[M] Penitence - IC

[Azazeal849]

"It might be worth it to look into any surveillance footage from the waystation." Vizkop offered. "Mechanicus waystations especially are generally notorious for what most call an overabundance of security. There's a chance they got something that can give us some clue."

Sister Kiana studied Vizkop for a moment, as if sizing up this agent of a parallel faith. "The main cogitators were wiped, and the fire in the control hub reportedly damaged a lot of the solid storage, but I will pass your suggestion to the justicar. Perhaps when his techmarines arrive, they can recover something of worth."

Machairi nodded in agreement, and tapped her nails gently against the table top. "Let's hope they don't take too long. I need all of you who are cleared to work to proceed to the Glom and requisition us a transport as quickly and quietly as possible. Make sure you check our prospective conveyor's credentials thoroughly. Tomas will have command."

She tilted her head towards Prinzel, offering the soldier-scholar a trusting nod.

"If the incident on Marioch is a lead on DeRei, then good. If not, then at least we've stopped a cult. Marcus?"

Marc looked up sharply at the mention of his name. He had been staring at the recaf pots, his fingers curled into tight fists on the table top. "Yes ma'am?"

"We're not going to mourn captain Tarran until we find out what really happened on the waystation. There's still a chance that she may be alive somewhere."

"Yes ma'am." Marc said again, his face artificially neutral.

Machairi appraised him for a moment more before she seemed satisfied, and folded her hands as she looked back to Tomas. "I'm planning to contact governor Tierce and put out a subsector-wide warrant for DeRei's arrest. If nothing else, it'll stop him from being able to operate openly. And if he sees that the order originated from the capital on Tephaine, we might lull him into a false sense of security thinking that we're looking in the wrong place. I will follow you to Marioch after you report in on the situation there."

Sister Kiana massaged her chin, thoughtfully, and her crinkled eyes wandered over to Ella. "You. Astropath. Come here."

Ella's blind hazel eyes turned to land on Kiana without focusing. The scrawny young woman hesitated for a moment, and tugged at the sleeve of her green robe before standing up with obvious trepidation.

This seemed to amuse Kiana. "Have you ever worked with the Sisterhood before?"

"Er...yes, actually." Ella replied, finding her voice. "Sisters Rose and Jennifen, from the hospitaller. About a year ago."

The canoness glanced towards Sapphira, sharing what might have been an almost conspiratorial look. "Well, child, I don't know what your experience with my fellow sisters was like, but I can assure you that you have nothing to fear from me. My order was founded based on the visions of an astropath like yourself, and we wouldn't be able to maintain our network without the help of such holy messengers. Though of course, we have a little help beyond the adeptus telepathica."

She reached into a pocket of her loose, white-edged robe, and drew out something small and silver and faceted.

"Do you know what this is?"

"That's an animus vox." Vincent wheezed.

Kiana blinked at the battered mercenary, evidently surprised. "Correct. The technology of an astropath's throne array, miniaturised and portable. The mechanicus do not give many of these out, nowadays. Lady Machairi has its twin."

She held the device out, the small rune-etched cube balanced on her palm. A small loop at the centre of one face formed the anchor for a delicate silver chain, which pooled around the cube in the cup of Kiana's palm. Ella reached out and picked it up, rather gingerly, as if the tiny object was made of glass. No doubt the unassuming device was radiating potently to her warp sight.

"Thank you." she said solemnly.

"I will give you a data crystal penned by our astropath primus." Kiana continued as Ella unspooled the silver chain and hung it carefully around her neck. It snagged for a moment on the interface plug at the back of her neck, making the astropath wince briefly as she tucked the cube away inside the collar of her robe. "Most psykers can master the device in a day or two, so you should have the hang of it by the time you reach Marioch."

Ella nodded several times, as if to reassure the canoness that she would rise to the challenge.

Machairi pressed her long-fingered hands into the table, as if to stand. "The sooner you can get to Marioch, the better. Any questions?"

[dakkagor]

+++Tomas+++

Before the meeting

He had been forewarned that they were a few days from the Glom. Which meant he had an unpleasant job to do.

He had invited them to his quarters, which had a door to Machairi's at his insistence. From her side, it was concealed, but when she had guests, he would wait at it, ready to burst in from his room if anything happened. This was the same. Something he did to protect her.

Solvan had arrived first, and they had talked about much of nothing, mainly Adrantis Sector history, old wars and long dead saints they had read about. He had opened a good bottle of Amsec, one he had taken with him from the True Bane, which seemed appropriate. Solvan had spotted the third chair and glass immediately, and Tomas thought he knew what was coming. So they had talked about other things instead.

About fifteen minutes after Solvan arrived; there was a polite tap on the door, and soon after Sapphira stepped into the room. She paused as saw Tomas and Solvan already seated, and her friendly smile dwindled away as she registered their reserved expressions and the open bottle of quality alcohol.

“Sister, please, take a seat.”

He only used her title when it was work. He hated this. Hated that he had to ask these questions.

Sapphira slowly nodded and grimly pursed her lips as she sat down. The Sister regarded her colleagues and friends with guarded expectation, and Tomas hated that as well. She must have known this was coming. He poured her a drink and sighed.

“Sorry to drop this on you. I thought we had a few more days, but the navigator tells me we caught a strong current and beat his estimate.” He paused. “I won't dance around it. I need your assessment on the Penitents.” He held up a hand, forestalling them both. “And not their combat readiness, or their psychological fitness. I've been reading your reports to the Inquisitor already, and I know she's immensely proud of the work you've done. They couldn't have asked for better people, better friends, to get them through this.”

He refilled his glass and Solvans.

“I need to know, are they a threat to Inquisitor Machairi?” He looked them each in the eye briefly before carrying on. “When the old man went down, I had to start thinking about the political side of what happened. Why did we get them? Is this a long term plot to pull Machairi down, and ensure that all legacy of Sidonis is wiped from the galaxy? Stranger, pettier things have happened in the Ordo. Perhaps they are being set to watch us, or sabotage us from within. They might not even know they were doing it. With the kind of Psykers you can find on Terra, such a thing is more than within the reach of the Inquisitors behind that damned trial. So, are they compromised? Is there any chance, any at all, that they could be carrying some kind of programming, maybe as part of a mind wipe? Did any of them make a deal for their collective freedom?”

Solvan eyed Tomas and Sapphira running his hand over his beard for a moment before answering.

"Pragmatically, yes the chance could exist for such a plan to be in place. But, if that is the case I would think it a poorly conceived one."

The bishop looked at the golden liquid swirling in his glass.

"As you said the bargaining chip must be the well-being of the others, yet they are all released to our custody. A clever schemer would have arranged for them to be separated leaving under his or her own care a few key members to ensure the assassin does the deed. Now they are together and could decide to take the risk of not following the arrangement despite the threats. After all they did go after their commanding Lord Inquisitor, if that isn't a suicide attempt of a mission I don't know what is. And yes there could be psychic programming which they might be unaware of, but such things often leave scars in the psyche that are hard to miss. I have seen nothing but the usual trauma effects that can be expected from their ordeal."

Tomas looked at Solvan. He knew, knew in his bones, that this was difficult for them. These people would have seen deep, psychological wounds bared to them, maybe after days of teasing the Penitents out of whatever defensive shells they had constructed. He was asking them to now consider these people as a hypothetical threat.

“I concur with Solvan’s assessment. Without someone retained as collateral, then there is little else a hypothetical assassin could be leveraged with. Normally family would be another consideration, but that would only impact Kelly and Marcus through their father.” Sapphira cradled the glass in her hand and sighed. “The simple truth is that the penitents are each other’s family and closest friends, and they are essentially all that they have left.”

They were all well aware of the penitent’s personnel files and their mournful family dynamics. Kally and Vincent’s families had predeceased them by decades, and Ella’s were safely presumed so after the incident on Sancta Heroica. Gavin and the Black siblings had family, but that was hardly any better. The psychic’s family hadn’t hesitated to disown him once his mutation was discovered, and neither Marc nor Kelly had seen their father Varrius since they left Solomon. Before events had spiraled out of control on Teleostei there had been intermittent communication between them, at least as much as was possible for a mid-hive enforcer and his children who were in Inquisitorial service.

“Vincent is the one I am most concerned about. He's a deadly fighter, and would make an excellent assassin, especially with what he knows about explosives and heavy weaponry. He's also mercenary, and fearsomely loyal to the others. If someone offered him, and the rest, an out in return for Machairi’s head on a metaphorical pike, I don't doubt he would have taken it.”

"With Nyl I have yet to achieve any significant progress." Solvan sighed with sadness in his voice. "Our relationship has been rather less than cordial since Hercynia. I think Sapphira would be a better judge of character for him. Yes he definitely could do anything for the other Venatora agents, but for what it's worth, my gut tells me he isn't an assassin."

“I must confess that I have never had much insight into what motivates Vincent, and what little I do have is years old and without months in Terra’s dungeons - or the penitence. That alone has robbed him of his usual hard edge, but I expect he will come around when we are on the ground.” Sapphira shook her head with the hint of a smile. “I am actually looking forward to Vincent calling me an uppity, over-involved bitch with conviction again, as then we will know that he is back in form and on the mend.”

Tomas turned to face Sapphira, smiling slighty at the comment. He was well aware of how 'Irrascible' the old mercenary was. “The other, best option for a hidden assassin would be Sonder. She's tenacious, competent and highly motivated, with a broad skill set. Her mind can't be read, but it is possible to do a limited reconstruction of a Blanks psyche with the right drugs. However, considering her background, I'd rate her as less of a threat. That tenacity makes her difficult to break down, difficult to win over.”

He paused, then ploughed on. “Ella, Gavin and Kelly would make good double agents. All of them have access to data that could be passed back to a rival Inquisitor, though Ella not as much. And then there is Marc. They had his sister. They had his friends, good friends. He's done something similar in the past, and the Inquisitor he used to work for was on that damn council.”

He shook his head.

“I don't want to believe it of any of them. If you two tell me they are safe and clean, this will be the last time I talk about it, and I'll be happy to have them all on the team, even that inveterate drunk Nyl. But if you have any doubts, any worries. . . now is the time to tell me. Before its too late.”

Solvan took a moment before speaking, his eyes wondering across the ceiling. "I agree that Sonder has been through many trials and has come out strengthened by them. I have no reason to suspect her, from our conversations she seems to be recovering well, almost unnervingly so."

“Kally is a tough woman, the toughest that I have ever met, and I am not surprised in the least that she seems to be in the best shape of the group. My only concern about Kally is Crenshaw. We need to know if their past, and however fleeting history, will be an issue both for her and the team.” Sapphira’s tone betrayed how reluctant she was to have to pursue that dialogue, even if she was resolved to have it. “Kally and I have not spoken about him, but they have obviously been avoiding one another. We all know requires a considerable effort on this ship, but I will make certain their paths cross before we reach the Glom.”

There was a momentary flicker of guilt across the Sister’s eyes as she stared down into her drink.

“I had noticed that the two kept their distance. I was wondering however, if that might be because they didn't want to give us gossiping wives anything to talk about.” Tomas mused on that moment of guilt slipping past the facade. Perhaps it was a solidarity thing with Kally. The two seemed like close friends to his eyes, and in his own conversations with the penitents Sapphira seemed highly regarded by Kally.

“Ella is an unlikely option due to her being soul bound to the God-Emperor, which would make tampering with her impossible beyond the worst of the Ordo’s means. If anything I believe that she would have been kept for examination after her atypical phenomenon on Saros.” Sapphira’s expression crinkled slightly with distaste as she glanced at Solvan and Tomas. “Thankfully that was not the case.”

Sapphira paused and thoughtfully tapped her fingers against the glass.

“I would not consider Gavin as a suitable candidate for an infiltrating assassin. Physically he is in the weakest condition of the penitents and he has yet to remove the null halo. I honestly cannot tell if Gavin is afraid of other psykers or his own abilities.” The Sister frowned at the options she presented. “I believe Gavin’s experiences on Saros and Terra have broken and hardened him in equal measure. Perhaps the only person who I have seen extract an almost functional conversation out from him is Kelly.”

"Kelly has, as always, too gentle a soul for inquisitorial work. I have yet to end my assessment of the damage brought to her by our overzealous colleagues." Solvan's voice had stayed leveled through the conversation, but at this point anger could be clearly felt in his voice for a moment. "But for that same reason I don't believe her capable of such double crossing. If you remember she couldn't keep simple stealth protocol back on Hercynia because her conscience got the better of her."

"Marc has the drive and the stomach for such work and he could go to extremes to protect his sister that is true." Solvan took a drink from his glass and chuckled. "But he is too righteous for his own good. He is more likely to try to find an alternative plan and make an even bigger mess of things. Plus, if there is one living being Marc wishes to see dead in the whole universe that is Arcolin DeRei, and Alia is his best chance to see it done."

The bishop tilted his head slightly.

"At the end of the day Tomas, we cannot give you the certainty you ask for. But I have faith that they do not represent a threat to Alia and that we have received them as a blessing of sorts. I pray that we are up to the task of helping them heal their wounds and gain atonement."

“Very well.” Tomas nodded. “Perhaps its just an old soldiers paranoia making a blessing look like a trap. Not all good news is enemy action, after all.” He refilled everyones glasses. “A toast then, to the return of old friends.”

Currently

"Let's hope they don't take too long. I need all of you who are cleared to work to proceed to the Glom and requisition us a transport as quickly and quietly as possible. Make sure you check our prospective conveyor's credentials thoroughly. Tomas will have command."

Tomas smiled. "I'll be handling the back end and managing the purse strings for our little field trip. I'll be relying on all of you to find the leads. I'm confident that between us, we can find this bastard and put a stop to him once and for all."

[dakkagor]

+++Kally+++

Leaving Terra

“Well, shit, if it ain’t the wrench wench herself!”

“Holy throne, you lived?” Kally looked up from where Sapphira had strapped her into the shuttles acceleration seat, genuinely surprised through her exhaustion. “No frakking way! I thought I had sorted you permanently.”

Merle Carson’s cheerful smile at Kally only broadened as his attempted murderess recognized him. He was clearly delighted that she had not forgotten their brief and wildly violent acquaintance. Crenshaw was directly behind the convict as he strong-armed his prisoner forward towards an acceleration seat. The Major’s expression was studiously impassive, but his un-powered maul out and ready by his side.

“It sure weren’t for a lack of you tryin’, but as you can see,” Merle demonstratively rattled his manacles and shrugged, but his smile wavered as Crenshaw shoved him forward. “I live a charmed fuckin’ life.”

“Next time, I’ll be sure to finish you off.” she shrugged. “No hard feelings?”

“It ain’t my feelin’s that’ll be hard, girl. Our last romp was fun.” The convict’s grin returned and took a turn for the sleazy as his eyes ranged over Kally as he remembered their last encounter. “I’m lookin’ forward to gettin’ my mitts on you again. I’ll take-”

Crenshaw roughly turned Merle around and caught him in the abdomen with a solid, well-practiced strike from his un-powered maul. He shoved the choking convict into his acceleration seat, and Merle grunted as his head banged off the head rest. Crenshaw stowed his weapon before he synched the restraints tightly across Merle’s chest and then mag-cuffed his wrists to the arms rests as he groaned. The Major wordlessly observed the hunched convict with a faint expression of contempt before brushed off his uniform cap and sat down next to Kally, only briefly sparing her a glance as he clipped himself in.

“Fuck me.” Merle muttered. No sooner had he heard the telltale click of metal and the standby chime sound, the convict straightened himself in his seat. “A man only goes hittin’ another man like that when their disagreement is concernin’ his woman.” Merle’s cruel blue eyes narrowed at Crenshaw before they flicked suspiciously over to Kally. “Now you ain’t been steppin’ out on me, have you, sweetheart?”

“Let me set a few misconceptions you have straight, frakhead." Kally spat back. "Firstly, we are not a 'thing', you are someone I didn't quite kill. Throne willing, I'll get to fix that little mistake on my part. Second, my name, for the record, is Kally Sonder. Thirdly, you don't know a throne damned thing about me, and what you think you know is not your business. Remember that and we will get along just fine.”

Merle snorted and bared his teeth as he relaxed back into the acceleration chair, or relaxed at least as much as he could with his restraints. He regarded Kally with a cocked head sideways in consideration for a moment before he leaned towards her, without any hint of emotion. When the convict spoke, his voice was not much more than a rough whisper that only Kally and Crenshaw could hear.

“Your parents were Jonas an’ Marta, an’ they knew there was somethin’ wrong with you from birth. They kept cartin’ you off to the hacks passin’ for docs in the Sinks, prayin’ for someone to figure it out. Not a one of ‘em was even fit for treatin’ Guardsmen, but they went on keepin’ on with the testin’ ‘cause there ain’t no better mark than the fuckin’ desperate. Your daddy started takin’ all the overtime an’ extra shifts he could, but vent cleanin’ ain’t exactly healthy even if it pays well for straight work. He never stopped until the very end, all ‘cause those ‘specialist treatments’ weren’t cheap an’ you were his sick little girl. You were six when he kicked off ‘cause of the rust lung.”

Kally fell silent. Her hands were on her knees and her nails where digging into her legs so hard her knuckles where draining of colour as she stared at Merle like he had grown a second head. She had almost forgotten those early years. Almost. All the poking and prodding. All the blood tests. The constant whispered prayers. That was why she was scared of needles. How did he know all that? She hadn't told anyone. They hadn't even brought it up in interrogation.

Crenshaw’s eyes narrowed and locked on the convict as he spoke. He spared a cursory look away from Merle down the bay towards the others, who were as yet unaware of the situation developing at the furthest end of the shuttle. Now was not the moment for an incident. The Major barely turned his head toward Kally and murmured. “Agent Sonder, you need to ignore him.”

“Your momma tried holdin’ everythin’ together, but ain’t no way a widow was gonna get out from under on all those debts that’d been rackin’ up, even with offerin’ it all up. She went lookin’ for an escape from grievin’ the lost love of her life, an’ the shit situation she were stuck in, however briefly. The beatin’ an’ blamin’ started with the cheap amasec, an’ only kept on gettin’ worse as she got turned onto the harder junk to drown it all out. You finally made a runner at eight, an’ ‘til you started bein’ a baby ganger at twelve, you were only the copper’s books for vagrancy, beggin’ an’ thievin’.”

Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't you dare frakking cry Kally Sonder. Her face had drained of what little colour it had and her jaw was clenched. She tried to furiously hold back the tears. Now she was safe, now she was out, in this shuttle, heading to Machairi's ship, she could feel herself emotionally untensing, relaxing, starting to process everything. And this frakker was jabbing in the knives just as she was hitting her most vulnerable.

Crenshaw watched Kally out of the corner of his eye. His false teeth clacked softly as slightly his own jaw tightened sympathetically, and he leaned towards her as closely as the acceleration seats would allow. “Agent Sonder, you need to tune this out.”

“Yea, momma dearest never went makin’ the effort to have you come home. Not that you did either, ‘cause you hated the bitch, all while bein’ blind to her pain. Tragic, but ain’t it an inconvenient fuckin’ truth that you’re more like her than not…at least when sharin’ the junky needle habit. Momma ‘cause she felt guilty about givin’ you life, an’ you ‘cause you almost had it taken away while shootin’ it out at thirteen. If that weren’t ironic enough, you kept stimmin’ up an’ stimmin’ up for decades, all despite hatin’ needles. Now that probably kept you from takin’ too much…unlike momma, who oh-dee’d when you were sixteen. She took one helluva last trip out as she was chokin’ on her own puke…that’s after they eventually wheeled her outta that decrepit shithole you once called home.”

“Shut up.” She whispered. She couldn't handle this. Not now. She needed to get somewhere, unpack, breakdown. She knew it was coming. She just didn't want to do it here at the goading of this shitbag. How did he know all of that?

“Agent Sonder! Look at me!” Crenshaw tersely hissed at Kally as he directly faced her. Damn you. The Major thought as after a moment of hesitation he placed a hand on her arm. His expression hardened as he felt the tension of her muscles as Kally clutched her knees. “Do not respond to this scum. Do not oblige him with the reaction he desires.”

“Speakin’ of shitholes you’ve lived in, you kept sinkin’ down into it like the rest’a us native under-trash. Remember dodgin’ the fuck ass Arbites on their cullin’ sweeps an’ then murderin’ those who escaped for the damn few kernels in the shit before they could do likewise? Happy, happy memories. Now you would’a kept on sinkin’, maybe even gettin’ close to reachin’ my level, but then you went an’ got pinched by the ay-ay-tee. Some two-bit psyker figured in a second what all ‘em scammers couldn’t as they stole your folk’s pot to piss in. Word is you ain’t got a soul, sweetheart.”

“It all could’a gone a whole lot dif’rent for you if that legal wyrd hadn’t fucked up, an’ had you tossed out on, what I’m visualizin’ was, your tight young ass...but I’m guessin’ you’re probably thinkin’ about how you could’a properly gotten it in from tall, dark, an’ soulless over here fifteen years ‘fore he went an’ finally punched that v-ticket for you…an’ how you two could’a been regularly screwin’ since.”

Crenshaw was rendered speechless as his jaw clenched. His expression tightened as he turned his eyes away from Kally and back towards Merle. The Major’s hand slid off her arm as he slowly eased away from her to wordlessly regard the convict with a cool gaze. Merle had intently stared at Kally as he recited her traumatic history from memory, but he broke it to offer Crenshaw a slyly knowing wink.

“So, uh, yea, I know every-throne damned-thing about you, Kally Sonder.” Merle announced, before he exhaled deeply into a chuckle. The convict grinned as he leaned toward her and raised his eyebrows speculatively. “Now how’s about we keep on moseyin’ down excruciatin’ memory lane, sweetheart?”

“SHUT UP!” She screamed. She unclipped from the seat, surged to her feet and lunged for him, ready to beat Merle into silence. He didn't move, and barely flinched as she got in two good swings. Merle just let her hit him, as did Crenshaw before he rose from his crash chair and put a pair of gentle hands on Kally’s shoulders to pull her away from the convict. She tensed, turned to him, the tears flowing freely now.

“We need him alive, Kally.” Crenshaw quietly said although his voice said otherwise. There was a slightly uncomfortable tension in his expression as he held Kally in his arms and briefly met her eyes.

She blinked her eyes clear and turned to look back at Merle. He was smiling. Smiling a big shit eating grin. Merle had done it. Broken through her barriers, got past her every defence, and stabbed her right in the heart. She turned away and saw that everyone, everyone was staring at her. Even the Inquisitor. The collar bit into her throat as she wished she could crawl down a hole and die of shame.

Merle’s rumbling laughter broke the awkward silence as it echoed through the shuttle compartment. His nasty smile only widened as he drank in the dark and judgmental looks being shot at him by the other operatives. The convict’s amusement tapered off as he spat blood on the decking from his split lip, but the grin remained as he casually waived at them with his shackled left hand.

“Hello friends. Now seein’ as we so rudely ain’t been introduced, the name’s Merle Ray Carson. It’s so fuckin’ nice to meet y’all, an’ I’m lookin’ forward to gettin’ all acquainted with y’all,” Merle tapered off somewhat distractedly while he shamelessly eyed over Sister Sapphira as she walked towards him, “an’ in every kind’a way.”

“Come. You know that she has this under control.” Crenshaw murmured in Kally’s ear as he felt her re-tense at Merle’s hardly subtle statement of intent. The Major shifted his surprisingly gentle hold on Kally to wrap an arm across the back of her shoulders and guide her by the hand further away from Merle and the others. Behind them the convict gave a seedy wolf whistle as the Sister stopped next to him.

“Well, hello nurse. I was plannin’ on gettin’ real nicely acquainted with you, darlin’, if only to find out what you’re hidin’ under there.” Merle sucked in a breath through his teeth as he stared lustfully at her figure, obscured as it was by her order’s robes. Only then did the convict see the injector of kalma in Sapphira’s hand, which caused him to glance up at her mildly repulsed expression. He forced a lopsided grin as he met the cool steel of her grey eyes. “I suppose you’re gonna give me a little prick, huh?”

“That’s correct, and it’ll be my pleasure to do so.” Sapphira admitted as she uncapped the one shot disposable injector and stepped in closer towards Merle, who futilely tried to shift away in spite of his numerous fetters. He shivered slightly at the physical contact when Sapphira seized his arm to hold it steady as she prepared to sedate the convict. Merle desperately tried to lean forward and lick the exposed skin of her pale arm as the sleeve rode up slightly, which made the Sister pull away sharply.

“An’ it’ll likewise be mine when I’m givin’ you a big prick later!” Merle chuckled as his threat, which gave way to a yelp as Sapphira simply lunged forward to stick the needle in and inject him. The convict struggled against his bonds and the chemical rush, and managed to slur out some last objections - even as the dirty ice of his blue eyes began to fog over and he slumped in his seat. “You… fuckin’… bitch…”

Crenshaw wordlessly eased Kally into her new seat, and for a moment the Major simply observed her as the tension in his jaw returned. Crenshaw exhaled quietly down his nose as he went down on a knee before Kally. He placed his hands on her slumped shoulders, and with gentle pressure he rolled them back so that she sat with her back straight to the chair. The Major then cupped her chin in both hands and slowly tilted hear head up so that their eyes met - her teary brown to his searching hazel. She let out a long, shuddering breath.

"I'm fine." She whispered. "I'm fine."

After a long hesitant pause, in which it seemed as if he might speak, Crenshaw’s thumbs slowly followed along the path of Kally’s tears and lightly brushed them aside across her cheeks. The Major’s teeth clicked softly as he traced the scar around her left eye as his hands pulled away. Crenshaw stared at the re-positioned Kally, with her head up and shoulders set, and slowly nodded to her in approval as he snugly fastened her into the acceleration seat. He stood and then took the chair next to Kally, which obstructed any line of sight that she would’ve had to Merle, and secured himself for the overdue launch.

Earlier

The Tiercel was a small ship, mainly engine, and that didn't leave a lot of space for finding places to be alone. Major Crenshaw had made it a point to know of and inspect every secluded location years ago, on his first voyage aboard Alia’s vessel. Over the last half hour he had systematically checked them all except the final one. It was wedged between the warp core and discharge vane, and thanks to its low ceiling it was little more than a hot, dark, and claustrophobic alcove.

It was also deadly to anyone other than a Blank when the engine activated to hurl the Tiercel into and out of the warp. Crenshaw knew that alone made it the likeliest hideaway for his target, which was why he had purposefully saved the dangerous oubliette for last. From a distance the Major saw the door was sealed rather than locked as it was meant to be, and he could hear someone vigorously working out even through the heavy airlock. He listened for a moment before reluctantly cycling the hatch.

“You could have asked for a sparring partner.” Crenshaw called out as he observed the woman he’d been looking for. Kally had set up a punching bag, and was seemingly doing her best to kill it with her bare hands and feet. She paused at his intrusion, and then rested against the bag.

“I came down here not to be bothered, Martin.”

Crenshaw gritted his teeth and crossed his arms as he regarded Kally. She was sweating profusely, and he noted that the water bottle sitting on a bag nearby was already empty. Her knuckles, even wrapped in boxing tape, where bloodied. Between that, and her bedraggled hair, hard breathing, and sallow complexion, it was obvious that Kally had been down here in this sweat box longer than was healthy even for her.

He also noted the tone of her voice. It was aggressive, mean, and dangerous. The look from her, before she fell back into her stance and started working the bag again, was a clear signal that she didn't want to hear the conversation that was coming. He hardly wanted to have it himself – yet never the less they were both here, and it was going to happen.

“Right now you should be talking to Sapphira.” Crenshaw levelly stated. “The Sister requested that I find you.”

“Really?” Kally grunted. “I must have lost track of time.”

The bag swung and the chain creaked as each word was punctuated by a savage blow as Kally furiously attacked it - and ignored him. It was clear that no matter how severely she battered the bag, she was doing worse to herself. Crenshaw’s scarred cheek twitched as a spike of anger shot through him as he watched her self-flagellation. What little patience the Major had in this moment was broken as he briskly stalked towards Kally, and nearly threw her off balance as he caught her left arm in mid-swing.

“Enough!” Crenshaw barked as he yanked her around to face him. Kally tried to step back, but he saw that she didn't have the strength to escape. He doubted she would have let him catch her like that, or at least allowed it so easily, and not without what he would expect to be a vicious contest. She fought harder against the Silver Prophet. The Major’s face darkened at that unwelcome reminder of their brief past as he realized how weakened she was by her extended stay down here in the cramped and sweltering darkness.

“You could have collapsed down here and died!” The Major snarled at Kally, and another infuriated surge hit him when she showed no reaction to that thought. “Oh, so you do not care?” Crenshaw pulled her around and stabbed his free hand at the airlock. “Would you care if one of your baseline friends had been killed coming down here looking for you?!”

Kally swallowed hard, looking at the door. Something, real fear or even guilt perhaps, flashed over her face at the thought and she switched her gaze to the deck.
“I. . .I don’t know. . . I. . “ she mumbled.

“Then what exactly are you trying to prove down here?!” Crenshaw shouted into Kally’s face as he grabbed her by the shoulders and roughly shook her.

“I'm not trying to prove anything!” She shouted back, snapping out of what ever had just latched onto her. “I'm coping just fine! I don't need any help!”

“Groxshit!” Crenshaw snapped, and realized this was going to take some tough love. He met Kally’s eyes with a hard look as he processed that errant thought. Love. No. This is not love. Not even tough love. I am simply speaking candidly to her one blacksoul to another. The Major clenched his teeth again, and rocked Kally one last time even as he relaxed the vice-like grip he’d initially clutched her with. “Fine people do not lock themselves away and work themselves to death!”

“I can handle it!” she wavered. “I can handle it!” she repeated, with more confidence, breaking free of his hold. “I'm coping, and they have enough to worry about with the others.”

“Martyrdom is a self-indulgent waste for our kind.” Crenshaw countered with an irritated edge, and relentlessly followed after her as she stepped away to retrieve her kit bag. “We both know that you are coming apart at the seams, Agent Sonder!”

“And you always know best, don't you Major Crenshaw!” She threw the bag to the floor, which spilled its contents on the deck. “Throne frakking damn you! You were right all along!”

“What do you mean?” Crenshaw asked as the harsh bite had dropped from his voice. By comparison the question sounded almost gentle, and the Major even took a step back to give her some space. Kally’s prickly defenses had been overcome and he was about to find out what this was about. He was not certain either of them were truly ready for that entailed.

“Do you know. . .Do you know what they did to me?” She pushed the heels of her hands into her eyes. “I felt like I was coming apart! It was a hundred times worse than anything Strelilov could cook up. It was sick! It was wrong!” She staggered back a step, meeting his eyes with a look of near total vehemence. “And the only two things going through my mind, the whole damn time?”

Crenshaw’s eyes stayed with hers as he maintained his silence as he listened to her, almost a model of composure – almost. It was only betrayed by the slight tension of his jaw as it tightened with the expectation as to where Kally’s confession was headed.

“Firstly, that for nearly a decade, I've worked for these monsters, willingly!” She looked away from him. “And the second was that, on Hercynia, I should have taken you up on your offer to get out. Do you know what that is like? To think that I was doing it to myself, because I hadn't taken you up on your stupid offer! How could you have gotten me out while I was working for that Fracker Sidonis?” She turned and kicked the punching bag, hard. The blow tore the bag out of its improvised mounting and sent it thudding into the floor. “How? I worked that over in my head, again and again. It was almost worse than what they were doing to me. Thinking I shouldn't even have been there, knowing that it wasn't a viable way out. Thinking about where I should have been, could have been, torturing myself when they weren't doing the job all because of some pillow talk from a one night stand!”

Crenshaw was so intently focused on her that the pistol came from nowhere, and for a second he thought that she was going to turn it on him before Kally turned the gun on the bag. She worked the trigger, pumping round after round into the bag until it was spread across the room, before with a disgusted grunt, tossing the laspistol into the wreckage. It was only then that Crenshaw realized his instinctive and well-honed reflexes had failed him - he had not even reached for his own sidearm.

“Throne. . .fracking. . .damnit.” she managed, gulping in breaths of air. “That was the last one on this Emperor cursed tub.”

Crenshaw contemplatively worked his tongue around his prosthetic teeth as he regarded her. After a lingering pause, the Major exhaled deeply down his nose as he reached his decision. “My offer stands, Kally.”

Kally looked sideways at him, still breathing hard. “You can't be serious.”

“I am deadly serious.” Crenshaw softly responded with the expression to match.

“You're serious?” She gestured around herself. “I'm a frakking mess. I can't sleep thanks to the nightmares, and I can only barely pretend to be human when I'm running an adrenaline high from combat. I wouldn't blame you for running a lightyear in the exact opposite direction.”

“If you want to get out, Kally, I will attempt to get you out. There is always a way.” Crenshaw said levelly as he circumvented her doubts and completely bypassed detailing his own predicament – now was not the time, and she had somewhere to be. “I do have one condition, though.”

Kally nodded. Crenshaw could see that Kally was at the end of her reserves, and he glanced away.

“Go talk to Sapphira, and Solvan. They want to help you, and they can, and will.” Crenshaw declared as he turned aside to give Kally a clear path to the airlock. “We can talk about a future once you are better.”

She nodded again, and then stepped past him towards the door.

“Martin.”

He grimaced slightly as he turned towards Kally, and she caught him by the front of his fatigue shirt. She pulled him down so that her lips were locked onto his. Crenshaw’s tension only increased before yielding to the moment with a deep sigh, and he lightly placed his hands on her waist. Their lips and bodies were barely touching as Crenshaw and Kally held one another and then reluctantly pulled apart.

“Thanks, Martin.”

“Yeah.”

Later

Kally was running, feet pounding the treadmill as she jogged in time to the music blasting through her headphones. The gymnasium on the Tiercel was small, but decently equipped. Kally felt confident enough, having talked and prayed with Solvan, to risk the gymnasium in down shifts, when it was quiet. She was giving the others space, she didn't want them to worry about her.*
According to Solvan she was doing well. That was good. She wanted to do well, to put this behind her, to move on. So later in the ships evening she came down here and ran until she was exhausted. Once she could barely keep walking, let alone running, she would shower and then collapse into her bunk, and sleep better than she had in a long time.

Even with the headphones on, she heard the door to the room open and close. Someone in heavy boots had stepped into the gymnasium and stopped. Kally quickly ran through who it could be. Not Marc, or Tomas. Marc would try to engage her in conversation that was still too awkward and painful for her, and Tomas would just walk past her to the practice cage with nothing more than a courtesy nod and a few words of encouragement on her current run when he couldn't sleep. Not Glabrio either. They had run into each other a few times, and so far he had actually been pretty nice, in a no-pressure-just-here kind of way. They had even had a friendly conversation about the various pistols they used and preferred, when Hercynia had come up. Too quiet for Vizkop. He seemed to deaden the air around him, and he was one of the few people Kally felt confident could sneak up on her undetected.

The footsteps, the presence, was too heavy for any of the other women on board. Either Merle, who was generally confined to quarters, or his handler.

She sighed and unhooked the headphones, tinny Makitan Dust Core wafting into the air as she kept running.

“Can I help you?” She risked a glance over her shoulder and saw that it was indeed the new Arbitrator, Josiah. She hadn't shared a single word with him so far. She turned back to the machine and focused on running, waiting to see if he had anything to say.

"Just coming in to exercise, Miss...Sonder, was it?" Josiah said as he got onto an exercise machine near her, and put down his bag. It was, in fact, right in front of her treadmill, it was one of those multi-part weight machines. It was angled so that, while he exercised, he could look at her. He set the weight to 23 kilograms, and after taking off his shirt to reveal a grey a-shirt, he grabbed the overhead bar and began working out. "Bit late to be exercising, Miss Sonder. Couldn't sleep, I take it?" With how the machines were placed, he was fairly close to her, close enough to be affected by her aura, yet, either it didn't affect him, or he was really good at hiding it. Either way, it would show that he's worked with untouchables before, and long enough to become acclimated to it. "If I might ask, what is that sound? It sounds like a street brawl turned into music."

“Uh huh.” Kally kept running for the moment. “It’s Dust Core. Sapphira found a copy of it a few years back and kept it for if we ever met up again. Its music from my home hive, the one that got glassed from orbit.”
She eyed him carefully. What was he trying to prove, exactly, by working out right next to her? She shook her head and started to turn the running machine off, letting the machine slow down so she could do the same. Her legs burned from the exertion and a cold shower waited so that she wouldn't cramp up.

"Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. I'm sure that it's not as bad as I described it as, I've just never heard of it," He said, as he let go of the machine. He reached into his bag and pulled out a plastic bottle of brightly colored liquid. "Here, catch," He said, as he had suddenly tossed it at her. It was a gesture of friendship, but also to test her reflexes. "You need to keep hydrated, or you'll get a cramp. Why don't we talk a while. I haven't really met you, outside of a file."

She snorted in amusement, and sat down on a bench nearby. “Who said anything about being offended? Its just music.” She stared at the ceiling briefly, the bottle remaining in her hand unopened. “If you want to talk, you'd best start. If you've read my file, you know I'm not the most social person on board.” She gestured to her collar. “I'm guessing yoou have questions about something. So ask away. Unless you'd rather cuff me and drag me down to one of the interrogation cells in the hold?” She put the bottle down next to her, unopened. “That’s generally how it goes between Hive Scum and Arbitrators”

"Heh, sorry, I'm not in the mood for 'fun' right now," He said, joking about her last comment. "It's not really that I have questions, I just want to get to know you. I know that being an untouchable means that, well, generally people tend to keep their distance, but I find that untouchables like yourself are not only very interesting, but can be very good friends if someone just tries. I'm not like most people you've met," He said, as he turned to her. "I've been working with untouchables for the past fifteen years, and was the temporary guardian of a preteen one named Alissa for two. I'm acclimated to your aura, even if you shut your collar off. Miss Sonder...Kally, if I may. How about we get a drink sometime?" He asked, which could be construed as him asking her out...on a date.

Kally blinked for a second, her face set.

“Well, Josiah. That's a very generous offer, and. . .”

She suddenly burst out laughing.

“Shit, I'm sorry. I just. . . really? You go on about how 'different' you are from all the other boys and the very next thing to fall out of your mouth is how you want to stick your dick in me? Did that line work on that little kid too?”

She stood up, arms crossed.

“Lets be clear here, Arbitrator Wuziarch. My name to you is Agent Sonder. I do not need your faux understanding, or your pity sex. Out in the field, you watch my back, and not my ass, and I will do you the same courtesy. And something else. If you make a move on Kelly, Sapphira or, Gods help you, Ella, then you won't have to worry about that shitbag Arcolin popping your head off with his dick-replacement rifle, because I will find you first. And then I will kill you, slowly, painfully. You've read my file, so you should know.”

She unfolded her arms, and retrieved her kit bag from the floor.

“I am very, very good at that. Have a good evening, Arbitrator.”

With that she turned to leave.

"You too, Agent Sonder." He waited until she left, then took out a notebook and wrote Kally Sonder, self-destructive, Overprotective of fellow female team members, feisty. He stopped and thought for a moment tapping the notebook with the pen a few times, before continuing, Has attachment issues. He closed the notebook and put it away, before he grabbed the bars of the exercise machine and kept working out.


Now

Kally had stayed quiet so far, looking over the presented briefing materials. She silently mouthed some of the longer words, brow furrowed as she mentally picked them apart phonetically. Why these people couldn't use simple Gothic was beyond her. She had approached Machairi briefly before the meeting to bring Josiah to her attention, and knew that she owed the lady Inquisitor a longer, more in-depth conversation about certain things.

She raised a hand to get the groups attention.

"We should look into the drug trade on the Glom. Arcolin had equipment made out of flect shards, equipment he lost prior to Saros. He might have tried to buy materials to build replacements."

She paused, thinking through what to say next.

"We should also get some equipment. Arcolin is a top notch sniper, and that rifle of his is deadly out to extreme range. We need a counter-measure if we run up against him without being able to close to close range first. I've been thinking about that, and a standard infantry Autocannon, with the fire-rate restricted, should be able to match that rifle for range and hitting power. And with his armour, we need as much hitting power as possible."

[Atrum Daemon]

Earlier; Within the Tiercel

Vizkop finally found his way to the gym aboard the ship. Until that evening, he had confined himself to his room for exercises. But his usual routine could only take him so far. Good exercise was hard when your limbs were bionic. He set his sights on a treadmill and his mind on some good cardio. Earbuds went in and the music pounded into his brain as he started to get moving. The music was noise and anger wrapped in an even electronic beat. The noise reminded him where he came from. Kept him grounded.

Kally stepped into the small gymnsium a quarter hour later, in her own workout clothes. She paused for a second on seeing Vizkop on the single treadmill, and for a second it seemed like she might retreat from the room before she breathed deeply, set her shoulders and made her way to the rowing machine in the corner.

“Hey” she nodded as she walked past, before pausing. Her own music player was already hooked to her sweatshirt, the earbuds draped round her collar. “I was meaning to ask you something. . . unless you'd prefer not to be bothered.”

Vizkop blinked once when he registered he was being spoken to. Pausing the machine, he pulled out his earbuds and fixed his gaze on Kally.

“Vas gad, Sondar?” The words left him before he caught himself. A relic of the past, a dialect for a gang of dispossessed and angry kids. The music did its job a little too well sometimes. “I got time. What did you want to ask, Sondar?” he asked, correcting his mental space back to mainstream Gothic.

Kally blinked at the odd dialect, and smiled. “Well, its more of a favour, actually.” She tossed her kitbag into a corner and leant against one of the machines, facing Vizkop. “I got most of my gear back intact except for the weapons. I got everything reassembled and working except for the bolter.” She ran a hand through her hair briefly and looked away. “I can't figure it out. Most of the time I can't get the mags to fit. Then when I can, it won't fire. I'm probably lucky I haven't blown my fingers off so far. And I've tried every litany I can remember, used all the proper tools. I've been struggling with the damnable thing for days.” She shrugged her shoulders. “If you could take a look at it, I'd really owe you one. If you can't get it working, its not a big problem. I saw a nice drum fed naval shotgun in one of the lockers I can use in a pinch, but that guns been with me since I started working for the Inquisition. I'd hate to be the person responsible for removing it from service.”

“I can take a look at it, yeah,” Vizkop said with a short nod and a slight smile of his own. “Sounds like you may have just fit one or two of the smaller pieces in the wrong way. Bolter's can be rather...difficult to work with at the best of times and I'd rather not see anyone subjected to the endless verbal chastisement of a Magos.”

He gave her a quick once-over and by all accounts she seemed fine physically. But that was not where his concern lay at the moment. “So other than dealing with what sounds like a particularly persnickety boltgun,” he said, deciding to try his luck and broach the subject, “how are you holding up?”

“Me? Oh, you know.” She paused. “Some days are good, and some days are bad. Some nights I can't sleep unless I've worked myself into exhaustion. I'm coping, which is the main thing. I blamed myself at first, over some stuff I had to work out with Crenshaw, but mainly, its been Solvan who's helped me pull through this time.” She smiled. “That man listens like a sponge drinks water. Can't help talking to him about anything that might be giving me grief.” She rubbed at her arms, suddenly awkward. “But hey, look at you. New gear, new face? What brought that on?”

A small smile graced his features and he was relieved that she was at least talking to someone. “What this?” he asked, pointing to his face. “Just...part of the job, really. Certainly not the first time. This one's the...eighth face I've had. And the gear's for hunting. A very particular game in the form of cyborgs. You know, those guys that get too many aguments too fast or don't get the right therapy to cope and go a very dangerous kind of crazy. A lot of em go on nasty killing sprees before they're put down. But it's all part of the bigger game of rooting out heretek's and removing them from the galaxy.”

“Eight faces?” Kally's hand unconsciously drifted to her own face. “I don't think I could hack that. Even the idea of losing my hair on Venatora wigged me out.” she laughed. “I guess that has to sound pretty vain, considering the line of work we are in.”

He paused for a moment as the topic made him mentally zip back to the previous night for a moment and caused his curiosity to peak. “Which reminds me, has that oddball Arbite talked to you yet? What's his name...Josiah!”

“Josiah? Don't get me frakking started.” Kally made a sour face and bent to pick up her kit bag. “That guy is full of groxshit. Gave me some kind of line about working with Pariahs before and how that made him 'different' and then he goes and makes a pass at me. Typical frakking Arbitrator if you ask me, high on the smell of his own boot polish and convinced that he's good enough to shine the Emperors balls.” She breathed out through her nose, visibly calming herself. "But, I tend to be pretty biased towards Arbitrators. I lost a lot of friends to them over the years."

She checked over the machine she was about to use, before looking up at Vizkop quizzically.

“He's new, right? Whats your take on him?”

“I think 'full of groxshit' hits the nail on the head,” Vizkop said with a grin before walking over to a resistance weight machine. “I don't have a very good opinion of Arbitrators in general, either. And right now, I have no faith in Josiah. He came to me last night to talk, probably getting a read on me. Says he wants to learn from me since he's got me pegged as 'the most skilled member of the team.' Never had someone try to stick their tongue up my ass like that before. He ended up feeding me this ludicrous story about taking down a gang of tech-heads on his homeworld. Straight faced told me that these guys were getting supplied with military-grade augs with filed off serial numbers. Shit like full-arm weapon replacements. You know, the stuff you don't just stick on a baseline. And that they gang itself was over a thousand members strong before they were stamped out. He strikes me as a total punk who wants to talk himself up. Hard to believe he's been with the Inquisition for a little over thirty standard years.”

Vizkop was enjoying the conversation. It was refreshing to really talk to another human being. Especially since he found Kally Sondar had a particularly entertaining view of things. He was not about to turn the topic down the road of “I know what you're going through” to try to be that guy. Sure, they both had their share of mental and emotional scars he was sure. But the differences between those scars were enough that he was not about to try to play the sympathetic card.

“Thirty years?” Kally shook her head with a snort of laughter. “Maybe the old geezers gone nuts, then.” She finished calibrating the rowing machine and climbed into the seat, giving the cord an experimental pull and wincing slightly. “Damn shoulders” she muttered under her breath before turning to face Vizkop again. “Or, he might be a con artist? You might know the type, has access to files above his paygrade and starts making alterations to his own slate to make it look good.” She started working the machine, building up slowly and ignoring the occasional twinge of pain from across her shoulders. It was an old wound and not going away any time soon. “And he's been coasting ever since?” Kally settled into a comfortable rhythm, a bit slower than her normal routine. She still wanted to talk to Vizkop, and was enjoying the rare chance to talk to the Mechanicus agent when his guard was somewhat relaxed.

“That would not surprise me if that were the case,” Vizkop said, beginning to work with the machine and gradually increasing the weight load. “I legitimately wonder if he's seen half the action his file claims he has.”

He kept an eye on one of his neural diagnostics displays, waiting for the readout to tell him when he reached the maximum strain limit for the bionic arms. “Because if he has, it causes me to wonder what kind of baggage he's carrying,” Vizkop went on. “I only have limited experience with cultists, but if Arcolin is anything like some of the others of his particular brand of foulness, the ones without good holds on themselves will become liabilities. I'm no psycho-analyst, but I can say I feel confident in the rest of the team handling that. And I cope well with my own. But a guy like Josiah? Based what I've observed so far I doubt it would take much to crack him.”

Kally was silent for a while, working the machine and thinking. “I don't know about us Penitents. This is personal for Marc, I think he'll do just about anything to get hold of Arcolin, and Arcolin knows that. He's not a berserker, he's a manipulator and a liar, one whom isn't afraid to say or do anything to get what he wants. And I think after Saros he's probably got all our buttons mapped out.” She fell silent again for a while. “So, if you get the shot on him, don't spare our feelings over it. Plug the frakker and be done with it.”

“I'll blast him in half if I get the shot,” Vizkop replied, a half-grin forming on his face. “I've seen this team handle some pretty outrageous things. Just gotta keep our heads on straight and we'll come out the otherside all right enough. Hopefully no more damaged than before.”

The Meeting

“That's not a bad idea. And if needed, I can provide a secondary counter-measure,” Vizkop added. “As long-range support, keeping Arcolin busy shouldn't be a problem. The rifle I am blessed to carry is a modified Xanith-pattern AMR so his armour shouldn't be an issue. Even if I can just get a glancing shot, he's loosing a limb.”

Everything Vizkop had read and heard about Arcolin De Rei told him that any confrontation would not be easy and that the threat level would always be maximum. It was both a sobering and comforting thought at that moment. Sure it was easy for him to talk about shooting Arcolin, but the hardest part was always getting the shot. And Arcolin was no cyborg. Vizkop was not yet sure if that was a good thing or a bad one.

[Thrannix]

OO Huge thanks to Az and Dakka for all their amazing work!

Kelly, 1st Meeting

He had decided to perform his mandatory counselling meetings with the penitent agents in the privacy of his chambers instead of using one of the much more formal, and therefore colder, official rooms that could be found on the ship. He could have gone to the chapel, but it was hard to find it completely empty for long enough time to perform such intimate work.

Kelly sat across the table from him, her gaze lost somewhere on the chamber floor, avoiding direct eye contact. Her hands sat uneasily in her lap. Solvan noticed that her nails were bitten raw, and the one on her right index finger had dried blood at the edges.

The first reunion was usually the hardest, he knew that. The wounds still fresh, the pain too recent, the mind and spirit wished to forget about it, too let the horror sink to the depths of the mind and, hopefully, lose it as someone might lose a gangrenous limb. But that never worked, it might dull the agony for some time, but it would resurface eventually. Nonetheless forcing the victim to relive the trauma could be just as bad; a delicate approach was of utmost importance.

"How are you, Kelly?" the priest asked.

"If you don't wish to talk that's alright." he added after a few seconds of silence.

"No, I do." Kelly insisted, quietly. She heaved in a deep breath, and let it out.

"I..." she began, and faltered. Solvan couldn't fail to take note - the Kelly Black he had known had seldom been lost for words, be they humorous, insightful or cutting. Kelly took another breath.

"It...varies, father." she managed, looking up at Solvan for a moment before her eyes dropped back to the floor. "Sometimes I feel almost normal, and sometimes..."

She raised her hand with its chewed and bloody nails and made a spinning gesture next to her temple.

"Sometimes it just goes round and round in my head and I can't stop it."

Solvan didn't need to ask what the it going round and round in her head was. Kelly took another, slightly shaky breath.

"Right now, I'm okay."

Solvan smiled a sad smile.

"I understand, and I wish I could tell you that there will come a time when it will seem like it didn’t happen. But I would be lying."

He paused.

"What I can promise you, Kelly, is that it does heal. And I know healing seems impossible now, but it does happen. Eventually only a scar will remain, but it won't hurt; it will be a part of who you are, but it will not define you."

"And the first step in that long path." Solvan said gently rising Kelly's chin so that she would look him in the eye. "Is for you to realize you have nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to make you avert your gaze from an old friend. The Emperor has no use for shame, only courage and determination. And I know you have both in ample supply."

Kelly looked up and managed a shaky smile, although her lips stayed tightly pursed. "Thanks father. I was never quite sure what you really thought of me after Hercynia."

She paused, twisting her hands in her lap.

"I worry about the others as well, father. Kally's always preferred to deal with stuff on her own...but Gavin's not in a good way. I want to be able to help."

"I know you would Kelly, and that speaks volumes of your generosity. But you don't need to do anything out of the ordinary right now. Just do as you always have, be their friend, their family, they need that just as much as you need it."

Kelly nodded acceptance. "There's also Marc..." She broke off, uncertainly. "I know he's always been a bit...ruthless when someone's hurt people he cares about, but this thing with DeRei seems worse."

"And who could blame him?" Solvan countered, "After all the heretic has done?"

It was true that Marc's anger at DeRei was, for the moment, beyond what Solvan thought Marc was able to boil up. That hate in and of itself wasn't a problem. In fact, it could be commendable or even encouraged when someone like DeRei was involved. The trouble Solvan saw was that it might cloud Marc's judgement, when reasoning and a cool head were two of the deadliest weapons the man had at his disposal.

"Still, you are right to worry. Obsessing on revenge is to be avoided, and you can be sure that I'll do everything I can to help him as well. But I would consider it a more worrisome symptom if he didn't think about DeRei at all."

"He's thinking." Kelly said quietly. "I can guarantee you that."


--------------------------

Vincent, 5th meeting

Solvan slowly tapped the table with his fingers as he returned the bloodshot stare that a cross-armed Vincent was giving him. The stubble of the man's hair was growing back over the knife tattoo on his scalp, black and grey, making his head as if it had been scorched by fire. Solvan sighed.

"You will have to start talking eventually, Nyl." the priest warned tiredly. "At first your mutism could have been attributed to deprivation from alcohol or the recent crisis you all went through, but it is getting ridiculous. You may not like me, but if you ever want to go back to the field you need to talk to me."

He paused.

"Also, you have been refusing the sleeping pills prescribed to you by Sister Sapphira. Now I'm no expert, but I can see you certainly could use them. Is this the latest stage of that self-destructive attitude that had you chasing cirrhosis one bottle at a time?"

Silence. Vincent's gaze wandered to the varnished table top.

"Emperor’s sake man. Say something, anything. I'll settle for some blasphemy even." Solvan said to the ceiling as he took a deep breath and ran a hand through his beard.

Vincent raised his gaze. One eye was corpse-white, the other grey and bloodshot. "Hail to the motherfokkin' emperor." he growled weakly. "Will that do you, preacher man?"

When Solvan didn't answer, Vincent brought his fists down on the table. The heavy augmetic that had replaced his left arm dented the wood with a splintering crack.

"I'm not takin' those fokkin' pills, Belannor." he snarled. "Whatever you and Sapphira's expert fokkin' opinion might be. And for your information, I've not touched a drop since we left Terra. And not just because Lady fokkin' Machairi has been tryin' to keep it hidden from me either. That smarmy bastard Wuziarch invited me back to his cabin for a drink last week and I turned him down. Ja, I wouldn't drink with that guy if he was offerin' the Emperor's own holy pisswater, but that's beside the point."

“That’s more like the Nyl I remembered.” Solvan answered drily, trying not to show how glad he was for Vincent to open himself up for interaction, however aggressive an interaction he was willing to have. "Congratulations on resisting the temptation of alcohol. But I wonder if you would do the same if say... Kally offered the same invitation?”

Vincent made a dismissive noise. "Nice of you to assume that Kally Girl still wants anythin' to do with me, Belannor, but the answer'd still be no."

“I see." Solvan continued, eyeing the medicae notes on his desk, "Well, now that you are talking, what nightmares are you running from Nyl? Why do you refuse to sleep? Daemons haunt us not only in the warp, but also in our own mind. What burden do you carry to require this particular bit of self inflicted punishment?"

Vincent gave a harsh guffaw of incongruous laughter. "You're barkin' up the wrong fokkin' tree, preacher man. It ain't sleep I'm avoidin'. It's Sapphira and her Emperor-damn sedatives."

"You need to stop functioning like this," Solvan countered sternly. "Like some terminally ill patient waiting for someone to turn off the switch. I remember you from Hercynia, the only moments I saw you truly alive were the ones you got closer to danger and getting yourself killed."

"Watch it, priest." Vincent growled, his mismatched eyes narrowing.

"I wonder Vincent," the bishop stared unblinkingly at Nyl, "if the tribunal had sentenced you to death, would you have been relieved?"

Solvan heard the gears in Vincent's bionic arm grinding together, clenching the hand into a fist as if he was contemplating driving the metal claw through the bishop's face. A moment later there was another whir, and the claw opened.

"Alright, Belannor." he rumbled softly. "I'll lay it out for you, if only to stop you pontificating with your flawed fokkin' assumptions. I ain't going to preach to you about the Ork invasion of Delphi, or my time in the Guard. I know you've seen some fokked up shit of your own in your time. You know what war does to people, especially if it's the only life they know. So after Solomon, when Lawrence fokkin' Van Der Mir asked us all to sign up with the inquisition I thought why not? What else am I gonna do?"

The ex-Guardsman sat back, his muscular frame eliciting a protesting creak from his chair.

"Then it turns out to be even worse a snake-pit than I was warned about, and lord motherfokkin' Sidonis is actively lookin' for excuses to have us killed, and your lady Machairi shot down any chance of leavin' when she screwed over Klimment. So ja, I wasn't in the best of places on Hercynia. But I had Kally Girl an' the kids to look out for, an' that was somethin' at least. It's been a long while since then, though."

He fixed Solvan with his one good eye.

"Now Frank's dead, an' Gene's dead, an' the kids ain't really needed my help for years now. And ja, I know that that's half down to the drink an' everythin' else I've been self-medicating with, as you so cleverly pointed out. That's why I ain't touchin' Sapphira's pills or anythin' else. Three months cold turkey in an inquisition cell is a hell of a fokkin' wake-up call, but I don't want to slip back into old habits. I ain't much use to lady Machairi any more, but if I'm wasted I'm no use to anyone."

Vincent contorted his face and sniffed, angrily snorting back what might have been tears.

"So in answer to your question, Belannor: ja, I would have been relieved if that prick Lucullis had said 'guilty'. But he didn't. And so I'm askin' you to clear me for duty so I don't end up hittin' the bottle again. Because the only other option is I'm goin' to get my old Accatran from the armoury and blow my fokkin' head off with it."

Solvan was taken aback by the sudden show of emotion, together with the threat of suicide. Flashing in front of his eyes was the memory of Abdur; the young Tallarn who had killed himself during their mission on Hercynia, a death the bishop considered to be one of his great failures as a confessor. It was the bishop’s turn to slam his hand on the already beaten table.

“Don’t you dare entertain such thoughts, damn it!” the priest took a deep breath to calm himself, immediately regretting losing his cool. “I swear to the Emperor, Nyl, the only way any man can be truly useless is by walking down that path.”

He took a breath.

“I’ll tell you what we are going to do. You will stay sober, you will come to these meetings, you will talk to me, you will pray with me, you will attend mass..."

Vincent rolled his good eye and grimaced as he opened his mouth to protest.

"Yes you will! I don't care if you hate it or if you don't believe half of it. It is about the symbolism, the sacrifice and about showing me, and more importantly the Emperor, that you are willing to mend your spirit as well as your body. Do that and you will have my clearance to deploy by the time we get to our destination."

"You always were a prick, Belannor." Vincent grumbled. "But alright. If it gets me back on duty then I'll try it your way."

He pressed his hands into the splintered table, rose, and turned towards the door. Before he reached it he stopped, and turned to look back at the spider-webbed dent he had left in the bishop's furniture.

"Sorry about the table." he muttered, and slumped out of the room.

-------------------------------------------------

Kally, 10th meeting

Solvan opened the door so Kally could enter the room. He noticed the young woman was looking much healthier; her gaunt features after the months of imprisonment had been replaced with renewed muscle mass. She was clearly keeping busy in the training cages and eating enough. All were good signs that reassured him on his assessment. He might have not noticed such changes in the past, being too focused ignoring the sense of unease and gut sickness the blank produced, but he had grown increasingly accustomed to Kally's aura effects.

"Tea again?" Kally asked glancing at the steaming cups on the table. "Not that I'm complaining, but I much preferred when our chats happened with stronger stuff around."

The priest smiled as he sat down remembering one of their last conversations they had shared after their mission on Hercynia.

"Sadly such beverages are forbidden in these official instances, we wouldn't want someone to doubt my state of mind and, by extension, my report that you are ready for field deployment once more." He said lifting a file from his desk and showing Kally the last page.

"Just needs the seal and signature, which I hope to get done after this meeting. After that, well, I may break protocol for some celebratory drinks." He gave her a complicit wink before drinking some of the tea.

"So, any particular subject you would like to discuss today?" The bishop asked while fidgeting with his ring.

“I can probably think of a couple of things.” She smiled. Despite her initial reluctance, she had enjoyed these talks with Solvan. She found something soothing in his whole attitude, like they had all the time in the universe to talk things through. She lifted the cup and took a sip. “Much as I prefer stronger stuff, I think I'm going to have to steal a crate of this from you.”

"I'd be delighted, hard to find young people appreciating a warm cup of tea. Too much focus on recaf and alcohol in this line of work." Solvan commented with enthusiasm. Kally smiled, looking down into the dark drink.

She put the mug down, sighed. She wanted to ask about the others, know how they where doing so she could be there for them. But she knew that Solvan wouldn't answer that question, would subtly redirect her. And he was right to. It wasn't her business.

“When I was a kid, I was part of this gang in the Makitan underhive. They took me in when I was pretty young, and their leader, Salt, was good to me, all things considered. Since running away from home it was the closest I came to a family. She taught me how to shoot, how to fight with a knife or my hands, how to scav. They always joked I was her creepy shadow, because I followed her everywhere. She taught me loyalty, as well. 'You got to look after the juves when I'm gone' she would say. 'You know where most of them are coming from.. You give a frak about it.”

The priest left his cup on the table and locked his fingers over his lap. Kally had talked about many things, but her childhood with the gang she had only touched tangentially, as an accessory to other stories, never going too deep into the subject. Therefore Solvan was intrigued by this blunt beginning.

She took another sip of tea, looking thoughtful. “I remember when Salt died. It was a hit, at a dust-club we used as a base. The music was so loud, we missed the first gunshots. I was meant to be one of her escorts, and I only realised there was a problem when Stitches slumped over at the table. I went to push Salt to the floor and it was already too late. A shot went straight into her chest and she fell from the chair with this damned stupid look on her face, like she was surprised and angry that a barmaid had spilled a drink down her top.”

She swilled the drink around. “Of course, with Stiches out, and Salt breathing through a hole in her chest, her days where numbered, and so where mine. I just remember this red haze settling and pulling two pistols, and opening fire full auto. The idiots had stood around a few seconds too long to make sure they did the job, and I caught all three of them, and some civilians behind them. Then I hauled Salt clear through the kitchens out the back.”

“When I propped her up in the alley it was already too late. They used these kind of fragmenting auto-rounds, laced with toxic waste from some throne forsaken radpit. The wound was already septic, and it had gone right into her lungs. She was dying in my arms and there was nothing anyone could have done.”

She finished the drink and poured herself another.

“She met my eyes, just before the end. She looked me right in the eyes, clear as day, and she said 'Scalps, the light's so beautiful.' and then she was gone. Like someone just switched her off.”

"It's never easy to lose a comrade, even less so a mentor and a friend. But I have to ask, who is Scalps? It's the first time you mentioned that nickname." Solvan interjected for the first time through Kally’s retelling.

“Oh, heh.” Kally blushed. “Well, lets just say when a skinny little juve makes it back to your hideout after a gunfight with a knife bigger than her and a rivals head in tow to prove she did the deed, it tends to make their rep one way or another.” She smiled, somewhat wistfully, before returning to the original story.

“Anyway, after that, I wasn't too popular in the gang. The next leader, Wrench, was pissed at me, but I was Salts favourite so getting rid of me immediately wouldn't have looked good. It didn't matter in the end. We got hit by the Arbitrators three weeks later and I got swept up for psyk-screening, and that was that.”

“I always wondered what she meant by 'the light'. I always reckoned it was just some hallucination, just something her brain told her as it died from poison and lack of oxygen.”

"That's one possible explanation, yes." The priest admitted. He knew the medicaes non official explanations for such near death occurrences. "Others might say she saw the light of the Emperor at the end of her mortal life."

Solvan took another sip from the tea.

"I suppose we will get our answer when our time comes." He said matter of factly, not willing to force either explanation on Kally. She nodded in response.

“About two months in. . . about two months in they killed me. Accidentally. A drug was meant to bring me round after being dosed with some kind of xenos-toxin, and I reacted very badly. I heard them talking it over later: full cardiac and pulmonary arrest, and they kept me going with chest compressions for two and a half minutes. During that time, I was, by some definitions at least, technically dead. They didn't work on me for a week afterwards, just to make sure they didn't accidentally kill me again.”

“And I saw the light she saw. I think you where right, back on Hercynia. Because I couldn't have been projecting my aura while I was that far gone. I was about as dead as I could get without being actually, completely gone, and I saw something waiting on the other side. And it scared the crap out of me.”

"The idea of facing the God-Emperor of Mankind shouldn't be an easy thought for anyone but the saints." The bishop said almost prayer like, rising an eyebrow, surprised at Kally's experience.

“I've killed a lot of people Solvan. A lot of people. I haven't always been on the side of the angels either when I've been doing that killing. And lets be honest, at least some of the people I've killed while on missions where loyal Imperial citizens. Doing their jobs, as they saw it, just that their jobs got them in my teams way and it was my job to get them out of the way again, any means necessary. That last mission on Saros was a fracking slaughter-house, and a lot of that rests on me and the teams actions. I have a lot of blood on my hands. Am I meant to be happy that in the end there is some grand judgement waiting, or scared because of what I've done? What is Him-on-Earth going to think when I finally arrive in front of his throne, hands dripping in blood?” She shuddered. “In that glass box I was ready to die, I was resigned to it. Now, with all this. . . bloody time to think, I'm not so sure.”

Solvan brought his hands together and touched his lips with his fingers before answering.

"What you must understand, Kally, is that the Emperor’s judgement upon our death isn't a simple arithmetic exercise were your good deeds are weighed against the evil ones, such as a simple human mind would."

"I like to think that the Emperor sees the whole tapestry that is our lives, with all the limitations, obstacles, temptations, failings and victories that conform our existence."

"From where you started out one would have said that you were doomed to a life of crime and drugs at best, eventually if the Emperor was merciful you might have died from an overdose of stimms and narcotics. But somehow you managed to rise into the rank of the Inquisition, enforcing the Emperor’s will. It was a hard and long road, but you endured, and you somehow managed to reach this point with a good heart inside your chest."

“Thanks” Kally smiled ruefully. Solvan was never afraid of complimenting someone, she had found, but Kally always found him to be sincere in his words. If he said it, he meant it.

"And do you think that your bloodied hands aren't worthier in His eyes than the unsullied, manicured nails of some rich coward who spent all his life doing nothing for his fellow men? How much more blood would have been spilled if not for your intervention? How many aboard this very ship wouldn't be here if not for you? How many more deaths would have been mourned if you hadn't stopped Sidonis?"

“I. . hadn't seen it like that.” She nodded. “The end justified the means, at least that time.”

"We must all face our final moments with a healthy amount of fear, that is true. Fear that we didn't have more time to fight for Him, fear that we leave our duty unfulfilled, fear that our comrades and friends will have to fight on without us. But not fear of the judgement itself."

"We cannot change the past, but we can strive to improve our lives with each step forward, that tomorrow we can be better than what we are today. We must have faith that the Emperor is wise as he is just, and those who are loyal to Him will not be cast away."

"In Saros you were going against a possessed Lord Inquisitor while infected with an incurable, deadly disease. Yet, against all odds here you are, alive and well and with the chance to achieve complete absolution to boot. For someone who says she's afraid of the Emperor’s light you sure seem to be touched by Him."

Kally laughed at that. “Worrying about this kind of thing has to seem pretty stupid after going through all that.” She shook her head, smiling. “I guess, it depends on how you look at it. It was easy to feel cursed, thanks to this” she waved her hand in the direction of her collar, as she often did when talking about her pariah nature. “But without it I don't think any of us would have survived Saros.” She nodded. “'Tomorrow we can be better than what we are today.'” She looked at the document waiting for Solvan’s stamp of approval. “Thank you for these talks. Really. If it’s alright with you, I'd like to keep doing them even after I get the all clear. They've really helped with, well, with everything.”

“You have nothing to thank me Kally, only the Emperor. And I’d be glad to continue these talks as well.” Said the priest smiling warmly as he placed his rubric on the paper and a wax seal with his rings inscription next to the signature.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

--------During the Debriefing--------

"Excuse me, Sister." Said Solvan creasing his brow, "But when you say a spike in activity possibly related to the Ruinous Powers, what do you mean specifically? What sort of signs and omens are we talking about?"

[Thrannix]

Error.

[Azazeal849]

(OOC - Some quoted text has been abridged to save space)

"There has been a spike in suspicious activities around the Vaeger fief. Specifically, potential Tzeentchian activity." She unlaced her hands and signed the aquila again, warding off the bad luck of speaking one of the Great Enemy's names aloud. "I understand that your target once owed his allegiance to that ruinous false god.

"Excuse me, Sister." said Solvan, crossing his brow. "But when you say a spike in activity, what do you mean specifically? What sort of signs and omens are we talking about?"

Kiana offered Solvan a stony expression. "Well as you know, father, Marioch has been under scrutiny by both my order and your lady inquisitor since the heretic Nibenay made his power play. We were not naïve enough to believe that all Chaotic influence on the planet had died with him. We have been watching a number of gangs, protest groups and private societies - several of which have recently sprung up in house Vaeger's holdings."

"Why this particular house's?" Kelly asked.

"Likely due to Vaeger's rather disposable attitude towards its serfs. The serf groups are not in themselves suspicious, though such conditions have historically provided a breeding ground for heretic ideologies. I have already petitioned the Sisters Famulous to insinuate an advisor into the Vaeger court, but any changes they can affect will take too long to be useful in averting our current...problem."

The canoness frowned deeply.

"Given that they are primarily serf groups or even local gangs, we do not believe it likely that House Vaeger itself is directing their activity. However there have been warning signs, particularly in one of the groups located in the town of Prospect - closed off premises, coded letters, and most recently several members were seen exchanging coded greetings associated with Tzeentchian cults in the Markyn Marches. I had three sisters in the town, monitoring the cult. One of them transmitted an emergency code yesterday, and neither I or her sisters on station have heard from her since."

...

Machairi pressed her long-fingered hands into the table, as if to stand. "The sooner you can get to Marioch, the better. Any questions?"

Kally raised her hand to get the group's attention. "We should look into the drug trade on the Glom. Arcolin had equipment made out of 'flect shards - equipment we took off him prior to Saros. He might have tried to buy materials to build replacements."

"Good thinking." Machairi agreed.

Sister Kiana nodded, resting her chin on her clasped hands. "I will set one of my sisters on the Glom towards the purpose while you travel to Marioch. Emperor willing, we will have some answers by the time you arrive."

Kally paused, thinking through what to say next. "We should also get some equipment. Arcolin is a top-notch sniper, and that rifle of his is deadly out to extreme range.

"He was arbites-trained, and they do all of their work in urban environments." Marc put in, offering his experience from the Makita hive enforcers. "So he'll be good at medium range; perhaps less so at extreme range and general fieldcraft. Of course, I can't account for any extra practice he might have done with Emerald, since he was the one who gave him that rifle to begin with."

"He wasn't so shit-hot on Teleostei." Vincent grunted. "He missed Taymor - and he missed sheriff Stewart, even if he did blow Frank's throat out in the process."

Marc didn't say anything, but his jaw clenched.

"If needed, I can provide a secondary counter-measure." Vizkop added. "Even if I can just get a glancing shot, he's losing a limb."

"That sounds good to me." Marc growled, with a pitiless look on his face.

"That will do, Black." Machairi said, calmly but firmly, and rose from her seat. "I will give you all an hour to make final preparations. After that, it's over to you. Imperator vult."

"Imperator vult." sister Kiana echoed, lacing her thumbs together. "By your leave, inquisitor, I will return to Baraspine and begin our data-mining on the orbital hub."

Machairi responded with a courteous bow of the head as her agents filed out. She watched Merle, sullen and silent as he was guided through the door by Josiah's hand on his shoulder. Beeare the daemon at your back.

"Josiah?" she called out as the room cleared. "A word."

Josiah halted, turned, and made his way back around the table. Machairi paused until Sapphira had taken up Josiah's duty and pushed the heretic out of the room before she spoke.

"Josiah." she began, clasping her hands behind her back as she looked down at the smaller man. "Vizkop has told me that you approached him in his quarters and tested his reactions. Father Belannor tells me that you have done something similar with agent Sonder and the Black twins."

Her face hardened.

"I commend your vigilance, arbitrator, but this stops now. I am not Lord Sidonis. I do not set my agents to shadowing each other. He might have thought it a precaution, but the paranoia it caused was poison for his teams' integrity and efficiency. I need my agents and the penitents to trust each other, and they cannot do that if they still feel themselves to be on trial."

The inquisitor paused again, and folded her arms.

"Confine your attentions to Carson, Josiah. I need someone I can trust watching him. But if I hear of you endangering my team's integrity again, it will be you in chains. Is that understood?"

She held the arbitrator's gaze for a silent moment.

"Good. Dismissed."

+ + + + + +

Vincent’s one good eye was narrowed watchfully as he loomed a few paces behind the prisoner’s shoulder. Merle, who was eating alone as per Machairi’s orders, studiously ignored him. The chain that bound his wrists and ankles together chinked as he picked apart his food. Every now and then he would look around the mess hall languidly, as if he was blithely appreciating the large space he had to himself. Vincent watched him like a hawk eyeing prey, waiting for some word or action that he could use as an excuse. Josiah had already given Merle one black eye, and Vincent had volunteered to cover the arbiter’s guard duty in the hope of giving him another, during the short span that Josiah was away interrogating the local precinct.

A whir and a clunk signalled the door to the mess hall opening, and Vincent turned to see Machairi and Crenshaw step through the rounded door portal. The inquisitor was dressed in a maroon gown embroidered in gold thread; the major in his typically dour black fatigues.

“Well shit, I wasn’t expectin’ company.” Merle piped up in a seemingly cheerful tone, putting down his plastek fork. “Now I ain’t exactly a connoisseur of fine dinin’, but this here is good. You make it yourself? Always appreciated a woman who was good in the kitchen. Or did you have your rent boy there cook it up for you?”

Vincent was no fan of Crenshaw’s, but it was a good enough excuse. He cuffed Merle with his augmetic hand, hard enough to send his chest and forearms crashing hard into the edge of the table.

“Wanna be keepin’ your trained ape on a tighter leash, now.” Merle snarled at Machairi, his chains rattling as he rubbed the back of his neck. The jovial expression had fallen off his face like a mask as he scowled around his black and swollen eye.

“Time to move out, Vincent.” Machairi said, studiously ignoring the prisoner as she fixed her dark eyes on Vincent.

"So what do we do with this grox-fokker?" Vincent queried.

Machairi spared Merle a brief glance. "We keep him locked up here on the Tiercel. When you find a ship, we keep him locked up on that. The only thing we need him for is any information he might have on Arcolin's plans."

"Sorry to piss all over your assumptions,” Merle growled. “But I have been in a motherfuckin’ cell for the past three months. What in that mighty inquisitor’s brain of yours makes you think I know more’n jack shit about Arcolin's plans? "

Machairi looked sidelong down at him, as if properly noticing him for the first time. "I wouldn't be so flippant about it.” she said levelly. “That thought is the only thing keeping you alive."

"Alive.” Merle sneered, and made a show of holding up his chained hands. “Lemme tell you something, lady – you an’ the soulless wonder followin’ you aroun’ like a li’l lost puppy dog. As long as I'm alive, I'm gonna be doing everything in my motherfuckin' power to hurt you and your people, by any means I can dream up."

"And why would you do that?" Machairi asked mildly.

"Because I can."

Vincent grabbed the back of Merle’s head with his augmetic hand, servos grinding as he gripped, and slammed his face into the table.

"You should be worried about what I can dream up, you ugly little fok." he snarled as the remaining contents of Merle’s plate went scattering across the white ceramic of the table.

Machairi raised a hand, gently. As Vincent stepped back, she planted her fists on the edge of the table and loomed forward towards Merle, meeting his eyes with all the warmth of a firing squad sergeant sighting down their lasgun barrel.

"I'm going to be frank, Carson. You're a dead man walking. Crenshaw wants you executed, Lucullis wants you executed, and I agree with them both. Whatever time you have left is entirely dependent on how useful you can be in telling us about Arcolin's MO while you were serving together under Emerald."

Merle stared her down with simmering animosity.

"You should just have him killed now and be done with it." Crenshaw advised when he and Machairi stood on the Tiercel's elegant bridge, watching the team disperse into the docking bay through the airlock cameras. "He is a security risk, a venomous distraction for your agents, and precious little else."

"Lucullis didn't release him to me for no reason." Machairi answered, folding her arms. Her forehead creased as she frowned at nothing in particular on the humming pict-monitors.

Crenshaw rotated his head to the side, cocking an eyebrow at her. "Have you considered that he might have had an agenda in doing so?"

A smile tugged at Machairi's mouth. "Feyd doesn't have agendas. He doesn't care enough what other inquisitors think. He probably wouldn't have agreed to see you on Terra if he hadn't promised me a favour after Soryth."

Crenshaw gave an amused grunt. "I am always intrigued by your ability to make promises and deals work for you, Alia. I always used to consider them antiquated and overly-emotional."

Machairi mirrored Crenshaw’s head turn, the glow of the pict-sceens playing across the side of her face. "But when so much of the imperium rests on deals between a few powerful people, not unimportant."

"True."

"You need to use promises and deals a lot more in the Hereticus.” Machairi mused as she went back to watching the screens. “I've noticed that since I transferred."
Crenshaw’s jaw flexed slightly, as if he was chewing his tongue. "I would agree with your assessment that they are traditionally the most...ideologically diverse of the ordos."

"That reminds me,” Machairi observed. “How did your mission with Drake turn out?"

"Candidly?” Crenshaw cocked his head slightly to one side. “Rather boring. He was too much of a firebrand. I hear he got himself killed a few months ago, in that botched attempt to retake Coreltis."

"Imperator educabit eum de tenebris." Machairi replied dutifully, marking the Aquila across the front of her dress.

"I cannot say that I am inclined to mourn many hereticus inquisitors. Two of their agents on the Ampoliros turned out to be cultists, and then there was the small matter of inquisitor Yannick throwing me to the proverbial cyber-mastiffs during the cover-up."

“I heard.” Machairi nodded seriously, before showing a flicker of a smile. "On the upside, that did leave you in just the right place to help me gather information on Terra, which puts you under my protection."

Crenshaw did not seem to appreciate the gentle teasing. "Just try not to mention the Ampoliros incident too loudly around Vizkop. Or sister Kiana."

"Major," Machairi said in feigned reproach. "Do I tell you how to do your job?"

She offered him the reassurance of a gentle raise of her eyebrows before she turned back to the screens. There was a pause as she watched her team go their separate ways; Vizkop and Gavin to the machine temple, Kally and Vincent to the arms dealers, Solvan and Marc to the pleasure districts that trader types tended to frequent after a gruelling voyage through the unpredictable warp. She frowned again.

"If I were to admit being uneasy about sending them off alone, would you think less of me?"

Crenshaw clasped his hands behind his back. "I would not. It is entirely logical."

Machairi turned to face him, mirroring the gesture. "Keep an eye on Kally and the others for me while you're on Marioch. And keep two on Carson."

"Now you are telling me how to do my job, Alia." Crenshaw observed mildly. "Josiah knows his business, and Vincent makes for a reasonable redundancy in a pinch. But if you really want to reduce the risks, have Carson executed. Any information he might have is not worth the damage he could inflict on the team - especially the penitents."

Machairi let out a slow breath. "Keep him isolated. I'll make a judgement after I get back from meeting governor Terce on Tephaine."

Crenshaw fixed her with an intense stare. "Beware the daemon at your back, Alia."

A muscle in Machairi’s cheek twitched at the mention of the reading she had first heard five years ago, at the conclusion of her mission on Hercynia. This time, she did not smile and lightly dismiss the warning.

"I don't plan to turn my back on Carson." she said at last.

Crenshaw held her gaze for a moment more, searchingly, and then nodded. "If you will excuse me, Alia, I have an appointment to keep at the telepathica eyrie. I will see what they know."

Machairi returned the nod. "Look after yourself, major. See you in a few days."

"Emperor willing, Alia."

[kardar233]

The Glom sprawled over Baraspine's murky skies like scum on a sewage tank. Over thousands of years of habitation it had fattened itself, consuming less tenacious space stations, satellites, and ships too foolish or feeble to escape. Vessels hung in its patchwork arms, reflecting its unsavoury legacy; the Glom's ancient shipyards had played host to smugglers, bandits, corsairs and worse since before the Imperium had deigned to colonize Adrantis, and that flow of morally questionable characters showed no sign of stopping. Attempting to enforce Imperial law on the station had driven many an arbitrator to Abstraction, and nowadays its demolition was only rejected on grounds that "those whoreson Rogue Traitors would just build a new one someplace we couldn't watch." In the modern day, the Glom's twisted spine served as a haven for types who flouted Imperial law just as casually as their precursors did, dealing in any imaginable vice or murderously illegal good the buyers wanted and the sellers could provide, so long as the price made it worth it. It was an environment of thieves and cutthroats, every inhabitant constantly searching for their next mark or their next "honoured customer", their knives concealed by grimy masks or impeccable tailoring but always itching to come flashing out and let their owners' true natures show. The only people who thrived there were those clever and strong enough to swim the sea of sharks.

The perfect place for Lady Shipmaster Theodosia Prince.

She strode the machine-scrubbed central thoroughfares of the Glom with lazy confidence, her ruby-red dress swirling around her in counterpoint to her precisely measured pace, while the Arthashastra waited untended in the primary docks with the air of a sated carniv. Theodosia wound through the streets, ignoring the pitches of black-frocked salesmen and well-appointed hustlers, and swept through the doors of a small manor house. Her quarry stood to greet her, his ample stomach brushing against the long table he was seated at.
"Lady Prince, always a pleasure, I've ambull steak in Estufagen-"
"I'm sure you understand I have other businesses to tend to, Aurelius."
He winced imperceptibly under Theodosia's wintry smile, but rallied, beckoning a partially-augmetic server whose integrated tray bore twinned fluted glasses and hypodermic applicators. "Just vice then," he said, offering her the choice. Long-fingered hands brought a flute of tawny liquid to Theodosia's mouth and she took a long draught, savouring the smoothness of the provided drink.
"Reth amasec, late fourth, with a splash of, hmmm, Solomon Rookery White Gyn."
Aurelius Iax nodded enthusiastically, the crystal in his left eye socket twinkling rainbow colour with the motion. "I find it opens the flavour... Your palate is admirable, milady, especially considering your..." Theodosia's eyebrow arched as she reached for the injector, and Trader Iax busied himself with the same, backing away from the suddenly thin ice he had found himself on.

In near-unison the lady and the gourmet applied their injectors, the vibrant blue fluid working its way into their bodies in a jet of pressurized air. Theodosia leaned languidly back into her chair and voiced a husky chuckle as she saw her host's pupils dilate; she didn't quite comprehend just why the portly man insisted on a new drug each time she visited, as it impaired his ability far more than it did hers. Controlling the flush of whatever substance he had settled on that day, she made the first move. "The artifacts are in Arthashastra's third portside bay. Three hundred thousand."
A slight sputter emitted from the head of the table as Aurelius choked on his drink. "Two hundred thousand, madam, for the last deliverers I had-"
"And the reason you came to me, Iax, is because every one of your smugglers have ended their journeys in chastisement cells. I've heard one was arco-flagellated, even. Three hundred thousand." Hunching back into his chair, the rotund trader nodded agreement, and Theodosia's expression softened, favouring him with a small smile. "Come now, Aurelius, you're quite aware that my price is well worth it for your peace of mind. I always deliver, and your profit margins are more than vast enough to absorb my costs." His smile slipped back at the mention of his ample profits, and he nodded in agreement.

The Lady stood, drawing her host's eyes to her figure, and made to leave. "Oh, and that new recreational you picked out is quite nice. Do send me a case." Her smile followed her out.

The Glom's merchant promenades made way to murkier streets, framed by Dreamstimm parlours and other purveyors of constrained pleasures. Newer visitors to the Glom often found themselves patronizing these dusky avenues, and not for their advertised services; it seemed to be a constant in the minds of every newcomer to the darker trades that business should be executed solely in smoky private rooms, and her quarry seemed to be no exception.

Theodosia slid sideways from the main street into a sheltered side path and paused to work. As with any resource, the Rogue Traders of the Glom made use of the station itself, though few did so quite as literally as the Lady Prince. The patchwork abomination of the Glom's computer systems informed her that a particular group of fourteen happened to be making their way through the Aegetus Iulia, and with a quiet thanks to whichever piece of the station's tortured machine spirit provided that information, she moved on. Her stride acquired something of a spring as she moved into position. Even in a Rogue Trader's life, the opportunity to deal with the Imperial Inquisition on your own terms came rarely, and Theodosia was looking forward to it.

She paused before the final corner. Steady hands tugged on the dress, refined her appearance, settled with a deep breath.

The Lady Prince appeared out of the gloom and a rakish grin formed on her lips. She stood with the air of someone about to get familiar with a new and interesting set of toys, a statuesque figure both sultry and mischievous, and each agent caught a glimpse of her green-eyed gaze assessing them before moving on. She spoke, her voice low and faintly husky, hints of amusement and curiosity, with an undercurrent of hunger for a new challenge. "Hello, ladies, gentlemen... not-so-gentle men; I'll take the liberty of welcoming you to the Glom. I've word of an interest in movement to Marioch on your part, and I've a ship, a willingness, and... a certain curiosity about you. I'm the Lady Shipmaster Theodosia Prince, and you are quite the interesting set of characters."

[Cfavano]

"I understand, Lady Machiari. I apologize for any damage I may have caused. Old habits die hard, though I make no excuses. It may have been because I was pushed on you, but that is no reason for that. I will cease those actions." He nods, and turns to go. But then he stops.

"One more thing, My Lady. I am very good at 'being someone else', and have never operated in this sector before. If you need someone to go undercover, send me. I have an entire footlocker dedicated to disguises and false identities, even a small machine that can create custom prosthetics and masks to alter my appearance. Of course, the team may use it as well. Something tells me that if DeRei has as much history with you and the team as from what I've heard, he might have people looking out just in case you do come after him. It's what I would do, anyhow." With that he left.

[dakkagor]

+++Aboard the Tiercel, before deployment to the Glom+++

"You'll all be glad to know, I kept it all very simple. Nothing complex, just a nice easy story of dead masters and skilled operators striking out on their own."

Tomas had everyone gather again in the meeting room a few hours after the initial briefing. Now he was handing out slim dossiers, each with a few sheets of plastek credentials. When Vince opened his he raised a scarred eyebrow.

"Bonded Janissaries of the Archcourt Sancteum?" He waved the printed license, stamped with the stylised Ecclesiastical Eagle and the ducal signet ring seal in blood red meme-wax of Archbishop Wender Fray. "How did you get these so fast? These come from Malfi."

Tomas shrugged, a wry grin on his face. "Funny story, actually. Turns out I had a few friends in their administrative staff at the Archbishops palace who I knew from my old regiment."

"Wait, your regiment never disbanded" Kally put in, raising her eyes from her own ID.

"Exactly. So, in return for keeping my mouth shut about their. . .dubious legal status that would see the pair of them Auto-Excommunicated and then strapped into Penitent Engines for their trouble, they handed me a stack of blank, pre-stamped documents for a rainy day. These aren't faked in any way, they are all quite real, the perfect cover identities."

"Who are these guys, anyway?" Kally asked. "I've never heard of them."

"In short, then, you can buy a mercenary license from the Ecclesiarchy on Malfi, and in return for a tithe of ten percent of your earnings to the Church, you are promised, in perpetuity, a Plenary Indulgence. The code of the Bonded Janissaries encourages a high degree of loyalty to their employers, and in the loop holes, a willingness to turn a blind eye to their employees own 'indiscretions', after all, your soul is safe. Rogue traders love these guys, and snap them up whenever they start looking for work. Its a combination of discretion, experience and devotion that it turns out money can buy."

Vince chuckled, and Tomas allowed himself a smile. These documents represented the last two thirds of them he had available, and would likely ever see again. They where a display of trust to the Penitents and a gift, in a way. He wanted to show that they were now part of the team.

"Most of them never make it of Malfi or out of the sub. They work for the Ecclesiarchy garrisoning important locations and augmenting Soritas bodyguard detachments. Most of the high ranking priests come from Malfi's noble families, which have a vicious culture of vendetta, and off-world mercenaries who owe the purity of their souls and their continued paychecks to the Church are one way to guarantee safety."

He sat down back at the table and brought up a hololith image in the centre of the table. A figure, a broad shouldered, bald man wearing brocade and a naval officers uniform, slowly rotated in the flickering green light.

"Before we were Janissaries, we were servants of this Rogue Trader. Captain Devra Flavius. Not really much of a Rogue Trader in all fairness. His family were granted the license about five hundred years ago as some kind of Administratum ruling, and a bulk freighter to back the writ. They generally pottered around the Adrantis sub, playing the local commodities market. Devra, however, took the bulk trader on a gamble to a dead world, and lost his right arm, right leg and right eye. But he came back with a hold full of Archeotech he sold to the Mechanicus, got himself some new limbs, and bought a new ship, a sleek little frigate, on a Mechanicus advanced line of credit. That was the high point of his career, luckily for us. He built a small private army, and set off to find more Archeotech, with a small gaggle of Mechanicus Explorators in tow. For about twenty years he dug around in dead ruins and abandoned star systems, only finding enough to keep his mercenaries paid, but not enough to keep his Mechanicus backers paid off. When the troubles hit Marioch, he lost his family holdings and his fortune. The Mechanicus chose that moment to collect. Poor sap had become addicted to augmetics after his brush with death, and the Mechanicus took back the frigate, took his bulk trader, and when that wasn't enough to balance the books, took his masterwork replacement organs and limbs."

He paused, letting people catch up. He thought he saw Vizkop give the hololith a thoughtful, knowing look, but the moment passed. Something to ask him about, perhaps.

"After that, his little mercenary army got sucked into the fighting on Marioch. Most of them are dead, and your identities are those we feel confident wouldn't be missed in the scuffle, and far enough down in his organisations food chain that the few surviving officers and bridge staff that made it into Rogue Trader employ won't have a reason to recognise you. Thank the throne that he had face concealing helmets for his guards. From there the story is simple. You fled the system on a Pilgrim ship, made it to Malfi as a group, and paid for your Indulgences like good little soldiers. Then you came to the Glom to look for high paying work."

He turned off the hololith, and sat back in his chair.

"I've arranged for a bulk lifter from a water tanker, coming in from the Malfian sub, to pick us up discretely from the Tiercel and get us aboard, all bribes paid in full. Even if they do talk, they will only know that we are deserting form the employ of a Rogue Trader, and not leaving on an Inquisitorial mission." He patted the dossier in front of him. "I believe that these cover stories will stand us in good stead on Marioch, as well as the Glom."

"But how do they help us find transport to Marioch?" Marc asked. "Mercenaries don't get to set course headings"

"True" Tomas nodded. "We have some options there. The first is that we, oh humble Janissaries of a dead master, know of some tech the Mechanicus didn't get their mechandrites on, hidden in a vault on the Flavius estate. That should entice most Rogue Traders to head to Marioch, and spend plenty of time digging around in the ruins. The next option is that we discretely drop cover and 'request' the assistance of the trader in question. It will depend on the character of whoever approaches us first. This cover should present us plenty of choices in that regard."

He stood, and looked at his wrist chrono, making some mental calculations.

"The water tanker will be coming in to dock in about six hours, give or take. That's five hours for you to pack your gear and be ready to deploy. Bear in mind that whatever you leave behind will not be available later, but also your cover stories don't allow a lot of leeway. So exotic or organisation specific equipment" his eyes flicked over to Josiah briefly "like that pair of Cyber Mastiffs will have to stay behind."

Josiah stood up, "Tomas, I would disagree. There is no reason to leave my mastiffs behind. I have had them for many years, and they have more than earned their worth. I do not know on how many undercover operations you have gone on, but, it is easier to explain having a pair of cyber-mastiffs than one would think. They aren't as rare or exotic as they seem, I have had to go up against them enough to know. Sure, while not every two-bit mercenary outfit can afford one, there are many that can. So, if you will reconsider, that would be much appreciated. I know I may seem to be unreasonable, but allow me this."

Tomas blinked in surprise at this outburst. For a second, the Imperial Guard officer wars with the Throne agent over the correct response. Tomas paused, gathered his thoughts, noted the sudden silence in the room and the daggers being stared at Josiahs back from the Penitents, then responded, with a measured and even tone that covered the sudden spike of anger that had surged through him.

"Be that as it may, I have never seen them in service to any one but the Arbites" he lied smoothly. "They are bulky, require maintenance and draw all the wrong kind of attention. Questions will be asked. I chose Flavius for a specific reason: his links with the admech and addiction to Augs help shore up Vizkops, Gavins, Vincents and my own cover stories: all of us have augmetics of one sort or another." He tapped his bionic eye with a fingernail for emphasis. "Gavins psyker nature does not need to be advertised, leaving Kally as the only outlier"

"Thanks. I think" muttered Kally. Tomas shrugged apologetically.

"We will be a group that draws attention, yes. We will be well equipped, obviously skilled and seasoned, with good credentials. But there will be a point where any perspective employer, especially on the Glom, especially a Rogue Trader, will start to be suspicious of the deal we are offering, if it looks too good to be true. If they even suspect for an instant that we are more than we seem, they could be scared off, and the same will be true on Marioch. That place is a vipers pit of paranoia."

Josiah stared down Tomas. "I can tell, looking at you, that there is no way I can change your mind, so i will save us both the trouble and stop arguing. But what I can offer, and I informed Lady Machiari of this, is I have a synth-skin prosthetics printer among my effects, allowing us to enhance our disguises if need be, even going so far as to being able to make colored contacts." Josiah sits back down, "That will be all," he finished.

Tomas met Josiah's gaze evenly and without flinching, not affected by the Arbites attempt to intimidate him in the least. "Then liaise with Sapphira on its use, please."

"Dismissed."