[M] The Prophet In Silver - IC

[dakkagor]

(OOC : Thanks again to Paintserf and Thrannix for input and writing, and putting up with my slow responses this week)

+++Tomas+++

"It shouldn't have turned out like that." she told Tomas grimly.

"No, it shouldn't have." He agreed. "But it did." He turned to Machairi and nodded respectfully. "Nothing you could have done this time. Just bad luck, or bad decisions on their part. Standing in the wrong place at the wrong time. It happens." He sighed, looking the bodies over. how many times had he done this? Too many, by his count. "It certainly looks like the old man has found a deep pile of grox shit this time. Maybe we'll get to do some good for this place on the way to finding him, if the Emperor is generous."

---Before the Mission---

"And that's three-nil." Tomas sentenced without a sign of exertion as his opponent fell to the training cell's floor heavily bruised and the tip of Prinzel's sword touching his neck. "Better than last time though, your drills could be better, especially on the parries. How much time was it?" The young man he was fighting with was too focused in trying to catch his breath to articulate a response.

"Six minutes from the first swing I believe." Said Solvan entering the ring as the beaten man was helped by some of his friends to exit on the way to the infirmary. The priest was wearing a simple white long sleeve shirt and pants in exchange for his usual robe.

"That long? I'm definitely getting old." Tomas lamented shaking his head. "I see you took my little jibe at the mission debriefing about your lack of training seriously."

"I certainly did." Answered the priest grabbing the heaviest training warhammer from the weapons rack, the closest thing he got to his holy weapon, but he never used it outside of a mission. He spun the weapon in his hands for a moment checking its balance.

"But I could come back later if you are too tired after that last match, understandable in your autumn years.” Solvan said mockingly.

"Funny." Tomas replied with a smile drinking from a bottle of water. " But I'll be on a wheelchair and I'll still be able to beat the crap out of you."

"That's probably true." The priest agreed with a chuckle. "Since by then I'll be in a coffin, not much of a challenge I think, but it'll be close."

Tomas was one of the few people on board the Bane who could train with Solvan without holding back due to a misplaced sense of respect for his status as priest. The guardsman would give him hell without any remorse if Solvan's technique was lacking, and the bishop was thankful for it, beatings in the training cages prevented messy deaths on the field.

The fight began with Tomas testing the priest’s defense with quick attacks as Solvan, with the heavier weapon, had to wait for an opening. The bishop parried and blocked with suprising dexterity considering the cumbersome weapon he was using. Solvan almost thought that he was actually doing a good enough job. Just at that moment Prinzle changed the pace and quickly feinted a blow, the priest moved to block and before he knew it the shield came from the other side slamming against his flank. To Solvan’s credit he merely grunted, despite feeling as if he had just been kicked by a grox, and managed to not lose his footing as he backed a few paces.

"Well that'll teach me to not joke around before a match." The priest grumbled when air came back to his lungs and got ready for the next attack.

Later, Solvan found Tomas watching the team embark on the shuttle for the first stage of their trip to Hercynia. His kit was stowed in a bag next to him, and he was watching them board, in ones or twos, chatting amongst themselves or keeping quiet.
Even if the priest wasn't good at reading people, which he was, years of working alongside someone teaches you to notice the subtle changes that hint at inner turmoil. So the bishop could tell that something was off about his friend's demeanor.
“Whats troubling you?” Solvan enquired. Tomas sighed in response, standing as the last stragglers boarded.
“Just reminded of my days in the guard.” He responded. He picked up his kit and slung it over his shoulder. “You always wondered who would make it back from the next deployment, if any of you did. Between warp travel and the battlefield, we didn't rate our chances highly.” He shook his head. “Melancholy thoughts with no place at the start of the mission. I'm certain we'll all make it back in one piece.”
“Who are you most worried about?” Solvan gently prodded as they started to walk towards the waiting shuttle, the old men bringing up the rear.
“The fresher recruits, Thor especially. The psykers, always. I haven't had to conduct a field execution for years and I'm not looking forward to when it happens.”
When. Thought Solvan. Not if.
He imagined for a moment Alex or Malpais dead by Tomas' gun. Killing enemies and heretics was easy, killing your own allies, friends and family was another matter. He knew well enough.
"But it shouldn't happen.” Solvan offered injecting more optimism to his statement than what he truly felt. “We have a good plan, and plenty of competent souls to see the job through.”
“You're right, it shouldn't happen.” Tomas admitted. “But that doesn't mean it won't. We are walking into a war, and in a war anyone can die."

+++Kally+++

It had been good. Kally just hoped the room had decent soundproofing, because it had also been fairly loud in places.

Both of them enjoying the after act glow, the room silent but for their breaths as they slowly returned to normal. They had found the time for some privacy. Not intimacy, Kally thought. This was just satisfying a need. Scratching a difficult to reach itch. As long as she thought about it those terms, a need, something to manage, it didn't feel like she was betraying anyone.
What was there to betray though? It wasn't like anyone else had staked a claim or even that she thought of herself as anyone's in the first place.

“I never told you my name, did I?” Crenshaw asked as propped himself up on an elbow to glance appreciatively down at Kally. The Major eyes slowly traced down her body and back as she rolled onto her side to face him. He met her eyes and smiled warmly in approval.

"What, it’s not Major?" Kally bantered with a less than innocent grin, her head resting on an arm as she glanced up at him.

“Smart ass,” Crenshaw retorted as he reached over and playfully smacked her backside. The Major’s hand lazily meandered over Kally’s skin, and after a moment he leaned in close to whisper suggestively into her ear. Suddenly the Major’s vox chimed off again, and Crenshaw sighed resignedly as he pulled away. Kally opportunistically retaliated for earlier with a not so-gentle swat of her own as he rolled off the bed. The Major glanced over his shoulder, and he smiled knowingly at Kally’s lingering gaze.

“Go for Crenshaw.” The Major said into the vox, as he unashamedly turned to face Kally with the hint of a smirk. It quickly turned into a slightly frown as Crenshaw’s eyes narrowed in annoyance. “Be concise and prompt, Jenkins.”

“What is it?”

“Duty calls.” Crenshaw answered as he terminated the call and tossed the device aside. The Major started to pull together his scattered clothes and began to dress.

“That's a pity, I was thinking that we should try some of that again.” She sat up, stretched, started looking round for her body glove.

“Only thinking?” Crenshaw asked with a grin, as he resumed his re-dressing efforts after pausing to savor the impressive sight of Kally’s physique as she stretched. “Your Interrogator has requested me for a meeting,” He explained without any concern, “Evidently she is running the boy ragged as well.”

“She's hardly 'my' Interrogator. I just work for her. I'm not even part of her regular team.”

“So I heard.” Crenshaw said as he shrugged on his uniform shirt. “Though from what I gathered between you and Vincent, it is not by choice.”

She frowned at that. “I should have expected someone to listen in. What did you hear?”

“Most of your conversation.” Crenshaw admitted, and watched her as he methodically buttoned his shirt. “I take it the life of a Throne Agent is not suiting you?” Kally was temporarily mesmerised by the simple action before blinking, replaying his question in her head.

“It’s not great.” she admitted. “Little freedom, and a lot of danger. I'm coping, but I don't think Vincent is. He's very aware of the cage part of gilded cage deal.”

“It sounds like you are underappreciated by the Inquisition.” Crenshaw said as he curiously regarded Kally with absolute seriousness. “I can assure you that would not be the case in the Telepathica.”

"It’s not that I don't appreciate the offer, but I don't think you can assure anything when someone like Machairi is involved," she climbed out of the bed at last and started to pull on her body glove. "And I have some reasons to stay. I may not like everyone I work with, but I do like some of them, and they need me to watch their backs."

“If you or your friends want to leave the Inquisition, then there is precious little that Alia Machairi or your distant Lord Sidonis can do about it.” Crenshaw countered, and then shrugged. “However that is not what I meant when I assured you that the Telepathica appreciates our kind. More of us serve in this organization than any other. Think about that, Kally. Where ever you went, whatever your assignment, you would never be the lone blacksoul ever again.” He let her have a moment to consider that, and then grinned conspiratorially. “Regularly getting laid is only one of the fringe benefits.”

"Down boy." Kally responded. "This was fun, and I'm looking forward to doing it again. But that's all it is: just fun." She nodded, as much to herself, confirming the statement. "Anyway, we best get moving. Machairi isn't one to wait around."

“Down girl.” The Major echoed, with the hint of a playful smile that faded as he met her eyes. “We both know what this was, what it was not, and why it has to be that way.” Crenshaw secured his gun belt in place and turned to face her directly. “My offer is simply that, an offer. I would like you to seriously consider it, Kally - for your benefit and your benefit alone.”

[Azazeal849]

As Crenshaw approached the gene-locked elevator which linked the underground warren of the AAT complex to the base above, he heard a second set of footsteps over Gavin's hydraulic plodding. He glanced over his shoulder to see another one of Machairi's agents - the one who had spent their initial meeting hidden behind black carapace armour. Now however he had stripped off most of the plates to reveal a taut, angular face, and had traded in his autogun for a dataslate PDA. When he saw Crenshaw look round he tucked the PDA into his webbing and lengthened his stride.

"Major Crenshaw." he hailed, with an accented tinge to his Obrantu that was not dissimilar to Kally's.

Crenshaw halted by the elevator. "Mr Black." he acknowledged the agent coolly, recalling the name from Machairi's introductions.

"May I have a moment?" the agent asked. He was trying to keep his tone neutral, but to Crenshaw the man's agitation was as obvious as if he had been grinding his teeth at him. Doubtless it wasn't just Crenshaw's Blank aura that was to blame either.

Crenshaw grunted in amusement and turned to Gavin. It only took a glance for his adjutant to get the message.

"Um...yes, of course, major Crenshaw. Sir." the gangly psyker mumbled, "I will inform lady Machairi, that is, convey the message to her, that you will receive her in your office shortly."

He fumbled with the handprint scanner for a moment before bundling himself into the lift and mashing the command rune. As the doors rumbled closed and the whir of runners indicated that Gavin was on his way upstairs, Crenshaw turned back to agent Black and offered him the mute interrogative of a raised eyebrow.

"What's going on between you and Kally?" the agent answered without preamble.

Crenshaw cocked his head lazily. "What would have given you the idea that anything was going on, agent Black?"

"Kally's smart but she's not very subtle." the agent said, folding his arms across the front of his carapace undersuit. "And so I'm asking you what your intentions towards her are."

Crenshaw smirked and gave an airy wave of his hand. “My intention is to whisk her away from all of this. We would find someplace peaceful and quiet where we could raise beautiful, soulless children and grow fat and old together.”

Agent Black pressed his lips together in a thin line. "Very funny. Now the truth? The last thing Kally needs right now is someone messing with her head."

“I could not agree with you more - and that is why I have been nothing less than honest with her.” He gestured invitingly at the agent. “You should follow you own logic, agent Black. The truth is that ‘what’s going on’ between us is none of your concern.” Crenshaw stated with warning finality as he crossed his own arms.

"I'll make it my concern," the agent countered, "Because I'm a friend who knows her and cares about her."

“How could you possibly manage to look Kally in the eyes, smile, and call her a friend? You cannot even stand here without straining and glaring at me as if I were Horus himself.” The major snorted in amused disgust as he scrutinized Marc. “If you even can do that, do you genuinely mean it? Or do you have to force yourself to do that one little human courtesy?”

Marc clenched his jaw. Looking Kally in the eye had indeed been hard at first - a sense that every expression she made was insincere, and a sense of something damaged and wrong, like a disfigurement that he couldn't see. But like a disfigurement it had become less shocking with time. When she kept her limiter on anyway.

"You know frak all about it." he growled. "I think of her almost like a sister."

“Almost.” Crenshaw levelly echoed, and let the word linger as he freed a hand to call for the elevator. “I know all the frak about baselines and their qualifiers for my kind. Almost is one of my favorites, however ‘almost like a sister’ is a new one for me.” He chuckled indulgently. “Would you be so protective if Kally was not a blacksoul?”

"It's not the only thing that defines her." Marc said sharply. "Of course I would."

“Then you must really be an overbearing shit with your actual sister.” Crenshaw commented, with a disapprovingly humored shake of the head. The major stepped into the lift and jabbed the controls. He smiled coolly at Marc. “Thank you for this most illuminating conversation, agent Black.”

+ + + + + +

The spartan, gunmetal space of Crenshaw's office was one of the few areas of the base that seemed completely unaffected by the recent attack, although the major's desk now held a small mountain of staple-bound papers and data slates. As he heard the door open, he finally glanced up from his report and gestured to the empty chair across from him.

"Alia.” Crenshaw acknowledged Machairi as she entered. “What do you need?”

"The circumstances have evolved, major." Machairi said as she took the offered seat. Like most of her team she hadn't slept, and while she did well to hide it the tell-tale signs were still there in the slight redness of her dark eyes. Crenshaw merely offered her a forbearing smile and took a sip from the mug of recaff at his elbow.

"You may have heard my people making reference to 'replicants' after the attack." the interrogator went on. "Replicants are xenos constructs that we believe to be affiliated with the Necrons. They operate by mimicking dead Imperial personnel."

She carefully signed the Aquila over her chest. Perverting the perfection of the human form was one of the Imperial faith's greatest taboos. Crenshaw’s expression hardened as he set aside the unfinished drink. He made no effort to mirror Alia's devotional gesture, but he rested his forearms on the table and fractionally leaned forward, as he levelly nodded for the interrogator to continue.

"From reports of the last encounter," Machairi said, "They are capable of rapid healing, shrugging off poisons...and seizing control of machine spirits. We do not have conclusive proof yet, but the similarities with last night's attack are enough to cause concern."

She paused, regarding Crenshaw, who merely nodded again.

"That last encounter saw a replicant replace the planetary governor, infiltrate the orbital defence network and almost destroy the planet with its own lance satellites." Machairi paused. "Now you know what we might be dealing with, major, you will understand why I'm asking you to go beyond our original agreement and get part of my team passage to Rakosu as soon as possible. How can you make that happen?"

“We both know you are not asking me for help, Alia.” Crenshaw grunted. “Not that you would need to demand it.”

He shuffled aside paperwork and slates to reveal a laminated map of the city.

“Valkyries are our only viable means of transport into Rakosu. I would recommend we deploy to one of these secluded locations outside the city.” The Major marked several points distant from the outskirts with a stylus. “The natives have developed keen ears for Imperial engines, so if we infiltrate Rakosu on foot that significantly decreases our chances of detection.”

“I couldn’t help but notice your repeated use of ‘our’ and ‘we’.” Machairi pointed out. “It’s somewhat presumptuous to include yourself into my team, major Crenshaw.”

“You need me on this mission, Alia.” Crenshaw bluntly stated. “Your team barely has actionable intelligence, and is down to as many effectives as Schafer had when he went into Rakosu. My psyker has sensed the escaped raiders’ minds, and I know best how to handle him when tracking in the Uru. I have also worked with Inquisitorial field teams before.”

Machairi's slender eyebrows rose, betraying her surprise. "Have you now? That certainly answers a few questions, even if it poses a few more. May I ask where, and with which inquisitor?"

“So far I have only worked with inquisitor Cassius Drake - in this segmentum.” Crenshaw pressed his fingertips together as he regarded her. “It is your turn, Alia.”

"What did Schafer tell you?" Machairi smiled mildly as she evaded the question.

"He mentioned that you had an unusual affinity for psykers."

Machairi paused, as if choosing her words, or deciding exactly how much she would be giving away by answering. "I have to admit I find them fascinating. So much risk, yet so much potential - and still as human as the rest of us underneath it all."

"And Blanks?" Crenshaw countered provocatively, a smile flickering at the corners of his mouth. "Are we human as well?"

"Human. And everything that that implies." Machairi leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table, lacing her long fingers. "I have to say this is quite refreshing. Contacts don't usually ask me about my personal life."

“I like to know the qualities of those who might one day wield the authority of their own rosette, as does the Telepathica.” Crenshaw answered.

Machairi smiled slightly, resting her chin on her clasped hands. “So you are the ones who watch the watchers, are you?”

Crenshaw reclined back and matched her slight smile. “This is the Imperium, Alia. You know we all watch one another keep an eye on everyone else.” He shrugged and considered Machairi with a speculative eyebrow. “Naturally the talented individuals who might one day become Inquisitors are worth keeping track of.”

Machairi chuckled quietly at the implicit compliment. "Everyone watching everyone indeed. It's always gratifying to meet someone who understands the way the universe really works, major." She leaned forward to study the map. "Which areas of the city are controlled by each indigen faction?"

"The Ramado Sept groups are mostly entrenched in the south and west districts." Crenshaw replied, pointing. "The Vilysian Solar have mostly been confined to the north, although a new Vilysian militia under this self-proclaimed Silver Prophet has made substantial gains in the past weeks. They have secured most of the previously contested city centre, including the only remaining water treatment plant."

"The indigens who attacked the base were Vilysian." Machairi said, tapping one of the landing zones to the northeast of the city. "We should land here."

“That will do.” Crenshaw nodded, and made a notation. “The Enclave is obligated to respond to this raid, so we can coordinate our infiltration with the inevitable Aeronautica retaliation.” He glanced back at Machairi. “No doubt this will be the largest strike on Rakosu since the Uru was broken.”

Machairi nodded. If she was thinking of Tomas' earlier assessment of the war, and her doubts about any decisive outcome from the strike, the only sign of it was in her slightly pursed lips.

"It will give the team cover to enter the city." she said after a moment. "But it might also drive our targets to ground."

“We can always find a way to handle the PDF.” Crenshaw confirmed, and then spared her a curious glance. “Now what was your intention for the rest of your team?”

"If the replicants are following the same strategy as last time," Machairi explained. "They'll target people of influence to replace - traders, high ranking PDF, government officials. I can investigate that possibility best from Akkan, under my cover as a fellow rogue trader. So I will need you to advise father Belannor and the others out in the Uru." She gave Crenshaw a significant look. "The possibility of replicants also aiding the natives is forcing us to go to Rakosu sooner than I would like - and, as you said, with less useful intelligence. But I do not want my people walking blindly into certain death the way Schafer's did."

“Of course.” Crenshaw offered her a reassuring nod. “No need to worry, Alia. I will look after your agents for you.”

Machairi stood up and shook hands with the major. Any revulsion that the blank’s touch provoked in her remained carefully hidden. “As long as you do remember that they are my agents, major.”

My agents. Crenshaw internally noted. Even if you are technically just managing your inquisitor's assets. “Was that a quaint assertion of possessiveness, Alia, or are you trying to imply that you will hunt me down if any of them die?”

Machairi cocked her head. “You set out to know my qualities, major – what do you think?”

“I think that you could certainly try.”

They both smiled as they dropped the handshake, calm despite the mutual implicit threat.

+ + + + + +

The base's chapel was an odd place to hold a mission briefing. Little more than a prefabricated cabin, the raised dais with its tarnished silver idol of the emperor was lit by bare halogen bulbs, while simple benches served for pews. Still, with a pair of gun servitors at the door and Vizkop having already swept for bugs - that no true Emperor-fearing PDF would have planted in a house of worship anyway - they could at least guarantee privacy.

"Last night's attack has altered our plans somewhat." Machairi said after Solvan and Sapphira finished leading the team in joint prayer. The interrogator had changed into a muted midnight-blue gown with a silver belt and stole, make-up hiding the shadow of fatigue around her eyes. "Agents Prinzel, Black, Lia and Remus will be accompanying me back to Akkan. We will continue the investigation into the mechanicus assassins, as well as look for any signs of replicant infiltration in the Hercynian government. The local rogue trader cartel is also a priority - if trader Veiss has the influence that father Belannor said she does, she would be my first target for replication."

Machairi crossed over to the long wall of the church where a map of the Uru capital had been pinned, annotated in red ink.

"The rest of you will be deploying to this point outside Rakosu. Major Crenshaw has arranged for a PDF Valkyrie as transport. Father Belannor will have command of this mission and you will obey his orders as if they were mine."

She nodded towards Solvan.

"Once arrived you will proceed on foot into the city centre, currently held by the same indigen militia that we believe attacked the base last night. Crenshaw and his adjutant will be accompanying you, to help track down this Silver Prophet who leads the militia. The fact that he or she can organise an attack on a military base makes them dangerous enough, but your primary concern is uncovering any connection to xenotech. If the indigens are receiving help from rogue traders such as Haarlock, or if Necron replicants are involved, I want to know right away."

Machairi swept her hand over the city's northern quadrant, a patchwork of industrial and residential districts. How much of it remained standing after a decade of war was anyone's guess.

"Your other objective remains to find Schafer, whose last known location was somewhere in the northern zone. If he's still alive, then we can find out what he knows and hopefully be one step closer to solving this mystery."

Machairi stepped away from the map and folded her arms.

"Everything suggests that the city is still a hot zone for warring indigen factions, so avoid any unnecessary contact. Indigens possessing xenotech are to be tracked, interrogated or liquidated at your discretion; any positively-identified replicants are to be engaged and destroyed on sight. Vizkop, I believe you have been working on modifying our auspex scanners for replicant detection."

She paused while the armoured secutor passed his creations around to the team.

"Keep them active at all times. Any questions?"

Machairi linked her thumbs into the sign of the Aquila. "Imperator vult. I want everyone ready to leave in 30 minutes."

+ + + + + +

The base floodlights were beginning to flicker out, leaving the base washed in a heavy, pre-dawn grey. The casualties of the previous night had been removed, but the scorched rockrete and the bullet holes in the prefab buildings remained, and an air of tension and simmering anger was evident in the PDF who swarmed around the muster areas. Chimera engines rumbled and Valkyrie jets were coming to life with a rising whine. All along the parapet of the perimeter wall, kill-servitors stood with heavy stubbers raised, tracking the long barrels left to right and back again like living turrets. Dozens more of the pale cyborg drones were ranked up by the doors of delivery pods that were being slung beneath the hollow bellies of three Skytalon transports.

"Interrogator?" a voice behind Machairi spoke up. She and Tomas looked back in unison, to see Marc Black following them out into the windswept courtyard.

"Marc?" Machairi answered, intrigued that the investigator would seek her out alone instead of when she had invited the team to ask questions. She touched Tomas' arm in a subtle signal to stand down, and adjusted her silver stole against the wind as they stopped under the shadow of the crackling astropathic spire.

"May I speak freely, ma'am?" Marc asked. He was standing ramrod straight, falling back into old habits no doubt learned in the Makita Hive Enforcers. Clearly, something was weighing on his mind.

"Always." Machairi replied, and was gratified to see the investigator relax slightly.

"I wanted to ask you why you're not sending me into the Uru with the others."

The others, Machairi noted. By that she knew he meant the rest of Schafer's former agents.

"It's not an admonishment, if that is what you are worried about." she replied calmly. "I need an investigator to accompany me back to Akkan, and the other team are going somewhere rather more violent."

"With respect ma'am, I'm fully qualified for urban combat."

That wasn't the real reason, Machairi knew. "But," she probed, "It's not your primary talent. Unlike, say, Vincent or Kally."

She saw Marc's cheek twitch slightly, and knew she was on the right track. "So why's Kelly going?" he asked a moment later.

Machairi had been wondering how much of an issue separating the Black siblings would be. "I need her to analyse the scenes of the shootouts between the indigen factions." she explained. "If we find evidence of xenos weapons, we can start building a case against Haarlock. But now we might have replicants to contend with as well. You're a good investigator; you can piece together information. Moreover, you've seen the replicants in action before. That's the kind of person I need with me for this."

Marc vacillated for a moment at the compliment, then nodded. "Yes ma'am. Thank you."

He didn't fight the decision, but the slight hesitation told Machairi what she needed to know. He knows his duty, but his sister and the other Solomon survivors are important to him.

She kept her thoughts hidden as she returned his nod. "Was there anything else, Marc?"

"No, ma'am." the investigator replied, straightening once more. Machairi gave him permission to leave with a smile and a sweep of her hand.

"Marc?" she asked him as he turned to leave. As he paused, she raised her eyebrows at him. "Thank you for raising this here rather than in front of the others, but do not challenge my orders like that again. Understand?"

Marc chewed the inside of his cheek. "Yes, ma'am."

Machairi dismissed him with a gentle nod. As the agent retreated, she shot a glance at Tomas. Their understanding of Marcus Black and of Schafer's other agents was evolving.

[Atrum Daemon]

“Vizkop! Tell me you've got that replicant detector with you!”

Marc's voice barked through the vox just as the priest finished thinking about the device. “It's in my case,” he replied. “I brought it with the hope of refining the detection.”

In the aftermath of it all, Vizkop became aware of an itch at the back of his mind. This one, however, was very familiar. A feeling he knew very well and had come to expect at certain times. It was something to be dealt with through action rather than therapeutic conversation. Despite all the ceremony and ritual he was able to perform as a ranking member of the Martian Priesthood, at his core Vizkop was a man of violence. His masters had turned him into a weapon and he had accepted that. They had turned him into a weapon and his mentor had taught him how to think, and feel, again.

But the whole incident bothered him in a big way. He began to wonder if his theory about Oswin being planetside was correct after all. If he could locate this Englebart, or at least his last known location, he felt that some answers would fall into place. But at the moment, he needed to focus on keeping the priests and engineseers on task.

--Malpais--

As things quieted down, the psyker was at a loss for what to do with himself. In the end, he simply let himself he led away with the rest of Machiarii's entourage. He knew his bubbling temper was not a healthy thing to keep locked away, especially with the current state of affairs. For a moment, his eyes locked with Vizkop's and a silent understanding passed between them. They could work out their frustration and anger together.

--A few hours before the briefing--

Vizkop and Malpais met in a vacant area of the AAT facility, clear in purpose without truly needing to speak. Vizkop drew one of his twin blades, the power field crackling to life with a low hum. Malpais followed suit, his blade becoming sheathed in a field of psychic energy. They each gave the other a nod of understanding before readying their blades.

Power fields sparked and sizzled as sword met sword again and again. The two were focused entirely on one another, senses largely dulled to the world around them. Malpais remained focused mainly on the jarring sensation he felt whenever blade met blade. Against Vizkop's synthetic muscles, he was positive that without the telekinetic cushion about his limbs, his bones would fracture with each impact. Despite the anger present within the space, the movements of both men were measured and deliberate; both of them remaining able to recognize that what they were doing was not a true bout, but simply a way to work out their collective frustration and anger at the whole situation without putting lives at risk.

Volumes of unspoken information passed between the two men as their blades clashed. A deeper understanding of one another through a equal show of martial skill. What Vizkop noted most about Malpais was that despite his telekinetic powers, he did not rely on them to guide his sword. It was something that intrigued Vizkop for the entire duration of the bout.

The sparring came to an unspoken end and both men sheathed their blades. Wordlessly, save for a some small acknowledgment, they went their separate ways until such time as they would be called together again by Machiarii.

--Chapel Briefing--

Vizkop stood slightly apart from the rest, arms crossed and a small case set on the pew he stood next to. The case was locked to his biometric signature to prevent the contents from being pilfered by dirty, unwanted hands. An excursion into enemy occupied territory like Rakosu seemed to Vizkop not to be the best course of action but the recent events did necessitate something be done. After all he reckoned he had worked under worse conditions. At least they were going in properly prepared.

“Vizkop, I believe you have been working on modifying our auspex scanners for replicant detection.”

He nodded at Machiarii's words and keyed in the rune on the case. The black box popped open after confirming his identity and he extracted the modified scanners. It was a project he had started under dire conditions on Venatora with some helpful suggestions from Sister Sapphira and had continued with the proper tools and blessings on the ship afterward. All tests and data said that his current design was much more accurate than the original. He handed one to each member of the team, not needing to explain the workings of an auspex to any one within the chapel.

Malpais received his and fixed it to his belt without comment. His face was a mask that hid his gladness at being able to take the fight to their heretical enemies. He could not hate the idigins for they were simply the unwitting and unfortunate pawns of men who had strayed far enough from the Emperor's light that the only salvation for them was death.

[Thrannix]

---15 years ago---

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

A rictus of pain came across his sister’s face, as if the words had been physical blows. She took a step back evidently appalled by the idea.

“What? No!” She spat at him defiantly, all the frailty and weakness that haunted her frame when the bishop entered the cell was suddenly gone.

“I’m not praying to your Corpse God, he wants me dead anyway. Now get me out of here!” Allana demanded closing on Solvan, her voice distorting into a snarl that rattled his bones.

The priest felt how the temperature in the room dropped several degrees as his sister screamed her final command, his breath now visible in the air. He stood there petrified, unable to think, the words Corpse God echoing in his mind and silencing everything else.

“Oh Ally… you foolish girl… what did you do?” He whispered, his voice breaking out at last as suspicion gave way to horrible realization.

The thing that was using his sister’s visage finally lost its patience. She grabbed the priest by his robes and slammed him against the wall with unexpected strength. Her eyes had turned into unnatural black pits.

“You will help me escape this place!" The creature screamed in his face, human teeth turning into fangs. "Or I will spend the rest of eternity torturing your lovely sister’s soul!”

Solvan felt the terror rising within him, locking him in place in the face of such indescribable evil. But deeper in his heart he felt sorrow for the tragedy that had befallen the person most dear to him, he fell to his knees trembling. Slowly, from that endless well of sorrow, rage began to bleed out.

"Never... daemon." Solvan articulated, the last word burning his tongue, with tears in his eyes while a part of his soul still refused to believe what was happening.

"Ah, how pitiful." The thing laughed hellishly as it clutched the priests neck and made him stand against the wall. "You will free me. I can smell your fear weakling."

Solvan was thinking as quickly as he could, fighting against his fear, focusing on his sister, despite his mounting panic and shock he refused to give up so pathetically. He had to try, for Ally, for himself.

Questions swirled in his mind. Why was this thing still here? Why not escape sooner? With the answer slowly dawning in his brain and at last he saw a faint shred of hope.

He made a quick recall of every tome on exorcism he had read. The setting wasn't ideal, and he hadn't brought all the necessary tools. More importantly the daemon had surprise on its part, he had to turn it around, he had to be on the offensive.

"I am afraid, terrified, in fact." He admitted struggling as his wind pipe started to close. The daemon returned him a victorious grin. "But you failed to account for other human qualities."

The grip on his throat loosened a little. "Oh really?" The daemon said, its curiosity peaked, the sickening smile still fixed to its distorted face. "And what would those be?"

"Hatred... and faith!" Solvan bellowed taking the aquila hidden in his hand and slamming it against the thing’s forehead.

It screeched in pain, the aquila turning red hot with the contact with the possessed flesh. Frost started to form on the priest beard and tears froze on his cheeks as reality's veil grew thinner.

“God Emperor, You that by right have ownership of this soul, cast away with Your infinite power the evil that plagues it and wishes to steal it from You.” As the words poured out blue flames and lightning erupted from the point of contact, a ghostly wind started twisting around the two figures in the enclosed space of the cell.

The daemon released Solvan's neck and tried to back away. But the bishop grabbed his sister's ragged shirt and pulled the daemon towards him keeping the pressure of the golden aquila as he continued to speak. “As wax melts against the flame so shall your enemies melt in the face of your holy light! Immortal Emperor of Man, You who have stand watch for ten thousand years on the Golden Throne, have pity of your daughter’s plight, restore that which was corrupted, in Your name let this be done!”

The priest felt his hand burning, his palm blistering as the spectral flames kept leaking from the daemon's rupturing skin. But he held on, all his will, all his fear, all his rage were focused on that hand pressing the holy symbol on his possessed sister's head.

"You thought you could lay low and get away!" Solvan yelled at the thrashing daemon. "But they placed you here, an Ecclesiarchy prison, a holy bastion to imperial faith! The very walls are fitted with blessed wards and protection runes! You are weakened, unable to bring your warp-spawned powers to bear!"

"You fokked up! And in the God-Emperor's name I will make you pay!" At that moment, as Solvan spoke, he could see despair flashing in the daemon's eyes.

---Present Time---

Solvan stayed in the chapel after the party had left. He had no preparations to make so decided to spend the next moments in prayer. He prayed to the Emperor so He would grant him the wisdom to lead his comrades to victory. He prayed asking for His protection so that no more valuable lives would have to be lost, the faces of Alia and Tomas the more distinct in his mind.

And as every day for the last fifteen years, with the ache of a freshly open bleeding wound, he prayed for his dead sister’s soul.

[Azazeal849]

The thick, armoured hull of the Valkyrie jump-jet reduced the scream of the engines to a more sombre drone as the team streaked westward, towards the last bruise of purple that banded the horizon as the two suns climbed. Solvan's team, along with Crenshaw and a silent, fidgeting Gavin, were squeezed into the passenger compartment, all with long native robes covering their armour. They would never have passed for indigens, but at least they didn’t blatantly look like Enclave Imperials.

Kelly seemed irritated, scowling at her hands as she sat fidgeting with the loose waterproof robe that covered her flakweave trousers. Seemingly looking for something to distract herself, she exhaled and looked around the cabin, catching the eye of major Crenshaw who sat opposite.

“How many people did Schafer take with him last time you tried this?” she asked, raising her voice over the muted roar of the Valkyrie’s engines.

Crenshaw cocked an eyebrow at the question, and then shrugged. “Eight men. Four of them were hulking carapace-armoured monsters with bionics wired into their bolters and bright blue optics.”

“Quasars?” Vincent grunted in surprise, rousing from his own reverie. “The old bastard wasn’t messing around. Those half-augmetic fokkers are kitted out for heavy close combat.”

“And even dressed up, they were about as conspicuous as redemptionists at a family funeral.” Crenshaw commented dryly.

“Quasars?” Kelly asked.

“Lord Sidonis’ elites.” Vincent explained. “Kally and I saw a few of ‘em training with the Carbon stormtroopers once. Sidonis must have thought there was serious gak going down here if he loaned them out.” The one-eyed soldier chuckled. “He was right, mind.”

“It does get somewhat rough out in the indigen cities.” Crenshaw agreed neutrally. “After this much time, I would not rate your chances of finding interrogator Schafer alive as particularly high.”

“If Schafer was killed out there...” Kelly mused quietly, looking at Vincent and Kally. “Do you think he might have been replicated?”

“We’ll soon know, either way.” Vincent replied, and patted the auspex that Vizkop had given him, now hanging on his belt webbing beneath his waterproofs.

Kelly rubbed the bridge of her nose and turned to look out the transparisteel strip of the side-door window next to her. As the Valkyrie banked a deep groove in the muddy earth became visible, a wide shallow trench that snaked through the lowpoints of the rocky scrubland. Muddy pools and trickles ran down the centre of the trench, most of it overgrown with green splotches of moss and algae. It was only when she saw a series of bombed-out pumping stations squatting on the west bank of the trench that Kelly realised she was looking at a river bed. The rain had swollen the strangled stream at the bottom of it, but the water was still foetid and brackish, little more than a muddy trickle.

"What river was that?" she asked.

"The Rak, ma'am." the Valkyrie's co-pilot answered her, briefly turning the visored bulb of his helmet back towards the door that separated the cockpit from the cramped passenger compartment. "Trader Veiss won a contract to dam the river about a hundred kilometers upstream and pipe it back to Akkan. It's only a couple of minutes flight time from here to the Ghost capital."

Kelly blinked. "Did that river used to feed Rakosu?"

She had grown up in a hive city on a desert world, but she knew that conventional settlements tended to spring up around water sources, and the connection between the river and city names lent credence to the notion.

The co-pilot laughed. "The governor thought it'd be a good incentive for the stubborn locals to convert to the true faith. If the Ghosts are too frakking stubborn to move to Akkan or to even buy from Veiss' plant then let the bastards parch." He looked ahead. "Coming up on Rakosu now, and it looks like we're just in time for payback for last night. Here, you'll want to watch this!"

The pict screen on the front wall of the twin-row passenger compartment flickered to life, relaying an image from the camera slung alongside the Valkyrie's forward multilaser. Past the curve of the barrel, the horizon was dominated by an urban sprawl of dense, slate-grey buildings. Many of the taller buildings had been noticeably ruined, which combined with the grey stone gave Rakosu the appearance of a jawbone full of broken, rotten teeth. Cruising into view now above the city were a formation of wide-winged Marauder bombers, painted in the ash grey of the Enclave PDF. As the team watched, a cluster of black specks detached and fell away from each bomber, arcing almost gracefully into the city below. The first of the warheads burst in midair above a trio of still-standing tenements, spraying a hemisphere of white aerosol which stretched into a longer black cloud. A split second later, there was a bright flash and the cloud blossomed into an orange fireball. The blast front of the explosion was clearly visible as the three tenements disintegrated, one after the other. More fireballs chained off, as the thermobaric weapons carved a wave of destruction through the city centre.

"Burn, you bastards!" the co-pilot cheered savagely. "Teach 'em to murder good PDF men and women!"

+ + + + + +

Breaking into the PDF datanet would have been a difficult task, except the inquisition had vast teams of autosavants constantly working to find and exploit cracks in every cogitator system in the Imperium - STC sanctioned or otherwise. It pitted the inquisition against not only their enemies but also their supposed allies in the mechanicus, who worked with militant aggression to protect their closely-guarded technical knowledge at every turn. A former enforcer detective, Marc was no stranger to data mining, but his job was made vastly easier by the set of cracker djinns that had been downloaded into a micro data wand, hidden in the inquisitorial agent's signet ring that had been given to him upon joining Sidonis' retinue. Tailored to the STC operating systems in use in Illyrium and the Enclave, all Marc had to do was flip up the ring's cover with the inquisitorial I on it, pull out the data port, and plug it into the cogitator of the administratum comms office that he had just broken into.

The worm djinns slipped under the radar of the PDF's guardian programs, and reams of classified data began to scroll across the screen as the machine spirits gave way. Hunting selectively, Marc picked and chose his targets. They could sift through the data for relevant communications later, but trying to simply grab everything would take too long to download - and would be exponentially more likely to get noticed. As the hunter algorithms went to work and began to parse and copy information back to his data wand, Marc had little left to do but wait, and waiting got him thinking again about the bad terms he and his sister had parted on.

Far from being supportive, Kelly had been furious when he had told her about confronting Crenshaw.

"That was pure shan, Marc!" he remembered her shouting at him almost as soon as the shock had faded from her face. "Would you start that sort of shit with me like I was still 15 and scamming into a club with you for the first time?"

"What?" Marc had responded, taken aback.

"Then why the frak are you doing it to Kally? You should respect her enough to make her own Emperor-damn decisions!"

"I do!" Marc had protested. "That wasn't my point."

"I ken. I'm trying to make it your point." Kelly had shaken her head, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "I'm not going to tell Kally about this, but you'd better hope she doesn't find out anyway."

"Look," Marc had said, his own voice rising before he controlled it. "I wasn't trying to...I'm sorry."

"Aye, whatever." Kelly had responded, shaking her head and walking away. And that was the last time he had been able to speak to her in private before the team had split for the twin missions to Rakosu and Akkan.

Marc exhaled down his nose. The memory caused him stress that he didn't need right now, but he kept coming back to it, like an itching wound that he didn't know how to treat or to leave alone. Looking out the window of the grey, cubical office, Marc saw dawn rays reflecting orange across the building opposite. Kelly and the others would be touching down in Rakosu any time now, even though it was at least half an hour before the first administratum adepts were likely to show up in the deserted office block.

"Marc?" Machairi's voice sounded through the microbead in his ear. "We are going through your case notes on the Venatora incident. Do you have any theories on why the Necrons didn't deploy more replicants on Venatora?"

Marc had been in intermittent contact with Machairi and the others since being dispatched to the office, while the rest of the Akkan team remained on lookout from their hotel suite a block away. Enigmatic though she was, the interrogator provided a welcome distraction from Marc's current thoughts. He paused to consider his response. It was a question he had asked himself once the immediate urgency of the Venatora mission had worn off. After all, the constructs that had replaced Noyer, Clement and ultimately governor Faroven had had ample opportunity to kill and replace others.

"I had a couple." he replied softly, and began to reel off his pet hypotheses while he watched the green line of the cracker djinn's progress bar ratchet towards completion. "They might have had limited resources to make more of them. Or it might have been that three replicants was all that they needed. It only took one to get to Faroven, and from there they nearly brought down the planet by themselves. Or maybe they were just trying to keep a low profile. Every assassination is a risk."

"Secrecy." Machairi made a thoughtful noise. "They won't have as much of a problem with that here. There's any number of factions they could hide in on this fractured continent."

Marc chewed the inside of his cheek, thinking of the secretive rogue traders, the mechanicus assassins who had tried to kill Vizkop, and of the indigen nations who were at each others' throats as much as the Imperials. Thinking of Rytu and Zakarn, and their tug-of-war over the shattered Uru, he couldn't help remembering his first meeting with the Venatoran governor Faroven, and how the man had deftly negotiated around residual indigen tensions. He hoped that Faroven's replacement would be as effective at handling the Venatoran tribes, and reflected that a leader of Faroven's calibre would not have allowed the situation here on Hercynia to slide into its current quagmire.

A blinking amber rune lit up on Marc's hijacked cogitator display. It signalled that someone had detected his intrusion into the PDF mainframe. He glanced at the creeping progress bar of his data dump. Going by enforcer response times in his home hive, he reckoned that he had only a couple of minutes before more powerful guardian programs were unleashed into the network to quarantine his own data djinn, and perhaps a minute more before PDF units were dispatched to his location.

"Marc." Machairi's voice cut across his thoughts, a sharp edge in it now. "PDF chimera closing on your position."

"Understood." Marc acknowledged. The local peacekeepers were better than he had thought. Perhaps they had been lucky enough to already have a unit patrolling the area, or perhaps the current security measures against the oppressed indigens had sharpened their response times. Or perhaps their lexmechanics had found him sooner than his probing data djinn had picked up on the fact. He glanced at the progress bar. Twenty seconds; maybe less. Add the time to get out of the building. Too long, if Machairi and the others could already see the PDF.

"Marc." interrogator Machairi warned him again.

"I'm moving." Marc assured her, slipping his finger through the signet ring and ripping the protruding data wand out of its connection port. He began punching runes to shut down the cogitator and cover his tracks, forgetting all of the appropriate machine benedictions out of a need for haste.

An engine roar; a squeal of tyres. Shouted orders in Obrantu. Marc worked quickly and methodically, using the noise and the warning beeps of his cogitator to focus - just like the cacophony of underhive hate metal that paradoxically helped him to focus when writing his reports. From the street below there was a metallic crack, and a shattering of glass. As the screen of his cogitator imploded into a white dot and faded to black, Marc glanced out of the window, and caught a glimpse of PDF soldiers storming into the neighbouring administratum complex, lasguns held tight to their shoulders. They converged on an empty worker's cubicle, lit up a dull blue by its placidly idling cogitator.

Marc turned away, grateful that the inquisition worm programs scrambled themselves through proxy cogitators as a standard feature to evade pursuit. Hurrying downstairs, he forced the doors of the still locked-down office to give way before his blue level inquisition clearance, and slipped away down the street perpendicular to the arriving PDF.

"Clear." he whispered as he pulled his PDA out of his suit jacket and plugged the signet ring into it. Another green progress bar appeared as the stolen data began to transfer. "Information should be coming through to you now."

+ + + + + +

If Rakosu was a grim and ugly city from a distance, from the ground it was worse. The rain of the previous day had stopped, but the damp humidity of its passing remained. It gave the air a clingy, oppressive quality as the temperature slowly climbed.

"I wonder what Fred would have to say about this architecture." Vincent grunted as he pulled at the collar of his rain-cloak. The buildings around them were sullen slabs of rockrete, that had suffered badly over the course of the war. Bullet craters seemed to have been layered onto some of the walls, and others sported gaping holes from explosion impacts. Some were splashed with the flaky brown stains of dried blood. Few of the scarred buildings showed signs of habitation, although here and there a chalk-white indigen was slumped against a wall, looking up at the team with pink eyes that were glazed over from some heavy-duty narcotic. The grey sky to the south of them was smudged by plumes of smoke rising from the central districts.

"Can you blame the guy for going back to the collegia?" Kelly murmured in reply, "After all that gak on Venatora?"

She frowned as her eyes roamed warily around the desolate street. According to Crenshaw, this district had been destroyed in the original Imperial invasion, and few indigens lived here now. Their former colleague Fredriq L'Houce was probably lucky not to be caught in the middle of this pitiable pre-Imperial hellhole. Kelly tried to imagine what the Uru capital had looked like before the hammer of Imperial might had shattered it into its current, faction-riven state, but was interrupted by the sound of voices ahead. The team immediately stopped, sinking quietly to one knee on either side of the road, fingers laid alongside triggers. Abdur crept forward under cover of a pile of rubble that looked like it had once been part of a shop, and stared ahead for a few moments before waving them forward. Maintaining their spread, the team cautiously advanced.

The susurrus of voices became a hacking and coughing of heavily accented Obrantu. Where the next street joined the main road, some sort of checkpoint had been set up; a knot of men with non-standard autoguns slung over their chests were watching a stumbling column of indigens wind their way towards the city outskirts. Some wore the familiar bulbous flare goggles, while others were uncovered, squinting in the harsh sunlight. Those whose albinism had left them almost blind were being led by the hand by their fellows. There were men and women and children, arms full of bundles and backs bent beneath haphazard stacks of food, blankets and random valuables. A few were dragging injured legs; others supporting injured comrades. A skinny girl of perhaps 14 standard years was gently leading a younger boy, whose face was covered with half-congealed blood. The blood did not seem to be his own, but his eyes were wide and staring, and he moved with a dream-like stumble. Some of the other children were similarly blank faced, while others were streaked with tears; and near the front of the line a young mother was holding a wailing infant to her chest, trying to calm it. There was an urgency about the column's movement, but it was bleary and uncoordinated - ground down by fatigue and shock.

After she was able to tear her eyes away from the stumbling exodus, Kelly noticed something else. The refugees were all albino, west-continent indigens; the men manning the checkpoint were not.

"The soldiers." she pointed out to the others. "Offworlders?"

"Ja." Vincent murmured in agreement. "Could be Haarlock's."

"Or heretics." Crenshaw replied darkly. "A few of the indigen settlers from Illyrium kept to their old gods and slipped out of Akkan to join the guerrilla war."

"We could try and get information from them?" Kelly suggested, shooting a questioning look at Solvan. "Soft approach, keep a few sharpshooters back in case they turn hostile?"

"They probably wouldn't try and kick off at us." Vincent said, his mismatched eyes narrowed at the four armed men as he made a Guardsman's appraisal of the situation. "There's more of us and we've got bigger guns." He nodded his bald head towards the refugees. "There's an awful lot of civvies to run away and raise an alarm if shooting did start, mind."

“There are too many witnesses, period.” Crenshaw noted. “I highly recommend that we find another route.”

[dakkagor]

(OOC : Thanks again to Thrannix!)

+++Tomas+++

+++After the Briefing+++

As the agents filed out of the chapel, Tomas frowned. He cast a look back to Machairi, then over to Solvan. Solvan was going into the axis. That worried him. More accurately, he worried for his friend.

“Solvan, a moment.” he walked up to the old priest and smiled. “May not get a chance for a proper good bye otherwise.”

“Things are certainly moving fast.” the old priest agreed. “What are you worrying about now?”

Tomas drew Solvan aside from the others, and lowered his voice. “You and the rest are going into a warp damned warzone. Neither of us are as young as we used to be. Really you should be going with Machairi and I should be going to the Axis.”

"I have thought of that." The bishop admitted in a whisper, his eyes filled with concern. "But I wouldn't underestimate the dangers you are going to face by disturbing the wasp's nest from within."

"In the next days Alia is going to need her bodyguard more than ever. At that particular role you become irreplaceable." Solvan continued, looking at Tomas and sharing the same sentiment, knowing that his friend would die without a second thought if it meant saving Machairi. "As the oldest members of Alia's retinue on site one of us needs to go to the Uru."

"So roles will be inverted this time around." The bishop said after a pause. "I'll be in the frontline, enjoying some honest face to face confrontation for once, and you'll have to endure the fancy dinners and parties with assassins behind the curtains, poisonous wine and the other myriad dirty tricks that corrupt aristocrats love.”

“I may be old, but I can still look after myself, Tomas.” Solvan put his right hand on his comrade’s shoulder. “Mainly thanks to you I might add."

“I'm not saying you can't look after yourself, just, gah, I don't know. Just stay safe you cantankerous old bastard. I'll see you on the other side, Emperor willing.”

"The same goes for you, my cranky senescent friend." The priest replied, a smile on his face once more. "My prayers, and the Emperor's blessing, go with you Tomas."

+++At the capital+++

"Information should be coming through to you now."

“Confirmed.” Tomas responded. He put down his dataslate with the case notes from Venatora and picked up one designated to receive Marcs stolen data. He nodded appreciatively as the files started to appear, and he started to sort them by relevance. He sat down in one of the apartments overstuffed chairs, and began to skim read the contents.

“Anything interesting?” Machairi asked, walking over with two hot mugs of recaf after nearly an hour had passed, with Tomas deep in thought.

“Some bits.” He mused, before accepting a mug with a muttered 'thanks'. “As we where told, most of those kill-servitors where supplied by the Rogue Traders. These order numbers should allow us to track who's been selling which makes and marks. Potentially useful.” He scrolled through some more files. “Oh ho. Here's something interesting.”

He flipped the dataslate to show Machairi the file while he slugged back the recaf.

“Meeting minutes. About how to handle the problems in the Axis.”

“Right” he scrolled through the file again. “RTV. Rogue Trader Veiss. Looks like Veiss was the one pushing for the switch from 'expensive' peacekeeping with the PDF to the damnable witch guided servitor strikes. From some of these memos, it looks like they spent time selling it to the general public as well.”

“So.” Machairi tapped the side of her mug, in thought. “The Rogue Traders can almost to be said to have created the market here, the whole situation, to make a profit?”

“I'd agree with that assessment.” Tomas nodded. “There are other things, some older files from before the establishment of the Enclave. It looks like the Rogue Traders should have snapped up the reconstruction contracts in Uru territory, putting infrastructure back together, but half of those still look pending today. I'd have to check the individual invoices, and that could take some time. I have a list of initial strike targets here. Most of them are Uru, signed of by the Governor himself, and almost all of them are infrastructure with few military targets.”

“Why are the contracts unfulfilled, then? And why infrastructure?” Machairi sat down across from Tomas, cradling her mug in her hands.

Tomas slid the dataslate across the table. “The first one is easy. When it all went to shit, the PDF pulled out and the rogue traders didn't have the boots on the ground to garrison their construction projects. So most of them have been abandoned or just ignored. The other one. . . that's not so clear. A long attrition war, you go after infrastructure. A rival power you want to break, but not conquer? Infrastructure. Breaks the will to fight, scorches the earth. But if you are tackling a nation with an army, with the aim to keep the territory you take, you want that infrastructure as spoils from the war you are going to fight. So you target the military with your first overwhelming assault. Smash them aside and ensure they can only roll over and surrender. Then you settle in for the long haul. This” he tapped the dataslate accusingly. “Speaks to different priorities. The Rogue traders could make money, good money, off STC infrastructure projects. You could justify it, I suppose. Cow the enemy, puts the fear of the God Emperor into the other nations. . . smash the Uru, the strongest faction, sue for peace with the other two, and start the work on dividing up the spoils. Maybe.”

“But it didn't happen that way.” Machairi responded, picking up the data slate and reading the files herself.

“No, this time it didn't.” He shook his head. “You can't garrison a city with servitors and airstrikes.”

+++Kally+++

Kally was sitting by the bay door, checking the ropes they would be using to descend from the Valkyrie. It had been decided to fast rope into the ruins with the Valkyrie idling for minimum impact and exposure to ground fire, still a possible threat in the ruins.

“If Schafer was killed out there...” Kelly mused quietly, looking at Vincent and Kally. “Do you think he might have been replicated?”

“We’ll soon know, either way.” Vincent replied, and patted the auspex that Vizkop had given him, now hanging on his belt webbing beneath his waterproofs.

“I gakking hope not.” Kally offered. “Those things were tough to kill. And who knows what kind of damage a Replicated Inquisitorial Agent might be able to do?”

She lapsed back into silence as the conversation continued on, checking her gear methodically and avoiding everyone's gaze. She had a bad, nagging feeling about something and she just couldn't place it.

+++Rakosu+++

“There are too many witnesses, period.” Crenshaw noted. “I highly recommend that we find another route.”

“Thats easier said than done” Kally muttered. “This place is a warren. Give me and Abdur 20 minutes though, and I should have something we can move the rest of the group through.”

Before there was a response, Kally slunk of into the ruins, boltgun held loosely. She didn't bother to check if Abdur was actually scouting the area, because she already had somewhere in mind.

She slithered through the rubble and debris, feeling surprisingly at home despite the open skies. The concrete tangle was very reminiscent of the crush zones at the bottom of Makita hive, with less chance of running into a pocket of bad air or rads.

She quickly reached the spot she had seen earlier, a culvert for rain water that led in a large, black storm drain, big enough to drive a ground car through. She clambered down into the culvert, splashing through a few lingering puddles of dirty rainwater before entering the tunnel itself. In the darkness the temperature dropped by two degrees easily. She walked up to the tunnel walls and knocked on them, listening to the echo.

“Goes on for a good kilometer.” she paused, listening and feeling. “Doesn't seem blocked either.”

She stepped out of the tunnel and back into the blazing sunlight.

“Kally to team. I have a route through. Converge on my location.”

[Thrannix]

---AAT Base---


Solvan was heading towards the chapel when he took a slight detour towards Crenshaw’s office.

“Major Crenshaw, may I take moment of your time? I do realize it is a scarce commodity at the moment.” He said as he entered the room running his eyes through the plain metallic interior. Crenshaw gestured to the seat across from him without glancing up from the paperwork he was reviewing. The priest sat on the chair and finally the tiredness of the last twenty four hours hit him in his bones, he closed his eyes and sighed heavily, wondering how to begin.

“I crossed paths with Alia on my way here.” He said after straightening himself, shaking away the fatigue. “You seem to have made quite an impression.”

“I do try.” Crenshaw distractedly commented, as he signed off on the document. He finally closed the packet and glanced up at the priest. “And what is your impression?”

“I can’t figure you out yet. That annoys me you see, I’m usually good at figuring people out.” The bishop fixed his gaze on Crenshaw’s, an action made easier by the dampening device that lessened the viscera revolving feeling of the untouchable’s aura to a mild nausea and sense of wrongness.

“If it is any consolation, Solvan, you are hardly alone in that regard.” The Major assured as he regarded the priest. “Now what exactly have you and your team been able to ‘figure out’ about me?”

“All we know is you helped Schafer, now dead if he is lucky. Then when we got here you managed to, in less than one minute, piss off half the team, an interrogator included, while at the same time making, shall we say… very close bonds with another member.”

“Nothing escapes the Inquisition’s notice.” Crenshaw snorted, and dismissively shook his head. “I am surprised by such coy phrasing from a man I suspect is much worldlier than the average priest.” The Major leaned forward and blatantly scrutinized Solvan. “You did after all try and bribe me in less than a minute, so clearly the opulent trader is a role you have played before, and I would hypothesize that it is one you are very comfortable playing.” He pressed his fingertips together and smiled without warmth. “So, how accurate was I?”

"More than you think I fear, it's a reminder of a past life I'm not proud of, but it has its uses. It is good to know you have deduction skills." The priest replied enigmatically with a smirk. "And I didn't know if I was being coy or not, just suspicious, but thank you for clarifying."

Crenshaw’s eyes narrowed slightly as he leaned back and took a sip from his recaff mug. “As for your latter point, Agent Black has already hounded me about Kally. What I told him also applies to you, and everyone else on your team, Solvan. It is none of your concern.” Solvan frowned irritated at the fact that he didn't realize Marc's interest in Kally until this new information, he was missing stuff he shouldn't, that bothered him even more.

"I don't give a damn about who you are sleeping with Major, or Kally for that matter. Hell, I'll perform the wedding ceremony if you like. But it is my business if it interferes with the team's performance, you already have our main investigator with half his mind off the job." The priest quickly explained, his patience growing thin more from exhaustion than anything else.

“Agent Black’s issues are his own. If he is that distracted, he had better check himself from the neck up - quickly.” Crenshaw unmercifully counseled as he set aside his mug. “However, you do not need to be concerned with Kally and me as we already talked. Both of us have no illusions about what we are to one another.” He nodded to Solvan with the hint of a smile. “So your professional services will not be required at this time, Father Belannor. But thank you for the offer.”

"You can tell me it will not have an impact on you or Sonder's capabilities or decision making all you want, but it is a thin and fragile line that stands between casual intercourse and something much deeper." Solvan sentenced, if the man wanted the worldlier priest then he would have it. "Also may I know your first name? You seem comfortable enough using mine."

“I am comfortable.” Crenshaw agreed as he held a level and cautionary gaze, and then smiled tightly. “With that issue settled, how about we clear the air about Schafer? I would truly like to hear the Inquisitorial rationale for why I might have deliberately gotten an interrogator and his team killed.”

"Really, Major? Keeping your first name a secret?” The bishop asked staring genuinely surprised at the man, before shrugging with a tired sigh, it wasn’t worth the energy. “And please." Solvan almost chuckled. "I know interrogators are more than capable of killing themselves quite effectively. It is your ability to reduce that risk that I question."

“Schafer wanted to deploy directly into Rakosu over my concerns. Whatever happened to them is on him.” Crenshaw countered with a shrug. “Since you seem to have forgotten, Solvan, Jenkins and I have also been acting as your team’s cover here. Without us running your errands, under my borrowed authority, Alia would have had to reveal that rosette of hers by now.”

“Yes it has been most helpful, but so far you have also been a disruptive element thrown in the mix right before we set out on a mission that could see us all dead.” Solvan felt his headache threatening to return with a vengeance as Crenshaw’s lip curled slightly in irritated amusement.

“Was I disruptive when I accommodated every request that Alia has made and then volunteered more support than she originally wanted?” Crenshaw lowly asked, as he rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Or have I been disruptive by not properly abasing myself before the Inquisition and meekly eaten the rations of shit many of your number, yourself included, have tried to serve me since you came here demanding the Telepathica’s help?” He raised a questioning eyebrow.

"If you are still referring to the bribing attempt, I am disappointed; you looked like the tougher skin type of officer. It was only a quick way of determining the rogue traders’ influence. I was actually glad that someone on this planet didn’t dance so happily to the sound of thrones.” The priest confessed pinching the bridge of his nose trying to keep the headache away. “Also, your logistical help is deeply appreciated, but if you want a pat in the back for behaving as a loyal imperial citizen you are going to be sourly disappointed." Solvan added coldly. "But while you give with one hand you take with the other. As I said before, you are a difficult man to figure out."

“I could not care less about your attempted bribe, Solvan, nor do I need affirmation from anyone. I especially do not want anything from agents who are tediously wasting their time, and more importantly mine, with baseless accusations and irrelevant non-issues.” Crenshaw coolly eyed Solvan for a moment. “The simple truth is that those agents who are unstable, and can be roiled merely by my presence, were damaged well before our paths crossed.” He held up a warning finger. “So do not try and pin your team’s troubles on me.”

"The damage was there I agree. But now, as a member of the team, I only ask you to at least try not to keep exacerbating it beyond its current level of imbalance." He was slowly regaining his cool and, bless the God-Emperor, his impending headache had been apparently aborted. “I know we need you, I am not here to dispute that, but I hope that you, as a military leader, can understand my concern.”

“I do, which is precisely why there will be no issue on my end.” Crenshaw acknowledged, and then curiously tilted his head. “Now will your team be able to overcome slightly bruised egos and hurt feelings, Solvan?”

“I hope they can.” Solvan stood slowly with a nod and headed for the exit, not willing to elaborate on the fact that most of the team were recent additions from Schafer’s retinue and that he had never worked with them before.

“They had better.” Crenshaw bluntly commented, as he spared Solvan a parting glance and snapped up another document to review. “Rakosu is emphatically not the place for anyone to unpack their personal baggage.”

The bishop stopped at the door frame and turned to face the officer. "Egos and feelings have doomed far better men before Major, don't underestimate human passions." He warned vehemently before leaving.

“Imagine what someone who actually wanted to break your team could do, Solvan. Which for the record, I do not want to do!” Crenshaw called out as he idly watched the priest depart.

"I imagine Major, I really do." The bishop muttered to himself as he walked down the hallway.


---Before Takeoff---


Solvan uttered a silent prayer as he took a seat inside the transport. He knew that he would be hating his existence in the near future (God-Emperor Almighty did he hate flying).

He looked around at the rest of the team, they all knew what they had to do, he wasn't going to waste his breath in useless chatter.

"May the Emperor see to our success and safe return." Was all he said as the transport engines came alive.


---During Flight---


The priest allowed the pilot's glee to go unchallenged, he was focusing all his energy in keeping the contents of his stomach inside of him. But nonetheless the sight of the shelled city was a sobering one. How many deaths would actually be rebellious heretics? Very few most likely, as always the innocent would suffer for actions they took no part of. The guilty ones hidding beneath the bodies of the poor and weak, the bishop's hatred for the heretics only increased.


---Rakosu---


As the team observed the mass of suffering humanity the bishop's eyes remained with the girl slowly guiding a little boy, her brother perhaps? Orphans by now if he had to bet. His face looked several years older for a moment before his reverie was broken by their current predicament.

“There are too many witnesses, period.” Crenshaw noted. “I highly recommend that we find another route.”

“Thats easier said than done” Kally muttered.

"The Major is right." Solvan agreed in frustration. "Our biggest advantage at this point is that the enemy doesn't know we are here. I am not risking that advantage on a hunch. We need certainty, so until we have confirmation of xenotech from the secutor, an identified replicant or clear signs of Schafer's existence we do not engage unless we absolutely have to." He concluded leaving no room for argument.

“This place is a warren. Give me and Abdur 20 minutes though, and I should have something we can move the rest of the group through.”

Solvan didn't bother to reply as Kally was already moving.

"We also need to find a suitable safehouse." He continued speaking into the team vox. "In case we need a place to retreat to, tend to the wounded or interrogate a prisioner. If anyone spots a place that seems appropriate report back. Abdur and Nyl will check it for booby traps and Gavin for any hidden enemies." It shouldn't be that hard he thought, with the amount of abandoned buildings all around.

“Kally to team. I have a route through. Converge on my location.” Her voice crackled in Solvan's ear. Ask and the Emperor shall provide.

"Good job agent Sonder, everyone move out." He ordered.

When he looked into the drain he lost some of his early enthusiasm. Lovely place for an ambush. He thought grimmly. But options were few and they didn't have the luxury of wasting time.

"Abdur and Kally take point. Vincent has the back." He instructed stepping into the damp, dark tunnel, at least they would be out of the boiling sun for a while.

[Azazeal849]

RAKOSU

"Kally to team. I have a route through. Converge on my location."

"Good job agent Sonder, everyone move out." Solvan ordered. "Abdur and Kally take point. Vincent has the back."

As the team carefully traced Kally's footsteps, arriving in ones and twos under overwatch from Vincent, they heard the guards above them conversing in heavily-accented Obrantu.

"Another god-damned carpet bombing." said one, his tone bitter as another series of dull thuds echoed in the distance. "They could at least let us rebuild the houses before they flatten them all again. Animals." They heard him hawk and spit.

"You could leave with this sorry lot." a second voice pointed out.

The first guard audibly snorted. "And leave the city for the Ramados? Besides, where would I go? A disease-ridded refugee camp, where Imperials and Ramado scum compete to see who can run the best protection racket? I can stay here and have nothing, or I can move to Akkan and have nothing and an Imperial jackboot in my face. No thanks. At least here I get a chance to kill a few of the bastards."

"Vilysians." Kelly whispered, identifying the men by their mention of the rival Ramado Sept.

"Uru Vilysians." Crenshaw clarified, placing the men's accent as Vizkop and Malpais eased themselves down into the culvert. "Not Rytus."

"Easy to kill Ramados, brother." the second guard was saying. "Less easy to shoot Imperials out of the god-damn sky."

"Not after the Rytus get properly involved." the first guard countered.

"Ha. They send us guns and a few young zealots to stop the Ramados winning, but they don't really care about us." Another spit. "So much for brotherhood under the Solar."

To the team's surprise, the first guard chuckled. "Have a little faith, brother. The Rytus are just as pissed at the Imperials as we are. After their tyrant of a governor made the deal to flatten us, but then withdrew to the Enclave and left millions of brothers to fend for themselves? Heh, the Imperial tyrant is blind to the threat from Rytu."

"There's still the Imperial cyborgs to contend with." They heard the guard shift, as if he was turning to look towards the inner city. "We'll be seeing them again soon, I'll warrant. They always come after the bombings. Vat-grown abominations."

"What makes you so sure they're vat grown?" the first guard countered darkly. "You've seen how pale they are. I wouldn't put it past those Imperial bastards to be lobotomising the brothers they capture and sending them back to kill their own children."

The other exhaled, sharply. "Animals. God-damned heathen animals."

"We'll make them pay. We have the Rytus, and the Prophet's group has that mysterious arms dealer of theirs. Soon enough, we'll make those invading bastards pay."

The voices receded as the guards finished watching the bombardment and loped back to their checkpoint.

"Best we get moving." Vincent growled impassively. He glanced at Abdur, who seemed to be gazing into space, his head turned in the general direction of the trudging refugees. "Hey, sand man! Get a fokkin' move on, ja?"

The Tallarn turned sharply, as if startled. "I am coming." he rasped quietly, the words muffled by his respirator mask.

Vincent turned to roll his eyes at the nearest person, who happened to be Kelly, but the verispex just rubbed the bridge of her nose pensively.

+ + + + + +

AKKAN

"It looks like they spent some time selling it to the general public as well."

"I can't imagine it was hard." Marc said, frowning as he rested his chin on his clasped hands. "It's like the valet at the starport said - people complain when PDF soldiers get killed. They don't care so much about servitors. And they care even less about the indigens."

He glanced at the vid-screen dominating the far wall, where an Imperial news report was covering the ongoing attack on Rakosu, together with a newly-enacted curfew of all indigens in Akkan, effectively putting them under house arrest. The Imperium was showing its strength to the Enclave population, who had reacted with panic and outrage at the attack on the AAT base, and the more limited missile strikes on Akkan itself. There was, Marc noted, no coverage of the few missiles that had fallen among the refugee slums outside the curtain wall. The vid-screen cut back to smoke rising from the centre of Rakosu, reminding Marc of Kelly, Kally and the others who were even now infiltrating the warzone.

"I'll go check on Remus and Lia." he murmured, standing up and excusing himself with a nod.

"So." Machairi tapped the side of her mug, in thought. "The Rogue Traders can almost be said to have created the market here, the whole situation, to make a profit?"

+ + + + + +

RAKOSU

The team splashed their way through the shallow, brackish water that lay a few inches deep at the bottom of the storm drain, stopping every time an explosion or a rattle of gunfire echoed down the tunnel. Over time, the punctuated sounds became less frequent. As Kally had predicted, the storm train carried on for nearly a kilometre before a cave-in caused by Imperial bombing forced them to move back above ground. Scrambling up a scree of shattered concrete, they emerged into a deserted street. The air was still humid, but now it was also grimy with settling dust. They were right in the thick of the target zone now. The smoke had mostly cleared and the fires had mostly burned themselves out, but piles of rubble lay everywhere, and many of the buildings that still stood were burned out husks. Some of the walls were stippled with bullet holes, speaking of earlier firefights between the Vilysian and Ramado militias, but only powerful air-to-ground ordnance could have flattened the buildings so comprehensively.

They met the first indigens at the end of the street. Where a bomb had neatly removed the side wall of a house, a man and a woman were cuffing at their dusty flare goggles as they sifted through the wreckage. A younger indigen watched numbly. None of them paid any attention to the team as they crept past. Somewhere, a woman was shouting hoarsely, what sounded like a name, over and over again. Vincent stole a sideways look at Kelly, who had stopped to stare open-mouthed at this close up view of the destruction. When the young verispex caught him looking, she turned away, shaking her head sharply.

It became harder to avoid the indigens as they continued towards the town centre, but none of them bothered the team. Once, a battered truck with slabs of aluminium bolted to the doors and flatbed went rumbling past on the road to the town centre, coughing smoke as it bounced over the rubble. The flatbed was crammed with armed men, each with a rag of cloth tied round his upper arm bearing the Vilysian sun emblem. A few children cheered or made devotional gestures towards the men, but most of the civilians gave them the same dead-eyed stare that they showed the team.

In another street a tower block had been hit by the bombardment, and indigens were carrying survivors out of the reeking interior while one man tried to keep onlookers back with angry waves of a battered old autopistol. There were children scattered among the crowd; some crying, some trying to help, some simply looking lost. Four dead bodies had been recovered from the wreckage of the tower block. They had been placed outside, stark and silent and laid in a row. A young woman who looked almost as ash-grey as the corpses was kneeling beside them, holding one of the dead men's hands. A trio of older indigens, surrounded by cloth bundles, had piled splinters of wood into an old promethium barrel and were boiling water over the makeshift fire. The tallest of the three was a careworn woman with straggling hair and black flare goggles pushed up onto her forehead. She threw what looked like a pair of medical forceps into the pan, before noticing the team. She turned her pink-eyed face towards them and began gesticulating towards the tower block, shouting in an accent that was too thick for the team to decipher.

Before they could answer, there was a ratcheting whir and a series of thunks that echoed between the tumbled walls. One of the female doctor's assistants started so violently that he knocked the pot from its hanger over the oil-drum fire, and sent it clattering across the road. The other indigens looked up with similar expressions of shock and panic. The ones who were carrying wounded men out of the tower block doubled their speed, ignoring the agonised yelps of their charges as they hauled them into the cover of the closest still-standing building. Others paused only long enough to grab their children's arms before dashing into the nearest cover they could find.

"Better follow suit." Vincent snapped as the street rapidly emptied. Behind them, the pistoning thumps became the whine of powered exoskeletons, and the familiar silhouettes of combat servitors resolved out of the brickdust haze. There were eight of them, moving in column formation; the same PDF constructs that the team had witnessed the previous night. They came stomping into the street, targeting lasers scattering green through the smoke as they panned back and forth. Absolutely no sound greeted them, though from his vantage point behind a shattered window Glabrio could see a couple of the indigens peeking out fearfully from their own hiding places. Not far from Kally, an indigen was curled beneath the wheels of a bullet-riddled ground car, his eyes screwed shut and one hand clamped over his whimpering daughter's mouth as he hugged her to his chest.

As the blank-faced servitors stomped across the cratered pavement, a few of the braver indigens scrabbled up the reverse slope of a rubble mound opposite Sapphira and Solvan - a rubble mound that had presumably once been a house. The indigens were gangly adolescents; one a snub-nosed girl with her albino hair falling messily into her eyes, another a skinny boy who hadn't yet grown into his front teeth. Leaning over the pile of rubble, they started shouting venomous curses at the Imperial battle cyborgs. One or two of the other cowering indigens peeked out of cover, and in the ruin next to the rubble heap Solvan saw the indigen doctor gesturing frantically for the kids to get back down.

The servitors took absolutely no notice of the indigen children. One turned its head dumbly towards them, then turned away again as it thumped on its way. Its oblivious progress took it straight through the row of corpses laid outside the tower block, crushing the arm of one beneath its bionic foot with an audible crunch. The boy with the oversize front teeth shrieked a curse, picked up a chip of rockrete and hurled it at the trailing servitor. The missile bounced off the cyborg's armoured shoulder plate and skittered away.

The servitor turned, its vox grille roaring a staccato of alert code. Two of the other servitors pivoted with it, and in an instant the air was full of whickering tracers as the three stitched heavy stubber fire through the ruined house. Chips of rockrete were tossed into the air, and before they could even think about ducking back the group of indigen children simply vanished in a pink mist. The indigen doctor, leaping to her feet with a shriek, disintegrated as the trail of bullets swept left and caught her in the midsection.

Kelly Black was on her feet before any of the team could stop her. "Check fire!" she screamed in High Gothic, "Check fire!"

The servitor's combat howl became a confused beeping of error code. The fire ceased, and the three servitors froze with their smoking gun barrels still levelled at the ruins. A large chunk of the bullet-riddled wall toppled outwards and landed with a crash in the road, the reverse side splashed with blood. Two of the other servitors, their guns still fully loaded, turned with a hydraulic whine towards Kelly. Green laser dots played uncertainly over her face. One of the servitors had a bulky loudhailer built into its torso armour, and a pict recorder mounted on one side of its head.

"This is commander Thark of the Hercynian PDF." a very human voice boomed from the loudhailer, the High Gothic words echoing between the ruined buildings. "Identify!"

[dakkagor]

Somewhere up ahead the familiar rattle started. They called it the 'reapers rattle', because it was such a common sound in the low sinks and often spelt death for whoever was facing it.

A heavy stubber was firing.

Kally threw herself to the left, rolling through a puddle and coming to a halt, flat on her face behind a heavy steel bulkhead that jutted out from the side of an old industrial packet. Lenns wasn't so lucky. She wasn't quick enough, and as she turned to follow Kally into cover, the fat rounds buzzed right through her like she was tissue. Blood sprayed behind her in a long fan and she flopped backwards, cut apart.

Kally propped herself against the steel bulkhead and wiped the water from her face, spitting some of the disgusting stuff out of her mouth. She clutched her battered lasgun, an old armageddon mk4 from the gangs stash, and listened to the reapers rattle. It slacked off and she got up running, dashing forward from cover to cover. Around her lasfire spat back at the stubbers position and homemade explosives thumped heavy counterpoint to the sharp whip crack of lasrifles and the duller bark of autoguns. Just another weekend in the Makita low hives. . .

Kally watched the sorry scene play out. Heard the familiar sound, amplified by dangerous closeness, and tensed, winced at the shriek suddenly cut off. She huddled a little deeper into her cover, rifle cradled in her arms. Damn stupid kids. . .

She turned and saw the poor bastard indigen with his daughter and held out her hand. He was now staring wide eyed at her, having heard the scream.

“Down!” She made a pushing gesture while saying the word in her broken Obrantu . “Down!”

He nodded, and kept his child close. Kally scrambled away, boltgun in hand, and away from the civilian. If a firefight developed, she wanted to be as far from innocents as possible.

Kelly Black was on her feet before any of the team could stop her. "Check fire!" she screamed in High Gothic, "Check fire!"

“Gak Me.” Kally muttered. She rose from her new position. She had managed to get on the flank of the column of servitors, and had good cover from concrete rubble. She kept her boltgun ready, and her left hand drifted to the grenades at her belt. Frags to disorientate and then use the kraken rounds to shoot out their heavily shielded cogitators.

"This is commander Thark of the Hercynian PDF." a very human voice boomed from the loudhailer, the High Gothic words echoing between the ruined buildings. "Identify!"

Kally paused, and looked to the rest of the team. It was time for someone to talk their way through this, and it wasn't going to be her.

[Thrannix]

Solvan clenched his teeth while the reckless children instigated the combat servitors; the conclusion to that conflict was tragically obvious. There was nothing that he could do apart from whispering a prayer for their innocent souls. But as Kelly rose up to intervene at the worst possible moment his prayer became a string of muttered curses that would have put most guardsmen to shame.

"This is commander Thark of the Hercynian PDF." a very human voice boomed from the loudhailer, the High Gothic words echoing between the ruined buildings. "Identify!"

For an instant he relived his conversation with Crenshaw about egos and feelings. Warp of a time to start being prophetic.

"No one moves, no one speaks unless I tell you to! Or Emperor help me I will excommunicate the lot of you even if it is the last thing I do in this life!" The bishop hissed into the team vox, his anger drenching every word.

Kelly had slowly raised her hands to the servitors, a pulse thumping visibly in her neck. "I..." she began slowly, and Solvan couldn't be sure if she had a story ready or if she was about to blow their inquisition cover wide open. He wanted to scream at the verispex, to unload all his vexation at having their mission jeopardized with such ease in a cathartic stream of verbal violence.

"Kelly, listen." He forced himself to say instead, in a calm and level tone pressing his eyes with his fingers as if the motion would help him to squeeze a plan out of his brain. "Your name is Sarah, aid-worker, you are disoriented and shell-shocked, stall for time. I'll be there in a moment. The rest of the team stay out of sight, we don't need any more sitting ducks. Those who are able, reposition to maximize effectiveness if we have to fight our way through. If I am incapacitated sister Sapphira will assume command of this mission."

He didn't wait for that to sink in as he began to make his way around and above the pile of rubble towards Kelly, still shielded from the servitors' view. "Secutor Vizkop, if you have any advice or combat strategy that will allow the team to disable the servitors with a reasonable chance of success this is the time to start sharing."

Before he was in the servitor's line of sight he began to call out in distressed yells. "Sarah? Sarah where are you?" The sound of servos and pistons could be heard as some of the combat servitors turned to face the source of the new sound. He took a deep breath. Unto You, oh Emperor, I lift up my soul.

"Ah, there you are, thank the Emperor! What was all that noise? Another bombing?" He rambled on as he came into view, then he stopped a few meters from Kelly acting stunned as if he had just seen the servitors. Kelly had at least not compounded her previous poor judgement, and was following his instructions by looking shell-shocked and waiting for his lead. Although, the priest had to wonder, exactly how much of that shell-shock was being faked.

"This is your last warning, identify or be fired upon!" the PDF commander's voice came hammering through the servitor's vox speaker once more.

"No d- d- do not shoot!" Solvan stammered in High Gothic bringing as much fear to his expression as he could. "I am Arnold Lembar, and this is my daughter Sarah!" He lied, his hands up in the air, their real names had been recorded at the spaceport as part of rogue trader Machairi's staff, so new ones had to be used. "We are fully certified aid-workers!" He reached Kelly and held her in a protective gesture.

"You need a Munitorum K-58 authorization to be in a warzone." Crenshaw tersely added through the vox.

"And with permission from the Departmento Munitorum to perform our work as per authorization K-58!" The bishop quickly added. Deep down he prayed that in this backwater world the forms and certificates for such unimportant activities would still be in paper form and be a pain to search for or the whole charade would last less than ten minutes.

"You are currently outside the zones established for humanitarian aid. Explain your presence here, now!" Thark's impatience could be heard through the loudhailer.

"The zones change every week. Without a vox you could easily be left at a red zone and never know about it." The Major provided with certainty.

"We have been here for almost a month now, sir, our vox broke and we could not make it work again. We did not realize we were off the authorized area until the bombing. We are terribly sorry for the inconvenience! We will be leaving to a safe zone as soon as we are able!" Solvan explained apologetically.

"You will remove yourselves to the Ankylu West district immediately." Thark's voice barked from the impassive servitor. "And you can tell the rest of Haarlock's aid workers the same, before I have you all up before a tribunal for obstructing a military operation."

"Obstr-?" Kelly began hotly, before a sharp squeeze of her arm from Solvan stopped her.

"And steer clear of the centre if you have any sense." Thark went on acidly. "If the Prophet's maniacs don't get you, my servitors will."

"We understand. The Emperor protects. Let's go Sarah." Solvan hurriedly led Kelly away from the servitors as the cyborgs began advancing once again towards their original target.

"Let us put some distance between us and those machines.” He whispered into the team vox. “Don't let yourselves be seen. We'll regroup behind those half buried buildings to the southwest.“

"Agent Black, we need to talk." Solvan stated fixing Kelly with his gaze as they walked through the ruins.