Iacton sheathes his blade and follows Savalos out, wondering how many arbites betrayed their divine duties. If the ganger was correct, then the station will run red with blood.
Ivaanov watches Uriah leave the room, wiping tiny beads of blood-spatter from his augmetic goggles. The tech-priest looks askance at the psyker, before turning back to the slumped over indigen to verify that the man is dead. He steps away from the corpse apprehensively, deliberately trying to avoid looking at the shape that the blood absorbed by the padded floor is making. He gives Johnnie, still staring down nonplussed at the body, a cursory glance, and then walks out of the room.He rests one hand briefly on the kneeling psyker's shoulder as he passes, his vox warbling to life with a low reverberating sound that make his mechanical voice sound nervous.
"A mercy, then. The Emperor Protects, Uriah Trantor...the Emperor Protects..."
I do not look at him, but I do repeat to Ivaanov, "the Emperor protects."
Then I continue praying.
Beneath the Gear Box
"Alright then. Now lets see if I can find you something to eat." I carefully back out of the room. I then go look for something to feed the guy.
Albrek follows Savalos and Iacton from the sweat-smelling restraint cell after making an inspection of the Yellobouros' bindings to make certain they are still secure. The thug barely reacts, slouching in the corner of the padded room, resigned to his fate, whatever it may be. As they file out, the three of them glance back at the room Uriah and the others have just emerged from, noting the slumped corpse and horrid, bloodily-smeared sigils on the wall. It is a testament to their time spent thus far on Oremor that none of them so much as blink in surprise.
As Savalos rifles through the stainless steel cabinets of the small adjoining kitchenette, the ex-guardsman stands in the doorway, remaining silent, but obviously ruminating over the brief interrogation. As Savalos pulls out a pair of pre-wrapped ration packs from a shelf and two foil sealed cups of juice from the small chiller, his fellow acolyte clears his throat, and then speaks, his voice still gravelly from fatigue.
"I assume since you're planning to feed him, he's going to remain alive for at least another day?"
Albrek looks warily over his shoulder at Uriah, still fervently praying in the counseling room, his robes dotted with drying blood.
"You know, going in I would have said that odds were we'd be the ones walking out with blood on our hands and a heavy conscience. Funny how things work out sometimes."
He takes particular interest in Savalos opening the various packages so that he doesn't have to make eye contact.
"Do you trust him?"
You realize the question from Albrek is pointedly ambiguous. He could be referring to either the ganger or Uriah in equal measure.
"Do you trust him?"
You realize the question from Albrek is pointedly ambiguous. He could be referring to either the ganger or Uriah in equal measure.
I finish upwrapping the food, and the juice. Not looking at Albrek I move to place the food in the padded room with the juice. My reply is equally ambiguous.
"Its not my place to trust."
I give one last long look at the ganger, as Uriah prays rocking back and forth. I shut the door. He has alot to think about. I leave the room.
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Unduz II
Vincent allows himself a self-satisfied smile as he takes another sip of his caffeine. He makes a mental note to divert the next promising shipment of contraband for Murjoff, knowing that the enterprising Corporal will not be able to resist. He taps out a short acknowledgment to the Corporal, then returns to he own investigations.
Reactivating the voice link with Bothle, he returns to his usual rapid-fire speech.
"Jerimus, are you still there? Check the duty rotations for free crews and shuttles, preferably at least two of each."
Bothle stops humming the treacly Fulcusian pop-song he was entertaining himself with while waiting. When he hears your voice, he transitions into a harrumphing cough instead.
"Yeah, I'm here. Thought you had forgotten you called me."
In answer to your question, you hear him tapping away for confirmations.
"OK, it looks like there is one Guard flight crew from the 7th coming off a schedule furlough, next flight for them out is 22:00 local from here to the southern peninsula and the shellfish harvesting collective to pick up a shipment of yellow spurclaws for the luxury market. Small load it seems. The other is a commercial Agri-Scow crew out of Orcut VII, they're waiting on a return trip to the hive with a load of pre-proc fungoid, their cargo is delayed by a silo jam it seems. They should be lifting by 17:00 though."
He takes particular interest in Savalos opening the various packages so that he doesn't have to make eye contact.
"Do you trust him?"
Although the question wasn't directed at Iacton, he still quietly replies, barely even acknowledging Albrek as he says it. "The prisoner can be used, but they are never to be trusted until their sentence has ended."
After I am done praying, I will sit down where we sat earlier.
Bothle stops humming the treacly Fulcusian pop-song he was entertaining himself with while waiting. When he hears your voice, he transitions into a harrumphing cough instead.
"Yeah, I'm here. Thought you had forgotten you called me."
In answer to your question, you hear him tapping away for confirmations.
"OK, it looks like there is one Guard flight crew from the 7th coming off a schedule furlough, next flight for them out is 22:00 local from here to the southern peninsula and the shellfish harvesting collective to pick up a shipment of yellow spurclaws for the luxury market. Small load it seems. The other is a commercial Agri-Scow crew out of Orcut VII, they're waiting on a return trip to the hive with a load of pre-proc fungoid, their cargo is delayed by a silo jam it seems. They should be lifting by 17:00 though."
"Excellent, divert the first crew, they will be flying out on the Agri-Scow along with a repair team and a platoon of guardsmen. Instruct the commercial pilots to drop their passengers off on one of the Geltdown platforms."
Vincent pauses for a moment to allow Bothle to catch-up before continuing.
"Find and assign the requisite personnel, I will brief them once they are assembled."
Geltdown Outskirts
I continue forward but keep my eye on the urchin. If he follows me into Geltdown for more then a block I'll stop and motion him forward.
Passing beneath the splayed legs of a hulking, rusted-out, load-lifter crane on the far side of the junkyard, you find your exit impeded by a wall of banded metal fencing ten meters high, topped with gleaming razor-wire. Geltdown proper awaits on the opposite side, but there is no sign of a gate or other means of egress.
The durability of the fencing is far superior to the ramshackle mechanical remnants that it guards, and you are left wondering how you will bypass it. It likely is too difficult to cut through with the equipment at your disposal, and climbing it could prove treacherous.
Glancing back over your shoulder, you see no sign of the young urchin amongst the pallet-like stacks of derelict compressed groundcars and forlorn industrial cast-offs.
Hearing something, you look up to the pinnacle of the ancient crane where you see something completely improbable. A young girl, likely no more than five years old has alighted there, her pensive brown eyes staring down at you intently. Just as you are beginning to wonder at how she came to be there in the few moments since you last looked, she unfurls a set of feathered wings, folding them neatly behind her back. Her bare feet curl around the ladder-like superstructure at the top of the lifter, some thirty meters overhead. the tip of the crane extends past the perimeter of the fence where she roosts.
A servitor of some kind. A cherubim by appearance.
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Unduz II
"Excellent, divert the first crew, they will be flying out on the Agri-Scow along with a repair team and a platoon of guardsmen. Instruct the commercial pilots to drop their passengers off on one of the Geltdown platforms."
Vincent pauses for a moment to allow Bothle to catch-up before continuing.
"Find and assign the requisite personnel, I will brief them once they are assembled."
Bothle sounds a trifle perplexed, but he is used to your rapid-fire commands and penchant for moving quickly to resolve matters, another reason you can tolerate him.
"OK, just so I am clear on this, you want the commercial crew prepped and ready to go in order to transport a Guard contingent and repair crew to Geltdown? No offense, boss, but the silo work is going to be done soon and they have a hefty shipment outbound. I can juggle the commercial shipping crews to allow for that, but it might raise some red flags. What exactly are we doing here?"
Geltdown Outskirts
I continue forward but keep my eye on the urchin. If he follows me into Geltdown for more then a block I'll stop and motion him forward.Passing beneath the splayed legs of a hulking, rusted-out, load-lifter crane on the far side of the junkyard, you find your exit impeded by a wall of banded metal fencing ten meters high, topped with gleaming razor-wire. Geltdown proper awaits on the opposite side, but there is no sign of a gate or other means of egress.
The durability of the fencing is far superior to the ramshackle mechanical remnants that it guards, and you are left wondering how you will bypass it. It likely is too difficult to cut through with the equipment at your disposal, and climbing it could prove treacherous.
Glancing back over your shoulder, you see no sign of the young urchin amongst the pallet-like stacks of derelict compressed groundcars and forlorn industrial cast-offs.
Hearing something, you look up to the pinnacle of the ancient crane where you see something completely improbable. A young girl, likely no more than five years old has alighted there, her pensive brown eyes staring down at you intently. Just as you are beginning to wonder at how she came to be there in the few moments since you last looked, she unfurls a set of feathered wings, folding them neatly behind her back. Her bare feet curl around the ladder-like superstructure at the top of the lifter, some thirty meters overhead. the tip of the crane extends past the perimeter of the fence where she roosts.
A servitor of some kind. A cherubim by appearance.
I motion the Cherubim down to me. When it gets close I will command " Cherubim fly over to the load-lifter controls and have the arm of the lower down into my reach. Once I have a firm hold lift me over this wall" I point to the wall in-front of me."Then lower me down on my signal."
Bothle sounds a trifle perplexed, but he is used to your rapid-fire commands and penchant for moving quickly to resolve matters, another reason you can tolerate him.
"OK, just so I am clear on this, you want the commercial crew prepped and ready to go in order to transport a Guard contingent and repair crew to Geltdown? No offense, boss, but the silo work is going to be done soon and they have a hefty shipment outbound. I can juggle the commercial shipping crews to allow for that, but it might raise some red flags. What exactly are we doing here?"
"The personnel will secure the shuttle and facilitate my investigations into the matter. This is an internal matter and it is critical that our personnel get there before this incident becomes known. Do what is necessary to arrange the transfer, but reveal nothing."
Geltdown Outskirts
I motion the Cherubim down to me.
Curious as to why the cherubim has alighted on the crane, you stare up at her quizzically for a time.
Sensing an opportunity, you gesture to her, beckoning the servitor to fly down off her lofty perch. Accustomed to the utter obedience of the various mechanica of your forgeworld, Haddrak, you are somewhat nonplussed when the creature remains still as a statue, returning your stare impassively.
She then flies away, over the wall, leaving you by yourself.
From behind you there is a muffled snort of derision, followed by stifled giggling. Turning, you see the filthy urchin-boy sitting in the rusting body of a partially compacted groundcar, his laughing face framed by the jagged glass edging the broken window.
"The personnel will secure the shuttle and facilitate my investigations into the matter. This is an internal matter and it is critical that our personnel get there before this incident becomes known. Do what is necessary to arrange the transfer, but reveal nothing."
To his credit, Jerimus Bothle, upon sensing your tone, forestalls any further questions that may be troubling him. Still, you sense that he will not allow his concerns to linger unaddressed forever. He has placed his neck on the line for you, and it is a testament to his trust and respect of your authority that he will follow through with the order without any further explanation.
"As you order, boss."
He hesitates a second, and you can hear him lick his lips in apprehension over the vox-link, keys tapping idly in the background.
"I have a hunch that after I notify Sgt. Einhardt he's going to want to talk to you personally, though, Vince."
To his credit, Jerimus Bothle, upon sensing your tone, forestalls any further questions that may be troubling him. Still, you sense that he will not allow his concerns to linger unaddressed forever. He has placed his neck on the line for you, and it is a testament to his trust and respect of your authority that he will follow through with the order without any further explanation."As you order, boss."
He hesitates a second, and you can hear him lick his lips in apprehension over the vox-link, keys tapping idly in the background.
"I have a hunch that after I notify Sgt. Einhardt he's going to want to talk to you personally, though, Vince."
"Very well."
Beneath the Gear Box
As Savalos returns from giving the still living prisoner his food, he notes the others have gathered around the table again. Uriah, finished with his prayer, sits at the head of the padded oval, staring off into the middle distance, blood still beading on the sleeves of his robe. Rico pushes his empty caffeine cup around the surface, meditating upon the streaks that the wet rings of brown fluid make. Iacton, his sheathed blade resting atop his legs, chews slowly through a tasteless protein bar, working his jaw mechanically, looking directly at no one. Ivaanov, head down, seems like an idled cogitator, no outward signs of life showing on his pale and waxen face. Only Albrek watches you approach, his lively eyes bouncing meaningfully from you to the cell holding the dead indigen.
"What are we going to do with him? I imagine the doc out there isn't going to be too happy with the mess."
Beneath the Gear Box
"What are we going to do with him? I imagine the doc out there isn't going to be too happy with the mess."
I glance back at room smeared with the blood of who was the last survivor of the Mercy. Then again looking at those surrounding the table, and into Albrek's eyes. "Your right, she's going to be fragging peeved."
I exit the room.
Geltdown Outskirts
Curious as to why the cherubim has alighted on the crane, you stare up at her quizzically for a time.
Sensing an opportunity, you gesture to her, beckoning the servitor to fly down off her lofty perch. Accustomed to the utter obedience of the various mechanica of your forgeworld, Haddrak, you are somewhat nonplussed when the creature remains still as a statue, returning your stare impassively.
She then flies away, over the wall, leaving you by yourself.
From behind you there is a muffled snort of derision, followed by stifled giggling. Turning, you see the filthy urchin-boy sitting in the rusting body of a partially compacted groundcar, his laughing face framed by the jagged glass edging the broken window.
I sigh and under my breath I say "Not like home at all." I then glance at the auspex and see if there is a way around that wont take me to far out of my way. I then look up from the device and lock stares with the urchin and say in a firm voice "Boy if you plan on continue to follow me you had best respect me. For if you do I might let you continue to follow. What say you? What is your name?"
Geltdown Outskirts
I sigh and under my breath I say "Not like home at all." I then glance at the auspex and see if there is a way around that won't take me too far out of my way. I then look up from the device and lock stares with the urchin and say in a firm voice, "Boy if you plan on continuing to follow me, you had best respect me. For if you do, I might let you continue to follow. What say you? What is your name?"
The soot-smeared urchin stops laughing, his face turning into a feral scowl at your chiding. He flips his head at an angle, tossing his long topknot petulantly to one side, growling at you through the occasional teeth still residing in his mouth. When he hears your final words, he hoots what seems to be some kind of borderline savage-speak interrogative, and clambers simian-like through the empty cavity in the windowless door. He still carries the prybar in one hand, and climbs deftly down the side of the stack of crushed groundcars, moving circuitously and apprehensively the long way around to the base of the crane, still keeping his distance from you.
Grunting to himself, and hoists his malnourished body up on to one of the squat legs of the load-lifter, and scrambles up to look down on you again from the open operator cabin. His beady eyes dart suggestively from the controls to you and then to the fence. He then screws up his face as if trying to dislodge a particularly distasteful chunk of food from his gullet, and his harelipped mouth struggles mightily to form a word after much breathless stuttering and expectoration.
"Luhr....lah...lah...aun...ssss..."
He swallows hard, eyes rolling in his head from the trials and tribulations of trying to form this single word, and finally spits it out like a gob of unwanted phlegm.
"L-L-Launce...Launce!!!"
He smiles broadly after this accomplishment, a not quite complete set of yellowing teeth proudly displayed, and you cannot help but grin at his beaming pride.
Your smile quickly fades when you realize that a simple-minded hive urchin who can barely speak now requires you to explain how to operate a telescoping salvage crane in questionable repair.
When Launce begins to intuitively flick controls and turn knobs, you can only watch in amazement. When the ancient load-lifter rumbles to life, it's engine grunting and wheezing with near-bestial effort you step back involuntarily in awe. With a few more effortless applications of his dirt-streaked, knobby fingers, the urchin retracts the boom, lowering it until it stops within arms-length of you.
He looks back out of the rusting cabin, the compartment shedding flecks of peeling red paint with each grumble of the overtaxed engine, and nods enthusiastically in your direction, chuckling with boyish glee.
Geltdown Outskirts
The soot-smeared urchin stops laughing, his face turning into a feral scowl at your chiding. He flips his head at an angle, tossing his long topknot petulantly to one side, growling at you through the occasional teeth still residing in his mouth. When he hears your final words, he hoots what seems to be some kind of borderline savage-speak interrogative, and clambers simian-like through the empty cavity in the windowless door. He still carries the prybar in one hand, and climbs deftly down the side of the stack of crushed groundcars, moving circuitously and apprehensively the long way around to the base of the crane, still keeping his distance from you.Grunting to himself, and hoists his malnourished body up on to one of the squat legs of the load-lifter, and scrambles up to look down on you again from the open operator cabin. His beady eyes dart suggestively from the controls to you and then to the fence. He then screws up his face as if trying to dislodge a particularly distasteful chunk of food from his gullet, and his harelipped mouth struggles mightily to form a word after much breathless stuttering and expectoration.
"Luhr....lah...lah...aun...ssss..."
He swallows hard, eyes rolling in his head from the trials and tribulations of trying to form this single word, and finally spits it out like a gob of unwanted phlegm.
"L-L-Launce...Launce!!!"
He smiles broadly after this accomplishment, a not quite complete set of yellowing teeth proudly displayed, and you cannot help but grin at his beaming pride.
Your smile quickly...
"Well done Launce" I swing my self on top of the boom. "Now swing me over the other side." I point over the wall to make my command clear.
Beneath the Gear Box
Savalos is as surprised as anyone that Nessa shows none of the expected outrage when it is revealed to her that Uriah killed one of the prisoners in cold blood within her medicae. The tall, mahogany-skinned woman in the pristine white scrubs merely stares wordlessly at the body for a long moment, and then keys her microbead, muttering a few monotone words into it, betraying no emotion whatsoever throughout the process.
A few minutes later, with no one having dared speak a word in the uncomfortable silence, the two wraithlike medicae servitors glide into the asylum ward, methodically lifting the slight body between the two of them between grotesquely long, syringe-tipped fingers. They carry the body without effort from the small restraint cell, disappearing into the corridor like gaunt angels of death delivering the indigen to his sterile afterlife, a trail of glistening blood, like the crimson threads of fate, glistening on the tile floor in their wake.
After they have left, Nessa turns to Savalos, still showing no sign of outward emotion, regarding him with the same jaded acceptance displayed by the rest of the acolytes. It is then that you belatedly realize there is a reason for this. She is, of course, herself, an acolyte of the Holy Ordos.
You feel the fool for not recognizing this earlier.
When she next speaks her voice is flat and to the point.
"In an hour I will be cutting off your friend's leg to give him a chance to survive whatever is afflicting him. I'll be down the hall."
She then turns and strides out purposefully.
Geltdown Outskirts
"Well done Launce" I swing my self on top of the boom. "Now swing me over the other side." I point over the wall to make my command clear.
You need not even have wasted the effort spent on speaking the words. The second you grasp the top of the crane, the feral hive-urchin is raising the armature again, the servos straining with pops of failing hydraulics as he lifts the lever. With a terrible mechanical grinding, the crane extends out of over the top of the fence, swaying gently, the boy intuitively lowering the hooked winch cable once it is in position. As it unsppols with a steady whir, you cautiously consider the substantial drop to the street.
Beneath the Gear Box"In an hour I will be cutting off your friend's leg to give him a chance to survive whatever is afflicting him. I'll be down the hall."
As she is leaving:
"The Throne guide your hand."She then turns and strides out purposefully.
Beneath the Gearbox
Albrek remarks with deadpan irony,
"All things considered, I think she took that pretty well."
Geltdown Outskirts
You need not even have wasted the effort spent on speaking the words. The second you grasp the top of the crane, the feral hive-urchin is raising the armature again, the servos straining with pops of failing hydraulics as he lifts the lever. With a terrible mechanical grinding, the crane extends out of over the top of the fence, swaying gently, the boy intuitively lowering the hooked winch cable once it is in position. As it unsppols with a steady whir, you cautiously consider the substantial drop to the street.
Before I descend I say "If you can follow do so if not I will come back. Look for me here at 1700 hours everyday." I then look around at the surroundings while I have the height advantage.
I just shake my head when I realize Nessa is an Acolyte. I should have picked up on it sooner. Guess my mind has been focused on other things...
I notice there is no warmth in her voice. Not like before, somethings changed. Something must be eating at her. I listen to her prognosis of Sigmunt. As she turns to leave, I reply. "Better his leg than his soul." I watch her leave with a purposeful stride.
After about 20 minutes I will get up and go to the medicae to stand vigil over my pack brother. If Ishmael is awake I will even stand by him awhile. As much as I dislike the guy someone should be there.
Before I descend I say "If you can follow do so if not I will come back. Look for me here at 1700 hours everyday." I then look around at the surroundings while I have the height advantage.Geltdown Outskirts
You need not even have wasted the effort spent on speaking the words. The second you grasp the top of the crane, the feral hive-urchin is raising the armature again, the servos straining with pops of failing hydraulics as he lifts the lever. With a terrible mechanical grinding, the crane extends out of over the top of the fence, swaying gently, the boy intuitively lowering the hooked winch cable once it is in position. As it unsppols with a steady whir, you cautiously consider the substantial drop to the street.
"I need to speak to you about what just happened. The ones who were with me already know. He was using his blood to make symbols of Malleus of one of the powers involved. He was corrupted before we got to The Mercy. I will not repeat the name he said, because as I told the others, a name of that nature brings attention to the one saying it, and that is attention we do not need, at least not yet. He also said that I am the vessal, if that is true, and I cannot do the correct action, I expect one of you to perform it. He also said that Rico's and Ivaanov's lives are short. We must protect them from that. His death was mine as ordered by our Master on how to deal with Malleus, and necessary."
EDIT:
"I need to speak to you about what just happened. The ones who were with me already know. He was using his blood to make symbols of Malleus of one of the powers involved. He was corrupted before we got to The Mercy. I will not repeat the name he said, because as I told the others, a name of that nature brings attention to the one saying it, and that is attention we do not need, at least not yet. He also said that I am the vessal, if that is true, and I cannot do the correct action, I expect one of you to perform it. He also said that Rico's and Ivaanov's lives are short. We must protect them from that. His death was mine as ordered by our Master on how to deal with Malleus, and necessary."
"Trust me if you start frothing at the mouth, and flames dance upon you. I will vent you. Then I will shoot you again just to make sure nothing pops out of you like Emrit."
"I do appreciate it Savalos, and I expect we will all follow your example if it becomes necessary."
Geltdown Outskirts
Before I descend I say "If you can follow, do so. If not, I will come back. Look for me here at 1700 hours everyday."
I then look around at the surroundings while I have the height advantage.
Before descending, Kaltos scans the rooflines of the huddled expanses of warehouses and manufactories that squat in the smoggy middle distance. He references his auspex, triangulating the angles of the wide streets and accessways with the readings. His gaze finally rests upon a towering collection of leaning, conjoined pipes that erupt from the ground near a shattered building five to seven kilometers away. Satisfied, he calls back to the urchin, and then begins his descent.
By the time Kaltos reaches the crumbling rockcrete street below, he is sheened in sweat, his arms throbbing from the rigorous effort required to move hand over hand down the thick metal cable. He has barely stepped away from the crane's looming shadow when there is a whispered whistle of coarse fabric on metal, and Launce slides to the ground with some inertia, rolling on to the street after leaping the last bit of distance from the huge double hook on the end of the cable. He quickly scampers to his feet and regards you warily.
Geltdown Outskirts
Before descending, Kaltos scans the rooflines of the huddled expanses of warehouses and manufactories that squat in the smoggy middle distance. He references his auspex, triangulating the angles of the wide streets and accessways with the readings. His gaze finally rests upon a towering collection of leaning, conjoined pipes that erupt from the ground near a shattered building five to seven kilometers away. Satisfied, he calls back to the urchin, and then begins his descent.
By the time Kaltos reaches the crumbling rockcrete street below, he is sheened in sweat, his arms throbbing from the rigorous effort required to move hand over hand down the thick metal cable. He has barely stepped away from the crane's looming shadow when there is a whispered whistle of coarse fabric on metal, and Launce slides to the ground with some inertia, rolling on to the street after leaping the last bit of distance from the huge double hook on the end of the cable. He quickly scampers to his feet and regards you warily.
I nod and say "Well then lets continue." I pull the dead gangers pistol out of my pocket and hold it out to the boy. "Do you know how to use this?"
"I do appreciate it Savalos, and I expect we will all follow your example if it becomes necessary."
After catching up to Savalos as he leaves the asylum ward, the pair exchange the whispered words spoken above. Their grim conversation concluded, Savalos turns to continue down the gleaming white corridor to lend what support he can offer to his packmate in the surgical theater. As he goes, Uriah turns to make his way back to the others, but stops short when he glances at the antique aquila hanging from Thul's belt, the feathered wings of the noble Imperial eagle each ensconced with one of ten vial-sealed fingerbones of the saint.
In a flash of understanding, Ishmael's once incomprehensible words return unbidden to the psyker:
'...put it in his leg.'
"Very well."
Vincent cuts the connection to Bothle. Returning once more to his console, a flurry of keystrokes opens the pict-corder footage he downloaded earlier. Vincent leans back in his chair and takes a calm sip of his caffeine.
Geltdown Outskirts
I nod and say,"Well then lets continue."
I pull the dead ganger's pistol out of my pocket and hold it out to the boy.
"Do you know how to use this?"
Launce greedily grasps the pistol, regarding it with almost superstitious wonder. Smiling maniacally at you, he then flips open the cylinder with a flick of his wrist, squints one eye appraisingly to count the four shells remaining, and slaps the cylinder home again. Checking the pull on the hammer, he then depresses the stud that deactivates the safety. Launce then slips the revolver into the folds of his rags, tight to his body with his frayed cord belt.
You take that as a resounding 'yes'.
I nod and say,"Well then lets continue."
I pull the dead ganger's pistol out of my pocket and hold it out to the boy.
"Do you know how to use this?"
Launce greedily grasps the pistol, regarding it with almost superstitious wonder. Smiling maniacally at you, he then flips open the cylinder with a flick of his wrist, squints one eye appraisingly to count the four shells remaining, and slaps the cylinder home again. Checking the pull on the hammer, he then depresses the stud that deactivates the safety. Launce then slips the revolver into the folds of his rags, tight to his body with his frayed cord belt.
You take that as a resounding 'yes'.
I smile in spite of my self. I then pull out the auspex and head in the direction of my destination.
"Wait, Savalos. We need to stop the operation, until the two of us talk to Nessa."
"Very well."Vincent cuts the connection to Bothle. Returning once more to his console, a flurry of keystrokes opens the pict-corder footage he downloaded earlier. Vincent leans back in his chair and takes a calm sip of his caffeine.
"Not like there is a rush, she said she wasn't going to be doing any cutting for another 40 min. I just going in to sit with them for a spell."
Made it by 3 degrees
"Then let us talk to her. Ishmael told me a vision true that he had. I could not hear the last thing he said, but it had to do with the relic you are carrying proving its efficacy by a miracle. He said that it will protect us from the plague to come, but this the part I could only partially understand, that we are either to put in or on the leg. I am guessing that your friend's leg is the leg he spoke of."
"Then let us talk to her. Ishmael told me a vision true that he had. I could not hear the last thing he said, but it had to do with the relic you are carrying proving its efficacy by a miracle. He said that it will protect us from the plague to come, but this the part I could only partially understand, that we are either to put in or on the leg. I am guessing that your friend's leg is the leg he spoke of."
"Alright" I walk inside the medicae. Looking to see if I can help Sigmunt, and maybe help him, and Ishmael to forget about there suffering for a time.
The more I think about Nessa's tone. The more it bugs me. Soemthing is definately wrong. Why place the face card now? Guess I will have to wait til later to see whats eating at her. Some talks are best done in private.
I will follow Savalos in.
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Unduz II
Made it by 3 degrees
Overriding a quad-panel of monitors, Vincent keys in the selected recordings on the call-up screens, and begins playback of the pict-cordings. Using a knurled dial on the console, he begins to fast-forward through the irrelevant footage, linking the time stamps when necessary across multiple monitors, and laboriously searching for anything out of the ordinary while carefully watching the high-speed footage.
Churraptus outbound #273 left at approximately 05:15 hours local time, so Vincent begins his review during pre-flight loading, roughly two hours before the shuttlecraft's engines lifted it into the sea-foam green, pre-dawn skies over Unduz II. It is time-consuming work, but he has some time to kill, so he focuses all of his considerable attention upon the task at hand.
For a time, everything proceeds as presumed. The Guard flight crew goes through their pre-flight inspections, a tired looking prisoner-stevedore power washes the carbon scoring along the aft fuselage, behind the pill-shaped engine nacelles, and the first pallets of cargo are wheeled into place on automated pallet-jacks manned by the washer's contemporaries.
As the chrono-display edges toward 04:45 hours, the last of the pallets have been secured in the cargo compartment and many of the tired hangar workers are moving their equipment to the next bird scheduled for departure, what is likely their supervisor following, consulting his manifest diligently.
Your patience then pays off.
Fifteen minutes before departure: A lone forklift rolls into view behind the shuttle, pushing the cube-like profile of a Class C cargo container in front of it. A single guardsman, conspicuously outfitted in the olive green fatigues favored by the Oremor Penal Legions, drives the vehicle, positioning the container into the last space available in the cargo hold. After doing so, he hurriedly drives the forklift out of view. He soon runs back into the frame, rushing up the ramp and pulling the lever that causes the shuttle's rear hatch to secure. He turns toward the cargo container and for a moment it almost looks like he is speaking through the chest-level grillwork built into the Class C container, grillwork ostensibly built-in so that the livestock contained therein, usually maulchups, can breathe freely.
Now what would a non-com guardsman be doing talking to a cargo container supposedly carrying water purifiers? For that matter, why would a livestock container be utilized to deliver said water purifiers? Even if one were to believe that a cargo of hulking maulchups were being sent off to slaughter, inadvertently being delivered in error to the Geltdown platforms, why would this guardsman believe the smelly tripeds made good conversationalists?
Vincent switches cameras, finding one with a better angle of the open hold and rewinding the footage to a point just before the stowaway guardsman leans in to the grillwork around the perimeter of the container.
Adjusting the gradient on the grainy footage, the senior clerk tries to get a clearer pict-still. Advancing frame by frame, he begins to discern what he suspected. Clearly visible through the grillwork are the silhouettes of multiple flak-armored guardsman, the cylindrical barrels of their lasguns obvious, erupting from the outlines of their left shoulders. It is hard to get a count, but Vincent makes out at least three individuals.
He thinks he spies a fourth and fifth figure, one of them speaking to the stowaway guardsman who loaded the shuttle, but soon realizes his mistake. Narrowing the camera's view and adjusting for the grainy footage again by using the deinterlace filter, he stares long and hard at the amorphous mass that looks like two more guardsmen for a long while. Tapping a few more keys, he activates a cogitator program he himself scripted to simulate the removal of the overlaying polygons blocking the angle of view on the screen. The two blurred figures soon resolve, revealing them to actually be one man. One considerably obese man. The peaked outline atop his shoulders reveal him to be wearing a commissar's cap.
Beneath the Gear Box
Uriah and Savalos step into the antiseptic smelling surgery theater again, their voices automatically lowered to the whispers they would use in a librarium. The oval room, its lights dimmed considerably seems overlarge with its paltry pair of patients, spaced so closely to the central medicae equipment pillar supporting the ceiling. Sigmunt rests deathly still on his bed, his leg wrapped now in an air-sealed sleeve of plastic sheeting that seems partially inflated. Ishmael, nearby, twitches slightly with each pulse of oxygenated air into his hyperbaric tent, his hands clenching and unclenching reflexively with the pain that must be wracking his body from the burns covering it.
Working with practiced efficiency, Nessa plucks scalpels and probes from stainless steel drawers built into the pillar, loading a surgical tray with her selections. She has donned a burgundy colored surgical smock, the cowl-like mask already lowered into place over her mouth and nose. Using a sonic sterilizer, she carefully wands the device over the meticulously laid out tray, paying careful attention to a wickedly serrated bonesaw.
She flicks her eyes over to you for moment, noticing your presence for the first time, and speaks firmly, though in a somewhat muffled voice through her mask.
"You have a few minutes, but I need to prep the patient as well. Make it quick."
I walk up to Sigmunt and take hold of his hand with the Golden Aquila held tight between our grip. Answering Sig before he answers with questioning eyes. "Its of Saint Trobriund." I glance back over toward Nessa briefly as she speaks, before I return my gaze to Sigmunt. "Family sticks together." I silently pray the power and blessing I felt from the Golden Aquila in the Mercy will save my brothers life, and his leg. I release my grip. I put on a protective glove, and place the Holy Relic on the diseased part of his leg.
Overriding a quad-panel of monitors, Vincent keys in the selected recordings on the call-up screens, and begins playback of the pict-cordings. Using a knurled dial on the console, he begins to fast-forward through the irrelevant footage, linking the time stamps when necessary across multiple monitors, and laboriously searching for anything out of the ordinary while carefully watching the high-speed footage.
Vincent saves the most useful frames for future reference before reaching for his vox-link once more. He institutes the proper protocols to prevent unwanted attention before inputing the address he has long since memorized, to establish a link with Dunkan Danicos.
Beneath the Gear Box
I walk up to Sigmunt and take hold of his hand with the Golden Aquila held tight between our grip. Answering Sig before he answers with questioning eyes. "Its of Saint Trobriund." I glance back over toward Nessa briefly as she speaks, before I return my gaze to Sigmunt. "Family sticks together." I silently pray the power and blessing I felt from the Golden Aquila in the Mercy will save my brothers life, and his leg. I release my grip. I put on a protective glove, and place the Holy Relic on the diseased part of his leg.
As Nessa turns back to her preparations, Savalos carefully sets the gold-gilt aquila atop the bed, slowly lifting Sigmunt's pale hand in his, and entwining them around the holy relic. When he finishes his unspoken prayer, a profound peace settles over the acolyte. With Uriah standing behind him, the psyker's own head bowed in dutiful benediction, Thul gently sets his brother Wolf's arm back down and then withdraws a pair of red plastex gloves from within one of the stainless steel drawers lining the surgical gurney. Donning them, Savalos holds the holy relic aloft again, studying the wingtips and eyes with their gleaming, pink-accented mother-of-pearl. His hands delicately trace the ten 'feather' shapes comprising the eagle's wings, his eyes pass reverentially over the ten slender crystalline tubes, each containing holy waters of anointing in which float the yellowing fragments of Saint Trobriund's fingerbones. Finally, his fingers come to rest upon one of the small pearl studs at the end of each wingtip that apparently serve as buttons to individually release the small vials. Without pausing to consider why he is doing so, he depresses a stud, and the leftmost vial releases from the aquila with a quiet click, tumbling into Savalos Thul's outstretched hand.
The spiritual weight of the tiny object resting in his palm resonates deep within the ex-ganger's bones. The power, the purity of the sacred relic is impossible to deny. Forcing himself to look upon the gangrenous, daemonically inflicted wound on Sigmunt's leg he realizes a decision must be made.
I look at the tiny little object resting in my hand. Funny how something so small can resonate so much power. I know how important of a gift I am holding in my hand is. I felt it at the Mercy, as strongly as I feel it now. St Trobriund would heal anyone who was in need. He never discriminated against age, or profession. Noble, and harlot were given equal attention in his care. Deep down it would be a disservice if I didn't respect his wishes. After all I am holding a tiny fragment of him.
I will open the tiny vial and place the bone in Sigmunt's infected wound. I whisper in his ear. "Sig, its time your life answered a higher calling. I need your help. Otherwise what happened at the Gearbox will happen everywhere."
As he does this I make the sign of the Aquila.