Rico and Savalos manage to pull the now almost unresponsive Sigmunt up to the bed, Nessa working to cut away the leg of his coverall with a pair of surgical shears. The heat of his fever bakes off of his skin, a deep abiding sickness radiating off him, such that you subconsciously feel nauseous just being in close proximity to him.
Once exposed, the wound is hard to even look at. A deep gouge, yet one that should only require a dozen stitches to seal, is instead hideously bloated, Sigmunt's skin discolored a sickly, vomitous greenish-gray, The lips of the wound are bloated and nearly crimson with infection, and it oozes a thick, almost paste-like yellow pus. The smell is an abomination, somewhere between the foul, fecal stench emanating from the creatures from the restroom and the stench that rancid food makes as it decays in the dank bowels of some poorly tended sink-drain. You feel your gorge rising even as Nessa pokes and prods at it with her scalpels and retractors.
"This is bad. Very bad. It...it is something akin to gangrene, with an advanced tissue necrosis unlike anything I've seen before. Whatever those things were, they were not only Warp-spawned, but diseased; full of some rotting poison. His temperature far exceeds what even an overwhelming infection should cause. I need to get his fever down quickly or he dies. Short of a miracle, the leg will need to go. I'm sorry, there really is no choice."
She lays a cooling blanket over Sigmunt's chest and begins depressing buttons on the pedestal to administer potent doses of antibiotics through the intravenous line she just started. The two servitors, having finished tending to Ishmael now move over to Sigmunt's bed. Nessa commands one of them gather some further instrumentation from a drawer along the opposite wall of the operating theater.
Nessa approaches Iacton, sizing him up with the deep pools of her expressive brown eyes. She inclines her head in a subtle gesture that asks without words if she can examine his injured leg. When Iacton nods his assent, she kneels down next to the seated assassin, raising his leg gently and examining the half-moon wound shot out of the back of his calf. She rests it on the chair adjacent to him and begins packing the wound before drawing a syringe and numbing it for sutures.
Her needlework is quick, and the application of the light gauze dressing even quicker. She does not even need to ask him if the limp was from another, more serious leg injury. Her medicae expertise tells her that a hardened bodyguard like this man would not be so inconvenienced by a superficial bullet wound. She traces her hands along his pale calf, moving to the knee, and then around to the back of the knee and calf. Satisfied, she gathers a flexible elasticine brace-bandage from a nearby drawer, wrapping it around the knee and thigh.
She looks up at Iacton, a wan smile on her face.
"You're the lucky one, it seems. The menisci in your knee are intact, I'm thinking you've seriously strained your hamstring, though."
Contented somewhat that the wounded are being attended to and given at least a fighting chance to survive their injuries, Juan Rico takes his leave of the others, exiting the surgery. In the corridor beyond, he shambles rather than walks, his entire body deadened with exhaustion. Using one arm on the wall for support, Johnnie begins stripping away the component pieces of his blood-drenched armor piece by piece, staggering toward the door to the showers.
Opening the door he finds himself in another overwhelmingly sterile environment, all polished metal and gleaming white tile that brightens the room to the point it almost pains his eyes to look around. For a breathtaking moment he is staring into the white everything of the Void again...
...Everything and nothing...
...and just as quickly, it has passed. He sheds the last of his filthy clothing and stumbles to the nearest of the stalls, willing himself not to think too deeply. As the hot water cascades over his skin, washing away the blood, grime, and sweat down the circular drain, he turns the fragment of finger bone over and over again in his hands. His tears join the water being washed down the drain.
Mad visions of what was, maybe and is flutter through Johnnie's mind as he allow himself to think of Quincus. The weight of the world seems to overwhelm him as he struggle to think of a way to get her.
Lesprade, yes, he knows where she is and by the God-Emperor he will yield what he knows....
After satisfying herself that Iacton's brace is cinched tight around his injured leg, Nessa rises, watching as Johnnie exits the operating theater without a word. Noticing his limp, she watches him through the observation window, slumping into the wall as he stumbles his way down the corridor.
She speaks to Iacton without turning in his direction.
"Your other friend, he needs to be examined as well. He looks the stubborn type though, make certain he sees me once he is done in there."
Turning back to her two patients, she shakes her head sadly.
"I will do all I can for them, but the two of you standing vigil here will not help them in the slightest. Go to the others and get some rest and refreshment, you both look like you sorely need it. I will summon you if there is any change at all, you can be assured of that much. Your lodgings will be little more than individual medicae beds for the insane, but the there is a common area with a table and chairs in the evaluation room, and a small commissary with food and drink. Outside of myself right now, you are alone here, so you can be at ease. Very few even know of what lies beneath Gear Box, and I feel sorry for anyone who would dare trespass upon these tunnels with the countermeasures Dunkan has in place. You will be safe here."
Coughing loudly, his hoarse hacking racking his body, Albrek begins to laugh in spite of himself. He looks from Uriah to Ivaanov and finally rests Druuther's enormous autocannon on the floor. He had been cradling it in his arms without even being aware of it. When he sets it down, he brushes one hand gently across the bloody drum feed, the laughter dying on his lips, patting it once in solemn remembrance of its former owner.
He looks pointedly toward Uriah, who has finished his prayer.
"What now, boss?"
Looking toward Nessa. "Alright, but we need to do something with the Yelloback, and the survivor from the Mercy first. Don't want them running around loose." I have a look on my face asking where she wants me to put them, but my tired mind can't seem to find the words.
"Go ahead, and shower up Iacton. Let me know when everyone is clean. Then I'll take my turn at it." I continue sitting in the chair looking at the lights on the ceiling. Running everything over in my mind of todays events. Enjoying the quiet except for the occasional stirring of others. I will rest soon. Promise.
When the acolytes and Krade's agents have finished their ablutions they reunite in the assessment room of the medicae's small asylum-suite. Rico eventually relented and allowed Nessa to clean and treat the partially healed bullet wound on his heel, and Savalos somehow overcame his newfound phobia of bathrooms, drains, and piping. Their meager meal is pre-packaged, ready to eat military grade ration trays, filtered water, and clear, indigenous, Oremite juices. In essence, hospital food. Still, the repast is welcomed by everyone, although Ivaanov picks and prods at his portion, electing to only sip at the water provided. He seems quiet and out of sorts, his typical neutral equanimity absent. For the course of the meal he remains especially silent, even for a tech priest of the Omnissiah, offering nothing more than his unsettled demeanor to explain his pensive state. Uriah is just grateful that he has ceased his repetitive line of questioning.
Nessa remains with her patients, emphasizing to the others that she will do everything she can for Ishmael and Sigmunt. Although she requests to not be disturbed in these most desperate of hours for her injured charges, everyone in the small conference room is cognizant of the fact that every hour or so, one of the skeletal apparitions she uses for medicae servitors wanders by, inquiring if anyone needs further refreshment. The automatons keeping their eyes on you for their mistress. You can't help but wonder if you are any less captives than the ganger and indigen sequestered in their respective restraint rooms adjacent to you. As for your prisoners, the florid-faced ganger has lapsed into a sullen silence while the overstressed Vaxus street person has fallen into a fitful slumber, exhausted and overwrought from the days maddening events. Many of you envy the man, and your eyelids grow heavier from sympathetic fatigue.
Sitting around the table looking at the others. Happy having all the blood cleaned from my clothes and skin. The warm water reinvigorating me. At least for a time. Speaking before I loose my short termed clarity to fatigue once more.
"Think we need to jump Leprade at his pad. Have alot of questions we need to ask him." I make sure no Servitor is nearby when I say my next piece of mind.
"When we were at the Gear Box we learned a few things. Trizo who is the Yellobacks head snake is rumored to have allied with someone called with Withdrawn Veil. Suppose to be a headcase. We also got a name of a witness to one of the Eviserators crime scenes. We need to pick her up before she disappears."
"Ivaanov, I would like to see that video of Krade getting nabbed."
I will try to glean any information I can from the video.
"So Uriah, what did the old man say?"
"We are to find Krade at all costs. His duty was to stand sentinel over The Prisoner who requires unfaltering vigilence.If Krade still breaths, we are not to confront The Prisoner without Krade's counsel. The taint of Malleus it is to be purged with extreme prejudice. We can act under the authority of our Master's inquisitorial rosette as required. If Krade is no more or unable to continue as sentinel it falls to me. He must remain confined. We are to appraise the Master of any and all developments.
"We are to find Krade at all costs. His duty was to stand sentinel over The Prisoner who requires unfaltering vigilence.If Krade still breaths, we are not to confront The Prisoner without Krade's counsel. The taint of Malleus it is to be purged with extreme prejudice. We can act under the authority of our Master's inquisitorial rosette as required. If Krade is no more or unable to continue as sentinel it falls to me. He must remain confined. We are to appraise the Master of any and all developments.
"Then I think he should be appraised of the fact that the same monsters that kidnapped Krade ate man alive over at the Gear Box. The influence, the threat of the prisnor is not contained."
I take a deep breathe to gather my thoughts.
"Where is the line between the Prisnors safety, and purging with extreme prejudice?"
"Where is the line between the Prisoner's safety, and purging with extreme prejudice?"
"There is no way to restrain the Prisoner. No way to stop his taint from spreading. As long as he lives, we can only stall it's spread. But he must live, so has been ordained. Thus, he will live. " Iacton trails off, lost in thought.
I have a very grim expression when I look toward Iacton, and Uriah. "Well this rock isn't your home so you might not care what happens to its people. But this is my home. I will not stand by and let this taint spread amongest the people. I will not sit by and ideally watch as my people rot away, or be devoured."
I try hard to control the anger welling up inside of me. "I can't follow this order blindly. We are suppose to protect humanity. Not sell it out. Malleus is suppose to be stopped. Period. We can't pick and chose."
"We need more of an answer from the Old Man."
Nodding to Sav, Iacton stands up and carefully walks out into the hall. "Rico. The doctor wants to speak with you." Ignoring any response from Johnnie, Iacton continues on into the showers. Soon, he is standing beneath the water, letting the grime from the day's work wash away...
Johnnie nods his assent.
... going to the doctor....
"Savalos, be quiet. I have seen what the Prisoner can do myself. Of all of us, I wish to see the Prisoner bleeding out the most. But we can't go against our orders. There must be a role for the Prisoner in His plan. There has to be." Iacton glares at Savalos, an undercurrent of anger running beneath his words.
"The Old Man picked me cause I question things. I don't follow blindly like a drone. I will do what I can to save this world and its people. Think I have shown that. But if the prisnor is the death of this world, my home. I will not sit by and I will do something about it. So how do you want to handle this."
I realize my voice is getting more than elevated at this point. So I catch myself, take a deep breathe and lower it.
"Before you follow your orders blindly I suggest you inform the Old Man daemons were running around in a public eating establishment devouring people. The same type of daemons that took Krade. The Orders you recieved was before this incidient, and the what happened at the Mercy. Our Master is not aware of how far of an influence the prisnor has. He believes by what you said that the prisnor is contained. Aprising him of the current situation could very well amend this standing order."
"The Old Man picked us cause we think for ourselves. If we wanted someone to follow blindly he would have gotten a dog. So think."
"If Master Ahmazzi has not allowed the Prisoner to be executed yet then the Prisoner must serve some role that only one closer to His will can comprehend. Also, all he has ordered is that the Prisoner must live. His cult will be destroyed. He will be as restrained as we can manage. He will be brought low. But, until Master Ahmazzi gives the word, he will not die."
"There is a difference between thinking for ourselves and disobeying a direct order. I want your thoughts of what is going on with this world. I am voidborn. That puts me at a disadvantage with dealing this place and these people. I expect help and advice you and the others give me and accept it. But I do not know what plans our Master has, but my life is his, if that is what he asks for. Such is my feelings towards our Master, so if he says the prisoner must live, then he has a reason that I do not understand, but I will obey that order."
"My thoughts...Okay"
"There is a power struggle between two powers, or factions. They are clearly not working with each other. They have some measure of influence on at least two of the penal legions on the planet. Both the 6th, and the 7th. Thats one ninth of the military force of Oremor if they are completely compromised. Now why are these two factions here? Could be several reasons. Oremor is an agricultural planet. It is the main supplier of food to the Malfi subsystem. You contaminate the food supply you can paralyse the whole subsector, and create anarchy. Whole worlds will starve. Oremor also a major supplier of plant based medical supplies. So if the prisnor gets free, and is allowed to live it could very well be the death of the whole subsystem. Oremor, Malfi, Dusk, Fydae Cluster, all of it. It could even come down to the fact that Oremor wasn't always an Imperial World."
Albrek takes in everything that is said in his usual laconic silence, punctuated here and there with his raspy cough. When he speaks, his voice is measured and philosophical in tone, and the interjection is enough to bring all eyes to him for a moment and lessen the tension.
"It seems in one way or another, we all have our personal daemons."
The allusion here can't be missed by everyone at the table.
"Perhaps that is why we were chosen. I have to echo Sav's feelings, though. Even though I never thought I would see her again, this is my world, too. The people, places, foods, flora, and fauna are all dear to me. They are the sum total of my memories and dreams. They are me. Why choose three of our number from this very world unless he wanted to protect it in some way?"
He muses for a moment on what he just said, as if critiquing what just came out of his own mouth so unexpectedly, turning it over in his mind.
"Uriah is correct, though. We do not have all the pieces to this puzzle yet."
"My thoughts...Okay"
"Oremor is an agricultural planet. It is the main supplier of food to the Malfi subsystem. You contaminate the food supply you can paralyse the whole subsector, and create anarchy. Whole worlds will starve. Oremor also a major supplier of plant based medical supplies. So if the Prisoner gets free, and is allowed to live it could very well be the death of the whole subsystem. Oremor, Malfi, Dusk, Fydae Cluster, all of it. It could even come down to the fact that Oremor wasn't always an Imperial World."
Upon hearing Savalos speak of Oremor's place in the Malfi system, the tech-priest seems to come out his impassive, silent reverie. He seizes the opportunity to expound upon his biological sciences specialty with a machine-like efficiency in his reply.
"Savalos Thul is correct. Oremor with its claustrum plantations supplies over 22.39% of the viable agricultural exports needed to sustain the inhabited hive worlds of the Malfi sub-sector. The indigenous medical extracts from the plants and animals of this world are priceless and are vital to all planetary populations in the Calixis sector as well as beyond."
He pauses, considering his next words carefully.
"It is true. I am impressed with your knowledge of your own world's hidden history. I suspect you have taken advantage of the classified sources in the Holy Ordos' librariums to claim this otherwise secret knowledge. Oremor was at one time in the hands of the Eldar; it was one of their garden worlds."
"My thoughts...Okay"
"There is a power struggle between two powers, or factions. They are clearly not working with each other. They have some measure of influence on at least two of the penal legions on the planet. Both the 6th, and the 7th. Thats one ninth of the military force of Oremor if they are completely compromised. Now why are these two factions here? Could be several reasons. Oremor is an agricultural planet. It is the main supplier of food to the Malfi subsystem. You contaminate the food supply you can paralyse the whole subsector, and create anarchy. Whole worlds will starve. Oremor also a major supplier of plant based medical supplies. So if the prisnor gets free, and is allowed to live it could very well be the death of the whole subsystem. Oremor, Malfi, Dusk, Fydae Cluster, all of it. It could even come down to the fact that Oremor wasn't always an Imperial World."
"In my visions I have seen what will happen if the prisoner succeeds, and I agree that his plot must be stopped, but we must do it without killing him. We can kill anyone working for him, after all they are summoning daemons.
You are right, Savalos, there are two factions of cultists, and they are actively working against each other.
"Aye Ivaanov, this is a Maiden World. The Gearbox was made from the ruins of a Titan that fell during the liberation. In the end the world was won by treaty, and not by military might. All the old families that first settled here know the story."
I pause thinking of all the librariums Ivaanov is talking about.
"Never read a word. The Spire folk have never had interest in teaching us Underhivers. They discard us like there trash. Everything settles down here eventually. People, archotech, trash, secrets, it all winds up down here. Just have to know what your looking for."
I fondly remember the Old Man and me going for walks. Telling me all about the Eldar, and other stuff. Miss those days. They seem so long ago.
"That Eldar Monument may be a clue. I would have to take a gander at it. The Old Man did educate me on a few things. Don't tell Ishmael though. He has enough reasons to shoot me. Don't want to give him another one."
"So Krade had a hand in grabbing me. No surprise there." I think of the abjuction of Maia's body. I think of the silence Aebena gave me the last time I tried talking with her. The look in her eyes when I ran into her at the Gearbox. Alot is starting to add up. I need to talk to my Aebe, and the old She Wolf for answers.
I start to laugh a bit. Thinking of Uriah echoing my words about two factions. "So Iacton think you can break back into Krades office." By the Throne I have an idea.
"Ivaanov, I want to watch both video's again. This time focus just on the Regicide board, and compare the two to see if any pieces moved."
"What if Krade wasn't playing the game of Regicide, but was the spectator between both factions?"
Albrek scratches his chin contemplatively as Savalos and Rico speak.
"Possible that he just wanted to play one side off the other, makes his job easier."
"This is an interesting theory, but whether as spectator or puppet-master, to what purpose? Why would an Ordo Malleus inquisitor's most trusted servant, an interrogator himself, risk everything, his life and sanity, to pit rival factions of the Ruinous Powers against each other?"
"Its like a turf war between rival gangs. You always send a couple of eyes over to scout out the fighting. You learn how they fight tactics and such. What resources they will use. What they are trying to protect. If the gangs know each other then the rival will know how to exploit the others weakness's. Sounds like solid intel to me."
"Wait, there is something I haven't told you yet about Krade. Krade had some role in the recruitment of the three of you, but he had influenced your lives before that. In what way, only he can say."
Albrek listens attentively to Savalos' analogy, nodding in agreement, his tactically trained mind appreciating the metaphor. The ex-guardsman is about to offer something further when he suddenly stops, his eyes rolling slowly in his head back toward Krade's aide, as if what Iacton said a few moments ago has suddenly registered through his fatigue.
"Wait...what? Before what? Influenced how?"
His words are sharp, suspicious.