a blunt instrument, Alia, but at least he’s honest about who he is and what he wants.” He turned and directly acknowledged the agents with a curious expression. “Now, how about we start with proper introductions?”

[dakkagor]

Tomas:

“I have never had to convince an interrogator not to blow their assignment,” Crenshaw agreed with a nod, and matched her smile, “especially with information that was going to be offered anyway. ‘Old Man’ Schafer might be a blunt instrument, Alia, but at least he’s honest about who he is and what he wants.” He turned and directly acknowledged the agents with a curious expression. “Now, how about we start with proper introductions?”

Sounds like the Old Man. No doubt he stomped in here and demanded what he wanted. But then again, looks like he was about as successful as us.

"Very well, my name is Tomas Prinzel, and I am Lady Machairi's bodyguard. Aleksandr, Malpais and Lia here are our psyker assets." He gestured to each of the psykers in turn, noting their discomfort. "They can provide you with whatever details you need about their capabilities, as can Agent Sonder."

He stepped forwards slightly, voice dropping to an even, menacing tone.

"And lets make something clear. Just because I am Lady Machairi's bodyguard, do not mistake me for some chained dog that only barks at her command. If you cross us, Major Crenshaw, or if it turns out you betrayed Schafer to whatever fate has befallen him, I will gladly bury you and your pet freak, even if I have to drag myself out of the Eye itself to do it."

He met Crenshaws gaze evenly.

“Are you done?” He casually asked, obviously unmoved by Tomas’ threat. “That was quite the accusatory comedy of errors, and well-seasoned with that hollow and hyperbolic threat. Whatever else they must say about you, Prinzel, you are an artist.” Crenshaw smiled, and then flatly regarded the others. “In case anyone might believe your man’s paranoid rambling? No. I obviously did not betray Schafer, and I will obviously not betray you. The ‘Ghosts’ are already killing more than enough Imperials, and I have no desire to aid them. I prefer to kill them. ”

"We will proceed honestly with you Crenshaw," Tomas responded, gritting his teeth 'but you had better but a cap on that attitude you are hauling around. It will not be healthy for your long term."

Kally:

Kally coughed, tapping Tomas on the shoulder.

"Maybe you should ease of the Major, he has offered to help us."

Tomas glared at her as Crenshaw smiled, but she met it with a frown herself. He stepped back to Machairi's side and she resisted the urge to sigh.

You are the very fracking definition of a chain dog.

"Agent Kally Sonder. I was part of Schafers team on a previous assignment, as was Marc, Kelly, Vince, Lia, Vizkop and Sapphira here. We're eager to check the miserable bastard is still alive out there, so any help you can offer will be appreciated. And the quicker we do that, the quicker we are all out of your hair." She extended her hand to Crenshaw, smiling.
"Pleasure to meet you, Major Crenshaw."

“Agent Kally Sonder is a human nothing, Major Mar- er, sir!” The aide suddenly blurted out, after pensively standing and waiting, as soon as Kally stepped forward. He quivered, wide eyed and obviously terrified of her. Crenshaw had turned and halfway risen out of his seat, with narrow eyed irritation. But he paused, and sharply eyed Kally with an intensely appraisingly look. “She is like you, by which I mean a pariah, but much lesser and more horrible because of it!”

Kally shrugged her shoulders, before pulling down the collar of her coat to reveal the ornate choker hidden there.

"Its on, before anyone asks."

“Enough is enough, Bolt Magnet.” Crenshaw snarled lowly, with palpable menace, as he stood and rounded on the psyker. The aide yelped in pain as the Major’s aura overwhelmed him, and desperately tried to back away. Crenshaw merely walked the youth into the corner, and produced a null halo from his belt. “Now compose and control yourself.” The Major said icily, and after a moment the aide shuddered and gingerly took it. The psyker hesitantly clamped the thin metal collar around his throat, and whimpered as it activated with a hum.

“Telepath and technokine.” Crenshaw idly explained, with a backhanded gesture towards the psyker. He was calm, as if nothing had happened. “While Jenkins is obviously a neurotic wreck, he does have his uses and outbursts such as this are atypical. There are triggers, of course, like our friends from the Mechanicus.” The Major held up a reassuring hand, as his aide shuddered and slumped against the wall. “He is docile now.”

“Agent Sonder, what a pleasure it is to meet you.” Crenshaw politely replied, as he walked back over and extended a hand to her. He met her eyes and offered a broad smile of his own. “Another blacksoul is always welcome here.”

"Pity I won't be staying" Kally replied with a wry smile, taking his hand and giving it a firm grip. "Maybe you'd like to show me around the place? It seems like a hell of a facility you have here."

[Cfavano]

It had been nearly a day and a half since the battle he had witnessed. No, not a battle. A battle would have been fair. It was a slaughter. He also received report of other situations in which the PDF had dealt with the locals in a heavy-handed manner, as well as other attacks by citizens. It was on his mind heavily, and he couldn't sleep that night. With a knock, he entered Sister Sapphira's makeshift office. "Sister, I am here for my innoculation." He said, his voice, for once, not muffled by a rebreather. His headgear was also off, revealing his face and dark hair. He was clearly young, but age showed heavily on the lines of his face. From the dark circles under his eyes, he had also not had a good night's sleep in quite some time. "I am sorry for not coming sooner, I have been praying for guidance."

“A worthy reason, mister Salah, as was your information gathering assignment.” Sapphira responded, as she looked up from her data-slate and gestured to an empty seat by her desk. “Welcome to my office. Please take a seat, roll up your sleeve, and stop calling me Sister.” She was lightly reproving, but her expression was serious. “You must call me Sapphira, and either Doctor or Doctor Wilder if you insist on formality.”

"Apologies, Doctor. I've not been able to think clearly today." He goes over and sits on the chair, rolling his sleeve up. "Is it just me, or do you, as well, think the PDF is being far too heavy-handed with the indigens? I mean, I could understand the use of some force, but, they don't seem that far off from committing genocide. This is only going to stall or slow conversion." He looks down and shakes his head. "I see the signs. If the PDF continue down this path, it will only get worse. The crop of faith cannot grow out of all that blood."

“The current state of affairs in Akkan is mostly objectionable,” Sapphira conceded as she moved aside her data-slate, “and Throne knows it’s only worse out in the axis.” She considered how to answer further while she stood and gathered the necessities. “The PDF must be hard because of these insurgents who hide amongst the refugees. These ‘Ghosts’ will mercilessly kill Imperials, and use their own innocents as camouflage and cover to do it.” Sapphira shook her head disgustedly at the practice. “A decade of this type of warfare would harden anyone, and it has hardened both the settlers and the natives.”

"But it's the wrong way to do it. It is like burning down your house because you don't like the carpets. I know this because I served in the Imperial Guard. It's not xenos they're killing, but other humans."

“Do you see another immediate and viable option, Abdur?” Sapphira asked rhetorically, although not unkindly. “This is an old, stagnant, and arguably failed war. Hercynia’s history of violence is an unfortunate way of life for the settlers and the natives, but it’s hardly a unique history.” She faced back toward Abdur, and sighed. “Mankind is mankind’s most ancient and hated xenos threat.”

He looks down and away, his hand gripping the arm of the chair hard. "Can I confess something to you in private? I've been wanting to talk to someone about my previous assignments, but if a commissar overheard me, I'd likely be executed."

“We can talk, if that’s what you’d like.” Sapphira responded, after a moment’s hard consideration, as she placed her supplies on the desk. “One moment, please.” She closed the suite door, and retook her seat. “What burdens are on your mind, Abdur?”

He sighs. "Before I was picked up by the Inquisition, I had a reputation. I was a ghost. Men like me were sent ahead of the main forces in sealed Stasis pods. We landed on the planets in question at very specific coordinates. When we awoke, we read our orders. They usually were to...'attack' things of value, destroying them while remaining undetected. Sound somewhat normal?”

“Well, I can’t say that I’ve ever heard of Guardsmen being deployed by stasis pods before.” Sapphira truthfully admitted, with evident surprise. She shook her head and refocused. “But, other than that, I would agree with your question. The destruction of high value targets is sound and necessary military strategy.”

“It went deeper than that. By things of value, it meant anything the enemy could use to further themselves. That means not only fortifications, but also manufactorums, storehouses, farms, and...civilians. We were instructed to be like the emperor's unseen wrath, punishing the unfaithful.

“Consider the all the Imperial soldiers who benefited from your deeds when fighting a weakened enemy.” Sapphira offered, before she tilted her head. “However, that never makes collateral deaths more palatable. Civilians always suffer terribly in war, but maybe the sacrifices of some expedited those wars?” She sighed. “We also both know that even civilians can be considered legitimate targets, as not all of our enemies wear uniforms.”

More than once I set off bombs in the middle of a market, hospitals, and even once...a scholam. At first, I was able to rationalize them as orders, that I was simply serving the emperor. But as the years went by..." He shakes his head. "I began to question, to falter, as some might say."

Were those your orders, to attack hospitals and a scholam, or your interpretation of orders? Sapphira wondered, as she neutrally considered how to respond. Normally she would’ve appreciated some context, but she was unfamiliar with his particular methods of operations, and now was not the time. They were on an assignment and Abdur was clearly struggling with this burden. She needed to build him back up, for his benefit and theirs, rather than tearing him apart.

“That’s understandable. You had to complete difficult assignments under trying circumstances.” Sapphira said reassuringly. She leaned forward, with a curious expression. “And did you do next, Abdur? How did you not falter?”

"I continued doing my duty, as asked. I killed, I burned, I purged. My enemies fell before my actions like ripe wheat before a scythe. I tried my best to remove emotions from the equation, seeing them initially as a weakness. I began seeing my targets not as humans, but as mere statistics.”

“How well did that method work for you, Abdur?” Sapphira asked.

“That helped, for a time. But after a while, it stopped working. I prayed, I fasted, I mortified myself so badly that I had to be sent to the medicae more than once. But I couldn't get their faces out of my head, nor their screams from my ears. Luckily, I was picked up by the Inquisition eventually. I haven't killed anything in over a year. I've spent hours every day praying, and fast every few days. I haven't mortified myself in a while, but if you were to examine my back, you'll find it covered in past scars." He then looked at a chronometer on his wrist. "My prayer regiment begins once more in an hour."

“We all have our scars, Abdur, whether they’re emotional, mental, or physical. We earn these scars by our service. We carry the burdens of these scars, so we are reminded of why we serve. We accept these scars so that others will not be scarred.” Sapphira said quietly, but with a palpable sense of conviction. “Your burdens are only human, as are your doubts, and your fears. You are in understanding company. You are not alone.” She smiled reassuringly, and comfortingly patted his hand. “I’d recommend that you speak further with Solvan, after your prayers. He is trained to take a confession.”

"Thank you doctor, you are as kind as you are beautiful. I will do so. Now, I believe you have a shot to give me?"

“I- ah, thank you, Abdur.” She hesitantly replied, and offered him a polite smile. “But yes.” Sapphira quickly continued, and absently rubbed her scarred cheek as she turned back towards her supplies. “We'd best get started.”

--------

Time had passed. As they rode towards the AAT facility, Abdur prayed silently. However, when the careless driver had run over that Ghost, Sapphira saw Abdur visibly twinge. She could see him gripping the arm rests of his seat so hard that his knuckles turned white. But he kept it in check, as best as he could. He could feel a black rage building inside of him, but he took a few deep breaths, and suppressed it. Within minutes, it was as if nothing had happened.

When they finally got to the AAT, he kept quiet, keeping alert for threats. He knew that, eventually, the oppressed indigens would strike back, in full force. A group could only take so much before lashing out in violence.

[Thrannix]

“I have never had to convince an interrogator not to blow their assignment,” Crenshaw agreed with a nod, and matched her smile, “especially with information that was going to be offered anyway. ‘Old Man’ Schafer might be a blunt instrument, Alia, but at least he’s honest about who he is and what he wants.”

Right, and that approach seems to have worked wonderfully for him wouldn’t you say? Needing a rescue operation of all things. Solvan thought grumbling, closing his eyes for a second and massaging his left temple with his fingertips as the headache got worse.

“Now, how about we start with proper introductions?”

The priest watched Tomas’ reaction and threats towards Crenshaw without surprise. It was obvious their personalities would clash, even more so when you add the petulant attitude from the Major. For the moment he was not too keen on the man either, but his arguments made sense, he had to give him that.

"Any fighting among the Emperor's faithful can only help the enemy, Tomas. If Crenshaw is telling the truth then we need his help, though he certainly has to work on his people skills." The bishop said to Prinzle laying a hand on his friend's shoulder as Kally and the Major talked.

“Solvan Belannor, Adeptus Ministorum, priest and confessor, humble servant to the Holy Emperor, may He reign on the Golden Throne throughout the ages." He recited and made the sign of the aquila as Crenshaw made eye contact. The warm smile and soft tone were gone, the charade was off, besides he was too busy trying to ignore the sensation that his left eye was about to pop out of his skull.

[Azazeal849]

"We will proceed honestly with you Crenshaw," Tomas responded, gritting his teeth, "But you had better put a cap on that attitude you are hauling around. It will not be healthy for you in the long term."


Machairi discreetly moved her hand, touching Tomas on the arm in a gentle signal for him to calm down. Tomas stepped back to Machairi's side and Kally resisted the urge to sigh.

You are the very frakking definition of a chain dog.

...

"Agent Kally Sonder is a human nothing, major Mar- er, sir!" the aide suddenly blurted out. "She is like you, by which I mean a pariah, but much lesser and more horrible because of it!"

To Kally's left, Marc frowned. The revelation about Crenshaw was not entirely unexpected, since the AAT employed large numbers of blanks to handle their psykers, and after spending significant time around Kally he had been able to recognise the fainter but still slightly gut-wrenching feeling he got when he looked at the major. Such a tactless reminder of Kally's own condition, however, didn't sit as well with him. Vince, by contrast, was far more blunt in his disapproval.

"That's not very polite." he growled at the aide, fixing him with an incredibly dangerous stare. "I'm much more horrible than Kally girl ever is."

"Enough is enough, Bolt Magnet." Crenshaw snarled lowly.

...

"Pity I won't be staying." Kally replied with a wry smile, taking Crenshaw's hand and giving it a firm grip. "Maybe you'd like to show me around the place? It seems like a hell of a facility you have here."

"It would certainly be prudent to verify Schafer's last message, if major Crenshaw thinks it would be possible to obtain it." Machairi nodded. "Take Nyl, Remus and verispex Black with you. Major, would it be possible to arrange a meeting with the base commander, even if I have to wait for it?"

Crenshaw shrugged. "Potentially. He is a busy man though, and you would be far down in the pecking order."

Machairi nodded again. "That will have to do. Abdur, Tomas, agent Black - you're with me."

"I will send the Bolt Magnet along." Crenshaw offered, shooting a glance at his very subdued aide. "To assist you."

"Very well." Machairi said neutrally, after a moment of strained silence. While a personal representative of the AAT commandant might help their priority with the PDF, what "assistance" the cringing psyker might provide was ambiguous.

She turned to Solvan. "Father, you and Lia might profess an interest in the local logistics chains over in the workshops. Take Sebastian and Glabrio. Secutor Vizkop? If you, Malpais and Alex could make enquiries with the base tech priests. Perhaps they will know more about rogue elements in the Uru than the priests in Akkan."

As Vizkop bowed quietly and left, Machairi flicked her eyebrows at Sapphira in a silent signal. "Sister?" she murmured to her, using Sapphira's real title for the first time since their arrival. "Vizkop has been troubled after that attack. He thinks it may be a former target with a personal vendetta. Make sure that he gets support if he needs it."

The team split up into their groups and filed out, this time with Crenshaw's aide thumping along folornly beside Mechairi on his ill-fitting bionic legs.

"I'm sorry," Machairi said gently as they stepped back outside. The rain had begun to spit, visible in the glow of the base floodlights. "I never got your name?"

"My name, by which I am known, would be Gavin Jenkins." the psyker replied, barely audible over the ambient noise of the base. "Bolt Magnet would also be acceptable, as in recognised, if you would prefer to call me that." He shuddered, and tilted his bowed head towards her. "Interrogator Alia Machairi."

The interrogator shot a sidelong glance at Tomas, which went unnoticed by the psyker still staring fixedly at her shoes. "I'll make a deal with you." she said with a slight smile. "I'll call you Gavin if you stick to just 'Machairi'."


+ + + + + +

The astropathic spire seemed understaffed, but the oppressive sub-audible buzz of the psychic inhibitors that ringed its entrance level was still very much in evidence. It made Kelly's skin prickle as she followed the others through the warren of corridors that made up the spire's underground interior. As they passed a wall made of rune-etched ballistic glass, the view from the room beyond made her stop. She paused to tap Remus on the shoulder.

"Hey, Remus." she said, frowning. "Look."

Vincent, who seemed to be hovering behind Kally as if waiting for a chance to talk to her without Crenshaw at her side, gave it up as a bad job and stopped to see what Kelly was talking about. In the room behind the glass, a quartet of naked humans were curled inside tall glass cylinders, bobbing in fetal position in vats of pink amniotic fluid. Nutrient and dialysis tubes ran into the insides of their elbows, while their heads were studded with a nest of wires and segmented cables. As they watched one of the floating figures suddenly spasmed, his arms swinging out to strike the walls of his cylinder with a dull thump. Lights at a cogitator station beside the cylinder began blinking, and the agents could see the unconscious man's eyelids fluttering and his jaw working behind the air mask that covered his nose and mouth, as if he was trying to speak.

As an invisible tracery of hexagrams threaded through the cylinder glass began to glow dully, a man in AAT uniform appeared from out of their sight line and crossed to the blinking cogitator. He picked up a pair of headphones hooked above the cogitator and held one speaker to his ear, scribbling on a notepad with his other hand. He tore the page off the pad just as a second AAT man appeared, this one a grey-haired overseer.

"Three men in Rakosu's central plaza, tomorrow evening." the first man reported.

"Tomorrow evening?" the agents heard the overseer repeat. "That'll be tight. Most of our men aren't due back from their sweep until the morning. Have the cogboys prep some servitors." It was at that moment that he looked up and saw the agents standing outside. "Wait a second."

He crossed to the door, punched in a code, and pushed the glass panel outwards as a speaker buzzed confirmation.

"Who the Horus are you people?" he demanded, glowering at Vincent, Remus and Kelly. Unlike many of the AAT staff he didn't seem to be a blank, as they could look him in the eye without the trademark lurch of discomfort, although the force of his stare was discomforting enough by itself.

"We're here with major Crenshaw." Kelly answered before Vincent could say something more provocative. She glanced round, only to find that Crenshaw and Kally seemed to have gone on ahead without them. She controlled an urge to curse and continued explaining instead. "He was taking us to check that a previous astro had been sent, but our employer also asked us to look into the Enclave's security needs while we were here."

"And who's your employer?"

"Chartered trader Alia Machairi."

The overseer grunted, obviosuly unfamiliar with the name. "New contractor? We might need one. Still, you shouldn't be loitering around here. The precogs aren't safe." He jerked his thumb towards the four tanks in the room behind, where the spasming man had returned to his previous dormant state.

"If you don't mind me asking," Kelly said as she allowed the overseer to chivvy them along the corridor. "How's the battle against the indigens going?"

The AAT overseer grunted again. "It's more a question of how the battle between the indigens is going. The Rytu and their proxies are kicking ass all over the shop. Which isn't ideal. If one side gets the upper hand, they might get ideas about attacking us next. The precogs help us target local leaders, but a new one seems to pop up every month - faster than our kill-teams can execute them. The latest one's calling himself the Silver Prophet." The overseer snorted. "From the self-aggrandising title, I assume he's some messianic nutjob out of Rytu."

He paused to pin the scrap of paper he had been given onto a board that hung on the wall outside a door labelled vox office. It was already covered with similar scraps, some bearing names, others sketches of faces, and a few just places and times. Kelly looked them over with the critical eye of a scene-of-crime officer. Over most of them were yellow post-its bearing notes such as Servitor team dispatched - 32 confirmed kills and Missile strike - 7 confirmed kills, with the original prophesy either crossed through or annotated with a question mark.

"Yeah." the overseer grunted as he saw Kelly staring at the mission summaries and the vague intelligence that had prompted them. "That's psykers for you. Sometimes they even send our kill-servitors to the completely wrong district. Any chance your trader deals in decent surveillance satellites?"

Kelly moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. "Shouldn't you be more certain of your targets?" she asked delicately.

"Best to get them all, just to be sure." the AAT handler shrugged, and pointed down the corridor. "Archive's down there. You'd better find Crenshaw before one of the blank guards catches you and throws you out. Now if you'll excuse me, those Ghosts won't kill themselves." He paused, and chuckled as he walked away. "At least, not as fast as we'd like..."

Kelly was chewing the inside of her cheek, still looking at the post-it that read 32 confirmed kills. "This is wrong." she whispered, and started rubbing the bridge of her nose.

"Well," Vincent grunted at her side, "I'm sure our interrogator would call it inefficient..."


+ + + + + +

The enginseer who was using her shoulder-anchored mechadendrites to gently lift engine components out of one of the Chimeras didn't look up, but she did acknowledge Vizkop's approach by beaming handshake protocols across one of the standard noosphere frequencies.

+It is not often that we get brothers from offworld visiting our humble temple+ she transmitted, while she continued to sing a binary hymn to the Chimera and take absolutely no notice of the other three agents accompanying Vizkop. +And a secutor as well! What brings you here, brother?+


+ + + + + +

"These ones?" the junior officer asked, looking equal parts wary and interested to have unfamiliar investors on his base and inquiring about any dissatisfaction with the current logistic chains. He turned towards the row of inactive servitors that Solvan and the others had just pointed out. "These came from Klimment, I think. The rogue traders were happy to throw money behind early expansion to the western continent, and they were happy to sell us the kill-servitors as well when the PDF got overstretched. I'll admit the things creep me out, but people complain a lot less about dead servitors than good Imperial citizens coming home in body-bags."

He let the four step closer to the dormant row of cyborgs, wired in for recharging with many of their components stripped away for maintenance. Bulky stubber cannons were fused to their mechanical hands, pointed docilely towards the ground with their targeter uplinks disconnected and the magazine drums removed. Between slab-like shoulder guards, their helmets had been removed to allow the attachment of datastream cables, leaving their bare heads looking strangely small beneath all the armour. Their faces were ghost pale and criss-crossed with surgical scars, features slack and eyes closed as idling implants kept what was left of their minds dormant. Nutrient tubes had been fed into the servitors' noses while they rested.


+ + + + + +

"And where do you see most action?" Machairi asked, looking with interest at the skeletal Skytalons that sat on their pads across the tarmac. Determined not to just sit around while they waited for their appointment with the base commander, she had managed to engage a trio of PDF pilots lounging off duty outside one of the barracks, with a pole-supported awning to protect them from the rain.

"Rakosu, hands down." answered one of the pilots, a blonde-haired man with a beaky nose who was chewing on some sort of gum as he spoke. "It's the old Uru capital, and all the militias want to plant their flag on it. And the more of them that come the more we have to deal with, before things spill out west to Akkan."

"We've had to deploy servitor kill teams almost twice as often as last year." added an angular woman who sat next to him with arms folded and legs crossed at the ankles.

"Why do you use so many servitors?" Marc put in, gesturing towards the muster area behind the pilots. Rows of servitors sat plugged into power alcoves with weapon arms locked safe against their sides, ready to be loaded into the cuboid deployment pods that were slung beneath each waiting Skytalon. Bald, chalk-white faces stood out beneath layers of armour and circuitry, bowed as if the mind-wiped cyborgs were asleep.

The blonde pilot shrugged. "Our PDF are more peacekeepers than soldiers, and the indigens are almost as well armed as they are. And our soldiers don't want to die. They've got families too, you know. With servitors we don't have to worry about them deliberately avoiding contact, or becoming corrupt and making deals with the indigen militias..."

"Or your PDF could go to war." Machairi murmured softly.

Marc frowned thoughtfully. He didn't know full-blown battlefields, but from his time as a hive enforcer he knew that urban peacekeeping and urban warfare were two very different things. He remembered a hostage situation at a local administratum complex, nearly three years ago. It had been back before the cultist uprising had swept through Makita hive, wreaking carnage among midhive government and law enforcement - a sign of things to come that Marc and his fellow enforcers hadn't recognised at the time. Marc remembered watching from behind the cover of an enforcer comms truck, a flak vest with the initials of the Makita Hive Enforcers stencilled across it pulled over his suit jacket. A negotiator was on the vox to the madman inside, while a dozen heavily-armed men were stacked up in blind spots near the doors to the complex. They were ready to move in at a moment's notice, but under strict orders not to act unless the madman actually killed one of his hostages. Marc was determined to have the hostage taker up before a firing squad - a fact that the negotiator was tactfully omitting in his attempts to get the man to surrender peacefully - but not before innocent Imperial citizens were removed from the equation.

Senses straining for vital information above the glare of the hive lights and the rumble of mag-levs beneath his feet, Marc had almost started when the vox inside the truck's open cockpit buzzed.

"Detective Black." he responded, seizing the vox caster handset.

"Detective, be advised that the arbites are about to get involved."

"Oh frakking hell, the arbites?" Marc cursed. "Can you stall them?"

"Negative, sir. They're already on their way."

As if on cue, a pair of black Rhino APCs with the fist and scales emblazoned on the side had come roaring into the street, bursting unceremoniously through the enforcer cordon. The rear ramps clanged down and they disgorged a stream of men in black carapace armour who immediately rushed the doors of the administratum complex - breaching hammers and las-proof riot shields up front, snub-nosed autoguns behind. Within seconds the predictable screams and thunder of gunfire began.

Marc clenched his jaw at the memory. Just like the inquisition, and unlike the MHE, the arbites didn't have a peacekeeper's concept of innocent bystanders. He had respected them of course, but he sure as Horus could never have been one. And that was before a particular so-called arbiter had tried to betray them all to Chaos. Marc shook his head slightly, not wanting to think about that right now. He glanced at Machairi, still not sure why she had singled him out to accompany her along with her two more trusted agents.

"Making deals with the indigens?" he said instead, picking up on the PDF pilot's previous comment, "Has that been a problem with the regular PDF?"

"Emperor no!" the third pilot chipped in, looking disgusted, "Or at least I hope not..."

[Atrum Daemon]

--Vizkop; Earlier--

The Secutor had been summoned to a smaller chamber within where the team had been quartered. He assumed it had something to do with his unfortunately public episode on his way back from being debriefed by the Mechanicus. He was not proud of it and had refused so far to talk with anyone about it. But, it seemed to him now that Machairi had grown tired of his stubbornness. He did not blame her and only hoped he would be able to talk about it successfully with whomever was picked to counsel him.

To his slight surprise, the only person occupying the room was interrogator Machairi, in a black gown intricately patterned with gold thread and a black fur stole draped around her bare shoulders. As the door opened she turned away from the wall-mounted pict screen and its news reel about the arrest of several indigen troublemakers, and quietly crossed the room towards Vizkop.

"Secutor." she greeted him, making the sign of the cog out of respect instead of the aquila. She gestured towards the empty conference table, inviting Vizkop to sit, before following suit herself.

"I know that being attacked and not knowing the culprit must be hard for you, but you've been acting more withdrawn than I would expect. Even for a tech priest." She smiled slightly, before turning serious again. "If you have a problem that affects your performance, then the team has a problem. What's wrong?"

“That is not an easy question to answer, Interrogator,” he replied, seating himself. “But, the incident involved the slight hallucination of a dead target. Her name was Mikera and she was. . .”

He paused for a moment, unsure how to proceed. What should he say? That she was a friend and lover? Both of those things were true to be sure, but it was the kind of truth he felt unsure about revealing. He settled instead on something no less true than the others. “A difficult assignment for me,” he finished. “It was my first lone operation and it quickly spiraled out of control heavily. Mikera was the mastermind behind it all and I ended up fighting her on top of one of her land-crawling war machines after disabling it. I killed her, but she left a...profound effect on me, I suppose.”

"Why was that?" Machairi asked him gently.

“To lose such a brilliant mind from the Mechanicus is not easy,” he answered. “I...got to know her, you could say, before I had to remove her.”

"A former colleague." Machairi nodded her understanding, her expression earnest. "And the fact that these assassins might have been ad mech as well brought the memory back for you, yes?"

“In a way, yes,” he answered. “Killing her was difficult, but there was no choice.”

Machairi exhaled, stepping her fingers and resting her lips against them before she replied.

"It takes a particular type of person to make a call like that, Vizkop. And not all of those people can sleep easy at night. Has this sort of thing happened before?"

“It used to be worse,” Vizkop admitted. “But this was my first...episode...in about a year. I never went in on any of the emotional suppressants that my peers did, so having someone to confide in was a way for me to keep a handle on things. I haven't had that since I started working for Lord Sidonis.”

Machairi nodded again. "If that's what helps you, talk to father Belannor. I know he is not of your faith, but he is a good confidant. And he has experienced a similar...loss to yours." She rested her hands on the table. "In the meantime, if you think your performance in the field is suffering - I won't hold it against you if you want to take some time off."

He gave her a small nod, a smile indicating his appreciation of her understanding. Perhaps at a later date he would seek out Father Belannor or perhaps Sapphira. But, he was not ready to throw in the towel by any means. He had been attacked in a house of his faith. That was no small thing to forgive. “If it helps the investigation, my lady, I have been able to come up with five names of still-living heretek's I have dealt with who would be most likely to hire or make assassins such as those who attacked me.”

Machairi took the hint. "Alright." She smiled briefly, then sat up and became more businesslike. "Can you make a guess as to which of them would be most likely to know you were here, or have business on Hercynia?"

“Given the technological level of the natives and how adapted they seem to it,” he said, “and how well one could control such a people that way...my first guess would be the heretek known as Oswin. Better known as 'The Engineer.'

Machairi frowned, unfamiliar with the name. "Tell me about him."

Vizkop nodded and adopted a more businesslike posture, taking a moment to clear his throat and collect his thoughts. “I must preface by saying that what we know of Oswin, we have pieced together over the years. Our biggest breakthrough was learning his name. We believe Oswin was once an Enginseer. As such, he is remarkably gifted with machines. We are not yet sure what caused him to turn renegade, but the common thought is that he came to believe his talent was being intentionally wasted by slating him as an Enginseer.

“He is aware of his talent and seeks to use it to subjugate both man and machine to his will. I first encountered him while on the trail of a different heretek. I stumbled on a lab of his where he was experimenting in creating some form of AI. For what purpose, I can't guess. Oswin is a cruel and manipulative soul, seeking the subjugation of humanity through technology and the subjugation of technology to those with the will to use it 'as it was meant to be.' Last was seen of him, he still wears the power armor of an Enginseer. Though it has been modified to his specifications. If he is indeed the heretek who sent those assassins, I would not be surprised if augmented natives started to become common foes.”

Machairi pursed her lips as she considered the possibility of such a blasphemous advantage placed in the hands of men and women who had already been pushed to the brink.

"We had better keep our eyes open." she said grimly.

--Vizkop; Presently--

The Secutor watched and listened carefully to the exchange between Machairi and Major Crenshaw. He was surprised at how well the exchange went and how seamlessly the minefield of politicking was navigated by both parties. He noted a change in Malpais' stance when Tomas pointed him about; a stance that had strong indications of suppressed anger. He also became mildly amused at the threats Tomas leveled against the Major and the Major's unfazed response.

“I am the aforementioned tech-priest,” he said when he got the chance, making the sign of the cog and giving a small bow. “Secutor Vizkop of the Martian Priesthood.”

--Malpais; At the Same Time--

Malpais did not appreciate being pointed out like some sort of special snowflake. In his view, Tomas had no right to point out the three psykers in the way he did. But, he needed to control his anger as they were in very sensitive surroundings. He settled instead on a curt introduction of his own to the Major: “Malpais Malzel. Telekine and Pyrokine. I also possess telepathic capabilities, but am not suited to passive or interrogative mind-reading.”

--Malpais; Earlier--

The psyker waited in silence, his hood and mask removed from his head. The room was a small meeting chamber that he had been requested in by Sister Sapphira. She had not given him any specifics, but a chance to become better acquainted with a member of the team was not a chance he would pass up. He ran a hand over his shaved head idly and traced part of the outline of the aquila tattooed over his face. It was an idle motion, for he had gotten used to the tattoo a few years ago when it was placed on his flesh.

“Mister Malzel.” Sapphira said, with a note of surprise, as she entered into her improvised office. It had been one of the larger rooms, but spaciousness and luxury had been surrendered to clinical efficiency. The diagnostic and life-sustainment equipment were silent, and Sapphira had come from quiet prayer in her room, which was attached to the suite, that these devices would remain unused. The psyker was here earlier than she had anticipated, but his presence had not been unexpected. “Thank you for being so prompt. So, are you ready for your inoculation treatment?”

“I would not be here otherwise,” he said, uncrossing his arms and pushing off the wall he was leaning against.

“Excellent.” She replied, while she closed the door behind her with an approving nod. “Now, if you could roll up your sleeve for me?” Sapphira asked, while she walked over to close the office door. “The shots are quick and painless, so this should take no time at all. I didn’t hear you come in, so I hope that you weren’t waiting here too long?”

“Only a few minutes,” he said, shucking off his heavy coat and rolling up his shirt sleeve.

“You have my apologies for keeping you waiting. I was at prayer.” Sapphira explained, and gestured to the chair next to her desk. “Please, sit and rest your arm on my desk.” She went to her supply lockers to acquire the necessities. “I’ll have you taken care of shortly.”

“Is the environment here truly that hostile?” he asked, taking a seat and setting his arm on her desk. Out of habit, he cast a few glances around at the desk and immediate area. Thankfully, he did not notice anything out of a sensible order. The last thing he needed was his obsessive compulsiveness to kick in in the middle of a needle going into his arm.

“Natural threats should be less of an issue, as apparently most of the disease carrying insects were killed by the summer rains. However, we should definitely be prepared in case we’re here for a while.” Sapphira answered, as she returned with an armful of supplies. She carefully placed them onto her desk while she spoke. “The shots will be helpful if need to go into the axis. Throne knows that environment will be hostile enough towards all of us.”

“There's a high chance that we will have to go into the axis, I think,” Malpais said. “One does not have to be able to divine the future to come to that conclusion. I count myself lucky that it is not one of my talents.”

“No doubt you’re right about entering the axis.” She replied, and took her seat with a sigh. “Hopefully we’ll obtain more precise information about Interrogator Schafer’s whereabouts at this AAT facility.” Sapphira pulled on a pair of synthetic gloves and reached for the anesthetic spray. She rested a cupped hand on Malpais’ shoulder and sprayed the area underneath. “Since we’re on the subject, what are your…talents, mister Malzel? I haven’t had the chance to review new personnel files beyond medical history.”

“I am an accomplished telekinetic and pyrokinetic,” he replied. “ These wrist-mounted lighters help with the pyrokinetics. I also have telepathic abilities, but it has been recommended that I refrain from using them. The last time I attempted, the subject partially lost higher brain function.”

“I see.” Sapphira said, almost distractedly. Of course he would also be a pyrokine. She though as she briefly glanced at Malpais’ lighter, and set aside the spray bottle for a sterilized wipe. “That’s a solid recommendation. You should keep to your primary disciplines, so long as the mission allows for such discretion.” Sapphira advised while she gently cleaned the injection site. “Telepathy can be insidiously dangerous and equally damaging for those who use it.”

“I try to do so,” he said with a short nod. “Thankfully, most seem to take it seriously when I inform them that my telepathic abilities are too...domineering for standard interrogation. Then, there are others who simply jump at the chance to see what a Gamma rated psyker can do.”

“Now that’s irresponsible of them.” Sapphira commented, with a disapproving frown as she discarded the used materials. “Psychic activity, particularly from someone with your assignment level, should be reserved for extreme circumstances only.” She glanced at Malpais, with a curious look, and pried open the small case that contained his inoculation shots. “And has Interrogator Machairi listened to this self-assessment of your talents?”

“A lot of my training was in using the appropriate force with my powers,” Malpais said. “And there is a whole page of 'usage notes' in my file. So, I don't have to constantly explain myself.”

It was the most open he had been with someone in a long time. He had always found it easier to open up to members of the Ecclesiarchy, possibly owing to spending the majority of his childhood in the tutelage of monks.

“I’ll be sure to more thoroughly review you file.” Sapphira replied, wordlessly noting the lack of an answer about Machairi, as she removed the first syringe. She flicked the needle twice and brought it up to his shoulder. “I don’t mean to come off as doubtful or suspicious of you or the Interrogator.” Sapphira clarified, as she deftly eased the injector in and depressed the release. “My calling essentially requires me to worry about everyone and everything.”

“I did not mean to imply anything by not mentioning the Interrogator,” Malpais said, glancing at the needle as it penetrated his arm. “She has simply said nothing to me of any specification relating to my abilities. I imagine the presence of two other psykers will mitigate how much power output I need. As long as I can keep my temper in check.” He was not of the most stable mind, but amazingly aware of it to make such casual remarks.

“Good to know.” Sapphira said, somewhat slowly as she withdrew the needle. She immediately pressed a gauze pad to staunch the blood. “What methods help you control your temper?” Sapphira asked levelly, as she prepared the second syringe. “Do you have any triggers that can and should be avoided?”

“Prayer helps me keep my temper,” he replied. “I have some daily rituals I do to keep myself calm and they work well. As for triggers, I suppose the most prevalent would be mistreatment of the innocent. That gets my temper up fast. Something that is harder for me to get a handle on is being referred to purely by my psychic ability.”

“Thank you for being so candid with me, Malpais. That’ll help me help you later on, if you need it.” Sapphira said, as she deftly repeated the injection and clean up. “From what we’ve seen of Hercynia thus far, this mission could be taxing for all of us.” She made sure to make eye contact with him. “If what we see does become a strain on your temperament, please do speak about it. I have no doubt that Solvan also will counsel or pray with you.”

“As you said, it's your job to look after everyone,” Malpais said. “I appreciate the concern and will do my best to let the right people know if my temperament sours beyond my ability to handle it.”

--AAT Spire; Present--

Vizkop gave silent bow to Machairi and then a short nod to Malpais and Alex. The prospect of getting attacked again was not appealing and any backup was a welcome change from walking alone to retrieve Mechanicus data. He hoped he could find something immediately useful and just information he would have to wait to get.

The enginseer who was using her shoulder-anchored mechadendrites to gently lift engine components out of one of the Chimeras didn't look up, but she did acknowledge Vizkop's approach by beaming handshake protocols across one of the standard noosphere frequencies.

+It is not often that we get brothers from offworld visiting our humble temple+ she transmitted, while she continued to sing a binary hymn to the Chimera and take absolutely no notice of the other three agents accompanying Vizkop. +And a secutor as well! What brings you here, brother?+

+I need to know of any odd communication between here and the Uru axis+ Vizkop said bluntly. He had not the time to waste on pleasantry. +Can you supply me, Enginseer?+

+With respect+ she replied, +might you clarify odd?+

+Strange cargo, suspicious disappearances, sudden absences+ Vizkop rattled off a short list. +I am appraising security here to make a decision whether or not to call for a boost to it planetwide.+

+I can open the logs for you,+ she said, finally standing from her work as she finished fitting a new engine piece in place. +But I do not know what more.+

Vizkop quickly scrolled through the communication logs while the Enginseer returned to her work. He was so engrossed in searching that he did not did not notice the presence of a second tech-priest until he was prompted. +Secutor+ came the respectful cant. +Do you require assistance?+

+I am looking for any unusual communication+

+There is one that comes to mind,+ the tech-priest said, joining Vizkop at the terminal and bringing up the document in question. +Only because it contained this attachment clarifying a new drop-off point.+

Vizkop and the priest, identified as Maximilian Humperdink, looked over the communication, finding it fairly standard as far as cargo communication went. The attachment was odd mainly because it was written in Gothic rather than in binary. The reason became obvious when it mentioned the dock overseer and a new destination in Uru for part of the cargo. The note was signed by an Engelbart Harsome. +Who is this Engelbart?+ Vizkop asked.

+He is one of the tech-priests working out in the Uru region,+ the priest replied. +All of the authorization codes check out, so no one bothered to make a scene about the note.+

+Can you get me the contents of Engelbart's cargo and any relevant data about the men who took it to him?+

+The contents will take about a week, Secutor,+ the priest said. +I apologize as it seems you are on a tight schedule, but that is the combined time it would take to write up the request, have it processed, et cetera. But, I can tell you that the hauler that took Engelbart's cargo never returned. With the troubles going on, authorities are blaming the natives. Oh, and Engelbart himself is overdue for his monthly check-in. Though, that might be caused by equipment failure out in Uru.+

+You have been very illuminating,+ Vizkop said, accompanying his statement with gratitude protocols. +This is the kind of information I need. I am finished here. Ave Omnissiah.+

+Ave Omnissiah.+

With a small bow, Maximilian shuffled away to return to whatever mind-numbing task he was assigned. “Anything?” Malpais asked when Vizkop rejoined his three fellows.

“A few weeks ago, some cargo was redirected to the Uru axis by one Engelbart Harsome of the Martian Priesthood. The hauler that transported the cargo never returned and Engelbart has not checked in for his monthly report.”

[Jarms48]

Thanks to Paint for the co-post.

* * * * *

Earlier

“Trooper Remus.” She acknowledged with a polite nod. “Please, shut the door and come in.” Sapphira indicated the chair by her desk, while she recovered the necessary supplies. “If you could take a seat and roll up your sleeve?”

"Sister." He answered, with a respectful nod. His eyes glancing towards the door as a digit curled around the frame, and pushed it closed. His left hand rose to grasp the sleeve of his right, folding the fabric over to expose the flesh of his arm. He stepped around a table, and seated himself on the offered chair.

“While we’re out here and undercover, I’m Sapphira, Doctor, or Doctor Wilder.” Sapphira chided mildly, as she returned to the desk and unburdened herself. She sat down, without sparing Remus a glance, and promptly started the prep-work. “Operational security must be practiced, even behind closed doors in a secure location.”

"How long is this going to take?" He asked, his voice rough.

“I’ll have you out of here as quickly as I possibly can, Trooper Remus.” Sapphira patiently assured him, as she discarded the waste packaging. One the work station was clear, she snapped on a pair of disposable synthetic gloves. She snatched the anesthetic spray and spritzed an area of his forearm, as she used her free hand to contain the blast.

"Then again, what is it? Just an immune booster? A defense against local allergens?" Again, another question left his lips. Stern, more an inquiry than a harmless curiosity.

“These shots are merely an immunization against local diseases.” She answered, while she cleaned the injection site with a sterilized wipe. “Apparently most of the carrier insects were killed by the rains, but they still might be active out in the Uru.” Sapphira pried open the small case of injectors, and flatly regarded Remus as she pushed it towards him. “I can assure you the shots are harmless.”

"I can trust you, right? What I say will stay within the confines of your earshot alone?" His voice had fallen to whisper, dulled, tired.

“I can keep a confidence, outside of the usual stipulations.” Sapphira confirmed, as she turned to face Remus. Other than one slightly raised brow she was studiously neutral in expression, posture, and tone. “Whether you trust me is another matter entirely, and that’s a question that only you can answer, Trooper.”

"I would hope so, I'm sure there's many that would relish the opportunity for career advancement by ratting out their peers. Now trust, I'm not sure who I should trust anymore. My fellow troopers in Carbon, I can trust them with my life. Here?" He paused, giving her a glance.

“Some might attempt to advance themselves that cynical way. However such accusations had better be truthful, or else there would be severe consequences.” Sapphira replied, carefully and unflinchingly as she simply regarded Remus. “Others merely follow their orders, as given to them personally by their Lord Inquisitor. They’ve no expectations of reward beyond an opportunity to faithfully serve the Imperium.” Her eyes narrowed fractionally, with a cool expression that read which do you think I am? “I wonder though, Trooper Remus. If your bonds within Carbon are so strong, why would you accept another detached assignment?”

"You think one would trust a member of the cloth, a hospitaller. We've changed since Venatora. Our failure, we might have saved the world, ourselves. Though, only when it was on the brink. How many died because of our hands? To think, if Noyer hadn't escaped, hadn't gotten to Clement. It all could have been prevented, the allocation of single storm trooper asset. If we had a squad, a fire-team, perhaps we could have stopped him. It." Remus said, a sigh escaping his lips.

“If we had a squad, or a fire-team, perhaps it would’ve still escaped.” Sapphira countered, as she refused to rise to the bait. “Maybe they would’ve gotten into a fire-fight with Magos Tharrick’s skitarii. Noyer killed them easily enough, so who’s to say that Carbon would’ve fared better?” She shook her head dismissively, and changed conversational tracks. “Venatora was a low-risk assignment, on a stable planet with no reason to suspect the xenos were there or that replicants even existed. We both know that even a fire-team of soldiers would’ve been wasted on that duty, and that Carbon can’t always be there.”

"You hear stories of the sister hospitaller, divine hands, blessed with the Emperors gifts. Mercy..." He reflected.

“Mercy comes in different forms.” Sapphira flatly stated, with a slight twinge of her scarred cheek. She sighed, with an edge of agitation, as and gestured for him to continue. “Go on, Trooper Remus; say your piece about what happened with John.”

"Yet you did nothing, you did not help him, did not try to stem the bleeding, to put him under. A single syrette of morphia would have put him out, two would have stopped his heart. Instead,... Instead, you left a gaping hole in the man’s temple. You could have handled that better, and now, it makes me cautious." He stated.

Sapphira slowly shook her head, almost pityingly at Remus as she turned away from him. “When I reached John, I took over applying pressure from Kally. I realized almost immediately that stemming the blood was impossible. The bolt ruptured his carotid and jugular, so John Shere was going to bleed out on that floor no matter what I did. Saints perform miracles and the rest of us merely do the best we can in the moment.” She continued to stare fixedly at the wall. “In that moment I wasn’t a Hospitaller treating a patient. I was the agent prime of an Inquisitorial mission team with a dwindling amount of time before everyone on Venatora was scoured by orbital fire.”

“John’s time was dwindling as well, and I could feel his life pumping bloodily away through my fingers. I could hardly extend his agony while so many more lives were in the balance. While John might’ve been beyond my help physically, I could still tend to his soul. I can only pray that as a remarkably faithful man, John appreciated that much.” Sapphira said quietly, as her hands clenched and eyes narrowed. “I kissed him on the forehead, and then leaned down to speak in his ear. I thanked John for his service, and told him that the God Emperor loved him for his sacrifice. I assured him that his sins were absolved, and that he’d be at eternal peace by His side.”

“While doing so I un-holstered my revolver and slowly pulled back the hammer, so that John couldn’t hear it. I cradled his head, and kept him facing me so that he never saw it. I smiled encouragingly down at him. I kept eye contact with him even as I levelled my weapon and pulled the trigger.” Sapphira briefly closed her eyes while she took a deep breath. “Of course I didn’t shoot John only as an expedient end to his suffering. Secutor Vizkop’s detector was unproven and I knew the replicants had a cerebral receiver. I couldn’t take the risk that John was also one of those abominations and would reanimate.” She finally looked back at Remus, her eyes steely with for a tinge of hurt. “Now, can we proceed, or do you have any other accusations you’d like to make?”

"I feel as if I should beg for your forgiveness, doubt is something to be pruned, wiped away. You've given me nothing but truths, you were the one I trusted. One I saw holding an absolute divinity." He paused. "Did I ever tell you I have a sister who's in the Sororitas? A fellow Hospitalar no less."

“Sister Roxanna Remus, Order of the Sacred Watch. I have no doubt she’s a credit to the God Emperor, her Order, and your family.” Sapphira said with a nod, before she softly cleared her throat. “Although the sentiment of absolute divinity is appreciated, Julianus…I’m afraid you’d be holding me to an impossibly high standard.” She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, and furrowed her brow. “Only the God Emperor is absolutely divine. I’m simply another one of His servants, and I’m as faithful and fallible as any other.”

"I was out of line, I should have come to you sooner. Instead I had let a grunge fester, given false impression to one who did not deserve it. Let me apologize, it's the least I can do, after-all, us Progenium graduates have to stick together. Hah, hah, hah." He gave her a small smile, and fell back upon the chair.

“Thank you, Julianus.” She replied. “I don’t hold any suspicions against you, considering everything that happened on Venatora. Why wouldn’t you be wary around the observer who killed another agent?” Sapphira sighed, and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “Anyway, you’re correct, Julianus. We should be sociable with one another.” She smiled. “It’d send a terrible message if the two resident Progena were at odds.”

"I appreciate that. Yes, It would, we can't have that. Hah." He agreed.

[Thrannix]

---Before the Mission---


Solvan enjoyed sweeping the chapel floor, the repetitive motion and gentle sound of the broom under the holy decoration was strangely comforting to him. For this reason he usually took more time than was actually needed for the task considering the small size of the chapel.

“You could have a servitor or one of the ship’s janitors do that for you. Hell, even I'd do it for you.” He recognized Glabrio’s voice and turned to the entrance where the former arbiter was standing.

“I could, yes, but humble physical work is good for the spirit I find.” The bishop explained, smiling, leaving the broom leaning against the marbled wall.

"I'd call that house pride, not a tap into spirituality, father." Glabrio returned as he walked passed the heavy oak pews. His old arbiter helmet carried underarm, his kit glinting off the chapel lights.

“Something troubling you, Glabrio?” He asked as he sat down in a bench waiting for Hybrida to join him, the man hardly came at this hour to the chapel if he didn’t want to speak about something and he recognized the look. Solvan knew this was as close as he was going to get to an actual confession, but the priest did not mind, as long as he could help his teammate feel more at ease he would gladly hear him out.

"Troubling, me? Those words never seem to pair correctly when it comes to me, father. You of all people should know that, I'm always the cheerful kind of chap." Glabrio said, wittily. He stopped at the final pew, rose his boot and placed it firmly on the seat. He leaned over, placed his helmet on the seat, and gave Solvan a smile.

"Not often I come here," Glabrio said with a cursory glance around the room, before adding, "to church that is. We all worship His lord in our own ways. I'd rather not spend my Sunday mornings at mass, I could be sleeping, or doing something much more productive. To be honest, I think I came today because I felt obligated, I was in the neighborhood and thought I should stop by."

"It seems to be a trend, I'll see you in the briefing with, our lady, and I suddenly feel compelled to come. It is peaceful though, the quiet." Glabrio admitted.

“I hope it is not just a sense of obligation that brings you to talk with an old friend from time to time.” The priest said with fake pain in his voice. “But yes, I also like to be in charge of this little corner of calmness in the middle of the ship’s usual frenetic turbulence.” He agreed with a smile.

No, father, it's that damn obligation that draws me back to mass, from time to time, hah hah hah. Oh, we're friends now, father?" He returned, with feigned surprise.

“And I appreciate your honesty Glabrio, you would be surprised as to how many people drop by with fake devoutness in their mouths.” The priest continued with his gaze lost in the ceiling’s mosaic. “It is refreshing.”

"I am nothing but truths, last thing this universe needs is more liars." Glabrio said as he moved his boot from the pew, motioned himself around, and took a seat upon it. "Tell me, what does a priest do for fun? I always forget."

"Depends on the priest." Solvan answered shrugging with a smile. "We are not that different from other men. Personally I get great joy out of a good book, or enjoying a nice glass of liquor in good company."

"Liquor, now that's my kind of man." Glabrio said, approvingly.

"But when I was younger I was used to attending parties and concerts on a daily basis." Solvan added with a strange glimmer in his eyes. "I'm afraid that with the years I have lost the taste and the stamina for those activities. What would be your definition of a good time Glabrio?"

"I don't mind the odd party, not that I get much free time to attend them anymore. Must be getting dull in my old age." He joked.

"What do you think of the new guys, father?" Glabrio asked, curiously, his tone more serious.

"It is still too soon for me to make serious analysis," the priest began thoughtfully, "I had the chance to exchange some words with Sister Sapphira and I can say I am positively impressed by her, a pious soul and a dedicated agent no doubt."

"Well that's good at least, always imperative to know the ones we can trust. I was thinking of giving her a visit," Glabrio smiled, "don't worry, father, you'll still be my refuge for spirituality."

“I will sleep better tonight thanks to that knowledge, Glabrio.” The priest thanked with no small degree of jest in his tone. “But seriously, I really believe it could do you some good. Who knows, perhaps she is able to tap into some hidden vein of devoutness that I have been unable to find despite my efforts.” The priest smiled at the skeptical look Glabrio gave him. “I’m a priest, If I don’t believe in miracles then who would?”

"I haven't been able to actually converse with the rest of Schafer's team,” Solvan continued with no little disappointment, “but the information the Sister shared regarding her teammates was encouraging.” He gazed back at Glabrio. “Do you have anything to share on the matter?”

"Not yet, I suppose, anything I say on the matter would be deemed profiling, may or may-not payoff, you know how it goes." Glabrio admitted.

The bishop nodded silently at the statement.

"Speaking of profiling, it seems our lady has taken special notice of agent Black, and as we all know her interest is rarely peaked by mediocre agents." The priest scratched his chin with his ringed hand as he narrowed his eyes. "I believe this mission is going to be an interesting ride at the very least."

Solvan stood up and went to his office at the far left of the chapel, after a second he came out with a new broom in hand.

"I'm accepting your offer." He said throwing the broom towards Glabrio who grabbed it in mid air while Solvan took back the one he was using. "If we do a good enough job we can talk about getting something to drink."


---Now---


Emperor, let the deeds of these remade bodies atone for whatever sins they may have committed in their past life. So that what once was corrupted may be purified in your service. The priest mentally prayed as he stepped closer to the deactivated servitors. His headache had receded for the time being and for that he was grateful.

"What is the mean number of active servitors you usually deploy at any given time?" he asked, once again focused in his undercover role.

The young officer scratched his chin. "Maybe ten or twenty for a single strike. We rarely send more than fifty on any given sweep in case the precogs find us another potential target - which they do more often than not."

He swept an arm to encompass the storage bay.

"We've got nearly a thousand of these on site - two or three times the number of live personnel, which is true for more or less all of the Enclave. There's never more than a few hundred ready to go at any one time though."

"Trouble replenishing your losses?"

"Not really. The kill ratio for these things is pretty excellent. Usually the Ghosts run as soon as they see 'em."

"Field performance, then? Are all traders delivering high quality products or do you have any malfunction issues with some batches?"

The officer shrugged. "None that I've heard the cogboys complain about. It's more of a maintenance thing - like most servitors they need a lot of it. The traders always get parts to us in good time though."

While the questions poured out, the bishop extended one hand and placed it on the side of one of the pale faces. The dry skin was unnaturally warm to the touch, considering the corpse like appearance. For a fraction of a second Solvan saw his sister's features grotesquely stretched over the underlying mechanical augmentations. He quickly took away his trembling hand as he felt a chill running down his spine.

"Where are all these servitors being shipped from?" Solvan asked, collecting himself once more and clearing his mind of the morbid vision. He may not be an expert on servitors, but he knew that they weren't cheap; and assuming they weren't vat-grown (which was even more expensive) one would need a high number of convicted felons to resupply the army-size contingent roaming across the different conflict zones and mining sites.

"The traders bring 'em in direct, from off world." the young officer replied. He was giving Solvan a strange look, as if slightly disgusted by the way he had touched one of the servitors with his bare hand.

Solvan pretended not to notice the officer's disconfort. Getting in a discussion about the dignity a servitor may or may not have while serving the Emperor's cause was not going to help the mission in any way shape or form. Perhaps a conversation on the matter with the team's secutor would be more fruitful, but such intellectual persuits would have to wait for the time being.

[PaintSerf]

--- The Evening Before: Earlier ---


Sapphira stood in the impromptu medical office with her head bowed and lips silently moving in prayer. For the sake of the mission, Sapphira had forgone her chaplet ecclesiasticus in favor of the small aquila pendant. Its thin silver chain was interwoven between her fingers, and the icon hovered freely as she prayed over the empty medical bed. Towards the end of the prayer Sapphira heard someone announce themselves with a quiet and deliberate movement by the doorway. She recognized the gesture for what it was, and could guess who her visitor was by his unobtrusive and steady masculine breaths.

“Ave Imperator.” She concluded, and then kissed the icon. Sapphira scrutinized it quickly, and lowered the jewelry as she glanced up to confirm her suspicion. “Mister Belannor, I wasn’t expecting you.” She smiled and welcomingly gestured him in. “Please, there’s no need to stand in the doorway.”

“Thank you, Doctor Wilder.” Solvan answered with his usual warm demeanor as he entered with a slight bow towards the Sororita.

“I hope my visit does not bother your daily activities. It seems I am making a hobby out of interrupting your prayers.” The bishop jested with a smile while reaching for a chair.

“Oh, no, you’re no bother at all.” Sapphira assured him, as she stepped around the surgical table and took the chair behind her desk. “Besides, there’s always a good chance I’ll be praying.”

“You certainly have been busy,” he commented while taking a look around, “this place finally resembles a proper medical facility.” He had been one of the first to drop by for immunization, Solvan could still remember how the original room looked like and how his argument that with enough faith in the Emperor’s protection he didn’t technically need the vaccine was promptly rebutted without mercy. “I congratulate your efforts.”

“Thank you, but this was hardly any effort and it's hardly the True Bane.” Sapphira said, as she appraisingly glanced around. “Since this is a dangerous calling, I always try to make sure we’re medically prepared for the worst. Hopefully we don’t need to use this room for anything more than simple inoculation shots.” She looked back at Solvan. “That’s actually what I was just praying for.”

“Well my prayers will join yours for that end. But if it comes to that, it is comforting to know that we have your capable hands with us." The bishop said with confidence. "Thank the Emperor my duties require a much simpler environment.” He commented with genuine relief. The field of medical science had always been a fascinating yet intimidating one for Solvan since the first time he started using rejuvenating drugs many decades ago.

“I’ve been accused of over preparing my workplaces before.” Sapphira admitted, with a dubious expression. “However, when it comes to ensuring the health and wellbeing of my team? I won’t cut any corners.” She smiled at a memory (http://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=40923&page=8&p=1396924&viewfull=1#post1396924). “That being said, I can work in simpler environments as well. Throne, on Venatora I had to remove bullet fragments from Kally’s back in the kitchen.” The smile quickly dropped off Sapphira’s face. “I was kept very busy on that mission.”

Solvan nodded understanding the Sister's pain, and let a moment pass in respectful silence.

“Now I don’t want to seem too nosey," he began with regained cheerfulness, "which is a character flaw of mine I fear, but what else have you been up to these past few days apart from putting the local hospital to shame?” he asked. Solvan, like Sapphira, hadn’t been asked to perform any specific task while in Akkan and had spent some time visiting local commerce for books or rare liquor. He couldn’t let Tomas be the only one to bring decent drink to their meetings after all.

“I’ve been catching up on my backlog of work.” Sapphira answered. “My lessons with Kelly, gaining competency with Obrantu, and reviewing the team’s medical records were my focus in transit. So for the past few days I’ve been reading through everyone’s personnel files.” She smiled reassuringly, and held up a placating hand. “I know we discussed that in our earlier conversation, and I appreciate your insight, but I always do like to see the official documents. Anything that can help me help them is worthwhile to know.”

"Of course, I'd expect nothing less from a dedicated agent. I'm sure you came across useful information." Solvan said reassuringly and cleared his throat before continuing. "Now please do not take my next comment as a reproach, quite the contrary, I sincerely admire your commitment to your duty." He explained sending a concerned look straight into the Sister's gray eyes.

Sapphira inclined her head graciously at Solvan’s complement, and steadily met his eyes. Well, I certainly recognize that look. The God Emperor alone knows how often I’m the one giving it. She fractionally arched a brow after that thought. How strange to be on the receiving end of it. I wonder what this’ll be about? The Sister curiously regarded the priest, as she subconsciously braced herself for whatever came next.

"But perhaps you should make use of these uneventful days to engage in activities unrelated to your work?" He began tactfully leaning forward. "Enjoy some free time, either alone or with some of our teammates. When was the last time you took an evening just to yourself, no inquisitorial business involved?"

“It’s been over a year, maybe a year and a half since I deliberately took time off?” Sapphira guessed, and then shook her head dismissively. “However the work is no burden and I prefer to be busy.” She gestured towards her scars. “Sister Superior Olenna and Javid almost had to formally order me from working while I recovered, and then there was my penitence after…everything that happened with Arval.” Sapphira shifted uncomfortably, and quietly cleared her throat. “So it could be said I’ve had some time off recently, even if my leave was for the worst possible reasons.”

Solvan gave her an intense I knew it look before continuing. Sapphira noted the stare, and furrowed her brow slightly in confusion.

“First, I’ll admit I’m at a loss as to why you did penitence for agent Clement.” He began, creasing his brow; he had read the mission report and couldn’t find any blame within the team for Arval’s fate. “But I’ve had my share of that personal feeling of guilt in situations others might see as none existing,” he continued a heavy sadness in his voice, “so I won’t ask further into the issue.” He shook his head realizing he was going off track.

“You haven’t read my Venatora mission report.” Sapphira quietly corrected him, and then sighed. “My penitence wasn’t for Arval dying, but because of my genuine guilt…and for my continued sanity.” She unconsciously reached up and touched her aquila. “I know that none of us could’ve known that he’d been replicated. Javid reassured me of that on Venatora and before he departed for Hercynia, as has Kelly when we talked about what happened.” She sighed, and glanced speculatively back at Solvan. “If something’s bothering you, and since we’re already here, now could be a good time to talk.”

For a long moment Solvan remained in thoughtful silence, pondering how the heavy burden in his soul would lessen to some extent by shearing it.

“Perhaps another time,” the priest finally answered shaking his head dismissively, “for now it will suffice to say that I have experienced my fair share of personal loss.”

“We can talk whenever you’d like to.” Sapphira said, with an understanding nod. She rested her hands on the table and patiently waited for Solvan to continue.

“Second, as a physician, don’t you think it is a concerning behavioral pattern to avoid leisure time with such zeal?” The bishop asked placing his scarred palms on the table. “I know you are more than capable to cope with it, but is it healthy?”

“We both know what I am first and foremost.” Sapphira said, with deliberate tone and intent look. “We also both know that Inquisitorial service is emphatically not a healthy lifestyle. If we were concerned about our own wellbeing, wouldn’t be who we are and we couldn’t do what we have to do.” After a tense moment, Sapphira’s expression softened as she smiled. “I truly do appreciate your concern, Solvan. However, I’m fine, and my work really is no burden to me.”

“And it is not a matter of work being a burden, it is about work encompassing your whole life. It is a laudable effort to be a devout and dedicated servant of the Holy Emperor, but I am afraid we all need some time to dedicate to ourselves and our friends, not just our flock or our patients.”

“I am a Sororita Hospitaller.” Sapphira replied, in slightly strained tone despite her best efforts otherwise. I only have patients or potential patients. “I am sworn to serve our God Emperor. My faith is my work and my work-”

Solvan reached out and placed a hand on top of Sapphira’s, it was an almost paternal gesture, to the priest everyone on the team, Alia included, was tragically young in comparison. Sapphira stopped and stiffened in mid-speech at the unexpected contact. Calm down. He’s only trying to help. She rationalized and relaxed to accept it, after fighting the initial impulse to extract her hand. “As the one responsible for this team’s spiritual wellbeing I humbly ask you to at least think about taking some time off, before the shooting and screaming inevitably begins. Will you do that?”

“You know I couldn’t, even if I wanted to take some time off.” Sapphira answered with a sad smile. “We both know that the shooting and screaming always happens without warning, especially in a place under siege like Akkan. When it inevitably happens, that’s precisely when I’d be most needed.” She sighed, and gestured with her free hand towards the room’s small window. Hidden by the curtains, it was ballistic resistant and barred on the outside. “Besides, I wouldn’t be comfortable with taking time off while on mission…and what type of leisure would I find out there, amongst all that misery, anyway?”

“Where there is humanity there is suffering and misery, Sapphira. Yet the human race has always managed to find room for love, friendship and even happiness in the most adverse circumstances.” Solvan mirrored Sapphira’s sigh as he reclined once more on the chair and released the sister’s hand. “Denying yourself some hours of recreational time will not serve in any way to help the pain of the less fortunate. I have been out in those streets, there is commerce and nightlife, there are children playing and laughing. And yes, there are shootings and deaths and fear as well. We can only pray to the Emperor that we can contribute in some way to stop the latter and protect the former, but working yourself to death is not the answer.”

“I suppose that’s true…but now would hardly be the time.” Sapphira said, with discomfort that showed as she brushed a lock a hair behind her ear. “We’ll be off to the Telepathica complex in the morning.”

“I’m not asking you to go out and party right this instant. But at least give the idea some thought and see where that takes you.” The priest explained with pleading eyes and a sympathetic smile. “I remember how you referred to Interrogator Schafer as being a terrible patient, I dare say you may not be far behind.”

“I’m probably worse.” Sapphira countered, with a brief and somewhat guilty smile. “As I said earlier, I truly do appreciate your concern. I know you mean well, and no doubt you’re absolutely correct.” She took a deep breath, and folded her arms as she reclined back. “On this team I have no leadership responsibility or secret assignment. I’m simply here to be busy and useful.” She intently matched eyes with the priest. “That's what I need right now, Solvan.”

“Alright Sapphira, if you say so.” The bishop finally conceded raising his palms, he knew when to stop pressing on a subject. Sapphira acknowledged the gesture with a gracious nod. “I hope that spending a couple of hours to share some hot beverage and engage in idle conversation with an old priest is an agreeable compromise? If we find ourselves with some free time when we come back from the AAT base that is.”

“You really do drive a hard bargain, Chief Business Prospector.” Sapphira said, with a slight smile as she playfully referencing the priest’s role in Lady Machairi’s fictional enterprise. She sighed lightly and shook her head almost disbelievingly. “Oh, very well, I accept your offer.”

"That's a relief, I was concerned I was about to lose my undercover job for a second there." Solvan joked as he rose up from his chair and made the sign of the aquila. “Well, I must go tend to my own duties now, a pleasure as always. May the God-Emperor’s blessings go with you, Sapphira.”

“May His blessing be upon you as well, Solvan.” Sapphira responded, as she stood and returned the aquila. She nodded politely and walked him towards the door. “As always, thank your for your time.”


--- The Evening Before: Later ---


“Kally.” Sapphira acknowledged the former bounty huntress, and immediately began to scrutinize her as she entered the office. She had been waiting patiently for Kally, and hummed contemplatively at what she saw. Not too bad. Throne knows I’ve seen her in much worse conditions. Sapphira sighed, and beckoned her in. “Interrogator Machairi said you’d gotten into a fight. So, before I take a look myself, what happened and what do you think the damage is?”

Kally shrugged her shoulders, before pulling of the indigen disguise of heavy robes. “Nothing too major. I walked in on a beating, a local trader who had run up against some Imperial heavies. Not pretty.” She dropped the robes on a counter and unhooked her holsters. “I took a kick to the ribs, couple of bruises coming up on my forearms and legs. Oh, and a glancing hit to my head. Fracking wrench.”

“No doubt I should see the other guys.” Sapphira responded archly, and invitingly gestured towards the medical bed. “Now, I believe you know the routine? Unfortunately there’s no marble operating table this time.” She walked over to and closed the door. While Kally prepared herself for the exam, Sapphira occupied herself by assembling supplies from her meticulously organized lockers.

“I didn't kill anyone, if that's what you mean. I was under orders not to.” She sat down on the bed, and then stripped out of the body glove, leaving herself in just her cotton briefs and bra. “But yeah, you should see the other guys.” She fell silent for a minute. When Sapphira came over she dutifully held out her arms, showing where the bruising from blocking the wrench was coming up as a livid purple mark against her pale skin. She winced slightly.

“Oh, Kally, stop it.” Sapphira admonished lightly. “Hopefully Solvan never sees you get an injection, since I told him you were one of the toughest women I’ve ever met. I’d hate to seem like a liar. Now, you can't tell me this hurts more than…” She speculatively eyed Kally’s bruises, and frowned. “Whatever did this?”

“It was a wrench, for your information. And I suppose it does, in a weird way. When you're fighting you don't think about the pain or the chance of pain, because it slows you down, gets you killed. But I can see an ice pack or needle coming, I know I can't avoid it, and I know it’s going to hurt.”

“I can understand that.” Sapphira responded with a nod, as she pulled on synthetic gloves. “And since we’re talking about ice packs and needles…”

Sapphira pressed an ice pack into Kally’s hand and preemptively shushed her patient. She rested a hand on Kally’s shoulder, and then sprayed under it with an anesthetic. While she waited for it to settle in, Sapphira and opened the small case of inoculation shots and prepped the needles. Kally looked away and tried not flinch as Sapphira administered the shots which she did as quickly and carefully as possible. As Sapphira swabbed the injection, Kally looked at her.

“So. . .what else do you do?”

“What else do I do?” Sapphira slowly echoed, as if trying to decipher a coded message. “I’m not quite sure what you’re asking me, Kally.”

“You know, when you're not being a Sororita, or a medicae, or team mom. What else do you do? I mean it can't just be prayer and abstinence and piety wall to wall, can it?”

“Team mom, huh? I like that, and Throne knows I’ve been called worse.” Sapphira replied with a grin. “As for what else I do…” She paused, and considered her question. “Well, I’m always a Sororita as it’s more of a lifestyle than anything else. Plus being a medicae essentially requires me to be on call all the time, because agents get injured at all hours.” Sapphira raised a brow at Kally, before she expressively sighed. “Truth be told, I don’t get out much. However it’s not a burden.”

“We should go out some time. You, me, Kelly. A girls night out in an up-hive pleasure district, and get completely trashed. Blow off some steam and let down our hair. We can bitch out our co-workers, ogle pretty boys, do shots. The works. It'll be fun!”

“Oh my.” Sapphira managed, after a surprised laugh, and she flushed almost immediately as Kally sketched out the idea. She took a breath, and cleared her throat, even as the color remained on her cheeks. “That’s, ah, some proposition, Kally. I’m sure Kelly would gladly join you, but I doubt I’d be an ideal wing woman for that.” Sapphira gestured towards her concealed tattoo. “You know, being a Sororita and all…”

Kally snorted a laugh. “Well, I mean if you're religiously opposed to having fun I can understand that, but I think we all deserve to let our hair down a bit.”

“Honestly? I’ve never even been on a girl’s night out, and never mind one to an up-hive pleasure district.” Sapphira admitted, somewhat embarrassedly, as she blushed even further. “Ah, well, as you might expect, such areas don’t exist on a shrine world…because if they did, the Sisters Militant would have their own particular version of a girl’s night out there.” She shook her head dismissively. “Besides, wouldn’t it be awkward for you…I mean, inviting the Sororita who purity checked you and your friends for a night out?”

Kally sighed, then shrugged her shoulders. “I don't hold that against you. We barely knew each other, even with. . . everything that happened. And you did a lot for me, I owe you. And really, the only way I can pay that back is with my trust, I don't have a lot else. You're a good person Sapphira, and that's frakking rare these days. I trust you to be honest with Sidonis, not to stab us in the back, because you do the right thing. And if you did turn me in, I'd know it’s because you thought that was the right thing to do for everyone. I'd deserve it if you did it.”

“Kally,” Sapphira started, and suddenly realized she didn’t know what to say. You still don’t know me. I’m not a good person. You shouldn’t trust me. I’ve made serious mistakes. You don’t owe me anything. I owe you and the others. She frowned at those whirling thoughts, and uncomfortably chewed her lower lip as she tried to figure out how to respond.

Kally looked away, suddenly awkward.

“Sorry, I guess it’s not a nice thing to talk about. And I suppose talking like this is difficult with me, because, you know.” she pointed at the collar that wrapped round her throat. “But, I'd still like to have that drink with you and Kelly. You are my friends, whether you like it or not.”

“Oh, no, don’t you dare try and take the blame for this.” Sapphira said, and gently rubbed Kally’s shoulders to reassure her. “Any awkwardness is my fault… the Schola and Sisterhood trained and prepared me for many things, but not how to be a normal and well-adjusted human being. I suppose that was the whole point.” She sighed, and then laughed slightly. “However it seems that this Progena still has much to learn.” Sapphira made sure to catch the blank’s eyes, and offered a smile. “Thank you though, Kally. I truly appreciate it.”

--- Now ---

“Sapphira, Sororita Hospitaller.” Sapphira said, with slight reservation as she made the aquila. The AAT minder respectfully returned the devotional gesture, as he had to Solvan and Vizkop. She nodded politely, and made the effort to make eye contact. I only accidentally snipped at Lord Sidonis, but Major Crenshaw deliberately went out of his way to insult Interrogator Machairi and Tomas…even as he offered assistance. Now he’s all smiles with Kally? The Sister’s brow furrowed as she thought of their true reason for being here. God Emperor, please continue to look after Javid and his agents. They’ll need you out there…as will we.

Machairi flicked her eyebrows at Sapphira in a silent signal. "Sister?" she murmured to her, using Sapphira's real title for the first time since their arrival. "Vizkop has been troubled after that attack. He thinks it may be a former target with a personal vendetta. Make sure that he gets support if he needs it."

“Of course.” Sapphira quietly affirmed with a nod, and then spared a glance at the blanks. Kally’s a big girl...she can look after herself. She pulled up her hood and exited into the downpour. Through the rain Sapphira could see the others walking towards the Mechanicus depot, and she dutifully followed after them. By the time she’d caught up with them, and acknowledged Malpais and Aleksander with a polite nod, Secutor Vizkop had already begun the non-verbal communication his seemingly preferred. Completely ignored otherwise, the Sister curiously watched the priestess’ ritual and thought about the last time she was in a Chimera (http://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=40923&page=13&p=1593166&viewfull=1#post1593166).

“Anything?” Malpais asked when Vizkop rejoined his three fellows. Sapphira turned from her observation of the Chimera’s maintenance ritual to listen.

“A few weeks ago, some cargo was redirected to the Uru axis by one Engelbart Harsome of the Martian Priesthood. The hauler that transported the cargo never returned and Engelbart has not checked in for his monthly report.”

“Were you able to obtain any data about where this priest was headed, and what type of cargo he was responsible for?” Sapphira asked.

“I was not,” Vizkop admitted. “I believe that information is stored elsewhere, probably on a more central archive. But, I am certain I can get it.”

“I have no doubt about that. Gentlemen,” Sapphira said, as she looked at Aleksandr and Malpais, “could you please excuse us? I would like a moment to speak with Secutor Vizkop.”

Malpais responded with a short nod and said: “Yes, ma'am. Come on, Aleksandr. We should head back and appraise Lady Machairi.”

“Thank you.” Sapphira said with a nod, and waited until they were out of earshot. She glanced up at Vizkop with an expression of reserved concern. “I don’t mean to put you on the spot, Secutor, but my earlier offer still stands. So if there’s anything I can do to help you?”

“If I have your full confidence and assurance that you will not repeat anything I tell you, we can walk and talk about what bothers me at this time.”

“You have my confidence and assurance, Secutor.” Sapphira answered, after she considered his terms. “However you don’t have to talk unless you need to. Or want to.” She tilted her head to concede the point. “I can hardly compel you, nor do I want to if this discussion would only be more difficult for you.”

“It is...not good to keep this kind of thing in for too long,” Vizkop said, his tone an indication of prior experience. Sapphira wordlessly nodded in agreement. “I've spent the majority of my life as a weapon for the Mechanicus. I've served the Mechanicus for 60 years and 53 of those have been as the weapon I am now. My incident in the street concerned the primary target of my first assassination: Archmagos Mikera, a woman I became...involved with before discovering the truth behind her.”

“Involved? You mean…oh!” Sapphira quietly exclaimed, and blinked as she looked sideways at him. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but that was something of a surprise. Obviously you haven’t undergone a ritual of emotional suppression, but I would’ve expected an Archmagos to have…” She shook her head, and sympathetically regarded Vizkop. “Again, I’m sorry, Secutor. I know you must’ve completed your assignment, but there’s no way that could’ve been an easy one to carry out.”

“In the moment, it was,” Vizkop said in reply. “Mikera was a mildly unconventional Archmagos, of the school of thought that emotional suppression surgeries are a drastic step.”

“I see.” Sapphira acknowledged with a nod, as the concept of doctrinal differences was very familiar to her. “Might I enquire as to how you two became acquainted? It seems unusual for a newly minted Adept to even interact with an Archmagos.” She paused momentarily in consideration. “Of course your service obviously requires deviation from normal procedures.”

“My cover was not as a newly minted tech-priest,” Vizkop said, “I arrived on the Forge World as a Kyne, the new senior member of the planet's Rune Priests. The cover better allowed me to move within the higher ranks of the world. She and I became acquainted professionally, at first. Our meetings increased when it was discovered we held similar lines of thought on some subjects.”

“That’s very understandable and no fault of your own. We’re all only human, and personal bonds are bound to happen whether or not we want them.” Sapphira said, and offered the Secutor an understandingly commiserating look. “Unfortunately they can be an occupational hazard, given our dangerous and important callings.” She raised a curious brow. “You said this priestess was unconventional, but she wasn’t originally your primary target?”

“I've never spoken about these details of this mission to anyone else,” Vizkop said, his tone shifting ever so slightly to convey the gravity of his words. “But...I trust you more than most, Sister. No, Mikera was not initially my target. My mission was to investigate the rumors and accusations coming from the planet. I had no target to begin with as I was tasked to investigate and evaluate. So, I followed leads. And hitting sudden dead ends only boosted my suspicious curiosity. My later...encounters with Archmagos Mikera proved a much needed distraction from my work. She and I became close, as tends to happen with lovers, but I never revealed the nature of my work. I could not risk it, as I'm sure you understand. I just wish I had been wrong in my suspicion that Mikera and her council of Magi were involved in the bits and pieces of warmongering I was finding.”

“Thank you, Secutor. I can assure you it’s mutual.” Sapphira said, and almost surprised herself with the sentiment and sincerity. She glanced up at Vizkop with a slight smile. “But, yes, I absolutely understand why you couldn’t risk revealing your identity. You had an assignment, which was supported by reasonable suspicion based off first-hand intelligence. It’s a testament to your professionalism that you were able to consider Mikera as a suspect. Throne knows that friends and lovers can…complicate our work, if we let them.” She paused to take a breath. “So, what sort of warmongering was this cabal involved in?”

“My formal training was as a Logis, hence my choice of cover,” Vizkop said. “It comes with a certain...mental discipline. Anyway, it took me months to piece it all together before I finally had a picture. Whoever this cabal was had been rerouting resources to the construction of massive war machines for years. It was an act unlawful in itself given that the world was not sanctioned to build weapons or materiel. I almost had the names of the cabal when I slipped up. Without knowing, I left a small trace in my snoopings and they followed it back to me. That's when I discovered Mikera was not only involved, but in command. She wanted to see the galaxy entirely under the rule of what she referred to as 'the true Sons and Daughters of Mars.' I spent several weeks in the care of her interrogators in some underground room. I won't go into the details, but let us just say that when my mission was over all of my implants had to be replaced.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to recount that experience.” Sapphira assured him, as she tried not to imagine the particulars of Mechanicus torture. She also tried not to picture what an uprising of those so called ‘true Sons and Daughters of Mars’ would’ve been like. No doubt the consequences would’ve been severe. “Not to question your continued survival, Secutor Vizkop…but how did you manage to escape and compete your mission?"

“I know this must all sound like some ridiculous piece of spy fiction,” Vizkop said with a small tone of amusement, “I sometimes don't believe it myself. I got out by exploiting the routine the interrogators set. During one of the later 'questionings' I set myself into an induced sleep state after parsing out that they stopped whenever I lost consciousness. The induced state would only last a minute and it took five to get me from the room back to my cell. I came to, kicked my body and mind into higher combat routines, and overpowered the interrogators. I left one alive long enough to tell me that Mikera was overseeing final preparation for her mobile fortress. Her conquest would start with her own world if she could not be stopped. I had made some friends among the local priesthood and thankfully they remained loyal to Mars, helping me in getting to the fortress and fitting me with an external frame so I could efficiently fight despite my injured state.

“Her fortress was a marvel, Sister. I had seen nothing like it before. A massive weapon platform on four legs. I got in through one of the leg access points. I won't bore you with all the details, but suffice to say I managed to disable the engine by causing a massive feedback along one of the legs and partially destroying it. The fortress buckled, most of the crew died, and I faced off with Mikera (http://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=40923&page=6&p=1372110&viewfull=1#post1372110) on the top observation level. She would have killed me had I not snagged a pistol from one of the skitarii. I shot her through the lung and she fell from the machine. In the aftermath, her cabal was rounded up and dealt with once I sent a confirmation of success to my superiors. The plans for the fortress and all other relevant data was seized and the wreckage cleared away. A new Archmagos was installed and I was rewarded with new implants and new arms. They also gave me a pair of trophies in the form of Mikera's exquisitely crafted power swords, which had been cleansed and reconsecrated.”

Holy Golden Throne. Sapphira thought in quiet awe as she watched Vizkop and intently listened to his tale. The Secutor patted the swords at his hips with a small sigh. “These are them. And before this mission, they had sat in my weapon locker as a reminder of my first solo mission. Killing Mikera was easy in the moment with my mind clocked into combat functions. Afterward, it was not so easy. I managed to rationalize it by reminding myself that had she succeeded, the 'Sons and Daughters of Mars' would have claimed uncountable quadrillions of lives in their conquest of the galaxy. But...killing someone you have grown to care about is not a thing so easily dismissed. And when my hallucinations occur, they take her shape.”

“It’s understandable that you’d see Mikera. She was an important woman to you both personally and professionally.” Sapphira reasoned, as she appraisingly regarded him. “You’re too thoughtful a man not to self-evaluate, and that process always includes the memories of our best and worst experiences...and Mikera is clearly both for you.” She gestured towards the Secutor’s blades. “You’ve also been physically carrying her around for a long time, stowed in a weapons locker or not. Those swords are a reminder of Mikera and everything she was for you, both positive and negative. They’re also a reminder of everything you’ve done since in the service of your Omnissiah, both positive and negative.” Sapphira knowingly met his faceplate, where his eyes hidden, and gave him an understanding nod.

“I've never thought of it that way before,” Vizkop admitted, his tone suggesting a furrowed brow beneath the helmet. “I had always thought of her as something to move on from and that by hiding the swords, I could do that. When my sleeplessness started, I thought that by carrying her blades with me I could just put it all behind me. But to accept it for both the positive and the negative is not something I had even remotely considered. Perhaps if I do that...I can come to terms with myself and my own convictions.”

“I have no doubts about your ability to succeed, Secutor, in whatever you set your knowledge and will to.” Sapphira honestly replied. She gave Vizkop an encouraging smile, and then speculatively eyed his power swords. “Mikera clearly had exceptional taste in weaponry. Whatever you decide to do with those redeemed blades, it would be a shame for them to remain unbaptized with traitor's blood...” The Sister trailed off leadingly, and then glanced back up at him with an arched brow. “While we’re here, shall we hunt down and purge this heretek who tried to assassinate you?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Vizkop replied, and Sapphira smiled slightly at his confident commitment. “If the heretek is who I think it is, he'll prove a formidable opponent. Both in finding and deactivating. And thank you, Sister, for hearing me through on these matters. I doubt the hallucinations will ever stop, but now I believe I can handle them better than before.”

“No, Secutor, thank you for honoring me with your trust.” Sapphira said meaningfully. “We’re both weapons of our respective faiths…and I know it’s never easy to talk, even when we sometimes need to. If I can be of further assistance to you, please never hesitate to ask.” Sapphira paused, and then nodded respectfully as she gestured in the opposite direction they’d walked. “While we return to the others, I’m curious to know your thoughts on how we’ll be able to find this heretek.”

[Cfavano]

++ At the Hotel ++

Solvan lighted the small incense burner and left it on the table. He then produced a small silver bowl and poured a small amount of holy water from the flask he carried with him at all times and placed it next to the incense burner. He had found a prayer stand forgotten in one of the hotel’s storage units which now stood against the far wall beside a chair, managing a rudimentary confessionary booth. The bishop took a gold aquila pendant from his pocket, he looked at it with a strange fondness in his eyes and stood for a few minutes in silence.

-----------

His robe billowed in the wind as the fire was dying, above him the clouds covered the sky wityh the promise of water but seemed to wait for the last embers to wisp away before letting the land be cleansed of this heinous day. Only Solvan and Archbishop Rallen remained from the endless crowd that had bear witness to the execution. His gaze was still nailed to the spot where she had been. Without a conscious decision he stepped into the pyre ring and began digging in the hot ashes, oblivious to the pain of his burning palms. From the smoking remains he retrieved a golden chain with an aquila hanging from it.

“What are you doing Belannor? That thing is tainted, drop it this instant!” Rallen told him with disgust.

Solvan faced him, his hand tightening its grip on the chain making the burn wounds start to break apart and bleed. Rain began to pour slowly as both men stared at each other.

“Do you, Archbishop Adolf Rallen, hereby declare under oath on this sacred ground, that this holy symbol of the Emperor’s perfection which I hold in my hand has been corrupted by the power of the enemy? Do you swear that our beloved God-Emperor would let such blasphemy come to pass?” The bishop’s eyes burned with infinite hatred and pain as he neared his superior making him flinch and stumble back.

“If you do I will swear to the contrary. If you are proven wrong it will demonstrate a disturbing lack of faith for a man in your position, a dangerous thing indeed considering recent events.” Solvan threatened, once more closing on the Archbishop who this time managed to hold his ground.

“I have burned my sister today, what do you think I wouldn’t do to you?” Solvan whispered in Rallen’s ear as rain started to soak his clothes and brought some relief to the burns on his hands. The Archbishop stood petrified, his face white as paper. Without waiting for the man’s answer Solvan turned and left while thunder echoed in the distance, if he shed any tears theyr were hidden by the rain.

-------

The bishop closed his eyes as he ran his fingers through the outline of the aquila. He then went to the prayer stand and knelt with a tired grunt.

“Almighty Emperor, You who have blessed humanity with the sight of your endless glory, grant me though undeserving as I am the wisdom to guide the hearts of men towards your light.” He prayed with his head bowed. “Lend me the understanding to reach the pain in my brother’s soul so that You, Oh Emperor, may heal them and that by your infinite power may their sins be forgiven.” Right at that time a knock came from the door, the priest stood once more and opened it.

“Hello Abdur, please come in.” He greeted and gestured for the Tallarn to enter. “May I ask if this is your first formal confession? As I understand it your people rarely practice this specific ritual.”

Abdur entered the modest room. "Yes, father, it is. While we do have priests, we do not believe in there being a middleman between us and the Emperor's forgiveness. Although, I'm starting to believe that, perhaps, confession isn't just about asking for forgiveness."

"Indeed it is not." Said the priest, glad to have the chance to explain the blessings of the act of confession to his teammate. "The sacrament of confession stands on the basis that when we sin, we do not sin only against the Emperor, but also against our fellow men. It is only right then that a symbolic act of humility before humanity, by telling a priest your sins out loud, is asked for. Yet we must understand that this does not diminish us in any way, on the contrary it exalts us, and brings a cathartic effect upon the one confessing."

"But perhaps the most important thing is that no matter how many times we ask the Emperor for forgiveness in privacy, sometimes what the soul needs is to hear from another human being that we are truly forgiven." Solvan said in a lower voice, almost to himself, with a knowing look in his old eyes.

The Tallarn then sat down in a chair. "I am unsure of how to proceed. Is there a specific ritual we must do before I begin telling you? And, will this be kept just between us? I'd like to keep lady Machiari from finding out."

The bishop's expression went dark as Abdur made his question.

"No information revealed during confession can be divulged by the priest who took said confession." Solvan explained. "If this holy duty is broken then the punishment is excommunication and the eternal damnation of that priest's soul. Worry not, during confession sins are brought to light, cleansed and thereby forgotten."

"Now." Solvan's features once again showed a feeling of relaxed familiarity. "You must first kneel on the prayer stand, with your hands making the sign of the aquila on your chest and say the words: "Merciful God-Emperor, savior of mankind, I come to you with sorrow in my soul and repentance in my heart. I have wronged you and for that I seek forgiveness. Will my confession be heard?" The priest looked at Abdur making sure he had memorized the words before continuing. "Then I’ll basically answer that it will and after that you can start your confession in any manner you prefer." Solvan was explaining one of the many formulas available, but he found this one to be easier to learn for first confessions.

"Alright, then. I understand." He would then kneel on they prayer stand, making the sign of the Aquila. "Merciful God-Emperor, savior of mankind, I come to you with sorrow in my soul and repentance in my heart. I have wronged you and for that I seek forgiveness. Will my confession be heard?" He would then wait for a response, and then he would say everything he told to Sister Sapphira. "That's everything I told Sister Sapphira. But, there is more. Things I, at first, as unwilling to share. But, after telling this twice, I feel as if I can open up more."

Solvan had sat in the chair by the stand as a statue with his eyes closed and the golden aquila in his right hand, his face did not show any emotion other than deep concentration while he nodded slowly at some parts of Abdur's retelling. He smiled fractionally at the mention of the Sister's role as Abdur first choice of confidant and he thanked the Emperor in silence for allowing Sapphira to help his teammate in such a way.

"Go on, my son. The Emperor is listening." Said the priest in a calm neutral voice.

"Well...it involves the last mission I undertook before being taken in by the inquisition. Because of the nature of the mission, I cannot tell you where it took place. Doing so would be an act of sedition. Suffice to say it took place on a 'loyal' hive world. It turns out that the Planetary governor of this world had been in contact with the Eldar's Dark kin, for Emperor knows what reason. Before that could happen, I was sent in to 'take care of him and his advisers'. Because of the nature of his actions, he had holed himself up in one of the towers, and fortified the 10 levels above and below his original abode's level. Because it was impossible to know which level he was on at any given time, and the fact that there were roughly 15 targets, I was ordered to blow all 21 levels." He then shifted on the stand.

"This was a very study tower of roughly 300 levels, and over Six-hundred million people lived in it. The burning of 21 levels was decreed to not be a threat to the stability of the tower, and so, I set charges on each one. Unbeknownst to me, this governor had begun stockpiling hydrogen plasma for some time, and had acquired a large store of it. When my charges went off, it caused a cascading chain reaction that...brought the entire tower down." He looked down, at the floor. "It caused a cloud of dust that blocked out a good portion of the sky for a long time, and i was informed that none of the hive dwellers survived. Looking back, I knew what I was doing was wrong. I could have found and killed them all in their sleep. But I didn't dare disobey my orders. Because of my cowardice, 600 million innocent people died that day, needlessly. I just..." Tears began to go down his cheek. "And then, when I see the PDF needlessly killing these poor innocent people, who'd only crime was not being born in the Imperium, I... I just sometimes feel like I can't go on. I feel, what's the point? If we catch Harlock, what will it change? In the grand scheme of things, what can we do to change anything?"

Solvan reached out and placed his hand on the back of Abdur's head. It was unorthodox for apriest to physically touch, yet not forbidden, during confession, but the bishop often found that words alone rarely managed to break through the traumas that were so common among inquisitorial operatives.

"Abdur, listen to me. The deaths of those people in the tower, though tragic, are on the heretic's head, not yours. He chose to place them between him and the Emperor's justice. Through his cowardice many valuable lives were lost." Solvan began reassuringly. "At that moment you could not have known. In the service of the Emperor quick action is required, but more often than not we have limited or no information to help us with those decisions. We can only pray that we are made wiser by our past, as full of mistakes as it may be.”

“As for our current mission, you should not lose faith in our endeavor. The action of a single man always seems small, but if for that reason we decided to give up the Imperium would crumble within minutes. It is the endless sum of continuous actions from the untold numbers of Emperor’s servants that hold humanity aloft.” The priest’s voice rose as he spoke and withdrew his hand. “In the Emperor’s eyes there is no action too small or meaningless, from the High Lords of Terra to the humble factory menial. We do not have the luxury of doubt while fulfilling the Emperor’s work, Abdur.”

"Thank you, father. I will take your words to heart." The chronometer on his wrist chimes. "It seems that it is time for me to begin my prayer regimine. Would you care to join me? You can get a glimpse of how we among the Tallarn pray."

Offput by the sudden invitation amidst confession the bishop hesitated for a second. But he finally decided that extra praying would not distort the essence of the ritual. After all, he mused, inflexibility was not the way when the imperial creed varied so astonshingly across different cultures, permeated by each world's local beliefs.

"I'd be delighted." Solvan answered with a nod and a thin smile and waited for Abdur to lead.

"I apologize if I offended you by interrupting. We, among the Tallarn, have set times in which we pray and, with the exception of being in battle, these prayer sessions must be performed. In honor of us being on a mission, let us pray for victory. I shall recite the Surah Al-Fateh, the Surah, or prayer, of Victory."

He started, nodding his head:

"Verily We have granted thee a manifest Victory:

That The Emperor may forgive thee thy faults of the past and those to follow; fulfill His favour to thee; and guide thee on the Straight Way;

And that The Emperor may help thee with powerful help.

It is He Who sent down tranquillity into the hearts of the Believers, that they may add faith to their faith;- for to The Emperor belong the forces of the heavens and the earth; and The Emperor is Full of Knowledge and Wisdom;-

That He may admit the men and women who believe, to Gardens beneath which rivers flow, to dwell therein forever, and remove their ills from them;- and that is, in the sight of The Emperor, the highest achievement

And that He may punish the Hypocrites, men and women, and the Polytheists men and women, who imagine an evil opinion of The Emperor. On them is around of Evil: the Wrath of The Emperor is on them: He has cursed them and got The Immaterium ready for them: and evil is it for a destination.

For to The Emperor belong the Forces of the heavens and the earth; and The Emperor is Exalted in Power, Full of Wisdom.

We have truly sent thee as a witness, as a bringer of Glad Tidings, and as a Warner:

In order that ye may believe in The Emperor and His Messenger, that ye may assist and honour Him, and celebrate His praise morning and evening.

Verily those who plight their fealty to thee do no less than plight their fealty to The Emperor: the Hand of The Emperor is over their hands: then anyone who violates his oath, does so to the harm of his own soul, and any one who fulfills what he has covenanted with The Emperor,- The Emperor will soon grant him a great Reward.

The desert Tallarn who lagged behind will say to thee: 'We were engaged in our flocks and herds, and our families: do thou then ask forgiveness for us.' They say with their tongues what is not in their hearts. Say:'Who then has any power at all on your behalf with The Emperor, if His Will is to give you some loss or to give you some profit? But The Emperor is well acquainted with all that ye do.

Nay, ye thought that the Messenger and the Believers would never return to their families; this seemed pleasing in your hearts, and ye conceived an evil thought, for ye are a people lost .'

And if any believe not in The Emperor and His Messenger, We have prepared, for those who reject The Emperor, a Blazing Fire!

To The Emperor belongs the dominion of the heavens and the earth: He forgives whom He wills, and He punishes whom He wills: but The Emperor is Oft-Forgiving, Most Merciful.

Those who lagged behind , when ye march and take booty: 'Permit us to follow you.' They wish to change The Emperor's decree: Say: 'Not thus will ye follow us: Allah has already declared beforehand': then they will say, 'But ye are jealous of us.' Nay, but little do they understand .

Say to the desert Tallarn who lagged behind: 'Ye shall be summoned against a people given to vehement war: then shall ye fight, or they shall submit. Then if ye show obedience, The Emperor will grant you a goodly reward, but if ye turn back as ye did before, He will punish you with a grievous Penalty.'

No blame is there on the blind, nor is there blame on the lame, nor on one ill: But he that obeys The Emperor and his Messenger,- will admit him to Gardens beneath which rivers flow;and he who turns back, will punish him with a grievous Penalty.

The Emperor's Good Pleasure was on the Believers when they swore Fealty to thee under the Tree: He knew what was in their hearts, and He sent down The Emperor to them; and He rewarded them with a speedy Victory;

And many gains will they acquire: and The Emperor is Exalted in Power, Full of Wisdom.

The Emperor has promised you many gains that ye shall acquire, and He has given you these beforehand; and He has restrained the hands of men from you; that it may be a Sign for the Believers, and that He may guide you to a Straight Path;

And other gains, which are not within your power, but which The Emperor has compassed: and The Emperor has power over all things.

If the Unbelievers should fight you, they would certainly turn their backs; then would they find neither protector nor helper.

the practice of The Emperor already in the past: no change wilt thou find in the practice of The Emperor.

And it is He Who has restrained their hands from you and your hands from them in the midst of Makka, after that He gave you the victory over them. And The Emperor sees well all that ye do.

They are the ones who denied Revelation and hindered you from the Sacred Mosque and the sacrificial animals, detained from reaching their place of sacrifice. Had there not been believing men and believing women whom ye did not know that ye were trampling down and on whose account a crime would have accrued to you without knowledge, that He may admit to His Mercy whom He will. If they had been apart, We should certainly have punished the Unbelievers among them with a grievous Punishment.

While the Unbelievers got up in their hearts heat and cant - the heat and cant of ignorance,- The Emperor sent down His Tranquility to his Messenger and to the Believers, and made them stick close to the command of self-restraint; and well were they entitled to it and worthy of it. And The Emperor has full knowledge of all things.

Truly did The Emperor fulfil the vision for His Messenger: ye shall enter the Sacred Mosque, if The Emperor wills, with minds secure, heads shaved,hair cut short, and without fear. For He knew what ye knew not, and He granted, besides this, a speedy victory.

It is He Who has sent His Messenger with Guidance and the Religion of Truth, to proclaim it over all religion: and enough is The Emperor for a Witness.

Muhammad is the messenger of The Emperor; and those who are with him are strong against Unbelievers, compassionate amongst each other. Thou wilt see them bow and prostrate themselves, seeking Grace from The Emperor and Good Pleasure. On their faces are their marks, the traces of their prostration. This is their similitude in the Taurat; and their similitude in the Gospel is: like a seed which sends forth its blade,then makes it strong; it then becomes thick, and it stands on its own stem, the sowers with wonder and delight. As a result, it fills the Unbelievers with rage at them. The Emperor has promised those among them who believe and do righteous deeds forgiveness, and a great Reward.

Imperator Akbar."

“Imperator Akbar.” Solvan echoed. For the bishop it had been a certainly unexpected experience, and strangely soothing due to the rhythm and tone in which Abdur intoned his people’s prayer. He wasn’t familiar with it, but he was comforted by the evident devotion which poured from the Tallarn while performing his ritual.

“Thank you for sharing that Abdur.” Solvan said while nodding approvingly. “Though I may need a few more tomes of hearing or reading it to understand all of it I’m afraid.”

“Now, let us finish your confession.” The priest sentenced as he dipped his thumb in holy water and placed it on Abdur’s forehead tracing two wings on his skin, then he took the Aquila pendant in his palm and pressed it against the same spot.

“Omnipotent Emperor, allow this blessed water to be a symbol for the cleansing of Your servant’s past, and let this Aquila, modest token of Your infinite majesty seal his future, so that he doesn’t stray again from Your glorious light.” The priest prayed in a whisper, but was still audible for Abdur. "Dear God-Emperor, let he who has come in shame leave with his head held high and rejoice. For the one who was lost to the darkness has returned, and can once again exult in Your countless blessings. May all this happen in Your name, through his repentance and Your merciful glory. Imperator Vult.”

“There.” Solvan said smiling. “That wasn’t so bad I hope.”

"No, it was not." He stood up, and took a small, leather-bound book from his pocket. All over it, are beautiful designs made of pressed gold leaf, and the edges of the pages are also gilded in such manner. "Here, I wan't you to have this." He then handed it to Solvan. "It is a copy of The Holy Qu'ran, wherin lies the Surahs of my people, in Tallarn, Low Gothic, and High Gothic. It was hand-made on my planet, of real leather and gold leaf. I have other, less ostentatious copies. I want to give it to you as a gift, for you are the first non-Tallarn I have ever recited a Surah to that has not mocked or interrupted me. One thing I should inform you of, though. When you recite those, ensure that no music is playing, as I've seen in other cathedrals. Once again, I thank you for your time." He bowed.


"Abdur... I am honoured." The priest said wide eyed, after a moment of stunned silence with true emotion in his voice as he gently took the exquisitely crafted book in his hands and ran his fingers along the elaborate cover design. "I swear on my soul that I will treat it with the respect and adoration such relic deserves." He promised with a nod as the Tallarn stood up once more to leave.

(this is the Surah Al-Fateh: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lZqmacw77H4 )

[Jarms48]

The Night Prior

Glabrio walked into the hotels bar, after the day, he thought he earned a little me time. He pulled a stool away from the bar, climbed atop it, and hailed for the bartender. He dug a hand into his blazers pocket, pulled out his leather wallet, and withdrew his promeritum card. He sighed, waited for the barman to serve another patron, his fingers clenched the plastic, and nonsensically tapped the card against the bar top.

He let out a low breath, swiveled on the stool, and gave the room a quick scope. It was quieter than he thought, and here he was hoping he could have a night out before shit hit the ventilation grates. Glabrio gave a low whistle as he scoped a pair of traders tasting a series of fine wines, extravagances filled their table, exotic fruits, numerous courses of means and desert. Damn, I choose the wrong side. He thought to himself, a small smile developing across his face.

"What are you having?" The bartender asked, his hands pressing against the bar top as he leaned forward.

Glabrio turned, gave the man a thoughtful expression. "Some kind of Scotch, local, cheap, no ice. Debit it on my card, compliments of milady's travel allowance. Better to spend wage now, than not at all."

"I'll see what I can do." The bartender gave Glabrio a nod, and drew his fingers across the spirits that lined the shelves.

"There's a good man, knows the value of a drink." Glabrio said, fondly. His hand dipping into his blazers interior pocket and took put a jellybean, he placed it in his teeth and sucked it into his mouth.

Glabrio looked down the bar, a man sat lurched forward, leaning over his drink, every so often taking a small sip. Glabrio pulled himself from his stool, motioned his way toward him, and placed his hand on the mans back.

"Something troubling you there, buddy?" He asked, curiously.

The man looked up, turned his face towards him, and Glabrio let out a surprised chuckle.

"Remus, right. You look a little grim old man." Glabrio said, humerously. His look turned somber, "you shouldn't be turning away sorrows with drink."

"It's water, tap." He replied, coldly.

"Now where's the fun in that, you cynical bastard!" Glabrio exclaimed.

"Cynical. Tired. Call it what you will, you won't drive me to the liquor. Not tonight." Remus returned.

"Emperor, you really are a standard in the mud, aren't you?" Glabrio said. He pulled out the stool next to him, and took a seat. The bartender placed his drink in front of him and returned his card. Glabrio gave the man a thumbs up, followed by a quick curt nod.

"Must you, can't a guy have a moment alone?" Remus argued.

Glabrio took a drink. "I suppose so, can't get a chance, can I?" Glabrio answered, taking his glass and moved further down the bar.


* * * * *

"That's not very polite." he growled at the aide, fixing him with an incredibly dangerous stare. "I'm much more horrible than Kally girl ever is."

"There are worse horrors in the universe than those gifted with the ability to resist the powers of the warp. But, aye, the mans got a point, they are considered mutants to some degree. Not there's anything wrong with that, they both serve His lord," Glabrio glanced over to Crenshaw, "which makes them fine with me."


* * * * *

"Pity I won't be staying." Kally replied with a wry smile, taking Crenshaw's hand and giving it a firm grip. "Maybe you'd like to show me around the place? It seems like a hell of a facility you have here."

Glabrio gave the duo a small grin. Looks like someones putting on the moves. He shook his head, and flicked it to Machairi as if seeking a directive.

"Jellybean, my lady, or perhaps you would like my to detail the present conversation, for later reflection?" Glabrio suggested, playing the part, dipping his head into his blazers interior pocket, withdrawing a small packet of lollies. He smirked, and took one for himself. "Sweet tooth, can't really help it."


* * * * *

"It would certainly be prudent to verify Schafer's last message, if major Crenshaw thinks it would be possible to obtain it." Machairi nodded. "Take Nyl, Remus and verispex Black with you. Major, would it be possible to arrange a meeting with the base commander, even if I have to wait for it?"

"Yes, my lady." Remus returned. He gave a momentary shrug before he moved to Nyl and Miss. Black. A hand drew to the back of his neck, scratching at the flesh idly.


* * * * *

She turned to Solvan. "Father, you and Lia might profess an interest in the local logistics chains over in the workshops. Take Sebastian and Glabrio. Secutor Vizkop? If you, Malpais and Alex could make enquiries with the base tech priests. Perhaps they will know more about rogue elements in the Uru than the priests in Akkan."

"On it boss. I'll keep Sebastian comfortable, hah." He nodded, and motioned over to Sebastian.

"Hey, Thor, want a jellybean?" He offered, holding up the bag of confections before taking another.


* * * * *

"Hey, Remus." she said, frowning. "Look."

Remus stopped, looked to Kelly, then glanced to where she was pointing. He was taken aback. "Can't say I've ever seen a set up like that..."


* * * * *

"Best to get them all, just to be sure." the AAT handler shrugged, and pointed down the corridor. "Archive's down there. You'd better find Crenshaw before one of the blank guards catches you and throws you out. Now if you'll excuse me, those Ghosts won't kill themselves." He paused, and chuckled as he walked away. "At least, not as fast as we'd like..."

"Cold, but could be effective." Remus added.

[dakkagor]

OOC : thanks to Paintserf for his patience and excellence in writing. The man is a legend

Kally:

“So. . .what's it been like?”

They were standing on a gantry, over looking a series of psi-reactors. The air hummed with dangerous quasi-real particles and strange non-baryonic emissions, generated as byproducts from the bronze clad, spheroid techno-arcana. Everyone else had to wear hexagrammically warded safety suits to check on the devices that rested deep in the foundations of the outpost, and fed the various psy-boosting equipment in the upper levels. Kally and Crenshaw had been able to stroll through the airlock with no problems at all.

“Pardon? I do not follow your question.” Crenshaw said, as he came to a pause and glanced behind them. “And evidently your friends did not follow us.” He turned back to Kally, and met her eyes with a conspiratorial smile. “Not that I mind. I wanted an opportunity for us to speak in private, Agent Sonder.”

“Really . . ” She smiled her own sly smile, before blushing slightly and turning away, waving a hand dismissively. Crenshaw only smiled wider, as he appreciatively watched her cheeks color. “They're big enough and ugly enough to look after themselves. I mean. . .what was it like being a blank, for you? How soon did you know what you were?”

“No doubt I will get a vox if they run into trouble. Now, as for your question,” Crenshaw replied, before he sighed and casually leaned against the gantry railing, “my difference was made abundantly clear to me at a very young age.” The Major’s eyes drifted and then narrowed in recollection. “I was recovered by the Telepathica when I was about eight, I believe?” Crenshaw pondered for a moment, and then dismissively shook his head. “Regardless, it was then that our nature was explained to me.” He glanced back to regard Kally, with genuine interest. “So when did you know?”

“I was about 18, I think. Got pulled in a Telepathica sweep and the assessors kicked me out after I gave the old astropath doing assessment a heart attack. My mother kicked me out of the house when I was 8 years old, so I guess she knew sooner, in a way. She blamed me for Dad dying of Black Lung, thought I was a psyker I suppose. Stupid bitch.”

“Ah.” Crenshaw exclaimed with a knowing nod. “The superstitious masses often mistake our kind for psykers, and often deal with them accordingly. Although strictly speaking they are not incorrect, as we both rate as omegas on the psychic assignment scale. But that hardly changes the fact that your mother was a stupid bitch, who was terribly ignorant of your truth.” He eyed Kally in consideration for a moment, and then continued. “I know this will sound insensitive, but perhaps it was better for you that she did not know.”

She snorted. “I don't know about that. Living as a street rat, half starved and fearful of the next beating in a low hive sink commune wasn't exactly paradise, even compared to what my life was like at home.” She unconsciously rubbed her arms. “Funny, really. I never got the chance to show her that despite it all, I turned out mostly fine. The big bad Kally Sonder, agent of the Inquisition.”

“Only mostly fine?” Crenshaw asked, with an appraising tilt of the head. The playful hint of a smile slowly faded. “It seems we lived opposite lives, and yet we share similar experiences. I was born into a spire top family, and my parents knew exactly what I was.” His eyes took on the distant look again. “The starvation, fear, and pain were all deliberate and very methodical. It was all done according to a plan.” The Major sniffed, and flexed his hands as he glanced back at Kally. “They were traitors, and they were all rewarded as traitors deserve. I was liberated in the purge and taken in by the Telepathica.”

“You got out.” She nodded. Crenshaw mirrored the gesture back at Kally, in knowing acknowledgement of her own escape. “So, what's it like working for the Telepathica? You got your own quarters here or are you in a barracks?”

“As a privilege of the rank I have my own private quarters.” Crenshaw replied, and emphasized private with an inclined brow. “It is spacious enough not to feel like a coffin, mostly distant from the noisiest parts of the facility, and relatively secluded at the moment. The redeeming feature is a surprisingly large bed that is magnificently not too hard and not too soft.” The Major paused, and then smiled as he regarded Kally. “It is hardly lodgings on Saros, but much better than you would expect.”

“Well.” She smiled. “Sounds positively palatial. How about you give me the private tour, seeing as we've ditched the normals and have some time to ourselves to . . . liaise?”

“Liaise, huh?” Crenshaw lightly echoed, with an amused smile. He sighed in mock annoyance and pushed off the rails. “I suppose that I can hardly refuse to accommodate an Inquisitorial request.” The Major grinned devilishly at Kally as he casually stalked forward. “Come with me, Agent Sonder,” Crenshaw said, and gestured invitingly down the corridor, “and I will have you thoroughly debriefed in no time.”

Kally fell in beside him, hand snaking down his back, smiling wickedly with a hungry look in her eyes. The Major smirked appreciatively at her forwardness, his eyes similarly desirous, and draped an arm around her shoulders. He confidently pulled the other blank closer as they made their way out of the reactor room.

"Excellent Major Crenshaw. I'm certain you will be very thorough."

Tomas:

“I've never seen an operation like this.” Muttered Tomas, as Machairi looked over the serried ranks of killer automata.

“Not even on the Margin Crusade?” she responded, raising an eyebrow in interest.

“No, not even then. Policing actions fell to Guardsmen, Arbitrators. . .whatever warm bodies could be pried from the front lines. This feels wrong. Badly Wrong. I'm not saying that there weren't some generals who wouldn't wet their knickers at the chance to have unfeeling automata carry out their revenge inspired murder sprees for them, but the one General with a habit for that just built his own damn regiment of bastards for the job.”

Machairi nodded. “So the question remains. . .”

“Why.” Tomas nodded. “It seems obvious to me, and that means it won't be easy to fix this situation. At the top, you have a vested interest in keeping the war going because Rogue Traders are profiting from it and probably kickbacking to local government, including the Planetary Governor. For the Imperium, as long as tithes are met they don't care At the bottom, everyone is powerless to make any kind of change.

“And in the middle?”

Tomas sighed. “Loyal servants to the Throne, following orders and not getting involved. Maybe if this crapsack world did have some Arbitrators breathing down the Governors neck, he would have pulled his thumb out of his arse and resolved it. But he's left it to fester, because its far away and doesn't effect him directly, he has no incentive to get involved. And more than a few, I would bet, to leave things exactly the way they are.

“How long can a war like this go on for?” Asked Machairi, her interest piqued. After all, she kept Tomas on her retinue for more than his bodyguard duties. He knew how the Guard functioned from long and bitter experience, and that meant he knew how wars where fought by the Imperium.

“Potentially? For ever. I remember reading about an ancient civilization in a place called the Westen Vault on Terra. No one knows where that place is now, but the conflict between two people lasted hundreds of years. It ended in extermination of one of the peoples, but the scholar didn't mention who. By the end, you could hardly tell them apart.” He shrugged. “From my own personal experience, you just have to look at Vectis. That place is still a hole years after the mutant uprising, and only a complete purge of the mutant population will reclaim peace on that world.”

Tomas sighed, suddenly feeling old. “One day, someone will reach that conclusion with the power to act on it. Then this continent will feel the hammer of the Guard, and every indigen will burn.” He shook his head. “And that will be a black day indeed, caused by the greed and laziness of several rich men.”

[Azazeal849]

Whatever sparse vegetation (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_a_9OYrT8bI) that covered the earth around the base had been hacked back, creating a killing field for the sentry guns squatting watchfully outside the curtain wall. The rain, swirling in glowing clouds under the backlight of the base's floodlights, was beginning to form pools in the half-congealed mud. There were no animals ferreting among the weeds; the native creatures instinctively avoided the crackling telepathica spire and its unnatural aura. But the wasteland outside the base was not completely devoid of movement.

Hugging the ground in the darkness beyond the sweeping beams of the base's searchlights, a crowd of men and women waited. They had streaked mud across their faces and arms to hide their corpse-pale skin, and all of them were armed. Most of them were focussed on the cloaked, masked figure who lay opposite the main gate, with the scabbarded sabre in his right hand. His left was raised towards the sentry guns, pointing to each one in turn. After a few moments, he turned his silver mask towards the indigens surrounding him and nodded once.

The man to his left and several more to his right uncurled from the mud and shouldered long bulbous tubes of matte-black metal. The ribbed barrels were clearly not of mechanicus manufacture, but they were unquestionably firearms. The indigens sighted along them with eyes made of dark green glass, and pulled the triggers. There was no bang of gunpowder, nor the crack of a lasbeam ionising the air. Nevertheless, in the watchtowers atop the base's curtain wall, four lookouts instantly dropped like marionettes whose strings had been cut.

"For the Prophet." one of the gunmen growled, in heavily accented Obrantu.

Led by the masked man, the indigen strike force pushed up from the ground and started forwards, wiping rain from bug-eyed flare goggles and hefting battered but meticulously cleaned autoguns. They ran out right in front of the spider-legged sentry guns, but the thick barrels simply passed over them, tracking placidly back and forth in their predetermined pattern.


+ + + + + +

At first, the Telepathica guard barely registered the rattle of grappling hooks on the curtain wall. It was only when it came again that he looked up, and by then the dark shapes were already scrambling over the crenulated parapet. He opened his mouth to shout a warning, and at that moment a bullet whipped between his teeth to scatter the back of his skull against the prefab behind him.

Tomas and Machairi whipped round as the single gunshot escalated into short bursts, and then a thunderstorm of solid slugs competing with the harsh crack of lasguns.

"Cover." Machairi snapped, even as the three pilots they had been talking to sprang to their feet and knocked over their chairs.

Marc groped for the Decker autogun hanging from his shoulder, adrenaline surging as he grabbed Gavin with his other hand and hauled the adjutant back towards the corner of the warehouse. It was only a moment later that he remembered the auspex built into the vambrace of his new armour, and he mentally cursed his unfamiliarity with the suit.

"Movement by the south wall." he reported as he fired up the bioscanner and tried to make a rapid count of the glowing swarm of blips. "Lots of it."

"Ghosts!" one of the PDF pilots cursed. "How the Horus did they get past the sentry guns?"


+ + + + + +

The junior officer talking to Solvan let out a yelp of fear and surprise as chips of rockrete came spalling off the inside of the wall to fly among the dormant servitors. At the same time, a scythe-like burst of bullets came raking across the open door. Sebastian, who had been standing right in front of them, dropped with a scream as the bullets caught him in the midsection, while next to Lia a servitor spasmed and died in its maintenance cradle as a red hole blossomed in the centre of its forehead.

"Emperor's frakking Throne!" the junior officer sputtered. "Get down! Get down!"


+ + + + + +

A group of the indigens broke forward at a run towards the Telepathica spire, one of them stumbling and rolling across the ground as a PDF soldier went to one knee beside the parked Chimeras and opened fire. A return shot punching into his flak vest drove him back behind the vehicle as riccochets sparked off its armoured chassis. The tech-priestess to whom Vizkop had been talking stumbled back beside him, mechadendrites flailing as she let out a very human shriek.

There were perhaps only two score of the indigens; some breaking towards the gate control station while others laid down covering fire from atop the now-unguarded curtain wall. The rest were following their masked leader as he sprinted towards the AAT spire at the centre of the base, his cloak streaming out behind him like the wings of a hawk.

As they took cover behind the parked Chimeras, Vizkop and Sapphira felt the air around them grow cold. A film of ice crackled out across the hull of the nearest Chimera as Alex darted forward in a blur. He had picked out the masked leader, who realised his danger as Alex cut down the first indigen in his path with a blaze of his force sword. The masked indigen skidded to a halt and unsheathed two pistols, releasing a stacatto hail of bullets that Alex swept aside with a psychically-guided twirl of his blade. The masked man dropped the guns and went for the sabre at his waist just as Alex's Carthaean sword came singing down towards his head. A tracery of hexagrammic wards flared into life on the masked man's sabre as it met the longer force sword near the tip, and turned it aside. The glowing runes swept a blue contrail through the air as the masked man disengaged the blade and swept it back across Alex's chest, opening him from hip to shoulder.

The force sword dropped to the tarmac with a crash, followed a moment later by Alex's knees.

"Frakking psyker!" one of the indigens spat as he kicked Alex's body to the ground. The masked leader was already at the door to the AAT spire, along with two others who were carrying a bulky black tube. A red beam shot forth from the front of the tube, and a few moments later the hardened adamantium blast doors caved inwards in a crash of severed metal.


+ + + + + +

"What the Horus is going on?" the psyker handler shouted as alarms belatedly started to wail through the Telepathica complex. He clawed for his sidearm and turned to his associate. "Get those precogs locked down. You three," He jabbed a finger towards Remus, Vincent and Kelly. "Stay here."

Fumbling with his radio, the man disappeared round the corner of the corridor. An autogun snarled in short bursts, and the psyker handler was flung back against the wall like a rag doll, leaving a streak of blood against the bullet-stippled wall. A squad of indigens appeared in his wake, pale skin smeared with mud and eyes hidden behind bulbous flare goggles.

"There they are." one of them snarled as he caught sight of the psyker tanks behind the glass wall of the corridor. "Look out!" he added as he belatedly spotted the three inquisition agents further up the hall.

Responding instinctively to the gunfire, the three agents had already drawn their weapons. Their initial volley sent the indigens scrambling back, their return fire spraying wide to punch spiderwebs in the ballistic glass of the psyker room window. Shielding Kelly with his own carapace armour, Vincent kicked in the door of the vox office and bellowed at Remus to follow.

[Thrannix]

As the shooting broke out and Sebastian fell screaming Solvan dashed to the side taking out his autopistol from within the robes while hugging cover behind one of the cogitators near the entrance. At that time he heard Glabrio shouting something to his right, the bishop looked up and saw his thunder-hammer flying through the air towards him, which spoke volumes on the former arbites strength. Solvan grabbed it with no small effort due to the weight, twisting with the weapon´s momentum to arrest its trajectory so he wouldn’t snap his wrist.

The impulse to go out of the cogitator’s protection in order to get his teammate to safety flashed for a second in his mind. But as he looked at Sebastian lying on the floor in a pool of blood, his chest giving no signs of breathing, Solvan realized he could do very little for the medicae and painfully ignored the thought. There would be time for proper ritual, prayer and mourning later, first they had to get out alive.

He saw the junior officer laying low behind an overturned working desk that a moment before had displayed several spare parts for the servitor's maintenance, now scattered across the floor. The man was returning intermittent shots towards the entrance in response to the suppressing fire the indigenes kept throwing at them. For the moment the natives seemed content in keeping them inside, without trying to storm the room. Clearly their objective wasn’t the servitors.

"Can you reactivate the combat servitors?" Yelled Solvan towards the man as he tossed away his rings used for his undercover charade in order to better handle the hammer.

After a second of confusion at the idea, which clearly hadn't crossed the man's mind in the immediate shock after the attack the officer finally responded as he reloaded. "No! We need one of the tech-adepts for that!"

"Belannor." The priest said into the vox. "Under fire in the servitor hangar, Sebastian is down." He explained hurriedly glancing around the room to look at what seemed like a control panel at the other end that had luckily avoided any crippling damage for the moment. "Secutor Vizkop, we need to get these combat servitors back online and-."

“Gakking warpscum!” He cursed at mid speech, ducking once again as a solid slug chipped away at his cover, sending sparks flying over his head.

"There seems to be a main console in here, but I have no idea how to use it. So either you walk me through it, or you will have to try to activate them remotely." Solvan waited for Vizkop's response returning fire with his autopistol and praying that the techpriest wasn't another early casualty.

[PaintSerf]

Gavin


“That should not be.” Gavin said as he jumped, speaking for the first time since almost inaudibly accepting the interrogator’s directive, and turned towards the wall when the first shot cracked. “By which I mean-”

"Cover." Machairi snapped as the gunfire quickly escalated. Gavin hobbled after the others, and he startled as one of the Inquisitorial retinue unexpectedly dragged him into cover. He staggered, and struggled to remain on his ungainly feet as the black carapace clad man herded him into relative safety. The psyker failed and pitched forwards with a yelp onto his knees with a metallic scrape. Gavin reached out with a gloved hand to arrest his stumble, and sighed lowly in frustration.

“Useless.” He breathed, the words almost certainly lost amidst the noise.

"Movement by the south wall. Lots of it." Gavin snapped into motion as he clambered on hands and knees to position for regaining his feet. I can find out. The psyker thought as he awkwardly pulled himself up with the wall’s assistance to rise into a crouch.

"Ghosts!" one of the PDF pilots cursed. "How the Horus did they get past the sentry guns?"

“I can find out!” Gavin blurted out, with eyes screwed shut as he clearly strained by his own limitations. “How many there, or what happened to the sentry weapons.” He winced as a series of detonations erupted within the bases perimeter. “Or maybe do something about their explosives,” The psyker forced himself to meet the interrogator’s eyes over his rain splattered glasses and gestured to the null halo, “with your permission...Machairi.”


Sapphira


The first bursts of fire had barely happened and Sapphira’s reflexes kicked into overdrive. She slid into the perfect cover provided by the nearest Chimera, and caught a brief glimpse of the dark figures storming towards the Telepathica spire. Sapphira barely had time to note them, and had no time to even draw her pistol, not that it would’ve helped at this distance, as Alexsandr powered up and charged towards them. The Sister was also distracted by the shrieking tech-priestess, and then by a PDF soldier who barked out a curse and stumbled back into her.

“I’m a medicae and I have you.” Sapphira assured the soldier, who visibly sagged with relief as she steadied and then helped him down to the ground. He glanced up at her in surprise when she slid a hand up underneath his flak vest. “I’m sorry, but this will probably hurt.”

“Argh!” The soldier hissed when Sapphira’s hand brushed over the strike zone. “Ah, you frakking bitch!” He snarled, in what sounded more like a pained reflex than any real malice. When Sapphira’s hand emerged, it was completely clear of blood and he gasped in a palpably relieved breath.

“Praise the God-Emperor.” Sapphira retorted, with complete sincerity, and gently touched the aquila stamped on the front of the soldier’s flak vest.

"Bellanor. Under fire in the servitor hangar, Sebastian is down."

Sapphira winced at the news and rocked back onto her heels, knowing well that Sebastian was likely dead or going to be dead. He might’ve been a strange agent but the man was one of theirs. Aleksandr. Remembering the other psychic swordsman had charged the indigens, the Sister crouched low and snuck her out to check on him. She saw the Carthaean, motionless and sprawled on his back, with his sword fallen out of reach. The tragic scene was illuminated a flood light by the spire doors.

“Frak this!” Sapphira exclaimed as she pulled back into cover. She sighed, frustrated by their impotency, and leaned her head into the Chimera’s plate, eyes towards the sky. We both know that the shooting and screaming always happens without warning. Sapphira bitterly remembered her earlier comment to Solvan, as she desperately tried to think of what to do.

“You said it, sister.” The soldier quipped sardonically, through clenched teeth as he reloaded.

If two agents and Throne knew how many other Imperials hadn’t just been murdered, Sapphira was certain that she would’ve laughed at that. Instead she stared off into the sky, and could feel the bullets ping ineffectually off the cold metal hull. Oh, my God Emperor. Sapphira thought as she inhaled deeply while her eyes widened in shocked inspiration.

“Honored tech-priestess,” Sapphira formally addressed the other woman, as she hurriedly turned to face her, “which of these tanks are armed and mobile?”

“Further down.” The tech-priestess replied, clearly unused to being shot at and speaking gothic. She gestured with a mechadendrite, and Sapphira approvingly noted the IFV’s hull point heavy bolter and turret mounted heavy flamer.

“Time is of the essence, and armored support could break these heretics. I’ll need you to drive.” Sapphira said, calmly and reassuringly as she levelly kept eye contact. “You care for these machines, and I have no doubt their spirits would respond positively to your control.” The Sister nodded firmly, and encouragingly squeezed the priestess’ shoulder, before she turned to the Hercynian soldier. “This frakking bitch will also need your help with the bolter, if you’re able to manage?”

“Uh huh.” The soldier affirmed with a pained grunt, and a somewhat surprised expression.

“Excellent. Malpais?” Sapphira redirected, and glanced up at the pyrokine with an intensely curious look. “What could you do with a heavy flamer as your pilot light?”

[Atrum Daemon]

--Vizkop and Malpais; Under fire--

Vizkop instantly kicked into combat mode the moment the first shots were fired, taking the Chimera as a cover position along with Sapphira and Malpais. He shut out the shrieking of the Enginseer and the cursing of the PDF trooper and poked his head out to take stock of the situation. He saw the indigens advancing and about to be met by a figure wielding a sword. It was in that moment he realized he had lost sight of Aleksander for a few moments. His attention was grabbed again by the crackling of the vox and the voice of the team's priest.

"Belannor." The priest said into the vox. "Under fire in the servitor hangar, Sebastian is down." He explained hurriedly glancing around the room to look at what seemed like a control panel at the other end that had luckily avoided any crippling damage for the moment. "Secutor Vizkop, we need to get these combat servitors back online and-."

“Gakking warpscum!” He cursed at mid speech, ducking once again as a solid slug chipped away at his cover, sending sparks flying over his head.

"There seems to be a main console in here, but I have no idea how to use it. So either you walk me through it, or you will have to try to activate them remotely."

“I don't have the time to walk you through the process nor do I have the authorization to remotely activate the servitors,” Vizkop replied shortly. “I have to run ground interference on the idigens breaching the door.”

Malpais cursed under his breath as he saw Aleksander stand tall against the intruders only be laid low by the one he assumed to be their leader. He was about to formulate a plan of attack against the masked man and his friends by the gate when Sapphira tapped him. “Excellent. Malpais?” Sapphira redirected, and glanced up at the pyrokine with an intensely curious look. “What could you do with a heavy flamer as your pilot light?”

“I could easily cover this entire area in a sea of fire,” he answered. “I can help you bring fiery wrath upon these intruders, Sister.”

“I'll keep a handle on the group by the door as best I can,” Vizkop said. “They can't be allowed to get inside that easily.”

The swords at Vizkop's side flew from their scabbards, blades becoming wreathed in their crackling power fields. He set his sights at the door to the spire and poised himself, the servos in his legs kicking into a higher speed function. He sheathed one of the blades for a moment and drew the pistol at his side. It was heavy-looking and finely crafted weapon that he aimed at one of the idigens holding the tube. A red beam of energy expelled from the pistol and struck his target, reducing flesh to ash in a deflagration. With his show of force over with, Vizkop holstered the pistol and drew his second sword again as he closed the distance between himself and the door.

[Cfavano]

As the AAT base came under attack, Abdur slung his shotgun to a ready grip within an instant, and with a quick moment, racked the slide, and set it to semi-auto fire. It had been a while since he had been in an actual battle, it had been since before he joined the Inquisition, but training and experience in those skill sets never leaves someone, especially as young as him. "Lady Machiari." he says, in his rebreather-muffled voice. "Allow me to escort you to a more defensible position. I fear that these indigens may prove more...determined than the usual heretical scum that we all likely have experience dealing with. I am sure it would put all of our minds to rest if you were in some sort of command center." He turns to one of the pilots. "Soldier, is there a fortified emergency bunker of some sorts that the higher-ranking officers could sequester themselves in, in the event of an attack?"

[Azazeal849]

“I can find out!” Gavin blurted out, with eyes screwed shut as he clearly strained at his own limitations. “How many there, or what happened to the sentry weapons.” He winced as a series of detonations erupted within the base's perimeter. “Or maybe do something about their explosives,”

"Grenades." Marc reported, sounding like he was gritting his teeth behind his helmet as he leaned out from his kneeling position by the edge of the warehouse and snapped three short bursts across the courtyard.

Gavin forced himself to meet the interrogator’s eyes over his rain splattered glasses and gestured to the null halo, “With your permission...Machairi.”

Machairi frowned at Gavin for a moment, sizing him up, before reaching over to remove Gavin's null halo with a few deft clicks of the locking mechanism. She was familiar with handling psykers, and was more tolerant of them and their potential uses than some - as having Malpais and Alex on her inner circle attested.

"Do it." she nodded to Gavin. Now we'll see if Crenshaw sending him to "assist" us was more than a joke after all.

"Lady Machiari." Abdur said, in his rebreather-muffled voice. "Allow me to escort you to a more defensible position. I fear that these indigens may prove more...determined than the usual heretical scum that we all likely have experience dealing with. I am sure it would put all of our minds to rest if you were in some sort of command center." He turned to one of the pilots. "Soldier, is there a fortified emergency bunker of some sorts that the higher-ranking officers could sequester themselves in, in the event of an attack?"

"Most of the spire complex is underground." the pilot offered as he snapped hand signals to his fellow PDF. Enclave soldiers were pouring from the barracks complex, but not all of them were armoured, or even armed. Also, by a fast count, there didn't seem to be very many of them.

"Where's the rest of your company?" Machairi asked the pilot as she flattened herself against the warehouse wall, her melta pistol gripped in both hands.

"Out on a purge sweep. Bastards picked a Horus of a time to hit us."

"Convenient." Machairi said, biting the inside of her cheek.

At the corner of the building, Marc swore as he consulted his auspex. "They just rushed the spire." He pressed his hand to the side of his helmet to activate the vox bead. "Kel, there's indigens on their way down to you!"

"You don't say?" a reply sputtered across the team vox, awash with static from the spire's psychic dampeners and a rattle that might have been gunfire.

"We'll work our way around." Machairi said, pointing. "Watch that overwatch from the south wall."

As they began to move, Machairi cupped a hand over her vox bead. "Team, status!" She dropped the hand and glanced back at the PDF pilots. "Can we get one of those Valkyries airborne?"

The man was already moving, and Machairi spun towards Gavin to see what the psyker was doing.


+ + + + + +

The swords at Vizkop's side flew from their scabbards, blades becoming wreathed in their crackling power fields. He set his sights at the door to the spire and poised himself, the servos in his legs kicking into a higher speed function. He sheathed one of the blades for a moment and drew the pistol at his side. It was heavy-looking and finely crafted weapon that he aimed at one of the idigens holding the tube. A red beam of energy expelled from the pistol and struck his target, reducing flesh to ash in a deflagration. With his show of force over with, Vizkop holstered the pistol and drew his second sword again as he closed the distance between himself and the door.

A storm of fire chased him across the courtyard, battering into his mechanicus armour and almost knocking him off balance. The indigens' masked leader had pulled his companions back against the wall of the spire with an outstretched arm as Vizkop's shot from an unexpected quarter incinerated one of them, but now he rose as the secutor came bearing down on him. Both men raised their blades, but at the last moment Vizkop felt his leading leg sieze up, and he stumbled. His first thought was that a stray shot must have ricocheted through the joint and hit the servo, but he had no time to hypothesise further as the man in the silver mask stepped into his compromised guard and drove the basket hilt of his sabre into Vizkop's visor. A power capacitor in the guard discharged and Vizkop's visual display splintered into static. His weight was forced onto his frozen leg, and he fell.

"That's why you work as a group." a rough voice said in Obrantu, right before Vizkop's directional audio sensors told him that every indigen accompanying the masked man was raising their weapon towards him and opening fire.

[dakkagor]

Tomas

Tomas had snapped out his heavy, blunt nosed autopistol, and stood tall between Machiari, shielding her with a combination of his heavy reinforced combat shield and his own armoured body.

"We'll work our way around." Machairi said, pointing. "Watch that overwatch from the south wall."

Tomas nodded once, and stood between Machairi and the potential threat as they began to move. He kept his eyes open, scanning the ground and the south wall as they moved, his autopistol tracking left and right.

"We need to get to some proper cover" He growled, keeping pace with Machairi and letting Abdur roam ahead. "Inside the wall this place is a killing field." He listened to the tempo of fire around them. "They're fighting hard. They want this place to go down."

[Cfavano]

"Alright." Abdur nods, before removing his camo-cloak and handing it to Alia. "Lady, you'll need this more than me. We move fast and low, from cover to cover. Stay on my tail, and don't stop for anything, limit your stray movements to as little as possible. The best way to stay alive is to keep moving." He would then begin blazing a path as best as he could, using anything he could possibly use for cover, keeping low as possible, and his shotgun at the ready.

[PaintSerf]

Gavin


"Do it." she nodded to Gavin, who grunted and winced as the null field dissipated. The psyker nodded back, or more accurately his head rocked, with eyes pressed shut as his potential rushed back. He staggered slightly, but reached out and caught the wall in support, and guided himself on it as he went towards the warehouse corner. Gavin hesitated to approach the black armored agent agent until he ducked back into cover after firing.

“May I take your place?” Gavin asked, as he stood off to Marc’s side in an awkward hunch. He nervously cleared his throat, unable to even look at the other man’s visor. “I would also ask you not to shoot.”

Gavin obligingly nodded as he swapped with Marc, and leaned his head out from around the corner. The psyker sighed and frost instantly radiated along the wall from where his hand was braced. In his mind the view was like that of an orbital satellite, or Valkyrie loitering over a drop zone, however clearer and mobile than either view could ever be. Gavin sighed, almost contentedly, as his psychic consciousness spiraled down to hover above ground level.

There are the raiders…coming from the wall…so, so much hate…and who are they shooting at? Oh…no…no…no… Gavin stifled a moan as he quickly hurtled away from the Secutor and towards the wall. Most of them are reloading…autoguns…except for…yes…there are they are…the grenadiers…now what type are they? The psyker frowned as he reached out towards the distant wall. Rifle mounted…anti-personnel…impact…okay…I can do that. Gavin’s head tilted fractionally as he focused his reality on one grenade's detonator plunger. His breaths became shallower as his flattened fingers slowly depressed until they connected with his thumb.

On the wall there was an explosion, which was followed by a rapid staccato of secondary detonations as other grenades were triggered. Gavin inhaled sharply as his natural perceptions returned and he rolled back into cover. The psyker grimaced while he shook and rubbed his hands together as if they’d been burned. Gavin shivered and wrapped his arms around his torso, and opened his eyes to see the interrogator’s scrutiny. He nervously cleared his throat once again and promptly glanced down.

“Would you prefer me to continue…Machairi, or shall I desist?” Gavin asked expectantly.


Sapphira


“I could easily cover this entire area in a sea of fire,” he answered. “I can help you bring fiery wrath upon these intruders, Sister.”

“I trust your discretion on how much power to use, Malpais.” Sapphira replied, glazing over his reference to her true calling as she stood. The Sister reached down to offer the PDF soldier a hand up while the Enginseer somewhat unsteadily found her own feet. She took a deep breath, and glanced over the small group. “Everyone set?”

“I'll keep a handle on the group by the door as best I can,” Vizkop said. “They can't be allowed to get inside that easily.”

“No, they really can’t.” Sapphira agreed, with evident reluctance at his correct assessment. Aleksandr had attempted the same and died for his efforts. The swords at Vizkop's side flew from their scabbards, blades becoming wreathed in their crackling power fields. Her brow furrowed marginally as she watched him make ready. “Go with your Omnissiah and the God-Emperor, Secutor.”

When Vizkop broke from cover Sapphira sprinted to the Chimera with the others, and pried the IFV’s inbuilt rear door open. The Sister ducked into the darkened interior ahead of the Enginseer, who perceptively activated a lumien device, and clambered up into the turret. She slid into the control throne as everyone took their positions, hastily sketched an activation cog for the numerous machine spirits. I pray you understand the expedience, and I mean no disrespect by it, but one of your priests emphatically needs each of you now.

The Chimera’s engine turbine whined to life and it quickly roared out from the storage barn. While it rocked towards the insurgent’s positions, the heavy bolter fired opportunistically. There was an explosion on the wall that briefly illuminated the courtyard, revealing several figures with rifles aimed down at a prone figure that clutched two glowing blades. The Enginseer reacted instantly, and flared the IFV’s high-beams and searchlight directly into the knot of insurgents. Sapphira snarled, incensed by the scene, and reached for the loud hailer’s microphone as the Ghosts were staggered.

“Heretics, know that your god is false as you die screaming!” Sapphira indignantly proclaimed, in precise Obrantu, as she discharged the turret’s heavy flamer, “For the God Emperor!”

[Azazeal849]

The masked leader was gesturing wildly, almost seizing and pulling the other indigens past him as they ran back to the spire door with several wounded men in tow.

“We have to go, we have to go, go, go!”

At that moment there was a ripple of explosions, snapping the indigens’ attention towards the cored-out blast door. Through the narrow portal, the light of the blasts illuminated men on the walls staggering and falling as guns flew apart and ammunition chained off like firecrackers. This was followed a moment later by a splash of light that overpowered the base floodlights like the eye of a god.

“Heretics, know that your god is false as you die screaming!” Sapphira indignantly proclaimed, in precise Obrantu, as she discharged the turret’s heavy flamer, “For the God Emperor!”

With Malpais’ pyromancy to focus it, the jet of fire swept out across the base courtyard like a living thing. It engulfed the indigens standing and kneeling there, but any screams were smothered by the roar of the blaze as the fireball rolled over and swallowed itself in a cloud of inky black smoke.

The indigens on the walls who had had a clear view of the firestorm scrambled away as a second jet followed the first, lancing orange through the black of the smoke. Inside the antechamber of the AAT spire, the pale men cowered back as the tongue of fire lashed across their escape route. The only one undeterred was the masked leader, who strode towards the door as smoke began to pour in, and extended a hand towards the attacking Chimera. Instantly, the chattering whoosh of the IFV’s heavy bolter ceased. He rotated his wrist, and the turret wrenched round, spraying the next jet of flame wide and high over the AAT spire. The psychic shields sheathing the vast pylon that topped the complex hissed and spat as the flames coiled around them.


+ + + + + +

“What the Horus?” the PDF trooper in the front of the Chimera spat, “Frakking bolter’s jammed!”

The tech-priestess in the pilot’s chair beside him didn’t seem to hear.

“No!” she whispered over a screech of binary, stabbing buttons with both her fingers and her awkwardly-wedged mechadendrites. “No no no no no!”


+ + + + + +

“A real god doesn’t need men to shout his work.” the masked leader growled as the indigens behind him gasped and clutched at sun icons that hung around their necks. “Now move! Stay low!”

The indigens began to stumble out into the smoke, some pointing their non-standard autoguns back into the spire corridors to discourage pursuit, others letting them hang forgotten from their shoulder-straps as they tried to filter the smoke with their sleeves. One hand still hooked towards the Chimera, the masked man looked back to see a single indigen still huddled against the back wall of the antechamber, his pale arms wrapped around his shivering body. His face was a mask of terror behind his flare goggles as he shook his head at the indigen leader. Through the slits in his silver mask, the leader’s eyes tightened. Emotions warred behind them for a second, before the masked man drew one of his holstered pistols and fired a single shot that snapped the indigen’s head back against the wall. Then he turned and ran after the others, leaving the body to slump with blood dripping from its white hair.


+ + + + + +

“They’re falling back.” Marc reported, and then “Bloody frakking hell!” as Sapphira’s flamethrower turret swung round to bathe the side of the AAT spire. The agents could feel the heat even from here.

Gavin inhaled sharply as his natural perceptions returned and he rolled back into cover. The psyker grimaced, shaking his hands and rubbing them together as if they’d been burned. Gavin shivered and wrapped his arms around his torso, and opened his eyes to see Machairi’s scrutiny. He nervously cleared his throat again and promptly glanced down.

“Would you prefer me to continue…Machairi, or shall I desist?” Gavin asked expectantly.

Machairi took one look at the psyker’s shaken condition and shook her head. “You’ve done enough.” she told him, not unkindly.

The short snarls of Marc’s autogun and the harsher bark of Abdur’s shotgun tapered off, as both men tried to locate targets in the pall of smoke left by the PDF flame tank. As it began to clear, they were able to catch glimpses of twisted black shapes lying frozen in the courtyard. Over the shouts and the crackling of flames, there was a sudden whir and clunk that the team recognised as the sound of the gateway in the curtain wall opening.

“Don’t let those heathen bastards get away!” a PDF officer was shouting, “Get those Valkyries airborne!”

“Kally?” Marc called into his vox as he paused to reload. He was acutely aware that he had heard his sister’s voice among the wild vox chatter, as well as Vincent’s throaty curses, but not Kally’s. “Marc. Where are you?”

Ahead of them Machairi darted right into the servitor workshop, where past a pair of reeling tech-priests she spied Solvan and the others.

“Father!” the interrogator hailed him as she hand-signalled for the team to regroup.

[Thrannix]

“I don't have the time to walk you through the process nor do I have the authorization to remotely activate the servitors,” Vizkop replied shortly. “I have to run ground interference on the indigenes breaching the door.”

“Nothing can be easy in this job.” The priest sighed with frustration. He thought of just trying to break out of the room. They probably could do it, with Glabrio and the officer giving covering fire, and relying on his rosary and the Emperor’s protection.

He shook his head. Combat wasn’t Solvan’s forte, he could certainly hold his own and with a good hit of his thunder hammer he could down almost any enemy provided he got in range to give the blow. But he knew that the best weapon in a fight was cold detachment and strategic thinking. A small army of combat servitors was right there, the impact they could have on the confrontation dwarfed anything a couple of inquisitorial agents could achieve.

In a moment when the suppressing fire diminished its intensity he changed cover closer to where the officer was shooting.

“We need to get a tech-adept in here. Where can we get one?” He asked him.

“First things first. I’m officer Bourne.” Replied the officer drily. “Now who the Horus are you?” He asked pointing an accusing finger at the so called business advisor that was now armed to the teeth, giving him orders and seemingly unperturbed by the whole mess around them.

“I’m the man standing next to you in the middle of a gakking firefight.” The bishop responded narrowing his eyes. Right then two new holes appeared in the table that Bourne was using for cover making him drop face down on the floor. “A very one-sided firefight at the moment I might add. Now. Tech-priest. Think.”

“Warp take you!” Cursed the officer standing again and taking some shots towards the door. The gesture came more out of frustration than a real hope to fell one of the assailants. He crouched once more, his previous questions forgotten for the moment. “Back room, at the end of the workshop, adepts Vorlan and Malessandri were working there since morning. As far as I know they haven’t left. Perhaps- hey come back here!” The last words were lost in the screaming of guns as another volley came through the door this time aimed at the robed figure darting away through the rows of servitors.

Solvan could feel the buzzing of bullets around him. But as he had hoped most of them got imbedded in the surrounding servitors. May Your protection be granted to those that fight evil, and through them let Your enemies know the folly in their actions and cower in the sight of Your infinite power. He murmured after a flash of light behind him told the priest that his Rosarius was working. As he got deeper into the holding room the assailants couldn’t draw an effective line of sight as easily and the shooting grew less dangerous. He reached the far side of the room, past some high metallic shelves that separated this section from the rest of the area, at that moment he noticed the two enginseers behind one of the working benches.

“Enginseers Vorlan and Malessandri I presume.” He said as he dropped next to the cowering adepts. “To keep a long story short I need you to get those servitors working again, I hope I don’t have to tell you the benefits our success would entail.”

One of the enginseers was quicker to gather his wits; he took a dataslate from within his crimson robe and started tapping. “After the initial damage, discarding those servitors too early in the process of refitting and nourishment… there are one hundred and fifty two servitors that may be activated to an acceptable level of performance. I have primed them remotely, but final activation must be performed through the main console at the center of the workshop. This final step will prove… problematic”

The console was right in the middle of the ghosts killing zone. Solvan clenched his jaw at the realization.

“Fine. This is what you are going to do. I’ll make a diversion, after I leave count to ten and reach that console for activation.” The priest’s eyes gazed intensely at the entrance. “Will you do that? The fate of this base and everyone in it may depend on your resolve adept.”

After the adept nodded and Solvan was about to make a mad dash out the door hoping to draw the ghosts attention the grenade explosions could be heard along the base, the shockwave making the walls tremble. With it the firing stopped as the attackers seemed to be occupied with more pressing matters.

“Thank the Emperor. Now is our chance! Go!” He stood in front of the adept shielding him until they reached the console. The adept went to work and soon the servitors started to be fitted automatically with ammunition and weapons while the nutrition tubes left their noses. Then the roaring of fire and screaming was clear in the air, smoke filled the outside of the workshop for a moment.

Solvan stepped closer to the door his hammer at the ready. He glanced at Sebastian body, there was no doubt the man was dead. The smoke screen avoided anyone from getting a clear shot, so he took a risk and kneeled beside him to close the medicae’s eyes as he intoned a quick prayer. “May whatever sins you carried be forgiven, rest now in the glorious light of the God Emperor, leave your suffering in this world and find peace by the Emperor’s side.”

As the smoke started to clear Solvan stood up once again and with great relief recognized Alia’s figure.

“Father!” the interrogator hailed him as she hand-signalled for the team to regroup.

“Apologies for the delay.” The bishop said as he neared Alia pointing a finger behind him as the first servitors lumbered out of the workshop weapons at the ready. “I got occupied procuring us some reinforcements.”

“Sebastian is now with the Emperor. May his soul find eternal rest.” Solvan continued with a pained expression. “Who else did we lose?”

[dakkagor]

Tomas

“Sebastian is now with the Emperor. May his soul find eternal rest.” Solvan continued with a pained expression. “Who else did we lose?”

"No one else from the team that I know of." Tomas cut in. "But we need to get our arses in gear. It looks like their objective was the Spire."

Kally

(OOC : with many thanks to Paintserf)

It was. . .strange.

She was running her hands all over Major Crenshaw, enjoying the feel of his shoulders, his hips, his toned body. He tasted off recaff and warmth, but most of all, Kally was enjoying his eyes. She could meet them and they wouldn't look away. She could stare into them and they would stare back. After everything, that was a quiet marvel, almost alien. She had been with one man before this, and it had been more of a drunken fumble. This . .this was intimate. No, more animal, more primal. This is what people talked about, what she had always wanted. What she had never had.

A large part of her wondered if she would ever have this with Marc.

The Major had no sooner unlocked his door when Kally, still underneath his arm, turned into him and claimed him with a hard kiss. In an instant both blanks started to get a feel for each other, and alone in a corridor, their only inhibitions were the amount of intervening equipment. Kally grunted in denied annoyance and roughly grabbed the front of his armor. They almost tumbled through the door of his quarters as she pulled him in. Crenshaw snarled into her mouth as he slammed the door shut with a backwards kick. Then it began in earnest.

Their lips remained locked in an intensifying duel, which only broke as they managed to remove his chest plate and hastily toss it aside. Kally immediately began tearing off his uniform, and he groaned as her hands roamed where they willed. Crenshaw grabbed her gun belt and jerked Kally in tightly against him, and he savored her sharp gasp of surprise. His lips latched onto her neck above the amplification harness and worked upwards. The Major hummed contentedly at her breathy moans as he unclasped her webbing and pushed it off her shoulders. His hands deftly unsealed her suit, and they traced down Kally’s figure as he slowly opened it to the navel and-

Then the alarm sounded. This deep in the base, it was distinct and clear, but they couldn't hear any of the causes. Kally froze and let out growl of pure frustration. So. Frakking. close. Kally gripped Crenshaw’s shoulders for a second longer before letting go. His fingers lingeringly caressed where they’d settled on the curve of her hips as he lowly sighed with profound annoyance. Crenshaw inhaled deeply, and gently squeezed Kally before he reluctantly forced himself to take a step back and release her. The Major shook his head, and started right his thoroughly dishevelled uniform.

“I am going to strangulate whoever is responsible for this interruption.” Crenshaw flatly declared, as he wistfully followed Kally’s progress in resealing her bodyglove. “Slowly.” The Major met her eyes once she was finished, and nodded confidently as he reactivated his vox. “Later.”

“Only if I don't get the frakker first and ram his head up his arse.” She cast an appreciative glance over Crenshaw. “Definitely later. I'll be looking forward to it.”

“Major Crenshaw to Telepathica Control. What is the situation? Over.” Crenshaw tersely voxed, and listened to the response. The Major’s fingers fumbled as his brow furrowed, and he immediately abandoned the grooming for his hastily discarded carapace. Crenshaw shot Kally the universal this is serious gak look as he pulled the armor back on and swept past her towards his personal armament locker. “Ghosts have breached the spire.”

“Frak.” Kally responded, grabbing up her webbing and starting to belt it back in place. “How the Horus did they get past the walls and all that artillery?”

“Not a frakking clue, but I intend to find that out.” Crenshaw replied, as he punched in the lock code and hauled it open. Lights automatically activated and illuminated several pieces of wargear and weaponry, each of which was a quality piece of equipment. The Major stepped aside tilted his head invitingly as he properly secured the carapace. “Take what you need. Bolter ammo is in the lower right container and grenades are opposite.”

Kally whistled appreciatively, and crouched down, grabbing a pair of heavy magazines for the bolter. Crenshaw leaned over her to collect his own pre-loaded bolter, and wracked the slide before slinging it over his shoulder. “You are a man of taste and distinction, Major Crenshaw.” she slipped the mags into equipment pouches and stood up, tying her hair back into a pony tail. “Let’s go waste those frakkers.”

“Absolutely.” Crenshaw agreed, as he hefted the suppression shield that’d been bracketed on an interior door. The Major perfunctorily made obeisance to its machine spirits as he activated it, and then un-holstered his bolt pistol with the clack of the safety releasing. He nodded to her, all business now. “Grab the door and then out to the right, on my lead, while you cover our asses.”

"Confirmed" Kally nodded hard, once. She grimaced as she heard Marc over the radio calling for her. She held up a finger for Crenshaw to wait as she responded. "Kally here with Crenshaw, we are in the spire and moving to repel, advise." With that she hauled on the door and swung right, boltgun up to her shoulder and tracking. Hopefully Marc would fill her in on the situation topside.

[Atrum Daemon]

--Vizkop--

The electronic display on Vizkop's helmet fell away as his frozen leg failed to hold his weight and he thudded to the ground. It was an unforeseeable event, his leg seizing the way it did, and he would have to consider it later. For the time being, he was stuck on the ground trying to reorient himself. It was a consequence of having his senses hooked directly into the display of his helmet, but he could hear well enough to decipher that one of the intruders said something and that every weapon was trained on him and about to fire.

--Malpais--

The psyker made his way into the Chimera behind Sapphira and clambered his way up to the pintle at the top of the turret so he could see and manipulate the flames. Doing so was by no means a simple task and the kind of precise control Malpais needed to exert to not cause massive friendly casualties was something few pyrokinetics could achieve. He relaxed himself as the machine roared to life and the lights glared out at the idigens. “Now burn, heretics!” Malpais snarled to himself as Sapphira shouted her proclaimation.

The flamer discharged and Malpais seized control of it. His mental powers focused the fire and bent it to his will. The stream became as a living serpent in his psychic grasp that roared over the courtyard, seeking the intruders wherever they hid. The flamer then suddenly jerked around, the flames spraying over the shielded pylon. Malpais released his hold on the fire in surprise and swept around for the source of the sudden movement. His eyes locked on the masked leader, whose hand was extended toward the Chimera. Malpais now had a second reason to see the masked heretic dead.

[PaintSerf]

Gavin

Machairi took one look at the psyker’s shaken condition and shook her head. “You’ve done enough.” she told him, not unkindly.

Gavin glanced up with at her with an almost shocked expression, before he quickly averted his eyes again. Why would Interrogator Alia Machairi not put my talents to work? Were...the Major here now, he would have had me in Valkyrie and tracking the insurgents down…or observing to see if there were more unknown minds out there. The psyker frowned, seemingly more confused than before, and rubbed under his nostrils with a gloved fist. Why would she not do the same?

“As you say…Machairi.” Gavin replied, after a slightly too long pause, with a differential nod. The psyker wordlessly followed Machairi and her retainers, and stared fixedly at his metal feet as they plodded into the mud. He knew better than to defy a handler or the Inquisition.


Sapphira


“You’re next to burn, heretic!” Sapphira hissed. Her lips were still curled in a predatory snarl as she fixated her aim on the only heretic not to cower or flee from the flames. She caught a flash of a metal where the face should’ve been in the light, as the figure walked towards them with a hand held as if imploring them to stop. No, there will be no mercy for you! The Sister thought, with righteous vindictiveness, as she triggered another wave of flame.

“No!” Sapphira audibly screamed, in confusion and denied retribution, as her reality inexplicitly whirled away. “How the frak!?” She dazedly spluttered, realizing that the turret had rotated, and she fought against the controls. It remained non-responsive, and Sapphira winced as she felt the almost overwhelming heat of the misplaced shot.

“Hey! Check that frakking fire!” The soldier bellowed from below. “Friendlies close!”

“I’m not in control of it!” Sapphira shouted back, almost desperately, as she continued to futilely try and wrench the turret back around. The Sister glanced up through the targeter and saw figures reel away from the flames. She could hear the promethium pipes clank as they flowed to refill the shot reservoir, and dread clutched at her knowing those were Imperials in the line of fire. Sapphira swore vehemently as she lunged for the loud hailer and triggered it.

“PDF! GET BACK! NOW!” She unequivocally ordered into the microphone.

[Jarms48]

"What the Horus is going on?" the psyker handler shouted as alarms belatedly started to wail through the Telepathica complex. He clawed for his sidearm and turned to his associate. "Get those precogs locked down. You three," He jabbed a finger towards Remus, Vincent and Kelly. "Stay here."

Remus gave the man a puzzled look, his head slowly motioning over to Vincent and Kelly, as if seeking their thoughts in the matter. His gaze steadily flicked back to the man as he started fumbling with his radio and the man disappeared round the corner of the corridor. An autogun snarled in short bursts, and the psyker handler was flung back against the wall like a rag doll, leaving a streak of blood against the bullet-stippled wall.

"Well, here we go, best be ready." Remus said, his voice already sounding alert. He slung his hotshot lasrifle underarm, drew it against his shoulder, and took a few slow, careful steps back towards the glass wall abaft him. His eye beading down the weapons sight, he cursed for not having his Inquisitorial kit as he had to adjust his sights magnification manually instead of relying on his rebreathers in built targeter. It took valuable seconds, just as a squad of indigens appeared in the handlers wake, pale skin smeared with mud and eyes hidden behind bulbous flare goggles.

"There they are." one of them snarled as he caught sight of the psyker tanks behind the glass wall of the corridor. "Look out!" he added as he belatedly spotted the three inquisition agents further up the hall.

The mans cry was soon followed by a high-yield energy blast, and Remus' hotshot lasgun discharged a pair of hot-lasbolts. They caught the man centre mass; hotshot weapons known to penetrate the powered armour of even mighty Astarte in the right circumstance, over-penetrated the mans kit with ease. Leaving nothing but two smoldering holes in the mans chest, and the stink of burnt, cauterized meat. The bolts going as far as cratering the vest of the indigen behind him.

Their initial volley sent the indigens scrambling back, their return fire spraying wide to punch spiderwebs in the ballistic glass of the psyker room window. Shielding Kelly with his own carapace armour, Vincent kicked in the door of the vox office and bellowed at Remus to follow.

"Aye, don't even have to argue!" Remus answered. His finger pressed hard against the trigger, trying to set up some kind of suppression as he motioned his way over to Vincent, and the relative safety of the office.


* * * * *

"Can't say I approve of this!" Glabrio exclaimed.

"I'm use to fighting in urban environs, not open terrain, these guys are at range, my sidearms might as well be peashooters. If had my arbiter carapace, I could take risks, close the distance! If I had my arbiter shootgun with slug-shot, or mercy to them, executioner-shot they wouldn't stand a chance!" His words moved into the realms of dark-humor, an attempt to shine some light on a frakked up situation.

He hit the deck, a series of auto-rounds crisscrossed above his head, impacting heavily into the rockcrete wall behind him. A dozen soft clings followed soon after as the bullets deflected off the rockcrete and clattered onto the floor. He pulled himself into a crouch, then crouch-ran into the nearest cover he could find, his right hand lingering over his chest holster, his fingers tapping against the weapons grip. His eyes flicking across potential targets.

"Father!" He yelled, crouching, both of his hands moving to relieve the thunder-hammer slung across his back. He had little time to act, pulled himself to a stand and tossed the unwieldy weapon towards the priest.

At that time he heard Glabrio shouting something to his right, the bishop looked up and saw his thunder-hammer flying through the air towards him, which spoke volumes on the former arbites strength. Solvan grabbed it with no small effort due to the weight, twisting with the weapon´s momentum to arrest its trajectory so he wouldn’t snap his wrist.

The impulse to go out of the cogitator’s protection in order to get his teammate to safety flashed for a second in his mind. But as he looked at Sebastian lying on the floor in a pool of blood, his chest giving no signs of breathing, Solvan realized he could do very little for the medicae and painfully ignored the thought. There would be time for proper ritual, prayer and mourning later, first they had to get out alive.

"There's nothing we can do for him, father, he's a casualty of war now! We have to concentrate on the task at hand, these bastards have spilled our blood, now they demand ventilation! We'll see to the wounded later, the dead after that." Glabrio spat, his anger paramount.

Glabrio tracked an indigen moving across the wall, who was darting between cover and swapping fire with his peers below. His hand flicked off the leather strap from his chest holster, fingers twisting around the handguns grip, and in a single solid motion he brought one of his custom pistols to bare. He leaned from his cover, hand and weapon raising to meet the indigen in question, Glabrio's index finger pulled the trigger, followed by another pull in quick succession, in what felt like a single second he had unloaded an entire magazine at his quarry. A bullet caught the mans leg, and he lost his footing, tumbled and rolled off the side of the wall. Glabrio had already pressed himself back into cover, slapped the ejector and placed the empty magazine into one of his blazers entire pockets to be used later. He fished a fresh one from his vest, and slid it home, then he glanced from his hole to seek out another target.

"Can you reactivate the combat servitors?" Yelled Solvan towards the man as he tossed away his rings used for his undercover charade in order to better handle the hammer.

"Could work, let them fight the surfs, we could kick back and have a cup of recaf!" He called out over the gunfire, his tone quite approving.

After a second of confusion at the idea, which clearly hadn't crossed the man's mind in the immediate shock after the attack the officer finally responded as he reloaded. "No! We need one of the tech-adepts for that!"

"Well..." He paused, leaned out from his cover and spat off a few more rounds at a target of opportunity. "Frak you too!"

As they began to move, Machairi cupped a hand over her vox bead. "Team, status!" She dropped the hand and glanced back at the PDF pilots. "Can we get one of those Valkyries airborne?"

"Putting the bastards down as best we can, milady! We've lost Sebastian, doesn't seem to be breathing and I can't dare get to him right now." Glabrio said into his vox-unit mounted in his vest.


* * * * *

There was a lancing pain in his leg, the muscles in his left leg felt unresponsive, sluggish. Splatters of blood coated the floor behind him, a neat little trail left from where the bullet entered and left through Remus' calf. He winced, bit his lip, resisted the ghostly sensation that crawled up his left side, the pain that was bellowing into him. He fired off a few more bolts in protest, held in the trigger until his power pack went dry.

"Fuckers." Julianus protested, he was close to the door, inches. Of course he got hit right before he cleared the threshold. They didn't have the weight of fire, what else did he expect? He threw himself through the door, not wanting to limp another step under fire. He groaned, kicked the door closed behind him with his good foot, and clasped his wound with his hands.

"Fucking mercenary garbs, fucking bastards, if I had my carapace." He gritted his teeth, and glanced to Kelly and Vincent.


* * * * *

“Father!” the interrogator hailed him as she hand-signalled for the team to regroup.

"I think, my lady, wishes to speak to us." Glabrio said, flicking a glance over to Machairi. Before he raced over to Sebastian to check for a pulse.

"Fruitless." Glabrio whispered to himself. He closed his eyes, grasped the bridge of his nose, and sighed. He muttered a prayer under his lips, grasped Sebastians wrists and guided his hands to form an Aquila across his chest. At least he was with Him now, Glabrio tried to inflate a sense of spirituality, to think the man was in a better place. Death was an odd thing, how could one ever be sure? Surely Solvan would assure him otherwise.

[Azazeal849]

"Apologies for the delay." the bishop said as he neared Alia, pointing a finger behind him as the first servitors lumbered out of the bay, weapons at the ready. "I got occupied procuring us some reinforcements."

Machairi turned to look at the servitors, their targeting lasers scattering red through the smoke. She nodded in approval. "Perfect."

"Sebastian is now with the Emperor. May his soul find eternal rest." Solvan continued with a pained expression. "Who else did we lose?"

"No-one from the team that I know of." Tomas cut in. "But we need to get our arses in gear. It looks like their objective was the spire."

"Offworld communication is an ambitious target for a fragmented resistance movement." Machairi observed, her lips pressed together in a tight line.

"Kally here with Crenshaw, we are in the spire and moving to repel, advise." Kally's voice crackled over the vox-link.

Marc dropped to one knee to consult his auspex as he responded. "Kally? Marc. The indigens in the courtyard are on the run; don't know if any are still in the spire with you. They neutralised the perimeter guns and the security lockdowns in the spire too, looks like."

"Meet us at the launch pads and prepare for pursuit." Machairi added over her own vox bead.


+ + + + + +

Fucking mercenary garbs, fucking bastards, if I had my carapace." Remus gritted his teeth, and glanced at Kelly and Vincent.

"Where you hit?" Kelly asked as Vincent tugged a grenade from his carapace webbing. Suddenly there was a shuddering explosion, accompanied by a sound of shattering glass that reverberated deafeningly through the underground corridors. Then there was a crack of lasfire, and screams and curses, followed by a sick rush of vertigo that gripped all three agents. A squad of soldiers armoured in Telepathica black rushed past the vox office - blanks, with their limiters deactivated. The combined force of their soulless aura was overwhelming.

Kelly retched, and Vincent fumbled his grenade, which dropped with a sharp crack to the floor. It was only by pure luck that he hadn't yet pulled the pin. One of the blanks pivoted to sweep the office with his short-stock lasgun, gas mask lenses snapping towards the three beneath a helmet marked with the wireframe eye of the Telepathica.

"Rogue traders." Kelly managed to gasp at the soldier, her teeth gritted and her eyes screwed shut.

"Stay here." the blank growled, his voice made tinny and hollow by the filter of his gas mask. He jerked the muzzle of his gun up away from the agents and turned to follow his comrades. As the suffocating aura vanished, the agents heard more of the hollow voices snapping at each other.

"4-C clear. Three Ghosts down."

"Why the Horus aren't the isolation bulkheads deploying!?"

"Fokkin' blanks!" Vincent swore as he lurched groggily to his feet, and swung his augmetic fist into one of the bulky square vox sets that lined either side of the room. Chunks of plastic went flying as the machinery shattered under the impact.

Kelly took a moment to inspect Remus' leg and then scrambled towards the door, looking for a medipack. The wall of the corridor outside had sprouted a line of smoking las-craters to match the fissured window opposite. Two indigens lay dead next to the pulped remains of the handler, but the squad of AAT guards had stormed away into the next corridor. The transparisteel wall was now opaque with cracks, and the security door into the psyker pen was just a twisted steel frame. The ballistic glass that had filled it was scattered in white shards across the floor. One of the amniotic tanks in the room beyond had breached, and the psyker inside hung limp from his spinal cables. The other two were twitching in their tanks, fighting the sedatives being pumped through them as warning runes flashed from cracked control consoles. The fluid from the ruptured tank, reeking of antiseptic, was spread across the floor with rivulets of blood running through it. Red streaks were splattered across the walls, and small bits of metal that looked almost like common nails had buried themselves in the ceiling, as well as in the thick, ward-laced glass of the two remaining tanks.

A bomb. Kelly diagnosed the scene, noting a cleanly severed hand that lay almost perfectly in the centre of the room. Home-made but powerful. Either the indigen deliberately blew himself up, or he set it off early by accident. As she tried to step inside for a closer look, the ice-water sensation of a blank aura washed over her once again and set her skin crawling.

An AAT soldier appeared from a blind spot by the back wall. "Stay back." he barked at her as two handlers rushed from a side door to attend the flashing consoles beside the two unbreached tanks.

"Kally girl!" Kelly heard Vincent say from behind her, and she turned to see Kally and major Crenshaw hurrying up the corridor, both carrying wicked-looking boltguns. Vincent didn't seem pleased to see them. "Where the fok did you go?" he barked at the newcomers, while Kelly steadied herself against the wall and pressed a finger against the vox bead in her ear. The team channel was awash with static and conflicting chatter, but she tried anyway.

"Team, Kelly Black. The indigens hit one of the AAT's precog psykers, but the guards are driving them back. Remus is wounded but not bad."


+ + + + + +

"PDF! GET BACK! NOW!" Sapphira unequivocally ordered into the microphone. The Enclave soldiers turned their helmeted heads towards the sound of her voice, a split second before they were hidden behind the orange glare of the flamer's discharge. The fire jet rushed forward to claim them, but then it suddenly recoiled and twisted upwards, a fountain of flame reaching as high as the coruscating telepathic spire at the centre of the base. Sapphira saw the PDF soldiers reeling away, armour plates searing white and exposed skin blistering before her eyes. And then she saw Malpais, his red robe smouldering and his eyes screwed shut in concentration as he raised his open palms towards the rogue flamethrower and bent the flames to his will.

The Chimera's flamethrower cut off with a sputtering jerk, and the rising fireball swallowed itself in a cloud of black. Down in the hull of the IFV, Sapphira saw the tech-priestess slump back in the pilot's throne.

"I have euthanised the vehicle's machine spirit." she said in a hollow voice. "The machine curse was too strong."

"Manual?" the officer next to her asked impatiently. "Do we still have manual?"

The priestess didn't answer. Evidently, she was passing information through that strange binary vox network that the tech-priests shared, because at that moment enginseers Vorlan and Malessandri came stumbling out of the bullet-riddled servitor barracks, almost tripping over their red cloaks. They ignored the fallen, and the burned PDF staggering between them, and even the servitors - some of which had seized up in their advance with flesh peeling from their organic components, lacking the agility and the self-preservation instinct to move out of the flamethrower's effect zone. Vorlan and Malessandri went straight to the Chimeras still ranked up behind Sapphira's idling vehicle.

"In the Omnissiah's name, stay back!" Vorlan shouted as he stumbled over to the first Chimera in the line. "These machine spirits must be quarantined. The attackers are utilising a powerful machine curse!"

"Power down those Valkyries!" Malessandri added, pointing with an augmetic hand towards the launch pads at the north end of the base. "Shut them down now!"

Machairi and the others rushed out of the barracks just in time to see the tech-priest brandishing a laspistol, as if to ward away the bewildered PDF. While Tomas and Abdur tracked for threats in the smoke-choked courtyard, Marc stopped in his tracks. He stared up at the pall of smoke left by the fire-jet Malpais had redirected into the sky, and suddenly had a vision of another column of fire striking down on the capital city of a far off planet.

"Machine curse..." he whispered.

There were now three possibilities that he could see. The failure of the base security systems could have been the work of a traitor - even if public sentiment in the Enclave was overwhelmingly against the so-called "Ghosts", that didn't rule out heretical sympathisers. God-Emperor knew that the Enclave's relentless brutality was enough to turn the stomach. Another possiblity was xenotech - if Haarlock or some other heretic was dealing weapons to the indigens, then they might be capable of anything. Although...if someone's giving out alien weapons, who's showing the indigens how to use them?

The last possibility was the most chilling. Seizing control of automated defences...doors...vehicles...these were all things that the Necron replicants had done on Venatora. They thought they had got them all, and they had bombed the source of the Necron signal into oblivion - but what if they had somehow missed one? Or, even worse, what if there were dozens more of those xenos infiltrators abroad in the Imperium?

"Agent Black?" Machairi shot at the frozen investigator.

The interrogator's voice snapped Marc out of his reverie. "Ma'am," he said as he cycled his helmet visor in an attempt to pierce the hot smoke. It revealed servitors stomping outwards to secure the base perimeter, although few were firing - the only indigens in the courtyard that he could see were the twisted black and red mannequins left by Sapphira's first strike. He hesitated before continuing. "It's only a theory, but there's some scary similarities between this and our last mission on Venatora. The Necron replicants didn't just regenerate - they could copy or even control our machines. One of them compromised the entire orbital defence network and forced it to fire on its own cities."

Machairi fixed him with an intense stare. "I thought you said you killed them all. Are you sure?"

"That they could do something like shut down the security here?" Marc replied. "Yes. That one of them could be here on Hercynia...no. There might be other xenotech that could hack machine spirits, or it might have been an inside job."

Machairi clenched her fists as she considered her options. They couldn't make demands of the PDF without blowing their cover, and even then they would have to get past the tech-priests. Her eye fell on Gavin, who was now looking a little less pale than when he had taxed his powers to detonate the indigens' weapons.

"Gavin." she said to Crenshaw's adjutant. "You said you could track them?"


+ + + + + +

The indigen leader heard the whoosh of the flamer discharging above the familiar devil's-rattle of the servitor stubbers, and twisted his mouth beneath the silver mask as he stumbled through the open gate into the muddy wasteland beyond. He had recognised the voice blaring from the Chimera's loudspeakers, and he almost wished that his newest opponents didn't have to be here. Sapphira would hold herself responsible for immolating fellow Imperials, and she would punish herself hard. But his friend from a former life appearing here on Hercynia created other problems.

The tiny implant in his reconstructed flesh twinged, sensing beyond his organic perceptions as a beam of invisible force whickered past him. Behind the indigen leader, a PDF soldier taking aim by the gate dropped in a slump of mangled synapses. The masked man sheathed his sword and ran faster, crossing the kill zone that had been cleared for the base's still-silent gun turrets.

"Closer!" the leader barked at his depleted party of indigens. They were stumbling back into cover beyond the glare of the base's searchlights, past the silent rearguard with their long, ribbed firearms. They were hyperventilating, fumbling with water bottles, and dragging their wounded by the light of a dull green glow that flickered like witchfire in the lenses of their battered flare goggles. The light came from a pulsing green cylinder that sat nearby on a tripod of black metal legs. The masked leader extended his hand towards it.

Shadows bled out from the device like ink, a deeper black against the night. They pooled around the feet of the indigens and crawled up their legs to envelop them in grasping fingers. Some of the albino raiders were praying to the Vilysian sun god, but the words were muted as the black cloud closed over their heads.

The cloud thinned and evanesced like smoke on the breeze. When it was gone, so were the indigens and the glowing tripod.

[dakkagor]

++Kally++

"Kally girl!" Kelly heard Vincent say from behind her, and she turned to see Kally and major Crenshaw hurrying up the corridor, both carrying wicked-looking boltguns. Vincent didn't seem pleased to see them. "Where the fok did you go?"

"We where in the lower levels when the alarm sounded." Kally smoothly lied, shrugging her shoulders. "The Major detoured to his quarters to pick up some extra gear, seeing as it seemed like a major firefight." It wasn't a lie, exactly. But it certainly wasn't the whole truth. Vincent held her gaze for a moment, and she met it defiantly, daring him to say anything else, before he turned away with a disgusted snort.

He knows. Or he thinks he does.

She looked the scene over, and spotted that Remus was injured.

"He ok?" She reached into her webbing and pulled out a small field dressing kit, crouching down next to Remus. "Let me get that gakker for you. Doesn't look like it clipped the bone, at least."

"Team, Kelly Black. The indigens hit one of the AAT's precog psykers, but the guards are driving them back. Remus is wounded but not bad."

++Tomas++

"Team, Kelly Black. The indigens hit one of the AAT's precog psykers, but the guards are driving them back. Remus is wounded but not bad."

"Confirmed Kelly, if he can walk you should rendezvous with us up top. We need to rally and cross-reference to figure out what the hell just happened."

He looked across to Machairi, who was in a conversation with Marc.

"Ma'am," he said as he cycled his helmet visor in an attempt to pierce the hot smoke. It revealed servitors stomping outwards to secure the base perimeter, although few were firing - the only indigens in the courtyard that he could see were the twisted black and red mannequins left by Sapphira's first strike. He hesitated before continuing. "It's only a theory, but there's some scary similarities between this and our last mission on Venatora. The Necron replicants didn't just regenerate - they could copy or even control our machines. One of them compromised the entire orbital defence network and forced it to fire on its own cities."

Machairi fixed him with an intense stare. "I thought you said you killed them all. Are you sure?"

"That they could do something like shut down the security here?" Marc replied. "Yes. That one of them could be here on Hercynia...no. There might be other xenotech that could hack machine spirits, or it might have been an inside job."

For the moment Tomas kept his mouth shut. The idea that a Replicant could be running amok here would be worrying to say the least. He had read the reports he had been cleared for, and understood what kind of a threat those bastard things presented. Perhaps there was another angle on the perpetual war on this crapsack planet.

[Thrannix]

"That they could do something like shut down the security here?" Marc replied. "Yes. That one of them could be here on Hercynia...no. There might be other xenotech that could hack machine spirits, or it might have been an inside job."

"I would be cautious before dismissing replicant involvement." Solvan began while gazing upon the smoking battle scene. "Though it is tempting to attribute this to treachery or to an as of yet unknown piece of xenotech," Solvan commented to Marcus, "logic dictates that until proven otherwise we must maintain a high degree of suspicion that there may be replicants on the planet. Either some that got away from Venatora or newly fabricated from a yet unidentified location. It may be improbable, but the danger they represent is too great to ignore."

"Like I said, it's only a theory." Marc replied, with a level tone carrying through his helmet vox. No-one was above suspicion, his former mentor De Shilo had hammered into him, and his last days on his homeworld of Solomon had given him more reason to see traitors in unlikely places than most. "It's possible that they're making replicants somewhere else. On Venatora they all received some sort of signal from the Necron base, that we were able to pick up. Vizkop would know what to look for."

"Gavin." Machairi turnd to Crenshaw's adjutant. "You said you could track them?"

"And before we leave." The priest said addressing Machairi. "Did we get any information on our lost interrogator? Or are we putting our main mission on hold for the time being?" If that was the case he didn't mind but Alia had to make that decision knowingly, unaware derailing of a mission in the heat of the moment was a mistake to be avoided.

"No-one's going anywhere." tech priest Malessandri interjected, with surprising firmness. "Not until we have confirmed that these machine spirits are uncorrupted."

Solvan saw Machairi clench her fists as she considered her options. They couldn't make demands of the PDF without blowing their cover, and even then they would have to get past the tech-priests.

The priest understood the frustration within Alia as she analyzed with her usual clinical efficiency her options. He mentally gave a quick prayer to the Emperor to help her along the difficult path ahead, he had faith that she wouldn’t disappoint, in the years he had worked with her she never had. After all, it is in the fire of unexpected obstacles that true inquisitors are forged.

"I have a feeling that the two will go hand in hand." Machairi said after a moment, "But..."

The interrogator paused and pretended to scratch her ear to cover the fact that she was switching off her vox bead. With a gesture, she beckoned Solvan to one side.

"If there's a chance that there's replicants here on Hercynia," she told the priest once they were alone in the shadow of the bullet-riddled servitor barracks. "We need to investigate it immediately. Chances are that if we find Schafer, we will be close to finding them too. But according to Schafer's report on the Venatora incident, the replicants' primary objective was to infiltrate the higher government. I will need to divert some of our team to ensure that they are not doing the same again."

The interrogator frowned.

"Father...you know that my thoughts when dealing with Schafer are not...unbiased. Moreover, if he is still alive he would be less than willing to work with me personally. My feeling is that I should lead the investigation into the planetary heirarchy, where my rank carries the most weight. I would need Tomas with me, as well as agent Black. That would leave the mission to follow Schafer into the Uru, and possibly more of these replicants, with you."

She frowned again, clearly not comfortable with displaying such a vulnerable sense of uncertainty; even though Solvan was the one person - except possibly Tomas - who she ever showed it to.

The bishop was taken aback by Machairi’s statement. Not only because of the intimate way in which Alia had shown her true emotions and doubts, something he had seldom seen outside the confession booth. But also for the great responsibility that was offered to him.

"Father, I know full well the responsibility that would place on you, and so I need you to tell me if my moral thinking is clear on this matter."

The bishop pondered his answer for a moment, his serious visage slowly changed into an appreciative smile. “A popular phrase among the Imperium is: Blessed is the mind too small for doubt.” Solvan answered slowly. “But very few know how it continues: and hallowed is the mind great enough to doubt and endure.” He continued as he gently took Machairi’s shoulder.

“Your reasoning Alia, as usual, is flawless. You may be biased toward your fellow interrogator, but thus far I haven’t seen it contaminate your strategy or logical thinking. An admirable quality very few people have.” He said to her with true pride in his voice. “I agree, our best chance to defuse the danger that is lurking in this planet is by dividing the team. Risky no doubt, but certainly necessary. I am honored that you think me apt to carry out the Emperor’s duty in your stead, I shall not be found wanting.” He concluded, his eyes filled with steel resolve.

"Now, the problem will be getting off this place with the tech priests playing witch-hunt." He grumbled watching the frantic enginseers still going about checking the machinery over and over again.

"Easier said than done…" Commented Alia wryly and Solvan nodded his agreement.

[PaintSerf]

Crenshaw

"Where the fok did you go?"

"We were in the lower levels when the alarm sounded." Kally smoothly lied, shrugging her shoulders. "The Major detoured to his quarters to pick up some extra gear, seeing as it seemed like a major firefight."

Crenshaw wordlessly observed Vincent through narrowed eyes as he stared down Kally. His hand flexed anticipatorily on the suppression shield’s grip, and he only relaxed when the scarred agent backed off. He surreptitiously glanced at Kally they both turned away. Well, that was interesting. Crenshaw thought, with a flick of the brow, as he studied the carnage and monitored the Telepathica’s vox channels. The Major spared a brief look at the veteran overseer’s mangled remains, and then gazed up. He ponderingly regarded the suspended precognizant corpse with a grim expression.

“What a mess.” Crenshaw murmured, and sighed with deep frustration at that significant loss.


Gavin

"It's possible that they're making replicants somewhere else. On Venatora they all received some sort of signal from the Necron base, that we were able to pick up. Vizkop would know what to look for."

"Gavin." Machairi turned to Crenshaw's adjutant. "You said you could track them?"

“Ah, yes. Yes, Machairi, I could be able to do that.” Gavin started, and rambled slightly at the unexpected attention. He had been actively not to listen to the interrogator and her agents speak, or do anything to draw anyone’s attention, and had failed. Xenotech… Necrons… replicants…no, none of that sounds good. The pskyer raised his head fractionally, but eyes low, and turned towards Machairi with an expectant and worried expression.

“I meant now, Gavin.” Machairi prompted.

“Oh.” Gavin responded. He nodded rapidly as his eyes closed, and the air nearby became colder as he reached outside his mind after the fleeing insurgents. “Okay…I can do this...”

[Atrum Daemon]

In the aftermath of it all, Vizkop finally pushed himself up as best he could. His helmet had rebooted enough that he could see again and function was gradually returning to his locked leg. A pair of Enginseers were panicking and causing a scene in front of all the survivors of the attack. That was the last thing that anyone needed. He sheathed both his blades and used one to push himself to his feet, shaking off PDF troops that tried to help and hobbled over to the commotion as his leg returned to a functioning state. “Get these people out of here,” he said to Vorlan and Malessandri, his voice echoing the authority he was broadcasting through binary. “We need the area cleared if we are to cleanse this curse.”

His patience was fast wearing thin and the presence of so many other persons would only interfere in the work to be done. Quarantining the vehicles, scouring all potentially affected systems, and more before the priests would even consider allowing the vehicles to be used again. If he could get away in a timely manner, there was a device Vizkop hoped to retrieve from his personal baggage. Tucked away at the bottom of a piece of luggage was an auspex with a special purpose. A purpose he believed would become very useful as it had been on Venatora.

[Jarms48]

"Where you hit?" Kelly asked as Vincent tugged a grenade from his carapace webbing.

"Left calf, I think it's gone through..." He answered, his hotshot lay on the floor beside him, his left hand clutching the wound, applying pressure. His right clasped his waist pistol holster, waiting for someone, something to come into the door frame.

"He ok?" She reached into her webbing and pulled out a small field dressing kit, crouching down next to Remus. "Let me get that gakker for you. Doesn't look like it clipped the bone, at least."

Remus gave her a hard look, his eyes narrowed as he fought back the stinging sensation lancing up his leg. He rose his hand, clenched it into a fist and gave her a thumbs up.

"Been better," he said dryly, "I've had worse, not as bad as having to have shrapnel or buckshot dug out of your back. I'd rather you just hit me with a syrette of morphia, slap on a bandage to stem the bleeding, a splint if we have the time, and let the adrenaline do the rest. Sapphira will no doubt do further medicae treatment during transit."


* * * * *

Glabrio bit at his lip, a hand run through his hair, scratched at his head as he paced back and forth in wonderment. His other hand reached into his suit jacket, dug into an interior pocket and pulled out a data-slate. He flicked his head over to Machairi, then motioned to Marc and Solvan. He took a few steps towards them, joined their circle of discussion, and began jutting down notes in his slate.

"That they could do something like shut down the security here?" Marc replied. "Yes. That one of them could be here on Hercynia...no. There might be other xenotech that could hack machine spirits, or it might have been an inside job."

"Could be a renegade member of the Priesthood, a Martian found lost technology in the Axis, now consumed with power; an unlikely scenario but if I recall the Red Planets quest for knowledge is unending. Someone could go mad with what they find, technology beyond even the Cogs understanding. There could be numerous explanations, an ex-operator with access to some powerful remote software, I have no doubts these Traders are dealing to both sides." Glabrio said, adding in his own thoughts.

"Bribery, extortion, sympathizing, infiltration, techno-ability, the list goes on." Each list item came with it a raised finger, before he brushed his hand aside and resumed tapping keys on his slate.

"I would be cautious before dismissing replicant involvement." Solvan began while gazing upon the smoking battle scene. "Though it is tempting to attribute this to treachery or to an as of yet unknown piece of xenotech," Solvan commented to Marcus, "logic dictates that until proven otherwise we must maintain a high degree of suspicion that there may be replicants on the planet. Either some that got away from Venatora or newly fabricated from a yet unidentified location. It may be improbable, but the danger they represent is too great to ignore."

"Replicant," Glabrio repeated, testing the word. "It could very well explain the hijacking of the Sisters IFV, I can't think of many xeno devices able to commandeer or influence the machine spirit."

"Like I said, it's only a theory." Marc replied, with a level tone carrying through his helmet vox. No-one was above suspicion, his former mentor De Shilo had hammered into him, and his last days on his homeworld of Solomon had given him more reason to see traitors in unlikely places than most. "It's possible that they're making replicants somewhere else. On Venatora they all received some sort of signal from the Necron base, that we were able to pick up. Vizkop would know what to look for."

"That signal, if we managed to pick up one prior, do you think we could intercept one again? Triangulate it possibly, find its source? Or failing that, scramble it, leave this replicant alone and isolated." Glabrio asked.


* * * * *

"No-one's going anywhere." tech priest Malessandri interjected, with surprising firmness. "Not until we have confirmed that these machine spirits are uncorrupted."

"As you say, my lady, I assumed as much." He said wholesomely, before giving her a single dutiful nod.

He watched as she lead Solvan away, and here he thought he was the favourite. He smirked at that and shook his head, laughing quietly to himself. Work was work, favouritism was child's play. Surely if it was vital information for the investigation she would let all parties know, no matter. Glabrio looked back to his dataslate, his fingers sliding across the display, typing in the possible scenarios, motives. Taking notes of their conversations for assessment later.

- Traitor// Suspected, illegal intrusion-software a possibility, machine-curse origin unknown.
- Rogue Tech-Priest// Unlikely, though Martain infrastructure was confirmed in unstable provinces, little evidence exists to support this claim. However, such could explain forbidden knowledge with xeno artifacts.
- Replicants// Unconfirmed, machine curse and fellow investigator suggests as such, investigation pending.

"Marc." Glabrio called out, not taking his head up from his slate. "Is there anything you could tell me that wasn't in the Venatora debrief?"

[dakkagor]

"Been better," he said dryly, "I've had worse, not as bad as having to have shrapnel or buckshot dug out of your back. I'd rather you just hit me with a syrette of morphia, slap on a bandage to stem the bleeding, a splint if we have the time, and let the adrenaline do the rest. Sapphira will no doubt do further medicae treatment during transit."

“Your funeral” Kally responded, getting to work as she broke out a one shot syringe from her kit. She pushed it into Remus offered arm and depressed it, suppressing the desire to wince as the short sterilized needle punctured skin, then flipped the end over and broke off the top of the one use marker that made up the back end of the morphia dose. making a single white cross on the armours greave before discarding the now expended needle. She quickly slapped a self adhering bandage onto the wound, both entry and exit, before giving him a slap on the shoulder and thumbs up.

“Good to go soldier. Lets get you topside so someone with some actual gakking skills and sort that properly.”

She turned and joined the others as they made their way back out of the complex. As they passed an administrative section, she felt Vince tap her on the shoulder with his augmetic. Turning, she saw him duck into a side room. Sighing, she followed him into the deserted office after him.

“Mind telling me what you're playing at with that fokker Crenshaw?” he began, facing away from Kally. She stopped in the door, and debated whether just to walk away from this sudden questioning. But the set of Vince's shoulders, the way he was looking down at something, said that there was more going on here than his concern for a team mate.

“I don't think that's any of your business.” She crossed her arms, feeling defensive. Kally really didn't see how that was any of Vincents business what she got up to. “And that's not why you want to talk to me.”

He snorted, “You ain't a mind reader, but you sure as fokk act like one sometimes. I suppose it comes with being a woman. Look, I don't trust him. I don't trust Machairi either, not to get us out of this alive. Two of hers, Sebastian and Aleks, died up top. Remus took a shot in the leg. Gak's gonna hit the fan, Kally girl, just like last time. And even more of these poor foks are going to die. We need to get out of here before the ones you actually care about are the ones catching bullets."

Kally chewed on the inside of her cheek for a second, thinking that over. “I'll agree its dangerous here, more dangerous than we even guessed.”

"That offer I made you back on Venatora? It's still open. And I think I've got a way to do it." he responded. He slowly turned. He held something in his left, flesh hand.

“What? How?”

"Klimment." He held up his left hand, like he was holding up a winning ace in a card game. He was holding an ornate silver cube, etched in runes. “I've worked with him before. I know he can get me off world. I can put in a good word for you, and he'll get you out too. A Blanks a valuable commodity to any one, especially a trader like Klimment.”

“So is that all I am, a commodity?” She countered, without really thinking through the response. A flush of anger crossed Vincents face.

“Stop being so fokkin' stubborn and stop thinking with your what's between your legs!” Vince jabbed an augmetic finger at Kally as he strode across the room. “You're a good friend, and I don't want to see you get wasted on a fools errand on a gakball world like this!”

Kally blushed, and turned away. Her words to Sapphira rung in her head.
You are my friends, whether you like it or not
Vincent was risking a lot, maybe everything, coming to her like this. And he wasn't wrong. This whole situation was beginning to feel worse and worse, like it was spiraling out of control. Just like Venatora. Just like Makita.
“I can't leave them. They need us Vince, to get through this and keep their heads screwed on straight. Don't tell me you're willing to leave Kelly and Marc in the lurch?”

“Don't you think you've done enough?” Vincent responded, almost pleading. “Leave em to it! They can look after themselves!”

Kally looked away, then a sudden realization dawned on her. she turned back and looked at the silver cube, and its little etched runes. It looked valuable, maybe even archeotech.
“”Is that thing on?”

“What?” Vincent looked at the small silver cube. “This thing? Its a psychic amplifier of some kind. Meant to boost messages between witches. An Animus Vox, Klimment called it.”

“Yeah, thought so.” Kally took it out of Vince's hand, and looked it over. “Klimment probably wanted to know more about what we where doing here. If I was him, I would have planted a bug on it, or maybe use it as a kind of anchor for psychic scrying.” She tossed it thoughtfully into the air before catching it again, reviewing her crammed training on this subject. If this did enable two way psychic communication. . .there was no reason to not believe a psychic on the 'other end' couldn't be using it to scry on them even now. A sympathetic link, the Inquisition called it. It was a worrying possibility, especially if they had been listening on the meeting with Crenshaw.

Wordlessly, Kally tucked the cube into her webbing. Vince's eyes never left the device, until it finally disappeared into a pouch on her waist. Let some witch try to scry from it now, she thought.

“Look, I'll think about it. But I really don't think Klimment has our best interests in heart. And we should get going and rejoin the others, before everyone else gets suspicious.”

“Alright, fine.” Vincent deflated somewhat, and Kally could see the problem. One of his black moods had swept in like a sump spill, smothering the Vincent she knew. “Just be careful, ok? No hanging out of air-cars or taking on homicidal Replicants single handed.”

“I can't promise I'll be careful.” Kally smiled, and patted her slung boltgun. “But I can promise to be dangerous instead.”

[Azazeal849]

"Marc." Glabrio called out, not taking his head up from his slate. "Is there anything you could tell me that wasn't in the Venatora debrief?"

"Just that a replicant could easily have done all this." Marc said as Vizkop took charge of the tech-priests, who proceeded to direct another platoon of kill-servitors into a cordon around the potentially-compromised Chimeras. Most of the guns were still trained on Sapphira's vehicle, even as the Sister and her ad-hoc crew scrambled clear.

"But so could a rogue tech-priest," he added, "Like whoever set those assassins on Vizkop at the starport."

The pattern didn't fit, Marc thought to himself as he surveyed the aftermath through the clearing smoke. His eyes darted between the burned corpses and his vambrace auspex. A PDF base with astro capability was a highly strategic target, but too ambitious for a bunch of insurgents - even ones with a religiously-ingrained hatred for psykers. Someone with an eye on a bigger picture was calling the shots here. One of the two surviving indigen nations, perhaps, but the evidence of outside involvement was mounting up. What's their motive?

Marc stepped warily over to one of the immolated corpses left by Sapphira and Malpais' flame attack. The body was blackened and skeletal, pulled into a foetal ball by heat-shrunken tendons. All of its armour and equipment had been burned away; it was impossible to tell if it had been one of the attackers, or a PDF corpse felled in the initial volley and subsequently caught up in the blaze. Telling whether it had been a man or a woman was an even greater exercise in futility.

"There is one thing that would mark out a replicant for sure." Marc said, turning back to Glabrio. "Unless you completely incinerate them, they don't stay dead."

Even as he said it, his head snapped round towards the perimeter wall, where the PDF were hauling bodies down from the parapet behind a picket line of motionless kill-servitors.

"Vizkop! Tell me you've got your replicant detector with you!"


+ + + + + +

"What do you mean they're gone?" Machairi asked Gavin, and gathered up her long skirt to scramble up the parapet ladder and look for herself. She passed the exploded bodies that Gavin himself had made before the soldiers hauling the bodies down could stop her, reaching the top and peering over the wall. The contrast glare of the base searchlights turned everything beyond their illumination pitch black, but Machairi could hear the servitors whirring and thumping as they spread out in a pre-programmed search pattern.

"Step back, my lady." one of the soldiers snapped, putting a warning hand on the interrogator's arm. "There could still be snipers out there."

Machairi angrily shook off the man's grip, only half still playing the haughty rogue trader, but she complied with his advice all the same.

"The threat of snipers doesn't seem to be bothering them any." she observed, nodding towards at a pair of tech-adepts who had stepped gingerly out of the lowered gateway to inspect the nearest sentry guns.

"Bloody cog-boys care more about their robots than about their own lives." the soldier grunted.

"Frakking useless robots." snarled a nearby soldier in lance corporal's stripes. He hauled himself up onto the battlements to shout over them. "Hey! Sparky! Why the frak didn't those sentry guns fire?"

"The machine spirit is...confused." came the vox-cast reply, sounding almost lost and frightened through the ripples of static. "The IFF systems appear to have been reset. Omnissiah preserve us..."

"Careful." another soldier murmured as two of his comrades carried a dead PDF down from the southeast watch tower.

"Not a mark on him." one of the carriers said, suddenly shivering and making the sign of the Aquila. "What killed him?"


+ + + + + +

"Vilysian Solar alright." said one of the Telepathica guards. He squatted down to lift a neck-chain from inside the dead indigen's robe, and showed the sun icon that hung from it to Crenshaw. The inquisition agents hovering behind the major recognised it as a variation of the emblem carried by the indigen protestors in Akkan. Similar signs had hung in the windows of homes and shops, which more often than not had been viciously vandalised.

"Rytu scum." a shaken and indignent overseer opined. He looked ready to spit on the indigen corpse. "Or else their rabid friends from the Uru. How'd they get so deep into the Enclave?"

"A lot of fokkin' good your precog psykers are." Vincent observed from the back. The overseer shot the scarred ex-Guardsman a venomous look.

"That masked leader of theirs." the first guard said as he pushed his gloved hands against his plasteel kneepads and stood up. "The one who took out the rogue trader's attack psyker...that looked like some sort of hexagrammic blade he was using. I ain't never seen indigens using that kind of hardware. Where in the warp would he have got it?"

"Rogue trader." Kelly murmured to her team-mates. Then she stooped to look at another of the slain indigens, something catching her verispex's eye for detail. "Wait a second..."

"Those Ghosts gunned down 14 of our men." the Telepathica overseer went on, ignoring Kelly and the other supposed rogue trader hang-ons as he turned back to Crenshaw. "I don't understand it. Normally those albinos can't see for shit!"

"Here might be your answer." Kelly said suddenly, as she turned the dead indigen's head carefully to one side. Unlike most of the indigen attackers, his flare goggles were clear instead of tinted. Behind the transparent plastic, the dead man's open eyes reflected a glassy green sheen as they caught the light. Implants - and not standard mechanicus ones either.


+ + + + + +

With nothing else to be done, interrogator Machairi let herself be shepherded into one of the barracks with the other civilian personnel. Outside, the tech-priests continued their arcane purification rituals on the base's vehicles, chanting softly and making slow sweeps of their gilded hands over the hull panels. Machairi clenched her jaw as two smoke-blackened PDF soldiers carried in Alex's body and laid it down beside Sebastian's.

"Sorry about your men, m'lady." one of them murmured as they returned to their posts.

Machairi looked down at the two dead agents, knowing that an inquisitor had to make sacrifices, but also remembering what she had said to her team before they departed for Hercynia. "I'm not going to throw your lives away". They won't have forgotten.

"It shouldn't have turned out like that." she told Tomas grimly.


+ + + + + +

"It shouldn't have turned out like that." the man in the silver mask growled as his red-cloaked comrade fell into step beside him.

Around them, rain glistened on the cracked paving stones as the reduced force of indigen raiders limped through the outskirts of war-torn Rakosu city. Half the buildings around them were bombed-out skeletons, and the other half were dark and silent, anyone who still lived there cowering like rats until the dawn broke to offer some semblance of security.

Before long, the trudging column reached the ruined church they had departed from several hours previously. Two armed women detached from the shadows and there was a brief exchange of passwords. Then the empty street came to life as the indigens who had stayed behind rushed forward to meet them. The emotions of the reunion were mixed, the masked leader noted as he dropped down into the collapsed cellar. Some of the men were gathering in a knot by the broken stairway to pray. Others were too bitter and angry to do so, or simply too shell shocked. Others still were openly mourning the dead.

The two cloaked figures watched as one of the raiders approached a young man who was supporting a shattered foot on rusty crutches - one of the group awaiting the raiders' return. The first indigen put a hand on the young man's shoulder, and when he heard what she had to say, the young cripple staggered back as if punched. He slammed his palm against the crumbing wall of the church and slid to the rain-slick floor, ripping off his flare goggles and dropping them on the ground as tears spilled down his albino cheeks.

"What went wrong?" the red-cloaked man asked, his voice dry and cracked. "Were the majority of the PDF and their servitors not out on patrol, as predicted?"

"They were." the masked man replied as he unbuckled his sword belt and laid the basket-hilted weapon carefully against the wall. "But some old friends were at the base - including yours."

To that, the red-cloaked man was silent.

"The men think we lost." the masked man went on after a moment.

With a mechanical hiss from inside his robes, the red-cloaked man extended an arm to indicate the two battered, black-clad AAT guards being dragged into the centre of the floor. "Only because they mistook the secondary objective for the primary."


+ + + + + +

In the end, it was nearly dawn before the tech-priests cleared the PDF transports for use. The kill-servitors spreading methodically out from the base had found nothing - the trail was cold. Machairi and her frustrated agents spent their time analysing every bit of data from the attack that they could get their hands on, relying on Crenshaw and his adjutant Gavin to maintain their cover. Word of the attack was already spreading through the Enclave. The news from Akkan was that the city had already enacted a blanket curfew for the natives in response to the attack. A few frag missiles had plunged down into the refugee camps during the night, and one into the curtain wall of Akkan itself, but if the attacks were connected then he raid on the AAT base had been the most violent by far.

"What's the script?" Kelly asked her brother as she sat down next to him, on one of the cramped bunks which took up nearly half of the barracks hall that served as their temporary accomodation. She had traded in her smoke-stained dress from the previous day for a spare set of PDF fatigues, although she still wore her own laspistol at her hip. "You think it's replicants that brought down the defences?"

"The tech-priests havenae finished analysing the systems." Marc replied, running a hand through his hair. Unlike Kelly he hadn't stopped to change, although he had stripped his carapace armour down to the undersuit. "But it would fit." He gave an amused grunt, and gestured to the papers that were fanned across the bunk. "Would you believe it, but my first thought was that it was Arcolin."

Kelly leaned over, and recognised the papers as census records and crime statistics from the Solomon hives. "You're still carrying they files around?"

"I hate leaving a job unfinished." Marc shrugged, with a slight edge to his voice.

It was an old argument, and Kelly didn't rise to the bait. Arcolin DeRei, the heretic who had posed as an arbites officer and fatally - if perhaps not intentionally - slowed their efforts to recover Lucius Pembroke, had disappeared after the delay had led to the extermination of Makita hive. His eye-scan had not been among those of the survivors who made it out to the surrounding hives, but nor had anyone positively identified his body. The better part of a billion other bodies had not been identified amongst the wreckage either, but that had not stopped Marc from combing through all the cult activity reports and offworld shipping logs that he could lay his hands on.

When Kelly didn't challenge him, Marc just sighed and gathered up the papers.

"Here." he said, giving them to Kelly and indicating the nearby worktop with its rusty sink and battered old food reheater. "Chuck them on the bunker. I've already been over everything else and there's no many options I can rule out at this point. They eye implants that some of the indigens had, they're above the tech level they should have access to in a burned-out warzone, but it could be xenotech or just non-sanctioned STC. They could be getting them fitted in Rytu or Zakarn, or someone like Haarlock could be bringing them in from outside. And like I said, until Vizkop and his boys have finished looking at the security systems, we cannae say if it was a replicant or just a really nasty machine curse."

The investigator put his elbows on his legs, clasped his hands and rested his chin on them, frowning. " What do you think?"

Kelly rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Haarlock could be dealing tech to the indigens, but there's only a circumstantial link between him being away on business in the Uru and some native fighters turning up with unidentified bionics."

"Maybe Schafer had more proof than we do." Marc mused, "And that's why he went to Rakosu - to find Haarlock, or to arrest him."

"Or maybe he wanted to get closer to the rebels to get the proof, and then charge Haarlock with his gathered evidence?"

"Either way, he'd have real trouble getting reports out from there." Marc said, unclasping his hands and rubbing his eyes. "But that means we dinnae ken if he's dead or just in deep cover."

"Hey! Kids!" a gravelly voice interrupted them, in a variation of the same Makita low gothic they had been conversing in. "The lady's wanting both your asses."

Vincent's stocky frame filled the doorway, and the Black siblings could smell amasec and lho on him. The old soldier had been in a foul mood since the attack, and he was gripping the doorframe with his bionic hand hard enough to dent the metal. Kelly bit her tongue, and shot a look at Marc. Marc just sighed and stood.

"We're moving out?"

Vincent nodded curtly.

"Maybe we can narrow down just what the frak is going on here."

[Thrannix]

As the team was led to the barracks the pungent smell of burnt human meat reached Solvan's nose. Years ago it would have brought the vivid memories of his sister back like a flood, but he had learned to control it a long time ago. Fire was an all too common weapon in the Imperium for him to be so deeply affected by it, he even carried a hand flamer along with his autopistol. But that didn’t mean he was completely immune, every breath, every charred corpse prodded the old scar in his heart.

He tried to clear his mind to focus again in the task at hand. Wondering what the goal of such a reckless attack could have been, but couldn't find an answer to the motives behind the silver-masked heretic. Silver mask, Solvan chewed on the words for a moment, why did it feel so familiar? But as much as the feeling scratching at the back of his head told him there was something important about it he just couldn't make it out. Unwillingly in the end, he had to let go of the thought as he followed Machairi into the barracks.

-----

Machairi looked down at the two dead agents, knowing that an inquisitor had to make sacrifices, but also remembering what she had said to her team before they departed for Hercynia. "I'm not going to throw your lives away". They won't have forgotten.

"It shouldn't have turned out like that." she told Tomas grimly.

Solvan noticed that there was more to the statement than merely the frustration of losing valuable assets. She was wearing her usual mask of hardened detachment, but the confessor could see the shadow of guilt in her eyes, the slightly creased brow and the heavy timber in her voice. A sad smile tried to reach the bishop's lips realizing how wrong were those who said that Alia was nothing more than a manipulative bitch. As interrogator she had to accept the heavy burden of leading men, many times to their deaths, it wasn't easy on the soul. Soon that burden would be his as well, the priest didn't relish that kind of responsibility as he looked at his fallen teammates.

Ominous thoughts crossed his mind. Two dead in the first encounter with the enemy, in the middle of a heavily defended imperial emplacement no less. Now the party would have to split and they would be unsupported in enemy territory. Solvan knew many would have cut their losses and opted for a tactical withdrawal, lesser men of questionable faith in the priest’s opinion, the kind that didn’t go far in the advance ladder under lord Sidonis.

The bishop was no fool though, and despite the fact that his faith told him that the Emperor would see to the mission’s success he worried, knowing that the dangers would only increase in the future days. How many more sacrifices would be required to achieve their goal? He shook his head with a sigh and caressed the aquila pendant under his robes. Only the Emperor knew the answer, he had to trust in His infinite wisdom.

Solvan slowly approached his dead companions. He couldn't make a proper ceremony inside the barracks with so many eyes around them. But he allowed himself to kneel at their side before placing his hands on their foreheads, his head bowed in grief.

"God-Emperor, grant these faithful servants the never ending prize that through their ultimate sacrifice they have earned. That they may rejoice in Your light and stay by Your side, so that they can forever rest in Your magnificent glory. Accept the souls of the dead and give the living the strength to avenge those that have been lost. In nomine Deus-Imperator.” He whispered.

-----

When the base seemed to be back in a semblance of working order he managed to have the bodies transferred to a more private cell before being processed with the rest of the casualties. He made sure that none outside the team were near and he reached for the flask of holy water within his robes, sprinkled some of it over both bodies and performed a short funeral rite. He asked the Emperor and the dead's forgiveness for the secrecy unfitting for such a holy ceremony, but the mission demanded it. He spent most of the rest of the night praying for the souls of all the day’s dead. He eventually left the cell when the sun was about to rise.

Then out of nowhere it hit him, that feeling of familiarity for the silver mask. I'm such an idiot! He thought for being so slow at realizing such an obvious thing. "When this is done I'll have to get tested for Alzheimers." He grumbled as he walked down the hall.

------

"Either way, he'd have real trouble getting reports out from there." Marc said, unclasping his hands and rubbing his eyes. "But that means we dinnae ken if he's dead or just in deep cover."

“Ah, morning Kelly, Marcus.” Solvan said nodding at the siblings as he entered the room in a rushed pace. “I am sorry for the interruption, but there is something that has come to my mind from the recent attack. Perhaps it is nothing more than a coincidence, but in my experience coincidences are rare occurrences in our line of work.”

“Natalia Viess, the chartered trader friend of Harlock that admitted to being in control of the governor,” he explained briefly to refresh their memory, “used a silver mask quite similar to the one our lead attacker wore. I haven’t seen any other masked individuals so it is hardly a cultural thing. Most interesting, don’t you think?” He asked in the end.

“The woman’s trail smells more and more rotten each time I think about her.” He commented with clear contempt in his voice. “I’ll inform our lady. But I thought I should share this with our team's investigation contingent.” With that he left to join Alia.

In the hallway he crossed his way with Vincent, the ex-guardsman gave him a grunt of recognition, the heavy smell of liquor filling the air. Solvan turned for a moment as Vincent trudged on towards Marcus and Kelly. He wondered what kind of wound demanded such abuse of alcohol to dull the pain. “I shall keep you in my prayers.” He said almost inaudibly before resuming his walk.

[dakkagor]

(OOC : Thanks again to Paintserf and Thrannix for input and writing, and putting up with my slow responses this week)

+++Tomas+++

"It shouldn't have turned out like that." she told Tomas grimly.

"No, it shouldn't have." He agreed. "But it did." He turned to Machairi and nodded respectfully. "Nothing you could have done this time. Just bad luck, or bad decisions on their part. Standing in the wrong place at the wrong time. It happens." He sighed, looking the bodies over. how many times had he done this? Too many, by his count. "It certainly looks like the old man has found a deep pile of grox shit this time. Maybe we'll get to do some good for this place on the way to finding him, if the Emperor is generous."

---Before the Mission---

"And that's three-nil." Tomas sentenced without a sign of exertion as his opponent fell to the training cell's floor heavily bruised and the tip of Prinzel's sword touching his neck. "Better than last time though, your drills could be better, especially on the parries. How much time was it?" The young man he was fighting with was too focused in trying to catch his breath to articulate a response.

"Six minutes from the first swing I believe." Said Solvan entering the ring as the beaten man was helped by some of his friends to exit on the way to the infirmary. The priest was wearing a simple white long sleeve shirt and pants in exchange for his usual robe.

"That long? I'm definitely getting old." Tomas lamented shaking his head. "I see you took my little jibe at the mission debriefing about your lack of training seriously."

"I certainly did." Answered the priest grabbing the heaviest training warhammer from the weapons rack, the closest thing he got to his holy weapon, but he never used it outside of a mission. He spun the weapon in his hands for a moment checking its balance.

"But I could come back later if you are too tired after that last match, understandable in your autumn years.” Solvan said mockingly.

"Funny." Tomas replied with a smile drinking from a bottle of water. " But I'll be on a wheelchair and I'll still be able to beat the crap out of you."

"That's probably true." The priest agreed with a chuckle. "Since by then I'll be in a coffin, not much of a challenge I think, but it'll be close."

Tomas was one of the few people on board the Bane who could train with Solvan without holding back due to a misplaced sense of respect for his status as priest. The guardsman would give him hell without any remorse if Solvan's technique was lacking, and the bishop was thankful for it, beatings in the training cages prevented messy deaths on the field.

The fight began with Tomas testing the priest’s defense with quick attacks as Solvan, with the heavier weapon, had to wait for an opening. The bishop parried and blocked with suprising dexterity considering the cumbersome weapon he was using. Solvan almost thought that he was actually doing a good enough job. Just at that moment Prinzle changed the pace and quickly feinted a blow, the priest moved to block and before he knew it the shield came from the other side slamming against his flank. To Solvan’s credit he merely grunted, despite feeling as if he had just been kicked by a grox, and managed to not lose his footing as he backed a few paces.

"Well that'll teach me to not joke around before a match." The priest grumbled when air came back to his lungs and got ready for the next attack.

Later, Solvan found Tomas watching the team embark on the shuttle for the first stage of their trip to Hercynia. His kit was stowed in a bag next to him, and he was watching them board, in ones or twos, chatting amongst themselves or keeping quiet.
Even if the priest wasn't good at reading people, which he was, years of working alongside someone teaches you to notice the subtle changes that hint at inner turmoil. So the bishop could tell that something was off about his friend's demeanor.
“Whats troubling you?” Solvan enquired. Tomas sighed in response, standing as the last stragglers boarded.
“Just reminded of my days in the guard.” He responded. He picked up his kit and slung it over his shoulder. “You always wondered who would make it back from the next deployment, if any of you did. Between warp travel and the battlefield, we didn't rate our chances highly.” He shook his head. “Melancholy thoughts with no place at the start of the mission. I'm certain we'll all make it back in one piece.”
“Who are you most worried about?” Solvan gently prodded as they started to walk towards the waiting shuttle, the old men bringing up the rear.
“The fresher recruits, Thor especially. The psykers, always. I haven't had to conduct a field execution for years and I'm not looking forward to when it happens.”
When. Thought Solvan. Not if.
He imagined for a moment Alex or Malpais dead by Tomas' gun. Killing enemies and heretics was easy, killing your own allies, friends and family was another matter. He knew well enough.
"But it shouldn't happen.” Solvan offered injecting more optimism to his statement than what he truly felt. “We have a good plan, and plenty of competent souls to see the job through.”
“You're right, it shouldn't happen.” Tomas admitted. “But that doesn't mean it won't. We are walking into a war, and in a war anyone can die."

+++Kally+++

It had been good. Kally just hoped the room had decent soundproofing, because it had also been fairly loud in places.

Both of them enjoying the after act glow, the room silent but for their breaths as they slowly returned to normal. They had found the time for some privacy. Not intimacy, Kally thought. This was just satisfying a need. Scratching a difficult to reach itch. As long as she thought about it those terms, a need, something to manage, it didn't feel like she was betraying anyone.
What was there to betray though? It wasn't like anyone else had staked a claim or even that she thought of herself as anyone's in the first place.

“I never told you my name, did I?” Crenshaw asked as propped himself up on an elbow to glance appreciatively down at Kally. The Major eyes slowly traced down her body and back as she rolled onto her side to face him. He met her eyes and smiled warmly in approval.

"What, it’s not Major?" Kally bantered with a less than innocent grin, her head resting on an arm as she glanced up at him.

“Smart ass,” Crenshaw retorted as he reached over and playfully smacked her backside. The Major’s hand lazily meandered over Kally’s skin, and after a moment he leaned in close to whisper suggestively into her ear. Suddenly the Major’s vox chimed off again, and Crenshaw sighed resignedly as he pulled away. Kally opportunistically retaliated for earlier with a not so-gentle swat of her own as he rolled off the bed. The Major glanced over his shoulder, and he smiled knowingly at Kally’s lingering gaze.

“Go for Crenshaw.” The Major said into the vox, as he unashamedly turned to face Kally with the hint of a smirk. It quickly turned into a slightly frown as Crenshaw’s eyes narrowed in annoyance. “Be concise and prompt, Jenkins.”

“What is it?”

“Duty calls.” Crenshaw answered as he terminated the call and tossed the device aside. The Major started to pull together his scattered clothes and began to dress.

“That's a pity, I was thinking that we should try some of that again.” She sat up, stretched, started looking round for her body glove.

“Only thinking?” Crenshaw asked with a grin, as he resumed his re-dressing efforts after pausing to savor the impressive sight of Kally’s physique as she stretched. “Your Interrogator has requested me for a meeting,” He explained without any concern, “Evidently she is running the boy ragged as well.”

“She's hardly 'my' Interrogator. I just work for her. I'm not even part of her regular team.”

“So I heard.” Crenshaw said as he shrugged on his uniform shirt. “Though from what I gathered between you and Vincent, it is not by choice.”

She frowned at that. “I should have expected someone to listen in. What did you hear?”

“Most of your conversation.” Crenshaw admitted, and watched her as he methodically buttoned his shirt. “I take it the life of a Throne Agent is not suiting you?” Kally was temporarily mesmerised by the simple action before blinking, replaying his question in her head.

“It’s not great.” she admitted. “Little freedom, and a lot of danger. I'm coping, but I don't think Vincent is. He's very aware of the cage part of gilded cage deal.”

“It sounds like you are underappreciated by the Inquisition.” Crenshaw said as he curiously regarded Kally with absolute seriousness. “I can assure you that would not be the case in the Telepathica.”

"It’s not that I don't appreciate the offer, but I don't think you can assure anything when someone like Machairi is involved," she climbed out of the bed at last and started to pull on her body glove. "And I have some reasons to stay. I may not like everyone I work with, but I do like some of them, and they need me to watch their backs."

“If you or your friends want to leave the Inquisition, then there is precious little that Alia Machairi or your distant Lord Sidonis can do about it.” Crenshaw countered, and then shrugged. “However that is not what I meant when I assured you that the Telepathica appreciates our kind. More of us serve in this organization than any other. Think about that, Kally. Where ever you went, whatever your assignment, you would never be the lone blacksoul ever again.” He let her have a moment to consider that, and then grinned conspiratorially. “Regularly getting laid is only one of the fringe benefits.”

"Down boy." Kally responded. "This was fun, and I'm looking forward to doing it again. But that's all it is: just fun." She nodded, as much to herself, confirming the statement. "Anyway, we best get moving. Machairi isn't one to wait around."

“Down girl.” The Major echoed, with the hint of a playful smile that faded as he met her eyes. “We both know what this was, what it was not, and why it has to be that way.” Crenshaw secured his gun belt in place and turned to face her directly. “My offer is simply that, an offer. I would like you to seriously consider it, Kally - for your benefit and your benefit alone.”

[Azazeal849]

As Crenshaw approached the gene-locked elevator which linked the underground warren of the AAT complex to the base above, he heard a second set of footsteps over Gavin's hydraulic plodding. He glanced over his shoulder to see another one of Machairi's agents - the one who had spent their initial meeting hidden behind black carapace armour. Now however he had stripped off most of the plates to reveal a taut, angular face, and had traded in his autogun for a dataslate PDA. When he saw Crenshaw look round he tucked the PDA into his webbing and lengthened his stride.

"Major Crenshaw." he hailed, with an accented tinge to his Obrantu that was not dissimilar to Kally's.

Crenshaw halted by the elevator. "Mr Black." he acknowledged the agent coolly, recalling the name from Machairi's introductions.

"May I have a moment?" the agent asked. He was trying to keep his tone neutral, but to Crenshaw the man's agitation was as obvious as if he had been grinding his teeth at him. Doubtless it wasn't just Crenshaw's Blank aura that was to blame either.

Crenshaw grunted in amusement and turned to Gavin. It only took a glance for his adjutant to get the message.

"Um...yes, of course, major Crenshaw. Sir." the gangly psyker mumbled, "I will inform lady Machairi, that is, convey the message to her, that you will receive her in your office shortly."

He fumbled with the handprint scanner for a moment before bundling himself into the lift and mashing the command rune. As the doors rumbled closed and the whir of runners indicated that Gavin was on his way upstairs, Crenshaw turned back to agent Black and offered him the mute interrogative of a raised eyebrow.

"What's going on between you and Kally?" the agent answered without preamble.

Crenshaw cocked his head lazily. "What would have given you the idea that anything was going on, agent Black?"

"Kally's smart but she's not very subtle." the agent said, folding his arms across the front of his carapace undersuit. "And so I'm asking you what your intentions towards her are."

Crenshaw smirked and gave an airy wave of his hand. “My intention is to whisk her away from all of this. We would find someplace peaceful and quiet where we could raise beautiful, soulless children and grow fat and old together.”

Agent Black pressed his lips together in a thin line. "Very funny. Now the truth? The last thing Kally needs right now is someone messing with her head."

“I could not agree with you more - and that is why I have been nothing less than honest with her.” He gestured invitingly at the agent. “You should follow you own logic, agent Black. The truth is that ‘what’s going on’ between us is none of your concern.” Crenshaw stated with warning finality as he crossed his own arms.

"I'll make it my concern," the agent countered, "Because I'm a friend who knows her and cares about her."

“How could you possibly manage to look Kally in the eyes, smile, and call her a friend? You cannot even stand here without straining and glaring at me as if I were Horus himself.” The major snorted in amused disgust as he scrutinized Marc. “If you even can do that, do you genuinely mean it? Or do you have to force yourself to do that one little human courtesy?”

Marc clenched his jaw. Looking Kally in the eye had indeed been hard at first - a sense that every expression she made was insincere, and a sense of something damaged and wrong, like a disfigurement that he couldn't see. But like a disfigurement it had become less shocking with time. When she kept her limiter on anyway.

"You know frak all about it." he growled. "I think of her almost like a sister."

“Almost.” Crenshaw levelly echoed, and let the word linger as he freed a hand to call for the elevator. “I know all the frak about baselines and their qualifiers for my kind. Almost is one of my favorites, however ‘almost like a sister’ is a new one for me.” He chuckled indulgently. “Would you be so protective if Kally was not a blacksoul?”

"It's not the only thing that defines her." Marc said sharply. "Of course I would."

“Then you must really be an overbearing shit with your actual sister.” Crenshaw commented, with a disapprovingly humored shake of the head. The major stepped into the lift and jabbed the controls. He smiled coolly at Marc. “Thank you for this most illuminating conversation, agent Black.”


+ + + + + +

The spartan, gunmetal space of Crenshaw's office was one of the few areas of the base that seemed completely unaffected by the recent attack, although the major's desk now held a small mountain of staple-bound papers and data slates. As he heard the door open, he finally glanced up from his report and gestured to the empty chair across from him.

"Alia.” Crenshaw acknowledged Machairi as she entered. “What do you need?”

"The circumstances have evolved, major." Machairi said as she took the offered seat. Like most of her team she hadn't slept, and while she did well to hide it the tell-tale signs were still there in the slight redness of her dark eyes. Crenshaw merely offered her a forbearing smile and took a sip from the mug of recaff at his elbow.

"You may have heard my people making reference to 'replicants' after the attack." the interrogator went on. "Replicants are xenos constructs that we believe to be affiliated with the Necrons. They operate by mimicking dead Imperial personnel."

She carefully signed the Aquila over her chest. Perverting the perfection of the human form was one of the Imperial faith's greatest taboos. Crenshaw’s expression hardened as he set aside the unfinished drink. He made no effort to mirror Alia's devotional gesture, but he rested his forearms on the table and fractionally leaned forward, as he levelly nodded for the interrogator to continue.

"From reports of the last encounter," Machairi said, "They are capable of rapid healing, shrugging off poisons...and seizing control of machine spirits. We do not have conclusive proof yet, but the similarities with last night's attack are enough to cause concern."

She paused, regarding Crenshaw, who merely nodded again.

"That last encounter saw a replicant replace the planetary governor, infiltrate the orbital defence network and almost destroy the planet with its own lance satellites." Machairi paused. "Now you know what we might be dealing with, major, you will understand why I'm asking you to go beyond our original agreement and get part of my team passage to Rakosu as soon as possible. How can you make that happen?"

“We both know you are not asking me for help, Alia.” Crenshaw grunted. “Not that you would need to demand it.”

He shuffled aside paperwork and slates to reveal a laminated map of the city.

“Valkyries are our only viable means of transport into Rakosu. I would recommend we deploy to one of these secluded locations outside the city.” The Major marked several points distant from the outskirts with a stylus. “The natives have developed keen ears for Imperial engines, so if we infiltrate Rakosu on foot that significantly decreases our chances of detection.”

“I couldn’t help but notice your repeated use of ‘our’ and ‘we’.” Machairi pointed out. “It’s somewhat presumptuous to include yourself into my team, major Crenshaw.”

“You need me on this mission, Alia.” Crenshaw bluntly stated. “Your team barely has actionable intelligence, and is down to as many effectives as Schafer had when he went into Rakosu. My psyker has sensed the escaped raiders’ minds, and I know best how to handle him when tracking in the Uru. I have also worked with Inquisitorial field teams before.”

Machairi's slender eyebrows rose, betraying her surprise. "Have you now? That certainly answers a few questions, even if it poses a few more. May I ask where, and with which inquisitor?"

“So far I have only worked with inquisitor Cassius Drake - in this segmentum.” Crenshaw pressed his fingertips together as he regarded her. “It is your turn, Alia.”

"What did Schafer tell you?" Machairi smiled mildly as she evaded the question.

"He mentioned that you had an unusual affinity for psykers."

Machairi paused, as if choosing her words, or deciding exactly how much she would be giving away by answering. "I have to admit I find them fascinating. So much risk, yet so much potential - and still as human as the rest of us underneath it all."

"And Blanks?" Crenshaw countered provocatively, a smile flickering at the corners of his mouth. "Are we human as well?"

"Human. And everything that that implies." Machairi leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table, lacing her long fingers. "I have to say this is quite refreshing. Contacts don't usually ask me about my personal life."

“I like to know the qualities of those who might one day wield the authority of their own rosette, as does the Telepathica.” Crenshaw answered.

Machairi smiled slightly, resting her chin on her clasped hands. “So you are the ones who watch the watchers, are you?”

Crenshaw reclined back and matched her slight smile. “This is the Imperium, Alia. You know we all watch one another keep an eye on everyone else.” He shrugged and considered Machairi with a speculative eyebrow. “Naturally the talented individuals who might one day become Inquisitors are worth keeping track of.”

Machairi chuckled quietly at the implicit compliment. "Everyone watching everyone indeed. It's always gratifying to meet someone who understands the way the universe really works, major." She leaned forward to study the map. "Which areas of the city are controlled by each indigen faction?"

"The Ramado Sept groups are mostly entrenched in the south and west districts." Crenshaw replied, pointing. "The Vilysian Solar have mostly been confined to the north, although a new Vilysian militia under this self-proclaimed Silver Prophet has made substantial gains in the past weeks. They have secured most of the previously contested city centre, including the only remaining water treatment plant."

"The indigens who attacked the base were Vilysian." Machairi said, tapping one of the landing zones to the northeast of the city. "We should land here."

“That will do.” Crenshaw nodded, and made a notation. “The Enclave is obligated to respond to this raid, so we can coordinate our infiltration with the inevitable Aeronautica retaliation.” He glanced back at Machairi. “No doubt this will be the largest strike on Rakosu since the Uru was broken.”

Machairi nodded. If she was thinking of Tomas' earlier assessment of the war, and her doubts about any decisive outcome from the strike, the only sign of it was in her slightly pursed lips.

"It will give the team cover to enter the city." she said after a moment. "But it might also drive our targets to ground."

“We can always find a way to handle the PDF.” Crenshaw confirmed, and then spared her a curious glance. “Now what was your intention for the rest of your team?”

"If the replicants are following the same strategy as last time," Machairi explained. "They'll target people of influence to replace - traders, high ranking PDF, government officials. I can investigate that possibility best from Akkan, under my cover as a fellow rogue trader. So I will need you to advise father Belannor and the others out in the Uru." She gave Crenshaw a significant look. "The possibility of replicants also aiding the natives is forcing us to go to Rakosu sooner than I would like - and, as you said, with less useful intelligence. But I do not want my people walking blindly into certain death the way Schafer's did."

“Of course.” Crenshaw offered her a reassuring nod. “No need to worry, Alia. I will look after your agents for you.”

Machairi stood up and shook hands with the major. Any revulsion that the blank’s touch provoked in her remained carefully hidden. “As long as you do remember that they are my agents, major.”

My agents. Crenshaw internally noted. Even if you are technically just managing your inquisitor's assets. “Was that a quaint assertion of possessiveness, Alia, or are you trying to imply that you will hunt me down if any of them die?”

Machairi cocked her head. “You set out to know my qualities, major – what do you think?”

“I think that you could certainly try.”

They both smiled as they dropped the handshake, calm despite the mutual implicit threat.


+ + + + + +

The base's chapel was an odd place to hold a mission briefing. Little more than a prefabricated cabin, the raised dais with its tarnished silver idol of the emperor was lit by bare halogen bulbs, while simple benches served for pews. Still, with a pair of gun servitors at the door and Vizkop having already swept for bugs - that no true Emperor-fearing PDF would have planted in a house of worship anyway - they could at least guarantee privacy.

"Last night's attack has altered our plans somewhat." Machairi said after Solvan and Sapphira finished leading the team in joint prayer. The interrogator had changed into a muted midnight-blue gown with a silver belt and stole, make-up hiding the shadow of fatigue around her eyes. "Agents Prinzel, Black, Lia and Remus will be accompanying me back to Akkan. We will continue the investigation into the mechanicus assassins, as well as look for any signs of replicant infiltration in the Hercynian government. The local rogue trader cartel is also a priority - if trader Veiss has the influence that father Belannor said she does, she would be my first target for replication."

Machairi crossed over to the long wall of the church where a map of the Uru capital had been pinned, annotated in red ink.

"The rest of you will be deploying to this point outside Rakosu. Major Crenshaw has arranged for a PDF Valkyrie as transport. Father Belannor will have command of this mission and you will obey his orders as if they were mine."

She nodded towards Solvan.

"Once arrived you will proceed on foot into the city centre, currently held by the same indigen militia that we believe attacked the base last night. Crenshaw and his adjutant will be accompanying you, to help track down this Silver Prophet who leads the militia. The fact that he or she can organise an attack on a military base makes them dangerous enough, but your primary concern is uncovering any connection to xenotech. If the indigens are receiving help from rogue traders such as Haarlock, or if Necron replicants are involved, I want to know right away."

Machairi swept her hand over the city's northern quadrant, a patchwork of industrial and residential districts. How much of it remained standing after a decade of war was anyone's guess.

"Your other objective remains to find Schafer, whose last known location was somewhere in the northern zone. If he's still alive, then we can find out what he knows and hopefully be one step closer to solving this mystery."

Machairi stepped away from the map and folded her arms.

"Everything suggests that the city is still a hot zone for warring indigen factions, so avoid any unnecessary contact. Indigens possessing xenotech are to be tracked, interrogated or liquidated at your discretion; any positively-identified replicants are to be engaged and destroyed on sight. Vizkop, I believe you have been working on modifying our auspex scanners for replicant detection."

She paused while the armoured secutor passed his creations around to the team.

"Keep them active at all times. Any questions?"

Machairi linked her thumbs into the sign of the Aquila. "Imperator vult. I want everyone ready to leave in 30 minutes."


+ + + + + +

The base floodlights were beginning to flicker out, leaving the base washed in a heavy, pre-dawn grey. The casualties of the previous night had been removed, but the scorched rockrete and the bullet holes in the prefab buildings remained, and an air of tension and simmering anger was evident in the PDF who swarmed around the muster areas. Chimera engines rumbled and Valkyrie jets were coming to life with a rising whine. All along the parapet of the perimeter wall, kill-servitors stood with heavy stubbers raised, tracking the long barrels left to right and back again like living turrets. Dozens more of the pale cyborg drones were ranked up by the doors of delivery pods that were being slung beneath the hollow bellies of three Skytalon transports.

"Interrogator?" a voice behind Machairi spoke up. She and Tomas looked back in unison, to see Marc Black following them out into the windswept courtyard.

"Marc?" Machairi answered, intrigued that the investigator would seek her out alone instead of when she had invited the team to ask questions. She touched Tomas' arm in a subtle signal to stand down, and adjusted her silver stole against the wind as they stopped under the shadow of the crackling astropathic spire.

"May I speak freely, ma'am?" Marc asked. He was standing ramrod straight, falling back into old habits no doubt learned in the Makita Hive Enforcers. Clearly, something was weighing on his mind.

"Always." Machairi replied, and was gratified to see the investigator relax slightly.

"I wanted to ask you why you're not sending me into the Uru with the others."

The others, Machairi noted. By that she knew he meant the rest of Schafer's former agents.

"It's not an admonishment, if that is what you are worried about." she replied calmly. "I need an investigator to accompany me back to Akkan, and the other team are going somewhere rather more violent."

"With respect ma'am, I'm fully qualified for urban combat."

That wasn't the real reason, Machairi knew. "But," she probed, "It's not your primary talent. Unlike, say, Vincent or Kally."

She saw Marc's cheek twitch slightly, and knew she was on the right track. "So why's Kelly going?" he asked a moment later.

Machairi had been wondering how much of an issue separating the Black siblings would be. "I need her to analyse the scenes of the shootouts between the indigen factions." she explained. "If we find evidence of xenos weapons, we can start building a case against Haarlock. But now we might have replicants to contend with as well. You're a good investigator; you can piece together information. Moreover, you've seen the replicants in action before. That's the kind of person I need with me for this."

Marc vacillated for a moment at the compliment, then nodded. "Yes ma'am. Thank you."

He didn't fight the decision, but the slight hesitation told Machairi what she needed to know. He knows his duty, but his sister and the other Solomon survivors are important to him.

She kept her thoughts hidden as she returned his nod. "Was there anything else, Marc?"

"No, ma'am." the investigator replied, straightening once more. Machairi gave him permission to leave with a smile and a sweep of her hand.

"Marc?" she asked him as he turned to leave. As he paused, she raised her eyebrows at him. "Thank you for raising this here rather than in front of the others, but do not challenge my orders like that again. Understand?"

Marc chewed the inside of his cheek. "Yes, ma'am."

Machairi dismissed him with a gentle nod. As the agent retreated, she shot a glance at Tomas. Their understanding of Marcus Black and of Schafer's other agents was evolving.

[Atrum Daemon]

“Vizkop! Tell me you've got that replicant detector with you!”

Marc's voice barked through the vox just as the priest finished thinking about the device. “It's in my case,” he replied. “I brought it with the hope of refining the detection.”

In the aftermath of it all, Vizkop became aware of an itch at the back of his mind. This one, however, was very familiar. A feeling he knew very well and had come to expect at certain times. It was something to be dealt with through action rather than therapeutic conversation. Despite all the ceremony and ritual he was able to perform as a ranking member of the Martian Priesthood, at his core Vizkop was a man of violence. His masters had turned him into a weapon and he had accepted that. They had turned him into a weapon and his mentor had taught him how to think, and feel, again.

But the whole incident bothered him in a big way. He began to wonder if his theory about Oswin being planetside was correct after all. If he could locate this Englebart, or at least his last known location, he felt that some answers would fall into place. But at the moment, he needed to focus on keeping the priests and engineseers on task.

--Malpais--

As things quieted down, the psyker was at a loss for what to do with himself. In the end, he simply let himself he led away with the rest of Machiarii's entourage. He knew his bubbling temper was not a healthy thing to keep locked away, especially with the current state of affairs. For a moment, his eyes locked with Vizkop's and a silent understanding passed between them. They could work out their frustration and anger together.

--A few hours before the briefing--

Vizkop and Malpais met in a vacant area of the AAT facility, clear in purpose without truly needing to speak. Vizkop drew one of his twin blades, the power field crackling to life with a low hum. Malpais followed suit, his blade becoming sheathed in a field of psychic energy. They each gave the other a nod of understanding before readying their blades.

Power fields sparked and sizzled as sword met sword again and again. The two were focused entirely on one another, senses largely dulled to the world around them. Malpais remained focused mainly on the jarring sensation he felt whenever blade met blade. Against Vizkop's synthetic muscles, he was positive that without the telekinetic cushion about his limbs, his bones would fracture with each impact. Despite the anger present within the space, the movements of both men were measured and deliberate; both of them remaining able to recognize that what they were doing was not a true bout, but simply a way to work out their collective frustration and anger at the whole situation without putting lives at risk.

Volumes of unspoken information passed between the two men as their blades clashed. A deeper understanding of one another through a equal show of martial skill. What Vizkop noted most about Malpais was that despite his telekinetic powers, he did not rely on them to guide his sword. It was something that intrigued Vizkop for the entire duration of the bout.

The sparring came to an unspoken end and both men sheathed their blades. Wordlessly, save for a some small acknowledgment, they went their separate ways until such time as they would be called together again by Machiarii.

--Chapel Briefing--

Vizkop stood slightly apart from the rest, arms crossed and a small case set on the pew he stood next to. The case was locked to his biometric signature to prevent the contents from being pilfered by dirty, unwanted hands. An excursion into enemy occupied territory like Rakosu seemed to Vizkop not to be the best course of action but the recent events did necessitate something be done. After all he reckoned he had worked under worse conditions. At least they were going in properly prepared.

“Vizkop, I believe you have been working on modifying our auspex scanners for replicant detection.”

He nodded at Machiarii's words and keyed in the rune on the case. The black box popped open after confirming his identity and he extracted the modified scanners. It was a project he had started under dire conditions on Venatora with some helpful suggestions from Sister Sapphira and had continued with the proper tools and blessings on the ship afterward. All tests and data said that his current design was much more accurate than the original. He handed one to each member of the team, not needing to explain the workings of an auspex to any one within the chapel.

Malpais received his and fixed it to his belt without comment. His face was a mask that hid his gladness at being able to take the fight to their heretical enemies. He could not hate the idigins for they were simply the unwitting and unfortunate pawns of men who had strayed far enough from the Emperor's light that the only salvation for them was death.

[Thrannix]

---15 years ago---

"Allana..." He said through instantly parched, trembling lips. "Let us... pray first."

A rictus of pain came across his sister’s face, as if the words had been physical blows. She took a step back evidently appalled by the idea.

“What? No!” She spat at him defiantly, all the frailty and weakness that haunted her frame when the bishop entered the cell was suddenly gone.

“I’m not praying to your Corpse God, he wants me dead anyway. Now get me out of here!” Allana demanded closing on Solvan, her voice distorting into a snarl that rattled his bones.

The priest felt how the temperature in the room dropped several degrees as his sister screamed her final command, his breath now visible in the air. He stood there petrified, unable to think, the words Corpse God echoing in his mind and silencing everything else.

“Oh Ally… you foolish girl… what did you do?” He whispered, his voice breaking out at last as suspicion gave way to horrible realization.

The thing that was using his sister’s visage finally lost its patience. She grabbed the priest by his robes and slammed him against the wall with unexpected strength. Her eyes had turned into unnatural black pits.

“You will help me escape this place!" The creature screamed in his face, human teeth turning into fangs. "Or I will spend the rest of eternity torturing your lovely sister’s soul!”

Solvan felt the terror rising within him, locking him in place in the face of such indescribable evil. But deeper in his heart he felt sorrow for the tragedy that had befallen the person most dear to him, he fell to his knees trembling. Slowly, from that endless well of sorrow, rage began to bleed out.

"Never... daemon." Solvan articulated, the last word burning his tongue, with tears in his eyes while a part of his soul still refused to believe what was happening.

"Ah, how pitiful." The thing laughed hellishly as it clutched the priests neck and made him stand against the wall. "You will free me. I can smell your fear weakling."

Solvan was thinking as quickly as he could, fighting against his fear, focusing on his sister, despite his mounting panic and shock he refused to give up so pathetically. He had to try, for Ally, for himself.

Questions swirled in his mind. Why was this thing still here? Why not escape sooner? With the answer slowly dawning in his brain and at last he saw a faint shred of hope.

He made a quick recall of every tome on exorcism he had read. The setting wasn't ideal, and he hadn't brought all the necessary tools. More importantly the daemon had surprise on its part, he had to turn it around, he had to be on the offensive.

"I am afraid, terrified, in fact." He admitted struggling as his wind pipe started to close. The daemon returned him a victorious grin. "But you failed to account for other human qualities."

The grip on his throat loosened a little. "Oh really?" The daemon said, its curiosity peaked, the sickening smile still fixed to its distorted face. "And what would those be?"

"Hatred... and faith!" Solvan bellowed taking the aquila hidden in his hand and slamming it against the thing’s forehead.

It screeched in pain, the aquila turning red hot with the contact with the possessed flesh. Frost started to form on the priest beard and tears froze on his cheeks as reality's veil grew thinner.

“God Emperor, You that by right have ownership of this soul, cast away with Your infinite power the evil that plagues it and wishes to steal it from You.” As the words poured out blue flames and lightning erupted from the point of contact, a ghostly wind started twisting around the two figures in the enclosed space of the cell.

The daemon released Solvan's neck and tried to back away. But the bishop grabbed his sister's ragged shirt and pulled the daemon towards him keeping the pressure of the golden aquila as he continued to speak. “As wax melts against the flame so shall your enemies melt in the face of your holy light! Immortal Emperor of Man, You who have stand watch for ten thousand years on the Golden Throne, have pity of your daughter’s plight, restore that which was corrupted, in Your name let this be done!”

The priest felt his hand burning, his palm blistering as the spectral flames kept leaking from the daemon's rupturing skin. But he held on, all his will, all his fear, all his rage were focused on that hand pressing the holy symbol on his possessed sister's head.

"You thought you could lay low and get away!" Solvan yelled at the thrashing daemon. "But they placed you here, an Ecclesiarchy prison, a holy bastion to imperial faith! The very walls are fitted with blessed wards and protection runes! You are weakened, unable to bring your warp-spawned powers to bear!"

"You fokked up! And in the God-Emperor's name I will make you pay!" At that moment, as Solvan spoke, he could see despair flashing in the daemon's eyes.

---Present Time---

Solvan stayed in the chapel after the party had left. He had no preparations to make so decided to spend the next moments in prayer. He prayed to the Emperor so He would grant him the wisdom to lead his comrades to victory. He prayed asking for His protection so that no more valuable lives would have to be lost, the faces of Alia and Tomas the more distinct in his mind.

And as every day for the last fifteen years, with the ache of a freshly open bleeding wound, he prayed for his dead sister’s soul.

[Azazeal849]

The thick, armoured hull of the Valkyrie jump-jet reduced the scream of the engines to a more sombre drone as the team streaked westward, towards the last bruise of purple that banded the horizon as the two suns climbed. Solvan's team, along with Crenshaw and a silent, fidgeting Gavin, were squeezed into the passenger compartment, all with long native robes covering their armour. They would never have passed for indigens, but at least they didn’t blatantly look like Enclave Imperials.

Kelly seemed irritated, scowling at her hands as she sat fidgeting with the loose waterproof robe that covered her flakweave trousers. Seemingly looking for something to distract herself, she exhaled and looked around the cabin, catching the eye of major Crenshaw who sat opposite.

“How many people did Schafer take with him last time you tried this?” she asked, raising her voice over the muted roar of the Valkyrie’s engines.

Crenshaw cocked an eyebrow at the question, and then shrugged. “Eight men. Four of them were hulking carapace-armoured monsters with bionics wired into their bolters and bright blue optics.”

“Quasars?” Vincent grunted in surprise, rousing from his own reverie. “The old bastard wasn’t messing around. Those half-augmetic fokkers are kitted out for heavy close combat.”

“And even dressed up, they were about as conspicuous as redemptionists at a family funeral.” Crenshaw commented dryly.

“Quasars?” Kelly asked.

“Lord Sidonis’ elites.” Vincent explained. “Kally and I saw a few of ‘em training with the Carbon stormtroopers once. Sidonis must have thought there was serious gak going down here if he loaned them out.” The one-eyed soldier chuckled. “He was right, mind.”

“It does get somewhat rough out in the indigen cities.” Crenshaw agreed neutrally. “After this much time, I would not rate your chances of finding interrogator Schafer alive as particularly high.”

“If Schafer was killed out there...” Kelly mused quietly, looking at Vincent and Kally. “Do you think he might have been replicated?”

“We’ll soon know, either way.” Vincent replied, and patted the auspex that Vizkop had given him, now hanging on his belt webbing beneath his waterproofs.

Kelly rubbed the bridge of her nose and turned to look out the transparisteel strip of the side-door window next to her. As the Valkyrie banked a deep groove in the muddy earth became visible, a wide shallow trench that snaked through the lowpoints of the rocky scrubland. Muddy pools and trickles ran down the centre of the trench, most of it overgrown with green splotches of moss and algae. It was only when she saw a series of bombed-out pumping stations squatting on the west bank of the trench that Kelly realised she was looking at a river bed. The rain had swollen the strangled stream at the bottom of it, but the water was still foetid and brackish, little more than a muddy trickle.

"What river was that?" she asked.

"The Rak, ma'am." the Valkyrie's co-pilot answered her, briefly turning the visored bulb of his helmet back towards the door that separated the cockpit from the cramped passenger compartment. "Trader Veiss won a contract to dam the river about a hundred kilometers upstream and pipe it back to Akkan. It's only a couple of minutes flight time from here to the Ghost capital."

Kelly blinked. "Did that river used to feed Rakosu?"

She had grown up in a hive city on a desert world, but she knew that conventional settlements tended to spring up around water sources, and the connection between the river and city names lent credence to the notion.

The co-pilot laughed. "The governor thought it'd be a good incentive for the stubborn locals to convert to the true faith. If the Ghosts are too frakking stubborn to move to Akkan or to even buy from Veiss' plant then let the bastards parch." He looked ahead. "Coming up on Rakosu now, and it looks like we're just in time for payback for last night. Here, you'll want to watch this!"

The pict screen on the front wall of the twin-row passenger compartment flickered to life, relaying an image from the camera slung alongside the Valkyrie's forward multilaser. Past the curve of the barrel, the horizon was dominated by an urban sprawl of dense, slate-grey buildings. Many of the taller buildings had been noticeably ruined, which combined with the grey stone gave Rakosu the appearance of a jawbone full of broken, rotten teeth. Cruising into view now above the city were a formation of wide-winged Marauder bombers, painted in the ash grey of the Enclave PDF. As the team watched, a cluster of black specks detached and fell away from each bomber, arcing almost gracefully into the city below. The first of the warheads burst in midair above a trio of still-standing tenements, spraying a hemisphere of white aerosol which stretched into a longer black cloud. A split second later, there was a bright flash and the cloud blossomed into an orange fireball. The blast front of the explosion was clearly visible as the three tenements disintegrated, one after the other. More fireballs chained off, as the thermobaric weapons carved a wave of destruction through the city centre.

"Burn, you bastards!" the co-pilot cheered savagely. "Teach 'em to murder good PDF men and women!"


+ + + + + +

Breaking into the PDF datanet would have been a difficult task, except the inquisition had vast teams of autosavants constantly working to find and exploit cracks in every cogitator system in the Imperium - STC sanctioned or otherwise. It pitted the inquisition against not only their enemies but also their supposed allies in the mechanicus, who worked with militant aggression to protect their closely-guarded technical knowledge at every turn. A former enforcer detective, Marc was no stranger to data mining, but his job was made vastly easier by the set of cracker djinns that had been downloaded into a micro data wand, hidden in the inquisitorial agent's signet ring that had been given to him upon joining Sidonis' retinue. Tailored to the STC operating systems in use in Illyrium and the Enclave, all Marc had to do was flip up the ring's cover with the inquisitorial I on it, pull out the data port, and plug it into the cogitator of the administratum comms office that he had just broken into.

The worm djinns slipped under the radar of the PDF's guardian programs, and reams of classified data began to scroll across the screen as the machine spirits gave way. Hunting selectively, Marc picked and chose his targets. They could sift through the data for relevant communications later, but trying to simply grab everything would take too long to download - and would be exponentially more likely to get noticed. As the hunter algorithms went to work and began to parse and copy information back to his data wand, Marc had little left to do but wait, and waiting got him thinking again about the bad terms he and his sister had parted on.

Far from being supportive, Kelly had been furious when he had told her about confronting Crenshaw.

"That was pure shan, Marc!" he remembered her shouting at him almost as soon as the shock had faded from her face. "Would you start that sort of shit with me like I was still 15 and scamming into a club with you for the first time?"

"What?" Marc had responded, taken aback.

"Then why the frak are you doing it to Kally? You should respect her enough to make her own Emperor-damn decisions!"

"I do!" Marc had protested. "That wasn't my point."

"I ken. I'm trying to make it your point." Kelly had shaken her head, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "I'm not going to tell Kally about this, but you'd better hope she doesn't find out anyway."

"Look," Marc had said, his own voice rising before he controlled it. "I wasn't trying to...I'm sorry."

"Aye, whatever." Kelly had responded, shaking her head and walking away. And that was the last time he had been able to speak to her in private before the team had split for the twin missions to Rakosu and Akkan.

Marc exhaled down his nose. The memory caused him stress that he didn't need right now, but he kept coming back to it, like an itching wound that he didn't know how to treat or to leave alone. Looking out the window of the grey, cubical office, Marc saw dawn rays reflecting orange across the building opposite. Kelly and the others would be touching down in Rakosu any time now, even though it was at least half an hour before the first administratum adepts were likely to show up in the deserted office block.

"Marc?" Machairi's voice sounded through the microbead in his ear. "We are going through your case notes on the Venatora incident. Do you have any theories on why the Necrons didn't deploy more replicants on Venatora?"

Marc had been in intermittent contact with Machairi and the others since being dispatched to the office, while the rest of the Akkan team remained on lookout from their hotel suite a block away. Enigmatic though she was, the interrogator provided a welcome distraction from Marc's current thoughts. He paused to consider his response. It was a question he had asked himself once the immediate urgency of the Venatora mission had worn off. After all, the constructs that had replaced Noyer, Clement and ultimately governor Faroven had had ample opportunity to kill and replace others.

"I had a couple." he replied softly, and began to reel off his pet hypotheses while he watched the green line of the cracker djinn's progress bar ratchet towards completion. "They might have had limited resources to make more of them. Or it might have been that three replicants was all that they needed. It only took one to get to Faroven, and from there they nearly brought down the planet by themselves. Or maybe they were just trying to keep a low profile. Every assassination is a risk."

"Secrecy." Machairi made a thoughtful noise. "They won't have as much of a problem with that here. There's any number of factions they could hide in on this fractured continent."

Marc chewed the inside of his cheek, thinking of the secretive rogue traders, the mechanicus assassins who had tried to kill Vizkop, and of the indigen nations who were at each others' throats as much as the Imperials. Thinking of Rytu and Zakarn, and their tug-of-war over the shattered Uru, he couldn't help remembering his first meeting with the Venatoran governor Faroven, and how the man had deftly negotiated around residual indigen tensions. He hoped that Faroven's replacement would be as effective at handling the Venatoran tribes, and reflected that a leader of Faroven's calibre would not have allowed the situation here on Hercynia to slide into its current quagmire.

A blinking amber rune lit up on Marc's hijacked cogitator display. It signalled that someone had detected his intrusion into the PDF mainframe. He glanced at the creeping progress bar of his data dump. Going by enforcer response times in his home hive, he reckoned that he had only a couple of minutes before more powerful guardian programs were unleashed into the network to quarantine his own data djinn, and perhaps a minute more before PDF units were dispatched to his location.

"Marc." Machairi's voice cut across his thoughts, a sharp edge in it now. "PDF chimera closing on your position."

"Understood." Marc acknowledged. The local peacekeepers were better than he had thought. Perhaps they had been lucky enough to already have a unit patrolling the area, or perhaps the current security measures against the oppressed indigens had sharpened their response times. Or perhaps their lexmechanics had found him sooner than his probing data djinn had picked up on the fact. He glanced at the progress bar. Twenty seconds; maybe less. Add the time to get out of the building. Too long, if Machairi and the others could already see the PDF.

"Marc." interrogator Machairi warned him again.

"I'm moving." Marc assured her, slipping his finger through the signet ring and ripping the protruding data wand out of its connection port. He began punching runes to shut down the cogitator and cover his tracks, forgetting all of the appropriate machine benedictions out of a need for haste.

An engine roar; a squeal of tyres. Shouted orders in Obrantu. Marc worked quickly and methodically, using the noise and the warning beeps of his cogitator to focus - just like the cacophony of underhive hate metal that paradoxically helped him to focus when writing his reports. From the street below there was a metallic crack, and a shattering of glass. As the screen of his cogitator imploded into a white dot and faded to black, Marc glanced out of the window, and caught a glimpse of PDF soldiers storming into the neighbouring administratum complex, lasguns held tight to their shoulders. They converged on an empty worker's cubicle, lit up a dull blue by its placidly idling cogitator.

Marc turned away, grateful that the inquisition worm programs scrambled themselves through proxy cogitators as a standard feature to evade pursuit. Hurrying downstairs, he forced the doors of the still locked-down office to give way before his blue level inquisition clearance, and slipped away down the street perpendicular to the arriving PDF.

"Clear." he whispered as he pulled his PDA out of his suit jacket and plugged the signet ring into it. Another green progress bar appeared as the stolen data began to transfer. "Information should be coming through to you now."


+ + + + + +

If Rakosu was a grim and ugly city from a distance, from the ground it was worse. The rain of the previous day had stopped, but the damp humidity of its passing remained. It gave the air a clingy, oppressive quality as the temperature slowly climbed.

"I wonder what Fred would have to say about this architecture." Vincent grunted as he pulled at the collar of his rain-cloak. The buildings around them were sullen slabs of rockrete, that had suffered badly over the course of the war. Bullet craters seemed to have been layered onto some of the walls, and others sported gaping holes from explosion impacts. Some were splashed with the flaky brown stains of dried blood. Few of the scarred buildings showed signs of habitation, although here and there a chalk-white indigen was slumped against a wall, looking up at the team with pink eyes that were glazed over from some heavy-duty narcotic. The grey sky to the south of them was smudged by plumes of smoke rising from the central districts.

"Can you blame the guy for going back to the collegia?" Kelly murmured in reply, "After all that gak on Venatora?"

She frowned as her eyes roamed warily around the desolate street. According to Crenshaw, this district had been destroyed in the original Imperial invasion, and few indigens lived here now. Their former colleague Fredriq L'Houce was probably lucky not to be caught in the middle of this pitiable pre-Imperial hellhole. Kelly tried to imagine what the Uru capital had looked like before the hammer of Imperial might had shattered it into its current, faction-riven state, but was interrupted by the sound of voices ahead. The team immediately stopped, sinking quietly to one knee on either side of the road, fingers laid alongside triggers. Abdur crept forward under cover of a pile of rubble that looked like it had once been part of a shop, and stared ahead for a few moments before waving them forward. Maintaining their spread, the team cautiously advanced.

The susurrus of voices became a hacking and coughing of heavily accented Obrantu. Where the next street joined the main road, some sort of checkpoint had been set up; a knot of men with non-standard autoguns slung over their chests were watching a stumbling column of indigens wind their way towards the city outskirts. Some wore the familiar bulbous flare goggles, while others were uncovered, squinting in the harsh sunlight. Those whose albinism had left them almost blind were being led by the hand by their fellows. There were men and women and children, arms full of bundles and backs bent beneath haphazard stacks of food, blankets and random valuables. A few were dragging injured legs; others supporting injured comrades. A skinny girl of perhaps 14 standard years was gently leading a younger boy, whose face was covered with half-congealed blood. The blood did not seem to be his own, but his eyes were wide and staring, and he moved with a dream-like stumble. Some of the other children were similarly blank faced, while others were streaked with tears; and near the front of the line a young mother was holding a wailing infant to her chest, trying to calm it. There was an urgency about the column's movement, but it was bleary and uncoordinated - ground down by fatigue and shock.

After she was able to tear her eyes away from the stumbling exodus, Kelly noticed something else. The refugees were all albino, west-continent indigens; the men manning the checkpoint were not.

"The soldiers." she pointed out to the others. "Offworlders?"

"Ja." Vincent murmured in agreement. "Could be Haarlock's."

"Or heretics." Crenshaw replied darkly. "A few of the indigen settlers from Illyrium kept to their old gods and slipped out of Akkan to join the guerrilla war."

"We could try and get information from them?" Kelly suggested, shooting a questioning look at Solvan. "Soft approach, keep a few sharpshooters back in case they turn hostile?"

"They probably wouldn't try and kick off at us." Vincent said, his mismatched eyes narrowed at the four armed men as he made a Guardsman's appraisal of the situation. "There's more of us and we've got bigger guns." He nodded his bald head towards the refugees. "There's an awful lot of civvies to run away and raise an alarm if shooting did start, mind."

“There are too many witnesses, period.” Crenshaw noted. “I highly recommend that we find another route.”

[dakkagor]

(OOC : Thanks again to Thrannix!)

+++Tomas+++

+++After the Briefing+++

As the agents filed out of the chapel, Tomas frowned. He cast a look back to Machairi, then over to Solvan. Solvan was going into the axis. That worried him. More accurately, he worried for his friend.

“Solvan, a moment.” he walked up to the old priest and smiled. “May not get a chance for a proper good bye otherwise.”

“Things are certainly moving fast.” the old priest agreed. “What are you worrying about now?”

Tomas drew Solvan aside from the others, and lowered his voice. “You and the rest are going into a warp damned warzone. Neither of us are as young as we used to be. Really you should be going with Machairi and I should be going to the Axis.”

"I have thought of that." The bishop admitted in a whisper, his eyes filled with concern. "But I wouldn't underestimate the dangers you are going to face by disturbing the wasp's nest from within."

"In the next days Alia is going to need her bodyguard more than ever. At that particular role you become irreplaceable." Solvan continued, looking at Tomas and sharing the same sentiment, knowing that his friend would die without a second thought if it meant saving Machairi. "As the oldest members of Alia's retinue on site one of us needs to go to the Uru."

"So roles will be inverted this time around." The bishop said after a pause. "I'll be in the frontline, enjoying some honest face to face confrontation for once, and you'll have to endure the fancy dinners and parties with assassins behind the curtains, poisonous wine and the other myriad dirty tricks that corrupt aristocrats love.”

“I may be old, but I can still look after myself, Tomas.” Solvan put his right hand on his comrade’s shoulder. “Mainly thanks to you I might add."

“I'm not saying you can't look after yourself, just, gah, I don't know. Just stay safe you cantankerous old bastard. I'll see you on the other side, Emperor willing.”

"The same goes for you, my cranky senescent friend." The priest replied, a smile on his face once more. "My prayers, and the Emperor's blessing, go with you Tomas."

+++At the capital+++

"Information should be coming through to you now."

“Confirmed.” Tomas responded. He put down his dataslate with the case notes from Venatora and picked up one designated to receive Marcs stolen data. He nodded appreciatively as the files started to appear, and he started to sort them by relevance. He sat down in one of the apartments overstuffed chairs, and began to skim read the contents.

“Anything interesting?” Machairi asked, walking over with two hot mugs of recaf after nearly an hour had passed, with Tomas deep in thought.

“Some bits.” He mused, before accepting a mug with a muttered 'thanks'. “As we where told, most of those kill-servitors where supplied by the Rogue Traders. These order numbers should allow us to track who's been selling which makes and marks. Potentially useful.” He scrolled through some more files. “Oh ho. Here's something interesting.”

He flipped the dataslate to show Machairi the file while he slugged back the recaf.

“Meeting minutes. About how to handle the problems in the Axis.”

“Right” he scrolled through the file again. “RTV. Rogue Trader Veiss. Looks like Veiss was the one pushing for the switch from 'expensive' peacekeeping with the PDF to the damnable witch guided servitor strikes. From some of these memos, it looks like they spent time selling it to the general public as well.”

“So.” Machairi tapped the side of her mug, in thought. “The Rogue Traders can almost to be said to have created the market here, the whole situation, to make a profit?”

“I'd agree with that assessment.” Tomas nodded. “There are other things, some older files from before the establishment of the Enclave. It looks like the Rogue Traders should have snapped up the reconstruction contracts in Uru territory, putting infrastructure back together, but half of those still look pending today. I'd have to check the individual invoices, and that could take some time. I have a list of initial strike targets here. Most of them are Uru, signed of by the Governor himself, and almost all of them are infrastructure with few military targets.”

“Why are the contracts unfulfilled, then? And why infrastructure?” Machairi sat down across from Tomas, cradling her mug in her hands.

Tomas slid the dataslate across the table. “The first one is easy. When it all went to shit, the PDF pulled out and the rogue traders didn't have the boots on the ground to garrison their construction projects. So most of them have been abandoned or just ignored. The other one. . . that's not so clear. A long attrition war, you go after infrastructure. A rival power you want to break, but not conquer? Infrastructure. Breaks the will to fight, scorches the earth. But if you are tackling a nation with an army, with the aim to keep the territory you take, you want that infrastructure as spoils from the war you are going to fight. So you target the military with your first overwhelming assault. Smash them aside and ensure they can only roll over and surrender. Then you settle in for the long haul. This” he tapped the dataslate accusingly. “Speaks to different priorities. The Rogue traders could make money, good money, off STC infrastructure projects. You could justify it, I suppose. Cow the enemy, puts the fear of the God Emperor into the other nations. . . smash the Uru, the strongest faction, sue for peace with the other two, and start the work on dividing up the spoils. Maybe.”

“But it didn't happen that way.” Machairi responded, picking up the data slate and reading the files herself.

“No, this time it didn't.” He shook his head. “You can't garrison a city with servitors and airstrikes.”

+++Kally+++

Kally was sitting by the bay door, checking the ropes they would be using to descend from the Valkyrie. It had been decided to fast rope into the ruins with the Valkyrie idling for minimum impact and exposure to ground fire, still a possible threat in the ruins.

“If Schafer was killed out there...” Kelly mused quietly, looking at Vincent and Kally. “Do you think he might have been replicated?”

“We’ll soon know, either way.” Vincent replied, and patted the auspex that Vizkop had given him, now hanging on his belt webbing beneath his waterproofs.

“I gakking hope not.” Kally offered. “Those things were tough to kill. And who knows what kind of damage a Replicated Inquisitorial Agent might be able to do?”

She lapsed back into silence as the conversation continued on, checking her gear methodically and avoiding everyone's gaze. She had a bad, nagging feeling about something and she just couldn't place it.

+++Rakosu+++

“There are too many witnesses, period.” Crenshaw noted. “I highly recommend that we find another route.”

“Thats easier said than done” Kally muttered. “This place is a warren. Give me and Abdur 20 minutes though, and I should have something we can move the rest of the group through.”

Before there was a response, Kally slunk of into the ruins, boltgun held loosely. She didn't bother to check if Abdur was actually scouting the area, because she already had somewhere in mind.

She slithered through the rubble and debris, feeling surprisingly at home despite the open skies. The concrete tangle was very reminiscent of the crush zones at the bottom of Makita hive, with less chance of running into a pocket of bad air or rads.

She quickly reached the spot she had seen earlier, a culvert for rain water that led in a large, black storm drain, big enough to drive a ground car through. She clambered down into the culvert, splashing through a few lingering puddles of dirty rainwater before entering the tunnel itself. In the darkness the temperature dropped by two degrees easily. She walked up to the tunnel walls and knocked on them, listening to the echo.

“Goes on for a good kilometer.” she paused, listening and feeling. “Doesn't seem blocked either.”

She stepped out of the tunnel and back into the blazing sunlight.

“Kally to team. I have a route through. Converge on my location.”

[Thrannix]

---AAT Base---


Solvan was heading towards the chapel when he took a slight detour towards Crenshaw’s office.

“Major Crenshaw, may I take moment of your time? I do realize it is a scarce commodity at the moment.” He said as he entered the room running his eyes through the plain metallic interior. Crenshaw gestured to the seat across from him without glancing up from the paperwork he was reviewing. The priest sat on the chair and finally the tiredness of the last twenty four hours hit him in his bones, he closed his eyes and sighed heavily, wondering how to begin.

“I crossed paths with Alia on my way here.” He said after straightening himself, shaking away the fatigue. “You seem to have made quite an impression.”

“I do try.” Crenshaw distractedly commented, as he signed off on the document. He finally closed the packet and glanced up at the priest. “And what is your impression?”

“I can’t figure you out yet. That annoys me you see, I’m usually good at figuring people out.” The bishop fixed his gaze on Crenshaw’s, an action made easier by the dampening device that lessened the viscera revolving feeling of the untouchable’s aura to a mild nausea and sense of wrongness.

“If it is any consolation, Solvan, you are hardly alone in that regard.” The Major assured as he regarded the priest. “Now what exactly have you and your team been able to ‘figure out’ about me?”

“All we know is you helped Schafer, now dead if he is lucky. Then when we got here you managed to, in less than one minute, piss off half the team, an interrogator included, while at the same time making, shall we say… very close bonds with another member.”

“Nothing escapes the Inquisition’s notice.” Crenshaw snorted, and dismissively shook his head. “I am surprised by such coy phrasing from a man I suspect is much worldlier than the average priest.” The Major leaned forward and blatantly scrutinized Solvan. “You did after all try and bribe me in less than a minute, so clearly the opulent trader is a role you have played before, and I would hypothesize that it is one you are very comfortable playing.” He pressed his fingertips together and smiled without warmth. “So, how accurate was I?”

"More than you think I fear, it's a reminder of a past life I'm not proud of, but it has its uses. It is good to know you have deduction skills." The priest replied enigmatically with a smirk. "And I didn't know if I was being coy or not, just suspicious, but thank you for clarifying."

Crenshaw’s eyes narrowed slightly as he leaned back and took a sip from his recaff mug. “As for your latter point, Agent Black has already hounded me about Kally. What I told him also applies to you, and everyone else on your team, Solvan. It is none of your concern.” Solvan frowned irritated at the fact that he didn't realize Marc's interest in Kally until this new information, he was missing stuff he shouldn't, that bothered him even more.

"I don't give a damn about who you are sleeping with Major, or Kally for that matter. Hell, I'll perform the wedding ceremony if you like. But it is my business if it interferes with the team's performance, you already have our main investigator with half his mind off the job." The priest quickly explained, his patience growing thin more from exhaustion than anything else.

“Agent Black’s issues are his own. If he is that distracted, he had better check himself from the neck up - quickly.” Crenshaw unmercifully counseled as he set aside his mug. “However, you do not need to be concerned with Kally and me as we already talked. Both of us have no illusions about what we are to one another.” He nodded to Solvan with the hint of a smile. “So your professional services will not be required at this time, Father Belannor. But thank you for the offer.”

"You can tell me it will not have an impact on you or Sonder's capabilities or decision making all you want, but it is a thin and fragile line that stands between casual intercourse and something much deeper." Solvan sentenced, if the man wanted the worldlier priest then he would have it. "Also may I know your first name? You seem comfortable enough using mine."

“I am comfortable.” Crenshaw agreed as he held a level and cautionary gaze, and then smiled tightly. “With that issue settled, how about we clear the air about Schafer? I would truly like to hear the Inquisitorial rationale for why I might have deliberately gotten an interrogator and his team killed.”

"Really, Major? Keeping your first name a secret?” The bishop asked staring genuinely surprised at the man, before shrugging with a tired sigh, it wasn’t worth the energy. “And please." Solvan almost chuckled. "I know interrogators are more than capable of killing themselves quite effectively. It is your ability to reduce that risk that I question."

“Schafer wanted to deploy directly into Rakosu over my concerns. Whatever happened to them is on him.” Crenshaw countered with a shrug. “Since you seem to have forgotten, Solvan, Jenkins and I have also been acting as your team’s cover here. Without us running your errands, under my borrowed authority, Alia would have had to reveal that rosette of hers by now.”

“Yes it has been most helpful, but so far you have also been a disruptive element thrown in the mix right before we set out on a mission that could see us all dead.” Solvan felt his headache threatening to return with a vengeance as Crenshaw’s lip curled slightly in irritated amusement.

“Was I disruptive when I accommodated every request that Alia has made and then volunteered more support than she originally wanted?” Crenshaw lowly asked, as he rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Or have I been disruptive by not properly abasing myself before the Inquisition and meekly eaten the rations of shit many of your number, yourself included, have tried to serve me since you came here demanding the Telepathica’s help?” He raised a questioning eyebrow.

"If you are still referring to the bribing attempt, I am disappointed; you looked like the tougher skin type of officer. It was only a quick way of determining the rogue traders’ influence. I was actually glad that someone on this planet didn’t dance so happily to the sound of thrones.” The priest confessed pinching the bridge of his nose trying to keep the headache away. “Also, your logistical help is deeply appreciated, but if you want a pat in the back for behaving as a loyal imperial citizen you are going to be sourly disappointed." Solvan added coldly. "But while you give with one hand you take with the other. As I said before, you are a difficult man to figure out."

“I could not care less about your attempted bribe, Solvan, nor do I need affirmation from anyone. I especially do not want anything from agents who are tediously wasting their time, and more importantly mine, with baseless accusations and irrelevant non-issues.” Crenshaw coolly eyed Solvan for a moment. “The simple truth is that those agents who are unstable, and can be roiled merely by my presence, were damaged well before our paths crossed.” He held up a warning finger. “So do not try and pin your team’s troubles on me.”

"The damage was there I agree. But now, as a member of the team, I only ask you to at least try not to keep exacerbating it beyond its current level of imbalance." He was slowly regaining his cool and, bless the God-Emperor, his impending headache had been apparently aborted. “I know we need you, I am not here to dispute that, but I hope that you, as a military leader, can understand my concern.”

“I do, which is precisely why there will be no issue on my end.” Crenshaw acknowledged, and then curiously tilted his head. “Now will your team be able to overcome slightly bruised egos and hurt feelings, Solvan?”

“I hope they can.” Solvan stood slowly with a nod and headed for the exit, not willing to elaborate on the fact that most of the team were recent additions from Schafer’s retinue and that he had never worked with them before.

“They had better.” Crenshaw bluntly commented, as he spared Solvan a parting glance and snapped up another document to review. “Rakosu is emphatically not the place for anyone to unpack their personal baggage.”

The bishop stopped at the door frame and turned to face the officer. "Egos and feelings have doomed far better men before Major, don't underestimate human passions." He warned vehemently before leaving.

“Imagine what someone who actually wanted to break your team could do, Solvan. Which for the record, I do not want to do!” Crenshaw called out as he idly watched the priest depart.

"I imagine Major, I really do." The bishop muttered to himself as he walked down the hallway.


---Before Takeoff---


Solvan uttered a silent prayer as he took a seat inside the transport. He knew that he would be hating his existence in the near future (God-Emperor Almighty did he hate flying).

He looked around at the rest of the team, they all knew what they had to do, he wasn't going to waste his breath in useless chatter.

"May the Emperor see to our success and safe return." Was all he said as the transport engines came alive.


---During Flight---


The priest allowed the pilot's glee to go unchallenged, he was focusing all his energy in keeping the contents of his stomach inside of him. But nonetheless the sight of the shelled city was a sobering one. How many deaths would actually be rebellious heretics? Very few most likely, as always the innocent would suffer for actions they took no part of. The guilty ones hidding beneath the bodies of the poor and weak, the bishop's hatred for the heretics only increased.


---Rakosu---


As the team observed the mass of suffering humanity the bishop's eyes remained with the girl slowly guiding a little boy, her brother perhaps? Orphans by now if he had to bet. His face looked several years older for a moment before his reverie was broken by their current predicament.

“There are too many witnesses, period.” Crenshaw noted. “I highly recommend that we find another route.”

“Thats easier said than done” Kally muttered.

"The Major is right." Solvan agreed in frustration. "Our biggest advantage at this point is that the enemy doesn't know we are here. I am not risking that advantage on a hunch. We need certainty, so until we have confirmation of xenotech from the secutor, an identified replicant or clear signs of Schafer's existence we do not engage unless we absolutely have to." He concluded leaving no room for argument.

“This place is a warren. Give me and Abdur 20 minutes though, and I should have something we can move the rest of the group through.”

Solvan didn't bother to reply as Kally was already moving.

"We also need to find a suitable safehouse." He continued speaking into the team vox. "In case we need a place to retreat to, tend to the wounded or interrogate a prisioner. If anyone spots a place that seems appropriate report back. Abdur and Nyl will check it for booby traps and Gavin for any hidden enemies." It shouldn't be that hard he thought, with the amount of abandoned buildings all around.

“Kally to team. I have a route through. Converge on my location.” Her voice crackled in Solvan's ear. Ask and the Emperor shall provide.

"Good job agent Sonder, everyone move out." He ordered.

When he looked into the drain he lost some of his early enthusiasm. Lovely place for an ambush. He thought grimmly. But options were few and they didn't have the luxury of wasting time.

"Abdur and Kally take point. Vincent has the back." He instructed stepping into the damp, dark tunnel, at least they would be out of the boiling sun for a while.

[Azazeal849]

RAKOSU

"Kally to team. I have a route through. Converge on my location."

"Good job agent Sonder, everyone move out." Solvan ordered. "Abdur and Kally take point. Vincent has the back."

As the team carefully traced Kally's footsteps, arriving in ones and twos under overwatch from Vincent, they heard the guards above them conversing in heavily-accented Obrantu.

"Another god-damned carpet bombing." said one, his tone bitter as another series of dull thuds echoed in the distance. "They could at least let us rebuild the houses before they flatten them all again. Animals." They heard him hawk and spit.

"You could leave with this sorry lot." a second voice pointed out.

The first guard audibly snorted. "And leave the city for the Ramados? Besides, where would I go? A disease-ridded refugee camp, where Imperials and Ramado scum compete to see who can run the best protection racket? I can stay here and have nothing, or I can move to Akkan and have nothing and an Imperial jackboot in my face. No thanks. At least here I get a chance to kill a few of the bastards."

"Vilysians." Kelly whispered, identifying the men by their mention of the rival Ramado Sept.

"Uru Vilysians." Crenshaw clarified, placing the men's accent as Vizkop and Malpais eased themselves down into the culvert. "Not Rytus."

"Easy to kill Ramados, brother." the second guard was saying. "Less easy to shoot Imperials out of the god-damn sky."

"Not after the Rytus get properly involved." the first guard countered.

"Ha. They send us guns and a few young zealots to stop the Ramados winning, but they don't really care about us." Another spit. "So much for brotherhood under the Solar."

To the team's surprise, the first guard chuckled. "Have a little faith, brother. The Rytus are just as pissed at the Imperials as we are. After their tyrant of a governor made the deal to flatten us, but then withdrew to the Enclave and left millions of brothers to fend for themselves? Heh, the Imperial tyrant is blind to the threat from Rytu."

"There's still the Imperial cyborgs to contend with." They heard the guard shift, as if he was turning to look towards the inner city. "We'll be seeing them again soon, I'll warrant. They always come after the bombings. Vat-grown abominations."

"What makes you so sure they're vat grown?" the first guard countered darkly. "You've seen how pale they are. I wouldn't put it past those Imperial bastards to be lobotomising the brothers they capture and sending them back to kill their own children."

The other exhaled, sharply. "Animals. God-damned heathen animals."

"We'll make them pay. We have the Rytus, and the Prophet's group has that mysterious arms dealer of theirs. Soon enough, we'll make those invading bastards pay."

The voices receded as the guards finished watching the bombardment and loped back to their checkpoint.

"Best we get moving." Vincent growled impassively. He glanced at Abdur, who seemed to be gazing into space, his head turned in the general direction of the trudging refugees. "Hey, sand man! Get a fokkin' move on, ja?"

The Tallarn turned sharply, as if startled. "I am coming." he rasped quietly, the words muffled by his respirator mask.

Vincent turned to roll his eyes at the nearest person, who happened to be Kelly, but the verispex just rubbed the bridge of her nose pensively.


+ + + + + +

AKKAN

"It looks like they spent some time selling it to the general public as well."

"I can't imagine it was hard." Marc said, frowning as he rested his chin on his clasped hands. "It's like the valet at the starport said - people complain when PDF soldiers get killed. They don't care so much about servitors. And they care even less about the indigens."

He glanced at the vid-screen dominating the far wall, where an Imperial news report was covering the ongoing attack on Rakosu, together with a newly-enacted curfew of all indigens in Akkan, effectively putting them under house arrest. The Imperium was showing its strength to the Enclave population, who had reacted with panic and outrage at the attack on the AAT base, and the more limited missile strikes on Akkan itself. There was, Marc noted, no coverage of the few missiles that had fallen among the refugee slums outside the curtain wall. The vid-screen cut back to smoke rising from the centre of Rakosu, reminding Marc of Kelly, Kally and the others who were even now infiltrating the warzone.

"I'll go check on Remus and Lia." he murmured, standing up and excusing himself with a nod.

"So." Machairi tapped the side of her mug, in thought. "The Rogue Traders can almost be said to have created the market here, the whole situation, to make a profit?"


+ + + + + +

RAKOSU

The team splashed their way (www.youtube.com/watch?v=54h80CfvqX0) through the shallow, brackish water that lay a few inches deep at the bottom of the storm drain, stopping every time an explosion or a rattle of gunfire echoed down the tunnel. Over time, the punctuated sounds became less frequent. As Kally had predicted, the storm train carried on for nearly a kilometre before a cave-in caused by Imperial bombing forced them to move back above ground. Scrambling up a scree of shattered concrete, they emerged into a deserted street. The air was still humid, but now it was also grimy with settling dust. They were right in the thick of the target zone now. The smoke had mostly cleared and the fires had mostly burned themselves out, but piles of rubble lay everywhere, and many of the buildings that still stood were burned out husks. Some of the walls were stippled with bullet holes, speaking of earlier firefights between the Vilysian and Ramado militias, but only powerful air-to-ground ordnance could have flattened the buildings so comprehensively.

They met the first indigens at the end of the street. Where a bomb had neatly removed the side wall of a house, a man and a woman were cuffing at their dusty flare goggles as they sifted through the wreckage. A younger indigen watched numbly. None of them paid any attention to the team as they crept past. Somewhere, a woman was shouting hoarsely, what sounded like a name, over and over again. Vincent stole a sideways look at Kelly, who had stopped to stare open-mouthed at this close up view of the destruction. When the young verispex caught him looking, she turned away, shaking her head sharply.

It became harder to avoid the indigens as they continued towards the town centre, but none of them bothered the team. Once, a battered truck with slabs of aluminium bolted to the doors and flatbed went rumbling past on the road to the town centre, coughing smoke as it bounced over the rubble. The flatbed was crammed with armed men, each with a rag of cloth tied round his upper arm bearing the Vilysian sun emblem. A few children cheered or made devotional gestures towards the men, but most of the civilians gave them the same dead-eyed stare that they showed the team.

In another street a tower block had been hit by the bombardment, and indigens were carrying survivors out of the reeking interior while one man tried to keep onlookers back with angry waves of a battered old autopistol. There were children scattered among the crowd; some crying, some trying to help, some simply looking lost. Four dead bodies had been recovered from the wreckage of the tower block. They had been placed outside, stark and silent and laid in a row. A young woman who looked almost as ash-grey as the corpses was kneeling beside them, holding one of the dead men's hands. A trio of older indigens, surrounded by cloth bundles, had piled splinters of wood into an old promethium barrel and were boiling water over the makeshift fire. The tallest of the three was a careworn woman with straggling hair and black flare goggles pushed up onto her forehead. She threw what looked like a pair of medical forceps into the pan, before noticing the team. She turned her pink-eyed face towards them and began gesticulating towards the tower block, shouting in an accent that was too thick for the team to decipher.

Before they could answer, there was a ratcheting whir and a series of thunks that echoed between the tumbled walls. One of the female doctor's assistants started so violently that he knocked the pot from its hanger over the oil-drum fire, and sent it clattering across the road. The other indigens looked up with similar expressions of shock and panic. The ones who were carrying wounded men out of the tower block doubled their speed, ignoring the agonised yelps of their charges as they hauled them into the cover of the closest still-standing building. Others paused only long enough to grab their children's arms before dashing into the nearest cover they could find.

"Better follow suit." Vincent snapped as the street rapidly emptied. Behind them, the pistoning thumps became the whine of powered exoskeletons, and the familiar silhouettes of combat servitors resolved out of the brickdust haze. There were eight of them, moving in column formation; the same PDF constructs that the team had witnessed the previous night. They came stomping into the street, targeting lasers scattering green through the smoke as they panned back and forth. Absolutely no sound greeted them, though from his vantage point behind a shattered window Glabrio could see a couple of the indigens peeking out fearfully from their own hiding places. Not far from Kally, an indigen was curled beneath the wheels of a bullet-riddled ground car, his eyes screwed shut and one hand clamped over his whimpering daughter's mouth as he hugged her to his chest.

As the blank-faced servitors stomped across the cratered pavement, a few of the braver indigens scrabbled up the reverse slope of a rubble mound opposite Sapphira and Solvan - a rubble mound that had presumably once been a house. The indigens were gangly adolescents; one a snub-nosed girl with her albino hair falling messily into her eyes, another a skinny boy who hadn't yet grown into his front teeth. Leaning over the pile of rubble, they started shouting venomous curses at the Imperial battle cyborgs. One or two of the other cowering indigens peeked out of cover, and in the ruin next to the rubble heap Solvan saw the indigen doctor gesturing frantically for the kids to get back down.

The servitors took absolutely no notice of the indigen children. One turned its head dumbly towards them, then turned away again as it thumped on its way. Its oblivious progress took it straight through the row of corpses laid outside the tower block, crushing the arm of one beneath its bionic foot with an audible crunch. The boy with the oversize front teeth shrieked a curse, picked up a chip of rockrete and hurled it at the trailing servitor. The missile bounced off the cyborg's armoured shoulder plate and skittered away.

The servitor turned, its vox grille roaring a staccato of alert code. Two of the other servitors pivoted with it, and in an instant the air was full of whickering tracers as the three stitched heavy stubber fire through the ruined house. Chips of rockrete were tossed into the air, and before they could even think about ducking back the group of indigen children simply vanished in a pink mist. The indigen doctor, leaping to her feet with a shriek, disintegrated as the trail of bullets swept left and caught her in the midsection.

Kelly Black was on her feet before any of the team could stop her. "Check fire!" she screamed in High Gothic, "Check fire!"

The servitor's combat howl became a confused beeping of error code. The fire ceased, and the three servitors froze with their smoking gun barrels still levelled at the ruins. A large chunk of the bullet-riddled wall toppled outwards and landed with a crash in the road, the reverse side splashed with blood. Two of the other servitors, their guns still fully loaded, turned with a hydraulic whine towards Kelly. Green laser dots played uncertainly over her face. One of the servitors had a bulky loudhailer built into its torso armour, and a pict recorder mounted on one side of its head.

"This is commander Thark of the Hercynian PDF." a very human voice boomed from the loudhailer, the High Gothic words echoing between the ruined buildings. "Identify!"

[dakkagor]

Somewhere up ahead the familiar rattle started. They called it the 'reapers rattle', because it was such a common sound in the low sinks and often spelt death for whoever was facing it.

A heavy stubber was firing.

Kally threw herself to the left, rolling through a puddle and coming to a halt, flat on her face behind a heavy steel bulkhead that jutted out from the side of an old industrial packet. Lenns wasn't so lucky. She wasn't quick enough, and as she turned to follow Kally into cover, the fat rounds buzzed right through her like she was tissue. Blood sprayed behind her in a long fan and she flopped backwards, cut apart.

Kally propped herself against the steel bulkhead and wiped the water from her face, spitting some of the disgusting stuff out of her mouth. She clutched her battered lasgun, an old armageddon mk4 from the gangs stash, and listened to the reapers rattle. It slacked off and she got up running, dashing forward from cover to cover. Around her lasfire spat back at the stubbers position and homemade explosives thumped heavy counterpoint to the sharp whip crack of lasrifles and the duller bark of autoguns. Just another weekend in the Makita low hives. . .

Kally watched the sorry scene play out. Heard the familiar sound, amplified by dangerous closeness, and tensed, winced at the shriek suddenly cut off. She huddled a little deeper into her cover, rifle cradled in her arms. Damn stupid kids. . .

She turned and saw the poor bastard indigen with his daughter and held out her hand. He was now staring wide eyed at her, having heard the scream.

“Down!” She made a pushing gesture while saying the word in her broken Obrantu . “Down!”

He nodded, and kept his child close. Kally scrambled away, boltgun in hand, and away from the civilian. If a firefight developed, she wanted to be as far from innocents as possible.

Kelly Black was on her feet before any of the team could stop her. "Check fire!" she screamed in High Gothic, "Check fire!"

“Gak Me.” Kally muttered. She rose from her new position. She had managed to get on the flank of the column of servitors, and had good cover from concrete rubble. She kept her boltgun ready, and her left hand drifted to the grenades at her belt. Frags to disorientate and then use the kraken rounds to shoot out their heavily shielded cogitators.

"This is commander Thark of the Hercynian PDF." a very human voice boomed from the loudhailer, the High Gothic words echoing between the ruined buildings. "Identify!"

Kally paused, and looked to the rest of the team. It was time for someone to talk their way through this, and it wasn't going to be her.

[Thrannix]

Solvan clenched his teeth while the reckless children instigated the combat servitors; the conclusion to that conflict was tragically obvious. There was nothing that he could do apart from whispering a prayer for their innocent souls. But as Kelly rose up to intervene at the worst possible moment his prayer became a string of muttered curses that would have put most guardsmen to shame.

"This is commander Thark of the Hercynian PDF." a very human voice boomed from the loudhailer, the High Gothic words echoing between the ruined buildings. "Identify!"

For an instant he relived his conversation with Crenshaw about egos and feelings. Warp of a time to start being prophetic.

"No one moves, no one speaks unless I tell you to! Or Emperor help me I will excommunicate the lot of you even if it is the last thing I do in this life!" The bishop hissed into the team vox, his anger drenching every word.

Kelly had slowly raised her hands to the servitors, a pulse thumping visibly in her neck. "I..." she began slowly, and Solvan couldn't be sure if she had a story ready or if she was about to blow their inquisition cover wide open. He wanted to scream at the verispex, to unload all his vexation at having their mission jeopardized with such ease in a cathartic stream of verbal violence.

"Kelly, listen." He forced himself to say instead, in a calm and level tone pressing his eyes with his fingers as if the motion would help him to squeeze a plan out of his brain. "Your name is Sarah, aid-worker, you are disoriented and shell-shocked, stall for time. I'll be there in a moment. The rest of the team stay out of sight, we don't need any more sitting ducks. Those who are able, reposition to maximize effectiveness if we have to fight our way through. If I am incapacitated sister Sapphira will assume command of this mission."

He didn't wait for that to sink in as he began to make his way around and above the pile of rubble towards Kelly, still shielded from the servitors' view. "Secutor Vizkop, if you have any advice or combat strategy that will allow the team to disable the servitors with a reasonable chance of success this is the time to start sharing."

Before he was in the servitor's line of sight he began to call out in distressed yells. "Sarah? Sarah where are you?" The sound of servos and pistons could be heard as some of the combat servitors turned to face the source of the new sound. He took a deep breath. Unto You, oh Emperor, I lift up my soul.

"Ah, there you are, thank the Emperor! What was all that noise? Another bombing?" He rambled on as he came into view, then he stopped a few meters from Kelly acting stunned as if he had just seen the servitors. Kelly had at least not compounded her previous poor judgement, and was following his instructions by looking shell-shocked and waiting for his lead. Although, the priest had to wonder, exactly how much of that shell-shock was being faked.

"This is your last warning, identify or be fired upon!" the PDF commander's voice came hammering through the servitor's vox speaker once more.

"No d- d- do not shoot!" Solvan stammered in High Gothic bringing as much fear to his expression as he could. "I am Arnold Lembar, and this is my daughter Sarah!" He lied, his hands up in the air, their real names had been recorded at the spaceport as part of rogue trader Machairi's staff, so new ones had to be used. "We are fully certified aid-workers!" He reached Kelly and held her in a protective gesture.

"You need a Munitorum K-58 authorization to be in a warzone." Crenshaw tersely added through the vox.

"And with permission from the Departmento Munitorum to perform our work as per authorization K-58!" The bishop quickly added. Deep down he prayed that in this backwater world the forms and certificates for such unimportant activities would still be in paper form and be a pain to search for or the whole charade would last less than ten minutes.

"You are currently outside the zones established for humanitarian aid. Explain your presence here, now!" Thark's impatience could be heard through the loudhailer.

"The zones change every week. Without a vox you could easily be left at a red zone and never know about it." The Major provided with certainty.

"We have been here for almost a month now, sir, our vox broke and we could not make it work again. We did not realize we were off the authorized area until the bombing. We are terribly sorry for the inconvenience! We will be leaving to a safe zone as soon as we are able!" Solvan explained apologetically.

"You will remove yourselves to the Ankylu West district immediately." Thark's voice barked from the impassive servitor. "And you can tell the rest of Haarlock's aid workers the same, before I have you all up before a tribunal for obstructing a military operation."

"Obstr-?" Kelly began hotly, before a sharp squeeze of her arm from Solvan stopped her.

"And steer clear of the centre if you have any sense." Thark went on acidly. "If the Prophet's maniacs don't get you, my servitors will."

"We understand. The Emperor protects. Let's go Sarah." Solvan hurriedly led Kelly away from the servitors as the cyborgs began advancing once again towards their original target.

"Let us put some distance between us and those machines.” He whispered into the team vox. “Don't let yourselves be seen. We'll regroup behind those half buried buildings to the southwest.“

"Agent Black, we need to talk." Solvan stated fixing Kelly with his gaze as they walked through the ruins.

[Atrum Daemon]

There was necessity, there was necessity, and then there was just pure barbarism. Vizkop had witnessed the Imperium's capacity for barbarism before, but that did not make it easier upon subsequent viewings. The savagery of punishing a population of innocents for the actions of a small percentage was par for the course as far as the assassin was concerned, but the enjoyment shown by some sickened him in a way he rarely felt.

--Some Years Ago--

“So what exactly are you expecting to accomplish here?”

“A simple gathering of information. Picking your brains, as the saying goes.”

“I suppose I should be lucky that statement is not literal.”

“Indeed you should, heretek.”

“Ah, the label again. You certainly enjoy those don't you?”

“Enough of this idle chatter, Iscariot. Reveal the identities of your conspirators and your punishment will be softened a few levels.”

“No, I don't think I will, Secutor Vizkop. I'd much rather just sit here a few more moments.”

“Enlighten me as to...”

Alarms blared in the facility as the lights were cut and emergency lighting flicked on. “What did you do!” Vizkop demanded, springing to his feet.

“Me?” Iscariot asked, amusement in his voice. “I did nothing. The son comes to save his father.”

--The Present--

In the back of his mind, Vizkop dearly hoped that the odd case of a missing tech-priest turned out to only be a cover for the presence of Oswin. He dared not consider the alternatives as that one was bad enough. For the time being, his mental functions ignored those thoughts. His attention primarily on the returns his various senors enacted by his helmet were feeding him. It was a mildly unusual experience for Vizkop, being in the midst of a mobile team in such a way. He had grown used to being shunted out front, exposed and almost certainly in immediate danger. Something he did not envy the Tallarn for.

When the team caught up with Sondar, Vizkop found himself taking careful cover in a culvert with the pyrokine, listening to a pair of indigens conversing. He, too, would not put it past an Imperial authority to simply lobotomize captured locals for servitorization. He shook his head slightly as the team gathered up and moved on through a storm drain.

Vizkop quickly took stock of the surroundings, noting places where ambushers could potentially hide or where a clever man may hide an explosive device. He only stared to really notice the people when the team could no longer avoid being around them. He viewed the people and the devastation around the team dispassionately, burying his own emotional response out of habit. The first thing that really got a quick response was the sound of combat servitors nearing the location.

The assassin watched the servitor column carefully, silently praying that the two adolescents would not do anything to attract the attention of the cyborgs. His mood darkened as the servitors treated the impact of a rock as though it were a true hostile threat and opened fire upon the children, reducing them and the doctor to obliterated messes. His eyes shut behind his helmet and a breath escaped him as Kelly made her foolish decision.

"Secutor Vizkop, if you have any advice or combat strategy that will allow the team to disable the servitors with a reasonable chance of success this is the time to start sharing."

“Simple,” he said quietly over the team's closed vox. “Do not engage. The resources we have that can disable the combat units are very limited and we would only be attracting further attention by using them.”

Could Vizkop have disabled the units via his authorization overrides? Most likely. But such an action would be the kind of exposure they did not need. As would engaging the units with the boltgun. When all was said and done, he planned to personally set Thark's head on a spike for programming his servitors with such extreme response to zero-sum threats like the children. The same for the priest who authorized it.

[Jarms48]

“Julianus.” Sapphira acknowledged, with a somewhat curt nod, as she swept into the room. She paused to take in her surroundings, and then looked at Remus with a forced smile as she set down her satchel. “I suppose the accommodations could always be worse.”

"Better or worse, it doesn't matter, nothing could be worse than field triage. Better now and in the comfort of silence than during the thick of it. I can still move it if required, rounds gone through, I'm sure. I'd be worried about muscle tearing, tissue damage and blood loss, they say you can loss up to half a litre in blood before you notice. Another two litres before immediate treatment is required." His medicae knowledge was minor, but he knew basic field first-aid, most troopers did.

“Movement is a good sign, but please don’t move any more than you have to.” Sapphira counseled, as she stepped forward and scrutinized Remus’ wound. After a moment she nodded approvingly. “Kally did everything right, and it seems that I have everything I need in here.”

The room was an isolated examination chamber, normally used for the Telepathica’s recently recovered psykers. Drab grey décor and cold metallic medical equipment, some of which looked suspiciously like torture implements, left little to the imagination as to what happened here. However there was bright lighting, access to water, and an impeccable level of cleanliness. Fortunately the ceiling mounted nullification amplifiers had been deactivated, so the room was only bleak rather than oppressive. Since the medical ward was loaded with AAT and PDF wounded, Major Crenshaw had thoughtfully granted access here – as well as full access to the well-stocked medical pharmacopeia and supply cabinets.

His head shifted to the side, his cheek pressed against the pillow, and he quietly sighed. He regarded Sapphira, a mixture of reverence and uncertainty, his last meeting with her had calmed him somewhat, but some hesitance remained. One conversation couldn't rid a months worth of mistrust and resentment, he knew he'd be fine, but the look on the Sisters face. Training taught him to pick up a persons tell and her smile, he couldn't place it. Perhaps he was getting sloppy in his old age, or maybe the good Sister was just harder to read.

Maybe that up-his-own-ass Regulator was right, maybe he was a cynical bastard. What happened to him? Forget about it, Julie. You're not that old, not yet. He reminded himself.

"What happened out there? Machine curses, failed defenses, it's happening again, isn't it? We should call for reinforcement, secure and protect all high valued targets, install Replicant detectors into vital infrastructure. We've made one sensor, we could make more." He said, his tone a mixture of matter-of-fact and worry. Even if the Interrogator denied him, maybe he could request additional troops himself, or reveal himself to the local PDF and press a few loyalists. He'd probably be shot for doing it, going against orders, going against the Inquisition. He'd be an unsung hero, labelled as a traitor. He had to wonder how many others had suffered a similar fate.

Stop it, Julie, you're stepping over thin lines. Listen to the Sister, she's a loyal Imperial, just like you. Listen to her, and listen good. He told himself, blinking, his eyes staring into the lights above him. His mind clouded, indecisive.

“Talking about our mission can wait.” Sapphira replied, with a stiff evenness, after she considered his points for a long moment. “As you can see, I need to wash up before I even think about treating you. I promise I will be able to help you momentarily.” The Sororita pointedly made eye contact as if to assure Remus of that fact. After a moment she nodded, and started to shrug off her smoke stained jacket as she made her way over to the sink.

"If not now, when?" He sighed, then dropped the subject. Sapphira quietly sighed herself as she stood facing the basin and turned on the water. After a moment the Sister tossed aside her jacket, blouse, and then pulled up her hair it into a pony tail. Sapphira leaned forward to cup some water, and then splashed her face before she reached for the cleanser.

"How long's it going to take? Will I be out of action for long? Behind the lines for a week, or two?" He sounded lost, unsure of what use he'd even be. He was a soldier through-and-through, and wasn't anything more than novice in all else.

“I’ll need to evaluate and see to the muscle damage, clean out the wound, and then apply tissue regenerators.” Sapphira explained, as she vigorously scrubbed at the dirt. “Once that’s done, I’ll only need to seal you back up with synthetic flesh and then we’re done here.” She paused to reach for a nearby, and ran it over her face. Sapphira dried her hands as she spoke. “However, to avoid any complications with your recovery, I cannot clear for direct action. You’re going to have to sit out on the Rakosu deployment, Julianus.”

"Doesn't sound too bad, still, I don't know the use I'll be behind the line. I suppose it's just another round of glorified guard duty, wandering the halls and keeping tabs. Back to work as usual I suppose." He replied.

“You’re hardly going to be on glorified guard duty, Julianus.” Sapphira replied, not unkindly, as she turned back to face Remus. Her fleur-de-lys tattoo had been rubbed clear, and the Sister’s small silver aquila was starkly backed by her modest black undershirt. Sapphira placed the used towel aside, and quickly went to preparing her work station for surgery as she continued to speak.

“Akkan is as much behind enemy lines as Rakosu. Rogue Traders with agendas and the local regime on their payrolls, indigenous terrorists hiding in the squalid refugee camps, and now replicants?” Sapphira reasoned, and almost slammed down a box of synthetic wrap as her eyes narrowed darkly. The Sister stared fixedly for a moment, before she glanced at Remus guiltily. “I’m sorry about that.”

He wanted to believe her, he wanted her to be the one he could trust again, but not now, not with that. That's all he was, all he'd ever been, from the days he did the Inquisitorial rounds at the Ends with his sister to Carbon. Everything he did, everything he had always done could be cycled back to protecting those of higher esteem in the Inquisition. Of course they gave him additional orders, now he was a babysitter. He didn't know what to think about that, the girl barely listened, barely followed code, still refused to wear shoes. It seemed more like torture.

"It's fine, no harm done." He managed. She had her points, he just happened to disagree with them. The Sister kept his gaze and slowly nodded, before she turned back to her task at hand.

“For what it’s worth, I don’t disagree with your suggestions.” Sapphira said, and broke the oppressively awkward silence. She frowned and sat on the stool by his wounded leg. “However our options are highly limited, at least until we have adamantium-clad proof those abominations are here and to what extent the Hercynian government has been compromised.”

"Thank you, really." He said, his voice almost a whisper. As if he didn't want her to hear, Remus wasn't even sure. He pressed his head further back into the pillow, held his eyes close and waited. The Sister hesitated, and then wordlessly reached out for the soldier’s hand. After holding it for a moment she gently squeezed and broke contact.

“Okay,” Sapphira quietly stated, as she leaned in and pulled on a pair of gloves. She critically and determinedly eyed the wound. “Now let me see…”


* * * * *

"Clear." he whispered as he pulled his PDA out of his suit jacket and plugged the signet ring into it. Another green progress bar appeared as the stolen data began to transfer. "Information should be coming through to you now."

"Knew he'd get it done, man could've had a career in arbitration." Glabrio commented offhand, he spun about in his swivel chair and mounted his boots on the table in front of him. He reclined, raising his dataslate to eye level and motioned across the captured data. He rose a hand, coiled his fingers back save for the index and ran it under the lines of text as he followed along.

"A little antiquated for my tastes, but it speaks of Inquisition. We'd have parked an arbiter rhino in the vicinity and wirelessly hacked into their system with advanced intrusion logics, then again. I could picture the scene, raining, streetlights, PDF taurox's passing by threatening to notice us as we work in our dark, dank alley. The screeching of tires as their counter programs detect us and send out their call for security. Oh, now that just speaks Arbiters." He gave a sly smile, and shook his head.

"Never the less, we lack the field support and an arbiter precinct. I commend the man." His smile soon faded, and he fell to silence soon enough. His eyes passing across the lines of text, finger scrolling down the pages. He drew his tongue across his upper jaw and sucked on his lip. Most of the information confirmed what they already knew, servitor and drone strikes becoming the norm across Uru. That the rogue traders were the ones who provided these weapons and machines. The name Veiss appeared frequently, more so than many of the other off world merchants. Correspondence attained continued to prove interesting as the traders openly approved of the PDFs transition from peacekeeping to the psyker-guided attacks.

As he drew further through the data he became puzzled. It seemed many of these rogue traders had lobbied for initial expansion on the western continent and the establishment of the Enclave. All of this done as soon as the eastern continent had been secured in His name. Attacks specifically targeting Uru infrastructure was commonplace when conflict began, effective, but there seemed little distinction between civilian and military works. Then there were the reconstruction contracts accepted and undertaken by these very same rogue traders, many of these still on hold or placed on standby after the PDF had abandoned their peacekeeping efforts.

Why would they promote remote strikes and PDF withdraw, only to have their construction projects stalled? It doesn't make any sense. Glabrio took a hand from his slate and ran it across his forehead, massaging the area as if it'd open his mind further, allow him to grasp onto some thought at the back of his mind. His fingers ran through his hair, and he closed his eyes, trapped in thought.

"This is what I don't understand, bombing the infrastructure, sure, cold, but effective. Cuts off your enemies and ensures they don't have a manufacturing base for retaliation. Accepting the reconstruction contracts, yes, immediate financial gain and credit goes to the traders for rebuilding western industry. But why promote the remote strikes, why force the peacekeeping force to pull out? Why allow your sites to be abandoned?" He looked to Machairi, as if seeking her for guidance.

"Wait." He paused, thinking he had an answer. A answer, but perhaps not a full story.

"We know they're prolonging the war, selling weapons to both sides. They've forced the PDF to retreat, effectively giving them an excuse to stop work on new infrastructure. Which in turn, forces the western continent to rely solely on them for import. It's all greenfield acquisitions, grabbing land so your competition can't use it. The western populace is angry, displaced, why trust the traders? Because they have no choice, they've taken up their industrial mantel. Surely most of them don't understand these very traders hold the contracts that keep them impoverished, they're too distracted by these merciless strikes by the east. Oh, it's dirty." He said.

Glabrio tucked his dataslate into his coats interior pocket, cupped his hands together and all but threw his legs from the table and settled them back onto the floor. He rose from his seat, placed a hand on the swivel chairs back and gave it a spin. His other hand rose to rub his chin in a pistol grip, and he glanced into thin air with hard eyes.

"The PDF see a possible rebel stronghold, they bomb it. Who knows how many civilians are claimed in the attack, or what the area or building they were in is. This creates more chaos, more hatred, more anger, more rebels. The cycle continues, all the while these traders keep doing what they do best, trading, accruing wealth. They could do this until the war finally ends, until both sides manage a ceasefire or the greater Imperium intervenes. Then they have their final card, the construction projects, a final payment until they move on, finding some other interior conflict to profit off." He seemed so certain of it.

"This war could have been over long ago. Bomb the infrastructure, send in the troops, quell all major resistance. Keep the peacekeepers in play until the west is rebuilt, a new pro-Imperial politician comes to power; preferably someone the people of the west like, and then train up a new standing army. One supporting our ideals." He stated.

But what does this have to do with Replicants? He asked himself, probably nothing, unconnected, and that's if they even existed here. He thought back to the Venatora debrief, if Marc was with him he'd give the man a look, pass on his suspicions. Still doesn't hurt to ask, Machairi's in ear shot and Marc's on the horn. His mind told him.

He hit radio on his shoulder, and leaned into the mic.

"These Replicants, according to debriefs they used the planetary defense satellites as a mask for their operations right? If one of these things are on world you think they could be masquerading as one of these traders and helping to extend the conflict? The opportunity is already there, the entire war could be just be another massive cover for whatever their operation might be, right?" He worded, taking his finger from the transceiver and dug his hand into his vests pocket.

He looked to Machairi, a smile growing on his face. "Jellybean?"

[Thrannix]

"I know what you're going to say, father," Kelly said vehemently as they retreated from the rest of the group. "But those were children throwing stones. Frakking stones!" She picked up a chip of concrete before hurling it back into the rubble to emphasise her point.

The priest agreed nodding at the verispex with a hardened look. "And the souls of those responsible will burn in the warp, in due time."

While he witnessed Kelly's outrage and disgust his own anger receded somewhat. The young woman's reaction was almost endearing if you ignored the fact it could have ended with all of them dead. Solvan even wondered for a moment if he should feel more indignant for the kids, if perhaps he had been on the field a few years too many. He chastised himself; the middle of a mission was not the time for such thoughts.

"I understand why you did it." He said in the end, the priest within him winning the struggle over the spiteful old man. Solvan sat on a rock with a sigh and wiped away the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand

"But I expect you, as an intelligent and capable agent, to understand the danger you exposed yourself and your teammates to. Also, I hope that in the future your file's description; can be relied on to make quick, logical decisions under pressure is more than just artistic license on the part of the person who wrote it." Solvan's tone wasn't one of censorship, but of genuine concern.

"That was different." Kelly said stubbornly, although her voice had lost some of its challenging edge. "Don't get me wrong father, I've seen what people can do to each other. Back in MHE Verispex we were processing something like one murder and two rapes per day, in our spire level alone. And I lived through the 602 cultist uprising. But even cultists couldn't organise this sort of...industrial scale brutality."

"You clearly haven't seen what the servants of the dark gods do when their uprises succeed." Solvan countered levelly, his eyes narrowing.

Kelly rubbed the bridge of her nose, hard, with the palm of her hand.

"The priests always say we're supposed to lift up indigens into the Emperor's light, because they're our brother humans. Here we're treating them like collateral damage. And die-hard resistance movements don't just spring up for no reason."

Kelly paused, as if aware of how close her words were to skirting outright heresy. She glanced back towards the group, her eyes finding Sapphira and Kally.

"I guess what I'm saying is, replicants or not, this isn't the Imperium I signed up to defend. We have to do more while we're here."

"What we have to do is focus on our Emperor given duty." Solvan countered caustically at Kelly's persistence. "If we stop to help every suffering soul in this mess of a city we will never reach our objective, and in the end we will make no real impact on this planet wide tragedy."

“In order to be an inquisitorial agent you will have to come to terms with the fact that we don't have the luxury to risk a mission's success just to clear our conscience and sleep better.” He bit the inside of his cheek as he tasted the bitter truth of those words. The pains and horrors of many years tried to come rushing into his mind, but he pushed them away. “Because when we fail it doesn’t mean the rapist gets away, the murder goes unsolved or a group of children die, when we fail entire planets burn and millions of souls are damned.”

He knew the memories from Makita Hive and Venatora would be flashing across Kelly's eyes, and her next words proved him right, though perhaps not quite in the way he had hoped.

"Up until now I knew I was doing everything that I could." Kelly said quietly. "Back on Solomon one of my friends was shot by a rogue agent, with a bullet that was meant for me. The only way I've been able to live with that is knowing that there's nothing I could have done. On Venatora thousands of people died, but we did everything possible to make sure the death toll wasn't even worse. Are we doing everything that we can here?"

“We are. It may not look or feel like it, but we are.” The bishop was wrong-footed for a second by the sudden change in Kelly's attitude; the deep sorrow palpable behind her neutral words. He could relate to that pain. He tried to remember the incident - it was little more than a few lines in the file on the Pembroke case, and it didn't even mention the name of the dead woman. He wondered if the inquisition was the right place for such a sensitive soul. He suspected the answer was no.

“It is a heavy burden that the Emperor has entrusted unto us. It tests our faith and our resolve every minute of every day.” The priest stood again, opening his arms to the ruins around him. "You want to help these people? First we crush the heretics that are using all this pain and misery to cover whatever unholy plot they have brewing. Then we get the bastards in charge, like our friend Thark back there, court-martialed for dereliction of duty."

Kelly folded her arms over her rain cloak and the flak vest concealed beneath it. "I'll hold you to that, Father." she said in a low voice.

The priest nodded with a sad smile, before asking, "What was your friend's name? I'm assuming that due to the circumstances you never got a chance to give her a proper burial?"

"No." Kelly said, clenching her jaw. "Her name was Sandra Farrel, verispex SOCO level 3. She was the best kickboxer in our local club. She'd argue down to the wire that Makitan Grain was better than amasec. She always used to talk with her hands and she..." Kelly shook her head, exhaling down her nose in what might have been a laugh. "She had this...really stupid giggle.”

“Well, sounds to me that you and Sandra were lucky to have each other.” Said the priest, thankful that Kelly had started to step away from whatever dark pit she had been staring at. “Death can never erase the memories of a life blessed by sharing it with the ones you care for.”

Kelly hugged her elbows. “I know we have to think about saving planets rather than individuals now. But everyone matters to someone, Father. You learn that in verispex. You comb through a victim's life and you realise that a real person has died, in a way that hits you in the gut rather than just in the head. You have to learn to detach from it, otherwise you go insane. That's why I worry so much about Marc, sometimes."

She stopped herself, abruptly, as if fearing that she had said too much. Solvan deliberately brushed it off.

“Ah, worrying sisters, I know how those can be.” he commented with a chuckle, his gaze lost in the smoking horizon. “I certainly gave mine a few extra age marks back in the day.”

Kelly hesitated, and changed the subject.

"You can put the victims to the back of your mind, but it makes you see life as something worth saving - even in a hellhole like this."

“Amen.” Solvan muttered, after a moment of silence, and started walking. “Come on Kelly, time to keep going.”

"Aye." Kelly said quietly, and then hesitated again. "Thank you, Father. And sorry."

As she climbed past him back towards the group, Solvan caught a look from Vincent who had moved close enough to eavesdrop on the end of their conversation. The stocky ex-Guardsman gave Solvan an ugly grin.

"What the fok you say to her, preacher man? That girl never apologises for anythin'."

"Wait a second," Kelly suddenly pipped in both men's ears as she reactivated her vox bead. "Where's Abdur?"

[dakkagor]

Kally had drifted ahead, and had found the stump of a building to get some elevation and clear lines of sight. The team had come to a halt and Kally had been aware that Kelly was getting a dressing down from Solvan. She'd have to check in with her later, and make sure she was ok. Kally hadn't exected the younger Black to step out of line like that, though she understood the emotions that might have caused her to act.

"Wait a second," Kelly suddenly pipped in both men's ears as she reactivated her vox bead. "Where's Abdur?"

Kally frowned and scanned the rubble, looking for the furtive signs of movement. The Tallarn was good at hiding, she'd give him that. Not so good at working in a team.

But then again, I'm hardly the poster girl of 'team player'

"I can't see him." she muttered over vox. "Everyone sound off, and congregate. . ." she looked around and found a bombed out building. It might have been a warehouse, but its roof was now long gone, but it had four standing walls. More than many buildings could claim around here. "At the warehouse to the Northeast. Set a watch and wait there. I'll dig around and see if I can't find where he's got to." She paused, remembering a piece of advice from Schafer, of all people. Rely on your team.

"Vizkop, if you can can do a wide scan for his vox and get me a direction or distance, do it. And keep a bead on me on the squad channel. If I get into trouble I'll squelch the bead like this, twice if I can get back to you, three times if I need some help."

She pressed the bead sharply into her ear, listening to the familiar sound. It was used by Task force Carbon troopers to communicate without having to speak, another trick she had picked up with Inquisitorial training.

Solvan walked towards Kally shaking his head with a worried look.

"Vincent, go with agent Sonder." He spoke into the vox glancing for a moment at the ex-guardsman to make sure he complied.

Before Kally had a chance to respond the priest continued with the vox off. "I know how good you are at your job. But we have to assume the worst, that an enemy has gotten the jump on our stealth specialist before he could even send out a warning. I'm not losing more people piecemeal, you are not going out there alone."

Kally paused, before nodding.

"You're the boss. I don't feel good about leaving you without heavier firepower though, in case you need it. I don't have any complaints about working with Vince though."


"You have two hours." The bishop said activating the team vox once more while heading towards the warehouse, every word a heavy weight in his heart. "After that we have to move on."

"stay safe." she responded over vox, before she dropped lightly from her vantage point, and walked up to Vince, who was checking his kit.

"What are you thinking Kally girl?" he asked without looking up.

"I'm thinking we start with were we saw him last. That square with the servitors."

Vince nodded. "Ja, good call. Lead the way."

They moved off, leaving the group behind as they merged with the rubble around them. Moving as a two man cell, they circled back to the site of the shooting, tense and alert. Worst case scenario, Kally reasoned, the poor bastard had caught a slug from the stubber, either a ricochet or a through-and-through penetration that had gone through his cover. Or he could be lying with a twisted ankle, unconscious in a gutter or under a pile of rubble, concussed or dazed. Best case scenario? Dumb frakker had gotten lost in a dead pocket for radio signals.

"Abdur this is Kally, status, over?"

She listened to the static wash, and hoped like hell that was all it was. Just bad luck or him screwing up. and not, as Solvan had posited and Kally feared, a competent enemy stalking them.

[PaintSerf]

Crenshaw

"Those Ghosts gunned down 14 of our men." the Telepathica overseer went on, ignoring Kelly and the other supposed rogue trader hang-ons as he turned back to Crenshaw, who spared a brief acknowledging look before curiously observing Kelly’s inspection. "I don't understand it. Normally those albinos can't see for shit!"

"Here might be your answer." Kelly said suddenly, as she turned the dead indigen's head carefully to one side. Unlike most of the indigen attackers, his flare goggles were clear instead of tinted. Behind the transparent plastic, the dead man's open eyes reflected a glassy green sheen as they caught the light. Implants - and not standard mechanicus ones either.

“Interesting.” Crenshaw murmured, before giving Kelly an approving nod. “Good find, miss Black. If your Lady has no objections, I would like to briefly draft you into service.” He pointed down at the corpse. “I want those implants excised and examined as soon as possible.”

“Major? She’s a civilian, and we have our own specialists who can handle that.” The Overseer interjected, and favored Kelly with a skeptical sneer. “Are you even qualified, girl?”

“I’m more than qualified, thank you very much for asking.” Kelly retorted, and fixed the overseer with a loathsome look. The Major sharply cleared his throat, and spared a warning look at both of them.

“Our examiners will be occupied with identifying the corpses.” Crenshaw explained levelly. “Miss Black will wait here until the Mechanicus can spare an adept to supervise, as is required for nonstandard technology.” He glanced between Kelly and the Overseer with expectantly raised brows. “Is that understood?”

“Yes, major Crenshaw.” The overseer answered, through clenched as he disapprovingly regarded Kelly. She coolly gazed back at him, before accepting Crenshaw’s settlement with a nod.

“Outstanding.” Crenshaw flatly stated, and then glanced back at Kally and Vincent. “Your wounded colleague can be treated in one of our warded examination chambers.” He rested the suppression shield on the ground, and gestured to the other AAT blacksoul. “Vickstrom will escort you, and I shall bring your doctor down when she arrives.”


Gavin

The Ghosts were not difficult for Gavin to track as his projected form streaked over the base wall. Compared to the darkness of their surroundings, the raiders were pin-pricks of cognitive light bobbing through the grass outside the kill-zone, which they never should have gotten past. Gavin loitered above them, and even from his height the psyker could feel their traumatized emotional status. The psyker knew well what the potent combination of fatigue, failure, and fear was like. He frowned, and started to head towards their congregation-

“Wh-wh-what?” Gavin stammered in confusion, and recoiled back as he consciously returned into his body. “They are…gone.”

"What do you mean they're gone?" Machairi asked Gavin, who reflexively flinched at her voice. The psyker uncomfortably cleared his throat, and then turned towards Alia. His eyes nervously flicked at the interrogator’s bodyguard, before they settled to the muddy ground between them.

“What I mean is that they are gone, as in not here, or within my usual range of detection.” Gavin explained, with a bewildered expression. “Their minds, and presumably their bodies as well, have been moved elsewhere. In an abrupt manner, quite unexpectedly, before I could react.” The psyker anxiously fidgeted as his head somehow sunk lower. “I apologize for my failure, Machairi.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Gavin.” Machairi absolved, and gestured for the psyker to follow her when he glanced up in surprise. “Come with me. What else can you tell me?”

“The means, by which I presume they were relocated, were not psychically achieved.” Gavin explained, in a somewhat strained voice as he struggled to match Alia’s strides. “There was no trace of…potential on them.”

“Did you detect anything mechanical?”

“I could not give you a conclusive answer, as I was not…” Gavin started, and then lowered his voice with a shudder as he saw some of the Mechanicus priests. “…I was not attuned to technology at the time, nor was I inside one of their minds. If I had been the results would have potentially been…” The psyker flinched as they neared the wall and the ghastly human wreckage of his work. Gavin grimaced at the sight, and then glanced morosely at Alia. “Highly unpleasant.”


Crenshaw

“Imagine what someone who actually wanted to break your team could do, Solvan. Which for the record, I do not want to do!” Crenshaw called out as he idly watched the priest depart. The Major bemusedly shook his head and then reached for the recaff mug.

Or need to do, at least for now. Crenshaw mused, as he drained the bitter dregs and grunted indifferently. He closed his eyes, and then slowly rolled his neck with audible series of pops. When he finished the rotation, Crenshaw exhaled deeply and exchanged his mug for the stylus. The Major frowned contemplatively as he reviewed the document in hand.


***

Crenshaw watched the impromptu street triage as impassively as he had observed every other human tragedy of Rakosu. Their suffering is irrelevant. He still eyed the Rakosi, from the scrawniest whelp to the feeblest geriatric, as the potential threat they were. Short of a mob the wretched heathens were no direct physical threat, but if they knew the ruins of their city – and who or what stood out. The Major’s features tightened as he continued to threat assess the seemingly thus far oblivious bystanders. One hint and the militias will swarm here to find us.

Even as he observed the locals, Crenshaw did not ignore his supposed allies. He had noted how some of their number seemed distracted since entering Rakosu; the grim looks, hesitations, and stares. The sights, sounds, and smells of urban warfare had already taken their toll. Not a good sign, when we have yet to come face to face with our prey. The Major’s gaze flicked over and scrutinized them in turn. Which one of them will break first? His eyes locked on the Sororita, who seemed transfixed by the desperate scene. She is very likely.

Crenshaw’s thoughts were interrupted, and he reacted by sharply yanking Gavin by the arm at the familiar sound of PDF servitors. Like the indigens, the Major knew what to expect and bodily dragged the psyker down. He knelt over his charge, and cautiously eyed the locals as the drones clanked closer. His eyes flicked over to the children, and he merely dropped down next to Gavin when one of them screamed. If they screamed further, Crenshaw did not hear it over the stubbers as he pushed his squirming charge further down into their meagre cover.

"Check fire! Check fire!"

Oh, you idiot girl. Crenshaw clenched his teeth and kept a restraining arm on Gavin’s back as he warily glanced around the square. He leaned in and roughly murmured into the psyker’s ear. “Stay composed, stay down, and stay quiet. Remember that you cannot run, Bolt Magnet. You know what they will do to you.”

"Secutor Vizkop, if you have any advice or combat strategy that will allow the team to disable the servitors with a reasonable chance of success this is the time to start sharing."

“Simple. Do not engage. The resources we have that can disable the combat units are very limited and we would only be attracting further attention by using them.”

“Correct assessment.” Crenshaw quietly agreed. “We are only in Rakosu for the replicants, Haarlock, and Schafer.”

Crenshaw remained in cover, tersely imputing his bureaucratic experience when the priest’s charade required it. To the Major’s unpleasant surprise, Thark took Solvan’s at his word and allowed them to live. He narrowly eyed the servitors as they stomped off further into the city. What have Haarlock and his ‘aid workers’ accomplished with similar lies? I shall break Thark myself for his negligence. Crenshaw grunted as he stood up and, and he winced at the sight of indigens discretely scuttling away and Kelly’s conversation with Solvan. Someone will talk – and it should not be us.

"Wait a second. Where's Abdur?"

"I can't see him. Everyone sound off, and congregate. . ."

“Unbelievable.” Crenshaw hissed in frustration, as he hauled out the bolter from beneath his robes. He cradled it at the ready as he failed to spot the missing agent nearby. “Crenshaw and I have Jenkins. We have no eyes on your man.”

"You have two hours. After that we have to move on."

"Stay safe."

Crenshaw’s jaw remained clenched through the entire exchange between Kally and Solvan. Not a word, at least not now. They would likely draw the incorrect conclusion, and we have done enough damned talking out in the open. The Major slowly shook his head in objection as the two agents slipped by his rearguard. When they disappeared from sight, he sharply turned to goad Gavin towards the warehouse with a firm shove to the back. When they were near to the building, Crenshaw called a halt and reached over to deactivate Gavin’s null halo.

“Sweep the building, Jenkins, full biological and mechanical. When you clear it, we move inside and then you find the Tallarn.” The Major ordered as he stood aside to spare the psyker from his aura. Crenshaw kept his adjutant in his peripherals and the agents in sight, bolter at the ready as he scanned their surroundings.

[Azazeal849]

"Knew he'd get it done, man could've had a career in arbitration." Glabrio commented offhand.

"Close," Machairi said, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "He used to work as a detective for a hive police force, before De Shilo headhunted him. Apparently he showed extreme determination in tracking down the cultists responsible for the 602 Makita attacks."

Machairi had originally thought that Marc's determination had been due to an understandable revulsion towards cop-killers. That might well have been part of the reason; but after her talk with the man that morning, and the knowledge that his father had been one of the enforcers maimed in the attacks, she thought she understood a deeper motive.

She rubbed her fingernails against the ball of her thumb, thoughtfully. "What do you make of his strategy?"

"A little antiquated for my tastes, but it speaks of Inquisition."

...

"This is what I don't understand, bombing the infrastructure. Sure, cold, but effective. Cuts off your enemies and ensures they don't have a manufacturing base for retaliation. Accepting the reconstruction contracts, yes - immediate financial gain and credit goes to the traders for rebuilding western industry. But why promote the remote strikes, why force the peacekeeping force to pull out? Why allow your sites to be abandoned?" He looked to Machairi, walking over with two hot mugs of recaf after nearly an hour had passed, as if seeking her guidance.

Machairi arched an eyebrow at Tomas, who was deep in thought. “Anything interesting?” she asked him.

...

“No, this time it didn't.” He shook his head. “You can't garrison a city with servitors and airstrikes.”

"Wait." Glabrio paused, thinking he had an answer. An answer, but perhaps not a full story.

...

"This war could have been over long ago. Bomb the infrastructure, send in the troops, quell all major resistance. Keep the peacekeepers in play until the west is rebuilt, a new pro-Imperial politician comes to power; preferably someone the people of the west like, and then train up a new standing army. One supporting our ideals." He stated.

"And when we find out why that didn't happen, and exactly who was playing outside their remits, there will be a reckoning." Machairi said in a very icy tone, "But for the moment, we need to determine if there's any alien taint involved."

"These Replicants..." said Glabrio, "According to debriefs, they used the planetary defense satellites as a mask for their operations right? If more of these things are on world you think they could be masquerading as one of these traders and helping to extend the conflict? The opportunity is already there, the entire war could be just be another massive cover for whatever their operation might be, right?" He worded, taking his finger from the transceiver and dug his hand into his vests pocket.

"Pray not." Machairi said. She picked up Tomas' sheaf of papers again, and massaged one temple with her free hand. "Getting audiences with all these people is going to be...interesting." She shot both Tomas and Glabrio a tight smile. "I hope you are both prepared for some more long shifts."

Glabrio looked to Machairi, a smile growing on his face. "Jellybean?"


+ + + + + +

"Abdur this is Kally, status, over?"

She listened to the static wash, and hoped like hell that was all it was. Just bad luck or him screwing up. and not, as Solvan had posited and Kally feared, a competent enemy stalking them.

Most of the shell-shocked indigens who had run for cover when the servitors appeared were slowly drifting back to pick up the pieces. A knot of them were trying to pull two older women, who were wailing loudly, away from the bloody ruins of the servitors' attack. Kally couldn't see any visible pieces, let alone whole bodies.

The man and his daughter were still lingering by the bullet-riddled ground car. The man looked up at them and then away again, but the girl spat at Kally's feet. Vincent growled at the young albino, but inspite of their bulky weapons she just stared at them accusingly until they moved on.

"They all saw us talkin' to Thark." Vincent muttered, "Better wrap this up before one of these fokkers gets on the horn and calls out the militia."

They didn't have far to go - as they skirted the bombed-out tower block, the call came in.

“I have found Abdur. In that tower there. His microbead is switched off, though. Proceed with caution.”

"Let's get this over with." Vincent opined, pointing towards the back door to the block, which sat deserted with its door blown off its frame. "Usual drill?"

The two agents made their way into the building. They heard indigens moving in the front rooms, but the back stairwell was deserted. The first floor they came to had partially caved in, with a large hole in one wall where some heavy munition had blasted in. The contents of the rooms had been strewn everywhere, and so had the bodies. The indigens were working to remove them, but Kally and Vincent counted several more, ranging from half-buried in the rubble to almost undisturbed. They lay on roll mats, covered with blood-spotted blankets, one or two with burst IV drips hooked up to their arms. Kally could see other medical paraphenalia lying about, most of it too smashed to be salvageable.

"Sand man's on the top floor." Vincent relayed from the team, as he looked impassively at the aftermath of the bomb strike with his one good eye.

As they ascended the building, finding it increasingly difficult to traverse the collapsed upper floors, they heard a muffled voice speaking in Obrantu.

"Go away. For the love of the sun-god, just go away and let me die." The voice was hoarse and cracked, but it might have been a woman's.

"I have to help." a familiar accented voice answered, roughened by a rebreather. "I burned a hive full of civilians before, I can't bear to see it happen again. I have to help."

"And how exactly are you going to help?" the first voice challenged, before disintegrating into a hacking, bubbling cough. "The Imperials said they were coming to help us, but they persecute our people in Akkan and slaughter any who won't or can't leave the Uru. The merchants said they were coming to help us, but they only help the militia fanatics."

The voice retched and fought for breath.

"The same fanatics who raped my daughter two weeks before an Imperial aircraft bombed our house and killed her." Another awful coughing sound. "Now you say you're here to help, right after you bring the murder-drones and kill more children."

"That wasn't our fault." Abdur's voice whispered, desperately. "You have to believe me. It wasn't our fault."

"Not your fault." the voice whispered, spitefully. "Look around you, Imperial, and dare to tell me that we don't...have the right...to see you...drown...in your own blood..."

Kally and Vincent burst into the top floor of the tower block. It was tottering on its foundations, almost all of the roof gone. Swathed in his dusty camo-cloak, his shotgun abandoned on the ground beside him, Abdur was kneeling over an indigen who had been crushed under falling debris. All Kally could see was half of the woman's torso, and a head of white hair stained grey with brick dust. The woman's head had flopped to the ground and was twitching softly, blood trickling from her mouth and nose.

"Quit fokkin' around, sand man." Vincent snarled at the Tallarn, barely lowering the barrel of his weapon. After Kelly, he was clearly not in the mood for another episode. "We ain't got time for this gak."

Abdur turned slowly towards Kally and the ex-guardman. His weathered face was completely blank.

"She's right, you know." he said hollowly, in High Gothic - no longer bothering with the native tongue. "Emperor forgive us."

It was only then that Kally saw the pistol in Abdur's other hand. Before she could stop him, he had raised the gun to his temple and pulled the trigger.

The shot was a sharp bang that ricocheted through the ruins back to the team in the warehouse, before being swallowed by the distant thunder of gunfire that continued to echo through the war-torn city.

[dakkagor]

“No!” She shouted as Abdurs pistol reached his forehead and discharged. She watched, paralysed, as he slumped to the floor, dead.

“Fokking hell.” Vincent muttered. Kally stared at what was left of Abdurs head.

Just like Shere. Kally was sure that was what Vincent was thinking as well. The crumpled in face . . . But that had been a mercy killing.

“Strip him.” She said. Vincent turned and gave her a look. She met it evenly. “He's evidence now. Strip him. I can deal with the body. Then we head back to the others.”

Vince shrugged, and crouched down next to the dead Tallarn, working through his pockets and webbing with methodical care.

Kally walked over to the old woman, crushed in the rubble. She activated her vox. The others needed to know.

“This is Kally.” She spared a glance in Vince's direction, who had just recovered Abdurs dog-tags. “Abdur is KIA. Repeat, Abdur is KIA. We're cleaning up and will report back in fifteen minutes.”

She knelt down next to the woman and checked her pulse. It was thready and faint. She wasn't long for this world. If they just left she would be dead within an hour, by Kally's reckoning from her crammed courses on battlefield first aid.

“When its my time, do the same for me.” Kally got back to her feet and reloaded her bolter. “Don't let me suffer.” Sapphira nodded once, then gently closed Shere's eyes.

She broke out three morpha vials and injected them one after another in the womans neck. The ghosts breathing slowed, then stopped completely . Kally wasn't one for faith, prayers or even an idea of redemption after death, at least not for herself. She didn't know this womans gods or her afterlife, if she deserved one or had it guaranteed. But at least she had been able to save this person from a lingering, painful death. Maybe that counted for something.

“All done.” Vincent offered, standing up and wiping his hands on a rag. “No identifying gear left.” He reached down and picked up the Tallarns shotgun, putting it over his shoulder. “How are you going to deal with the body?”

Kally stood, then unslung her bolter. “Hellfire rounds. Stack him into a corner. Quickly. This has already taken too long.”

Working together, they pulled Abdur into a corner and folded him up, arms over his chest. Kally pumped two rounds into his torso, the loud bangs echoing around the building. She watched for a second as the acid etched glass shards started to eat into the corpse and dissolve it. He collapsed on himself as the chemicals did their work. She had to hope that was enough.

“Lets go.” she said at last as the smell of acrid, dissolving flesh reached her. The rounds where designed to tear down Tyranids and Orks, against a human frame they where bubbling necrotic overkill.

Vincent and Kally left the room at a jog, wending their way back to the others, and doing their damnedest to avoid further contact with the Ghosts. The whole time one word was winding its way through her thoughts.

Why?

[Atrum Daemon]

"Vizkop, if you can can do a wide scan for his vox and get me a direction or distance, do it. And keep a bead on me on the squad channel. If I get into trouble I'll squelch the bead like this, twice if I can get back to you, three times if I need some help."

“Acknowledged,” Vizkop returned, managing to keep the irritation from his voice.

Vizkop swept his scan over the area, shaking his head at the whole situation. A member of the team nearly got themselves torn to pieces by servitors and now another had disappeared. He was beginning to doubt the effectiveness of the team as a combat unit. He was beginning to doubt a lot of things about a lot of people. He finally located Abdur in a nearby tower.

“I have found Abdur. In that tower there. His microbead is switch off, though. Proceed with caution.”

A few minutes later, he received the update on Abdur's status along with the rest of the team. His eyes narrowed under his helmet. He was beginning to wonder if the mission would be able to succeed with the current team assigned to it.

Some Years Ago

“Make no mistake, assassin. Everyone has a breaking point. And we will find yours.”

Vizkop grinned at the man from the chair he was secured in. He was almost ready to spring into action. “That may be true. But you won't push me to mine. I've reached far past it.”

The restraints snapped under the force of his bionic arms' muscles, blades springing out to spear through the faces of his captor's two guards. “Now then,” he said, retracting his blades and kicking his former captor to the floor. “How about we find out what your physical limit is.”

The memory was a brief flash in the Secutor's mind. Moments like that served to remind of just what he was when he needed such reminding. He had been broken and fixed too many times to be broken again.

[Azazeal849]

The team laid low for several hours before proceeding. The civilian indigens melted away as they headed deeper into the contested districts, leaving only bullet-riddled, fire-gutted buildings. They loomed either side of the team like broken fingers clawing at the grey sky.

The agents pressed on south - Thark had indicated that the town centre was where the Prophet's soldiers were active, and so that was where they headed. Soon they began to see signs of recent fighting; abandoned vehicles, bullet casings in the street, and fires that were still burning.

"Bombs didn't stop 'em." Vincent grunted, with a sidelong look at Crenshaw.

"Holy throne..." Kelly murmured, shaking her head as they came across the first bodies. A firefight had erupted around a central crossroads; an ambush by the look of the convoy of trucks that sat abandoned along the bisecting road. The lead vehicle had been slewed onto its side by some sort of roadside bomb, blocking the road, and albino bodies lay around the doors of the other vehicles where they had tried to bail out. The makeshift armour plating on the sides of the nearest truck had been punctured in several places, and the driver was dead at the wheel behind a cracked and blood-spattered windshield.

A number of the truck occupants had run clear and been able to fight back, as evidenced by the bullet holes stippled across the buildings to either side of the road, and the bodies that lay slumped in doorways and on rusty balconies. A few of the defenders seemed to have retreated to the courtyard of some sort of ruined administration building, taking cover among the stumps of what had once been columns for a wide atrium. At least one of them had died there, his body sprawled across the long-dry basin of a cracked and broken fountain.

Entry wounds in the back and skull. Kelly noted automatically as she glanced at the body and the pattern of blood streaks around it. He was shot in the back while running for cover, fell into the fountain, second shot hit him in the back of the head while he was trying to scramble out. Body was rolled over - probably by whoever was policing the corpses for weapons.

As the team cautiously swept the area, Kelly picked her way across the courtyard to the fountain, uncovering two more bodies along the way. Unlike the necklace pendants favoured by the Vilysians who had attacked the PDF base, these indigens all wore prayer beads around their wrists, etched with suns. Ramado Sept, Kelly guessed. All of the dead had been stripped of their weapons and webbing some time after the ambush, so it was difficult to say for sure if they had all been soldiers. Some of them, though, were just teenagers. Kelly bit her tongue.

Edging towards the building with her laspistol leading the way, she lowered the gun as Vizkop and Gavin reported no signs of life in the immediate area. Among the disfiguring cracks and bullet holes, a real anomaly in the building's ruined frontage caught her eye. Just below the black square of an empty window frame, a perfectly round hole had been cored through the wall. No impact fracturing of the stone; no splintering from thermal shock that las, plasma or even melta fire would have revealed. No sign of rapid melting or cooling.

She stepped gingerly over to the window and looked through it, to be confronted with a body lying on the other side. Whatever had cored out the wall had also cored out the indigen hiding behind it. The albino fighter's face was hidden by flare goggles and a black dust scarf, but his chest cavity was nothing but blackened bone - hollowed out of its internal organs and, along the left ribs, twisted outward as if by an explosive release of vapour. Kelly would have guessed a melta weapon, only the hole in the wall didn't match. She twisted her mouth, uneasily, and raised a hand to her earbead.

"Guys? There's some weapons fire here I can't place, possibly xeno."

She glanced back over her shoulder, eyes level with the window to try and determine the origin of the shot. Flat angle - the shooter would have to be kneeling, either in the street or firing from the building opposite. It was difficult to tell from the chaotic, fluid nature of an extended firefight.

"I'm going to check the building opposite for any signs of the shooter."

"Let Viz have a look at it." Vincent suggested, voxing down from a ruined stairwell on the other side of the crossroads. Not taking Gavin's word that the block was clear of psychic traces, he had swept it himself before taking up an overwatch position by a gaping blast hole that opened the building to the street outside.

Almost as soon as he said it, there was a fizzing whoosh. Sapphira, on the far side of the courtyard, saw it first - her clear line of sight up the slope of the road showed a flare shooting up from the roof of a tall building about five hundred metres away. The others saw it when the flare burst murder-red in the sky above them.

"Cover!"

"Someone knows we're here!" Vincent snarled as he ducked back inside the stairwell. "Better fokkin' m-"

Vizkop, his vision augmented by blessed mechanicus implants, saw it: a beam of angry white radiation whickering across the street and missing Malpais by inches as the psyker automatically dived for cover. It sizzled and flickered out as it struck the building behind him. The angle of the shot meant that it could only have come from the same building as the flare.

In the distance, the team heard a roar of engines.

[dakkagor]

Kally was leaning in the shadow of a door frame, listening to the city beyond the building the team was picking through. She looked up at the sound of boots on the floor, coming closer to her, and spotted Crenshaw approaching.

“Major.” she smiled and stood “What do I owe the pleasure?”

“I want to talk to you about my offer.” he responded in a low voice. “Considering what happened to Abdur. . . ”

Kally looked around, checking that no-one was close enough to listen in. “I really don't think this is the time and place, Major. I'd hardly call what happened to Abdur ordinary for a team like this, anyway.”

“Really?” he grimaced. “What about your friend Vincent? He's been on a knife edge since we got here.”

“If you haven't noticed, we've all been on edge since we touched down.” Kally responded coolly. “We are taking a stroll through an active warzone, after all.”

“Some of your team don't seem to realise that.”

“If your talking about Kelly, leave it. She hasn't had as much experience as the rest of us, dealing with gak like this.”

“And yet, here she is. How long until some Interrogator or Inquisitor tosses you into a situation you can't handle and gets you killed?”

“That's where you're wrong.” Kally smirked. “There's nothing I can't handle.”

There was a dull thump behind them, and they both turned, boltguns ready. A flare arced into the sky, shedding red light over a tall, mostly intact building.

"Someone knows we're here!" Vincent snarled as he ducked back inside the stairwell. "Better fokkin' m-"

The Vox washed out in a sudden blast of static.

“Vince!” she shouted as the two Pariahs ducked into cover. “You ok?”

“I'm fine!” He shouted back. “But I think they have some kind of sniper covering the way out.”

“I can confirm that.” Vizkop came over the vox next. “It's a radiation weapon of some kind, invisible to human visible spectra. I feel like I've seen it before somewhere. ”

“Where is the shooter?” Kally looked down the street, plotting the route, and ignoring Vizkops last comment for now. There was good cover on the approach, but not for long if those vehicles flanked them.

“The tall building, fourth floor. The weapon works via atmospheric ionisation induction. If you feel your hairs stand on end, it's about to hit you. And there most likely won't be much of you left if these bodies are any indication.”

“Got it.” Kally responded. Cheery. She looked at Crenshaw, who had been peering down the road himself.

“Solvan, get some covering fire on that building. Me and Crenshaw are going to sweep and deal with the sniper. I'll signal when you're safe to move, be ready. Let me know what direction you want to go and we'll rendezvous with you after.”

The priest who had been standing still, apparently oblivious to the immediate danger snapped out of whatever thoughts that had distracted him. He crouched beside Kally and stared at both untouchables in turn, then across the road, indecisive if it was the best team selection. He shook his head in the end, this was their chance to prove him wrong and he hoped they succeeded. "We'll go south. This location will be swarming with enemies soon.” The bishop watched the clouds of dust in the distance that the enemy's closing vehicles were producing. “We can't retreat north now that we have been exposed. We must keep heading south and try to lose our pursuers among the ruins."

"Also, at this distance I give horrible covering fire." He said with a smirk showing his meager autopistol.

"Kelly, Vincent. Be ready to give agent Sonder some decent covering fire.” He told both agents who nodded readying their weapons. He wanted to cross that road with Kally, just for the chance of smashing something with his Holy Warhammer, but he forced himself to think clearly.

“May the Emperor guide your way.” Said the priest with the sign of the aquila. “Everyone else be ready to move out. Time is something we do not have.”

Crenshaw nodded once, and racked his boltgun's slide. Kally leapt from the door frame at a sprint, zigzagging across the broken road before she plunged through a half shattered door in a shower of brick dust and splinters. Crenshaw followed closely behind, his heavier armour slowing him a few steps.

“We may struggle to get back to them.” he grunted between breaths as they ran through the building. “The vehicles will probably cut us off after they start moving.”

“We'll cross that conduit when we come to it.” Kally responded, sliding to a halt at a window. She looked at the building they would be assaulting, imagining the rooms and layout, listening to movement of people and machines. She tutted, stowing her boltgun and pulling her two laspistols, then disabled her collar. “Vince has the missile launcher anyway.”

From the building they had been searching, their comrades opened up with hail of las fire, pocking the building and hopefully driving the sniper into cover. It was now or never. Kally vaulted the broken window and charged across the street, arms pumping as she dashed straight at a dilapidated wooden door on the ground floor. Above them she heard cries of alarm from the indigens and the start of autogun and las fire into the street they where crossing, las bolts and hard rounds skipping from the broken road surface behind her. She slammed into the wall on the other side of the street, and nodded at Crenshaw who joined her a second later. With unspoken coordination, Crenshaw smashed open the door with his boot and Kally tossed in a pair of frag grenades. A second after the teeth rattling explosion and the screams, the two pariahs swept into the room with guns blazing, Kallys paired laspistols providing a sharp cracking counterpoint to the deeper roars of Crenshaw's boltgun. Five indigens, probably a fireteam ready to sweep or press the attack, died in seconds as the veteran fighters swept the room.

“Ground floor clear!” Kally shouted into her microbead. “Get ready to move!”

There was another hiss of ionised air, followed by a loud curse across the vox from Vincent. "Can't move, fokker's got me pegged as the one with the stovepipe. Kicking his ass would be appreciated, Kally girl."

“Working on it!” Kally responded

Crenshaw took point, his heavier armour offering more protection as they moved up to the first floor. As they stepped into what looked like a bare room, Kally felt an odd sensation. Her mouth suddenly tasted like she had licked a battery, and the fine hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

“Down!” she yelled, shoving Crenshaw aside and throwing herself flat. Behind her, a patch of concrete flashed and boiled under an invisible blast of radiation. A wave of pain crossed her back and she had to bite her cheek to stop herself from crying out from the sudden feeling her back was being flayed. Crenshaw pulled himself up and helped Kally to her feet. Kally waved him off and quickly jammed a stimm into her arm, banishing the pain. Above them, they could hear movement. The stairwell was probably covered by militia fighters. Kally expected grenades to bounce down the stairs at any second.

“Kraken rounds?” Crenshaw asked and Kally nodded. She tossed him a clip and loaded her own magazine. The pair of them aimed straight up, braced and opened fire. Kraken rounds where designed to punch through hardened carapace armour, at range. They easily bored through the ceiling before exploding in midair, showering the second floor in deadly micro-shrapnel. After they had burned through a half magazine each, Crenshaw cautiously moved up the stair well. Three indigens had been shredded in the hail of fire. Kally put a finishing shot into each of them with her laspistol to be sure they stayed down.

The third floor was empty, and the sniper hadn't fired again. Outside she could hear hard rounds and lasfire smacking into the wall, hopefully suppressing the bastard. Below them Kally could hear movement. Reinforcements had probably arrived on the ground floor.

Together they burst onto the top floor. A hail of autogun fire ripped over their heads, the sniper and his spotter having resorted to using sidearms. Several rounds smacked into Crenshaw's armour, and a few glanced from Kally's bodyglove. The two pariahs returned fire, and the men fell to the hail of las rounds and bolts. Crenshaw stalked over to the slumped and bleeding sniper and bodily threw him from the window he had been using as a perch. He was mercifully unconscious when he hit the pavement outside with a wet crunch.

“Sniper is dealt with.” Crenshaw voxed to the team. Behind him Kally started firing down the stairwell they had just ascended, short sharp bursts of bolter fire as the reinforcements began to press.

“You had better move!”

[Thrannix]

There was one thing the Ministorum hammered into every initiate's skull regarding combat. When strategy and cold thinking went out the window there is only one place for a priest to be; in the front line where the fight is thickest.

Solvan was the first out of cover as soon as Crenshaw informed them about the sniper's death. If there were other sharpshooters out there he was the most likely to survive a direct hit due to his holy Rosarius. He headed south at the crossroad from where a truck was coming in the distance, the priest remained crouched and close to the west side of the road where the ruins gave thicker shadows and cover. As the truck came closer he could see some ghosts riding the vehicle and others following on foot along the sides.

When the enemy finally realized they were coming at them and the first shots could be heard Solvan began his dash towards the truck.

"Into them! For the Emperor!" He ordered flicking the activation rune of his thunderhammer and rising his autopistol to lay some suppresing fire. The guilt, frustration and rage that had been pushed down sistematically over and over finally found release. No more planning, no more waiting and talking. Only the cleansing flame of combat remained.

"Where there is evil, I shall bring punishment. Where there is darkness, I shall bring light. Where there is doubt, I shall bring faith, I am the Emperor's tool, executioner of His holy wrath, may His enemies cower in the face of His power!" The bishop intoned, a bright halo of light surrounding him to underline the last word as the Rosarious dissipated a lasbolt aimed for his chest.

When the autopistol clicked empty he was a only meters away from the speeding truck, the driver's intent to run him over was evident. He holstered the gun and took his Holy Warhammer in a two handed grip its head crackling with mounting energy.

"Stop-" Solvan yelled as he sidestepped at the last second and swung his weapon into the truck.

The thunderhammer connected to the front right of the vehicle. All the built up energy lashed out at the point of impact, the right tire was gone along with half the engine block which desintegrated into an explosion of metal splinters that struck through the front window killing the driver. As the vehicle veered to the right behind the priest most of the ghosts still aboard managed to jump off the doomed truck before it crashed into the building at the side of the road.

"-and rejoice heretics! For today you have been deemed worthy-"

Solvan ducked a clumsy sword slash from an enemy to his left who was the quickest to recover from the hasty disembarking. As he came back up he inverted the hammer's grip and smashed the handle across the native's adam's apple. A satisfying crunch telling him the man's traquea was gone.

"-to stand before the glorious gaze of the God-Emperor of Mankind and be judged for your heresy!" His hammer met the chest of another ghost, the upper body of the man turned into bloody mist and bone fragments.

"Pray for His mercy," he warned with half his face covered in blood, "for I will give you none."

[Atrum Daemon]

Vizkop caught something on his sensors when Crenshaw relayed that the sniper had been neutralized. As the fighting exploded around the team, Vizkop carefully moved from his cover to the bombed out building that had caught his attention. He slipped inside, the crash of Solvan's thunderhammer discharging reaching his ears as he crossed the threshold. He was met by a solitary figure standing within the ruined structure. A quick scan revealed the figure to be heavily augmented and a quick glance to his hand found it holding a power sword.

“I hope you put on your red shoes this morning,” Vizkop said, unsheathing his twin swords. “Lets dance.”

-Malpais-

The psyker had dove behind the nearest piece of cover when the sniper shot seared by his head. He collected himself as the fighting began in earnest, and went over his options. He could pitch one of the overturned trucks at their assailants, but such an act required more exertion than he could afford. He looked down at himself and clicked on the lighters that rested at the base of his palms. He nodded to himself and formed a roiling fireball from each small flame.

Malpais swung out from his covered position and arced the fireballs toward those who survived the careening crash of the truck.

-Vizkop-

The sound of power field sparking against power field rang out in through the bombed out structure. Vizkop's foe was a skilled swordsman and doing well for himself despite being kept on the defensive. Their augmented forms twisted and spun in a deadly dance, blades flashing in the dull light. His foe had found his footing and was striking back, looking for an opening in Vizkop's defense. Their weapons locked, artificial muscles straining for superiority. As though in slow motion, Vizkop saw his foe's free arm raise and open, releasing a secondary blade. Moments before the sword would have speared him, Vizkop broke the contest and rolled away.

Vizkop regained his footing in time to block and knock aside his foe's implanted sword. He met the incoming strike of the power sword and the dance continued. They did not stray far from where they had began and now stood on more equal footing. That equal footing also heightened the danger.

The assailant's secondary blade bit into Vizkop's body, passing through the bodyglove with ease. He retaliated with a swift jab, piercing his foe's shoulder and damaging a series of micro-servos. A long slash was drawn up Vizkop's torso from the power sword, causing him to move back and free his own blade from his foe's shoulder. The man came at him again, raising his secondary blade. The damage had made his arm a bit slower and Vizkop took his moment. Skirting to the side, Vizkop's sword flashed and removed the weapon arm in one smooth slice.

With a powerful kick, Vizkop sent his foe stumbling. Another slash cleaved the man's forearm, sending his sword to the ground. Another kick sent the man sprawling and Vizkop jammed his swords into the cracked ground before leaping upon him. One hand clamped around the man's neck while the other held his head still. “I hope you're watching through this one, Oswin,” Vizkop hissed into the assailant's face. “I want you to know that I'm coming for you. And there is not a damn thing you can do to stop me.”

With a sickening sound, Vizkop's hand tightened on the man's augmented skull and crushed it. A bloody mess of bone and metal was all that was left when Vizkop withdrew his dripping hand. He retrieved his blades, powered them down, and sheathed them once more.

[Azazeal849]

"Pray for His mercy," Solvan warned, with half his face covered in blood, "For I will give you none!"

One of the indigens panicked, spraying his non-standard autogun towards Solvan and hitting both the priest and the man he had just pulverised. The white flash of Solvan's rosaries vaporising the bullets blinded the fighter even through his flare goggles, and he died a moment later.

The other indigens who had survived the truck crash turned and sprinted for the cover in the surrounding buildings. "Where is the god-damn tower team?" Solvan heard one of them curse in Obrantu.

Several of the retreating fighters found their way into the building that Crenshaw and Kally had just cleared. Kally started firing down the stairwell they had just ascended, short sharp bursts of bolter fire as the reinforcements began to press.

"You had better move!"

One of the indigens burned to ash in mid-stride as Malpais swung out from his covered position and arced the fireballs toward those who had survived the careening crash of the truck. A young woman who had been running beside him was sent sprawling across the ground.

"Bastard psyker!" she shrieked, her albino face half grey with ash. Even though she was still out in the open, she scrambled to one knee and hammered the trigger of her autogun, emptying the weapon towards Malpais.

"Sound off!" someone snarled, "Where's Vizkop and Gavin?"

"I can see him." Kelly responded. Running low, Kelly doubled back to their original position where Gavin was still crouching, and grabbed his arm to pull him towards the more solid cover of the administration building. The psyker's clumsy bionic legs whined in protest as the two dived across to the south side of the street, joining Solvan by the wreckage of the first flatbed. A few of the indigens who had scattered were now spitting bullets from further down the south-leading road.


+ + + + + +

"I hope you're watching through this one, Oswin." Vizkop hissed into the assailant's face. "I want you to know that I'm coming for you. And there is not a damn thing you can do to stop me."

With a sickening sound, Vizkop's hand tightened on the man's augmented skull and crushed it. A bloody mess of bone and metal was all that was left when Vizkop withdrew his hand. He retrieved his blades, powered them down, and sheathed them once more, just as Kelly and Gavin ducked in through the door, chased by a shower of brick dust as an automatic raked the doorframe outside. Kelly flinched, and fired a brace of return shots from the cover of the wall before backing towards Vizkop.

"Found Vizkop!" she shouted, cupping her free hand over her earbead. "What the frak is that?" she added as she caught sight of the bio-mechanical ruin underneath Vizkop's feet.


+ + + + + +

The machine-gun burst of static that echoed around the cavern sounded almost like an expression of anger.

"What's wrong?" a voice growled as one of the two dark-robed leaders crossed the bare stone floor, the basket hilt of his lathe blade bouncing against his hip. Without the featureless silver mask, his face was gaunt and prematurely lined.

"Secutor Vizkop remains un-neutralised." said the red-robed figure from which the static howl had emanated. His human voice was as dry and cracked as ever.

"You shouldn't have sent more assassins after him. I wouldn't have expected a tech-priest to let anger override his judgement."

The figure in red turned slowly to face the other man, his eyes flickering points of yellow witchfire beneath the shadow of his hood. "My judgement is unimpaired. But I have told you what he did, and you yourself know him well enough to understand the threat he represents."

"Just remember the agreement." the first man warned.

"Prepare the Prophet's gifts for indigen use, and I may keep any Knowledge of the gifts that I obtain in the process." the figure in red recited tonelessly. "Nowhere in the agreement were limitations on how I should choose to deal with Vizkop."

"You must have known that him accompanying Alia's team was a strong possibility."

"I relished it." the red figure hissed. This time, the first man was certain that he heard anger in the words.


+ + + + + +

"Two more trucks incoming!" Vincent warned, as he spotted another pair of heavy flatbeds roaring down towards the crossroads from the eastern arterial. He hefted his already-primed rocket launcher and braced himself by the nearest window. A squeeze of the firing lever sent a white viper of smoke striking out towards the onrushing vehicles. To his credit, the driver in the lead vehicle reacted fast, flinging his steering wheel around to the right. Instead of hitting the cabin square, Vincent's rocket burst a couple of metres from the front left wheel. The explosion was still enough to tear the wheel off and punch holes in the metal slab welded to the passenger door. A thin streak of blood spattered the windshield, and several fighters hunkered down in the truck's flatbed were sent cartwheeling off into the road.

Somehow, the young indigen manning the bolted-down tripod in the middle of the flatbed survived. Ripped and bloody, his albino face masked in red, he swung the mounted weapon around towards Vincent's vantage point. The gun mounted on the tripod was a sleek bundle of cylinders and rods, ending in a claw-like muzzle. An emerald flash leapt from the cannon and traced a jagged line into the hab, causing the facing wall to burst into pieces. The beam split and scattered to blow out the few remaining windows in the surrounding buildings, leaping back and forth like caged lightning. Vincent swore colourfully as he was half buried under a rain of plaster and brick dust.

"Fokking hell!" he cursed, "Xeno weapon on the truck! And I thought that sparky fokker Daxos was a pain in the ass!"

A trio of bolt rocket-trails hissed down from Crenshaw's position in the erstwhile sniper's nest, cutting a running indigen in half. The wounded indigen with the xeno cannon swung the pivot round and spat another jolt of living lightning into the upper floors. The green fire seemed to coil around the building like a constricting serpent, and the top floor disintegrated in on itself, swiftly followed by the floor below. As he fought to free himself from the rubble, Vincent saw the green flare of destruction through the gaping hole that had been carved through the stairwell.

"Kally!" the ex-Guardsman yelled.

The still-mobile indigen vehicle slewed past its partner, a more conventional heavy machine gun chattering from its flatbed. It came to a stop beside one of the burned-out trucks from the previous ambush, using the wreckage for cover as the men inside disembarked. A boy who couldn't have been more than 15 standard, his face twisted with hate, went to one knee by the cover of a wall and fired off a long burst, one of the bullets pinging hard off the shoulder of Sapphira's carapace.

"There coming from both sides." Kelly said, swearing as she raised her head to peer briefly through the window and saw a fourth vehicle approaching from the west, indigens deploying across the road to block their access to the ruin where Crenshaw and Kally were still fighting.

"Hold or fall back?" Vincent shouted into the vox as he leapt down the stairs, and ran straight into a bearded indigen coming the other way. The indigen's autogun went flying out of his hands in the collision, and in panic he lunged after it. Vincent's wicked Night Reaper was in his hand first. Two quick chops and a spray of blood, and the indigen was down. "Hold or fall back?" he snarled again, more urgently, as he flattened himself against the wall and looked for a way across to the others.

[Jarms48]

"Close," Machairi said, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "He used to work as a detective for a hive police force, before De Shilo headhunted him. Apparently he showed extreme determination in tracking down the cultists responsible for the 602 Makita attacks."

Could have, his mind had repeated, a slight twinge of annoyance had overcame him, a momentary fleeting. He was somewhat familiar of the mans history, reading as much as his clearance would give him. The same went for all the members of the team, even the original members once upon a time.

...

"And when we find out why that didn't happen, and exactly who was playing outside their remits, there will be a reckoning." Machairi said in a very icy tone, "But for the moment, we need to determine if there's any alien taint involved."

"Oh, I wholeheartedly agree." said Glabrio, a slow nod accompanying it.

"These Replicants..." added Glabrio, "According to debriefs, they used the planetary defense satellites as a mask for their operations right? If more of these things are on world you think they could be masquerading as one of these traders and helping to extend the conflict? The opportunity is already there, the entire war could be just be another massive cover for whatever their operation might be, right?" He worded, taking his finger from the transceiver and dug his hand into his vests pocket.

"Pray not." Machairi said. She picked up Tomas' sheaf of papers again, and massaged one temple with her free hand. "Getting audiences with all these people is going to be...interesting." She shot both Tomas and Glabrio a tight smile. "I hope you are both prepared for some more long shifts."

"As long as we get some kind of benefit for the overtime given." Glabrio chuckled lightly, and he full well expected a reply along the lines of: Doing the Emperors Duty was benefit enough. But Machairi was different to most other Interrogators, or at least he thought so, he had always felt a mutual respect. A feeling that she actually cared about their well-being, rather than just being another Inquisitorial asset. A spectacular turn of form when one considered most like minded Imperials, and their ideals, a mans worth was little more than the weapon and armour they were wielding.

Glabrio looked to Machairi, a feeling of appreciation came across him, a smile growing on his face. He dug a hand into his vests pocket, and drew out a packet of confections. "Jellybean?"


* * * * *

"It's all profiteering, I could have told you that." Put forward Remus, he gave a throaty cough to get their attention.

"They're all scum, making coin off good Imperials and innocents, all at the cost of lives. We should be doing more, we should clean up house. It'll save lives, and remove the whispers from the politicians ears." Stated Remus, his voice was gruff, much like the expression framing his face. His teeth were clenched, eyes narrowed, and his eyes were almost a glare.

"No." Answered Glabrio, he turned on the soles of his shoes, and narrowed his eyes at the Stormtrooper. The ex-regulator attempted to read his face, see what the man was getting at, he could see the anger in his eyes, could easily tell the man wasn't impressed at how they were handling things.

"We're not murderers; we do not pull people off the streets, throw them against the wall and send them to the firing squads. We might be Inquisition, but we still require evidence, still need to know intent. If we don't, we face acquittal, face tribunal, and our sentence lies with a jury of inquisitors. Most agents understand the workings of most Interrogators and Inquisitors, they're always looking for methods of rapid advancement, what better way than sentencing their fellows to death?" added Glabrio, his lighthearted demeanor now gone.

Remus sighed, grasped the bridge of his nose and breathed deeply. Not always, not if we're right, and it's better to act with haste than give them the chance to gain strength, or get away.

"We'll get those who've wronged us, get those who've gotten the innocent killed, get those who've put the security of this world at risk, and we'll get those who support the xenos should these claims of Replicants hold true. We have intent, now we need evidence, targets, only then can we make our moves." said Glabrio. His anger had fallen away, his eyes widened again, and he dug his hand into his packet of confections to answer his sweet tooth.

"I think I have something for you, Remus." His eyes fell to Machairi, to gather a silent opinion on what he was about to give the trooper. The subtlest of nods prompted him to proceed. "You've traveled the Ends, you've no doubt seen nearly every enemy of Man and lived to tell the tale. Your sister is an Inquisitor, another a Sister, and your brothers are in the Guard. A noble family, and that speaks credits about you." he began, on the idea he could inflate some sort of civic pride in the veteran.

"What I'm saying is, perhaps we can confirm two of our enemies in one stroke. Marc and myself will try to get in contact with our PDF liaisons, see if we can scrounge up a uniform and some appropriate credentials. If we can manage to get detailed listings on PDF losses and their autopsy reports, we might be able to confirm if exotic weapons are at play here. I can't play the part of a soldier, I clearly lack the discipline of one," he chuckled briefly at that. "So I can think of no-one better than you."


* * * * *

Remus' leg was still stiff. Every few steps he could feel a gentle, yet uncomfortable, tingle crawl up his left side. Climbing stairs was a bother; not nearly impossible, but a lasting nuisance. Yet he had a duty to attend to - the up-his-own-ass ex-arbiter had a point, he could not deny it. Had he stepped over line? He had to wonder, and all this time alone gave him ample to do so. He was building heretical thought, about betraying his peers and his aggression growing towards them. He noticed this, and wished Sapphira would have had more time to talk to him. He needed the support, needed someone to talk to, to open up to. He felt a little helpless, continually ignored and lonesome. His closest companion on the team was probably Lia, and despite his protective instincts, a loopy teenaged psyker made a poor outlet for heart-to-heart exchanges.

But, even if Sapphira wasn't gone, could he tell her everything? He was not sure; she was the team's medical officer, and Schafer's second in their prior operation. She had also, according to the Makita trio, had a specific secondary mission as the team's purity censor. He was fearful, unsure of what he should do. Being here, in the middle of Akkan PDF compound, his earlier thoughts returned. He could reveal himself, show his inquisitorial icon, press a few loyalists and take the mission into his own hands. Then again, he could try working more subtly, implant a few seizure orders into the PDF headquarter lines in the guise of Governor's orders. It'd come as a surprise to many of those Traders, and to everyone else when they came to realise the ruse.

He shook away the thought. As well as the chance of early discovery, such a plan was not his place. His place was on the front lines, or protecting high valued personnel. That was who he was, nothing more - a soldier and a bodyguard, with little in the way for career advancement. It was all rather sad; so many wasted years, the best of them behind him. He could have lived peacefully, content to stay on the Ends until his day came. He stopped, brushed the back of his hand across his temple, wiping away a building pool of sweat.

It was all too easy, Hybrida and Black definitely did their work. His uniform was correct, his credentials were spot on and his demeanor left little to be questioned. As soon as he made his way into the compound, all it really took was to make it seem as if he belonged, proceeding on a typical patrol route. Standing at attention when the higher ups passed him down the halls, and throwing back banter as his feigned peers passed him. Some had questions at the obvious new blood; answers of transfers or drafting often silenced them quickly. It was funny, it was often only the underlings and the common troopers that asked, never the officers. It always went to show kinship, the brotherly bond between units when they didn't recognize him from their own squads.

He pushed into the administration wing, made the easy excuse that his CO wanted to know a trooper's time of death to sign off on correspondence. Most of the clerks barely lifted their heads - mounds of papers sat on their desks, and the scratches of quills almost drowned out the moving servos of their cyborg assistants as skull-drones and servitors wheeled around depositing and handing out further articles. One of the clerks glanced up from their desk, his glasses falling to the end of his nose, and he pointed Remus to the records room. Remus gave him a quick nod; the man merely tilted his head back to his work and corrected his spectacles.

The records room was quiet, save for the servitors attending to their dues or the odd clerk doing the searching for their own items of information. There were rows upon rows of pine shelves, thousands of labeled files housed in ranks and sorted alphabetically. The room was hot, with little natural lighting and little in the way of ventilation or cooling. There was a pungent aroma, the smell of hot ink, of dust, varnish and oils. Remus almost wished he had his rebreather, but carrying it around the complex would only have raised further questions.

He made his way to a nearby cogitator terminal, scrolled through the labels, and pulled out the paper provided to him that detailed exactly what he was looking for. He entered in the information, waited for the terminal to provide him with its response, and opened the scanned document. The listing stood before him, the document exact to its paper counterpart. He ran his finger across the casualty listings, brought up each individual's cause of death until he found what he was looking for among the casualties of the raid on the base north of Akkan.

Taken aback, an eyebrow raised and he bit his lower lip. Found you. His shock turned to a wicked grin, and he signaled to a servo-skull for a printout. Numerous medical reports had required a second opinion from the Martian priesthood, and descriptions continued to show the cause of death of the first sentries on the watchtowers had been synaptic breakdown. He had to think for a second, and his mind trailed to their prior enemies. Replicants...the Necrons. He had to get back to Machairi and show her his findings.

He used the signet given to him to delete his cogitator use from the backlog, waited for the servo-skull to hover over to him and for the papers to droop from the machine's lower jaw, he tore the report from its printer before turning on the spot and heading out the door.


* * * * *

"My lady." said Glabrio, his voice practiced, elegant. He extended his arm to Machairi, and gave her a smile, much warmer than his usual smirks.

"Sir." Machairi returned in her affected Spartaxi accent, allowing herself to be helped down the steps from the atrium onto the conference floor. She was even taller than normal in heeled boots and a backless gown of green and silver lace, her usual plait divided and wound around her head like a crown, after the Adrantian nobles' fashion.

"You look nice, my lady." He complimented. "Makes me wish I had an expanded wardrobe."

Glabrio himself had taken to wearing another suit; lacking the obvious flakvest thanks to the festive occasion, something much more tasteful for the event at hand. Black was his colour of choice, on the logic that it would have matched anything that Machairi might have picked out at such short notice. They had managed to secure tickets to the Hercynian Trade Convention of this year of the Emperor 604.M41, a massive event which had been ongoing over the course of the last week and had attracted thousands of merchants from on and off world.

The day had been long for Glabrio himself; he had thought it best to secure his own tickets to the presentations and lectures, if only to seem like they would fit in. It was daunting, and on numerous occasions he had just wished for the day to end. Luckily, recaff had been his pride and joy, and the meals served were to die for; which only gave him a taste of what to expect tonight. He had to continually remind himself that they were here for business rather than pleasure. A small inkling of disappointment went through him, but he understood the merit of it.

Music swept the hall. Musicians stood upon a raised and carved stage playing songs he had never heard before, but assumed were regional favourites. The instruments were another matter entirely, and ones he could name easily; a mixture of brass and chordophone. The singer changed between slow hymns and fast paced tempo, the notes followed in suit, and the dancers on the floor changed their moves accordingly. All the while Glabrio eyed them off, looking for their targets.

"Shall we sit, Machairi?" he asked, his eyes moving across the hundreds of tables looking for a spare few seats, where they could rest their legs, grab something to eat, and question the crowd.

"Over there, I think." Machairi said, eyeing a cluster of spare seats that were only a few tables down from a figure in a hooded gown decorated with ribbons, a familiar silver mask glinting in the refracted light of the chandeliers. With Tomas close on Machairi's other side, they picked their way through the ring of tables encircling the dance floor. On the way, Glabrio spotted Marc beside one of the freestanding bars. Like Glabrio himself, the ex-enforcer had arrived separate and early as one of "lady" Machairi's ambassadors. Having traded in his customary double-breasted suit for a glossy black dinner jacket, he appeared to be deep in conversation with an elaborately-sidewhiskered trader whose coat was festooned with gold piping.

As the trio passed an arched window streaked with droplets from the rain that continued to pelt down outside, the noise of a faint disturbance reached Glabrio's ears. Muffled by distance and the thick glass, an angry crowd was pressing up against a cordon of PDF soldiers who had locked their storm shields across the top of the street leading down towards the gothic tower of the trade centre. A chimera pulled up behind the grey-clad line was firing canisters from its turret, sending plumes of what Glabrio assumed was tear gas arcing over the crowd. The smoke, together with the distance and the rain on the window, made it difficult to make out the crowd's skin colour, but from the familiar sun banners some of them were carrying he could guess that they were albino indigens.

"How in the warp did they get past the first cordon?" a flustered valet cursed in Obrantu. She bustled up behind Glabrio and the others with her velvet jacket askew and tried to usher them away from the window.

"I'm sorry my lady, sirs." she added as she held out a white-gloved palm. "Those damn Ghosts are nothing but self-righteous troublemakers with an incurably violent mindset and a refusal to integrate into good Imperial society. The PDF will have dealt with them momentarily. Can I bring you anything?"

"I am fine, thank you." Machairi said, indicating the thin-stemmed wine glass she had already picked up from a passing waiter. She raised it delicately towards the valet. "Here's to the almighty Emperor showing them the error of their ways."

"May He do so." the valet agreed sycophantically, though her tone as she linked her thumbs across her chest suggested an opinion that the Emperor could better spend his time immolating the indigens in holy fire.

"The indigens are at it again, I see." Marc remarked to his companion as he squinted towards the window in response to the muffled shouting and chanting. "This happened last time I was here too. I don't know why the governor doesn't just expel them all back into the indigen territories and bomb them into oblivion. Just between you and me, I still can't quite understand what lady Machairi and lady Genofonia see in this planet."

His companion chuckled and tapped the side of his nose. "I don't know;" he said, in the fatherly tone of one who enjoys enlightening those of slower wit than his own and basking in their resultant awe. "Veiss, Klimment and Haarlock seem to have done very well from themselves."

"Astoundingly well." Marc agreed, pausing to sip his drink. "How can they make a profit here when the governor has such a crippling deficit on his tithe?"

"A governor with an underfunded military and a security problem is the best client." his companion replied airily. "My lady Veiss could tell you that. And there's always trade to be had. Illyrium, the Enclave, Zakarn..."

"Zakarn?" Marc breathed in counterfeit shock.

Lady Veiss' seneschal chuckled again. "Oh yes. Not directly of course. We sell to the governor, he sells his surplus to Rytu and Zakarn, and lets them weaken themselves through this proxy war in the Uru while he pockets the wealth of both continents."

"Isn't that a security risk?"

"Perhaps, but we're always on hand with more weapons, aren't we? And security systems, and vox taps...the people don't object to much when they've got a threat like the big bad Ghosts hanging over them - if anything, the security situation in Illyrium is better than it would be. Quite apart from that, the governor would be mad to throw away all those riches by stopping the state of emergency and having to reinstate the annual tithe. I'm sure the Enclave skims a bit off the trade from Zakarn as well, and the fact that the governor doesn't care should tell you something about how much he can afford it. It's a splendid arrangement - our weapons keep the Enclave safe, and everyone gets richer."

"Well," Marc corrected him with a grin, "The people who count."

The seneschal guffawed and clicked his glass against Marc's before downing the rest of his drink. "Quite so!"

Marc bought the man another drink and shook his hand, bowing to excuse himself.

"Very enlightening." he smiled. "I'm sure my lady Machairi will be intrigued by all these options."

Marc crossed over to his team-mates, forcing himself not to look out the windows and give away concern as he passed. The valets were in the process of drawing down pictscreen blinds that projected fluttering Aquila flags and stately imperial architecture, but he could hear a faint popping from beyond the covered windows. His enforcer's experience immediately identified it as PDF gunfire.

Reaching Machairi's table, he offered the interrogator an overly-elaborate bow. Machairi continued the charade by unfolding her coltish legs and standing to let him kiss the gemstone on her ring finger.

"I hope you've been taking notes of everyone's advice." she said.

A grim smile tugged at the corner of Marc's mouth as he surreptitiously patted the breast pocket of his dinner jacket. The sound recorder on his PDA had been switched on and passively documenting everything that he had heard all day. "Every word."

"Anything interesting?" Machairi asked, folding her hands under her chin.

Marc glanced at Glabrio and Tomas, and leaned forward so that they could all lower their voices. "If there's any trading in xenotech they're all tight-lipped about it - although I didn't push my luck by directly asking. Most of it's actually legitimate business. Nothing we can charge them for, at least. And there's a few who genuinely seem to believe they're helping the locals."

"I wonder how many of them really have such a noble motive." Machairi wondered idly.

Marc shrugged. "One thing I learned in MHE was don't get too tied up in motives. Some people only need an opportunity." He ground his teeth. "Up to and including planetary governors, it would seem."

Machairi's face was neutral. "I see. Who told you that?"

"Lady Veiss' seneschal. She's definitely got her claws into the governor, but I didn't expect him to go along so willingly."

Marc ground his teeth again, thinking that corruption on this scale would have earned less well-connected midhivers a firing squad back on Solomon.

Machairi shook her head. "This is the problem, Black; the whole paradox of our modern Imperium. The more you centralise power, the less accountable the ones at the top are, and the easier it is to abuse it. But what's the alternative? The chaos of democracy?" She shook her head again. "We'd have Orks overrunning whole sectors while we argued about whether to send reinforcements."

"With all due respect, ma'am." Marc pressed quietly. "Don't tell me you're just going to let him get away with this."

Machairi didn't move, but a strange look came over her face. At first Marc thought it was the same warning look that she had given him after he had challenged her about his sister, but then she said: "Weakening the Imperium through evading tithes? Deliberately maintaining a costly stalemate that's killing thousands of the Emperor's people? Likely blind to the inevitable rebellion he's going to cause?" If Marc had been imagining firing squads, then now he could see whole rows of them glittering in the interrogator's eyes. "No, I am not going to let him get away with this."

She turned to look at Glabrio.

"Have either of you picked up anything on the sweeper?"

'The sweeper' was the refined version of Vizkop's replicant detector, one of which he had issued to each of them before departing for Rakosu.

"During the entire day of proceedings, can't say I have." Glabrio answered.

Marc shook his head. "None of the people I've talked to, but I know who my first suspect would be."

Two tables down from them, chartered trader Natalia Veiss was laughing with a gracefully-aged woman and a younger man with a sharply-edged jawline beard.

[Thrannix]

Solvan was about to go after the retreating ghosts when the tesla cannon began firing and the rest of the trucks came roaring in.

"Emperor damn them." He muttered when the weapon ate away at the building Vincent was in. The situation was starting to become unmanageable due to the enemy reinforcements.

"Hold or fall back?"

"The time for falling back is long past agent Nyl." Solvan said dryly into the vox. "Hold and have faith in the Emperor. Wait for a chance to get to us and regroup."

The priest turned to Kelly and Gavin, sharing cover next to him. The young psyker seemed to be in some sort of shock, staring blankly ahead of him shivering slightly.

"Gavin, listen to me." Said the priest grabbing the man’s shoulders. When no answer was forthcoming he shook him as he increased the volume of his voice. "Jenkins snap out of it and listen to me!"

Gavin blinked a few times looking around as if getting his bearings. "Apologies, I am-" Solvan held up his hand to silence him, there was no time for idle chatter.

"I need you to use that damnable xeno weapon against these heretics, direct it at the truck and the ghosts blocking the road so that the rest of the team can reach us." The psyker nodded at his command.

"Kally, Crenshaw, if you are still alive in there you are about to get a chance to get out, converge on my position." The priest continued as the warp started to coil around Gavin. The familiar sensation sending shivers down Solvan’s spine for a moment. “The same goes to you secutor.” He added wondering where Vizkop was.

"Kelly, I am taking control of that truck." The priest continued pointing at the vehicle hunkered behind the burning wreck that was left of the first truck, around it the disembarked ghosts were taking pot shots at them. "With it we can get out of this mess."

He handed his fully reloaded blessed autopistol to Kelly who looked at the weapon in confusion.

"You have to keep an eye on him." He whispered glancing at the concentrating Gavin. "Jenkins isn't displaying the degree of mental stability I would like from a psyker in the middle of combat. Let's pray it doesn't come to that."

With a prayer on his lips Solvan jumped out of cover and headed for his objective hoping that the plan would work.

He kept the burning wreck between him and the truck so the machine gun couldn't get a bead on him. Despite this his rosarius was being heavily tested by the natives firing at him. One of the rounds got past his protecting aura grazing his cheek leaving a bloody trail on his face and almost took away his right ear, but then he was upon them.

"The only reward for the sinner is pain-". The first ghost died turned to mush as the holy warhammer began its work. "The only fate for the heretic is death!" A second enemy tried to block the thunder hammer with his gun, the weapon shattered together with both his forearms, the insurgent fell to the ground unconscious by the shock.

In their attempt to react to Solvan’s assault the insurgents had forgotten about Kelly and had left cover trying to surround the priest. They paid for their mistake as the verispex took her chance and killed several enemies before they began sending a semblance of suppressing fire her way while the bishop continued to cut through them.

In a few seconds the only ghost left standing was a young boy. Solvan hesitated for a fraction of a second as the child stood between him and the vehicle.

"Repent for your actions against the Emperor my son, before you damn your soul for all eternity." He said at the youth, but there was no repenting to be had in those eyes. The boy was fast and despite being out of ammo he leapt at Solvan and manage to stab the priest with a combat knife in the left thigh.

The bishop didn't hesitate a second time. Ignoring the pain he blocked the next knife slash with the hammer’s handle, kicked the boy in the gut sending him retching to the ground. In one motion he deactivated the hammer and brought it down on the boy's head. A crack of bones was heard and the young man laid still. Solvan shook his head sadly looking at the child, all the hate gone from his expression as innocence returned to him in death.

The priest didn't look back as he limped into the vehicle and started the engine. "Everyone get on the truck. Now!"

[dakkagor]

Tomas had forced himself into an old, but frequently used costume for the occasion. It was a black, low profile mesh body-glove which went under a simple, less formal suit. Strapped to his back in a pancake holster was one of his pistols, ready to be drawn at a moments notice. It was standard bodyguards wear for this kind of function. Smart enough to not offend, stripped down enough to allow him to actually do him his job.

His eyes flicked over a few similarly equipped men and women, scattered around the room. Some would be the governors men, and those he finally picked out by a crest pin attached to their suit jackets. Others hovered near their employers. Some, from their stance and attentiveness, he immediately wrote of as decorations, for show. Others he resolved to watch very closely indeed.

In his other pocket, silent was a replicant detector, which so far had been as silent as everyone elses. It would buzz if it detected anything untoward.

For the moment he remained silent, watching carefully and alert.

[Azazeal849]

"The only reward for the sinner is pain!"

"Ah, fokkin' hell and a half!" Vincent cursed as he heard Solvan's warcry and the accompanying spike in enemy gunfire.

He poked his head out of cover, and saw that his companions were now drawing most of the indigen fire. His missile launcher was long gone; buried under the rubble of the collapsed building, leaving him with just the snub-nosed shotgun he had brought as a backup. Sliding his still-bloody night reaper back into its scabbard, he hefted the weapon and dashed across to the administration building, his nose full of the reek of smoke and promethium from the knocked-out trucks.

He turned a corner, and nearly blew the head off Kelly Black, who narrowly avoided doing the same to him as she spun round. Both agents exhaled, lowering their weapons. Gavin was on his knees, oblivious; his fingers twitching and his eyes moving visibly beneath their closed lids. Vincent, feeling the tell-tale prickle of static against his skin, kept his distance.

"Who the fok was that?" he barked instead, jerking his head towards the decapitated tech-assassin on the floor.

"Ask Vizkop." Kelly replied, glancing at Gavin. As she did so, there was a raking burst of machine gun fire from outside, and the psyker sucked in a gulping breath as his eyes flew open.

"I hope you'll forgive me." he stammered as he registered the two agents looking at him. "A highly dangerous and unfamiliar piece of xenotech seemed like a risky target, especially with..." He broke off, glanced at the door through which Vizkop had recently left, and cleared his throat before continuing. "Anyway, I thought that the best way to fulfil father Solvan Belannor's order was to manipulate the other vehicle."

"The indigens have their heads down!" Sapphira reported from outside, as if on cue. "One of the trucks just fired at the other!"

"The vehicle's gunner appeared to be highly dosed with something resembling Frenzon, which helped." Gavin shrugged meekly.

"Everyone get on the truck." Solvan's voice sparked in their earbeads. "Now!"

"Up." said Kelly, offering a hand to Gavin.

"Let's fokkin' move, kids!" Vincent agreed, as he broke outside to see Vizkop and Sapphira putting down the last of the indigens who had broken cover in an attempt to surround Solvan. Sapphira leapt up into the passenger seat and applied pressure to the priest's leg wound. Vincent went to one knee by the rear wheel of the truck, his shotgun barking out cover fire as Vizkop took charge of the truck's mounted machine gun and Kelly and Gavin dived into the reinforced flatbed. The psyker yelped as he landed in a clatter of protesting augmetics.

"Oh dear." he blurted. "I think that you ought to know, that is that I should inform you, that several of the indigens have spotted us and are climbing back into their own truck to pursue."

"I see 'em." Vincent barked. "No way we're leaving yet! Your major can go fok himself but we're not going without Kally!" He jabbed his microbead deeper into his ear and all but roared into it. "Kally girl! I know you're too stubborn to die so get your fokkin' arse over to the truck now!"

There was no response, and Vincent dropped into his native Delphic to unleash a machine-gun of expletives.

[dakkagor]

Kally was grinning maniacally, firing her boltgun in short, back breaking bursts one handed as she held the stairs. The magazine started to make the ominous metallic rattle of near-empty, prompting Kally to snatch a spare magazine from her belt. As soon as the other finally emptied, she ducked up the stairs out of the hail of las bolts and hard rounds that chased her as soon as her suppressive fire ended. She released the magazine and smacked the fresh one in one smooth motion, learned from years of practice, the empty box mag clattering down the stairs. As she did so, she spotted a flash of movement arcing towards her from below. In an instant, her reflexes primed by pumping adrenalin, she batted the grenade out a window, where it exploded with a dull thump, almost before she realized what it was. She moved back into position just in time to meet the charge following the grenade, five indigens scrambling up the stairs. Kally fired a long, ragged burst, catching the lead two and blowing them apart. The remaining three tumbled back down the stairs, covered in their friends blood.

“So,” Crenshaw shouted, “about that conduit!”

She could hear Crenshaw firing behind her, picking off someone outside and started to formulate an exit strategy. Jumping to another ruin was looking like the best bet now, go mobile and try to circle back to the others. A running fight, but better than being trapped like a sump rat in a corner. It sounded like the indigens below had given up the lower floor. Descend, jump to a neighboring building, get to street level, and run for it.

She turned to yell her plan to Crenshaw, and her eyes went wide as she saw the lightning envelope the building. Her hair stood on end as the energies washed over them both, causing Crenshaw to stumble back from the window cursing. There was a blast of light and sound, like a lightning strike right next to her ears. The top floor caved in, and Kally was thrown down the collapsing stairs by a blast of arcing electricity, her boltgun disappearing as it flew from her grasp with a jolt of energy. The floor crashed down on top of her, showering her in plaster, tiles and chunks of floor beam, then the floor she was lying on collapsed under the weight and shock, slamming her into the tiled floor of the level below with bone cracking force. For a few seconds, or perhaps minutes, the world faded into a ringing white void, until Kally bounced back into consciousness with a gasp and a jolt of pain. She rolled over, clutching her side. Her body glove had been burned through, leaving a mass of burned plastek seared into her side. Its insulation had probably saved her life, but she was going to pick up another ugly scar once it was peeled off. The stuff was still hot and sticky, and her fingers came away covered in a mixture of melted rubber and her own blood.

“-or fall back” she shook her head and struggled to her feet, choking on plaster dust as she leaned against a wall. She could hear people charging up the stairs, at least another five or six. Well then. They were proper gakked this time. "Everyone get on the truck." Solvan's voice sparked in their earbeads. "Now!" She shook her head. No way Crenshaw and her would make it out of this building alive, the state they where in.

"Kally girl! I know you're too stubborn to die so get your fokkin' arse over to the truck now!" she heard Vincent yell over the vox. She pulled her laspistols from the webbing and cursed. Nearby, Crenshaw groaned and stirred. He slowly climbed to his feet, revealing a bloody gash cut into his scalp that had streaked his face in blood and plaster. He similarly reached for a heavy bolt pistol from his webbing, his own bolter discarded on the floor, smoke coming from its delicate optics.

“Looks like I'm going to have disobey that order, no way we can get to you.” she said into the vox, wincing at the pain from her ribs that suddenly flared into life. “Vince. . .remember what we said about Klimment. And keep everyone alive out there” With that she hooked her vox bead out of her ear and let it dangle by the side of her head. She wasn't in the mood to argue. She looked to Crenshaw, who nodded slowly as he cocked the hammer on his bolt pistol. He knew what the others needed to do to get out alive.

The indigens came up into the ruined top floor, in two man fire teams. She held her pistols steady and covered them as they came to halt at the top of the stairs. Crenshaw slowly circled closer to her, his bolt pistol held steady in a two handed grip. The indigens looked the two of them over warily, then spread out around them, rifles leveled. She could well imagine what they looked like to them; covered in dust, burned, bruised and bloodied, but holding weapons rock steady.

“Your move.” she said in Urbantu, meeting their eyes.

"Drop it you murdering bitch." one of the albino soldiers snarled. His eyes were green-lensed augmetics beneath his flare goggles, glinting in the dusty gloom as he gestured with his gun muzzle towards Kally's weapons.

The indigen beside him, barely a teenager but already with shrapnel scars raked across one side of his face, hefted his gun threateningly and stepped forward, only to stagger back with a sharp intake of breath.

"She's one of them!" he gasped, "One of the soulless!"

"They both are." said a young woman with brutally cropped hair, stepping back from Crenshaw with a curse.

"Then you know what to do!" the first indigen snapped.

A fighter off to Kally's right moved, and she whipped her head round just in time to see him draw a smooth, bulbous and very alien-looking sidearm, before a high-pitched whine smothered her ears and scattered her consciousness into oblivion.

Crenshaw roared in anger, the bolt pistol barking twice but going wild as he was rushed from several angles and mobbed. A heavy club caught his arm and smashed the pistol out of his hand. As he staggered back, the alien gun was turned on him. He slumped bonelessly to the ground next to Kally.

[Azazeal849]

AKKAN

For the moment he remained silent, watching carefully and alert.

Marc rose and crossed over to the table where Veiss and her two companions sat, leaving Glabrio and Tomas to follow.

"Trader Veiss." he greeted the masked woman in Obrantu. "Ave Imperator."

The good humour that Veiss had previously been sharing with her companions instantly evaporated. She turned her filigreed silver mask towards Marc slowly, while the older woman and the man with the sharply trimmed beard frowned in confusion.

"Ave Imperator." all three of them murmured automatically. The two attendants looked to Veiss.

"And who are you?" she challenged Marc acidly. Her head raised and lowered very slightly as she took in his glossy suit through the black gemstones that served as the mask's eye lenses.

"Marcus Black." Marc introduced himself. "With the greetings of chartered trader lady Alia Machairi. She recognised you across the floor and felt that she should extend her compliments."

"Machairi." Veiss said slowly, taking a moment to recall their first encounter at the spaceport. "And just like my friend Ottik she insults me by not bothering to talk to us personally."

Marc hitched up an apologetic smile. "It's Spartaxi tradition to conduct business through executors - I can assure you that no offence was meant."

"Hmm." Veiss grunted. Her masked face twitched as she regarded Glabrio and Tomas. "What happened to that drunken fool who was with your group at the starport bar? Before those tech-priests decided to commit murder in one of their own temples?"

The man beside her winced slightly and made the sign of the aquila.

"You mean Belannor?" Marc asked, and made a point of rolling his eyes. "He was dismissed from service. Lady Machairi had been looking to drop him for a while, and getting drunk and hassling another trader was the last straw."

"She has some sense then, at least." Veiss sniffed. "If she wants illegal toys she's better off without that idiot running around asking for them openly."

As Marc and Veiss talked, all three agents waited tensely, expecting the minute buzz of a positive scan from Vizkop's detector. It didn't come. Either the xenos had developed a countermeasure to the device that had unmasked Faroven...or, whatever else she was, Natalia Veiss was not a replicant.

[Atrum Daemon]

“A broken machine,” Vizkop said callously, walking from the broken room and drawing his hand-cannon of a revolver to help fight off the indigens attacking.

-Malpais-

A simple raise of his hand brought the majority of the bullets to a halt in the air, though a few did whiz through his telekinetic barrier and leave tears in his sleeves as they grazed his skin. With a flick, the bullets turned and with another they sped back toward their source. A few more well-aimed bolts of telekinetic force took down the few other indigens he could see before Solvan barked his command for everyone to pile into the truck.

Securing himself, Malpais made for the truck and swung himself into the flatbed of the truck. Settling into a crouch, he cleared his mind enough to prepare to introduce the idigens climbing into their own truck to the marvels of telekinetic manipulation.

-Vizkop-

He secured the mounted machine gun on the truck and suppressed a sigh of irritation at the insistence on waiting for a missing teammate. Swinging the gun to bear, he let fly with suppressing bursts of fire at the remaining targets he could see. They were wasting valuable time just sitting on their thumbs. “If she can't get to the truck, we have to leave her,” he said. “We can't afford to sit here.”

[Azazeal849]

"Remember what we said about Klimment. And keep everyone alive out there!"

"Get in!" Kelly urged Vincent as she braced herself against the thickest plate that had been welded to the flatbed' rear and reloaded Solvan's laspistol with one of her own powerpacks. "We'll come back for them! We'll draw off the indigens and come back for them!"

Vincent let out a roar of frustration. "Kally!" he bawled into the vox, firing off a last blast from Lupara before vaulting into the truck. "We'll be back for you! And when we are I'm going to shove that bolter of yours right up your sorry Blank arse!

Vizkop secured the mounted machine gun on the truck, swung the gun to bear and let fly with suppressing bursts of fire. The street ahead of them was swept clean as the few remaining indigens dived for cover. One lost an arm in a spray of red as the rubble he was crouched behind disintegrated. Solvan floored the accelerator; the truck coughed smoke and bounced away down the rubble-strewn highway. A line of dents raked down the plating on the flatbed as one of the indigens fired after them, but most of his companions were dazed and demoralised by the rapid reversal of the ambush.

One indigen dragged his bloody, armless comrade out of the road. Another was crawling, dragging a streaked trail of blood behind him. Two more stubbornly hugged their cover, ignoring the summoning shouts of the last mobile truck driver. The young albino manning the truck's machine gun spat curses at them, pupils wide and dilated as he reloaded the mounted weapon with stimm-trembling fingers. An older indigen shouted at them to wait, but coughed on engine smoke as the driver gunned the engine and sent the vehicle lurching after the team.

A fifth vehicle came bumping through the rubble from the eastern road, this one a battered and rust-streaked 4x4. A man in a dusty cloak jumped down from the passenger side, his face concealed by a silver mask. The nearest indigen fighter went to one knee, but the man bade him rise with a tap on the shoulder and turned his masked gaze onto the two limp figures that were being carried out of the ruined hab block. He watched as they were bundled into the jeep, and then barked at the indigens to start stripping the alien weapon from the disabled truck.


+ + + + + +

"What was Kally talking about?" Kelly asked, shouting to make herself heard as the truck's slipstream whipped her dark hair across her face.

"What?" Vincent snarled, as he tried to brace himself against the truck's careening progress. This debased indigen take on a vehicle had all the noise and teeth-jarring rattle of an Imperial STC, but none of its comforting solidity.

"About Klimment, what did she mean?"

Vincent's reply was cut off by a series of heavy calibre bangs. Bullets chewed up the rockrete to the left of the truck, and Solvan threw the wheel hard over to throw off the aim. The indigen truck swerved round a fallen column blocking the road just fifty metres behind them, the front wheels turning hard into the skid as the driver slewed the truck's rear end back into line.

"Fok!" Vincent swore, as both he and Gavin slid sideways and bounced off the flatbed's bolted armour plates. He tried to swing himself upright and bring his shotgun to bear. "We haven't lost 'em yet!"

[dakkagor]

Akkan

"Going for a wander."

Tomas leaned closer to Machairi and pressed a small sensor wand into her slim hand. He had been using it to discreetly scan the food for toxins. Just because she wasn't what she said she was, it didn't mean someone might want to kill her. Rogue Traders were notorious for killing off rivals any way they could.

He stood up straight and resettled his suit jacket, and walked to the edge of the hall. As he did so, he carefully listened to the conversation, and allowed enough time to for the Replicant detector to scan people nearby.

Nothing, Nothing, Nothing. . .

He was working towards the servants restrooms, and was certain, if the device was working as it should, he had caught more than half of the rooms occupants in a lazy, meandering sweep.

[Jarms48]

(Kudos also goes to Az)

There was a feeling of difficulty when he was leaving the PDF compound, he had the necessary leave papers, thankfully provided by their PDF liaison, but a thorough check could reveal it for what it was - a forgery. The off base accommodation's address was correct, the medical certificate was signed and dated by a medicae officer, stamped and approved by the liaison himself; a higher than first-line supervisor, and even Remus' credentials were the same as the identity he had taken. But no matter how real it looked, no matter the empty bed allocated or the materials he received to keep the charade all going, it was all misappropriation. What if he came across a member of the same platoon, did the liaison account for that? A man living in the same accommodation as Remus' assumed life. Surely this, unknown-to-him, third wheel knew the perimeter guards allocations.

A line of sweat was developing across his brow, and he realised if he couldn't keep himself together he himself could be the compromise. He wiped away the pooling sweat with the back of his hand, approached the perimeter gate with every single step. He'd be fine, the papers left nothing to be questioned, and his demeanor could have left his medical leave all the more convincing. His boots left the gentle crackle of asphalt, and he began moving down the rockcrete footpath. The guard caught his approach, and Remus' gave him a cursory wave and an idle nod.

"Hey. No leave given for lunch breaks trooper, mess-halls provided for a reason." Said the perimeter guard, his tone neutral.

"I've been granted medical leave for the rest of the day, stomach pains, vomiting, I'd rather not describe the rest." Remus returned, feigning sickly.

Remus handed him the papers, which the man took promptly, not even bating them an eyelid.

"Looks all in order, sorry about that, I hope you feel better." His voice was more uplifted, more sympathetic, kinder.

"Thank you." Managed Remus, and he gave the man a weak smile.

Remus took back the papers, folded them into halves, then halves again before stuffing them into a breast pocket. He waited for the gates to part, and made his way out into the streets. He had made it and with little trouble at all.


+ + + + + +

The remaining walk was uneventful; he kept his head down and left little to be questioned, an ordinary walk, and a somber expression. Their apartment was a welcoming sight, a quick elevator ride and another short walk found him to their front door. With half the team on mission, and the other half attending some Traders' dinner he assumed he'd be alone. He placed his duffle bag on a nearby coffee table, pulled out his printouts, then tossed the bag to the rear wall to put it out of the way. He pondered reclining and pulling out his heirloom regicide board and giving himself a game to pass the time, but a sound had caught his attention. He made his way further into the apartment, managing down the hallway and towards the gymnasium, from which a steady thud now reached his ears.

He wasn't alone after all - Lia was making full use of the apartment's facilities. She was bobbing on her toes in the middle of the gymnasium, circling around a boxing target. Remus had to raise an eyebrow; somehow, somewhere, she had managed to replace one of the standard punching bags with what seemed to be a column of solid rockcrete. Chips and dust were scattered in a long line between the door and the centre of the room, showing where she had carried it in. He pondered asking her where she got the column from, and if it was important - load-bearing came to mind. He pondered chastising her for it; he was now her handler and he hoped he could shape the adolescence into someone a little more professional, mature. All of his attempts remained fruitless, and he had long given up on trying to convince her to wear uniform or merely a pair of shoes; a trait that continued to annoy him even to this day.

Lia skipped around the rockcrete slab, every few moments jabbing a punch that sent cracks splintering throughout the block. Remus could only stand and watch as a large scab of rockcrete broke off from the far side of the column and shattered on the floor. Lia skipped back, looked up, and belatedly noticed Remus.

"Oh hey, soldier boy!" she greeted him, grinning at the stolen PDF uniform he was still wearing. "Your leg any better?"

"It's still a bit stiff, Lia." he answered. "And it's Remus, Julianus, or sir, I am your handler now. Respect is a mutual thing." He reminded her, though not unkindly. As much as she managed to tick him off from time to time, or disagree with him on almost every principle, he couldn't help but take a certain liking to her.

Looking a little hurt, Lia toweled the sweat from her face and padded across the hall towards him, quiet on her bare feet. Pushing a strand of hair back from her forehead, she folded her arms and cocked her head back to look up at him. "Lets see what you've got, then?"

She took the crumpled print-out that Remus offered her, pressing a finger to her lips as he explained the now almost concrete proof that xenos weapons were in use on Venatora.

"Did you also notice," Lia said at length, tapping her finger delicately against her lips. "That they've revised two of the guards from KIA to MIA? Two of the Telepathica blanks, look."

She held the paper back out to him, pointing out the relevant lines of text. Her knuckles were still dusty from savaging the concrete block, though her particular brand of body-focused telekinesis had protected her from any return damage.

"Looks like they couldn't match their dental or DNA records to the bodies that got toasted. Pretty silly isn't it, to assume the identity of a body that's too burned to recognise?"

“Yes, but then who were the people they toasted?” Remus asked.

Lia shrugged her thin shoulders. "Some of the attackers I expect. Did you see the attackers using anything that could make a person go completely poof into thin air? I sure didn't. If not then the blanks might have been captured."

"I was inside when all this was happening, other than high-grade penetrators I didn't see anything."

Lia began to pace up and down, head bowed, apparently lost in her own train of thought.

"Prisoners then. But why capture them specifically? I mean, everybody gets antsy around blanks, but it's psykers the indigens really hate...so why go to the trouble? Unless someone told them to do it. They're already getting fancy weapons and freaky eye bionics from somewhere, and people don't give that sort of help away for free..."

"We're already working on the assumption that Replicants could be involved. It could provide them with several infiltrators, they could use them to cut off the astropathic spire, or use them to kidnap potential targets as they came to send communications away. At best it would give them spies on the inside, informants to let them in on any goings-on. What better way to do this than an attack, they've already showed us their favoured method of distraction on Venatora." His teeth gritted at the thought of the world, and he ground them in frustration.

It was his fault more than anyone else's. It was his duty to keep them safe, his duty to keep them secure and the failures contained. It was on his watch that the xeno Noyer escaped, his watch that the very same xeno killed and turned Clement into one of their own. The flames were everywhere, the blood of millions in his hands, thousands upon thousands of souls eternally screaming. Eyes and whispers, watching and following him wherever he went. How were they to know? The Replicants weren't their true mission to begin with, they were just lucky to have been there. If not, perhaps the entire world would have been lost. Should he have been grateful for that at least? So many had been lost, but so many had then been saved, just in the nick of time.

"How much do we know about the Necrons? They're not a psychically tuned race, much like the Tau. Perhaps they detest the psyker as much as the indigens do." He added.

"Perhaps." Lia said, tapping her lips again. "Blanks though...hmm. I remember reading somewhere that some of the first encountered Necrons were semi-organic thingies that acted a lot like blanks, but there's been no sightings of anything like that in forever. I think it concluded that they must have been an outlier from a few specific tomb worlds or something."

"Is that relevant to the case though? We've only now discovered evidence that they're using Necron weapons, someone has to be teaching them, and I doubt even many high standing members of the Priesthood hold an understanding of them."

Lia looked up with a slight jolt. "Huh? Sorry, I was just thinking aloud why they'd want to capture blanks rather than just kill them like everyone else. I mean, they might be good against psykers but they're not going to just switch sides willingly are they?" She frowned. "Anyway. Erm...yeah. Yeah, someone has to be teaching them, definitely. If I was betting sweets, I'd guess that it's the same person who tried to have Robot Man killed at the starport. Now I know the Tall Man and his science-y sister are still looking for proof, but hear me out."

She began pacing again.

"If you're a very naughty cogboy, and you find out that someone like Robot Man has just arrived on the planet, you'd want him dead because he's just the sort of heretek hunter who would sniff you out. Although buzzing him before he even knows you exist is pretty dumb...unless you'd been too slack with your cover and know he's going to bust you. Maybe you even know Vizkop from a past encounter. So our naughty cogboy wasn't expecting any real tech police to show up, but he's also got eyes on the starport. Rogue traders have their staff coming and going at the starport all the time. So Haarlock...or Veiss...or maybe even Klimment...is probably working with this naughty cogboy. One gets the weapons, the other gets them working - more than likely with a bit of replicant-y help."

"I'd put a few crowns on all three of them if I could. This cogboy though, he'd have to have been converted too, right? No replicant would allow their servants to know of their existence, it just seems counterproductive."

Lia blinked. "Good point. This is turning into a lot of potential replicants needing squishing." She tapped her lip for a moment more, then suddenly brightened. "Well, I think we'd better tell the interrogator lady about all this new intel, don't you?"

[Azazeal849]

(OOC - More awesomeness from Jarms!)

Glabrio made sure to keep a few paces behind Marc, sticking to the man's right and swinging his way over to where Veiss' attendants were seated. He exchanged them his pleasant greetings, offered them both his hand for a firm shake, and reached into his suit's interior pocket for a small token of Machairi's gratitude. The box was small, fashioned from rich mahogany; its wood etched with dozens of exotic creatures found across the Imperium. He gave Veiss' attendants a soft smile, flicked up the brass latch, and opened the container. Its interior was lined with black velour, and a golden cigar clip lay gently upon it.

"Ladies, sir. Machairi would like to present you all with a gift from her personal stocks, a cigar each - made by the finest tobacco artisans this side of the Imperium." said Glabrio, his voice welcoming. He held the box to each of them in offering.

"I don't smoke." Veiss replied tartly, but gave a tolerating wave of her hand towards her attendants. "Adept Pallas and shipmistress Astira do though."

"I won't turn down a free cigar." the bearded man shrugged, nodding thanks to Glabrio. The stately shipmistress took a second cigar and began to inspect it, holding it delicately between her forefingers.

"You may tell your mistress that her gesture is appreciated." Veiss said, her tone indifferent.

Glabrio folded the box closed when each of them had partaken. His smile had yet to vanish, and he stuffed the elegant container back into his pocket as Marc continued his discussion with Veiss. He glanced to his watch; he had asked for the Replicant detector to be mounted somewhere inconspicuous, but not out of the way. Every so often he would idly give it a glance, wait for the strobe to change to red, wait for that dreadful moment where it would signal a Necron infiltrator in their midst. Yet it never came.

Marc's conversation had dialed down, and their preliminary suspect was, thankfully, not a xeno. Then what does that leave her as, a traitor or a pawn? They had to get more information out of her, they had to get a confession. Glabrio ran his tongue over his teeth in wonderment, and milled on an idea. He waited for Marc to finish, and let a few seconds pass by for Veiss to resign herself.

"Madam Veiss, would you accept my offering of a dance as my humble apology for the inexcusable incident that happened at the spaceport?" Glabrio gave her a neat bow, and offered her his hand.

Pallas and Astira looked at Veiss, who weighed the offer for a second. "Very well." she said at last, any expression that accompanied the words hidden by her filigreed mask. The trader took Glabrio's hand and allowed him to lift her to her feet. As she did so, Glabrio noticed two people who were hovering at the bar nearby - a man in a black doublet and his female partner - put down their glasses and follow them to the dance floor. Adept Pallas watched the two keenly as they passed, but didn't seem alarmed, which told Glabrio that they were probably Veiss' bodyguards.

"I'm familiar with a number of ballads from my homeworld, lady Veiss. With your permission I could lead us through one if you like." Glabrio offered. He cradled the trader's hand in his own, leading her slowly to the dance floor. String and piano filled the room with a music that reached the soul. Glabio turned to face Veiss, placed a hand on her hip and waited for a space in the tempo.

The music fell to a whisper, and he knew he had found his place. His hand tightened around Veiss, and his eyes fell to her own, or at least, to the polished black opals that formed her mask's eye lenses. The timbre of the music began to raise; he drew them into a step, a slide, and a step, in waltz time. It came to an ostinato, and he strove to lengthen each step. He took a step forward on the heel, then on the ball of his foot, a rise of the toes and with the beat, his heel was back to where it began. The music became rich, intense, and he gave Veiss a whisk, a spin and a swing. It tapered off for a moment and he took her through the steps again.

"You're a better dancer than I would have expected." Veiss admitted as they drew apart and then back together in time to the music.

"You know," said Glabrio, "I was a merchant myself once."

"Is that so?" Veiss commented, as she completed a twirl.

Over her shoulder, Glabrio noted the two bodyguards spinning slowly across the floor, weaving through the other dancers to remain always within a few metres of Glabrio and Veiss. Veiss herself was ignoring them.

"I inherited the vessels of my father." Glabrio went on. "I dealt mainly in grains, a good that provides little in the way of return. I took up other contracts; minerals, war material, medical supplies. I thought it would all run smoothly, then it came to me, and what a fool I was."

"How so?"

"I though I could save the universe. Started dealing in smuggling, a smuggler with good morals. Bringing food and aid to those who needed it, weapons to those that were trapped in the Empire of the Tau."

"Noble." Veiss opined. "But unwise."

"It brought me to financial ruin, for what good it did me. I was bought out myself, by lady Machairi. My father's, and his father's ships belong to her now. She felt it generous of her to leave me a position."

"You should never take on all of the risk for none of the reward." Veiss said, with the slightest hint of scorn in her words.

"Something I now know, from first hand. A mistake I'm reminded of every day, and one I'm certain will never leave me. I won't say I regret helping those people, but I will say I regret my choices."

"What was it Emile used to say...'if you aren't the one selling, you're the one being sold'."

Veiss followed him through a slow turn, as the two bodyguards twirled past behind them.

"Which is why," she went on, "I'm suspicious of strangers bearing gifts, regardless of their lack of business acumen."

"You're quite right to be. I can assure you it's a harmless gesture, from one trader to another. You're not alone in that assumption either - for years I assumed that Machairi only kept me around as a reminder of what happens when a trader develops too many morals. We're all competition here; we all strive to find the area that offers the greatest return, and one where we hold all the chips. I understand the game, I had just chosen not to play it."

"If you fetter yourself like that, you'll only get frakked by the people who didn't." Veiss said, sounding like she was smiling beneath the inscrutable mask. "No sane person wants to get frakked. Everyone wants to win."

"No, what everyone wants is a way to break the game. Overcome it." He pulled her in close, spun her slowly, and gave her hand a soft squeeze. "This world offers so many opportunities for us - not just in the way of selling but buying as well. Military surplus, second-hand equipment, stores of weapons that just so happened to be destroyed during the attacks...and fellow traders to deal them to. What better place than a gathering such as this? Where we can establish connections and take our ventures to somewhere more private."

For the first time, Veiss laughed - a low, musical chuckle, softened by the mask. "Perhaps you really do understand the game, a little. But as someone who has spent a lifetime convincing people to kiss the hand that's slapping them, I'd advise you not to repeat your past mistakes and get frakked by the major players here."

Glabrio was pretty sure he understood the major players that Veiss was referring to. Haarlock...Klimment...and of course herself.

"You're out of your depth." veiss advised. "And I suspect that your lady Machairi is as well."

"That attitude is to be expected." Glabrio countered mildly. "The customer is often of the belief that they secured the best possible deal. We'll always offer the additional perks, the discounts, anything to secure the purchase - as long as we know that said deal will be more profitable with that customer than another. As an experienced risk-taker - and one who's seen his share of backfires - I know the depth, but often overreaching it can lead to higher margins. Even an upstanding trader understands the aspects of smuggling. Agricultural machinery created by a certain Empire in the galactic southeast yields exceptional results." He grinned. "You might be underestimating us."

Veiss chuckled again. I had surmised that your lady Machairi liked playing with illegal toys, but I did not know she was also in the business of selling them. Did you ever get in contact with Roose?"

"No, we haven't."

"Let Ottik handle your government contracts. Everything else, talk to Roose. He's the only one mad enough to sell such things, and even then only to the Ghosts. I admit it has a certain shrewd logic - the godless heretics could have dug them up anywhere on this half-explored world. Deniability. But not as much of it as I would like."

She twirled away from Glabrio, maintaining contact with his fingertips, before spinning herself back in.

"The administratum and arbites won't drag their heels forever in setting up here. The most important thing, always, is keeping your own hands clean. If Ottik sells weapons to the governor, it's not his fault where they ultimately end up. Likewise, if I develop the Uru's resources for him, I'm entitled to lobby for the PDF's protection. No harm, no foul."

"I couldn't agree more." Glabrio said. She drew in close to him as the music began to wind down.

"I would never dirty my hands by getting mixed up in Roose's game myself, but if you fancy your chances I won't stand in your way. It will be up to him though if you're worth his time."

"Well, I thank you for the advice. I'm sure my lady will be most interested to hear it." Yes, she'll be very pleased. "I see it working one of two ways. Either we get caught, and that means less competition for you, or we make our own tidy little profit, whist staying well away from your own business ventures. Either way, that's a win-win for you, if we take it up of course."

Once again, Glabrio suspected that Veiss was smiling behind her mask. "I might advise, but I would never presume to tell a fellow trader how to spend their own Thrones."

The tune waned, dying away with every beat. The strings faded, the keys receded, and the notes came to the wayside. They were replaced by applause, the sound of people blowing whistles, the thank yous of the musicians, and the patter of footsteps as the dancers made their way back to their seats. Glabrio was aware of Veiss' two bodyguards hovering behind him.

"I hope you enjoyed yourself, my lady. Shall I walk you back to your table?"

[Atrum Daemon]

“We're about to lose them whether they like it or not,” Malpais growled.

His mind was focused and his considerable power ready to be actualized in the physical. His right arm extended sharply as he swung himself into a kneeling position in the bed of the truck, a blast of psychic force emitting from his limb like a battering ram. His left arm then swept across the air as though he was brushing aside an irritating fly. Telekinetic force manifested around the front side of the pursuing truck and smashed into it to shove it aside and off the road while crushing the engine. This was all done in case the first blast was not enough to stop the truck dead.

The psyker forced himself to stop before he unleashed too much power and wore himself down, leaving himself vulnerable. His mental preparation had been to prevent himself from simply unleashing multiple fireballs at the truck until it stopped and go with the simpler, more directly effective approach.

[Thrannix]

Solvan watched Malpais' display of psychic ability on the pursuing truck through the rear view mirror with a mix of relief and apprehension. No man should be able to wield such power with his mind, and the priest thanked the Emperor that he was on their side.

After driving down a couple of dark abandoned alleys off the main road he decided the chances of being followed by now were slim and stopped the vehicle next to an abandoned restaurant. The only signs of life were a trio of indigen children further down the street, who all but ignored the truck as they continued picking through one of the ruined buildings. Through a breached wall a damaged bunk bed was visible, and piles of clothes that had been scattered by the blast.

"That could have gone worse." Solvan muttered when he confirmed that the rest of the team were in one piece, before opening the driver's door and stepping out.

The restaurant had been picked clean by looters, and the elements had invaded through the broken windows and roof, but some of the furniture was still mostly intact. Solvan pulled a mould-spotted chair upright and looked at his wounded thigh as he sat down tiredly. His pants were stained with drying blood down to the ankle, and his head felt light and dizzy; if not for Sapphira's hand keeping pressure on it he was sure he would have bled out. The sister swiftly got to work cleaning and stitching the wound. Solvan gave his thanks to the Sister in silence.

"We should lie low." Kelly suggested. "Head back into the storm drains and wait for the indigens to clear off."


+ + + + + +

At dusk, they returned to the ambush site. The fighters who had attacked the group hadn't left much behind. The dropped weapons had been policed and the disabled vehicles towed away. The dead Vilysian fighters were also gone, although the rival indigens who had been victim to the first ambush were still lying where they had fallen. The humid air had quickly become thick with the smell of slowly-decomposing corpses. A ragged indigen had braved the sickly reek and was digging speculatively among the bodies, but he looked up as the team approached and immediately took off at a panicked sprint.

"Bastards are long gone if the likes of him are creeping around." Vincent opined, although the one-eyed soldier kept his gun up as he surveyed the ruins - even after Vizkop's auspex had confirmed his prediction.

"Would Kally and Crenshaw have made their way back here after things quietened down?" Kelly asked.

"Kally-girl knew we were coming back." Vincent rumbled softly. "So if not she'd at least leave us some sort of clue as to where she went."

They crossed the street cautiously, and ducked into the half-collapsed tower block where Kally and Crenshaw had flushed the indigen sniper, before being pinned down themselves. The interior walls of the ground floor had been knocked through, though what remained was chipped and bullet-scarred.

"Hey Malpais." Vincent snapped. "Can you do that scrying trick?" When the tall psyker shook his head, Vincent turned to Gavin. "What about you, chicken boy?"

Gavin cringed and adjusted his glasses. "Er..." he mumbled, fidgeting furiously. "I'm afraid...that is, I'm deeply sorry to impart...that I do not think my particular abilities will be any use. For one thing, I'm primarily empathic with machines - and to clarify further, I do not think that I could detect any traces relating to agent Kally Sonder and to..." He swallowed. "And to...the major...on account of their...ah...nature."

"Well there goes the quick and easy option." Vincent shrugged, and shot a glance at Kelly who was crouching by the stairwell, examining the bullet-riddled wall. "Any thoughts, kid?"

Kelly frowned. "Hard to tell. They've moved all the bodies and some of the bullet holes might be old. But this is grenade shrapnel, and that," she pointed to a deep hole burned into the rockrete of the far exterior wall. "Was one of Kally's stone-burners."

"They'd clear with frags on their way up." Vincent nodded. "But did they come back down?"

Vizkop pulled out his auspex to scan the area. Almost immediately, it flashed red. Two weak life signs, on the top floor. Eyes flashed from the tech priest to Solvan, who darted a silent hand signal.

Sapphira and Vizkop led the way up to the first floor, leading with their guns until they verified that it was clear. Kelly silently pointed out the shredding work of Kally and Crenshaw's bolters on the ceiling; and more of it on the back wall of the stairwell, suggesting that the two had fired down at something coming up after them.

"Third floor." Vizkop reported softly.

A muffled coughing sound suddenly drifted down the stairs. It was followed by a soft scrape and thump, and then another, quieter cough, as if the originator was trying to stifle it. Cautiously ascending the stairwell to the top floor, the team's muzzle-torches darted from corner to corner before finding two pale faces huddled against the wall, buried in a heap of grubby blankets. Black flare goggles flashed white as the light reflected off them. One of the indigens didn't react at all; the other threw up his arms.

"I don't want any trouble!" he croaked in hoarse Obrantu as he fought to disentangle himself from the blanket.

"We're not here to give you any." Kelly called back.

The torches illuminated stark lines in the indigen's face, deepened by dust and dirt. His wispy white hair had been short, but was growing out raggedly. His companion was even more dishevelled, his head lolling unresponsively against his chest. Even from across the room, the team could tell that both men smelled awful.

Vincent was keeping his torch in the first indigen's eyes, preventing him from seeing the team clearly. The man put up a filthy hand against the beam and paused, hesitantly. "Vilysian, or Romado?"

"Vilysian." Kelly made an educated guess, and saw the indigen relax, just slightly. "Who's your friend?"

"He won't answer you." the first indigen croaked, shivering slightly. "Not for an hour or two, at least."

There were two needles scattered among the rubbish around the two indigens' feet, one still full of a dirty amber liquid.

"What are you doing here?" Kelly asked.

"What do you think?" the indigen replied sharply, before dissolving into a hacking cough. "You know I ran a surgery, until the heathens bombed it. Then I tried to work out of my house, until they bombed that. Then my brother got the water fever, and now I've got it." He coughed again, and spat blood-laced phlegm into the corner of the wall. "Some doctor, me. Still, maybe the Imperial bastards'll bomb this place too and make a quick end of it. What do you want?"

"There was a fight here a few hours back." Vincent butted in with a low growl. "Some of those Imperial bastards you were talking about."

"Imperials don't send men down here." the indigen rasped. "Just bombs, and those brain-dead monsters." He spat again, this time in anger. "Half the kids I saw 'd been shot by 'em. Most of 'em died too."

Kelly was chewing the inside of her cheek. Vincent snorted impatiently. "Did you see the fight?"

"Didn't get close. The Prophet's men might be fighting the sun-god's fight, but they're vicious. If you get in their way they'll take all your stuff and kill you. If you're a Ramado heathen, they'll rape you, then kill you, then string you up as a warning, which I'm not sure I'd wish on even those bastards." He coughed again. "On Imperials, maybe. If it really was the offworlders they were fightin', god knows what they did to them. Can you take that god-damn light out of my eyes?"

Kelly's hand was over her mouth. Vincent's voice was dangerously calm. "Did to them?" he repeated in a low growl. "What did you see?"

The indigen shivered, and coughed into the blanket. "Saw 'em pull a couple of people out of the building and shove 'em in a truck, before they started lifting out the dead. Dunno where they took 'em - we just wanted 'em to clear out of the tower block so we could have a safe place to sleep. Like I said, if they really were Imperials, you'll probably see bits of 'em on spikes across Rakosu come morning. Good riddance."

Kelly was close enough to Vincent to see his index finger shift from alongside his shotgun's trigger guard to curl around the trigger itself. She lunged forward and grabbed his wrist.

"Don't." she hissed at him, softly, but sharply.

"You got anything to drink?" the indigen wheezed. "Dying slowly is thirsty work."*


+ + + + + +

"What do we do now?" Gavin asked, hesitantly, after they had left the tower block far behind. It was difficult to tell how the psyker was really taking the news that his forbidding handler had been captured by the indigens. "As in do next, in the immediate future?"

"Now." Solvan said looking at the deactivated vox in his palm. "We need a new frequency. The enemy has two of our vox pieces. I'll get in contact with Alia and update her on the situation. I'm guessing she'll have questions for you secutor," the priest turned to look at Vizkop, "regarding your new encounter with another mechanicus assasin. Any information the rest of us should know about your secret admirer?"

“I can tell you a bit,” Vizkop replied. “Alia has been appraised of who I believe this heretek to be and his danger. All the evidence, the most recent being the recently augmented assassin I killed not too long ago, points to the 'admirer' being a heretek named Oswin. He is a...rather gifted technician. I have called him by name through the assassin in the hopes it will drive him to either make a mistake or show himself. If history has proven anything about Oswin aside from how dangerous he is, it is that he will abandon an endeavor if the personal danger grows too high. My hope is that he is in too deep to do that. This might be the only chance I have to capture him.”

Solvan noded grimmly at the tech priest. Things just keep getting better and better.

"Then we have to determine whether agent Sonder and the Major are still alive in which case we will attempt a rescue."

He locked his hands in front of him as if in prayer, and stopped for a few moments, chewing on his next words. He didn't say that if they couldn't rescue Kally and Crenshaw they would have to prevent them from revealing any information regarding the inquisitorial investigation to the enemy. The day had been bad enough already, no need to add more poison to the mix.

"If they are indeed captured they will likely send some higher up to oversee the prisioners' interrogation or to transport them to a less exposed location." continued Solvan, trying to remain optimistic. "So best case scenario, we turn the situation around, free our teammates and get ourselves some interrogation material."

"But first things first." The priest stood up and faced Vincent, narrowing his eyes. "Answer Kelly's question from earlier agent Nyl, what about Klimment?"

"Klimment?" Vincent asked, seemingly taking a moment to remember what Solvan was talking about. He glowered back at the priest. "What about him?"

"The last thing Kally said over the vox." Kelly said, trying to sound reasonable. "Remember something about Klimment."

Vincent shot the young verispex a filthy look, as if to say thanks a lot, kid. "She told me, as if I fokkin' need reminding, not to trust him."

"Why not?"

"What's it to you?" Vincent growled dangerously.

"What's it to me?" The bishop hissed, closing on the ex-guardsman, unfazed by the man’s threatening demeanor. "Drop the tough drunk attitude Nyl, you were an associate of that devious parasite."

"Ya, so?" Vincent challenged.

"So, why did Sonder of all people need to remind you not to trust him? Why waste what could be her last message to you on something so trivial?" Solvan thought he saw the slightest hint of doubt in Vincent's still-functioning eye, and pushed on. "Unless it is not trivial at all, and she knew something you are not telling the rest of us."

Vincent grinned nastily. "If she didn't feel comfortable sharing it with you, father, I ain't betraying her confidence."

"Damn it Nyl!" the priest yelled, "Can't you see that every piece of information you don’t share reduces our chances of success, and with them the hope of getting Kally back alive. Do you want that on your conscience? Because to me it seems it has enough burdens as it is."

"Ya, and they're already heavy enough to squash you and your pious grox gak." Vincent snarled. "You know, father, a soulless blank like Kally girl makes a better confessor than you. This was between me an' her, for my benefit."

"Vince, for frak sake!" Kelly butted in, jumping up to stand between Solvan and Vincent, in the full beam of both men's white-hot glares. "If it can help us find Kally-"

"Klimment ain't got gak to do with findin-" Vincent barked at her, and then froze mid-sentence. "Fokkin' hell..."

"What?" Kelly asked, less forcefully. She had stepped fractionally to one side, temporarily drawing Vincent's attention away from the confrontation with Solvan.

"Kally's got something of Klimment's - something he called an animus vox. It's like a psychic walkie talkie or some such warp-gak."

"How'd she get it?" Kelly pressed. Vincent's good eye switched balefully towards Solvan, but Kelly drew it back with a sharp use of the ex-Guardsman's name. "Vince. Okay, never mind that right now - how does it help us find her?"

"She reckoned it might double as a tracker, something for a psyk to lock on to. Of course it wouldn't work while she's got it in her pocket, right inside her aura - but if she deliberately dropped it, or even if one of those albino foks found it and took it off her...we could get Klimment to track it for us."

Kelly turned to look at Solvan, and mouthed Later. She followed it up with a pleading raise of her eyebrows, possibly remembering her own difficult discussion with Solvan the previous morning.

The bishop felt his temples pumping blood furiously, his face hot red with anger. He allowed his eyes to linger on Vincent's for a few more seconds before tearing them away. Dear Emperor grant me the strength to overcome the tests you send me.

After searching his robes, he produced a long distance compact vox unit, extended the antenna and brought the device to his ear. He started walking slowly away from the team.

"Alia, Solvan here. Do you copy?" He said into the static of the device, trying to regain as much composure as he could manage.

"I hear you, father." Machairi replied, dialling up the caster on her portable communicator and placing it in the centre of the table where Tomas and the others could hear. The table was covered in dataslates, from which Glabrio and Marc were laboriously pulling the team's gathered evidence together for their case.

"Abdur is dead." Solvan clenched his jaw at the painful memory of the Tallarn's suicide fighting to keep his voice steady. "Sonder and Crenshaw are MIA."

"Crenshaw?" Machairi repeated, and swore quietly. "Damn. There goes the covert help of the PDF."

"What happened?" a second voice - Marc's - broke in sharply over Solvan's earpiece. "What happened to Kally?"

The priest intentionally ignored Marcus' plea. "Use of xeno weaponry by the insurgents has been confirmed. No replicants detected at this point." Solvan gave out a heavy sigh rubbing his temple. "I dearly hope you are making more progress with fewer casualties."

"What happened?" Marc demanded again. Machairi temporarily silenced him with an upraised hand, her own features drawn tight.

"We have usable evidence on Veiss." the interrogator reported. "And through her on Haarlock, Klimment and possibly others. Remus has retrieved evidence from the base attack that also points to xenos weapons. No signs of replicants, but someone is showing the indigens how to use this weaponry - and I am not convinced that Vizkop's enemy has the resources to do that on his own, when there's nothing to suggest that the planetary mechanicus are involved." She paused. "Now, what happened to Abdur and the others?"

"Abdur... took his own life. The way the indigenous population is being hunted down... he couldn't handle it." Solvan could taste the shame in his mouth. "May the Emperor forgive him." And me.

Machairi was silent for a moment. She shot a brief glance at Tomas - a mystery to Schafer's agents, but significant to the old soldier-scholar. After what he went through in the hive...should we have known better than to send him into Rakosu?

The flicker of uncertainty was gone as quickly as it had appeared, and the interrogator's face was resignedly stony as she crossed her thumbs across her chest. "Imperator vult." she murmured, before flicking her gaze towards Marc and Remus. "And the others?"

"We were ambushed - Sonder and Crenshaw were taken by the enemy after clearing a building from where a sniper had us pinned down. The rest of the team is mostly unharmed."

"Taken." Machairi glanced again at Marc, who was wearing an expression of abject shock and horror. "What are the chances of them still being alive?"

"Possibly dead, definitely captured."

"Should we really be detouring from our main mission if we're not sure that the shooty lady and the frowny-face man are still alive?" Lia put in. She was furrowing her brow thoughtfully at the vox unit, her pointed chin resting in the crook of her hands.

Machairi half expected Marc to react with anger to the young psyker's matter-of-fact statement, but instead the investigator lunged across the table to grab a printout from under one of the dataslates.

"They're still alive." he said, stabbing a finger at the mortuary report that Remus had brought back from the Telepathica base. He locked eyes with Machairi. "The indigens took two blanks from the base too. Like Lia was saying earlier, why especially would they take prisoners that most of their men would instinctively want to shoot on sight? And now they've got Kally and Crenshaw. They want blanks for something. They wouldn't go to such an effort otherwise."

Machairi looked at Marc, trying to gauge if his theory was biased by wishful thinking. Then again, she already knew that asking lateral questions and finding hidden connections were the investigator's primary talents.

"A mind-wiped blank could be valuable," she mused, testing the theory against the other evidence they had already gathered. "And a rogue tech-priest could do it."

"Rogue traders could sell them." Marc said with a hard edge in his voice even as he bolstered his own reasoning. "And psyker-hating indigens could use them. Replicants...I don't know. But we have to get them back."

"A retrieval effort will be executed shortly." Solvan reported.

"Even if we're right," Machairi cautioned, looking at Marc. "We should prepare for the worst."

"Belannor." Marc said venomously, his eyes fixed on the vox caster in the centre of the table. "If the worst happens, get the frakking bastards who did it."

"Careful, Black." Machairi warned. "If we're going in, we're going in for the right reasons. To save our agents, to stop the replicants - not to throw more lives away for revenge." Marc bit down on his tongue as the interrogator turned to the caster. "Father, do you have any sort of intel on where the indigens took Sonder and Crenshaw?"

"I have... recently become aware that agent Sonder has been in possession of a device called an animus vox, from Klimment of all people; how she got the artifact to begin with, and the intent behind it, is anyone's guess. But Nyl is involved, how deep I'm not sure yet." He wondered how Marc would be taking the news. From his interventions thus far, he was confident that the answer was not well at all. "Therefore we could have Gavin try and lock on to the device if it is operational. Plan B would be to get Klimment to do it for us. But I have a feeling he won't cooperate out of the goodness of his heart. And, needless to say, this is all assuming the bloody thing is what they say it is, I doubt either Nyl or Sonder could have identified if the device was something else entirely."

"Klimment I think, then." said Machairi.

"Well I've already got the creepy purple guy's attention." Lia said. "So I could get a meeting with him easily enough. I don't know how we can convince him to activate the vox thingy for us, though."

Machairi smiled a very ruthless-looking smile. "He'll do it, once you tell him that I've sent Remus back to the telepathica complex, ready to send out an inquisitorial warrant to have all of his assets seized for corruption, for arms dealing to the Emperor's enemies, and of course for heresy for not reporting Haarlock when he knew full well that the man was dealing in xenotech. I doubt he'll have the inclination or the means to run far enough to escape that kind of charge."

"Also," Solvan continued. "You'll be interested to know that our good Secutor had another encounter with one of Oswin's assasins. He came out on top again and also managed an attempt at baiting the heretek. We'll see if it works."

Machairi sat back in her chair, rubbing the ball of her thumb with a fingernail. "It's getting to the point where flushing the enemy might be our best option. Tell Vizkop that he's done good work. You all have, in spite of everything."

The interrogator gave Marc a meaningful look.

"We'll get our people back, and we'll make sure that Abdur, Sebastian and Aleks did not die in vain. We may have to find some way of joining you in the Uru, father. What is the situation on the ground in Rakosu?"

"Alia." Solvan's anger rose for a moment in his voice. "The servitor kill-teams sent into enemy territory are targeting the civilian population. They are killing unarmed children. It will take generations before these people can begin to forget the horrors the Imperium has put them through, if ever."

There were quiet reactions from around Machairi's table. Marc put his fist to his mouth, frowning deeply. Lia shook her head and tutted quietly.

"After this is over there will be a lot of burning to be done, I swear to the Emperor." The tone in Solvan's voice left no room for doubt regarding the literal meaning of his words.

"Imperator vult." Machairi agreed quietly.

[dakkagor]

+++Tomas+++

Machairi was silent for a moment. She shot a brief glance at Tomas - a mystery to Schafer's agents, but significant to the old soldier-scholar. After what he went through in the hive...should we have known better than to send him into Rakosu?

A sudden wave of guilt welled up inside Tomas, carefully hidden behind his stoic face, but he was certain Machairi caught it. Tomas and Abdur had never gotten on, 'Sand and stone' Tomas had opined when asked, and the similarities in their lives where pointed out. Now he felt he shared some of the responsibility for his needless death. If he had had someone to talk to, someone to share the nightmares with. That, at least, they had had in common. Too late now.

He sighed, and listened in on the rest of the conversation, quietly despairing at how badly the mission had gone in the Rakosu.

"Alia." Solvan's anger rose for a moment in his voice. "The servitor kill-teams sent into enemy territory are targeting the civilian population. They are killing unarmed children. It will take generations before these people can begin to forget the horrors the Imperium has put them through, if ever."

Tomas felt his fists ball without prompting. The damned, incompetent murderous fools were committing slow genocide out there, slaughtering innocents. The indigens would never stop fighting using tactics like that.

"After this is over there will be a lot of burning to be done, I swear to the Emperor." The tone in Solvan's voice left no room for doubt regarding the literal meaning of his words.

"Imperator vult." Machairi agreed quietly.

“Lets not get ahead of ourselves.” Tomas interjected. “Solvan, it sounds like your next task is to get somewhere safe and secured, and prepare for an counter assault. We'll work the angles here and squeeze that worm Klimment. For the moment, don't push Vincent too hard. You are running low on muscle out there. Stay safe Solvan.”

Tomas stepped away from the vox, and turned to Marc.

“I've read Kally's file. She did the full Carbon course, drop, urban combat, SERE. . . if they did take her alive, she will be fine. The team will find her, and Crenshaw as well.”

+++Kally+++

She was screaming somewhere. The sound echoed back and forth from the walls. Kally huddled in the corner of her cell, covering her ears, rocking back and forth. Blocking out the sound of her own slow death.

She was back in hell. She knew what came next. The door would open and she would be dragged to another room, and the pain would begin. Then she would wake up here, be put back together, and the whole cycle would start again. Sometimes the nightmares felt more real than the memories, crystal clear and razor sharp, urgent, pressing. Layered and crushed together like dead hive sections, mixing old memories with newer ones. She couldn't keep the memories straight, and sometimes her mind made up new ones.

The door banged open and Kally flinched away. She held up her hands, pleading. Please, don't hurt me, I don't know, I don't know, please stop. . .

“Kally, I'm sorry.”

She looked up, blinking in the harsh light. Smiling down on her with mismatched eyes and looking as ragged and ill as she would expect was Pembroke.

“We need to talk. I need to show you something. We don't have a lot of time.”

She took his held out hand and followed along dumbly. The corridors where familiar until they stepped through a massive iris bulkhead. Beyond it the walls where black like marble, veined with green and silver. Something about the pattern was awfully familiar.

“Remember, this all happened. This is a data recording from a tomb complex on the edge of Segmentum Pacificus, made about five hundred years ago.”

I don't understand, said Kally, though it seemed like the words emanated from outside the alien walls.

“You will.” Pembrokes smile was sad.

They walked endless, maze like corridors, filled with long lines of silver and green. Dots of the material in the wall connected the lines in a ever increasing profusion. The ache of familiarity didn't fade, it grew stronger.

Finally, they reached a vast, drum shaped chamber. It was truly colossal. They walked across the floor to a pair of slabs. Lying on the slabs was a man and a woman.

They are blanks. Kally said with a start. Both still wore the collars.

“Yes.” Pembroke pointed up. “They have a use for those too.”

The walls pulsed once, a dull emerald light. The two people began to stir. Above them the ceiling opened where Pembroke had pointed and a bizarre array of armatures, blades, and devices descended. From the far shadows, two skeletal figures emerged, clad in tattered, ancient robes. Their faces wore silver masks, shaped like skulls.

“Those are their real faces. Now.”

Kally watched as the two figures began to gesture like pennthrift dreadful psykers. The devices buzzed into life and plunged into the stirring bodies. Blood splattered across the slabs and floor, and both of them were violently awake, screaming and crying, begging for mercy.

“Forcefields to keep them in place, of course.”

The terrible devices did their work, stripping skin and flesh. Screams became gurgles, then silence punctuated by dripping blood, until with a final dramatic gesture a thin lattice of white was lifted, glistening in blood, from the bodies by a wave of invisible force.

“The Nervous system is all they need.”

Kally wished she could look away, but she couldn't. The slabs, covered in steaming gore, sunk into the floor and vanished from view. The floor then gave way to a bath of gleaming mercury, and the white networks where slowly lowered in.

For a while, they watched the material churn and boil. Finally, two figures clambered from its edges. They where human shaped, but made of hard metal plates. They clawed at their faces and slumped to the floor, twitching and thrashing spasmodically. The two figures in robes seemed to radiate pride.

“Pariahs.” Said Pembroke. “Necrons with the powers of a Blank.”

Kally looked away at last. She stared at the floor, breathing in gulping gasps as she processed what she had seen. The Necrons harvested people like her and Crenshaw. Tore them apart to turn them into more Necrons. More monsters.

As she stared, she realized something.

This is the Calixis sector. She slumped to her knees and ran a hand over the fine tracery of lines, dots and splodges of green and silver. The nagging feeling of familiarity vanished in a sudden rush of realization. She followed the northern warp route, etched in emerald green, ran into the Reach, beyond the warp storms. She back tracked, found the Scarus, Ixianad and Askellon Sectors. She stood and and followed the green lines, until finally she found a golden star which connected all the lines together.

Terra. She breathed. Next to it was a silver star, smaller, surrounded by a cog of silver that looked. . .rusted. What is the silver? She had found lines, dots of it intermittently spread around.

“They aren't looking for you for this. They want the chip itself, its still connected to Pembroke. They want to put the C'tan he merged with back in its cage, safely under their control again.
What the chip contains. . . Its a map. Of Necron tombs. The silver lines represent the webway, the dots, tombs. As a Navigator, Pembroke realized that this information had to be shared with the Inquisition. They had to know the threat, its terrifying scope. Its as comprehensive as it could be, and he put it into the most secure storage he could find in a hurry. Your stubborn, unreadable mind. Living metal is a surprisingly flexible, adaptive medium, the height of technology for a race that defined itself by technology. A small amount, a speck less than a few molecules across, contains a complete star chart of the modern galaxy overlaid with every tomb world and webway gate the Necrons know about. Using that data, the Inquisition could win the war against the Necrons before it begins. Before they fully awake. It also contains a guardian program, Me. It saved you from Favoren. And it caused you, indirectly, to be tortured by the Inquisition.”

Mars. That silver star is MARS. Her voice rumbled through the memory. Around her, the green-black blocks began to crumble and fade.

“You won't remember much of this dream when you awake, if any of it. The node is still not fully integrated with your neural net, and I'm afraid it might be damaged by the rush job I used to hide it. I'm so sorry Kally, to use you like this. But like you said. My death has to mean something. You have to remember, don't let them take you alive. Through you they find Pembroke None of the Necron tombs have a map as accurate, comprehensive or up to date as this. Its immeasurably valuable. It they take you, don't let them know you have it”

Kally hazed back into consciousness to the sounds of shouting, running and rumbling engines. Her head was propped up against the grimy armourglass of a vehicle window. Raising it was difficult, as if she was in heavy gravity and her neck muscles half-paralysed. The rest of the vehicle interior was bare metal and ripped padding, reminiscent of a battered Outrider scout jeep. She was in the back left seat, securely belted in place. The front doors of the vehicle were open; the driver and passenger seats vacant.

She tried to move, and found that her hands were cuffed together, linked by a short chain to a similar pair of restraints around her ankles. Trying to turn, she succeeded in flopping onto her opposite shoulder, where she saw Crenshaw still slumped unconscious in the seat next to her. His face was a mask of blood from the wound to his scalp, but he appeared to be breathing.

Rolling her neck limply back towards the window, Kally focused through the grimy glass and saw grey sky; grey, ruined buildings; and a scene of carnage in the open plaza below. Armed indigens in dirty robes and fatigues were dragging people from the back of a lorry - fellow indigens, with their hands above their heads so that the Ramado Sept prayer beads they wore around their wrists were clearly visible. Missing their bulbous flare goggles, many of them had their eyes screwed shut or were staring blindly. One of the indigens stalked down the ragged line, yanking back bowed heads to look at their faces and then pointing to several of the prisoners, seemingly at random. The captors bashed the selected prisoners to their knees with the butts of their rifles, and started to drag them towards a building wall that was already marked with bullet holes and blood spatter. In the background, two fighters kicked and hacked at a corpse with machetes, while a third waved a large flag back and forth from a half-demolished balcony. The rippling silk bore the sun icon of the Vilysian Solar.

Don't let them take you alive.

Kally's line of sight and train of thought was broken by a pair of indigens struggling past the door of her car, dragging a young indigen by her hair. One of them stopped as he made eye contact with Kally. His mouth fell open, and he used one hand to wrestle off his flare goggles as if to get a better look. His eyes were green-lensed augmetics.

"Is that an Imperial?" he gaped. In a country of albinos, even Kally's pale skin tone stood out as different. The indigen's face twisted with hate. "Mother f-"

He shoved the sobbing Ramado girl to the ground, lunged towards the car door and jerked it open. A smell of sweat, blood and dust flooded into the vehicle. He reached forward with hooked, grimy fingers to drag Kally out of the car, only to be knocked sideways with a flash like a lightning strike. The indigen vanished from Kally's view to be replaced with a cloaked figure holding a sword, the basket hilt still sparking with static. Seeing the tarnished silver mask that covered his face, Kally recognised him as the man who had led the attack on the Telepathica base outside Akkan.

"The soulless are for the Prophet to judge." the masked man growled in accent-less Obrantu.

The indigen with the bionic eyes scrambled away, stuttering apologies and what sounded like a prayer. The masked man looked down at Kally silently, his hooded head cocked slightly to one side. Behind him, Kally could see one of the captive Ramados on his knees, pleading with the Vilysians as the chosen prisoners were thrown against the blood-streaked wall. His pleas were cut off by a sharp snarl of gunfire. Somewhere out of Kally's field of vision, the young girl started screaming again as the two indigens dragged her away.

The masked man glanced back over his shoulder, and shook his head. "All sides of this war are a fething disgrace." he murmured, this time in imperial gothic. "But it's not my place to stop them."

The voice was dry and roughened, and muffled by the silver mask, but it was one that Kally recognised.

"You shouldn't be awake yet, agent Sonder." said interrogator Javid Schafer as he pulled a syringe full of kalma from the belt of his robe.

“Cren...”

Schafer paused. The words had come out slurred, like Kally was drunk or concussed.

“Crenshaw.” Her eyes rolled to look at him. “Hurt. Badly.”

Schafer yanked Kally's head to one side to push the needle into her neck.

“Don't worry agent.” He pulled the syringe from her neck and tossed it aside. “I have no intention of letting either of you die.”

[Azazeal849]

The kalma haze blurred Kally's journey into lagging, overlapping images. Driving out of the plaza, past a pair of dead bodies twisted around wooden frames like a grotesque warning sign. Rubble and the shells of buildings giving way to sodden scrubland and then rocky crags, as the sun slowly crashed in flames on her left. A gaping cave mouth, marked by a couple of rusted servitor skulls that hung like trophies by the entrance. Albino faces spitting and shouting abuse, the words flowing inaudibly together as Schafer and another guard warded off attempts at a more physical assault. A faded red robe with a dark hollow for a face, two articulated mechanical claws curling over its shoulders like poised scorpion tails. It hovered over her and watched as a pair of cyborg servants in dark surcoats divested her of her webbing and equipment and began tugging at her armoured bodyglove. One found the animus vox - the red robe held it up to the light with silver fingers, before putting it to one side on a table. A grubby robe was bundled over her head in place of the bodyglove.

A feeling of cold iron snapping around her wrists. A dank cell hacked out of one corner of the cave network, the entrance barred by a shimmering green haze. Two men she didn't recognise were already slumped there, their faces bruised and puffy. They spoke, but the words didn't seem to filter through Kally's ears clearly enough to produce meaning. She slept.

When she awoke (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x-HNAaftNnM), two black-robed figures were looking down at her, their silver face masks tinted green by the shimmering force field that separated them. The red-robed figure from before stood further back, cradling what looked like a meltagun in his spidery hands. One of the black-robed men was Schafer, identifiable by the longsword at his waist. The other was broad and hunched, though if he stood straight he would have been taller than Schafer. The lines that his robes hung over were so jagged and angular that he looked like a walking skeleton.

"We can handle these four, Oswin." Schafer barked over his shoulder at the red figure, jerking his head without taking his eyes fully off the prisoners. "Roose should be here soon and we'll need you to appraise his latest delivery."

The red figure cocked his head with a whirring, mechanical click. "Very well." he said, in a voice as dusty and cracked as old parchment.

"Roose..." a voice coughed on Kally's left. It was Crenshaw, shackled to the wall beside her and clad in a similar dusty-grey robe. The cleaned and stitched wound at his hairline was still visible, but his eyes were quiet and alert. The two men beside him were silent, wary.

"Roose Haarlock, I assume." Crenshaw went on. "And judging by the devilnacht masks, I am going to guess that one of you two is the famous silver prophet."

"Well." the hunched figure spoke up at last. "Some call me that." Its voice was sepulchral; flat and hollow and androgynous, leached of the vitality of accent or inflection.

"Now." the emotionless voice went on. "Let me have a proper look at you."

Skeletal hands of gleaming metal emerged from the sleeves of the figures robes. They reached up, and with a series of clicks, hooked around the sides of the silver mask to lift it away. The two prisoners beside Crenshaw scrambled back and flattened themselves against the wall, stammering the Emperor's Prayer. At first Kally thought that the face behind the mask was nothing but a glistening, elongated skull, but then the saw the shallow seams of metal plates, and the emerald lights crackling like fire in the depths of the sunken eye sockets. It was a face she had seen before (www.role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=40923&page=21&p=1862535&viewfull=1#post1862535), floating behind the replicant Faroven with its hand on his shoulder as it ordered him to rip Lucius Pembroke out of her head.

"The shard?" Schafer said, warningly, as he pulled off his own mask.

The hooded skeleton turned its head, scrutinising Kally with witchfire eyes. "Dormant. For now." The voice projected from somewhere inside the silver skull, with no obvious moving parts or vox caster. "I will not risk that primitive Oswin awakening it, nor damaging the host. You will have to excise it yourself."

"Now?" Schafer queried.

The silver skeleton bobbed its head, almost as if it were laughing, but no sound accompanied the gesture. "No. I would have...distraction first."

Schafer rested his hand on the hilt of his hexagrammic longsword, warily. The silver skull swung slowly round to take in the other three prisoners.

"Speak, mortals." the dead voice whispered. "True conversation is a rare luxury for my kind."


+ + + + + +

Klimment had looked pleased when he first answered the orbital holocon from Lia. The pleasure quickly turned to shock when Lia presented her mistress' credentials, and her ultimatum. Behind the lilac-skinned rogue trader with his nest of steel dreadlocks, Xanthius was still smiling; but the ever-present bodyguard's expression had changed from quiet condescension to something cold - icy and threatening.

"My dear girl," Klimment protested. On the pict screen in front of Lia, the trader's macabre face had adopted a hurt expression. "What makes you think that I can or would use the device to track you?"

"Because the interrogator lady knows how much of a sneaky person you are, Mr Ottik."

Klimment pursed his lips, staring fixedly at something to the right of the pict recorder on his console.

"It won't work." the trader said, almost petulantly. "If your friend is a blacksoul, there's no way my astropath can lock onto the animus vox."

"Unless she dropped it, which we think she would have been smart enough to do if she wanted to lead us to her. Just try it."

Klimment looked like he was biting back a curse, but swallowed it and instead waved his hand at a gaunt, green-robed figure hovering behind him. "Stream it to my cogitator." he ordered irritably.

The astropath stooped a low bow and shuffled out of camera shot. There was almost a full minute of silence, during which Klimment glared venomously at Lia, and the young psyker returned it with a look of blithe curiosity. Finally, a series of pings filtered through the speakers mounted either side of Lia's projector. Klimment broke the blade-edged stare and glanced down at his console.

"Oh." the rogue trader said after a moment, surprised in spite of himself. "Oh, this is interesting."


+ + + + + +

"Magos, you really need to convince your friends to find some more amenable quarters."

The man's High Gothic was jovial as he dropped down from the footplate of the indigen jeep, his mane of dark hair dancing about his shoulders. The camouflage netting that hung above the cave entrance cast a dappled light over his tanned face, which would have been strikingly handsome if not for the raking scars across his left eye, and the puckered flesh around the red-lensed bionic that had replaced his right. The lens rotated with a click as it focused on the red-garbed priest before him, and the man smiled as he cast off his indigen travelling cloak to reveal a brockaded coat, fastened with a double row of gold buttons.

"You are early, Haarlock." the tech-priest observed in a dry croak.

The man's smile widened as he reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a gold fob watch, linked to his coat button by a thin chain. The watch casing was engraved with a highly stylised spider - superficially similar to the winged skull of the Imperialis, but with eight crooked legs fanned around the skull in place of feathers.

"Only you would consider that a bad thing, Oswin."

Behind Haarlock, a small team of workers pulled off their own indigen disguises to reveal the dark fatigues and slung lasguns below, and began unfastening the tarpaulin that covered the back of the truck. Haarlock turned and clicked his fingers at the men and women working behind him. "Hurry up!"

The armed workers dragged a number of metal crates down from the back of the truck and struggled to keep up as Haarlock and Oswin ducked into the cave entrance and followed the wide tunnel down into a chamber buttressed with rust-streaked girders and strewn with the organised chaos of a tech-priest's workshop. Two pink-eyed indigen guards raised their weapons in greeting as the trader and the scorpion-tailed priest passed them, though the hooded, mechanical assassins that stood further inside the workshop did not react at all.

Haarlock's bionic eye clicked as he surveyed the cavern. The walls had been excavated to form a smoother, rounder chamber, and they were covered with snaking, steel-jacketed cables that ran from portable power generators to feed the lights and the various equipment that lined the walls. A number of rotted wooden benches were strewn with weapons - some indigen, some Imperial, some of a different origin entirely.

"Those are new." Haarlock commented, pointing towards a pair of boltguns that still bore their imperial markings. They lay half-disassembled on one of the benches, alongside a pair of laspistols and a tiny silver cube.

Magos Oswin turned his head to follow the trader's gesture. "Some trinkets that the Prophet's men captured from Imperial soldiers. I found them of interest. In fact, I would be completing my observations of them now had you not arrived 23 minutes ahead of schedule."

Haarlock laughed. "I'll try to be fashionably late next time." He looked around again, and a frown creased his scarred forehead as his mismatched eyes fell upon the silent tech-assassins. "I counted more of those creatures last time. Have you had any luck yet with that old adversary of yours?"

Oswin didn't answer, but the servo claws that curled over his shoulders rotated in their sockets, like scorpion tails picking their angle of attack

"If you ask me, I think you started out wrong." Haarlock went on as they crossed to a relatively open corner of the workshop. He beckoned to the struggling workers to follow as he did so. "Not a smart move, trying to kill him in front of an entire spaceport."

A grating burst of static snarled from somewhere inside Oswin's robes. "You don't know what he did!" the magos snapped, with what sounded like real vehemence.

Haarlock cocked his gnarled left eyebrow. "It must have been bad to get a tech-priest angry." His smile turned cold as he gazed reminiscently through the tech priest and the cavern wall behind him. "You should see how house Haarlock deals with people who upset them."

"My judgement is as sound as the natural laws of the universe." Oswin replied, with a measure of his previous dignity.

Haarlock laughed again. "Not very sound then! You won't find purpose and meaning in the laws of nature, Oswin. It's our job to create them."

"Indeed. Though not all men seem to defy risk probability as often as you do."

"Regulations only stifle opportunity." Haarlock said levelly, as his attendants caught up with them and began to lay the first crate carefully on the floor. "A truly open market would regulate itself - the strong rise; the weak adapt or die. It's a pity that the bureaucrats can't see it, although I must admit that governor Pergantis is more accommodating than most."

The rogue trader stooped, and pressed his thumb against the reader device clamped to the top of the crate. Steel bolts sprang back, and the lid of the crate pistoned open.

"I've worked my way up, in spite of everything." Haarlock said, "I think I deserve what I get."

He rose, and stepped back to make room for a hard-bitten woman who pulled on a pair of gloves before carefully lifting something out of the crate. The something was a long, skeletal firearm with a ribbed transformer near the stock and odd, circuit-patterned cables. The cables looped into a long, perfectly-smooth cylinder of green crystal that ran the length of the weapon's barrel. The crystal was glassily translucent, but somehow failed to reflect or absorb more illumination as it was brought out into the bright spotlights of the cavern. A thick scythe blade of oily-black metal hung from the frame that encased the crystal, and the barrel ended in a claw-like projector. Struggling with the weight of the weapon, the woman handed it to Oswin, who gazed down at it reverently for a moment before laying it on the workbench behind him. Haarlock's gaze was less respectful as he regarded the Necron weapon.

"And these sun-worshipping indigens?" he added, folding his arms across his expensive coat as he looked down at the device that could flay dozens of armoured men down to their constituent atoms. "If they're capable of nothing except violence, then they deserve what they get."

"The Prophet's men are making gains." Oswin advised. "But they are also taking unsustainable losses."

"They breed like vermin anyway." Haarlock shrugged. "They'll recover." He grinned again. "Besides, the bombs and kill-servitors that Dunov is buying off Natalia make great recruiting tools for your Ghost friends."

He snapped his fingers again, urging his men to hurry up in unloading the rest of the crates. Oswin was so enthralled with the contents of the weapons crates, that he failed to notice the silver cube lying next to Kally's bolter flicker with life. Almost swamped by the examination lumoglobe that hung over the table, the spiralling runes that covered the cube's surface lit up and began to glow.


+ + + + + +

"Welcome aboard." (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WXqFf_ExUho&t=0m18s) Machairi said with a tight smile as the door hissed open and the Rakosu team stepped through, still dusty from the smoke and brick powder that Klimment's lander had blasted into their faces as it touched down with engines howling, before spiriting them all back into space. They had Klimment's co-operation, albeit grudgingly, and for the moment.

They also had his briefing room, a sumptuous round chamber with a transparisteel dome filtering the starlight as it played over the cruiser's dorsal surface. The centre of the room was dominated by a table of veined marble, exquisitely inlaid with geometric patterns in beaten gold. Plush chairs of red velvet surrounded the table, in which the other agents were already seated. Remus was conspicuously absent, already dispatched back to the AAT complex to ensure Klimment did not renege on his hospitality. Marc, sat between Glabrio and Lia, rose with an audible sigh of relief as the Rakosu team filed in, and strode forward to embrace his sister, and then to clasp hands with Vincent.

"We ain't done yet, kid." the ex-guardsman growled in warning. "Kally's still out there."

"And that's why we're here." Marc replied.

Machairi let the team settle, and then waved a command wand. The dome overhead polarised, dimming the lights. Gilded servo-skulls drifted silently from alcoves in the walls to project a high-quality hololith into the air above the table, showing a map of the western continent. In the mountains north of Rakosu, just past the border of the still-standing indigen nation of Rytu, a red icon pulsed on and off.

"We've got them." Machairi said. "Klimment's astropath has located the animus vox that agent Sonder was carrying and placed it here. It looks like she and Crenshaw have been moved to an indigen base outside the main Uru warzone - and with any luck, a major one. Trader Klimment has kindly agreed to lend his personal forces in support of this rescue mission - all we need now is a plan."

[Thrannix]

"For the moment, don't push Vincent too hard. You are running low on muscle out there. Stay safe Solvan.”

"At this point I'm unsure if I'd rather have less muscle or keep muscle I cannot trust." The priest countered shaking his head. "But at least he seems genuinely concerned for Sonder's wellbeing, I'll back off... for now."

------

Solvan met Tomas with a friend's embrace, both men showing their gladness at seeing each other once again.

"I knew you'd make it decrepit old fool." Jested Tomas as they broke contact.

"But what's with the limping?" The bodyguard perceptively asked. "You look paler than a ghost."

"A little souvenir from the locals' ambush, nothing to worry about." Solvan quickly replied.

"You sure you don't need to have that looked at." Tomas insisted.

"Sapphira's taken care of it and I'm-"

"Actually, Solvan." The sister interjected from behind the bishop. "I strongly suggest revising the wound in a sterile environment and at the very least perform a red blood cell count." Her voice made it clear that she fully expected her suggestion to be followed to the letter.

-----

Solvan's gaze lingered for a moment on the red transfusion pack dripping its contents in a steady flow into his arm as Alia explained the current situation. From across the room Tomas smirked and gave him an I told you so look. The bishop rolled his eyes and decided to focus on the hololith's display.

"We need more information." He commented thoughtfully. "What's the base's layout? What are the enemy forces guarding it?" The bishop scratched his chin. "But most importantly, we need to know where exactly are they keeping Sonder and Crenshaw. One of the first things the enemy will do in the event of an attack is start executing the prisoners."

"We'll need a team on the ground to gather as much intel as possible before committing the rest of our assets." He sentenced.

"Also, we should be wary about Klimment's men." He warned. "I know beggars can't be choosers, but it could be in the rogue trader's best interest if all this Inquisition nonsense were to conveniently disappear and leave his profitable business alone."

[Azazeal849]

"We need more information." he commented thoughtfully. "What's the base's layout? What are the enemy forces guarding it?"

"Aye." Marc agreed, "It could be twenty indigens or two hundred - with bionics and xenotech guns." He chewed the inside of his cheek and turned to Vizkop. "If your boy Oswin is there with them, what sort of force might he be adding?"

"And might he have detection equipment that would give us away if we started actively scanning the place." Machairi put in warningly.

"Perhaps if we get close enough Gavin could do a sweep?" Kelly suggested, turning to glance in Gavin's direction. "If the indigens hate psykers then they're not likely to have one of their own on hand to detect him."

Solvan scratched his chin. "Most importantly, we need to know where exactly are they keeping Sonder and Crenshaw. One of the first things the enemy will do in the event of an attack is start executing the prisoners. We'll need a team on the ground to gather as much intel as possible before committing the rest of our assets."

"Agreed." said Machairi. "I want you on the ground to make a full reconnaissance before Klimment's men drop."

"We should be wary about Klimment's men." Solvan warned. "I know beggars can't be choosers, but it could be in the rogue trader's best interest if all this inquisition nonsense were to conveniently disappear and leave his profitable business alone."

Machairi smiled icily. "Don't worry about Klimment. As I trust Lia made clear to him, if we don't report back, or if his ship breaks orbit, or if he sends men to the AAT base, Remus is going to astro that warrant for his arrest straight to Sidonis."

[Thrannix]

(One of our pending copost scenes with Paint, should be before the ambush.)


----------------


“I have found Abdur Salah, as in found him in the ruins, as in he is…is…oh, my.” Gavin’s voice, as distant as his projection, faltered as the psyker recoiled back in his chair with a grimace. “He is in terrible, terrible pain, and has been severely traumatized.”

“Where’s Abdur been hit and is he in mobile condition?” Sapphira asked as she checked her shotgun. By contrast Crenshaw only fractionally narrowed his eyes at Gavin as he listened.

“With the words I have said, Sister Sapphira, what I mean is he has been traumatized. In here, as in his mind…” Gavin tentatively answered and gestured to his scarred temples, not quite touching them. “It is turbulent as Abdur Salah has been wounded for…there were so many…”

Solvan felt his chest tighten as he remembered the Tallarn’s confession back at Akkan. He desperately wished to be able to talk to Abdur, but his vox was turned off. The knowledge that there was nothing he could do was maddening.

“He suffers greatly as he begs…for forgiveness…because it was…not his fault…No!” Gavin quickly blurted out as his eyes snapped back open in horrified shock.

The shot was a sharp bang that ricocheted through the ruins back to the team in the warehouse, before being swallowed by the distant thunder of gunfire that continued to echo through the war-torn city.

“This is Kally. Abdur is KIA. Repeat, Abdur is KIA. We're cleaning up and will report back in fifteen minutes.”

Solvan feared the answer, but nonetheless he made the question.

"How did he die?" The words felt distant somehow, as if spoken by someone else.

The silence that came afterwards only increased his worry.

"Damn sand man offed himself." Came the short reply from Vincent.

Time seemed to slow, the bishop felt sick in the gut and weak at the knees. After what felt like hours he reached for the vox. The only sign of his inner turmoil was a slight trembling of his hand. He knew what had to be done with Abdur's body, and somewhere a part of his mind was grateful for the small mercy of not having to order the deed himself.

"We leave as soon as they get back." He sent into the vox. "In the meantime, I need to pray for his soul."

He made his way outside the warehouse, the perimeter had been declared safe by Gavin and in the south side across the street a wall that once belonged to a church still stood. He was dazed and almost stumbled with the abundant rubble on the ground as he made his way there. When he reached his destination he let himself fall to his knees, too tired to keep struggling to stand up. He looked up to the heavens through the silent tears that were forming in his eyes. The mix of smoke and dust made for an ugly sky, in a sense it was fitting.

“You have two minutes to recover, Jenkins. Be ready.” Crenshaw growled lowly at his trembling and hyperventilating psyker. “Kally, Crenshaw. You will have over watch in ninety. Keep your intervals.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him.” Sapphira quietly volunteered as she held up a hand to wave off anyone else. She knew it had to be her. The Sister followed after Solvan and kept an attentive eye on their surroundings as he crossed the street. It was only when the priest finally stumbled down that Sapphira followed him out. She halted a respectful distance away from the man and quietly waited.

"He came to me, he shared the scars he carried in his soul. I tried to help him, to keep him away from the darkness." A mix of rage and despair coated the priest's words and Sapphira frowned deeply to hear him so wounded. "But I failed him, I failed at my sacred duty as confessor. And now he is dead. His soul is on my head."

“This isn’t your fault, Solvan.” Sapphira softly assured him. “You did everything within your capacity to help Abdur. You didn’t fail him and you haven’t failed as a confessor.” She took a measured step towards the priest. “None of us could’ve predicted this. How could we have?”

Not meeting the Sister’s gaze Solvan reached within his robes and took out Abdur's prayer book, its meticulous engraving glinting against the Sun.

"He gave me this. I thought it was just a gesture of friendship, but he was starting to let go. Why else give away the book with which one prays?" His voice was thin, very different from the usual strong and clear registry he used to perform his sermons or give out orders.

“Because it was a meaningful gift, Solvan, like your friendship and counsel was to him. You had no reason to suspect otherwise.” Sapphira reasoned as she closed the distance between them. “If any one of us did - you, me, or the Interrogator, then Abdur would not have been in Rakosu.”

"I should have seen it. I could have insisted in him staying with Alia, away from the warzone which would inevitably reopen his traumas." His hand gripped the book with increasing pressure, as if the bishop was trying to crumple it in his hand, the ancient leather cover began to break under his fingernails.

"I swore she would be the last one to pay for my mistakes." Solvan continued talking more to himself than anyone else, Allana’s features flashing in his mind. "But it was arrogant to make that promise, and my penitence is far from over."

He finally released the book and it fell to the ground opening into a random page. He glanced at the delicate pages filled with Tallarn scripture. Then he reached with his hand once more and flicked a couple or pages searching for something. When he seemed to found it he took a deep breath as he opened both his palms to the sky at his sides. Not leaving his knelt position he began reciting.

“Oh Emperor, forgive him and have mercy on him and give him strength and pardon him. Be generous to him and cause his entrance to be wide and wash him with water and snow and hail. Cleanse him of his transgressions as white cloth is cleansed of stains. Give him an abode better than his home, and a family better than his family. Take him and protect him from the punishment of the grave. Imperator Akbar.”

When he was finished Solvan let his arms fall down again and closed his eyes. Sapphira quietly repeated the declaration of faith and bowed her head in supplication to Him. The Sister reverently touched the eagle on her shotgun while she critically eyed their surroundings.

“It is done.” He whispered in a broken voice that made Sapphira close the distance. She crouched down next to Solvan and rested a hand reassuringly on his shoulder as she leaned in to speak softly, her words for him alone.

“You have done all that you can do for Abdur. He is in His more than capable hands now.” Sapphira gently cupped Solvan’s cheek so the priest would look up. The Sister had on an expression which was equal parts soulful compassion and intent seriousness. “However you are not done, Solvan Belannor, as we who remain here are in your hands.”

Solvan couldn't remember when was the last time that he was comforted by someone instead of the other way around. So many years as confessor had taken a heavy toll on the bishop. Adur's death had only been the last drop of poison his soul had taken in a long trail of self-torturing under the service of the Inquisition. Tears rolled down his face which Sapphira lightly brushed away as he allowed himself to tap into the pool of pain that festered within him for a brief moment.

Then the moment was gone. The Sister was right, he had to focus on his duty, his purpose. He nodded to Sapphira not daring to speak through the knot in his throat. Solvan stood up blinking away the tears, his shoulders heavier than ever. Sapphira supportively kept her hand on his arm and gently squeezed as she returned his nod.

"Thank you, Sapphira." He finally whispered to the Sororita, his voice strained by the effort to keep it steady, and the ghost of a smile on his lips. "Let's go back. Our mission is far from over."

[dakkagor]

OOC : Green provided by our redoubtable ST.

+++Tomas+++

"We'll have to get a team down a distance away and hump it on foot to the edge of their perimeter. Its a damn shame about Abdur. . .he would have been perfect for this.”

Tomas rubbed at his chin as he looked over the map.

“You probably want to set down there.” He pointed to a low valley, on the far side of a hill some distance from the base. “It looks sheltered, any defence or sensor net will not reach to it, and line of sight is blocked by the crest of the hill for any observation post nearer the stronghold. Check it first, to make sure they haven't thought the same thing, then land and approach over the hill.”

He nodded to himself, working the logic through and finding it sound. Machairi mirrored his gesture, deferring to her aide's military experience.

"I know our people are down there." the interrogator said, sweeping her eyes over the table - and over Vincent and Marc in particular. "But we need to take this slow and get it right. The xenos or VIzkop's friend Oswin might well have placed perimeter alarms. We also need to give Klimment's men time to rehearse an attack plan."

“Speaking of Klimment's men," Tomas added, "I'll check them over, get you an evaluation of their equipment and capabilities. I'd like to know what kind of scum we have covering our arses. Who knows, we might be lucky and they may have some servo skulls we can use to do some quick scouting.”

"I would rather not tip the indigens off with something as obviously Imperial as a skull drone." Machairi said, twirling the command wand between finger and thumb thoughtfully. "I think Kelly has the right idea. Gavin's our best bet for determining the internal layout without us being detected in return."

Tomas pushed away from the table, and with a nod left the conference room and headed to Klimment's barracks. He would have given anything for a company of storm troopers, or better yet, Carbon troopers. He'd have to see what quality of men Klimment was willing to lend them.

+ + + + + +

The repurposed loading bay was an assault on the senses - alert lights spinning in amber circles, piston heads slamming, and jets of steam ejecting into the air as pairs of armoured marines advanced methodically through the maze of live equipment filling the bay. Stern-faced sergeants looked down from atop cargo crates that were dotted around the bay, surveying their teams as they moved. The sergeants' polarised visors flashed in the rotating lights.

Xanthius, Klimment's dark-skinned bodyguard, was smiling his shark's smile at Tomas as the two observed from the gantry below one of the bay's vast pedestal cranes.

"So what do you think of our security detail, Mr Prinzel?" he asked over the white wall of noise. If Klimment had told him who Machairi and the others really were, he was hiding the fact. "Trader Klimment takes the threat of his ship being boarded very seriously."

“They look well equipped, and well drilled.” Tomas conceded. “But that only counts for so much. I'm eager to see them in action.” He grinned wolfishly. “Do they have any experience in hostage retrieval? As I'm sure you're aware, we have men down there and we want them back.”

“They have training in life guard duties and in VIP escort, its much the same.” Xanthius replied. “We have run through drills for it, but Klimment has never been stupid enough to get captured by Indigens.”

Tomas let the comment slide, and returned his gaze to the men below. He wasn't going to deny that getting captured was pretty stupid. Kally seemed to have a knack for it.
“I hope they live up to your sales pitch, Xanthius.”

+++Kally+++

"Speak, mortals." the dead voice whispered. "True conversation is a rare luxury for my kind."

Kally laughed, a hard, bitter laugh from a throat that was already feeling dry. She looked the...the thing in the face. “You might regret that. Ask Interrogator Schafer there, you might struggle to shut me up.” She turned to Schafer. “So when did they get you? On this shit-heap world or earlier? Or are you just a regular flavour of traitor rather than a fething replicant?” She knew she needed to play for time. Time for what, she wasn't sure. But the longer she could keep talking, the longer their reprieve from what came next might last.

"Venatora." Schafer said, without any noticeable emotion. "The original Schafer died with Clement in the shuttle crash. The Masters replicated both us and the shuttle before Black's Arvus regained contact."

“But . . .Vizkops detector? I thought it was 100% foolproof. It caught Faroven, for gaks sake!”

"Faroven didn't know about Vizkop's detector in advance." the replicant answered. "I did. I was able to briefly take control of the device when he turned it on me."

He folded his arms, frowning thoughtfully.

"So...if you're here on Hercynia, who did Sidonis send after me? And who sent you into the Uru to die?" He cracked a slightly sneering smile. "I'm going to guess Alia. She's the same manipulative bitch that Nasreen was - she just hides it better. But it won't stop her from falling one day." He glanced round at the hooded skeleton. "Not worth replicating, I assure you."

“If you wanted replicants," Kally interrupted. "You could have had us shot in the field and replaced immediately. So I'm guessing you don't need any more help infiltrating the inquisition. So what’s the plan, break us down for parts and turn us into more of you? Those...Pariah things?”

Schafer's eyes switched sharply back to Kally, although he obviously had too much of the original Schafer's training to let her turn around the conversation by asking her how she knew about Pariahs. The hooded skeleton on the other hand just bobbed its head again, the eerie, silent laugh.

"No." it whispered. "You have things almost completely backwards, mortal."

The creature turned and advanced three paces towards Kally's end of the cell, its cloak whispering, its metal feet clicking against the stone. It slowly tilted its skull, regarding Kally through the shimmering force-field. Kally resisted the urge to back away, instead meeting its empty gaze.

"But you amuse me, and so I shall enlighten you. Let it never be said that my kind do not have a sense of irony. I wish to give the governor of this squalid world the fight he is claiming tithe exemption for."

"The most disgusting thing is that for years the indigens wanted peace." the replicant Schafer put in, baring his teeth. "Some of them still do - you've seen them out in Akkan, waving banners instead of guns and getting shot at by the PDF for their trouble. But instead of integrating the indigens slowly and peacefully, the PDF kept bombing and killing - until bitter psychopaths like the ones you saw in Rakosu started sounding like the voice of reason."

"They were not hard to twist to our ends." the mechanical skeleton rasped. "The fact that they already worship a sun god was a delicious irony. And those clumsy mechanoids of yours...their pale look makes it...so easy to draw the conclusion that you are actually lobotomising and converting indigen prisoners."

"Maybe we should start." one of the AAT blanks next to Crenshaw hissed bitterly. Kally shot him a venemous look. She didn't think the Indigens deserved any more suffering heaped on them, but obviously some people thought differently.

The skeletal nightmare bobbed its head. "You would play even further into my hands. Your divide and conquer strategy is failing. Through my servants, I am leading and organising the Vilysians in Rakosu, re-energising them. As they win, and as the Enclave becomes more unstable, the Rytu axis are watching for weakness. If they invade, the self-interested Zakarn Axis will join them. You have seen to it that they hate you Imperials even more than they hate each other."

"The Enclave does not stand alone." Crenshaw coughed, managing to smile. "If the Rytus and Zakarnis want to play at a real war, they are in for a shock when the rest of the Imperial continent steps in. They won't win."

"No." the skeleton admitted, its witchfire eyes flickering over towards Crenshaw. "But they will create a war devastating enough to draw offworld attention, and to draw forces away from our true target."

"A glorified distraction..." Schafer grunted with a slight smirk. "Just like on Venatora? Is that all we are?"

The skeleton glided its head slowly around to look at the replicant. "Perhaps, but that does not mean my work cannot be...meaningful. What is the expression your template used to use - two birds, one stone?"

It turned slowly back to regard the prisoners.

"That is where you come in."

"You already said that you are not here to vivisect us." Crenshaw growled. His eyes glanced sideways towards Kally. Kally briefly met his gaze. "So what do you want?"

"Ah..." the skeleton whispered. The sound was like sand skittered across a crypt floor by a brief gasp of wind. "Some of the misguided dynasties tried to use your kind as soldiers, as the ones who seeded your gene pool once intended. The experiment was a failure - the constructs were too few, and they could not self-repair. A waste."

The filtered light of the force-field tinted the creature's face a sickly green, sliding across the mechanical skull like acid.

"My experiment is more enlightened. I want you for what our true goal has always been - a return to biological bodies."

The two AAT soldiers looked at each other fearfully, and then at Crenshaw and Kally. Crenshaw was still smiling mildly, his manacled hands resting on his knees. Kally was frowning, working through the assorted jumble of disconnected memories and data filtering into her skull, trying to get ahead of the conversation. "Not enjoying the silvered look, are you?"

The green haze rippled, parting like water as the hooded creature lunged forward into the cell. The black robe that covered it flickered and disintegrated into ash as it stepped through, revealing the hunched metal skeleton in all its monstrous glory. One of its silvered hands shot out to close around Crenshaw's throat, slamming him up against the rugged stone of the cave's back wall. Kally jumped to her feet, but her manacles kept her from interfering.

"Thermal receptors in my fingertips are telling me that you are in a cold sweat." the skeleton told Crenshaw in a cold monotone. It silently raised its arm, until the major was dangling level with its flickering eyes. "Pressure sensors are telling me that your heartbeat is accelerating in the face of impending death. But I cannot...feel you." The mechanical fingers jerked open, and Crenshaw dropped to the floor with a heavy thump. "And this vocaliser cannot convey the depth of my disgust."

Crenshaw coughed, and spat on the ground at the creature's heel as it whirled round and rippled back through the force-field. The creature itself turned back towards him as Schafer silently shrugged off his own black cloak and handed it to the creature.

"My Replicants were an attempt to craft bodies that we could download into." the creature whispered as it tugged the spare cloak over its skeletal frame. "The attempt failed - although as you can see we still found a use for them. What was the problem, you might ask? They still had...souls."

The creature paused to pull the hood of the cloak up over its head, shrouding its hideous skull once more.

"Baffling is it not?" it went on, gesturing slowly at Schafer as the replicant stood immobile, watching the prisoners. "A wholly artificial construct, but its mind still generates a presence in the dimension you call the warp. Perhaps my copying process was...too perfect. When I discovered this defect, I tried to use technology to sever the replicants from their souls. It was not efficient. Invariably, it killed the subject."

The creature turned slowly round to face Kally and the others once more.

"Which brings me once more back to you, the so-called blanks. You are...born...without souls. If my predictions are correct...your bodies are empty vessels - ripe for a Necrontyr consciousness to fill that void."

“What where you running from?” Kally asked. The Necron swung its gaze back her, and she steeled herself. “You abandoned your bodies for. . .those things, without a way to go back.” she gestured at the now cloaked figure. “The only reason you would do that is fear.”

“You are astute. In truth, we where tricked into giving up our bodies, thanks to the god-monster that lives inside your skull. Bio-transference should have saved our species, but instead it has made us extinct. We where running. From our failures. From our enemies. From death itself. It was a mistake, and one I will rectify.”

[PaintSerf]

"Bombs didn't stop 'em." Vincent grunted, with a sidelong look at Crenshaw.

“What an astute observation, Vincent.” The Major deadpanned like an unimpressed schola master. He barely spared the mercenary a half-heartedly witheringly glance away from scrutinizing the ruined plaza. “The bombs and servitor drones are not intended to stop ‘em.”

"Holy throne..." Kelly murmured, shaking her head as they came across the first bodies. Crenshaw nonchalantly halted next to the young verispex as he dispassionately took in the scene. After a few brief moments of assessment the Major offered an unimpressed grunt.

“This would be considered a dull affair by Uru standards.” Crenshaw noted almost conversationally and without solicitation. “Imagine how substantially worse this massacre could have been and then envision it in the Enclave or Illyrium.” The Major levelly stared down at her with distain. “Your conscience is not worth that much, Kelly.”

With his piece said Crenshaw swept past Kelly as Gavin trotted after his handler deeper into the plaza. The psyker wordlessly offered her an apologetic glance as they disappeared amongst the vehicles and toppled pillars. Once the Major found a secluded enough shelter of rubble he goaded his charge down into its relative security.

“You know the routine, Jenkins.” Crenshaw murmured as he prompted the psyker to deactivate the null halo. “Wait for me here when you are finished. I will not be long and it is not as if you have anywhere to go.” The Major scanned their environs with his bolter tight to the shoulder. “I know you remember how hospitable the indigens are to your kind.”


***

“Holy Father, I humbly pray that you watch over your faithful servants this day.” Sapphira murmured as she watched the Ghosts approach from behind a blown out vehicle. There were corpses all around the Sister, and she noted a young female curled over a nasty abdominal wound with prayer beads clutched in her outstretched hand. She was about how old I was when I took my vows. With that realization she frowned deeply with shame. We have failed you and Him on Terra, for allowing you to die without knowing His grace and love.

“We will make amends for this, Holy Father.” The Sister quietly vowed as she stared down the encroaching militia. Sapphira palmed on of her grenades and curled a finger through the pin, waiting for the all clear. “We will execute your will, and those who would oppose it.”

"Into them! For the Emperor!"

“Frag out!” Sapphira advised as she wrenched the safety pin clear. The Sister grunted as she popped out and hurled the explosive at the foot mobile indigens. She saw the grenade bounce on the pavement and into a militant. The man desperately tried to bat it aside as other Ghosts scrambled away. Sapphira did not see the explosion as she ducked back into cover, but she did hear the screams as survivors started firing at her.

“For the God-Emperor!” Sapphira exclaimed as she darted out of cover from the opposite side, shotgun up and blasting as she advanced in Solvan’s wake. She poleaxed a Ghost who was hammering her former position with autogun fire before putting down another that had been struggling to stand. The Sister reflexively winced at a bright flash of light as the confessor’s Rosarius absorbed a shot, and she pivoted her aim to the triggerman with an outraged snarl.

“You!” Sapphira shouted at the insurgent as Solvan’s hammer cracked into the truck’s engine block. Shock was evident even beneath the man’s bug-eyed goggles as he tried to swing around a battered old PDF lasrifle. She removed the militiaman’s expression and most of his skull with another slug. Sapphira gritted her teeth as a fireball that only could’ve come from Malpais arced past and reduced several Ghosts to as she emptied her magazine at the fleeing Ghosts.

“Kally, watch your back. You’ve got more hostiles entering the ground floor.” Sapphira cautioned as she slid into cover, taking a moment to catch her breath and reload. From the corner of her eye she watched Malpais and Solvan terminate the last Ghosts who hadn’t run for cover.

"Two more trucks incoming!"

“Repositioning now.” Sapphira acknowledged before pushing out from her shelter towards the next piece of cover. Halfway across the plaza she gasped in surprise as an emerald flash leapt from the cannon and traced a jagged line into the hab, causing the facing wall to burst into pieces. The beam split and scattered to blow out the few remaining windows in the surrounding buildings, leaping back and forth like caged lightning. Sapphira slid into relative safety behind a toppled column and curled an arm protectively over her head.

"Fokking hell! Xeno weapon on the truck! And I thought that sparky fokker Daxos was a pain in the ass!"

“Heretics!” Sapphira spat, with particularly venomous disgust, as she heard Vincent’s commentary. She exhaled sharply, and straightened up as the downfall of rubble ceased. It is the heretics you cannot see that are the truest danger…but you already knew that, Sapphira. You learned that the hard way. The Sister’s lips curled back in a grimace at that corrosive thought, and she chambered a slug as another technical roared up into the plaza.

“All heretics will die!” Sapphira condemned as she rolled out of cover and fired at the dismounting indigens. One of the Ghosts was impacted in her improvised armor and stumbled back into the technical as a boy who couldn't have been more than 15 standard, his face twisted with hate, went to one knee by the cover of a wall and fired off a long burst, one of the bullets pinging hard off the shoulder of Sapphira's carapace.

The Sister hissed at the impact and turned to meet hatred and gunfire in kind. She kept the trigger depressed and rapidly slammed the pump action, forgoing precision to challenge the autorifle’s rate of fire as she hustled back towards cover. It wouldn’t have been a contest, had one of her slugs not caught an older militiaman in the abdomen as he’d grabbed the boy to drag around the corner. The older man collapsed and threw off the boy’s aim.

Sapphira took the opportunity to dive behind another chunk of masonry. The Sister stared in horror as the xenos weapon fired again into Kally’s building, the green fire seemed to coil around the building like a constricting serpent, and the top floor disintegrated in on itself, swiftly followed by the floor below. She was tensed and ready to move again when automatic fire slammed into her position. Bullets chipped the pavement and shrapnel nicked off her borrowed armor as the chance to move evaporated.

"Hold or fall back?"

“Pinned.” Sapphira tersely voxed as she scooched back into cover. She heard the metallic rumble of a heavy machinegun and felt the impacts through the concrete. The torrent of fire gouged and tore at the rubble, steadily breaking it down. Sapphira coughed at the dust, gritting her teeth as she swapped her magazines and hunkered down in the precariously dwindling cover.

"Hold and have faith in the Emperor. Wait for a chance to get to us and regroup."


***

"I need you to use that damnable xeno weapon against these heretics, direct it at the truck and the ghosts blocking the road so that the rest of the team can reach us."

The psyker nodded at Solvan’s command, eyes closed as he concentrated his mind. I should commune with a xenos weapon? Unhallowed technology…unknown how to control…not enough time…too many variables…no. No, no…that would not be workable. Gavin’s brow furrowed as he projected his consciousness above the escalating firefight outside. The tableau of riotous activity and intense emotion was difficult to observe even from a distance. The Major would not approve of that…however something more direct…the path of least resistance.

Gavin narrowed his focus onto the indigens barricading the western road and the former sniper’s nest. The closer that he brought his consciousness towards the Ghosts, the more intimately Gavin could feel from them. Anger…belief…desperation…fear…hatred…love…pain. It took deliberate effort for the psyker not to be drowned by their terribly human emotions as he narrowed his focus on them. Find the weak link…and exploit it… Each of the militants was murderously driven by their faith; however Gavin could sense those enthralled by the local amphetamine cocktail. That would be…hmm…

You. Gavin concluded as he psychically pierced his way into the chosen victim’s consciousness in a flash of light, his own reality affected by the prism of a stimulant addled brain. The dusty grey ruins of Rakosu slowly tinged into an arterial red underneath a static sky, shot through with the strobe of misfiring neurons. People darted at a crawl as bullets sped lazily through the air. Buildings rocked back and forth with the tectonic grinding of well-worn down teeth. Everything around Gavin was blurred and distorted around the edges by the dry heat of this mental desert.

“Holy Lord of Light…” The man gasped through his deep and rapid breaths. Tears were streaming down his pale face as he stared at the radiant figure hovering above him, unable to turn away from the psychic manipulation. His finger slipped off the machine gun’s trigger. “Is…is that you?”

“Oh, uhm, no-” Gavin uneasily cleared his throat, belatedly realizing the opportunity while struggling to maintain his own mental barriers in this stimulant ravaged hell. He maintained the luminous aura while tweaking how the militant would perceive him. “None other, I mean. Yes, my son, it is I. In that I am your God, of course, the Holy Lord of Light. I am so very displeased by my so called faithful - most particularly you.”

“B…bu…but…we…I…My Lord, I…we…follow your will, through the Silver Prophet’s command-”

“Whom do you serve, my son - this so-called Silver Prophet or your own God?” Gavin cringed slightly as he paused for effect. “I find your lack of faith disturbing, and I will hold you accountable.”

“Oh God...I’m sorry…my God…I’m so sorry…” The militant hyperventilated in manic repetition, deaf to the demanding and querying shouts of his comrades. He rapidly blinked and whined highly in agony through gritted teeth, before shouting out pleadingly. “MY GOD! MY SWEET MERCIFUL GOD! FORGIVE ME! FORGIVE ME! TELL ME WHAT I CAN DO TO MAKE YOU FORGIVE ME?!”

“Ow, ah, err-” The psyker winced as the desperate cries echoed through the man’s mind. He shivered at the anguish he’d inflicted, and felt the alarming increase of thunderous heart palpitations. “Own your sins, my son. You must redeem my people who have been led astray, by which I mean your comrades and that you need to kill them.” Gavin pulled his levitating projection away from the Ghost and over his fellow militants. “Hear me and obey, as in do as you are told and smite those beneath me.”


***

Sapphira tensed in adrenaline fuelled expectation when the machine gun ceased pulverizing her position. Punctures in the rubble had forced the Sister down onto her belly as small arms fine continued to crack off what remained. Here comes the rush. Resolved to meet them head on Sapphira pushed up into a crouch and chambered a shot cartridge, shotgun levelled and ready. The Sister leaned out in time to see three Ghosts running at her mowed down by their own support weapon as its hysterically babbling gunner redirected to hose down the disabled xenotech armed technical.

"The indigens have their heads down! One of the trucks just fired at the other!"

Sapphira vaulted from her cover and raked the charging and scattering Ghosts with shot. The noose of agents tightened around their erstwhile ambushers and summarily tore them to pieces. In the chaotic rush Sapphira heard Solvan’s righteous condemnations and felt the heat wash of Malpais’ unnatural abilities as she saw Vizkop execute another militant. The Sister unhesitatingly finished off the few who escaped from their charges or Kelly’s over watch.

"Everyone get on the truck." Solvan's voice sparked in their earbeads. "Now!"


* * *

"Perhaps if we get close enough Gavin could do a sweep?" Kelly suggested, turning to glance in Gavin's direction. He stood alone by the threshold and fidgeted uncomfortably as he tensely regarded the hololith. "If the indigens hate psykers then they're not likely to have one of their own on hand to detect him."

“They hate us.” Gavin confirmed with a harrowed expression as he reached up and gripped the collar of his carapace. The psyker hunched and shuddered as he quietly muttered. “I know they do.”

Solvan scratched his chin. "Most importantly, we need to know where exactly are they keeping Sonder and Crenshaw. One of the first things the enemy will do in the event of an attack is start executing the prisoners. We'll need a team on the ground to gather as much intel as possible before committing the rest of our assets."

"Agreed." said Machairi. "I want you on the ground to make a full reconnaissance before Klimment's men drop."

“Speaking of Klimment's men," Tomas added, "I'll check them over, get you an evaluation of their equipment and capabilities. I'd like to know what kind of scum we have covering our arses. Who knows, we might be lucky and they may have some servo skulls we can use to do some quick scouting.”

"I would rather not tip the indigens off with something as obviously Imperial as a skull drone." Machairi said, twirling the command wand between finger and thumb thoughtfully. "I think Kelly has the right idea. Gavin's our best bet for determining the internal layout without us being detected in return."

“Oh…okay,” Gavin flinched slightly and averted his eyes from the scrutiny. He cleared his throat and then reluctantly focused on the interrogator to nod affirmatively. “Of course, Machairi, I can do that.”

“These heretics have been aided and abetted by the Rytu with armaments, recruits and sanctuary.” Sapphira ticked off their sins on her fingers as she scrutinized the map. “With that much collusion direct support from their military isn’t out of the question – even if they’re only reacting to our incursion.”

“Our military, as in the Enclave’s defense forces, intently monitor the borders for military activity.” Gavin interjected as a pensive frown creased his brow. “However what I mean to say is that the orbital insertion of Trader Klimment’s forces, and either or additionally the mobilization of Rytu troops, may be noticed and draw an appropriate response.”

[Azazeal849]

Southern Rytu, sunrise

“That's dawn.” Marc murmured as the first rays of the twin suns began to creep over the eastern horizon. "Where the hell are Klimment's men?"

The investigator pulled his copy of Gavin's sketch out from the webbing of his camo-slashed carapace armour and studied it for the third time, focusing on the question mark Gavin had scrawled over one of the cave system's deeper chambers. If he's right, that's where we'll find Kally and Crenshaw.

Ghost-projecting through the power cables that veined the mountain base, Gavin had been able to roughly map its layout, as well as the network of trips and booby traps that had been seeded across the mountainside. It had taken a painstaking six hours for Gavin and Vizkop to remotely deactivate Oswin's perimeter alarms without drawing attention, although Vizkop had grimly noted that he was doubtful that any of the heretek's creations inside the base could be disabled so easily.

The rest of the team had been busy observing the main routes up to the hideout, feeding information back to Klimment in orbit. They could only hope that Klimment's men were using the time to memorise Gavin's map and rehearse their attack, rather than to practice some way of betraying the team. Marc glanced over at interrogator Machairi, but their leader was preoccupied with sweeping her binoculars over the muddy track that led to the base's hidden east entrance. The interrogator had exchanged her usual elegant attire for grey-camo fatigues and flak, complete with rebreather and flare goggles, and her hair was bound up tightly at the back of her head.

Machairi had ordered Marc and Kelly to accompany Klimment's secondary attack through the southwest entrance, pincering the central caves of the base. The rest of the team would follow Klimment's primary attack from the southeast door, before splitting to secure the main barracks and the chamber which - hopefully - held their captive friends. More of Klimment's men would block the south entrance that seemed to be the rebels' vehicle park, and the dropships would remain on overwatch for any escape routes they had missed on the northern shoulder of the mountain. Marc couldn't help noticing that his assigned route, while the safer, was also the further from Gavin's question mark. That in turn made him wonder if Machairi was deliberately separating him the rescue mission, or her own presence. The interrogator had given away little to illuminate her motive.

Just as Marc considered the fact, there was a brief crackle through the team's vox pieces - a short blurt of static, followed by three short pips. A moment later, a faint roar began to build in the distance.

"Alright." Machairi told her remaining agents. She stowed away her binoculars, hooked her rebreater into position, and unslung her melta pistol. "Time to move. Weapons free."

Machairi gave Vizkop a nod, and at the flick of a transmitter switch green smoke began to billow from the flares that the team had placed an hour ago outside the base entrances. A pair of alarmed indigens came running from the south entrance, and almost immediately stumbled with a savage crack from Tomas and Vincent's rifles. A moment later, a formation of stub-winged dropships, reminiscent of stripped-down astartes thunderhawks, appeared in the sky to the north. They were diving down at an almost 45 degree angle, flames washing around their still-hot re-entry tiles. As the team watched they fired their braking thrusters with a colossal thwak-boom, and seemed to skid in the air as they raked round towards the mountain and its belching smoke markers.


+ + + + + +

"It was a mistake, and one I will rectify."

"Just like our mistake in not pursuing Pembroke sooner, when he accidentally jumped his ship to the Masters' world." Schafer added, and for a moment the replicant seemed to be biting the inside of its cheek. "It gives me no pleasure to put you through this a second time, agent Sonder, but we need to know what it said. Where it went."

"Oh yes." the skeleton whispered, raising a silver hand. "I will sift through your mind with some interest, mortal. And with somewhat more finesse than that primitive Strelilov."

Kally's stomach lurched, and her vision swam. She felt herself falling sideways, and her vision blacked out.

Her eyes flicked open to the sound of her mother crashing around the house. It was late, past down-cycle shift, judging by the subdued neon lights coming through her window and the low murmur of the hab block market outside. She could hear her mother swearing, kicking things. Quietly, she got out of her bed, and walked across the thin, worn down carpet to check that the improvised lock on her door was on. It wasn't much more than a length of scavenged chain she had drilled to the wall to hook around the handle, but it had been enough to dissuade her mother from trying to open the door.

She heard her mother shout her name, curse her out for not cleaning the house. That was fair, as she hadn't done most of her chores. She had been busy the past few shifts. Today she had been preparing to leave.

No. She kicked me out. That's wrong.

She crept back, quietly as a mouse, and looked under her bed. A pack was waiting, stuffed with ration packs, some guild notes she had swiped from her mothers penthrift shrine when she had been out, and a very sharp knife from the kitchen. A few changes of clothes, and her Dad's rebreather.

The bag is right. The knife turned out to be useless, it broke immediately. The ration packs lasted me a few days, the money a few days longer. Then I started to steal. I'd forgotten I'd spent all that time getting it ready.

The last thing to go was the snowglobe. She carefully picked it up from the nightstand under the rooms window, and marvelled at the black orb, flecked with green and silver. She held it close to her chest, the last thing her father had given her.

There was a distant knocking, at the habs front door. Kally scrambled into the bed as her mother stopped her ranting and went to the door, and Kally pulled her sheets over her head. She listened as outside muffled voices conversed.

“Kally! Kally, you little bitch! An Inquisitor is here! Get up and open your bedroom door right now!”

She tensed and froze in terror. Was this her mother playing tricks on her, tormenting her, trying to get through the door to the only place she was safe? She jumped back out of the bed and started to dress, throwing of her old worn out nightdress and climbing into her work-glove and some stout boots she had found and repaired. As she did, her door was knocked on. She grabbed her pack and slung it over her shoulders and went to the window. She grabbed the snowglobe, and jammed it into her pack.

“KALLY! OPEN THIS DOOR RIGHT NOW!”

The door rattled and shook and she pulled the window open. Immediately the smells and sights of the hab sink hit her like a blast of nostalgia, as the child Kally briefly remembered the adult she was.

Behind her the door was smashed open, yanking the chain out of the wall in a shower of concrete dust. Her mother, just as she remembered her. Wild eyed, tattered clothes, grimy nails and skin. After her father died she had just. . .stopped caring. About herself, about her. About the hab, about anything at all. Kally's adult eyes, trapped behind her childish skin, could pick out the trails of needle scars on her arms and the glazed look from flect' abuse, signs she had missed as a child. She met her mothers eyes for a second, and could see nothing but pure, unbridled hatred, burning through the self inflicted haze. Kally slithered out of the window and fell, landing with a thump on the metal roof below that covered a street vendors stall. She rolled from the roof and landed in the street, startling a few people in the market place. As she picked herself up and dusted herself down, she looked back up at the window and decided she would never, ever go back.

This is wrong. It wasn't like this. . . was it?

She turned and walked into someone. Normally people kept their distance. She backed up and looked up at the tall man, straight into the mismatched eyes of Pembroke.

“You still have it.” He gestured to the pack. “Good. I don't know why they picked this memory, but I'm guessing they've already gone through a few others looking for what they want.”

“I don't. . .I don't understand!” she shouted. “Leave me alone!”

“They're partitioning your mind.” He responded, ignoring her outburst. “Its easier to get secrets from a child than from an adult. You have to run. Get far away from here and. . .”

He was interrupted by a crash of glass from above. Kally and Pembroke looked up to see. . .something barrel through her window. It slammed down behind Pembroke in a crouch, and then started to rise.

It took Kally a moment to realise that it was the Prophet - not mechanical but alive, and all the more horrible for it. It was no longer skeletal, but lean and armoured; elegant servo-assisted plates cladding its limbs and torso, shimmering like liquid silver. Flat, wide panels guarded its shoulders, splayed like crooked wings. Machinery rose from its armoured back in spines, almost like the lumps of vertebrae arches. They hissed and sucked like some monstrous life support system. Kally could see nothing of the creature beneath the armour. In profile it looked almost human, but emaciated and ungainly; its arms were slightly too long, and its legs slightly too short. Its helmet was too long and too narrow, stretched down as if the creature's jaw was dislocated into a gaping scream. The breath that rasped from behind the visor was laboured, tumultuous. A horizontal slit in the narrow helmet gave the only hint of the being inside, showing two sunken, hate-filled eyes.

Pembroke took one look at the being, snapped round towards Kally and spoke a single word. "Run!"

A long glaive hazed into existence in the being's fist, crackling with caged lightning. The blade lanced forwards, and the projection of Pembroke burst into a million points of shattered light.

Kally turned on her heels and fled. She darted through the crowd, their faces blank, as the monster thundered after her. Where she slid and dodged, it smashed its way through obstacles with brute force.

“Give me the answers, child!” it whispered, the voice scratching at Kally's mind. She shut it out, clamping her hands over her ears and running to the lower sink.

Soon, she reached the edge of the hab and came to the barrens. Behind her, the Silver Prophet was closing. She dashed into the tangle of wreckage, before coming to the maw. It was the local name for the heat exchange unit that sucked thermal energy from mid hive manufacturing processes and moved it out and down, into the lower hive, the lower sink the entire area was named for. Some of that heat was recycled, but most was lost to the humid depths of the underhive. She walked to the edge and looked down. It seemed to go down forever. She unhitched her pack from her shoulder, and pulled out the knife.

“That won't help you here.”

She whirled, and the prophet was standing nearby. “Give me what he gave you, and this can all end.” It held out a clawed hand, and slowly advanced. Kally backed away until she felt the abyss at her back. There was no where else to go.

“Give me the pack, insolent girl!” it hissed, as it loomed over her. Kally held the pack out over the edge.

Good girl.

“Come any closer and I drop it!” she yelled. She brandished the knife threateningly, and the Prophet paused in its advance. “I'll do it!”

The prophet hissed, and lunged for the pack. Kally let it fall and the monster caught itself on the edge of the hole, and screamed in rage and frustration as the pack plunged into the darkness. It whirled on her immediately, grabbing her up and choking her, easily picking her off the ground and digging its armoured hands into her windpipe. She slashed the knife against its armour plates, and the thin blade snapped.

Yeah, that's about right.

“You are stubborn.” It hissed. “This is the second time you have foiled me in this little game. But you will not be able to do that forever, and I only need to win once.”

It turned and with terrible strength, tossed Kally over the edge. She plunged into the darkness.

Kally came to on the floor of the cell, feeling exhausted and sweating all over. She started to push herself back up.

"What is wrong?" the silver skeleton was asking Schafer. It's tone was as flat and soulless as ever, but its witch-fire eyes were blazing.

Schafer had a battered old hand-vox to his ear, and was barking orders and threats into it. "Unidentified dropships have just landed and are deploying troops outside all three main entrances." he reported, before cursing. "What the feth happened to Oswin's perimeter alarms?"

The Necron threw out its arm, and for a moment Kally thought it was to strike Schafer, but instead it was to close around a stave of segmented white metal which came flying into its hand from against the wall. The creature whirled around, and as it did so its body dissolved in a twist of green flame.

"I'll get Haarlock out." Schafer barked into his vox in Obrantu. His eyes flashed emerald green as he turned and strode away from the holding cell, out of Kally's sight.


+ + + + + +

Marc gritted his teeth. "Stay close." he told Kelly as the two of them pushed up from the ground and started to run down towards the second plume of smoke.

Men in black carapace armour began to drop like a cascade of metal beads from the sides of the dropships, stacking up by the tunnel entrances. As the rest of the team sprinted up the track towards them, Xanthius dropped down from the leading lander's rear ramp, grinning beneath his jet-black helmet.

"Shall we?" he prompted the agents.


+ + + + + +

Some of the tunnels were murderously cramped, and as soon as the initial shock had worn off, the indigens were fighting back hard.

"There's something inhuman here!” the team heard over the vox from one of Klimment‘s squads. “It's throwing lightning! It's murdering us!"

“They’ve got xenos weapons with them.” Machairi said grimly as the team cleared a side chamber in a thunder of grenades. “Watch yourselves.”

No sooner had she spoken, something armoured in red crashed out of the side-tunnel on the group's left, all whining servos and spinning blades. A flickering plasma halo sparked into life along a blade in its right hand as it whipped round to face the agents.

"Well that can fok right off." Vincent snarled, and blew the thing's head off with a thunderous blast from his shotgun. As the construct dropped, raining black fluid, Vizkop darted into the tunnel the thing had emerged from.

"Where the fok are you going?" Vincent protested.

“Another one of Oswin's tech-assassins.” Machairi guessed. It had clearly been sent ahead to stall them. As Vizkop had predicted, the heretek was fleeing - and Vizkop had to find him before he succeeded.

"Go with him." The interrogator ordered Malpais and Lia, pointing the two psykers after Vizkop. She did not want the ad mech assassin going alone, no matter how personal his vendetta. She snapped hand signals to the rest of the team and to the squad of Klimment’s men pushing up behind. “We’re about a hundred metres from the holding area. Glabrio, Sapphira, take Gavin and get our people out - then fall back and regroup. Solvan, Tomas, you’re with me. We need to lock down the south entrance.”

“You heard the lady.” the team heard Xanthius snap from behind them, and Klimment’s marines split into two groups to follow the agents.


+ + + + + +

"Go on ahead." Schafer snapped at Haarlock as he led the indignant rogue trader through the warren of tunnels. "They're right behind us."

“I’ve been taking care of Imperials who got too close for years.” Haarlock said coldly as one of the power generators feeding the lights abruptly failed, and his escorting soldiers groped to switch on their lasguns’ muzzle lights. “What makes these ones so special?”

“Trust me.” Schafer growled, yanking a pair of pistols from his hip holsters and whirling round. He disappeared back down the tunnel, and within seconds there was an angry crack crack of lasfire.

One of the soldiers glanced at Haarlock. The rogue trader cocked his scarred eyebrow, and shrugged. “To hell with him then.”

He turned and hastened after the others into a cavern leading towards one of the network’s secondary exits. The cavern was a makeshift barracks, strewn with bedrolls, storage crates and indigen detritus. Haarlock scattered a small Vilysian prayer shrine with his foot as he swerved round a weapons locker. He wasn’t worried about the xenos artefacts being found - he had already seen to it that their delivery could not be traced back to him, and plenty of friends on the eastern continent who could refute the ravings of captured prisoners. Whatever happened to Schafer, Oswin, and the Emperor-damned indigens, Roose Haarlock would survive.

Some people might call such certainty arrogant. Haarlock called it the self-confidence of a tightly-focused will.

One of Haarlock’s bodyguards pulled up short as the cave wall in front of him suddenly erupted in a red flash. There was a roaring blast and a spray of shattered rock as a gaping hole appeared in the wall. Interrogator Machairi shouldered through it with her melta pistol still coiling steam, Tomas and Solvan at her shoulders. Despite the surprise, Haarlock’s soldier reacted automatically and fast, switching his grip to hammer his lasgun butt towards Machairi’s face as she appeared. The interrogator skipped to the side, and turned the dodge into a spin that brought the back of her fist crashing into the soldier’s temple. The soldier fell back, cracking his head hard against the wall, and Tomas put a shot through his forehead before he could even rebound.

Torch-beams scissored, and lasbeams hissed back and forth as Haarlock’s men scrambled for cover. Smoke gusted up in the confined space as fabrics and wood caught fire, and the dust from vaporised rock and metal erupted into the air.

“Going somewhere, heretic?” Machairi shouted across at Haarlock as she flattened herself against the wall.


+ + + + + +

Blind grenades exploded in a torrent of light and smoke as Vincent and Glabrio barged through the narrow opening and pivoted to sweep the corners of the chamber, Vincent spinning to the right, Glabrio to the left.

"Here! We're in here!" one of the blanks alongside Kally and Crenshaw shouted. Vincent and Glabrio snapped round as Gavin and Sapphira entered the room.

"Hey. Bolt magnet." Vincent growled at Gavin, stabbing with a finger to draw the psyker's attention to the shimmering force-field keeping the blanks confined. Gavin locked eyes with Crenshaw through the barrier, swallowed, and raised his hand. The green curtain imploded with a crack, and the manacles around the blanks' wrists and ankles fell away.

“We’re fine.” one of the AAT guards coughed at Sapphira as she ran forward to help.

"Get after Schafer." Crenshaw rasped as Kally hauled him to his feet. "That silver prophet can't hide among normal citizens, but he can."


+ + + + + +

Marc swore as a flash of green lightning destroyed the shoulder of rock he was sheltering behind, sending a glare of sickly light coruscating over his armour. He threw a protective arm across his sister's front and dropped back a pace, returning fire with his bullpup autogun. The savage rattle of its discharge ricocheted from the stone walls, but the bullets themselves shattered into prismatic splinters against an oil-slick bubble projected just ahead of the indigen position.

“Team, Kelly!” Kelly reported from behind her brother, wiping dust from her visor and the pict-stealer mounted on the side of her helmet. “Shielded xenos weapon emplacement blocking our way to the barracks!”


+ + + + + +

No sooner had Sapphira and Kally taken off after Schafer, then there was another flash (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZWvO63iwM7c), brighter than the blind grenades, as a tentacle of lightning coiled around Vincent and hurled him across the chamber. He smashed into the wall beside the alcove that had held the blanks, taking the impact on his mechanical shoulder. The force of the collision knocked the breath from his lungs and replaced it with a solid rock of pain.

The white flash turned green as a pillar of emerald flame rose up in the centre of the chamber, parting to reveal a nightmare figure of silvered bone. Green fire blazed in its empty eye sockets, and green lightning sparked around the segmented staff it carried in its right hand. The glittering skeleton didn't speak, only raised itself to full height and brought the staff crashing down on the cave floor, sending a shockwave of fissured stone hurtling towards the agents.

[Jarms48]

The investigator pulled his copy of Gavin's sketch out from the webbing of his camo-slashed carapace armour and studied it for the third time, focusing on the question mark Gavin had scrawled over one of the cave system's deeper chambers. If he's right, that's where we'll find Kally and Crenshaw.

"Those colours..." Glabrio paused, gesturing a finger to the mans camouflage, his grin hidden behind his face shield. "They don't really seem to suit you."

They were one of the same, both had swapped their more traditional attire for combat gear. Though unlike the investigator, the ex-regulator had taken to wearing his old kit. The arbiter symbols had been taken away long ago, swapped out for the imposing -I- of the inquisition. He was suited to close encounters, everything about him screamed for this type of scenario. He'd taken his arbite shotgun from the armoury, and grabbed shells of all varieties. A shell bandolier fell across his chest, stuffed with flechette, gas rounds, stun shells, and a few (illicitly acquired) bolt shells modified to fire from his weapon.

It hung from his back on a sling. A shell clip attached neatly to the weapons stock, a lamp fastened to the weapons side rail, and a laser sight clamped upon the shotguns top rail. His hands patted the pair of pistol holsters that sat on either hip, before his digits moved to play idly with the leather strap that held them shut. He could feel the shockmaul dangling from his webbing behind him, a small comfort, and he was thankful for the weapon in the odd case the situation turned into a bloody brawl. He grimaced, then motioned to Machairi.

...The interrogator had exchanged her usual elegant attire for grey-camo fatigues and flak, complete with rebreather and flare goggles, and her hair was bound up tightly at the back of her head.

"Now our lady there," he wove a hand over to Machairi, "she wears the look as if she was born to it. Can't say what I find more attractive, our lady in her dresses, or our lady in uniform."

...

"Alright." Machairi told her remaining agents. She stowed away her binoculars, hooked her rebreater into position, and unslung her melta pistol. "Time to move. Weapons free."

"I suppose that's enough comfort for one day then, right, time to kick the arses of a few collaborators." Said Glabrio, as he unslung his arbiter shotgun.


* * * * *

He patted the shoulder of one of the mercenaries ahead of them, they stood against the wall, stacked against the southeast entrance. Grenade first, always grenade first. His training flooded back to him, grenades were passed down the line, and the lead merc pulled the pins of a trio of frags before tossing them down the hall in quick succession. The detonations rang out one by one, screams and the crashing of objects following each of them in turn. A pair of smoke grenades came down the line next, and they rolled down the tunnel bleaching plumes of thick white smoke as they tumbled and turned. Visor thermals were activated, weapons were raised, and the mercs on either flank of the door stormed in.

Flashes of lasfire streamed across the smoke, bolts claiming those indigens blinded and unable to find their quarries. The second pair of mercs trained their rifles on those already injured from shrapnel, many of them screaming and bleeding out, finished with a killshot to the head or chest. A spray from your weapon, good. Glabrio stormed in himself, his shotgun raised, and he pulled the trigger as an indigen sprang from an adjoining room. The flechette sent him recoiling, the man lost his footing and sent him down into the wall beside him, his chest in ruin.

The plumes settled, thermals were flicked off. Fireteams stacked on the doors of the adjacent rooms. Again, grenades. Glabrio grasped for the door knob, opened it and pushed it ajar just enough for the merc across from him to plunge another frag into the room. He closed it quickly, waited for the detonation, then the duo swept it clean. They met back in the corridor, ready to push their advance deeper. They had the initiative, though there was no telling how long that would last. The deeper they pushed, the more numerous and the better armed their opponent would become.

...

Some of the tunnels were murderously cramped, and as soon as the initial shock had worn off, the indigens were fighting back hard. They'd stuck to moving in twos, hugging the tunnel supports as they went, and the indigens pouring fire into them at every opportunity. Lucky shots brought down a pair of mercs, a bolt to the neck forced a man to crumple to the floor instantly. The second was luckier, a flicker of lasfire impacted one of his armours leg joints, sending him into the deck violently. Screaming, a quick thinking peer grabbed him by the shoulder and dragged him to the rear lines.

Glabrio's shotgun found the indigen with abandon, flechettes scored the mans leg, tearing through flesh like tissue paper. The indigen fell forward, firing his lasrifle as he went, bolts effortlessly skirting off the floor.

...

"Go with him." The interrogator ordered Malpais and Lia, pointing the two psykers after Vizkop. She did not want the ad mech assassin going alone, no matter how personal his vendetta. She snapped hand signals to the rest of the team and to the squad of Klimment’s men pushing up behind. “We’re about a hundred metres from the holding area. Glabrio, Sapphira, take Gavin and get our people out - then fall back and regroup. Solvan, Tomas, you’re with me. We need to lock down the south entrance.”

"Aye, my lady." He turned his head to Sapphira and Gavin, and gestured for them to go. "With me, come on."


* * * * *

"Get after Schafer." Crenshaw rasped as Kally hauled him to his feet. "That silver prophet can't hide among normal citizens, but he can."

"Before you go, take this." Glabrio offered. He reached for one of his pistol holsters, and pulled a pair of spare magazines from his webbing, then held it out in offering. "I can't let you go unarmed. I expect that back."

...

"I take it you can still fight, Crenshaw?" He asked, already reaching for his other sidearm, readying the next offering.


* * * * *

No sooner had Sapphira and Kally taken off after Schafer, then there was another flash, brighter than the blind grenades, as a tentacle of lightning coiled around Vincent and hurled him across the chamber. He smashed into the wall beside the alcove that had held the blanks, taking the impact on his mechanical shoulder. The force of the collision knocked the breath from his lungs and replaced it with a solid rock of pain.

"Vincent!" Glabrio shouted, his head momentarily following the old veteran as he flew across the camber. His eyes narrowed on their latest quarry, and he kept his distance, rounding it slowly.

"Well aren't you the ugliest thing I've ever seen! ...You're outnumbered, and outgunned. You're an abomination to the Emperor, and I sentence you to die." Glabrio assured it, his tone cold.

The white flash turned green as a pillar of emerald flame rose up in the centre of the chamber, parting to reveal a nightmare figure of silvered bone. Green fire blazed in its empty eye sockets, and green lightning sparked around the segmented staff it carried in its right hand. The glittering skeleton didn't speak, only raised itself to full height and brought the staff crashing down on the cave floor, sending a shockwave of fissured stone hurtling towards the agents.

Glabrio rolled to the side, steadied himself on his knees, and snapped a flechette shell from his shotgun. It went wide, and he cursed quietly to himself as he rose back to his feet. He racked the pump, started rounding the creature again, and fired another shell. The flechettes deflecting effortlessly off its living metal. He fired another, and another, both shells having the same effect as the first.

[Azazeal849]

"Now our lady there," he wove a hand over to Machairi, "she wears the look as if she was born to it. Can't say what I find more attractive, our lady in her dresses, or our lady in uniform."

"Flattery won't get you an early promotion, Glabrio." Machairi grinned without looking round.


+ + + + + +

Glabrio rolled to the side, steadied himself on his knees, and snapped a flechette shell from his shotgun. It went wide, and he cursed quietly to himself as he rose back to his feet. He racked the pump, started rounding the creature again, and fired another shell. The flechettes deflecting effortlessly off its living metal. He fired another, and another, both shells having the same effect as the first.

The Necron swung its staff in a blazing arc, and a flash of lightning hurled Glabrio back against the wall. The wall itself caved in, sending smoke billowing into a chamber where bullets were already whipping back and forth. An indigen and a stormtrooper, who had been grappling on the ground with knives, were blown away from each other and simply froze in horror as they saw the metal skeleton framed in the gap where the wall had been.

The Prophet ignored them, and also ignored Glabrio and Gavin as it rounded on the holding cell where Crenshaw and the two AAT soldiers still stood.

"Where is Kally Sonder?" it rasped at them in a toneless whisper.

[Atrum Daemon]

The cybernetic assassin dashed through the confined space of the tunnel. He could hear two sets of footsteps behind him and gathered that they must have sent back-up after him. He appreciated the gesture knowing he might need the extra help to keep Oswin cornered. He could see the end of the tunnel ahead and drew his pistols rather than the twin blades sheathed across his lower back. The footsteps behind him were growing closer and he glanced behind to see Malpais carrying Lia and assumed the increased speed was a telekinetic trick on Malpais's part. He could see the door ahead and cursed in binary. There was no time for caution! He shouldered the door as he reached it and it lurched open only for him to be grabbed by a large, cybernetic hand and tossed bodily across the room of the workshop.

The mechanical thing that had grabbed him was tall and bulky. Vizkop caught a glimpse of the remains of a human being around the head and chest before a pair of metal hands grabbed him and hauled him to his feet. “Found me,” Oswin rasped, heaving Vizkop over his shoulder to land hard on a metal table.

Oswin was clad in the tattered robe of the Mechanicus and what had been a pristine suit of Enginseer power armour before be modified it to suit his tastes. The door flew open under a torrent of telekinetic force and Lia, her body augmented by her talent with biomancy, launched herself through it at Oswin's bodyguard. Vizkop rolled off the table moments before Oswin's servo arm pounded into it where his head had been. Rolling around the table, Vizkop squeezed the triggers for both his guns and unleashed a pair of armour-piercing incendiary rounds on a trajectory clear at Oswin. The impact sent Oswin back a step and ignited his robe, prompting him to tear the burning garment away. Oswin rushed Vizkop, the volley of shots fired in return cutting into his armour. The fist impacting Vizkop sent the assassin onto his back and his pistols skittering across the floor.

Across the room, Malpais and Lia were dealing with Oswin's surprisingly tenacious creation. A second set of limbs had detached and it was dealing with the two rather well. The constant back and forth kept Malpais from concentrating on a single thing, thus rendering his telekinetic abilities less effective and the bulked primary limbs were faring well against Lia's augmented physique despite the dents and cracks from her crushing impacts. The secondary limbs sprouted powered blades after being cut by Malpais's sword wreathed in psychic energy. The playing field changed, Malpais doing his best to keep the attention of both powered blades so the abomination would not bisect Lia with them. Malpais evaded a scissoring strike by the monstrosity, but was nicked by one and ended up with a long gash down his arm.

Vizkop did a hand-spring to get back away from Oswin and avoid being crushed by his servo-arms. He pulled the ornate pistol on his thigh from its holster and fired. The red beam of the Volkite pistol cut through the dim light of the workshop and with an explosive impact severed one of Oswin's servo-arms. The second arm picked up a large piece of metal debris and tossed it at Vizkop, forcing him to evade it and throw off his aim. Oswin took the chance to close in deliver a punishing blow to Vizkop's body followed by a second and a third before lifting him off his feet and tossing him away with a whirr of powered servos.

Vizkop pushed himself to his feet, spitting up thick blood as a broken section of his helmet fell away to expose part of his face. He was blocking out the pain caused by Oswin's crushing blows, knowing without a doubt that he could not take any more of those hits lest his subdermal armour buckle.

Malpais found his opening with the bodyguard when it took the time to throw Lia away from it. Mustering himself, Malpais sent the machine flying with a blast of telekinetic force before catching it with his will. His first motion tore off the secondary limbs and held them in place. The second ripped the heavy primary limbs free from the torso. Giving a wrenching gesture with both hands, Malpais tore the machine in half at the waist and sent both pieces to opposite ends of the workshop, the heavier end crashing into Oswin and sending him against the wall. “Hold him there!” Vizkop said.

Malpais nodded and exerted his will upon the severed torso of the machine, pinning Oswin in place before ripping his second servo-arm off for good measure. Vizkop stood and holstered the Volkite, taking the time to retrieve his other pistols before walking to stand before Oswin. “Here to kill me now?” Oswin asked.

“Oh that would be far too easy,” Vizkop said with a shake of his helmeted head. “There's so much for you to tell us.”

-And why would I tell you anything?- Oswin queried, switching to binary. -Inquisitorial interrogation methods are rather lax and old-fashioned.-

-I do not recall saying the Inquisition would interrogate you- Vizkop pointed out. -I stated that we would. This will be much easier if you come willingly.-

-Have I seemed the type to do something like that?-

-Well these are exceptional circumstances- Vizkop said. -The fact that I found you here confirms just what I thought. That you had not run because you got in too deep. For all your touting about domination, you have a habit of submitting yourself to the will of the worst dregs of the galaxy. It is pathetic, Oswin.-

-You call me pathetic when you are no different!- Oswin retorted. -Throwing yourself down in service to masters you have never even seen!-

-This line of dialogue is pointless- Vizkop said, refusing to be baited into justifying himself to a heretek. -You can either die now and be forgotten forever or you can turn yourself over to me and at the end of this be sent to my masters to tell all you know.-

-I have no other choice- Oswin conceded. -I relent and accept-

“Excellent,” Vizkop said with a nod as he switched back to Gothic and turned his head to the two psykers. “Oswin here has surrendered and offered his service.”

“What.” Oswin said flatly.

“And if he refuses or tries anything,” Vizkop went on, “I want you, Malpais, to put him in a coma.”

“Easily done,” Malpais said, to which Oswin had no reply.

“We're gonna let you down,” Vizkop said. “And you are going to reassemble those bolt guns on your workbench.”

Oswin nodded, his eyes filled with nothing but hate and violence toward Vizkop. Malpais let the heretek down and he moved his bulky frame to the workbench and began reassembling the weapons under the trio's watchful eyes. “Lia,” Vizkop said, “report back to the Interrogator that we have secured target Oswin and will be rejoining the attack momentarily. I believe some of Klimment's men are nearby if you require an escort.”

Lia gave a quick nod before darting off to deliver the news. Vizkop moved to the other side of the bench to observe Oswin's work. He saw why Oswin was regarded as a gifted man from the way he reassembled the bolters with ready ease. Like he had been around the weapons all his life. Vizkop and Malpais exchanged glances, both knowing there was no time to celebrate yet. The true mastermind of all of this still functioned.

[Thrannix]

The man Tomas had shot through the head hadn’t finished falling to the floor when Solvan was already through the breach. Around him the crossfire began in earnest as evidenced by the flashing of his Rosariu's protective aura dissipating las-bolts as the cramped space slowly filled with smoke. Even with the protection granted by the holy artifact trying to run down the narrow barracks without previously disrupting the entrenched enemy was suicidal. Grenades could be useful but it risked damaging the structural integrity of the underground passage. It was for such occasions that he brought along his hand-flamer. As Tomas had often said to him, the key about flamers is making sure you were the first to use them. In one fluid motion he unhlostered the weapon, set it to maximum, and fired while coming down barrack's tunnel.

A flame weapon, even a small one like a hand flamer, does several things when used in a closed space, beside burning enemies alive, as Haarlock’s men soon found out. The flash of intense light in the previously dark tunnel left unprepared soldiers momentarily blind, the heat wave that, depending on the proximity to the weapon, boiled away the first layers of exposed skin, all added to the sudden drop in breathable oxygen as the flames greedily consumed it together with the toxic fumes that filled the air making for a devastating effect on unprepared opposition.

“The Emperor’s Justice is here for you, heretics!” Solvan’s voice rumbled against the stone walls as he strode out of the ball of flame and smoke now hefting his activated Holy Warhammer stepping on the melted remains of the soldiers unfortunate enough to be caught directly by the burning promethium. “There can be no escape from His judgment! Repent and die!”

Haarlock’s men coughed and gasped while blinking away tears and flash blindness, as testament to their discipline they didn’t retreat and didn’t run away. They stood their ground and tried, even if ineffectively, to maintain the suppressing fire. But the priest had already closed the gap and the first swing of the hammer quickly turned some unlucky bastard into a stain of viscera and bone fragments stuck to the wall.

As the priest crashed into the soldiers Alia and Tomas, followed by a contingent of Klimment's men, were quick to take advantage of the momentary dismantling of enemy coordination and casualties started to mount heavily against Haarlock's side.

Tomas followed swiftly on his friends heels, administering kill shots to the injured and the dying. Behind his rebreather his eyes where cool, calm and collected. Unlike Solvan, who fought from the heart, with the passion of faith, Tomas fought from the brain, with hard won experience. Between the two there was no escape. Alia was next in line, shouting orders to Klimments men who broke down into fire teams to sweep rooms with murderous hails of lasfire and tossed grenades. Explosions played counterpoint to the screams of the dead and dying as the Imperials smashed aside all opposition. Tomas had shot through three magazines already, and was on his fourth. In situations like this you didn't spare the ammunition. You didn't go for pretty headshots or clean kills. You filled your enemies with bolts till they went down, then you did it again.

Solvan turned to block a swing from the nearest enemy when a shower of las-propelled crystals peppered his Rosarius' defense field. By proximity two shards caught one of Klimment's mercenaries in the neck, instantly the man crumpled to the floor convulsing and chocking in blood and vomit. He quickly realized that several other mercenaries had gone down with similar symptoms, but they seemed too far away to be victims of the same shooter. Yet he hadn't seen any of Haarlock's goons carrying with such equipment.

In one of the directions from which the deathly salvo had come a tall, fancy dressed, red bionic eyed man stood, his face framed by long dark hair bore an expression of slight annoyance at seeing his intended target still standing. Solvan knew, from the mission files, that the man was Roose Haarlock. Roose had a needle pistol that he holstered slowly, taking a power sword on a lazy grip on his right hand, while the other was kept enigmatically within his coat pocket. Solvan wondered why he looked so unsettlingly calmed in the middle of the carnage they were enacting on his men. He decided such questions were for later and began making his way towards him.

From behind the man came a charge of armoured men, wearing heavier carapace armour and equipped with naval shotguns, heavy autopistols and shock mauls.* Tomas yelled a warning and emptied the remaining half mag into the chest of one of the new attackers, finally knocking him down before being forced to discard his lasgun for his sword.* He spotted a familiar crest on the suit of the man facing him as he blocked his downward swipe with the mace.

“Haarlocks men!” He shouted. He backed up towards Alia, who stepped smoothly around Tomas left side and fired her melta pistol into the rogue traders guard face. His head exploded along with his helmet in a gristly shower of bone and ceramics, as his brain cooked and evaporated under the intense blast of heat. In the sudden scrum that engulfed a low vaulted chamber, Tomas and Alia lost track of Solvan and Haarlock, as they fought back to back against the elite men of Haarlocks personal guard.

Solvan similarly had lost Roose in the fray, but only for a fraction of a second, and before the priest could register the threat Haarlock had stepped inexplicably through his guard and slashed with his power sword at his left arm, cutting through the rosarius barrier, cloth and armor underneath. Reflexively Solvan twisted away avoiding the Heretic from amputating the limb, but still manage to inflict a bone deep gash of burnt muscles and nerves.

The bishop didn't have time to wonder how Roose had pulled that trick on him. He quickly spun his thunderhammer aiming for Haarlock's mid-section. And for a moment Solvan was certain that he had him. The man was still recovering from his previous swing and the effective field of the thunderhammer was bound to catch him even if the man moved like an eldar. But Haarlock's silhouette shimmered, lost focus, and his swing hit only empty air as Haarlock was inexplicably just out of reach.

Solvan was left completely open as his damaged left arm failed to respond to arrest the momentum of the weapon. Another stab came aimed at his spine, luckily this time the rosarius field held long enough for Solvan to roll away from the attack. When he came back up Haarlock was grinning, keeping the same unworried stance he had at the beginning of the confrontation.

What kind of unholy witchery is this? Thought Solvan, furious and desperate in equal measure. It definitely looked like a psychic ability, yet he it didn't feel like the warp, there was no drop in temperature, no unnatural feeling in his gut. But in the end it didn’t matter, all that mattered was taking the bastard down. He lifted his Warhammer once more.

"Faith is such an oddity." Haarlock mused in a cultured accent, the hint of amusement in his voice. "Do you actually believe you are going to be able to hit me with such a cumbersome and ugly weapon?"

"No, not really." Solvan answered flatly, and the priest enjoyed stealing for a moment Haarlock's insufferable smirk.

"But I am." Tomas said as the blast of shot hit Haarlock's back.* Tomas tossed the liberated shotgun, taken from one of the corpses at his feet, aside as Haarlock fell.

As the man dropped, more from the kinetic impact of the shot than any fatal wound since his armor had absorbed most of the slugs, Solvan saw how his left hand dropped an oddly looking hand watch. Solvan saw the look in Haarlock's eyes as he fell and for the first time since the beginning of the fight he saw fear in them. The man's stare fixated in that watch as it turned in the air, not on the floor he was falling to meet, not on his surrounding enemies, he only saw that watch. That's when the bishop knew with Emperor given certainty that whatever the watch really was it needed to be destroyed.

As Haarlock desperately stretched his hand to reach for the device Solvan brought his hammer down on the wretched thing. Haarlock realized the priest's intent and from his bionic eye shot a crackling beam of red energy towards the priest. But the shot was hurried and Roose didn't have a good angle being sprawled on the ground, the shot went wide. The hammer felled unopposed.

Heretic hand, righteous weapon and xeno artifact came together for an instant before the hammer crashed into the delicateframe of the cronograph and an explosion of green lightning engulfed Solvan and Haarlock alike.

Then the lightning got sucked back to where the artifact was destroyed and vanished, leaving behind Solvan and Haarlock unconscious on the ground. And to anyone who bothered to look, it was evident that both men had aged during the event. Solvan’s beard and hair were white as snow, with more wrinkles running through his face. But Haarlock had clearly taken the worst of it, perhaps because Solvan was only in contact with the source indirectly through his thunder-hammer, but for every year Solvan aged, Haarlock lost ten. Instead of the proud man at his prime only a decrepit octogenarian was left, wearing garments that now seemed too big for his emaciated frame and fragile bones.

“Damn.” Muttered Tomas. He stepped up and caught Solvan as he wavered, before speaking into his comm. unit. “I need medical and containment at my location.”

-------15 Years Ago-----

The deamon in its hubris never suspected that Solvan could constitute real danger. But the bishop knew surprise can only get you so far and the excorcism was taking too long. The deamon was fighting desperatley for its flesh vessel.

Everything happen in a second. Solvan heard the crack-hiss of protection runes breaking and melting within the walls as the deamon harnesed whatever power it could from the warp. The aquila was swatted aside and a fist met the priest's chest sending him against the prision wall.

Solvan felt air leave his lungs under broken ribs and he clenched his teeth forcing himslef to stay awake. As his vision blurred for a moment he saw the deamon. It lay unmoving, gurgling and coughing. The trick had cost it, his sister's twisted face was a mass of charred and broken flesh, like dry ground breaking under an unforgiving sun. Pieces of skin and hair fell to the stone floor in trails of putrid smoke.

"You'll pay... for that." The thing threatened getting to its feet.

Solvan could see the aquila glinting to the scarce light in the cell from the far corner to his left. He started moving slowly towards it. But deep down he knew he wasn't going to be able to reach it before the daemon got to him. But hope never needed a solid base to be built upon.

"Ally, I know you're in there." Solvan began to say while the creature made its way towards him.

"She sure is. But you don't want to know what I am doing to her in here." The daemon tapped its temple with a grin. "Better speak with the new management now."

Solvan ignored the taunting words while slowly closing on the aquila.

"You have to fight it Ally." Solvan pleaded praying to the Emperor to grant them a miracle they didn’t deserve. "You're stronger than you think sister. You have to try, for yourself, for the Emperor... for me."

"Save your breath Solvan, you are going to need it for the screams."

The daemon wasn't rushing, letting Solvan get painfully close to his obvious objective before taking his sliver of hope away.

"This has been fun," the creature mocked as he stretched its clawed hand to grab the priest, "but- nnnngh!" The daemons voice broke into a warble of painful grunts as it grabbed its head with both hands. "Impossible!" It raged as it tried to move again but the girl's legs wouldn't budge. Solvan could have sworn he heard her sisters whispering voice mixed into the scream, now Solvan it said.

He wasn't going to waste his chance. Ignoring the pain he leapt towards the aquila.

By the time the deamon had beaten whatever was left of Allanas' consciousness back into some dark corner of her mind and regained control it was too late.

The priest clasped his sister by the throat with the same hand that held the recovered aquila. The thing screamed again at the cleansing touch.

Solvan took a metal flask from within his robes with his free hand, took the cap if with his teeth and poured the holy water into the possesed girl's mouth. The liquid boiled and steamed drowning the screaming as the creature tried without success not to drink the burning liquid.

"Exorciso te, omnis spiritus inmunde, in nomine Deus Imperator Omnipotentis!" He ordered feeling the broken ribs* jolting painfully with the effort.

Intense light started to glow out of Allana's mouth and eyes as the creature screams grew weaker and distorted. Then a flash of blinding white and a thunderclap clouded Solvan senses.

Solvan kept holding his sister tightly as his eyes began to properly process his surroundings. Her face was hers again, the burning skin, the fangs, the claws, they were gone. Her eyes stared at an imaginary point past her brother, eyes streaming tears but without emotion on her features.

Solvan understood that the exorcism was done, they had defeated the evil that infected her. But his sister's mind had suffered greatly in the ordeal, probably beyond any chance of recovery.

"Ally? Are you allright?" It was a question so stupid he was almost embarrassed, but his tired brain couldn't come up with anything else. As he feared his sister didn't react, a thin line of drool fell from her half opened lips.

A knock came from the door startling the priest.

"Father visiting time is over. Everything allright in there?" The bored voice of the guard could be heard muffled from the other side of the door.

"In a moment my son." The bishop managed keeping his voice steady.

"I'll have to leave now Ally, I'm sorry, I'm so very sorry." He mumbled caresing his sisters cheek, his eyes filled with tears that refused to fall.

When he turned his sister finally reacted. "No! It'll come back! It'll come back!" She cried with absolut terror in her wide eyes.

Solvan held her until the outburst passed, but despite the reaction there still wasn't conciouss thought in those frightened eyes. The priest held out the aquila, it's warmness the only remaining evidence of the terrible monster they have fought, and put the chain around Allana's neck.

"That will protect you girl. Don't worry, it won't get you again." Solvan whispered in a broken voice. "I'll make sure of it."

The second time he turned to leave his sister was at peace, eyes closed, holding the aquila upon her chest with white knuckled hands.

He left without a clear idea of where he was headed. A week later his sister would burn at his hand.

--------------

He woke up with a start as he was being carried in a stretcher by medicae personel. The sound of gunfire still could be heard but growing ever dimmer.

"Father you should lay down until we are safely back on the ship." One of them said as he laid a hand on the priest shoulder.

"What happened? Why do I have to be evacuated?" He quickly confirmed that all his limbs were still attached and appart from the wound done by Haarlock's power weapon all seemed to be in order.

The medicaes looked at each other doubtfully before replying. "You were exposed to an unkown weapon and... Well, see for yourself." He passed a reflective metal tray to Solvan and he saw his own face about ten years older.

The bishop remained silent for a minute or so and the medicaes were sure the point have been made.

"Ok, and?" Solvan asked exasperated while tossing the tray away.

"I'm sorry?" the madicae asked at a loss.

"I'm older, big deal. I was old to begin with. Now give me a good reason why I have to be evacuated or put me down this instant." The medicaes seemed doubtful, they clearly had very specific orders to carry him back to the ship. "If you two don't put me down I will make sure you have the rest of your hopefully long lives to be sorry."

He was finally allowed to get down of the stretcher. He turned to a third soldier who was carrying his Warhammer. One look from the priest was enough for the man to hand it over. He held it confirming no damage had been done to it and also that he could wield it comfortably still.

"Young people these days, no bloody respect." He grumbled as he made his way towards the sounds of battle.

[Azazeal849]

"Oh yes." the skeleton whispered, raising a silver hand. "I will sift through your mind with some interest, mortal. And with somewhat more finesse than that primitive Strelilov."

Kally's stomach lurched, and her vision swam. She felt herself falling sideways, and her vision blacked out. The Prophet stood with its skeletal arm extended towards Kally, silver fingers hooked into a claw. The only flicker of movement from the robotic nightmare was the cold fire dancing in its emerald eyes.

The Major turned from the xenos and reflexively grabbed out to arrest Kally’s boneless slump, which after their ordeal in Rakosu took more effort than he would ever admit.

“Kally?” Crenshaw queried as he reached to cradle her head with his manacled hands. She was cold and unresponsive, and the only outward hint of life was her shallow breaths on his skin as he checked for a pulse. “Kally!”

“Agent Sonder was concerned about your survival while you were unconscious too.” Schafer observed.

“Not a likely story, creature.” Crenshaw snarled back through clenched teeth as he favored the replicant with a murderously askance glare. “Better luck next lie.”

“What would the Masters gain by lying to a dead man?” Schafer countered with a raised brow as he pointed to Kally. “She’s much more sympathetic than any blank has the right to be. While you may be the most undeserving recipient of her attention, she has cared about much more unlikely individuals. (http://www.warseer.com/forums/showthread.php?251903-Lucius-pembroke-is-a-dead-man&p=4879730&viewfull=1#post4879730)”

The replicant dismissively waved his hand.

“Of course it’ll all be irrelevant once the inquiry is finished. Sonder is commendably resilient, and Schafer respected her for that much, but even a month of Inquisitorial torture is nothing compared to this. She will break again, and sooner rather than later.”

Crenshaw frowned when he looked down at Kally and saw her deathly pale face twitch, lost as she was in an impossible nightmare. Whatever the unfathomable xenos machination happening inside her head, he recognized a desperate fight when he saw one. Crenshaw grunted and eased Kally’s deadweight down as his strength started to fail him. The Major’s gaze shifted from her to the shackles around his wrists, as his hands curled reflexively to test their weight.

One blow to the head, hard and fast before Schafer can intervene. Deprive the xenos of another blacksoul - deny them whatever they seek. Crenshaw’s frown deepened as he hesitated and glanced back towards Kally’s defenseless form. We are all dead even if she survives the interrogation! She would most likely not feel it.

“I know what you're thinking.” the replicant called from beyond the void shield, lowering the hand he’d pointed towards the generator. "Don't. You have no idea what the information in her head means for the fate of both our species."

He holstered his laspistol, his expression sternly neutral.

"Of course you don't believe me. But you won't kill her regardless. You care too much about her."

Crenshaw bristled at the disgustingly guileless expression Schafer wore. He remembered Machairi's words to him back at the AAT complex, when he had goaded her about what being a blank made him. You’re human, and everything that implies.

“Damn you.” Crenshaw loathingly muttered to himself as he defiantly glowered at the xenos. With nothing else to contribute, and refusing to remain a spectator, Crenshaw leaned over Kally and began to murmur unheard encouragement to her.


+ + + + + +

Kally came to on the floor of the cell, feeling exhausted and sweating all over. She started to push herself back up. Crenshaw wordlessly assisted her as best he could while keenly regarding their captors.

"What is wrong?" the silver skeleton was asking Schafer. Its tone was as flat and soulless as ever, but its witch-fire eyes were blazing.

Schafer had a battered old hand-vox to his ear, and was barking orders and threats into it. "Unidentified dropships have just landed and are deploying troops outside all three main entrances." he reported, before cursing. "What the feth happened to Oswin's perimeter alarms?"

“Having some technical issues with your defenses?” Crenshaw managed a darkly humored chuckle. “We can commiserate.”

Schafer ignored him, swearing again as he swept out of sight.

“Kally,” Crenshaw rasped as the xenos disappeared. The Major intently scanned her over for a moment, “Are you functional?”

“Just about.” She groaned. “I think I was able to keep it from. . .from what it wanted.”

“Good.” The Major slowly nodded before turned his head towards the other Telepathica blanks. Crenshaw’s lingering eyes flicked from Kally to assess their conditions. “Bayless, Maldonado, what are your statuses?”

“Feeling like hammered shit, sir, but alive.” The pale and black-eyed blank with the vividly red hair answered. He looked down the row with an uncertain grimace. “Not so sure that that’s a positive right now.”

“I'm fine.” The tanned and bald AAT soldier next to Crenshaw seethed through a split lip. He glared viperously at Kally and Crenshaw. “Nice to know you care about us almost as much as your Inquisitorial piece of-”

“Enough.” Crenshaw growled as he leaned forward and intensely stared down his defiant subordinate, whose gaze broke as he flinched back. The Major kept a hard eye on his would-be challenger as he spoke. “We have to be focused and ready for whatever happens next.”

“I’d like to think that’s the cavalry coming for us…but, well,” Bayless paused and shot a knowing look towards the others, “we all know how our luck goes.”

“Agent Sonder has some involved friends.” Crenshaw mildly noted as he glanced at Kally. The Major’s tense gaze pointedly flicked up to her hairline. He mouthed not a word as he met the other blank’s eyes again.


+ + + + + +

Gavin locked eyes with Crenshaw through the barrier, swallowed, and raised his hand. The green curtain imploded with a crack, and the manacles around the blanks' wrists and ankles fell away. Without the void shield Gavin wretched and reeled away from the quartet of unlimited Pariahs. It was only Sapphira’s firmly supporting grip on the psyker that kept him upright as he backed against the entrance wall.

“You’ve done well today, Gavin.” Sapphira reassured him, gently patting his arm even as she holstered her revolver. The Sister spared the dazed young pskyer a quick and assessing look as she gestured for one of Klimment's mercenaries to mind him. “Stay here while I check on the others.”

“We’re fine.” one of the AAT guards coughed at Sapphira as she ran forward to help. The Sister briefly staggered as she neared the blanks, and her hint of a relieved smile contorted into more of a grimace as she neared them.

“I’ll determine that.” Sapphira countered, more thornily than usual when challenged by uncooperative patients.

"Get after Schafer." Crenshaw growled as Kally hauled him to his feet. "That silver prophet cannot hide among normal citizens, but he can."

“What?” Sapphira snapped as she stopped and fixed Crenshaw with a hard glare. After a moment a flicker of suspicion crossed the Sister’s face as she wheeled on Kally, who met her gaze levelly. “What does he mean by that?”

“Schafer died on Venatora.” Kally said bluntly. “I don't know when or how, but he's a gakking replicant - has been for months.”

For a moment Sapphira merely stared at Kally, her scarred features twitching slightly as she processed the revelation. The Sister’s face settled into a calm and terrible resolve as her eyes darkened and narrowed, predatorily. Sapphira sharply turned on her heels and stalked out of the chamber, unlimbering her shotgun as she stormed into the tunnels.

“Oh hell.” muttered Kally. “She's going to go do something stupid.”

“Do what you need to do.” Crenshaw rasped as he registered the note of weary resignation in Kally’s voice. The Major extricated his hands from hers with a light squeeze. His brow furrowed in consideration before he merely nodded firmly and stepped away.

“More stupid than usual for you lot?” sneered Vincent, making Kally sigh as she took an autogun from a nearby table and checked the mechanism. “What makes you think that?”

“She didn't check me or Crenshaw for injuries.” Kally responded, shaking her head.

"Before you go, take this." Glabrio offered. He reached for one of his pistol holsters, and pulled a pair of spare magazines from his webbing, then held it out in offering. "I can't let you go unarmed. I expect that back."

“Thanks.” She grabbebd the pistol holster and quickly belted it around her waist, and clipped the two magazines into the pouches built into the holster. “Get Crenshaw and the others out. I'll go fetch Sapphira.”

Kally turned and ran into the tunnels, ignoring Gavin’s pained and panicked gasps as she passed, listening to the sound of combat ahead.

“Don't get yourself killed Kally girl!” Vincent shouted after her. “We still need to talk!”

Get in line. The Major thought as he watched Kally dart out, only turning away once the woman disappeared from sight. Crenshaw irritably clenched his teeth as Bayless and Maldonado shifted their gazes from the exit and regarded him with comprehending looks.


+ + + + + +

Sapphira was shouting something in Obrantu. It might have been a litany of hatred, or wrath. Kally wasn't sure. The trail of bodies suggested wrath. But she was making a lot of noise. Kally was barefoot, un-armoured and armed with a crappy, locally produced autogun that felt like it might fall apart, so she was being as quiet as she could manage.

She heard movement to her right. Three people. Running, heavy equipment load. Sapphira, by the sounds coming from up the low tunnel, was already engaged in a firefight with several indigens. Kally couldn't shout a warning without alerting the flankers, and didn't have a comm bead.

She flattened against a wall as Sapphira started firing at some target ahead. The three people, indigens, one older man, a teenager, and a woman, dashed out of the junction and turned towards Sapphira's location.

Kally stepped behind them, braced, and fired. The autogun kicked in her hand with surprising recoil, nearly tearing itself out of her hands as bullets tore into the teen, spraying blood in a wide fan. After the first burst the gun jammed, the mechanism fouling. The other two indigens turned, weapons rising to fire. Kally threw the useless rifle at the woman, and she stumbled back in shock as the weapon tangled with her own as Kally snapped the pistol Glabrio had leant her into her hand and fired, just as the veteran soldier pulled his own weapon round to fire. Kally fired twice, and both shots slammed into the womans torso with bright puffs of atomised blood. The veteran returned fire, spraying shots indiscriminately through his friend. Kally yelled as a hard round cut through her side, reopening the wound there in a sudden wash of blood, and smacked into the weapon she had been leant, snapping it out of her fingers, the remaining fire ricocheting down the corridor in a hail of lead.. She lurched forward over the ribboned corpse of the indigen between them, throwing herself at the veteran indigen and wrestling his gun away as she bore them both to the floor. He screamed in horror from the sudden full contact with a un-collared blank and kicked her off as she tried to get her hands around his neck, snatching up a knife from his webbing and lunging for her. Kally caught the two handed blow as she was rising, and it knocked her to the floor again as she struggled to keep the blade away from her neck. The veteran piled onto her, using his full weight to drive the knife down as Kally strained against him. All the time he was whispering something in Obrantu, his augmented eyes wild.

The knife edged closer to her neck as her strength failed. She was weak with exhaustion and injury, and this man was a seasoned veteran with all his strength.

“I don't. . . .I don't understand! I don't gakking understand!” she shouted back, as he kept hissing his Obrantu nonsense. The knife inched to her neck. A red bead of blood dribbled towards her chest as she began to panic, as the knife pricked her skin. “I don't understand what you're saying!”

There was a bang, close. The Indigen's eyes glazed, and strength left him as Kally felt warm blood wash over her chest. She pushed the corpse away with a grunt, looking up to see Sapphira standing over her, shotgun smoking.

“He was calling you a soulless monster and an Imperial whore.” Sapphira translated as she offered a hand and Kally took it, letting herself be pulled to her feet. She felt a wave of dizziness wash over her, and for a second the world tipped in its side, then it passed. How much blood had she lost?

“Thanks.” Kally looked at Sapphira. Kally guessed she was injured herself, from her ragged breathing, and battered armour. “You're going after Schafer.”

“Thanks to you, too.” Sapphira said, glancing at the dead flankers, and then nodded. “I will purge the abomination from the face of the galaxy. It will suffer for its deceptions.” She looked at Kally's midsection, and smiled, not something Kally expected to see. “You're injured. Here.”

Sapphira knelt down and peeled back the blood-soaked prisoner's clothes and the dressing Schafer had applied. She worked quickly, washing the wound clean and filling it with synth-flesh.

“Let me work with you on this.” Kally stepped away from Sapphira once she was done, bending to pick up the veteran's assault rifle, and Glabrio's pistol. “You'll need all the firepower you can get. And I've got my own score to settle with that frakker.”

“No.” Sapphira shook her head. She demonstratively tapped the exterminator on her shotgun. “You're needed elsewhere. Marcus and Kelly are pinned down not far from here." The Sister pressed a pair of frag grenades into Kally's hands and pointed her down a corridor. "Get them out of trouble, and meet up with me. I'll either immolate the Replicant or keep it pinned until we can bring it down with overwhelming firepower. Consider that an order.”

“Don't do anything stupid! I'll be right back with help!” Kally shouted over her shoulder as she sprinted towards another firefight, ignoring the pain from her side.

"No." Sapphira said under her breath as she looked away, ignoring the ache in her chest that wasn't physical, but spiritual. It drowned out every wound she had suffered so far. “This is something I need to do alone. This is my penance for harbouring the alien.”

Sapphira set her shoulders and reloaded her shotgun. Without hesitation she activated the exterminator's pilot light. By my death He shall know me. She vowed before breaking into a run.


+ + + + + +

Sapphira slowed down as she saw three bodies in black carapace slumped in the corridor ahead of her. A spent lasgun cell and a disc-shaped object lay on the floor between them. It wasn't an Imperial device, but it looked like some sort of grenade, with the perforated casing of a flash-bang.

The walls were spattered with blood. The lumoglobe embedded in the cave roof was flickering, spots of red discolouring the white bulb.

The tunnel ahead widened into a natural cavern that had been excavated to widen it further. The broad chamber was lit by standing lamps, and stacked with metal and wood crates full of weapons. Sapphira recognised lasguns and rugged indigen autos crammed alongside plastic explosives, heavy stubbers and several shoulder-fire weapons that were definitely not human in origin. As soon as she stepped through the crooked opening she saw two more of Klimment's men, this time with ragged slashes in the necks of their undersuits.

As Sapphira checked her corners, pivoted back and began to crab cautiously around the edge of the room, another one of the disc-shaped objects came skittering across the floor from her right.

The room was packed with flammable material, and the white-hot blind grenade would surely set it off. In that brief moment, Sapphira was certain that Schafer had just killed them both. And why not - he can come back.

She didn't even have time to curse the replicant's plan as the grenade detonated, but instead of the shrieking flash of magnesium there was a dazzling strobe that blinded her even through her closed eyelids, accompanied by a klaxon howl loud enough to physically unbalance her.

She was still reeling blindly for balance when something smacked hard against the barrel of her shotgun, pushing it down and to the left. She sensed rather than saw Schafer turn the momentum of the strike into a spin, bringing a blade slicing backhand towards her neck. Instincts hard-wired by Sororitas training made her release the shotgun's grip and bring her armoured forearm up to intercept the blow. She felt something jar hard against her arm, followed by a red-hot knife of pain as the blade sheared through her armaplas vambrace and gashed her arm to the bone.

A reverse kick hammered her in the chest, and her back met hard stone as she fell heavily against the wall. Her vision was still swimming, but she saw green as the blur in front of her resolved into a familiar face, its eyes crackling with jade lightning.

You know that lone wolves die alone, sister. Her ears were still deaf with white noise, but she saw Schafer's lips move as he punched the basket hilt of his sword into her face. The electrostatic generator discharged with a flash that shook through her nerves like raw voltage, causing her to drop her shotgun. Blind once again, she slumped to the floor.

She felt the shotgun's grip under her hand.

Closing her numb fingers around it, she swung it up, and blindly pulled the trigger. A sound that might have been a scream made it through the high-pitched ring filling her ears. When the sparking lights cleared from her vision, she found herself alone except for the bloody remnants of a severed arm, the hand still gripping Schafer's sword. The light sparkled off an intricate tracery of hexagrams lacing the blade - it was the same sword she had seen wielded at the AAT base, the one that had killed Aleks before its owner had burned the PDF with their own flame-tank while Sapphira watched helplessly from the turret.

"Schafer always respected you, sister." a hazy voice admitted from somewhere amongst the maze of crates. Schafer gritted his teeth, reloading his laspistol one-handed as a green glow played over the ragged stump of his shoulder, stemming the blood flow and beginning to re-knit the monstrous wound.

Sapphira saw a glimmer of movement, and fired her now-level shotgun. The shot tore the corner of an ammunition crate into splinters, spilling belts of fat heavy stubber cartridges across the floor. Schafer ducked back only just in time.

"Clement did too." the replicant added. He was speaking forcefully, although it might have been anger or simply that he had been deafened himself by the point-blank shotgun blast. "Actually, that's not the whole truth, is it?"


+ + + + + +

Kally heard firing ahead, the snap of autoguns and the sharper crack of a lasrifle. She slid to halt at a corner and ducked low, priming one of Sapphira's loaned grenades. She looked round the corner and spotted a three man fireteam, two laying autogun fire down a corridor, alternating between the two in long ragged bursts, while a third readied a grenade not dissimilar to her own. She hefted the weight of the grenade experimentally before throwing it high, hard, and fast. It cracked into the back of one of the indigens' heads, drawing a sharp cry of pain and surprise, before bouncing right into the middle of the three of them. Kally ducked back round her corner, and the corridor shook with the blast, and a secondary explosion that blended into the first. Peering out again, Kally allowed herself a wicked smile. All the hostiles had been eliminated with extreme prejudice. She doubted they were a threat to anyone splattered across the walls.

“Clear!” she shouted, and stepped out of cover, and started walking towards Marc's position. The two Black siblings both stuck their heads above cover at the same time, both looking bewildered, which, despite everything, was so comical it made her laugh. “You two good?”

"Kally?" Marc gaped. He was bleeding from somewhere underneath his hairline, the blood caking his eyebrow. Kelly, on the other hand, raised her autopistol.

"Stay there." she said firmly. She pulled up an auspex strapped to her left forearm, steadying her weapon hand over the raised arm as she glanced at the screen. A moment later, she visibly sagged as she holstered the gun and motioned for someone behind her to do the same. A squad of men in black carapace edged warily out of cover behind the Blacks, one of them running forward to check a comrade who lay motionless on the floor.

To Kally's slight surprise, Kelly ran forward and enveloped her in a tight hug. Kally thought she felt the younger woman flinch as they touched, but only slightly.

"I'm sorry." Kelly told her earnestly. "Had to be sure you weren't a replicant." She looked down uncertainly at the blood sheeted across the front of Kally's robe. "You okay?"

“I'm good.” the blank smiled. “Most of this isn't mine.”

"Frakking hell." Marc said in relief, through audibly gritted teeth. He hadn't moved from behind the splintered shoulder of rock.

Kally edged round the rubble and saw that Marc's carapace armour had seen better days. His helmet - now lying on the ground beside him - had taken a direct hit, dented inward above the cracked visor.

"Don't worry, it looks worse than it is." he reassured Kally as he managed to drag himself upright and follow his sister in pulling her into a hug. "Just hurts like frak and I can't see straight. How did you get out?"

"Aye! And where are the others?" Kelly added. She looked back briefly to order the black-clad soldiers onward. They stormed forward down the arterial corridor, lasgun butts tight against their shoulders.

“I got split up from them, there's a chamber in that direction. I went after Sapphira and got separated from the others.”

Marc rubbed the back of his neck, steadying himself against the shoulder of rock as he detached the vox bead from his damaged helmet. "Alpha team, Marc. We've found Kally." he reported. "No ma'am, she's fighting fit. Literally." He glanced up, grinning through the blood. "Understood."

"The indigens are on the run." Kelly explained, lowering the hand she had cupped around her own vox bead. "We can carry on or fall back to the landers, your call."

They all turned at a sudden scream from deeper in the complex.

“Sapphira.” Kally breathed.

"Go!" Marc urged, passing his vox bead to his sister. She clipped it to the shoulder of her flak vest and unhooked her own vox bead to give it to Kally. "This area's been cleared, I'll be fine until Vince's group show up."

Kelly nodded, reloading her pistol as Marc slumped back against the dry granite wall of the cave.

"Stick close to Kally." he advised.

"I know what to do." Kelly replied, a little sharply. Together, she and Kally broke into a run down the smaller tunnel, towards the chamber the scream had come from.

"All teams, Kelly." Kelly voxed, cocking her head towards Marc's microphone as she ran. "Sapphira's in trouble somewhere around hub 2, Kally and me are en route. Marc's hurt but not bad. Send someone to pick him up from tunnel 6."

[dakkagor]

Kelly slowed as she spotted the three dead soldiers outside the armoury, and pulled out her automag to adopt a two-handed Weaver stance. The sounds of Sapphira in full combat had ceased, or else were being drowned out by the gunfire still echoing from the deeper chambers.

She nodded silently to Kally. You lead, I'll follow. Kally returned the nod and stepped silently into the room.

“I can hear you, Agents. You're not as quiet as you think.”

Kally stepped out in the central space of the armoury, and paused. Sapphira was injured, and held by Schafer as a human shield. He was pressing his ornate sabre against her neck.

“Your friends aren't the master's prey today, Sonder. Drop the weapon, and I won't kill Sapphira.”

Kally's eyes flicked around the room. She caught a glimpse of Kelly slipping between crates of ammunition, and saw the powersword sitting on the floor; an exact replica, or perhaps the original, of the one in Schafer's hand. Nearby, a severed arm lay in a pool of blood.

Time. I need time.

She flicked the pistol up to underneath her own jaw, and disengaged the safety.

“Let Sapphira go, or I blow my brains out.”

Schafer's eyes narrowed, as the replicant weighed its objectives. He needed Kally alive, and intact. Could they replicate Blanks? Would the replication process save the information trapped in her skull? Kally was betting it couldn't.

“You...” Schafer began.

She jammed the pistol into her own jaw, hard. “Don't even frakking dare say I won't. I've been through literal hell, and I am on the frakking edge. I would happily blow my gakking head off to frak with your master's plans.”

"You don't know who and what you'd be damning!" the replicant spat at her, with a perfect facsimile of Schafer's anger. Abruptly, his eyes cleared. “Drop the pistol, come quietly, and I will let her go. You have my word.”

His eyes didn't waver. Kally dropped to her knees, and put the pistol on the floor, on her left side. The sabre was on her right. She could reach either instantly. She didn't look at the sword. She willed it not to exist, and fixed her gaze on Schafer. Kelly must still be in the room. Was she still circling round? Take the shot, she willed.

“Come and get it over with.”

Schafer pulled up the sword, and pushed Sapphira forwards with savage force. As she stumbled, Schafer cracked her over the back of the skull with the shock guard of the sabre, dropping her. Kally grimaced, but couldn't fault the practicality of it.

With three quick strides, Schafer was behind her.

She lunged, her right hand wrapping around the sabre. She scrambled on the floor and pulled it round as Schafer snarled in frustration, his own copy of the blade swiping down. It clashed with the original as Kally rose to her feet.

“You're stubborn, agent Sonder - I'll give you that.” He leaned into the attack, forcing Kally back. “But you're also injured, exhausted and scared.” He loomed over her, his eyes flaring green as they bored into her. “You will submit to us.”

“Not. Frakking. Likely.” She grunted as she forced him back, then stepped away. “And you're outnumbered.”

Schafer stepped after Kally, serpent fast. The blade lashed out three times, each blow aimed to inflict a debilitating wound. Kally met each with a solid block, but she could feel her strength fading.

“Kelly is a good shot, but she won't risk shooting into a melee.” Schafer responded. A smile tugged at his lips, turned into a grimace by the effort of the fight. “Not when her autopistol might kill you but is only going to slow me down, as you well know." He pressed forward, alternating between trying to slip past Kally's guard and trying to batter through it. "And I know you're terrible with a blade. I can safely wear you down, deal with the Black siblings, and then drag you to the masters, kicking and screaming if necessary. You will submit to us, for the purpose you were made for.”

Kally yelled and swung high and fast, a wild attack aimed at Schafer's head. He stepped back and ducked low, driving the point of the sabre at Kally's exposed stomach. She just twisted aside and nearly unbalanced, bringing her sabre down to bat the attack away. She followed with a series of brutal hacks at Schafer until the final blow caught, and the two swords locked together.

“I will never submit! I'll die first, you Xenos freak!”

The punch to her stomach came out of nowhere, driving the air from her lungs and opening up her wounds. Kally retched and stumbled back, slamming into the lumpy rock of the cavern wall and leaving a wet red streak as she slumped down it.

“I don't need to be an interrogator to know you're lying." Schafer hung back, assessing that the damage he had done wasn't fatal. "To yourself, mainly. If you wanted to die, you would have shot yourself just now and ruined all our plans.”

Kally staggered back to her feet. She raised her sword into a guard position again, edging further back along the wall and away from the cover of the crates.

Schafer thrusted with the copied sword, aiming for Kally's right shoulder, easily gliding past her defence. Kally stepped round and caught the blade in her left hand, screaming in pain as the energised blade sheared through fingers and bone. At the same time, with his blade entangled, Kally swung her own sword in a flat high cut. The fine lathe blade easily parted skin, flesh and spine, and Schafer's head rolled away on the floor, a look of shock etched on its face. For a second she stared at the bloody stump as it spurted blood, the body staggering as if surprised, then with a yell she brought her own sword down in an axe-like chop, carving into the still standing body with enough force to split the torso open in a spray of gore. Finally, the body fell backwards, and Kally stepped away cradling her mangled hand as she let her blade fell to the floor.

“Now! Gakking now Kelly!”

Kelly darted out of cover, holding a bulky flamer she had spent the last few seconds readying. Schafer's body lay next to the wall - safely away from the ammunition crates, as Kally had intended. Kelly triggered the indigen weapon and washed the flames over Schafer's mangled body. For a second a green flame flickered in the orange promethium glow, but it quickly faded as Kelly poured on the heat, rendering the entire body to blackened ash. Thick black smoke fouled the air, creeping across the chamber ceiling.

“Is it dead?” Kelly asked, walking over with the pilot light still dancing around the muzzle of her lowered flamethrower. Across the room, Sapphira was shaking her head and rising to her feet.

“I frakking well hope so.” muttered Kally, staring at her left hand, which was scorched and sliced to the bone. “I don't think I have another fight like that in me.”

(PaintSerf text here)

A sizzle of static made the women turn to look at Schafer's disembodied head. Grotesquely, it was still blinking, and the mouth was trying to form words as green static sputtered around its severed neck. Kelly looked at Sapphira, read something in the hospitaller's eyes, and silently passed her the flamethrower.

"For the Emperor, Sapphira?" the young verispex asked as the weapon roared out one final jet of molten flame.

"Always." Sapphira answered, in a strained but level voice. "And for Arval, and for Javid, and for me."

[Thrannix]

Solvan had taken command of one of Klimment's mercenary units. He followed the vox transmitions as he performed a clean up job of the small pockets of disorganised opposition that still remained. The information had finally leaked to him about Schafer's fate and thoroughly silenced any questions from the mercernaries on what in the Emperor’s name was a Replicant.

He had been carried a long way from the main battle in his aborted attempt of evacuation and that caused him no small degree of frustration. On top of that due to the lack of heavy fighting the adrenaline had finally wore off turning his wounded arm into a throbbing flare of pain which he stoically endured with clenched teeth.


"All teams, Kelly." Kelly voxed, cocking her head towards Marc's microphone as she ran. "Sapphira's in trouble somewhere around hub 2, Kally and me are en route. Marc's hurt but not bad. Send someone to pick him up from tunnel 6."

"Solvan here, en route to support. ETA thirty minutes." The priest answered while checking directions in an auspex one of the mercenaries had tossed him which had the latest information regarding the base's layout. He studied the path shown in the device, turned to the wall to his right and tapped it with his knuckles. A moment later, and after two hits of his thunderhammer, the segment of wall was down and he stepped through to the conjoint hallway. "Make that ten minutes." The bishop voxed.

When he finally made his way to the girls it was clear the fighting was over. He saw them standing still before a steaming pile of ashes, a sight he was uncomfortably familiar with. By the somber looks of the agents, specially Sapphira's which went beyond simple battle weariness, it was evident who, or more exactly what, the ashes had been.

Recognising the intimate tragedy he had no place in sharing he disimissed the mercenaries to guard the entrance and check the other corridors as he stood at a respectful distance. Solvan whispered a quick prayer thanking the Emperor for leading them to victory, he leaned with a grunt against the wall, leaving his hammer on the floor to rest his injured arm that now dangled useless at his side. I could sure use that stretcher now, he thought.

[Atrum Daemon]

Vizkop kept close watch on Oswin as he worked, finding that the more he looked the more odd things he noticed about his prisoner. His diligence to the task was to be expected. 'One does not simply forget something as engrained as Enginseer training,' Vizkop thought.

Something about Oswin's movements seemed rather stilted. Vizkop decided it was caused by his armor and left it at that. He could feel Malpais pacing behind him, finding the psyker's impatience a bit unsettling. The sound of boots tapping metal sounded alongside the shifting and clicking metal of the boltguns on the workbench. “Done,” Oswin said, sliding the weapons to the end of the bench.

"All teams, Kelly." Kelly voxed, cocking her head towards Marc's microphone as she ran. "Sapphira's in trouble somewhere around hub 2, Kally and me are en route. Marc's hurt but not bad. Send someone to pick him up from tunnel 6."

“Just in time it seems,” Vizkop said after hearing the vox. “We're heading to tunnel six. Malpais, keep eyes on Oswin.”

“Got it,” Malpais nodded.

“This is Vizkop,” the assassin said into the vox, “Malpais and I are en route.”

The trio moved out using the northern door to Oswin's workshop, senses sharp for any of the Prophet's soldiers. Sounds of the heavy Obrantu language came down the passageway shortly before the trio saw the squad of augmented soldiers come into the light. The indigens shouted something when they saw the trio and opened fire, the flashes of lasrifles blinking bright in the dim passage. As Vizkop moved to the side of the passage to find cover behind a stack of crates, a searing light shot past him and for an instant his right side experienced a sharp temperature increase. The plasma gun fired again, obliterating one of the smaller crates in the stack. Vizkop looked across the way to where Malpais and Oswin were, the psyker trying to find an opening in the hail of las fire to exert his will on the plasma gun to destroy it.

The plasma gun fired again, turning a spot on the wall to twisted slag near Malpais. The man holding the weapon had been taught to delay multiple firings if nothing else as he seemed to be a poor shot. The breaking of all focus caused by the confrontation meant that Oswin was free of his psychic bonds. The fallen Enginseer took his moment as soon as he saw it. He dashed out from cover, ignoring the shouts of protest from Vizkop and Malpais, and made a line straight for the man with the plasma gun.

Once Oswin got hands on the indigen, the struggle was only moments long. It lasted until his crushing grip damaged the weapon's glowing induction coils. Oswin shoved the man away from his person and backed away as quick as he could, the plasma gun malfunctioning nearly instantly. The explosion in the confined space incinerated the squad and caught Oswin in it, the flash blinding Vizkop and Malpais for a moment.

Vizkop's helmet compensated for the bright light, his vision returning faster than the psyker's, and he quickly moved to Oswin's prone form. The explosion had nearly cut him in half vertically and an odd noise was coming from his voice box. Vizkop turned Oswin's mangled body over, discovering the odd noise to be a looped recording of Oswin's voice. “To whomever is hearing this,” the recording stated, “congratulations on causing fatal trauma to this double. By now you know that you have not dealt with me in person, but with a drone augmented and conditioned to be my copy. I am by now out of your reach. Better luck next time, assassin.”

The recording looped around again, stopping on the third word as Vizkop shoved one of his implanted blades through the copy's skull and began laughing almost hysterically. He laughed for a full minute before falling back into his usual silence. “Are you all right?” Malpais asked cautiously, walking over to the Mechanicus assassin.

“I knew there was something off about him,” Vizkop said. “Something about the way he moved was too stiff and his speech seemed odd. This isn't the first time Oswin has out-played us, though. We don't have time to dwell on this. Let's go.”

Malpais nodded and the pair took off down the passage. They reached the hub moments after Solvan and his team, taking quick stock the scene. Everyone looked as tired as they felt and the Bishop had definitely seen better days as far as Vizkop was concerned. He understood the somber tone of the chamber by the looks on faces and the ashes on the floor. He removed the boltgun from his back and did the same with the one Malpais carried, holding the venerable weapons carefully and ready to relieve them to whomever wished to use.

[PaintSerf]

"I take it you can still fight, Crenshaw?" Glabrio asked, already reaching for his other sidearm, readying the next offering as the Major finished hauling up the other blanks.

“I can.” Crenshaw confirmed, and accepted the arbitrator’s pistol with a nod. The simple weight of a weapon in hand brought the vengeful curl of a smile to the major’s lips as he checked it over.

No sooner had he done so, then there was another flash (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZWvO63iwM7c), brighter than a blind grenade, as a tentacle of lightning coiled around Vincent and hurled him across the chamber. He smashed into the wall beside the alcove that had held the blanks, taking the impact on his mechanical shoulder. The force of the collision knocked the breath from his lungs and replaced it with a solid rock of pain.

The white flash turned green as a pillar of emerald flame rose up in the centre of the chamber, parting to reveal a nightmare figure of silvered bone. Green fire blazed in its empty eye sockets, and green lightning sparked around the segmented staff it carried in its right hand. The glittering skeleton didn't speak, only raised itself to full height and brought the staff crashing down on the cave floor, sending a shockwave of fissured stone hurtling towards the agents.

Gavin, already hunched over and traumatized, simply gazed at the xenos in mesmerized horror as it appeared. The psyker mumbled incoherently, his face a mask of terror as he absently pawed for the holster on his hip. Otherwise frozen in place, Gavin yelped as he was pummeled by the barrage of stone that clanked off his bionics and clunked off his armor. One fist sized chunk punched into Gavin’s helmet and tore it off as he was sent reeling against the wall in a noisy clatter.

"Well aren't you the ugliest thing I've ever seen!" Glabrio spat at the Necron. "You're outnumbered, and outgunned. You're an abomination to the Emperor, and I sentence you to die." Glabrio assured it, his tone cold.

"Silence." the Necron whispered, pulling a flicker of caged lightning from the top of its staff with a grasping hand and opening its claws to release it towards Glabrio.

Glabrio rolled to the side, steadied himself on his knees as the wall behind him scorched black, and snapped a flechette shell from his shotgun. It went wide, and he cursed quietly to himself as he rose back to his feet. He racked the pump, started rounding the creature again, and fired another shell. The flechettes deflected harmlessly off the metal skeleton. He fired another, and another, both shells having the same effect as the first.

The Necron swung its staff in a blazing arc, and a flash of lightning hurled Glabrio back against the wall. The wall itself caved in, sending smoke billowing into a chamber where bullets were already whipping back and forth. An indigen and a stormtrooper, who had been grappling on the ground with knives, were blown away from each other and simply froze in horror as they saw the metal skeleton framed in the gap where the wall had been.

The Prophet ignored them, and also ignored Glabrio and Gavin as it rounded on the holding cell where Crenshaw and the two AAT soldiers still stood. The two earlier captures, physically weakened and unarmed, involuntarily flinched backwards from the xenos. Crenshaw defiantly held his ground and stared the Prophet down. He gritted his teeth slightly as Bayless started to stammer the Emperor’s Prayer again.

"Where is Kally Sonder?" the Prophet rasped at them in a toneless whisper.

“She-” Maldonado began, stepping forward and starting to raise an arm before Crenshaw whirled and smashed Glabrio’s pistol across his face. The other blank shouted and crumpled to his knees, blood pouring between hands cupped around his broken nose. Looking up, he shared a mutual glare with the major. Crenshaw shook his head in disgust as he turned and glanced towards the Prophet.

You want Kally, freak? He sketched a grin as he faced the xenos and took a slightly swaying step towards it. You are not getting her, or any of us, so easily.

“She is not your problem, xenos. You have more than enough trouble right here.” The Major confidently asserted while keeping his measured advance. “You know, I have spent a considerable amount of time and effort trying to kill you.” Crenshaw chuckled lowly as he pointed at Necron and gestured about the chamber. “You are not what I expected - but regardless, you and all your schemes are going to die here.”

“The Enclave’s counter-insurgency efforts have been ineffective, reactionary and amusingly counterproductive.” The Prophet’s skull bobbed with silent laughter. “If you are responsible for such incompetence than I must thank you, major Crenshaw. We could not have achieved our goals so quickly and effortlessly without you.”

“You imply my advice was taken over Thrones, xenos.” Crenshaw snorted ruefully. “Working with the PDF has been an acute pain in my – oh, oops. I was about to make a biological reference. How impolite of me. Because, well, you know.”

Crenshaw unapologetically emphasized his point with a burst of auto fire, that panged ineffectually off the Necron’s torso. The Necron completely ignored the attack, turning instead towards Vincent who had been trying to use the distraction to crawl towards his shotgun. The Prophet put out its hand and snared the weapon in an electromagnetic tether, jerking it into its hand and crushing the barrel with a desultory crunch before tossing it aside.

“Exactly how long has it been since you were flesh and blood, chrome job?" Crenshaw called out, curiously tilting a brow at the xenos. "Take however long you need to process the numbers.” He rattled another salvo off the crown of the alien’s metallic skull. “We have time.”

The Prophet shifted around to regard Crenshaw, ignoring the distant sounds of combat, Vincent's curses and Gavin’s dismayed moans.

"Do not test me, mortal."

The Necron's head was no longer swaying with amusement as it tilted threateningly at Crenshaw. Its green eyes seemed to burn brighter and its fingers clacked, flexing on the crackling staff as the major walked closer. Crenshaw smiled viciously as the Prophet refrained from hurling lightning at him as it had with the baselines.

“Do it. Shoot me. Kill me.” Crenshaw invitingly spread his arms to the sides. “Is there a fragment of those warm, animal impulses still lodged in your cold, metal cogitator? You obviously want to give into them.” The major stopped within arm’s reach of the alien, his insolent smile only widening. “However you will not, because you cannot kill me. You cannot kill any of us blacksouls.” Crenshaw’s eyes flicked towards the embossed rune on the Prophet's chest before he spat on it. “Your pathetic species needs us.”

In close, Crenshaw lunged forward to bring Glabrio’s pistol up underneath the xeno’s jaw. Before he could shoot, the Necron twitched and bashed the haft of its staff into the Major’s hand with an audible crack. The pistol flew away from Crenshaw as he spun and staggered backwards. Crenshaw stifled a shout of pain through clenched teeth, cradling his broken hand as stared balefully at the looming skeletal giant.

"You mistake your place, mortal. You may be rare, and useful, but you are not indispensable." the Prophet rasped. It crashed a metal fist into Crenshaw’s face to punctuate the last word, hurling the Telepathica officer across the chamber with another snap of bones and a spray of blood.


* * *

Glabrio's world was spinning, and a pain was lancing up his back. He coughed; the impact had knocked the air out of him. For a moment, he forgot where he even was. He could barely hear - his ears were ringing. He blinked, then again and again. He raised his hands, looked to them, and realised that his shotgun was gone. Scattered away, his only hope. Then again, his flechettes had barely seemed to make a dent.

There was white noise, followed by a steady stream of gunfire; explosions, grunts and screaming. Everything slowly came back to him all at once - where he was, what he had to do. He rolled over, the rubble underneath him turning. The smaller pieces crumpled under his weight, breaking and coating the floor in neat films of rock dust. He looked around, awkwardly positioned on his hands and knees. His eyes caught the stunned individuals before him. One was an indigen in bug-eyed flare goggles, the other one of Klimment's stormtroopers. Both of them were staring open-mouthed past Glabrio, at the Prophet.

He gave them both a look, almost as dumbfounded as they were afraid. His hand patted down his leg, his fingers worked away the leather strap of the holster around his ankle. Belatedly, the indigen registered his presence and clawed for his own weapon. Glabrio's movements quickened, his hand wrapping around his weapon's grip just as the indigen's fingertips reached his dropped rifle. Glabrio raised his pistol before him, awkwardly keeping himself supported with one hand as the indigen's own gun muzzle came swinging round. Glabrio lined his sight and fired, sending a round into the indigen's temple. A sick mixture of skull, blood and brain matter coated the rocks behind the indigen as his rifle spasmed up and sawed a line of bullets across the cave roof.

Glabrio brought himself back to a stand, almost tripping on a thick piece of rubble as it moved underfoot. He turned around, the stormtrooper behind him scrambled to his own feet. Grasping for the nearest weapon. Glabrio turned his head, caught his arbite shotgun at the edge of his gaze and quickly crabbed over to it.

He pumped the stock, ejecting the last flechette shot from the weapon. The shell fell to the floor, bounced, then tumbled from side to side across the dust. He grasped for his shell bandolier, wrenched a modified bolt shell from its holding and slid it into the chamber. Their design only allowed them to be chambered manually, forcing him to fire, load, fire and load again. He had to make the shot count.

Glabrio slapped the stomach of the stormtrooper, if only to get his attention. He raised a hand, pointed to the Prophet. The beast seemed distracted, solely fixated on Crenshaw and the blanks for some strange reason. Glabrio tossed the thoughts of why aside; such questions could be asked later.

The stormtrooper let loose first, a score of bolts leaving his lasgun in quick succession. Each las blast impacted the creature to no avail. Glabrio moved to the side as the Silver Prophet turned, his attention gained. Another fusillade of las blasts struck across its center mass - seemingly, only serving to piss it off. The xenos cracked its staff against the ground, and another arc of green lightning sprouted forth. It threw the stormtrooper off his feet, through the hole Glabrio had created and into the wall behind it, in a black mass of fused armour and charred flesh.

Glabrio's bolt shell caught the Necron in the flank, penetrating its metal ribcage and detonating. With a sound like a static crackle, the Prophet whirled towards him. Glabrio was already in the process of reloading; he shoved another round into the chamber, beaded his sights as the xeno moved to arc another bolt of lightning. The Regulator cursed under his breath, and pulled the trigger. The next bolt sallied forth, impacting the Prophet between the eyes. The detonation echoed like a thunderclap, and the xeno recoiled.

It threw the arc of lightning at him but its shot went wide - firing blind. Glabrio dove to the side, his back lancing in pain as the bolt flew over him in a reek of ozone. He spasmed and collapsed, fighting back the pain with gritted teeth. An almost out of place smile drew across his face, his thoughts moving elsewhere as he wondered if he'd warrant the attention of the team's hospitaller. It would, he decided - and at the same time he resolved that he wouldn't let this thing be the end of him.


* * *

Crenshaw snorted as he came around, before violently coughing as he spat and aspirated blood. There was a faint clattering, somehow audible to him through the gunfire and lightning, which the major knew were his teeth even before he opened his bleary eyes to see the enamel shards that he had just spat onto the ground. His nose and the whole right side of his face were a mask of searing white pain, and it took him a moment to remember what had caused it. Silver frakking Prophet. The major groaned as he rolled from his side onto his back, to stare at the cavernous ceiling, and the two blurry shapes that resolved into his subordinate blacksouls.

“Nicely done, sir.” Maldonado sneered, even with the muted fear in his eyes.

“We’re all doomed.” Bayless despaired, swallowing deeply as he glanced at their captor.

“Frak off.” Crenshaw countered irritably as he shakily forced himself to rise, battering aside his subordinates’ half-hearted attempts to hold him back. He staggered to his feet and stared down the Prophet, who had just blown Glabrio off his feet again, seemingly for good this time. The major could feel blood running down his neck and throat. More was trickling down his face, which he suspected was from the ruptured sutures in his scalp. Feeling like a million frakking Thrones. He grunted and forced himself forward again.

“Xenos!” Crenshaw shouted, his voice raw even before he coughed and spat more blood. The major wiped his mouth and snarled as he brushed near the ragged gash on his cheek. “You were correct, we are not indispensable!”

“That much is obvious, mortal. However it is good of you to comprehend your place.” the Prophet rasped as it turned back towards the blacksouls. The major saw that its fiery green eyes had been snuffed out, the smoking metal rippling as if with the crawling of tiny insects as the hole caused by Glabrio's bolt shell slowly closed itself. Now that is an opportunity. Crenshaw noted, and winced as his lip curled slightly.

“You are frakking with the Imperium of Man, xenos.” Crenshaw choked out an ugly, wet laugh. “All of us are expendable and we damned well know it.” The major turned his head slightly as Glabrio struggled to raise his head, fixing the agent with a silently purposeful stare. “That goes doubly so for us blacksouls since we were captured.”

“Ya, the laughing boy’s right.” Vincent growled, rousing and understanding as he reached for his sidearm. The old mercenary smiled nastily at Crenshaw. “I got dibs on you, fokker.”

“It seems you were lodged so far up your shiny, metal, self-aggrandising ass that you failed to consider the full implications of an Inquisitorial rescue attempt.” Crenshaw slowly and levelly ground out the words, before he coughed out another mouthful of blood and dropped to a knee. He fought for a breath and then sighed. “Kally did, but running will not help her.”

“I grow tired of your voice.” the Prophet warned. The silent, bobbing mockery from its gradually reforming head had stopped and it had hunched low, using whatever other mechanical senses it possessed to try and track the humans until its witchfire eyes flickered back into life.

“Hospitaller Sapphira was quite incensed as she chased after Kally.” Crenshaw detailed as his eyes appraisingly darted around the room. The major’s posture subtly shifted and tensed as he spotted the pistol that had been bludgeoned from his hand. “So I would say she’s either dead or soon to be.”

“Yet again you lie, mortal.” the Prophet whispered, its anger evident as it cracked its staff against the cavern floor and sent green fire skittering through the rocks. “I will not abide it any further.”

"Again with the lying, my father would have my ear off if I were." Glabrio put in, a smirk across his face despite his injuries. "Why don't you be a good little villain and tell us what you were planning?"

“Ask your creature how a Sororita would treat us soulless abominations.” Crenshaw quickly and bluntly challenged the Prophet. The crackling energy of the Necron’s staff intensified as it tilted its skull, and Crenshaw’s undamaged hand reached out for the discarded weapon while it was distracted.

“Schafer had not yet killed his former agent. He will extract the truth of Kally Sonder’s location from her.” the Prophet stated. The silver skull bobbed again as it turned towards Crenshaw, drawn by the scrape of metal on stone. Its eye sockets were reforming, liquid shards flowing into place with a chitter of shifting metal. The green eyes blazed into life just as Crenshaw seized his weapon.

“Come now, major...you should be aware by now that mere bullets do nothing to me.”

“I am.” Crenshaw solemnly agreed as he looked from the loaned sidearm to his battered and wary subordinates. “However they work perfectly on humans,”

The major summoned what remained of his energy and sprang towards the other two blanks, pistol raised. “Blacksouls included!”

“No.” The Prophet softly exclaimed. Its words lost to the electric crackle as it whirled its staff around, hurling a bolt towards Crenshaw as he opened fire.

The major’s first burst ripped into Maldonado’s torso and left the man staggering. Crenshaw saw the look of outraged surprise etched on his broken and bloodied face as he dived, ploughing into Bayless. The Prophet’s lightning tore over them, the creature forced to pull its shot to avoid harming the two AAT soldiers. Everything was shaded by hellish green light as the bolt tore through the cavern wall with an elemental fury. The blacksouls were blown through the air and hurled aside by the concussive shockwave.

Bayless shouted in pain as he bore the brunt of their crashing into the rocky alcove. The major sharply elbowed his subordinate in the gut, eliciting a yelp of pain as he disentangled from the other man. Crenshaw barked a curse, forced to brace himself with his crushed hand as he pulled himself further into the corner. Distantly the major heard Gavin cry out, and the note of that distress was quite familiar to him. The shock of a smothering blank aura suddenly lifted.

“What the frak!?” Bayless groggily wheezed as he lunged forward and yanked the major down by his calf. Crenshaw rolled onto his back and revealed Glabrio’s pistol, still clenched tightly in his functional hand. The other blank’s eyes widened fearfully as he desperately leapt to grapple for the sidearm. There was another snarl of hollow points as Bayless’ body jerked aside and collapsed with a wet thud.

“Jenkins!” Crenshaw shouted. “Now!”

Gavin was dazed and quivering from the return of his potential, but he reflexively obeyed the order. Ice formed around the psyker as he channeled his unwanted connection to the warp. His target, the thoroughly inhuman figure of the Prophet, had already been unwelcomely seared into his mind. With a primal howl of pure, unadulterated terror, Gavin scrunched his eyes shut and hurled a focused, sledgehammer blow of telekinetic power at the nightmare creature.

There was an awful metallic grinding and a vicious screech as the Prophet’s torso ruptured open in a burst of an emerald flame. The Prophet leaned heavily on its staff as its fingers traced almost uncomprehendingly around the ragged hole that had been cored through it. It staggered back a step and collapsed to its knees. With one last shudder the Prophet's head sagged to its chest as the swirling lightning of its staff fizzled away.

“Fok…” Vincent breathed as he stared at the skeletal corpse. The old mercenary kept his pistol levelled at the Necron while reaching for his vox. “Vincent to team, the Prophet’s dead.”

“Not...dead...mortal.” the Prophet proclaimed, as its eyes flared back into sputtering life.

"No, but you soon will be." Returned Glabrio, his voice a snarl. The Regulator circled the creature before moving the hand to his shotguns grip. Wounded, in its death throes, though their opportunity wouldn't last. He checked the safety, still off, not wanting to waste valuable seconds.

Vincent unleased a flurry of las beams into the Necron as it fought to rise. Their fire sizzled futilely off the xenos as the living metal of its torso tried to knit back into place with an unwholesome crinkling sound. One arm hanging loose, stumbling brokenly, the creature turned on Gavin, ignoring all other threats lesser threats. The psyker stared in horrified consternation as the Prophet lurched towards him, its spasming as sparks burst from its joints.

“I....” the Prophet rasped, "Will not die...to you..." Its burning eyes glared at Gavin, incandescent with fury as the psyker tried to scramble back to his feet. "Bastard child of the Old Ones.”

"Get out of the fukking way!" Yelled Glabrio.

He made a b-line for the psyker, used his shoulder to shove him out of the way. Gavin yelped as he stumbled and landed on his back. Glabrio didn't even give him a second glance, his focus taken; time was against them as the Prophet raised its staff to strike. He leveled his shotgun, his last bolt shell still chambered. He pulled the trigger. His shotgun barked, followed by the crack of the bolt shells own propulsion as it activated. It struck center-mass, into the soft spot Gavin had created.

The penetrator buried itself into the creature’s chest, and then detonated in a shower of shrapnel. There was another plume of emerald fire and static hiss as the Necron’s self-regeneration struggled to keep up with the blasting impacts of Glabrio's bolts. However the damage continued to smooth together – until the progress inexplicably stopped as ice slowly crept along the edges of the xenos’ cleaved chest.

The Prophet dropped its staff and clutched at its torso, as if it was almost desperately trying to press itself back together. A flat and indescribable noise echoed through the chamber as the Prophet began to disintegrate from the terrible wound that had torn it apart. Thick flakes of green-tinged black ash tumbled away from the Prophet as it peeled in half down the middle and rapidly self-immolated with unholy xenos fire. The carbonized Necron's remnants spun in the air, and then scattered out of the chamber on a nonexistent wind. Only then did the noise stop and leave the room eerily quiet.

"Did we kill it, is it dead or has it just phased out?" Glabrio asked. He looked around, nervously, as if the Prophet would appear again at any moment. By instinct he pulled the shotguns pump and started loading another series of flechette shells for the fight ahead. He looked around them, and then finally he remembered Gavin and leaned down to offer him a hand.

The psyker was on his back and staring wide-eyed from behind his askew glasses at where the Prophet had been, breathing deeply from exertion and paler than usual. Gavin’s arms were still raised with palms out as if he’d pleading for mercy, or channeling his warp affliction. After a moment Gavin blinked and glanced up at Glabrio, surprise and confusion scrawled across his face before warily accepting the man’s hand. He awkwardly nodded in the Arbitrator’s direction and cleared his throat.

“The xenos known to us as the Silver Prophet is no longer here, Agent Glabrio Hybrida,” Gavin shifted uncomfortably and stared at the floor as he relayed the information, “by which I mean it is no longer on Hercynia…but elsewhere.”

Crenshaw hauled himself to his feet, relying on his legs and the rocky wall to do so. The effort elicited a strained grunt and the major rested against the cavern wall to catch his breath. His eyes flicked over his dead subordinates. Maldonado’s exsanguinated corpse stared glassily at the ceiling, while blood from Bayless’ nearly headless body pooled by his feet.

“So it escaped and lives.” Crenshaw lowly echoed as he grimaced at the thought. “Damn.”

"Bastard." Glabrio swore. "All of this, all of these deaths, for nothing. It's going to resume its mission elsewhere, spur its chaos to another defenseless world.”

“I would expect so.” Crenshaw said as he nodded in agreement. “For now we salvage what we can from miserable backwater.”

“I swear next time I see it, I'm bringing a fukking melta gun."

“See that shiny, sparky fokker again?” Vincent snorted and shook his head as he stood. “Not in my lifetime.”

“I do not believe a melta gun would be…” Gavin started before he recognized the looks the others were giving him and trailed off. “Never mind…”

Glabrio’s grasp tightened around his weapons grip, his frustration apparent. "Lets get moving, the others will surely need us."

[Thrannix]

"What the frak happened to you?" The half concerned half surprised voice of Kelly asked.

Solvan directed his tired eyes at the woman, who was walking towards him after making sure the Replicant wasn't coming back.

"You mean the arm, the hair or both?" He answered in jest, but Kelly was not amused.

"While I was fighting Haarlock I destroyed some strange device he carried, probably xeno." The priest explained calmly.

"It apparently triggered a time altering event, so this is the side effect." He glanced at his mangled limb. "And this was a hit from his sword, I'm lucky it's still attached to the rest of the body."

"But we got the heretic, a small price to pay in my opinion."

"Now." Solvan extended his good arm to Kelly. "Would you mind helping an even older old man back to the transports? My new age seems to have caught up with me."


---------


Solvan was brought into the med bay with a hastily made sling for his arm. After rejecting all the medicae's attempt at treating him first he was allowed to sit down in the triage station while he waited his turn.

He saw Marc waiting in a similar fashion as the more gravely wounded mercenaries were rushed by to the OR and sat next to him.

Black's eyes took a moment before realizing who the priest was and as he did he gave Solvan a puzzled look.

"Haarlock's doing, I'm not sure how," the bishop said with a shrug before being asked the same thing everyone else already had.

"Machairi mentioned it." Marc nodded. "Some kind of xenos stasis field. Is it bad?"

"No, but you should see the other guy." Solvan added with a half smile, running his good hand through his white beard.

Despite the bad attempt at humour he got a grim smile out of Marc.

"Sic semper traditor." the agent murmured, and traced a rare Aquila sign across his chest.

Both men sat without speaking while the medical chaos around them slowly began to subside.

"You should do something about her." the priest said enigmatically.

"Excuse me?" Marc asked, wrong footed.

"Kally, your feelings, you should do something about it." Solvan explained. "Now, before you say that it is none of my business, I believe that if she had died today you would have experienced pain and regret beyond the ones expected from losing a dear friend."

"I care for her like family." Marc agreed, hesitantly. "What are you trying to say?"

"You already have a sister, Black. You don't need, nor truly want, another." Solvan closed his eyes for a moment. "You both work for the Inquisition. Next time you really could lose her."

"You have noticed that she is a blank, right?" Marc rebutted with sarcasm.

"She is also a woman." Solvan insisted.

Belatedly realising what Solvan meant, Marc's mouth fell open. "Father...I don't think of her that way."

"Huh, are you sure?" the priest asked, doubtfully rising an eyebrow.

Marc nodded furiously. "By all that's holy."

"Interesting. Well it was an honest mistake." Solvan conceded with another shrug. "In my defense, you two do give out this... sexual tension."

"Bloody hell." Marc lamented, looking supremely uncomfortable. "Am I really having this conversation with a priest?"

Solvan couldn't hide that he was enjoying Marc's redfaced expression more than he should.

"Of course. I'm the one who's supposed to be celibate, not you." The bishop carried on imbuing his voice with as much seriousness as he was able. "The more faithful Imperials there are in the universe the better, I'm merely doing my duty. Granting the Emperor's blessing upon young love so many times wasted in..."

"I'll hit you in the arm, the bad one." Marc warned.

"Fine, fine. I'm too tired for this anyway. Where is Glabrio to take over the jokes when you need him?"

The priest sighed.

"And don't worry, I won't speak of this again unless you ask me to. I apologise if my approach was...a bit blunt."

"As a shovel to the head." said Marc, though Solvan was glad to note that now the agent was smiling slightly too.

"Truth is the Emperor's weapon." Solvan quoted, from some saint he couldn't recall at that moment, and smiled back. "The just should never fear to wield it."

[Azazeal849]

"Grab every piece of evidence you can find." Machairi was saying, snapping hand signals as she strode from the cave mouth and pulled off her respirator. Smoke was pouring from the cave entrances and streaking highly visible plumes of grey and black across the sky. "I want it traced, I want it auto-seanced, I want to know if there's any chance of there being other xenos like the Prophet active on this world."

The interrogator pushed up her flare goggles and wiped a dusty hand over her equally dirty and sweat-streaked face. "Is everyone alright?" she asked Tomas and Solvan, who stood at her shoulders.

"Vincent, Glabrio and Marc are wounded, but not seriously."

"Imperator vult." Machairi said softly.

She turned to watch the unconscious, horribly withered form of trader Haarlock being stretchered out of the caves, with an oxygen mask over his wrinkled mouth. A black-armoured medic was holding up an IV bag, delivering as heavy a dose of sedatives as was safe for the heretic's prematurely aged body. On Machairi's orders, they had lashed Haarlock to the stretcher with rope, just for good measure. The survivors from Haarlock's bodyguard were marched out after their comatose leader, expressions blank, their hands on their heads. There were no indigen prisoners - not one of the albino natives had surrendered.

Vizkop stood at the cave mouth, methodically scanning every prisoner with his replicant detector.

"What happened to Oswin?" Machairi asked him.

"Gone." the mechanicus assassin replied simply. "Before we even arrived, it would seem. The thing I captured was a mechanical decoy, albeit a very convincing one. I'd almost forgotten what it feels like to made a fool of."

"Taking a leaf out of the replicants' book, I expect." Machairi nodded grimly. "Don't worry, Vizkop, we'll get him. I will pass information to the mechanicus and initiate a lockdown of the starports. I'm releasing you to do whatever you need to do to track him down."

"That will go better once we're off-world." Vizkop said, eyes shifting between the prisoners and the detector. "For all we know, he left after the first attempt on my life failed. Also I-"

They were interrupted by a rising whine as the lander waiting outside the cave began to power up its engines. Klimment's men began to pile aboard, roughly shepherding their prisoners inside along with boxes of confiscated xenos weapons.

"Your ladyship!" Xanthius called down to Machairi, swinging himself out onto the landing ramp to hang by one arm from one of the hatches. "Just so you know, the locals have noticed us. We're picking up indigen aircraft scrambling from the Rytu Axis airbases to the north."

"Time to go." Machairi said, raising her eyebrows at Tomas and Solvan. "Get the xenotech and as many of the Imperial weapons as you can onto the landers. We'll burn the rest."


+ + + + + +

The orbital landers rocketed south before turning east towards the safety of the Enclave. The team watched the augers as the pursuing Rytu fighters accelerated to a brief burst of supersonic, then slowed down and turned away as the supercruising landers easily outpaced them. As soon as they crossed back into Enclave airspace they found a pair of Lightning interceptors waiting for them, who escorted them to ground at an airbase outside Akkan. Some of the sharper-eyed agents spotted another lander already on the ground as they approached - almost as soon as they stepped off the lander onto the steaming tarmac, the sinuous, lilac-skinned form of trader Emmanuel Klimment came stalking out of the hanger complex towards them. Xanthius stepped forward to meet him, but the rogue trader waved his bodyguard aside with a fierce slice of his hand.

"Lady Machairi." the furious trader began, his nest of steel-jacketed cranial cables rippling like the hackles of a wolf. "I would appreciate it if you would tell these native fools to be so kind as to contact their orbital monitors and release my ship from their grav tethers?"

"Grav tethers?" Machairi replied, raising her eyebrows mildly.

"The unauthorised drop that you requested my security troops to make." Klimment replied hotly. "They do not take kindly to people antagonising the Rytu or Zakarn Axes while the Uru remains to be pacified. Since I have been acting under your..." Klimment scowled, with a whir and click of his silver eyes. "Remit, I trust that my ship will be released immediately and unconditionally."

"What would be the point?" Machairi asked him. "You would have maybe a couple of days freedom."

Klimment pulled up short. "What are you talking about?"

A cold smile tugged at the corner of the interrogator's mouth. "That astro I told you about - the inquisitorial warrant to seize your assets for corruption and illegal weapons trading? I instructed trooper Remus to send it as soon as he arrived. You still have those crimes to answer for. And I wouldn't want you running in the meantime."

For a moment Klimment just stared at her. Then he practically shouted, "Xanthius!"

The bodyguard took a step forward to put himself between Machairi and Klimment, his hand hovering over the open holster of his laspistol. Machairi didn't react, despite the immediate tension from her agents, and from Klimment's other stormtroopers behind them.

"Mr Xanthius," the interrogator said in a level tone. "I just want to point out that I'm not holding trader Klimment's low-level staff as complicit in his crimes, but if you and your men were to do anything stupid right now that might change."

Xanthius held his ground for a moment, vacillating, before taking his hand off his pistol holster and stepping back. Behind Machairi, there was a rustle as the black-clad stormtroopers followed suit.

"Sorry boss." the bodyguard grinned apologetically. Klimment gritted his teeth, apoplectic with rage.


+ + + + + +

"Are you going to talk to him?" Solvan asked as he crossed paths with Machairi. Three days after the surgical strike into the Prophet's lair, the interrogator was back in her persona of the refined rogue trader; dressed in a blue fur-trimmed gown with a silver circlet around her forehead and her hair falling across one shoulder in an elegant plait.

"That's my intent." Machairi answered calmly. "Do you wish to join me?"

The bishop shook his head dismissively.
"I've been doing this for enough time to know when I'm not needed." As the bishop spoke he didn't try to hide the sadness in his voice. "Last time we spoke, it wasn't on good terms. My presence would only alienate him further despite my intentions."
Alia nodded thoughtfully.

"Nonetheless, I would like to hear your thoughts on the man." she said before Solvan could leave.

The priest pondered his answer for a moment, staring at the crystal chandeliers across the hallway where they stood.
"He has displayed poor judgment by violating basic mission security protocols with this animus vox business." Solvan's voice was severe. "That said, he is amazingly loyal, a skilled fighter and fearless in the face of the enemy. I don't know what daemons haunt him to have him drinking his way into an early coffin, but until then he can still serve the Emperor’s cause."

Machairi nodded again, listening.

"And." Solvan went on, "He is emotionally linked to Schafer's team. Especially Kally and the Blacks. He even tones down the drinking and becomes less volatile around them. That is probably your best bargaining chip."

"Thank you." Machairi said. "Anything else?"

"May the Emperor guide your words."

The interrogator smiled. "I'm glad you're here to watch our backs, father. Including mine."


+ + + + + +

"You're smoking more, Vincent. Sister Sapphira wouldn't approve."

Interrogator Machairi glided through the door of the starport's penthouse suite, where the old mercenary who was sitting moodily on the couch, tapping lho ash into a tray and staring out of the panoramic window at the sodden, grey skyline of Akkan. The interrogator crossed the room to join him, a piece of paper in one hand.

Vincent looked up, his eyes meeting Machairi's with all the warmth of an augmetic range finder acquiring a target lock. "I only smoke when I drink."

"You're always drinking." Machairi said with a slight smile, raising an arm to indicate the trio of empty bottles that sat next to the ashtray, displacing a small idol of the Emperor that had been knocked onto its side.

"Well I'll work on that next!" Vincent snarled, not caring about the interrogator's rank.

He watched with a kind of petty satisfaction as the smile fell from Machairi's face like a mask. Good. You might smile, but underneath it you're just like the rest of them. When the interrogator did not reply, he let out an irritated hmph, stubbed out his lho and looked at her suspiciously.

"Why'd you screw Klimment like that?"

"I didn't know you cared for him." Machairi replied.

"I don't. But you people always have a reason."

"I had several." Machairi conceded, sitting down in the black leather armchair opposite Vincent and crossing her legs. "And yes, I will admit that you were one of them. When Solvan told me about the animus vox, and the fact that you hadn't mentioned it before, I guessed. I always try to look after my people, Vincent. And sometimes that means I have to know their secrets."

"You always think the worst of me." Vincent said bitterly, knowing full well that he had been caught out and wondering where the conversation would go next. His augmetic arm twitched, giving off the slightest grinding noise.

"And we want you to prove us wrong." Machairi countered, smoothing the Aquila-watermarked piece of paper across her knee and half rising to pass it to Vincent. "Here."

"What's this?" Vincent said suspiciously.

"On sister Sapphira's advice, I'm formally reimbursing you for the arm that Sidonis made you pay for out of the Pembroke bounty. I've also given your contact details to one of the medicae counsellors back on the Bane, if you need them."

Vincent scoffed at the latter idea, a rejection that Machairi let slide with dignity.

"I know you want to stay with Kally and the two Blacks," she went on. "And I will inform McKenzie and the other logisticians not to split your assignments. Furthermore, if you do ever want to retire for good, I can arrange it."

Vincent twisted his mouth as he sized up Machairi's seemingly earnest expression. Briefly, he considered challenging the interrogator to suggest where he might go if he did leave. He imagined her smiling and saying "I couldn't possibly comment."

Fok, maybe Schafer was right about this one after all.

"Thanks," he grunted. "But I'd rather stay and look after the kids."

Machairi accepted his answer with a nod. "Like I said, I'll see to it that you are kept on the same team."

"So what now?"

Machairi smoothed the soft fabric of her gown and rose. "Klimment isn't likely to blow our cover from a jail cell. And if any of his fellow traders read too much into his Rytu drop and get nervous, their orbital breaks will be logged with the starports like a big guilty flag. We have time to let HQ evaluate our report. I am waiting for Sidonis' say-so, and then we move on the people responsible for this mess."


+ + + + + +

Breakfast on the fourth day was a subdued and hurried affair. Kally, Vincent, Marc and Kelly sat together at one table; Kally still slightly hunched from the stitched and bandaged wound in her abdomen, Marc with a lumpy dressing still padded over his temple. All of them were wondering what their imminent departure from the Enclave back to the eastern continent of Illyrium heralded. As the four agents ate, Gavin came stomping hesitantly over with a tray of food in his hands. He appeared to have picked the blandest offerings despite the impressive spread on offer, as if nervous that someone would reprimand him for taking more.

"Er...the other tables are full." the scrawny psyker began. "Would it be possible, or rather acceptable, for me to join you, agent Kally Sonder, agent Vincent Nyl, agent Kelly Black and agent M-"

"Yes, it would be acceptable." Marc cut the psyker off with a slight grin, before he could finish reciting the entire list. He jerked his chair to one side to make room, and pulled one of the spare chairs out for Gavin. The psyker sat down with a stuttering hydraulic whine from his bionic legs.

"You wanna get those things oiled, new kid?" Vincent growled, "You may have impressed the boss by taking down the Prophet but you're not impressing my fokkin' hangover."

"Ignore Vince." Kally told the flustered psyker, tossing her hair out of her eyes as she gave Vincent a sidelong glance. "He's at that difficult age where if he's not high all the time he's just a dick to everybody."

Vincent gave a scowl which Kally and the Blacks knew to be harmless, but probably looked terrifyingly real to poor Gavin. "When I want your opinion, Kally girl, I'll give it to you."

"Machairi told us to get ready to move out." Kelly said after a moment. "What do you think she has in mind?"

Marc glanced over at his sister, having a pretty good theory. The interrogator had contacted Sidonis, and she wanted to put the planet back on track for Imperial rule.

"It'll stop this war sooner rather than later." he remembered her saying, almost tiredly, when he had overheard father Bellanor asking her about the possibility of turning Hercynia back into a full-scale warzone. "What's the alternative - a deal with the remaining indigen nations and the chaos of democracy? No...Imperial power can't be marginalised or the entire sector defence will suffer."

Marc's feelings on the matter were mixed. To his mind, they had been right to execute the Prophet's cultists. They were xeno collaborators - they had kidnapped Kally and nearly done something far worse than kill her. And the indigens they had killed at the PDF base and out in the Uru were men who had killed PDF soldiers, and inquisition agents. Seb and Aleks were dead, and any of the people sitting with Marc now could easily have joined them. On the other hand, Marc hated to see the rest of the indigens punished by association - it reminded him a little too much of security chief Craddock back on Venatora, whose only real crime had been unflinching loyalty to the man that the Necrons had replaced. Since the revelation that Schafer too had been a replicant, Marc himself was hardy innocent of being fooled in such a manner.

No, he thought - the indigens didn't deserve what was coming, just as they hadn't deserved the atrocities that had been heaped upon them for the last ten years. Even the most twisted indigen fighters - the desperate, fanatical men who had flocked to the Prophet's cause - were almost entirely the product of Imperial brutality and Imperial incompetence. Marc was not blind enough to fail to realise that. And he also realised that there was one clear-cut group who shouldered a disproportionate amount of blame for the squalid situation, past and present. Some people need a motive to frak other people over for their own gain, and some people just need an opportunity.
"I think Machairi's going to start by arresting those bastard traders." Marc opined aloud. "We won't see the rest, but it'll probably be occupation of the Uru, and war with Rytu and Zakarn sooner rather than later."

Machairi had told them beforehand that forming the new strategy for Hercynia's colonisation was beyond her remit as an interrogator. That might well be true, but Marc couldn't help but wonder if Machairi hoped to absolve her agents of blame for the coming war by leaving the decision to Sidonis. Perhaps she even hoped to absolve herself - at least in the eyes of others. The interrogator didn't seem to like revealing her ruthless streak to the team at large - although her private words with Marc as they left the PDF base, and her treatment of Klimment, had made that streak more than clear to Marc. It was easy to recognise when you carried the same trait yourself. Machairi must have known that lord Sidonis would most likely opt to simply flatten the western continent, the better to ensure a quick colonisation by already-loyal Imperials from Illyrium and the Enclave. Emperor knew how many people would die in that war.

Was that their job? To deal with the immediate threats and leave the inconvenient, long-term fallout for other people to clean up? Marc knew the answer to that - and after working for De Shilo, Schafer and Machairi, he also knew why it was unlikely to ever be any other way; barring the Emperor suddenly arising from his golden throne to save humanity from its myriad foes. That didn't mean he had to like it.

Kelly put down her fork, placing her elbows on the table and resting her lips against her clasped hands. "This is far beyond our capacity to fix, whatever we do." she said carefully, almost as if she had been reading her brother's mind. "Everything about this is wrong."

"It'll be the same as it was before." Vincent said, in a brusque tone that suggested that he was too jaded for this kind of navel gazing. "Namely, sucks to be an indigen. I suppose they might go for some kind of peace deal, but since when did a single digit IQ hold anyone in the imperium back?"

"Did you see how young some of those soldiers were?" Kelly asked, her fingernail tracing shapes on the table top as she remembered their close-up encounter with the horrors of the Uru. She sounded as appalled at the indigens who had let such young children fight as at with the Imperials who had provoked them. "Bloody hell!"

"We had 12-year-olds manning the barricades back on Delphi, when the orks broke through." Vincent growled quietly, a dark mist descending over his eyes. "By the end of the jungle wars, they'd kill a man jus' as quick as any vet." He paused to cup his hands round a lho, the lighter flaring momentarily before being enveloped as he exhaled a cloud of pale smoke. "When the chips are down, every poor fokker's a conscript - 'specially when the orks'll kill a kid as soon as a grown Guardsman anyway."

"Ironic." Kelly said quietly.

"What is?"

"That we get the same reaction out of the indigens as an ork invasion."

"War'll make monsters of the best people, kid." Vincent shrugged, then let out a harsh bark of laughter. "Take a look at me for starters."

Kelly shook her head. "I know I frakked up in Rakosu. I thought I could be objective...but there's only so much objectivity you can have without being a servitor."

"You're right." Marc offered, giving his sister's shoulder a comforting squeeze. "Drones gunning down kids isn't something any of us sign up to see in the field."

Kelly rubbed the bridge of her nose. "If field work means having to look past that sort of thing then I think I'm going to quit. Reassign to the labs back on the Bane."

Marc's eyes widened slightly, but he didn't say anything.

Vincent cocked an eyebrow. "You know kid, that might affect your career advancement."

"Frankly Vince," Kelly replied levelly, "Machairi or Sidonis could offer me an inquisitor's rosette on a silver plate and I wouldn't take it. I'm not ready to reject my humanity just yet."

"You're a good kid, Kelly." Vincent nodded. "Wish I still had your kind of conviction." For a moment the grizzled, battered ex-Guardsman actually smiled. "Then again, as long as Kally girl and you two need looking after, I might still have a job worth doing around here."


+ + + + + +

"I'm surprised you didnae have more to say about my transfer." Kelly observed as she and Marc exited the dining hall, leaving Kally and Vincent arguing good-naturedly about.

"What's more to say?" Marc replied reasonably, in the same midhiver's cant. Back in the hotel suite was one of the few places where they didn't have to speak strictly in Obrantu, and they were taking advantage of it. "It's your call to make, and I completely get why you're doing it."

"Thanks." Kelly said, and broke into a forbearing smile. "Though you might've tried the same thing back at the PDF base instead ae going all big brother on Crenshaw about Kally."

Marc chewed the inside of his cheek uncomfortably, thinking back to what Crenshaw had said to him.

"Aye, alright. And thanks for no telling her." He paused. "I still cannae believe that father Belannor thought we were..." Marc broke off, shaking his head.

Kelly grinned. "He's only ken'd you for a few weeks, we can let him off wi' it. Look, let me handle it. I dinnae think that Kally really does hae her wires crossed, but if she does I'll let her know where she stands. Like you said to Crenshaw, she doesnae need folk messing wi' her head."

Marc nodded, glad that the last of the niggling issues between the two of them had been amicably resolved. Something around here we can fix. Marc thought wryly. The two Blacks walked side by side until they reached one of the redwood bedroom doors, its number etched above the peephole in brass numerals.

"Sapphira?" Kelly called through the door as she tapped it with her knuckles. "Are you in? We missed you at breakfast."

[dakkagor]

Kally was dozing in her bed at the penthouse suite, freshly patched up. She was exhausted, and she had struggled to keep her eyes open even as Sapphira had finished putting her back together. The rooms window was shut, and the curtains had been drawn. But she couldn't sleep properly. It was always hard, coming back down from the adrenaline high and chemical cocktail she used to boost her performance.

“Kally.”

Kally opened her eyes, and turned in her bed to see Interrogator Machairi standing in the door. She propped herself up on the pillows, ignoring the twinge of pain in her side.

“Interrogator.”

“Sorry to wake you, but this requires privacy. I wanted to talk to you about what happened while you were captured. The Silver Prophet seemed. . . rather focused on getting you back. As did the Replicant.”

“What did Crenshaw tell you?”

“Well.” chuckled Machairi. She stepped into the room and pulled up a chair so she could sit. “I could say that I haven't spoken to Crenshaw yet. That would encourage you to lie, and if I was lying, I would then catch you in a trap. Or, I could say I have already spoken to Crenshaw, which might encourage you to be honest. And then I could trap you both.”

“We might have gotten our stories straight before we got out.” Kally countered. “If we had something we needed to lie about.”

“And that might have worked. The other two AAT guards didn't make it through the fight.”

Kally turned away from Machairi, chewing on her lip. “Crenshaw killed them.”

“He did. How did you know?”

“Process of elimination. You and Klimment were there to rescue them, and didn't know the enemy's objectives. The Necron wanted them alive. Crenshaw knew what the Silver Prophet wanted. If there had been a reason, he would have done it. Not even hesitated. He's that kind of man."

"I wouldn't disagree." Machairi said levelly.

"And he might think he was protecting me." The lack of surprise or question on Machairi's part told Kally that the interrogator must have known about her and Crenshaw. "Without knowing I'd tell you everything anyway.”

“So. What happened?”

Kally sighed, and drew her legs up to her chest under the blanket, before resting her chin on her knees. “Back on Makita . . . Pembroke put something in me. Some kind of . . . data chip? It was full of things, about the Necrons that he had figured out, but I couldn't access it. It was just hitching a ride. It must have been tiny, smaller than a speck of dust.”

Machairi nodded, and Kally continued.

“That speck was hiding something, and that nearly got me killed by Interrogator Strelilov. Somehow, he knew I was hiding something, and got me to realise by the end that I was, even subconsciously, I think. On Venatora, it saved my life, it fought back against the Replicant that had replaced the governor. But that Replicant. . .it was controlled by the Silver Prophet here. So he knew I had it. When we got captured, he tried to access it again. This time, I managed to keep him away from it. But I got a good look at what was inside. Kind of wish I hadn't.”

Machairi nodded again but continued to sit quietly. Kally didn't see her taking any notes, so she assumed that she was recording this conversation.

“It's a map. Huge, covered the whole galaxy, with Necron tombs on it. But I can only remember scraps of it now, it's locked away again. And more. What they want to do with blanks. Some of them, at least. And I managed to get more from the Silver Prophet, don't know how much was groxshit, but I know what he planned for me.”

She felt cold, despite the warmth of the room and the blankets.

“The Necrons gakked up. They left their actual bodies behind and lost the way to get back. I remember what they looked like, could probably draw you a picture if you wanted. That one seemed to think that they could jam their souls into Blanks, because we are soulless. Steal our bodies and live again. That’s why they raided the AAT compound, and why the cultists where instructed to take blanks alive. Me and Crenshaw should have died in that firefight, but we didn’t because of that order.”

She shuddered.

“I’ll write everything down for you. I’ll give you everything I remember, whatever scraps of that map I can tease out. But I need to ask you a favour.”

Machairi was silent, and Kally looked over to her for the first time. She had her lips pursed, then she spoke when their eyes met and the interrogator glanced away.

“I need you to keep the chip from the Inquisitor, tell him anything you like about what the Silver Prophet said.”

“Why? Why wouldn’t I report this to Sidonis?”

Kally met Machairi's gaze again.

“This information . . . this information in the right or wrong hands could save or kill the Imperium. The replicant that was impersonating Schafer seemed to think so, and I’m inclined to agree. And I know that Sidonis is looking for any excuse to get rid of me, get rid of the Makita survivors. He tried to have me killed on my jump training. He won’t stop until he pries everything he can out, and I know that will result in me being dead, and everything being lost. Like I said, I’ll give you everything I remember, which is a lot more than Pembroke ever meant for me to have. But I need to deliver this information to the right person. And I don’t think that is Sidonis.”

Machairi was staring at the wall. Kally couldn’t read the emotions that she carefully buried under her mask of dignity and composure.

“I’ll see what I can do.” Machairi said at last, before standing. “Write the report, and I’ll follow your story.”

“Thank you.” Kally smiled, and Machairi returned it. Once Machairi left the room, Kally put the safety back on the laspistol she had concealed under the sheets, before slumping back into a doze.

+ + + + + +

Machairi stepped out of the room and closed the door behind her. Leaning against the wall, pistol in hand, was Tomas. He nodded to the Interrogator and pulled free the directional microphone.

“You caught all that?” Machairi asked, tersely.

Tomas nodded. “That’s some heavy gak she’s laid on us."

"I can understand why Crenshaw didn't mention it - if he knew, that is."

"The fact you're not already on the vox to him suggests to me that you don't think he did."

Machairi offered her astute bodyguard a smile. "I'm going to give him the benefit of the doubt. This time."

Tomas straightened. "So, how do you want to handle it?”

The interrogator pinched her nose, a rare admission of stress.

“She’s not wrong about Sidonis. I wouldn’t put it past the old bastard to try and quietly eliminate agents with a training mishap.”

“He is ruthless like that.” Tomas agreed. “It’s simple enough. Most of what she described happened in her head. As long as we can keep her out of Strelilov's hands, its safe.”

“And what about us?” Machairi asked. “If Kally's right and she's already marked? We aren’t immune to psychic probing, and Sidonis is a powerful psyker.”

“And what about us?” Tomas retorted. “The old man has never rooted around in my brain, and he wouldn’t dare with you - he’s losing Interrogators too quick to risk it.”

Tomas holstered his pistol and packed the microphone into a webbing pouch.

“Unless you think we should tell the old bastard everything?”

Machairi shook her head. “No. I have a few ideas what he would do with that information, and everything I know about the man tells me it would be a disaster. Kally is right. He is the wrong person to know. There's just one thing that doesn't quite fit.”

"What's that?"

Machairi retrieved a compact dataslate from her pocket, and thumbed open her previous report of the Venatora incident, stamped with sister Sapphira's electronic signature.

"Everything we've seen on the battlefield, and the small scraps we've gotten from the Eldar over the years - it suggests the splinters like the one that possessed Pembroke are things the Necrons can't fully control. They're afraid of them. Terrified even. If they can't control them they don't know what they're thinking, and they can't have known Pembroke's mind either if he was actively fighting back. How did the Prophet know what the chip really contained?"

She found what she was looking for - the only words that Kally had recollected the Prophet as speaking during her vision-not-a-vision in Faroven's throne room. Excise it, before it awakens. She frowned at the text for a long moment.

"But if they didn't know it was a map." Tomas asked, "Then what were they hoping to find?"

Machairi shook her head thoughtfully. "I'm not sure."

[Thrannix]

The bishop was back in his usual garments, fidgeting once again with his ring of office. His arm was still in a sling but now properly treated and had been assured it would recover fully.

He approached the table where the team was having breakfast and sat down with a smile.

"Good morning everyone." He received different responses, ranging from a warm welcome from Kelly to a cold grunt and stare from Vince.

"There will be an official funeral service for the dead at noon today in the ship's chapel. Needless to say you are all invited to participate."

"What's the use? They are already dead." Vincent replied dryly.

"Funerals are not for the dead Nyl, the dead as you so well put it, are gone already." Solvan answered patiently. "These ceremonies are for us, for the living, to help us heal and move on. It is up to you to decide if you want that or not."

"You all have a good day now. May His blessings be upon you." The priest said standing up again.

"Aren't you going to eat something before leaving?" Kelly asked Solvan.

"I'm fasting... as penance for Abdur." Solvan answered after a moment of hesitation. "But I thank you for your concern Kelly."


---------


"So we ask you, beloved Emperor, that you may welcome the souls of all those men and women that have sacrificed their lives in the line of duty. Also, grant to all of us that still live the wisdom to accept these losses and the fortitude to endure the pain they bring."

Before the altar Solvan had placed pictures of all the imperial servants dead on Hercynia. Most prominent of these were the images of Abdur, Aleks and Sebastian, their bodies had been cremated on the surface of Hercynia, also included in the collage was Interrogator Javid Schafer. But the one frame that got Kelly's stunned attention was the unexpected and long missed face of Sandra Ferrel in her kickboxing attire which the bishop had somehow fished out from the darkest depths of the Venatora case files.

"For through that suffering we can share the endless pain the Emperor himself must endure every hour of every day for His love of humanity." Solvan's voice didn't have the echoing strength that usually came with his sermons, but somehow the change of tone gave the words a strange coat of honesty.

"And if we can share His pain, we can share His strength and His courage, so that we might face the oncoming darkness with His light."

Solvan closed his eyes for a moment of silent prayer in the middle of his sermon as he often did, to gather his thoughts.

"We ask You… that You take pity on the mistreated people of Hercynia who have been led away from Your light by the selfish greed of men who knowingly used Your name and Your creed as mere ploys to enrich themselves, may the punishment that awaits these sinners come swiftly. May you see the Hercynian's misguided actions with sadness and compassion and in your infinite wisdom allow them to see the truth that has been so brutally denied to them."

"Above all, may Your Will, and not that of man, be done today and every day unto the end of time."

[Atrum Daemon]

The last few days proved a blur to Vizkop after the business on Hycernia was finished. With everything wrapped in an at least comfortable but not necessarily satisfying way, he set to the job of cataloging and backing up all the data and information he had collected. He had to exload everything from the advanced wet drive he was fitted with (part of his upgrades as a military-grade machine empath) to a solid drive and set everything into categories. Those categories denoted the importance of the information with the most important having his own thoughts and inferences added in. A copy would be given to Machiari as a courtesy while the rest would be kept and handed off to one of his superiors when he next visited a safehouse.

He could only speculate as to the true purpose of the Necron techno-mystic and his abominations, but all the evidence pointed to something big growing in some dark corner of the galaxy. For three days, Vizkop worked almost non-stop at the cataloging, only stopping for a few hours each day to see how the team was faring in the wake of everything that had happened.

The fourth day came and found Vizkop's door not only unlocked, but open. Pleasant smells wafted from the open door as the assassin allowed himself a time of physical indulgence. Shirtless, he sat in an armchair with a fine cigar from the agri-world of Kolanis and a glass of Galnisian brandy. The metal of his cybernetic arms married well with where it met the flesh of his torso, which was rather pale and rendered almost waxy looking thanks to the sub-dermal armor plates he was fitted with. Soft tonal music came from a player held by cybernetic cherub near the back of the room.

He allowed himself such moments of indulgence to remind himself he was still human. Despite all the trans-human steps he had taken in his career and all the cybernetic augmentation, he remained strong in his idea that maintaining a healthy emotional state was not a weakness of flesh, but a strength humanity. Even if it was only one day where he kept his door open rather than shut and allowed his vices to show, it was enough. It reminded him that he was stronger than the monsters he chased every day. Monsters like Oswin who brainwashed poor souls into imitating him or butchered men and women before slaving them to exo-frames. He was strong enough to hunt the beast without becoming like it.

[dakkagor]

OOC : Big Thanks to Thrannix for providing the meat of this post. The guy is a legend.

As Solvan was packing up his things, readying for the travel back to orbit and the inevitable shift back to the True Bane, there was a knock on his door.
He carefully placed the icon he had been wrapping in velvet cloth back onto the mantle nearby, and turned to face the door. There was a knock again.

“Come!” He responded, frowning. It wasn’t a knock he was familiar with. The door swung open, and Kally Sonder was standing at the threshold.

"Agent Sonder." Said the priest slightly puzzled at the unexpected visitor, the blank's aura though dampened by her device was still noticeable. "How may I help you?"

“I’m sorry to bother you before we leave.” Kally scuffed at the floor with the toe of her boot, like she was being scolded, and she awkwardly avoided the old priests gaze. “I had some questions, religious ones, and I thought you would be the best person to talk to about them.”

Solvan stood baffled for a second before his brain kicked in. He completely forgot the feeling of unease that radiated from the young woman.

"Of course." He answered almost stuttering as he gestured for her to come in.

"Please, have a seat. I'm sorry about the mess. Can I get you anything?" He looked around his belongings that were half packed already. "I'm afraid the tea pot is already stowed away. But if you don't mind having stronger beverage I believe there is some amasec somewhere."

“Thanks, um, amasec should be fine. I’ve just been thinking about some things, and they were bugging me.”

She stepped across the threshold to the room, and her eyes immediately fell on the Golden Aquila Solvan had been packing away.

“Do you believe that anyone can be saved?”

The priest followed her eyes and his wonder just kept increasing. Kally hadn't shown any trace of devotion or even interest in theological matters. But here she was asking these profound questions.

"I am certain." Conviction could be felt in every word of the priest unequivocal answer.

“When I was captured, well, um. The prophet pretty much said I didn’t have a soul.” Kally smiled, a thin sad smile. “I suppose it never bothered me before. Blacksoul, Pariah, Blank, all just terms right? Never thought that the Emperor would have much interest in little old me, what with all the gak going on in the galaxy. But to have some Xenos thing, something that claimed to have a hand in your existing, just turns around and says ‘you have no soul’, I dunno.” She breathed out. “It kind of rattles you. I never expected to be saved. I never expected to go anywhere, when I inevitably didn’t duck quite fast enough. I didn’t attend church after about five years old. And then I joined a gang, and I didn’t have much time for being preached at. But hey, there it is. No soul to be saved in the first place. No point in ever trying.”

As she spoke wonder was replaced by worry in the priest's eyes. He could hardly imagine what level of anguish such thoughts could bring upon one’s mind. What unsettled him the most was seeing Sonder, who had always shown a remarkable amount of resilience, in such a fragile state.

Kally remained fixed in her spot, her eyes still on the Golden Aquila. The bishop gently took Kally's arm, not minding the nausea that came to his gut with the contact which eventually subsided to a mild unease. He took her to the table and grabbed one of the chairs.

"Sit Kally, please." She did and he went to fetch the promised bottle of amasec and two glasses which he filled before sitting down aswell.

“If you are asking me if I believe you can be saved.” Solvan began slowly, staring up from the glass and looking into Kally’s brown eyes.

“Then the answer is yes.” If the priest’s words were just comforting lies neither his eyes nor his voice betrayed such intent.

Kally evidently was about to say something but the priest held his hand up so he could carry on.

"Now you are probably wondering on the hows behind my statement." He paused and stared at the ceiling.

“You have no presence in the warp, that is true. But that doesn’t necessarily equate to a lack of soul, despite what many colleagues of mine would have you believe." He took another sip from the liquor.

"You are familiar with the pariah gene theory, right?” Kally nodded, and took a sip of her amasec. “There are some that hypothesize that you could indeed have a soul, but the gene's expression nullifies its signal within the warp. But genes need the organism to be alive to be expressed. So when you die, what then, what happens when the gene stops having an effect?" Solvan let the question linger for a moment and shook his head.

"There has been a long theological debate on this issue which I'm clumsily trying to summarize. But the bottom line is the only being in the galaxy who can know for a fact if you, Kally Sonder, have a soul to be saved or not is the God Emperor of Mankind."

"So the real question,” the priest said as he left the empty glass on the table and took the Golden Aquila out of the velvet cloth, “is what do you want to believe Kally? Because I wouldn't let a xeno construct with no real understanding of the concepts of a soul and salvation make that decision for me."

"You are human and belong to the Emperor, and He cares and suffers with you along with the rest of countless human beings across the stars, despite whatever taint a xeno might have tried to put in you.”

Kally looked into her glass for the moment, and a smile tugged at her lips.

“I like that answer.” She held the glass up in a toast. “To not knowing, and having faith.”

“I think I can drink to that.” Solvan responded, raising his glass in response.

[PaintSerf]

Sapphira fixedly stared off into space with pursed lips and furrowed brow. Once their briefing had adjourned, the Sister retreated back the examination chamber’s solitude. Since finishing with Remus’ treatment, other than attending Machairi’s summons, she had only left the now dimmed room to allow the servitors to re-sterilize after surgery. Sapphira had been targeted in her destinations, only briefly detouring to the mess hall before requisitioning gear from the base armory. The weapons and equipment were neatly arrayed on the surgical table before her, and Sapphira absently continued to load magazines from muscle memory.

Solvan left the chapel without a clear idea of where he was headed. The priest walked deep in thought as he relived the last turn of events and pondered on Tomas words of concern. Before he knew it he had reached the medical area of the complex. He frowned irritated to have wondered so far without planning it. As he was about to turn back the sound of metal caught his attention, he immediately suspected who could be working down here and decided to pay her a short visit. When he reached the entrance to the examination room Sapphira didn't notice him. He finally decided to announce himself with a low cough.

“Shit!” Sapphira emphatically swore and knocked over a box of shells in surprise. The Sister’s eyes snapped up as she reflexively went for her revolver. By the time she consciously recognized Solvan her fingers were already curled around the pistol’s grip. Sapphira sharply pulled her hand away, as if scalded, and then hesitated for a moment as she glanced at the device next to it. When Vizkop’s detector failed to shrill, she stepped back with both arms out to her side. Solvan just stood there with his hands slightly rised in the universal sign of surrender.

“Father Belannor,” Sapphira started, and then winced. She sighed with frustration before uncomfortably regarding the priest with a guilty expression. “Solvan, I apologize for my lapses in attention. I shouldn’t have been caught off guard, and I absolutely cannot be this distracted when we’re in Rakosu.”

"Nothing to apologize for, Sapphira." Solvan replied brushing off the Sister's initial reaction while lowering his hands. "The last 24 hours have not been easy for any of us. We lost two good men and another was wounded. We have to thank the Emperor we didn't lose anyone else."

“No, it hasn’t been easy.” Sapphira grimly seconded as she crouched down to collect the loose shells. “It’s never easy when the Inquisition is involved, but we wouldn’t serve as we do if we couldn’t endure and overcome adversity.” She quietly spoke, almost as if Solvan weren’t there. “We were chosen for a reason.”

"Yes we were, but often the reason behind the choice eludes us, but we have to keep faith in the Emperor’s plan.” Solvan sighed as he knelt and started helping Sapphira to pick up the spilled ammunition. “And you are right in that we cannot afford to keep getting caught unaware by the enemy. We will pay dearly for every mistake once in enemy territory."

“We will.” Sapphira echoed softly. It couldn’t be any other way when replicants are involved. The Sister stood when the floor was clear, and nodded her thanks for his assistance. She did not resume her activities and instead rested her clenched fists against the table. Sapphira wore a pensive expression as her slightly reddened eyes scanned over the small arsenal she leaned over.

"Now, knowing you I expect to be thoroughly ignored in my next suggestion." The bishop predicted staring at Sapphira with concern as the last rounds had been put back in place. "But shouldn't you try to get some rest before we leave?"

“I still do appreciate your concern, Solvan.” Sapphira answered with a reluctant, knowing grin at how she must sound. “However that advice could be given to everyone else on our team, you included.” The flicker of humor faded as the Sister glanced up at Solvan with a serious expression. “Professionally speaking, when not on an assignment, I would recommend that you get more than a couple of hours rest a day.”

“Ah, yes.” Solvan muttered seeing the bags under his eyes in his reflection on the back wall mirror. “Back when I used juvenant drugs on a regular basis I could stay up for days and hardly felt tired. Now, it seems I cannot get truly restful sleep no matter how tired I feel, a bothersome side effect.” He explained with a sad smile. Sapphira nodded understandingly at his plight.

“But I will do my best to find a bunk and rest my eyes before we leave, after all, what would be the point in having a physician and not heeding her advice? But I insist that you should do the same, the weapons are not going anywhere.” Solvan pointed at the table before making a mechanical motion of fidgeting with a bishop´s ring that he was not wearing. “I do not wish to increase your worries, but I’ll need you at your very best. You are the only member of the team, beside myself, with actual experience in leading an Inquisitorial retinue.”

“Then I will pray doubly for your safety in Rakosu, Solvan.” Sapphira replied with complete sincerity as she found Solvan’s eyes. “However, you don’t need to worry about me in the field.” The Sister gestured from her armaments to the collection of med-kits she’d made for the team. “One way or another, I’m always at my best when it concerns life and death. As for your insistence on rest…I couldn’t.” She shook her head. “Not now.”

“Any rest will be better than no rest at this point.” Solvan continued, not losing any of the concern in the way he looked at the Sister’s doubtful eyes. “But clearly doctors make for the worst patients.” He half jested in defeat. Sapphira merely nodded in agreement without a hint of her earlier levity.

“Anything in particular you would like to discuss before we leave for Rakosu?" The priest asked changing the subject.

“Now that is a loaded question, Solvan.” Sapphira replied with the fleeting suggestion of a smile, before her expression turned quite serious. “Although later I will need your counsel on a matter of faith…but we can speak of that later.” The Sister shook her head dismissively and pushed off the table. Solvan just stood in respectful silence not willing to intrude into a subject that was clearly sensitive for the Sister.

“For now I would like to talk about the raid and how I almost…and maybe even still have killed several Imperial soldiers today.” Sapphira loathingly eyed her replicant detector. “Quite possibly because of one of those things.”

"You are not more responsible for what happened than the workers in the manofactorum that welded the plating on the vehicle's hull." Solvan explained calmly. "If someone forcefully takes away my gun and kills with it, it is the shooter the one to carry the blame."

“I created the opportunity for God-Emperor fearing men and women were burnt by holy flame.” Sapphira’s tone was almost bleached of emotion as she stared warily at the exterminator on her shotgun. After a pause the Sister regarded Solvan with a doubtful expression. “Why shouldn’t I hold myself responsible and carry the blame for that?”

"The possibility of something going wrong exists whenever anyone of us does anything in a combat situation." The priest grew worried seeing how predisposed the Sister was to blame herself for events out of her control. "You took a decision in the heat of battle and, as a warrior, acted accordingly to protect your comrades and oppose the heretics. You said it yourself you're at your best when it comes to life or death. The Emperor doesn't ask you for more, and He certainly doesn't hold you responsible for not suspecting that a machine controlling xeno abomination could be amidst the enemy."

"Sapphira, why are you so adamantly searching for guilt and blame where there is none?" He gently took her arm in his hand trying to read the turmoil behind the Sororita's eyes. "Why do you feel the need to punish yourself in such a way?"

Because it’s what I deserve! Sapphira tensed slightly at Solvan’s touch but made no effort to extricate her arm. The Sister repeatedly curled and flexed her hands into fists, but froze when she caught her own reflection in the back mirror. Sapphira hated what she saw, the unwelcome expressions of doubt and weakness on her face only emphasized by her tiredness. You are an absolute disgrace to the Sisterhood. She stared contemptuously back at her own scarred visage.

“It was obvious that the Ghosts had something that was affecting our machinery. I either ignored the risk or once again I was oblivious to the threat.” Sapphira’s judgmental glare at herself the mirror only intensified. “The heretics used my maneuver to harm our people and cover their escape.” She glanced sharply back at Solvan. “It’s only right that I hold myself accountable for that, Solvan.”

"It wasn't obvious at that point and you know it." Solvan retorted reflexively without a shred of a doubt. "But let's say that it was obvious, what would that make me? After all I instructed the activation of the combat servitors. How much damage could that have caused had this xeno got a hold on them?"

"Deaths and defeats are an inevitable tragedy. Believing and serving the Emperor doesn't necessarily equate to divine protection." The priest reached for the golden Aquila in his pocket, caressing its delicate wings with the tip of his fingers. "What would be the value of having faith if it were? We must remember that our reward is not of this world but the next. We must try our very best to achieve victory in His name, and through His blessing we might succeed. But at the same time we have to be at peace with the eventuality that our death, failure and suffering, can be a part of the Emperor’s plan."

“I have faith that the God-Emperor will fulfill his plan for me. I know that I will die for Him and His Imperium. I would not have it any other way.” Sapphira’s unhesitating certainty and sincerity faltered. “But my failures and my mistakes…they have been significant, and so damned foolish.”

Solvan frowned in mounting concern. "May I ask what these significant failures are?" The bishop asked in genuine puzzlement. "I read your file and I can't recall anything that could be cataloged as a significant failure. Quite the opposite in fact."

“Personnel files, like the agents they quantify, are not always what they appear to be.” Sapphira quietly responded, and nodded meaningfully down at the priest’s atypically ring less hand. “As for my worst mistake…almost two billion innocents were scoured because I did not see a heretic that was right before my eyes…and it nearly happened again on Venatora.” She shook her head dejectedly. “Objectively I know that I couldn’t have known…but to twice be so close and so clueless?” The Sister grimaced and sighed lowly. “Not a great recommendation of my abilities and competence, Father.”

Solvan tilted his head realizing that it was not the time to keep pressing the sister, he knew by experience that such deep wounds could not be healed by one conversation. "I do not know why you carry this desire to place so much burden on your shoulders Sapphira." He let the statement linger as he gently released the Sister’s arm and placed himself between Sapphira and her reflection breaking the trance she was in. "I hope that one day you may share the reason, and the weight, with me. But, in the meantime, I pray to the Emperor that you can forgive yourself for whatever it is you think you have done."

“I would ask you to instead pray for the success of our operation. It’s a much more worthy subject of His attention and your efforts than one stubborn Sororita.” Sapphira sighed and gave the priest a tight yet genuine smile. “Thank you for bearing with me, Solvan. Once we have resolved this crisis we will speak again.” She glanced back down at her arsenal. “However we both have work that needs to be done.”

[Azazeal849]

The reckoning came two weeks later (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=54h80CfvqX0), when lord Sidonis' decision arrived on Hercynia alongside a company of inquisitorial stormtroopers. A clear blue sky hung over the Imperial-controlled western continent, hiding the interdiction raids being carried out in orbit as inquisition agents descended on the ships of traders Haarlock, Veiss and Klimment. On the planet below, interrogator Machairi stalked through the corridors of the governor's palace with a look of steel determination on her face, the tails of her black and silver sari fluttering behind her.

Tomas was at her right shoulder and Solvan at her left, the priest walking with steady confidence despite his gaunter features and whitened hair. Machairi had not offered the preacher juvenats; he had vowed after his sister's death never to use such things for vanity, although they might one day become necessary to claw back the years of useful service that Haarlock's device had stolen from him.

Machairi's other agents filed in behind, flanked by Remus and a whole squad of his fellow stormtroopers from Task Force Carbon. Lord Sidonis' enforcers were dressed in dark grey fatigues and black carapace armour, each synth-fibre helmet stencilled with the crossbarred letter I of the inquisition.

Gavin looked even more uncomfortable than usual, thumping along on his wheezing bionics, now clad in the same dark fatigues as the Carbon stormtroopers. He was fidgeting with a whistle that hung on a string around his neck - apparently a gift from his new escorts. The nearest stormtrooper, a short, wiry heavy weapons operator who was carrying a las-SAW half as big as she was, saw Gavin thumbing the whistle and grinned beneath her tinted visor.

"Don't worry, bolt magnet." she said cheerfully. "If shit goes down, just blow that nice and hard like and I'll come a-running."

"His name is Gavin Jenkins, private Mainwering." Machairi reprimanded gently, without looking round. Her face was a controlled mask as they strode down the corridor towards the governor's office. Her eyes flickered briefly left and right towards the devotional scriptures framed along the walls, above the plinth-mounted death masks of several notable imperial saints.

"Our governor seems to be a pious man." Machairi observed, smiling grimly. "If he's got any priests with him, try not to blaspheme too hard in front of them."

"Hey, I'm a better priest than any of them!" Glabrio winked. "When people see me coming they start praying!"

The air in the governor's office was warm with incense, crystal-kissed and candle-bright. It was a smaller, more intimate space than the banner-lined hall that the agents had seen in Venatora's government palace. A golden Aquila flag hung alongside a portrait of the governor on the back wall, and the polished desk was enamelled with the same spread-winged symbol.

Governor Pergantis was a handsome man, grey-haired but only sparsely lined, although he was clad in thick layers of robes that made him look slightly too small to fit them. Sitting with the governor was trader Veiss, resplendent in a patterned gown of blood red and this time wearing a golden mask etched with decorative whorls. Blissfully unaware of the approaching delegation, she appeared to be extolling the effectiveness of the recently-installed flak turrets at protecting the walls of Akkan from indigen rocket attacks.

"After such an effective trial, I would be willing to provide more for all the new industrial facilities out in the Uru." the trader was saying.

Governor Pergantis offered her an uneven grin. "You know, Natalia darling, there's regulations about how much we can spend on defence in one year."

"So remove them." Veiss replied airily. "Any good market regulates itself."

"So you keep reassuring me. Still, we need money for security here in Illyrium too - protests by Ghosts from both the Vilysian and Ramado septs are getting worse, and that's in spite of the crackdown."

"Have you considered servitoring them?" Veiss suggested, and then laughed musically at the governor's raised eyebrows. "Well, the Ghosts already think we do - we might as well actually get rid of some troublemakers!"

Pergantis opened his mouth to reply, and instead jumped up in surprise as the door of his office suddenly clicked and slammed back.

"What the...?" he began to protest, lost for words as Machairi and her entourage stormed into the office.

"Lady Machairi?" Veiss said in utter surprise, the jewelled eye-lenses of her mask flicking briefly towards Glabrio before returning to Machairi.

"Interrogator Machairi." Machairi corrected her, her voice thick with disgust as she pulled out her rosette and a parchment scroll signed in blood-red ink. "Governor Pergantis, lady Veiss. I have here a signed warrant from lord inquisitor Sidonis, based on information gathered from my own agents and from the interrogation of the trader Roose Haarlock, charging you with heresy, corruption and gross incompetence. Life is the Emperor's currency, and it is not yours to squander. In the name of the inquisition, you are under arrest."


+ + + + + +

EPILOGUE

"We'll be holding formal vigils for Abdur, Sebastian and Aleksander at the end of the shift." McKenzie von Rousch said, her face sombre. Agent funerals were one of the less pleasant details that the petite logistician had to organise, but she always carried the duty out without complaint. Most inquisitorial operatives had precious few people to mourn them as it was. "Schafer will be getting his full honours next week, so the boss can attend."

"Thank you, McKenzie." Machairi said, managing a wan smile. "I'll be there."

The interrogator's face was carefully controlled. She had never liked Schafer, but she couldn't pretend to take pleasure in his death. Word had belatedly reached the True Bane yesterday, from the Venatoran authorities who had dug Schafer and Clement's frozen bodies out of the wreckage of their shuttle. They had been found in the snow-locked mountains west of the planetary capital. The shuttle must have gone down after the missile strike from Noyer's lander, with the Necrons replicating both the agents and their transport - they had demonstrated a similar capacity to copy vehicles at the Venatoran airbase. Machairi didn't envy Schafer; an unexpected shot from a supposed ally was how more than one inquisition agent had met his fate, but to have a xenos construct steal your face and your memory and carry on in your place was particularly grotesque.

As she watched McKenzie trot away down the corridor from her cabin, Machairi wondered again at the situation that had allowed the Prophet its opening on Hercynia, and how it had come about. The traders had fanned and exploited the local government's fear of the indigen "Ghosts", and had ironically created just the kind of monsters they had been warning of. Had governor Pergantis been so blind? Had the rulers of the Enclave?

Fear and insecurity kill reason, she reflected grimly. Never trust people to automatically find things as ridiculous as you do.

The thought suddenly struck her that that might be a good line to add into one of her essays. It would certainly have been something to tell agent Black. At the start of the mission, Machairi had had hopes for Marc as potential explicator material. It was one of the reasons she had brought him with her back to Akkan instead of sending him into the Uru. But his words at the PDF base, and his reaction to Kally's capture, had told Machairi what his true motivation was. Duty pulled Marcus Black, but it was his friends and family that pushed him. Commendable, but an absolutely toxic weakness for an aspiring inquisitor. What if the man you have to kill is a friend, a brother, a lover? That is why most men will never be inquisitors. Marc's sister Kelly had the same conscience, for all her logic. Kally did too, and Sapphira, and Vincent. Machairi had appealed to that humanity to convince Vincent to stay, but an enemy might use it for a far less benign purpose.

Conscience was a two-edged sword. If only she had been able to recognise the same trait in Abdur in time to save him.

That is why most men will never be inquisitors. she thought again, almost ruefully.

And yet, a lack of conscience was an even sharper blade. Strip a man of his moral feeling, and for every inquisitor you got a Roose Haarlock, a magos Oswin, or a Natalia Veiss. And worse - by their very actions, such people could inspire the same traits in the people they oppressed, like the Prophet's wretched cultists. On a sudden compulsion, Machairi turned back into her cabin and picked up her quill to annotate the end of the vellum essay that kept turning over in her mind.

It was perhaps half an hour later when Solvan and Tomas arrived to escort her to the vigil. Machairi hitched up a smile as she greeted them, though she was still sorry to see Solvan bearing the scars of Haarlock's xenotech.

"I wanted to ask your opinion." she told her two closest confidants, as she picked up her finished treatise from the desk and handed it over to them. She had changed the final paragraphs.

Anyone can apply logic abstractly. Ask if it is right to let one man die when it is the only way to save ten, and any logical person will tell you that yes, it is. But what do they say when that one man is standing right in front of them? What do they do when they hear his children plead for their father's life? What if this one man is someone they know - a friend, a brother, a lover?

That is why most men will never be inquisitors. Inquisitors have to make the hard decisions that ensure humanity's survival. But simply surviving isn't enough. Most people will never be inquisitors, but they are the very people who prove that humanity still has a soul worth saving.


+ + + + + +

Extract from astropathic logs, HDMS True Bane - message from inquisitor Eran de Shilo, ordo hereticus, appointed overseer for purity checks of Makita refugees in Ishtar and Decker hives following the Pembroke incident (Ref: Makita 150-2F). Message received 285605.M41 [archivist's note - 6 weeks after conclusion of interrogator Alia Machairi's investigation on Hercynia].

Author: Inquisitor Eran de Shilo, ordo Calixis
Subject: Attempted xeno breach of Makita quarantine
Priority: Magenta 3
Originator: Astropath Zainab Keir, hive Ishtar, Solomon
Astropathic Duct: Markyn relay 27-alpha
Astropathic Terminus: Junior astropath Tarun Makarov, HDMS True Bane

My lord Sidonis,

I wish to report an attempted breach of the Makita glasslands quarantine by xenos vessels of Necron origin. These vessels appeared without warning in the Solomon system at 264605.M41. The enemy squadron consisted only of three escort-class vessels, Jackal designation - clearly the xenos did not expect the presence of our quarantine fleet and were predicting minimal resistance. The quarantine fleet moved to intercept at 265605, while civilian traffic was ordered to move within the umbrella of the planetary defences and hold position, as per protocol. Ships that were too far out to reach the planetary defences were instructed to run for the nearest jump point. The Necron ships targeted one of these outbound columns, consisting of the trader vessels Bonaventure, Triton 626, Beacon and Mooncalf. The Navy intercepted the Necron ships at 266605 and destroyed all three, albeit with heavy damage to the frigates Antaros and Preliator, and to the light cruiser Vigilax. The Solomon quarantine was maintained.

Hail to the emperor!
- Inq Eran De Shilo

[Message ends]


+ + + + + +

"Shiiiiit." the blunt-faced man exhaled through his clenched teeth. The shuddering jolts as the star freighter broke through into the warp had subsided, but he was still gripping the railing in front of him with white knuckles, muscles standing out taut on his tattooed arms. "That was far too close."

He turned to the tall, lean man who stood beside him on the cargo room mezz deck, but the other man seemed unconcerned. He stood with his hands resting in the pockets of his silver-grey suit, his eyes closed as if enjoying the heartbeat rhythm of the freighter's warp engines.

"Well," the suited man said, opening his eyes and crossing over to his tattooed companion with languid strides. "We didn't slip an inquisition cordon and dig around a perdita glass-site only to get cheated at the last minute by a bunch of xenos."

Something scaly and green that was hunched over the mezzanine railing gave a disapproving hiss.

"No offence to present company, naturally." the man in the suit added, airily.

The first man rubbed his chin uneasily, scratching at his salt-and-pepper goatee. "I don' like it, Mr E. There's lucky and then there's lucky, the kind where the universe is tryin' to tell you somethin'."

"I suppose I have been getting more than my fair share of luck, lately." the man in the suit mused. He flexed his left hand - a seamless silver bionic that shone in the grimy light of the cargo bay. "Maybe I've been leeching it off poor Roose."

"Shit," the first man frowned. "His luck finally run out?"

"Quite spectacularly. We're going to need a new Black."

"What if he talks?" scowled a dangerous-looking young woman who was hovering at the back of the group.

"Even if he did, what does he have to give them? Colour codenames? Besides, I've helped Sidonis out once or twice in the past. Even if Roose did try to pin something on us, the good inquisitor would be able to make it disappear."

The suited man stepped forward and rested his forearms on the railing, leaning over to look down at the stasis-field pod that the lifter servitors were carefully manhandling into place in the cargo deck below.

"I still don't get this, Mr E." the blunt-faced man opined. He was pacing like a caged lion, and the chain-axe that he had placed down on the crates behind him was now swinging loosely back and forth from his hand. "I mean, I'm all for honourin' an old friend's memory, but this here is some knight-and-damsel shit. And that shit only works out if you're some kiddy-fiddlin' drill abbot tellin' a bedtime story, or some black hat commissar with a hard-on for martyrdom."

The suited man's bionic fingers twitched slightly, and he reached into his suit pocket to pull out a black lho stick capped with a copper filter. He cupped his hands around the stick, and a moment later it flared into life, underlighting the man's gaunt face as he blew out a cloud of purple-tinged smoke.

"Don't worry. This is about much more than Lucius Pembroke."


https://imagizer.imageshack.us/v2/500x200q50/546/i2qy.png