The Aerie, Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Unduz II
Looking to Triggs, Vincent replies without skipping a beat.
"Restricted personnel files? When did this happen? This is the first I've heard from you about malfeasance from my staff."
Your feigned insouciance, although it may have worked on the Warden-Colonel, in no way deceives Triggs. He ups the ante almost immediately, the hint of a cold smile on his face. He is clearly enjoying this little war of words despite the fact you managed to draw first blood.
"I presume the slate you carry also has the information the Warden-Colonel and I requested regarding the clerical division's access logs? The tech-adepts eagerly await the opportunity to conduct their audit and compare it with the primary cogitator's authorization data-stores. Or perhaps you have already found the person responsible for this serious violation of our security protocols?"
Even with your head turned to regard Triggs' barely concealed, self-satisfied expression of contempt, you can feel Kreed's eyes boring into your back, awaiting an answer.
Beneath the Gear Box ~ The Medicae
Her cold manner hardens when Savalos says nothing. Turning her attention to Kaltos, she pins him with a withering look, regarding poor Launce and his filthy rags with a flicker of pity.
"Take the boy and let him clean up. This is no place for a child. There is nothing for him to see here."
Opening the door, she looks from Uriah to Savalos, her jaw trembling slightly, trying to control the quaver from her voice. Trying to keep the anger in check.
"As I said before, you need to see this. If it is to burden my conscience for disregarding the oaths of my calling, you'll face the result of your interference as well. I was a fool to listen. If we had taken the leg promptly, there may have been some hope for him."
The others, unaware of what had occurred previously in the surgery step back slightly, uncertainty as to what all this is about crossing their faces.
"I do not think you understand, The Daemons involved are of disease. You think you could have stop it by simply amputating the leg? Our way gave him a chance that he would not of had otherwise. He is in the Emperor's hands instead of the Immaterium's and is in peace without pain. Sometimes that is the only mercy we have."
I walk right up to Nessa, mere inches from her face. Eye to eye peering into her soul. Judging the one that judges me.
In a very cool, steady voice I reply with barely a tremor as I whisper to Nessa. Barely keeping a reign on my frustrations and anger fire dancing in my eyes like an inferno of wrath that waits to be released.
"I just lost one of my family. He didn't die by my hand or yours. The disease already had too great a hold on him. You know that by the way his body spasmed the way it did."
I lick my lips, not wavering in my course I continue as my voice trembles slightly more. "He had me promise to kill him if it had taken a too great ahold of him. As much as I would rather have him beside me, I tried what I could to save him. Instead I honored my promise to him. His soul is still his, and his body isn't an incubator to spread more of those things corruption."
Now my voice get just loud enough for others to hear if they pay close attention. "In the span of a day I found out most of my family was murdered. I just lost my brother to disease. My best friend was brutaly tortured and his body was used to summon forth a fragging daemon of flames. The same one that burnt Ishmael so badly. A girl I loved as my own sister whose body was stolen, gutted, and turned into a fragged Servitor by a guy I am suppose to save. And now miss high and fragging mighty judging me cause you lost a patient. You don't know what fragging loss is."
I turn and leave the medicae ward because I say something I will regret.
Beneath the Gear Box ~ The Medicae
As angry as Savalos is, when he turns away the full weight of Sigmunt's loss settles upon him. As hard as his words for Nessa were, he still can't help but respect her. Nessa's gaze never wavered from his, and he could see through her enough to know that she suffered as well, such was her dedication to her vocation and her patients.
Uriah lowers his head as the ex-ganger shoulders his way past. Nessa now looking down at the glaring white tiles covering the floor.
When the psyker looks up, he sees that Sigmunt's bed is already empty, his body likely already bundled off for the medicae's morgue by the disturbing servitors. He is about to turn away with the others when he notices that there is a shadowy figure standing over Ishmael's bed, silhouetted by the diffuse light of the operating theater. At first he presumes it to be one of the servitors, but it cannot be, as the person's form is shrouded in something, and not nearly thin enough. The figure seems to be leaning in closely to the cleric as if examining him or listening for words that will never come from the comatose Redemptionist.
I pull out my laspistol out, aiming at the figure and say, "Halt, who are you?"
Beneath the Gear Box ~ The Medicae
Uriah's shout surprises everyone spellbound by the profound silence that fell over the corridor after Savalos and Nessa's intense confrontation. The medicae flinches back, perhaps mistakenly surmising you were pulling the weapon on her at first, the outrage fading to confusion when she realizes where your las is actually pointing.
Albrek has already unholstered his own laspistol as well, even now moving toward the doorway to see what it is you have seen within.
The figure barely even flinches at your challenge, lowering its head closer to your fallen companion for a moment, before standing to its full height, back still turned to you all.
"Answer the question.", says Iacton as he unsheathes his blade and begins walking towards the figure.
I step into the room and step to the side so that others can come in.
"Rico, Albrek, see who that is."
EDIT: "Iacton cover them."
I freeze for a second as I see Uriah drawing his pistol. For the briefist of seconds thinking that Nessa decided to vent me. I quickly realize that everyones actions and words don't add up to the scene in my head as I turn around.
I look at the empty bed. "Where's Sig?"
Beneath the Gear Box ~ The Medicae
Moving into the operating theater, Uriah steps to one side, keeping his las centered on the mysterious stranger's back, allowing Albrek and Rico, their own weapons drawn, to rush in and flank the figure in the darkened chamber. Iacton is nearly upon the stranger with his blade, standing at arms-length away in a striking-stance. Before either tech-priest can react, Nessa steps in behind the psyker, just ahead of Savalos who was running back to the room at his fellow acolyte's warning.
She stares at the intruder, eyes wide. Muttering something under her breath, her words spilling out in an inarticulate stutter, verifying for you her disbelief that someone could have entered the surgery without her knowledge.
The figure, seemingly oblivious to the frantic activity surrounding it, turns toward the just-arrived Savalos and Uriah, the "cloak" it was wearing falling away from its shoulders, showing itself to be nothing more than an insulated medicae blanket. Stepping into the dim lights glowing beneath the central medicae terminal-pillar you see the man wears the greenish paper tunic of a patient beneath, and is barefoot, standing comfortably on both legs before you.
Sigmunt Vendangio looks directly at Savalos before speaking in a hoarse croak.
"Sav, where the hell are my boots?"
I put my laspistol away.
"At ease everyone, put your weapons away."
I turn to Nessa, "I see the reports of his death was premature. We asked you to believe, to trust us, to see a miracle. There is the miracle. Do you believe and trust us now?"
EDIT: As I say this, I make the sign of the Aquila.
Iacton steps back and sheathes his blade. "Uraih, an explanation? We are too far from His light for this to happen." His voice wavers slightly as he ends his sentence.
The Aerie, Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Unduz II
Your feigned insouciance, although it may have worked on the Warden-Colonel, in no way deceives Triggs. He ups the ante almost immediately, the hint of a cold smile on his face. He is clearly enjoying this little war of words despite the fact you managed to draw first blood.
"I presume the slate you carry also has the information the Warden-Colonel and I requested regarding the clerical division's access logs? The tech-adepts eagerly await the opportunity to conduct their audit and compare it with the primary cogitator's authorization data-stores. Or perhaps you have already found the person responsible for this serious violation of our security protocols?"
Even with your head turned to regard Triggs' barely concealed, self-satisfied expression of contempt, you can feel Kreed's eyes boring into your back, awaiting an answer.
"Compiling a list like that takes longer than ten minutes Mr. Triggs. I prefer not to delegate tasks pertaining to sensitive access records and as you will remember, I did have a prior engagement. I make it my first priority once I return to my post, but it will take time. Which tech-priest is directing the investigation?"
Iacton steps back and sheathes his blade. "Uraih, an explanation? We are too far from His light for this to happen." His voice wavers slightly as he ends his sentence.
"We found a Artifact at the Mercy. When Ishmael asked for me, he told me of a vision he had involving that item. We showed our faith by following the vision, and this is the result. So even out here, we are not too far from the Emperor's light"
I make the sign of the Aquila after saying this.
Beneath the Gear Box ~ The Medicae
Sigmunt Vendangio looks directly at Savalos before speaking in a hoarse croak.
"Sav, where the hell are my boots?"
I am flooded with a mixture of emotions. Relief that my brother is standing before me. Guilt for the harsh words I said to Nessa. Caution because she told me he died, and I don't doubt her skill.
"Have to find you a new pair Sig. Had to cut one to get your foot out to look at the infection."
"...So hows your leg feel feeling....?"
The Aerie, Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Unduz II
"Compiling a list like that takes longer than ten minutes Mr. Triggs. I prefer not to delegate tasks pertaining to sensitive access records and as you will remember, I did have a prior engagement. I make it my first priority once I return to my post, but it will take time. Which tech-priest is directing the investigation?"
Before Triggs can conceive of a way to corner you further, the Warden-Colonel interjects.
"I believe Lexmechanic Gulvar will be supervising the inquiry."
You notice that Triggs glowers slightly when Kreed reveals this, as if he preferred you didn't know.
"Your request is completely understandable Mr. Sepheris, this will allow Triggs here to substantiate your allegations by examining the pict-cordings and compiled data on Commissar Ekubal's movements. I fully expect you to make the investigation into which of your personnel was responsible for this system breach your foremost priority, however."
He looks to both you and then Triggs.
"Both matters will be kept from anyone else with the strictest of confidence, is that clear?"
"I expect a full report from each of you in a days time, I trust that will be sufficient?"
After you answer, Kreed eats a few more morsels before turning to his adjutant.
"You are no longer needed Mr. Triggs, you are dismissed. Mr. Sepheris, if you would remain behind, I would like to discuss something of further import with regard to the clerical division."
It is clear that Triggs, who is accustomed to always being at the Warden-Colonel's side in such discussions is slightly surprised by his sudden dismissal. Just the same, he rises from his chair officiously and walks past you, an unreadable expression on his face.
"As you wish, Warden-Colonel, I will be in the receiving room awaiting your summons should I be needed further."
You watch as a fat, black fly buzzes past to alight on the pitch black glass of the mirror. It is only then, as Triggs is leaving, that you realize that the large, cosmetically applied birthmark is gone from his powdered face.
Beneath the Gear Box ~ The Medicae
I put my laspistol away.
"At ease everyone, put your weapons away."
I turn to Nessa, "I see the reports of his death was premature. We asked you to believe, to trust us, to see a miracle. There is the miracle. Do you believe and trust us now?"
Albrek and Johnnie quickly holster their weapons, both looking on in abject shock at what they are seeing, backpedaling superstitiously away from Sigmunt as if he were a ghost.
Nessa, clearly overwhelmed, staggers back into the wall, leaning on it for support, her eyes wide, white circles and her mouth twitching, her lips unable to form words, utterly flabbergasted for a time. After Uriah speaks, she regains some of herself, accidentally knocking over a tray of pre-packaged medicae instrumentation as she pulls away from the wall. At the discordant sound she flinches, the tears now streaming down her cheeks.
"He...he...was dead. His heart, brain, all of his vitals shut down as I prepped him for surgery. We couldn't resuscitate him! For the last two hours he has been under a mortuary pall. This just isn't possible!"
Beneath the Gear Box ~ The Medicae
I am flooded with a mixture of emotions. Relief that my brother is standing before me. Guilt for the harsh words I said to Nessa. Caution because she told me he died, and I don't doubt her skill."Have to find you a new pair Sig. Had to cut one to get your foot out to look at the infection."
"...So hows your leg feel feeling....?"
Sigmunt looks down at the green medicae scrubs covering his body, a look of profound confusion crossing his face. It is clear the medications flowing through his body are still clouding his thoughts, and he wrinkles his brow in bemusement at his partial state of undress. Self-consciously rubbing his once-injured knee and leg, the Duct Wolf hitman chuckles to himself. The rotting wound, the infection, are both gone, as if they never were. When Savalos speaks, he looks up at him bleary-eyed, his head pivoting shakily, the effort expended to locate his friend in the small operating theater far more than is normal.
"Hey! Sav! I... feel...I feel good."
"Something happened...didn't it? Was I hurt or something? Those things..."
"Is this a medicae? It's weird, I was just talking to this guy here...but he looks dead or something now...he...he had a message for you."
Albrek, the normally noncommittal agnostic, mimics Uriah's sign of the aquila, folding both hands over his chest in the process. His mouth gapes open in amazement as he fastens his holster again.
"Merciful Throne! I don't believe it."
I subsciously move my arm to try and catch Nessa as she stumbles.
"Yeah Sig, you had a real bad wound." I give Nessa a glance. "Was told you died."
"Ishmael's dead? What did he say to you?"
I listen intently on what the man is saying about Ishmael.
The Aerie, Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Unduz II
Vincent takes a seat beside the colonel and gives him a questioning look.
"Yes m'lord?"
Beneath the Gear Box ~ The Medicae
I subconsciously move my arm to try and catch Nessa as she stumbles.
"Yeah Sig, you had a real bad wound." I give Nessa a glance. "Was told you died."
"Ishmael's dead? What did he say to you?"
Savalos reaches out his hand and rights Nessa, who gives him a strange look that has some shade of confused apology in it. Despite her disorientation, she rushes over to Ishmael's form when she hears the last of what Sigmunt said and Savalos' answer. Parting the plas tent hanging over his bed, she adjusts the tubes going into him and checks the monitoring equipment.
You can hear the bizarrely registered relief in her voice when she realizes she has not lost another patient; when in fact she glances over to Sigmunt to come to grips with the unbelievable fact that she has not lost either patient.
"He's alive, still as comatose as before..."
Sigmunt raises his eyebrows slowly when Sav says he died.
"Oh."
Reflectively:
"I was."
Now uncertain.
"I think."
Noticing everyone transfixed upon him, he looks back at Nessa and Ishmael's prone, burnt form, a perplexed expression on his face, wondering why the acerbic cleric is not sitting up and conversing with him anymore.
"He said."
A foggy pause follows that lasts so long you fear Nessa will pull him to the bed again for fear he will collapse and you will miss the revelation to come. Just as she moves forward he begins again.
"He said that you can only protect ten from the plague to come. He said whether he liked it or not, for what you did with me, now I was one of the ten, for good or ill. He said that you would understand: the plumes of the eagle, the hands of the saint."
"Do you hear that hymn?"
"A bloody miracle, he says."
With that, Sigmunt's eyes roll upward and he drops to the floor with a thud, Nessa rushing over to his side to check his vitals.
The Aerie, Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Unduz IIVincent takes a seat beside the colonel and gives him a questioning look.
"Yes m'lord?"
The Warden-Colonel continues to chew his food while Triggs makes his exit, holding out his fluted glass to a servitor to have it refilled for a third time. The other female servitor approaches with your barely touched meal, clearing away the setting that Triggs sat in front of and replacing it with yours.
When Kreed next speaks, his candor is surprising.
"I lied. Never have I been so ill as the last few days."
He looks you up and down to gauge your reaction to this. Satisfied somehow, he continues.
"I'm not so proud to deny that I am growing older, Mr. Sepheris, but my constitution is something I have ever been proud of. I keep fit. Men will not follow a man who demands rigid self-discipline of them but who submits to excess himself. I threw off the Stagnant Ague in three days, once. Illnesses and I have met on the field on occasion, but I have always emerged the metaphorical victor."
He frowns, ruminating on his words and last bite of food.
"I did not wish to say this in front of Triggs, but I believe whatever this malady was, it nearly killed me. As well as I feel now, I suspect I may have been poisoned somehow."
Beneath the Gear Box ~ The Medicae
Her cold manner hardens when Savalos says nothing. Turning her attention to Kaltos, she pins him with a withering look, regarding poor Launce and his filthy rags with a flicker of pity.
"Take the boy and let him clean up. This is no place for a child. There is nothing for him to see here."...
At this I turn to Launce and start guiding him away. When Uriah yells "Halt, who are you?" I spin around and have what was my holstered pistol in my hand aimed at the shadowy figure ready to fire. I relax only a little when he then states "At ease everyone, put your weapons away." I dont put away my pistol until the figure collapses to the ground as a definite non threat. I then state "When you figure this out let me know." I then turn and head in the direction of food, clothing and a place to get Launce clean. Not necessarily in that order.
"Aye I get it Sig." As I watch him collapse to the floor. I carry with me a blessing and a curse. The burden of chosing.
Beneath the Gear Box ~ The Medicae
With assistance from Albrek and Johnnie, Nessa manages to get the unconscious, but otherwise whole and healthy Sigmunt back up on the medicae bed that he was pronounced dead upon just a few short hours ago.
After re-linking telemetry leads to him, Nessa turns around and begins walking toward the door with a blank and incredulous expression on her face. She stops in front of Uriah and gives the voidborn psyker a long, searching look before speaking in a very soft voice. Her words are not quite a question but not fully a statement, either.
"That was a miracle."
Looking on, Savalos can't help but feel the weight of the ornate aquila carrying the bones of Saint Trobriund in the folds of his furs.
I watch as Nessa rewires Sig to the monitoring machines, and her lost expression as she approachs Uriah. I simply say, "Sorry" for the harsh words I said.
I turn and leave the room again. Trying to figure out which way to the surface. I have a job to do.
With hopes I don't have to use the other 9. For if I do, I will not use one on me.
Beneath the Gear Box ~ The Medicae
With nothing further to see in the operating theater, Kaltos exits the alongside Launce, with Ivaanov leading the way. The tech-priest escorts the pair to the a small suite of rooms with well-padded walls and a setting of table (bolted to the floor) and chairs with rounded edges. A series of rooms opens off from the main chamber, which, if appearances can be believed reveal it to be a secure mental health, or asylum ward for the medicae.
Now that you are alone, he wastes no time in speaking his mind.
"What we have just witnessed is an impossibility without the administration of proscribed technology or some manner of duplicity from the heretek's disciples."
His vox warbles as he continues.
"As an adept of the Biologis, with the requisite medicae training I can assure you that whatever warp-tainted infection had afflicted that man, the necrotization of his tissue alone should have proved fatal to him based on my observations of his condition prior to our departure to meet with Danicos."
He becomes meditative for a time before speaking further.
"It is disappointing in one respect. I had been indentured to Krade by Magos Triskaedestes specifically to study such warp-borne pathogens and with this man's unexpected recovery the opportunity will not be afforded to me. I must confess I have always wondered why the High Arbiter requested someone of my specialties, he was most vague an an interlocutor in such matters. All I have been able to glean and infer from our infrequent dialogues was that he was apprehensive about some manner of epidemical outbreak on this world. However, my initial studies of the various biological systems and ecosystem vectors on this planet for such a thing yielded very little probability that such an event could occur."
"Most curious."
Ivaanov barely regards the boy as being present to your confidential discussion, or relevant to concerns about what he says next.
"I must ascertain from you, Kaltos Havelock, what your intentions are with regard to our present situation. I fully comprehend your duty to return me to the Magos, but we have, at least on the surface, pledged our temporary loyalties to the servants of the Ordos. Do you plan to adhere to this arrangement? I am not privy to the full syntax of your orders, but must advise I cannot in good faith absolve myself of my servitude to Desius Krade until such time as his fate is revealed or the remit of the Magos decrees it so."
Launce fidgets uneasily beside you with the sound of Ivaanov's vox echoing through the room.
The Aerie, Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Unduz II
"What would you like me to do sir?"
The Aerie, Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Unduz II
"What would you like me to do sir?"
Setting down his glass again, Warden-Colonel Kreed steeples his fingers in front of him. He looks at you with the ghost of a smile on his face.
"Right now? I want you to finish your meal."
He chuckles slightly and his demeanor quickly changes to something you have oft-heard described, but never seen: 'deadly serious'.
Kreed seems to weigh you in his gaze, taking your measure, determining your worth as he has probably done to countless men over the course of his decorated service.
"I want you to use find out who may have been trying to kill me. I already know it was you that breached the secure personnel dossiers to finger Ekubal. I don't need some logic-obsessed tech priest's cogitational analysis to tell me that. I know how to read people, Mr. Sepheris."
He nods, a polite gesture of reassurance from so intense a man. You even think he may have guessed what your intent for Lexmechanic Gulvar may have been, should it have come to that.
"Rest easy. I'm not going to have you executed. I think I may even understand why you did it. It took guts to bring this to me, knowing you might be exposed. Still, it was the right thing to do, and I value that. Moreover, I've had my suspicions about Commissar Ekubal for some time. There is something rotten here, Mr. Sepheris, and I intend to find out what."
He sips from his glass again.
"If my concerns are valid, there is someone or some cabal within my senior command staff that want me out of the way. If Ekubal, as a commissar, is involved the corruption runs deep. Therefore, not knowing who is complicit, those I would normally trust are not of use to investigate lest I tip them off that I am cognizant of the threat posed. You, on the other hand are unaffiliated with the Guard in the strictest sense, and have the resources and ability to delve deeper."
He looks you in the eye again.
"Do you understand what I am asking, Mr. Sepheris?"
The Aerie, Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Unduz II
"I believe I do sir."
At the Colonel's encouragement, Vincent begins to eat.
Beneath the Gear Box ~ The Medicae
With nothing further to see in the operating theater, Kaltos exits the alongside Launce, with Ivaanov leading the way. The tech-priest escorts the pair to the a small suite of rooms with well-padded walls and a setting of table (bolted to the floor) and chairs with rounded edges. A series of rooms opens off from the main chamber, which, if appearances can be believed reveal it to be a secure mental health, or asylum ward for the medicae.
Now that you are alone, he wastes no time in speaking his mind.
"What we have just witnessed is an impossibility without the administration of proscribed technology or some manner of duplicity from the heretek's disciples."
His vox warbles as he continues.
"As an adept of the Biologis, with the requisite medicae training I can assure you that whatever warp-tainted infection had afflicted that man, the necrotization of his tissue alone should have proved fatal to him based on my observations of his condition prior to our departure to meet with Danicos."
He becomes meditative for a time before speaking further.
"It is disappointing in one respect. I had been indentured to Krade by Magos Triskaedestes specifically to study such warp-borne pathogens and with this man's unexpected recovery the opportunity will not be afforded to me. I must confess I have always wondered why the High Arbiter requested someone of my specialties, he was most vague an an interlocutor in such matters. All I have been able to glean and infer from our infrequent dialogues was that he was apprehensive about some manner of epidemical outbreak on this world. However, my initial studies of the various biological systems and ecosystem vectors on this planet for such a thing yielded very little probability that such an event could occur."
"Most curious."
Ivaanov barely regards the boy as being present to your confidential discussion, or relevant to concerns about what he says next.
"I must ascertain from you, Kaltos Havelock, what your...
"For now we wait and bide our time. I was not given a specific time as to when you are to return. But to send me instead of a message there must be some urgency about your heading back."
The Aerie, Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Unduz II
"I believe I do sir."
At the Colonel's encouragement, Vincent begins to eat.
The Warden-Colonel is telling the truth about his concerns, as far as you can determine. More troubling, there is the barest indication of true fear under his hardened, career guardsman exterior. What could make a man of his ilk; ruthless and decorated on many occasions for valor in combat fearful, is something you had best be concerned about yourself.
Beneath the Gear Box ~ The Medicae Ward
For now we wait and bide our time. I was not given a specific time as to when you are to return. But to send me instead of a message there must be some urgency about your heading back."
Ivaanov considers this, his unchanging, goggled stare regard you intently.
"Or perhaps you were sent here to assure that some portion of my duties in service to High Arbiter Krade are discontinued by order of Magos Triskaedestes. This ambiguity is troubling to me."
As Ivaanov finishes his thought, Nessa appears in the doorway, looking harried and overwhelmed, two states of mind that you are able to perceive easily, but Ivaanov with his significantly diminished humanity, appears oblivious of.
She points to Launce, waving him over. When he doesn't respond, she looks at you, sizes you up, and seems to make a judgment call that your responsibility to care for the feral child is questionable at best.
"Kaltos Havelock? The boss asked that I examine the boy at the earliest opportunity. By the looks of it, he seems to need a wash and clean clothing as well. With your permission, since it seems he is waiting on it, can he come with me to be treated and assessed?"
Launce looks at you nervously, waiting for your answer.
Somewhere in Geltdown
Oktammor comes to a halt at the end of the steep, eight-sided passageway, his hulking, power-armor clad frame hunched beneath the low ceiling. The tunnel from the depths of the fallen titan's construction catacombs has narrowed considerably as you have ascended up its sharp incline, almost like the trick of perspective when looking through the wrong end of a looking glass, an apt metaphor for the strangeness of your mission so far.
Dunkan's bodyguard pulls at hand-molded lever hidden in the bunker-thick stone of the wall, and a vaulted door similar to the others you have transited through opens at an angle above your head. Grasping rusted metal rungs set in the wall, you climb upward and out of an unevenly-set utility hole, listening as servos on the arm actuators finish opening the hatch, itself concealed by the attached wreckage of a corroded market cart and a smattering of simulated junk.
Looking back down into the shaft, Oktammor smiles his grizzled grin up at you, winking impishly.
"He'll be along right quick. Good luck lad, I'll be seeing you soon, then."
As the hatch closes with a finite crunch, you look around to find yourself standing alone in a vast rockcrete industrial yard, cratered with potholes like a barren moonscape. The forlorn, slouching outline of a half-collapsed manufactory squats in the distance, the entire compound surrounded by a tall, chain-link fence perimeter enclosing perhaps a square kilometer. The buckled fence is holed in places, and as you look around, you notice the pale blue beams of twin headlights swinging around from one of the Geltdown streets.
The distant silhouette of a sleek groundcar turns in your direction the engine growling like a caged felid. With a squeal of tires the vehicle races through a hole in the fencing, the motor continuing to howl as the operator upshifts, making up the intervening hundred meters or so between you and the edge of the compound almost as fast as your eyes can follow. Suspecting who is driving, you take a leap of faith and hold your ground, realizing that there is nowhere you can hide in this vast, open space. The groundcar never lets up, accelerating to fifth gear before finally downshifting suddenly and slamming on the brakes to skid lengthwise in front of you with a shriek of burnt polyplas tires and a gentle spray of loose rubble a mere meter away.
The '804 Saggat Saberwolf is low-slung, midnight blue, chased in shining chrome fittings, and louder than you once imagined in your dreams of possessing such a powerful performance groundcar. One of the scissor doors opens with a hiss of hydraulics, and a rather slight figure steps out from the burgundy maulchups leather interior. He is dressed in an elegant black suit of immaculate Fulcusian linen, a purple scarf-tie ringing his pale-skinned neck. He doffs a brindled black and charcoal-grey derby hat, the interior lights of the car illuminating the squirming, gold-ringed tendrils beneath his chin. A refined voice, quite unlike the sump-dweller accent your first came across in the back alleys of Vaxus Ductside, calls out to you mischievously.
"Greetings Savalos. Don't just stand there, stranjur-fren, we have a busy night ahead of us."
I smile at Stroinigli, and enter into the car. "Your making me feel a bit under dressed." I am hoping today is better than the last. I don't how I would feel if I lost another friend, or Aebena.
I try and distract myself from those thoughts thinking about how well dressed Stroinigli is, and the fact if I ever cleaned up my own mother probably wouldn't recognize me.
Beneath the Gearbox ~ The Medicae
Iacton prowls the quiet, night-lit dimness of the stark white medicae hallway. He comes to a halt when the doctor, Nessa, steps out from an adjoining room ahead of him, walking the gangly slum-child, Launce, before her. Clad only in a wet towel, the difference in the now-clean urchin's appearance is astounding after a hot bath. Iacton creases the ghost of a smile as the pair walk by, until he notices Nessa's nervous glance at him and the countless faded scars on young boy's back and arms.
The smile quickly vanishes.
Alone again, he walks by a number of the other patient rooms, some holding his companions, who are even now trying to eke out a few hours rest before their mission continues. Unable to do so himself, he continues his restless circuit of the wing, as gaunt and methodical as one of the disturbing servitors that wander the place.
He is passing the empty common area of the asylum ward when he hears the faintest whisper come from within. He stops dead in his tracks. The lights inside flicker once, strangely.
"Iacton"
Speeding Through Geltdown
I smile at Stroinigli, and enter into the car. "Your making me feel a bit under dressed." I am hoping today is better than the last. I don't how I would feel if I lost another friend, or Aebena.
I try and distract myself from those thoughts thinking about how well dressed Stroinigli is, and the fact if I ever cleaned up my own mother probably wouldn't recognize me.
As the Saberwolf roars away into the false night of Vaxus District's industrial fringes, Stroinigli chuckles, patting your bloody, and somewhat smelly furs.
"Sav, my friend, you feel it? Something's coming. It could be the end of all of us, you know? I just want to be well-dressed for my funeral. I'll assume you are attached to those furs with good reason, so I won't question your fashion-sense. But seriously, take Stroinigli's advice, give them a wash before we reach the Gran Pallazzar later tonight."
Finding yourself on an open straightaway amid the run-down warehouses of Geltdown, he guns the engine, speeding away toward Isolde Stack C in the Vaxus Hab-Stacks.
I chuckle to Stroinigli. "Honestly I washed them twice yesterday. Just things keep happening..." My mind flashes back to when I held Sunshine down on the table as Emrit was stitching up her wounds. How she bucked and screamed in pain, yet her eyes never left mine. A heavy and uncertain feeling hits me, and I become quiet. My furs are a part of me, and her blood soaked in deep.
I try and shake off the feeling. "I think one of your cufflinks is worth more than I have ever owned. Don't think anyone would recognize me if I dolled myself up like you." Even as the words escape my lips my thoughts are distracted. Aebena?
Beneath the Gear Box ~ The Medicae Ward
For now we wait and bide our time. I was not given a specific time as to when you are to return. But to send me instead of a message there must be some urgency about your heading back."
Ivaanov considers this, his unchanging, goggled stare regard you intently.
"Or perhaps you were sent here to assure that some portion of my duties in service to High Arbiter Krade are discontinued by order of Magos Triskaedestes. This ambiguity is troubling to me."
As Ivaanov finishes his thought, Nessa appears in the doorway, looking harried and overwhelmed, two states of mind that you are able to perceive easily, but Ivaanov with his significantly diminished humanity, appears oblivious of.
She points to Launce, waving him over. When he doesn't respond, she looks at you, sizes you up, and seems to make a judgment call that your responsibility to care for the feral child is questionable at best.
"Kaltos Havelock? The boss asked that I examine the boy at the earliest opportunity. By the looks of it, he seems to need a wash and clean clothing as well. With your permission, since it seems he is waiting on it, can he come with me to be treated and assessed?"
Launce looks at you nervously, waiting for your answer.
I nod to Launce and say "Go ahead, depending on what she finds out about your health and what not you are to be fitted with a vox or something else so your mind can speak freely." I then wave him on to Nessa.
I turn back to Ivaanov "Krade might be beyond saving if what I saw is true but as you have stated there are 'miracles' happening."
Iacton walks the halls, contemplating the day's events. Two deaths, one rebirth. A miracle. A new ally. A goal. Two traitors, soon to meet their divine judgement. What will happen next, only He knows.
Then, it started.
"Iacton"
Iacton pales, his eyes wide. This can't be. He saw her die with his own eyes, her blood pooling on the floor. He has seen a miracle today, but that was four years ago, and they were so far from the Emperor's light. He finally speaks, his voice wavering. "Ragaana?"
Beneath the Gear Box ~ The Medicae
Iacton pales, his eyes wide. This can't be. He saw her die with his own eyes, her blood pooling on the floor. He has seen a miracle today, but that was four years ago, and they were so far from the Emperor's light. He finally speaks, his voice wavering. "Ragaana?"
There is no answer forthcoming from within the empty room. Your voice barely echoes back to you, strangely muted, as if the reverberation of sound was absorbed by something within.
You can see a pale blue light shining from the thin gap beneath the door leading into the padded secure-room that holds the Yellobouros ganger. It spreads in a flickering, half-circle splash of diffuse color across the tiled floor.
Iacton quietly steps to the door, in a daze, and pulls open the door.
The Trans-Vaxus Throughway
I try and shake off the feeling. "I think one of your cufflinks is worth more than I have ever owned. Don't think anyone would recognize me if I dolled myself up like you." Even as the words escape my lips my thoughts are distracted. Aebena?
The luxury groundcar merges on to the Trans-Vaxus Throughway, cleaving between the intermittent night-cycle traffic, speeding along to its destination under Stroinigli's capable hands.
"They're stolen, so I cannot guess what they are really worth. Long story, but, then again, aren't they all?"
Stroinigli smirks, having a little fun with you.
"You'd be surprised at how altering something as simple as your appearance can change how you are perceived, Savvy."
The night lights of the city shine in a chromatic spectrum of scintillating colors as you pass the gleaming golden pillar of the central Administratum Hub and the glowing marquees of the Grey Way. The melange of scents from the urban sprawl fill your nostrils through the cracked window; fried foods, the lingering smog of vehicle exhaust, and the faint dampness of water vapor from the laboring habitat sustainers, drizzling a patina of water on to the humid streets below.
You become lost in your thoughts, and Stroinigli gives you the silence to reflect, sensing your mood. When you come back to yourself, it is as the Saberwolf glides down an off-ramp into the towering, close-packed clusters of dormitory high-rises in the Hab Stacks. After negotiating a series of deserted access roads and overpasses, the car coasts to a halt in front of a glowering Old-Gothic building, one of a trio of connected structures, whose facade is adorned with eroded bas-reliefs of seraphims and idealized female figures engaged in all manner of wholesome labor. Few, if any lights remain on in the countless circular windows that dominate its pollution-stained walls.
"Well, we're here."
Stroinigli nods, the door beside you hissing as it glides open.
"I'm on your microbead frequency, so tap twice when you are ready to be picked up. I have a lot to do tonight myself. Favors to call in, toys to collect."
He looks up at the building through the open door, his curious neck tendrils writhing.
"Every parting is a foretaste of death, every reunion a hint of the resurrection."
Stroinigli grins.
"I always liked that one. Good luck, Savalos."
With a rev of the engine, Stroinigli drives off, the door closing as the groundcar recedes into the distance, brake-lights blurring with the damp covering the streets.
As Stroinigli drives off I quietly reply, "You too" I start up the steps thinking about his words. Hands in my pockets I keep alert, and enter the building.
Beneath the Gear Box ~ The Medicae
Iacton quietly steps to the door, in a daze, and pulls open the door.
The door opens easily, the eerie turquoise-colored light fading slowly across the floor until it delimits a small circle of vibrant color around the seated form of the musclebound ganger, who squats on the floor, his knees pulled protectively up to his chest in the shadowy corner of the padded cell. The witch-fire glow just barely illuminates the small room. The Yelloback shivers, and shakes slightly, as if fighting the chills of a fever, but otherwise does not note your presence.
There is something terribly off about his posture, however. His normal, ungainly brutishness, a trait he possessed even when terrified during the interrogation is absent. Instead he sits in a tight ball, as if trying desperately to contain something within him and strain against some alien paralysis to escape at the same time.
The ghastly light coats his skin in a nimbus of soft blue color, illuminating the jowly, stubble-covered face you expected, but the set of the jaw, the inclination of the head are all characteristics of someone else, someone strikingly familiar to your senses.
When he abruptly stands, it is with a fluid grace his body simply does not kinesthetically have. He remains in the corner, looking at you, and that is when you meet his eyes.
They are jet black in color and bizarrely reflective, like limpid pools of ebon oil. You nearly stagger when you realize you can see yourself where you stand perfectly clear in them, as if staring into twinned mirrors. In the reflection a tall, gaunt figure stands beside you, clad in dark green robes trimmed in gold. A saturnine face, lined with age and deeply fatigued looks back at you through the magicked mirror of the ganger's blinded eyes.
You know with certitude that no one stands beside you, yet the figure is clear as can be in the dual voids of your captive's wide, terrified eyes.
The figure in the reflection speaks, moving his mouth in time with his words, but it is the ganger's mouth that opens and closes emitting a voice that is clearly not his, but as familiar to you as your own.
"Iacton."