Uriah hears the ominous warning of the airspace controller at the very instant that he is remembering to be grateful to the God Emperor for his continued existence in the wake of the passenger liner's near-miss. Without any hesitation whatsoever, he transmits the codes.
A long wait follows, the only sound the wailing lock-on tone piercing your skulls with its shriek.
Finally the voice answers, sounding almost disinterested now.
"Transponder codes received, Judicium shuttle, please adjust heading to 149 and increase velocity until clear of the interdicted zone. Your flight path has been approved...a citation levy will be forwarded to your Administratum offices for your violation."
The tone abruptly silences to the relief of all aboard.
The controller then steps out of his officious sounding character for a moment to scathingly berate you.
"Work on your damned orbital reentry in the cogi-sim a little more pilot, that way the next time you come planetside you might avoid nearly getting everyone flying around you killed!"
"You are now clear of the interdicted zone, relaying your vox signal to Arbites Judicial Stack Spire #17 approach control. May the Emperor watch over everyone that has the misfortune to be in your path..."
There is a click, and another voice, this one so deep as to sound like an ogryn talking through a tunnel, replaces it.
"Arbites Control answering, please circle until cleared to descend, we have you at seven klicks out and closing. Transmit your platform destination and name your clearance contact so that we may verify your landing authorization."
The impossibly tall towers and spires of Orcut VII flash by your craft as you make your final approach to the Adeptus Arbites Judicium, the wan, red light of Oremor's sunset casting flickering plays of color across the gleaming metallic buildings. Powerful triangular wind turbines top many of the vaguely mushroom-shaped stacks. The uppermost levels of the tallest spires are deliberately built wider than their supporting columns to give that much more comfortable space to the obscenely rich and powerful of the planet's elite. Angling through a final bank of cloud, you see Adeptus Arbites Judicial Stack Spire #17, a dagger-shaped structure whose point seems to stab at the crimson sky in defiance of the more beautiful buildings surrounding it. Numerous landing platforms just out on extended spokes like the hilt of a main gauche, just above the level of the lower cloudbanks. Ranks upon ranks of ominously tinted plasteel windows ring the highest levels, flanked by alternating statues of Imperial saints and whimsical angelic figures. The very point of the spire is topped with a verdigris encrusted, hundred-meter tall depiction of Saint Drusus triumphant, power blade held aloft high overhead in both hands. You begin dutifully circling the spire according to the flight controller's commands, centering your revolutions around the tip of the saint's sword.
As you peer toward the back of the flight chair, Uriah, you notice the cherubim was staring down at the building with a perfectly, vapidly blank look. Upon detecting your glance, the creature speaks.
"Unable to establish connection to Master, Desius Krade; awaiting transmittal of contingency protocols."
"Contingency protocals eh? Just can't say plan B? Well at least them fraggers haven't shot us out of the sky yet." Seeing the draconian spire of the arbites loom in front of us, and the inability to reach Krade. I know the day is still far from over, and its only getting longer.
"Rico is your contact high enough in rank to authorize our clearance? Otherwise I will have to use Krade's name for clearance."
"Yes, Uriah, she can authorize clearance. Just get me an arbites channel and I'll do the rest."
"You have the go ahead, Rico. If you can land us on another platform that would be good, too."
"Hey Johnnie. Something you might want to consider if you value your friends life. Whoever was behind sending those fraggers to attack us. Has enough clout to get them into an Arbite Spire. Kill the orginal crew. Knew the procedures to get them off the landing pad to the Void Needle. And managed to cover up a fire fight and five dead bodies to take the shuttle. Not sure if you want her to be in those kind of crosshairs. Just something to consider. After all Arbites keep logs right?"
Uriah keys the vox, and speaks with Arbites Tower Control once again. After providing his flight data, he turns the vox-phone over to Johnnie.
"Hey Johnnie. Something you might want to consider if you value your friends life. Whoever was behind sending those fraggers to attack us. Has enough clout to get them into an Arbite Spire. Kill the orginal crew. Knew the procedures to get them off the landing pad to the Void Needle. And managed to cover up a fire fight and five dead bodies to take the shuttle. Not sure if you want her to be in those kind of crosshairs. Just something to consider. After all Arbites keep logs right?"
"Clearly, your deviant past is of use to us today."
Activating his microbead and switching on to Dauln's Arbites Frequency, Johnnie taps a series of vox burst.
<Raptor to Lonesome Dove, you read me? Over?>
<Need landing clearance, over>
At first there is nothing but a long burst of static, and then the microbead channel opens to dead quiet. Some part of you knows she is listening on the end of the line, perhaps stunned at hearing your voice.
"..."
Then, a severe-sounding but sultry woman's voice, seemingly irritated at first, but then incredulous, breaks the nearly interminable silence.
"...Rico?... Johnnie, how did you?...Where are...?"
"...you're here!?!..."
Quincus Dauln is not a woman to wear her emotions on her sleeve, but in her stunned voice your hear a mingling of surprise, regret and a long suppressed expression of her one-time affection that comes across as a befuddled joy.
"Wait...what in the name of the Throne do you need clearance for?"
<Dove, I'd love to discuss with you the 'why' of a lot of things, but for now, trust me when I tell you that: we can't go to the usual channels for that. Please help.>
<Dove, I'd love to discuss with you the 'why' of a lot of things, but for now, trust me when I tell you that: we can't go to the usual channels for that. Please help.>
There is a drawn out sigh from the other end of the vox-channel.
"All these years later, I still can't figure you out Rico. Part of me wants to let you dangle out there from whatever noose you've managed to fashion for yourself this time, but another part, my conscience, something I'd never presume you would understand the workings of, would suffer for it. I've never heard you sound plaintive in all the years we've known one another, and frankly, this makes me more than a little curious..."
"...and uneasy..."
"Rico...that transponder code...the shuttle you are in...Throne...what have you gotten yourself involved with?"
You heard the sound of genuine fear in Quincus' voice.
There is then a frantic tapping of keys from the other end of the vox.
"Tightbeam this alternate transponder frequency to the Spire Controller before someone can recognize that Churraptus' designation, and you get us all before a tribunal. Request a landing approach to Halleon's Spire #16 landing pad...I'll meet you there in 15 minutes..."
Then, in a harried voice without a hint of affection whatsoever...
"You're lucky I still love you, Rico..."
Uriah notes a flash of tightbeamed data scroll across the shuttle's communications cogitator, it appears to be a transponder code for a shuttle in the service of High Arbiter Ruvos Halleon. A query prompt on the green-screen display of the cogitator is prompting you for a selection of what code to transmit to the Spire Controller.
A crackling on the vox, and then:
"Arbites shuttle on approach vector 172, repeat, please transmit your platform destination and clearance contact information followed by your transponder frequency, landing data will then be provided to you."
As the shuttle jostles from the turbulence created by the fierce winds passing through the tightly packed Upspire buildings, Savalos notices the cherubim staring at him again.
In a throaty whisper, her tiny, pursed mouth barely moving, she intones,
'Contingency protocols received...'
Kalaziel then smiles at you, her face a perfect reflection of the young child, Maia, that you once delivered toys to in the deepest recesses of the Orcut VII Underhive. For the briefest of moments, you sense a deeper intelligence abiding behind the creature's empty, doll-like eyes.
I wait for Rico to give our landing clearance and coordinates.
Rico tells Uriah the necessary codes.
<um... ah... can't wait to discuss that once we're downside>
After Uriah transmits the false transponder code he identifies your clearance contact as Quincus Dauln, senior clerk of High Arbiter Ruvos Halleon, and the destination of your craft his landing pad on Arbites Spire #16.
After a returning tightbeam burst of data is returned to the cogitators, there is a crackling of static, and the Spire Controller's voice announces,
'Churraptus H13 inbound, you are cleared to land.'
Uriah banks the shuttle hard out of the descending spiral he had been circling for the last few minutes, and decreases his speed as he splits a pair of tower mounted gunnery platforms. A gentle dropping sensation fills the pit of your stomachs as the psyker elevates the nose of the craft, applying down-thrust from the dorsal-mounted maneuvering jets. The humid air burns away into superheated steam under the craft, and like a series of bright blue eyes opening their irises, a circle of landing lights winks on far below on one of the sister spires to the main tower. The Churraptus completes its descent, waggling slightly from side to side as a crosswind picks up across the pad.
Just before landing you see a wide, railed gantry connects the platform to the spire, while the pad holds the requisite cargo lifters and firefighting equipment one would expect.
With the fierce whine of the shuttle's engines mostly masking the hissing hydraulics of the landing gears descending from the craft's belly, you hear the resounding 'thunk' of metal striking metal and realize you have finally arrived on Oremor.
Albrek lets out a long, relieved sigh, and moves toward the descending passenger ramp.
"I need a lho-stick..."
"Rico, where to we go from here? You take point, since you know where we are."
"This way then." Rico unslings the naval shotgun, checks its ammo and takes point.
As the shuttle jostles from the turbulence created by the fierce winds passing through the tightly packed Upspire buildings, Savalos notices the cherubim staring at him again.
In a throaty whisper, her tiny, pursed mouth barely moving, she intones,
'Contingency protocols received...'
Kalaziel then smiles at you, her face a perfect reflection of the young child, Maia, that you once delivered toys to in the deepest recesses of the Orcut VII Underhive. For the briefest of moments, you sense a deeper intelligence abiding behind the creature's empty, doll-like eyes.
I return Kalaziel's smile. Wanting to ask if she is Maia. Then again not wanting to know. For if she is, what horrible fate turned her from a happy little girl into a Cheribum. "Aye Plan B".
"Rico, street smarts isn't deviant behavior. Its just common sense. Suprised you didn't think of it yourself. Guess all that Arbite training made you soft."
I chuckle in good humor. I follow behind the others keeping a lookout for danger. My guns are not drawn, but they are arranged for easy access.
I unstrap myself from the pilot's seat, and follow the rest out of the shuttle, my weapon not draw.
The bright blue, almost cerulean glow of the landing lights momentarily blind you as your party descends the Churraptus' steep ramp. The air feels heavy, humid, in spite of the stiff cross-breeze which carries the vaguely alkali smell of the far-off ocean to your nostrils. Fine filaments of organic matter dance through the air, visible against the blue light of the platform, the traces of wind carried spore-matter present even at this tremendous altitude above Oremor's surface.
On the far side of the platform, which, now that you have landed, seems surprisingly large, stands a tall, trapezoidal blast-door in the rounded spire wall. As you watch, there is the distinct sound of machinery engaging, and the huge door begins a ponderous ascent. Clean, white light spills out from within and pools along the edge of the platform. The shadows of at least two figures inside bleed out, silhouetted by the illumination inside as they are slowly revealed.
For those of you native to Oremor, powerful emotions well up within. The familiar smells, feelings, and sensations of one's homeworld are almost impossible to distill into something as unwieldy as words.
You are home.
The five of you stop at the end of the ramp, Kalaziel hovering just behind Savalos, watching as the door completes its ascent. Stepping out from the well-lit doorway emerge two figures, the first, in the lead, is a tall, willowy-built woman with long, straight auburn hair bound into a plait that runs the length of her back. She wears the flowing, green-trimmed black robes of the Judicium and carries a data-slate cradled in one arm. Behind her lumbers an enormously built man that can only be an abhuman, more than likely of ogryn stock. Outfitted in the green and gold, triangular-plated flak armor favored by the Arbitrators of Orcut VII, his vat-grown, enhanced musculature bulges beneath the uniform. He moves behind the woman slowly, so as not to outpace her, showing an obvious deference. An autocannon is balanced without any discernible effort upon his left shoulder, one huge hand resting on the stock.
The woman stops about five meters from your party and tilts her head slightly to one side as if mildly amused. Her features are pale, lovely, but with an underlying severity enhanced by a poorly-healed scar running from her hairline to just below the right side of her chin. Her eyes are gray, flinty and piercing. Looking each of you over before settling on Juan Rico, she forces a tight-lipped grin that seems to presage her coming sarcasm,
"My, my, Rico, how impressive, it seems as though you've moved up in the world. If I had known you were leaving me behind to join a poorly-dressed Malfian merchant house that arrives planetside armed to the teeth I would have surely understood why I was being jilted."
The ogryn seems to either have a very refined sense of comedic timing, or is merely humoring his mistress, when he begins to guffaw loudly behind her at the jest.
Quincus can't help herself after this, and chuckles in spite of her well maintained facade of seriousness. She regains control quickly, however, and the domineering gaze returns.
"So, what has brought you back to Oremor to darken my doorstep, Johnnie?"
Perception=61
I see nothing unusual
"Ooo, I like her Johnnie. She's got some bite to her." I am clearly amused. Not to give any discomfort to the woman who covered our landing, but the enjoyment to see Johnnie squirm and sweat. Seeing the obvious tension between the two. Not that I wish either of them harm.
1d100=12 Perception Check
I am distinctly aware that Kalaziel is right behind me.
"Rico, go ahead and tell her. Our cover was blown by the Captain of the Void Needle after our orders to come here. If we can not trust her, it will all be for nought."
I will signal Savalos to be lookout.
"Let us get out of the open."
The four of you stand back a few paces, as Juan Rico closes the distance somewhat to Quincus Dauln. The fierce-looking ogryn, very overprotective of his charge, steps forward defensively in response, his laughter forgotten. A civilian transport roars by high overhead, sending a downdraft of warm air eddying over the platform. The wide door leading into the spire remains open, but nobody else is in sight in the brightly-lit passageway.
With a glance from Uriah, Savalos and Albrek flank out slightly to either side, watching the woman, ogryn, and doorway closely for any sign of danger.
"Dove, it has been a long time and we have much catching up to do. And what's with the ogryn?"
The use of her callsign ought to alert Quincus that Johnnie senses her anxiety.
In a lower voice he whispers, "Is he back?"
"Let us get out of the open."
Ishmael stares up at the huge atmospheric craft roaring overhead and then looks defiantly in the direction of Uriah before stoically remarking,
"An intelligent plan, we are only visible to half the the hive from here."
"Dove, it has been a long time and we have much catching up to do. And what's with the ogryn?"
Quincus narrows her eyes when Johnnie speaks, shrewdly assessing him despite her evident anxiety.
"Your godly friend is in the right; we shouldn't loiter here in the open any longer than necessary. It won't be long before the teks arrive to becalm the shuttle's machine spirits, and they will know of our duplicity with the transponder codes soon after."
She glances over her shoulder to the ogryn, and when she looks back, she smiles radiantly.
"Oh, Druuther here is the Arbitrator assigned to me by Ruvos Halleon's offices as a bodyguard. Someone had to take on the mantle of keeping me out of trouble after you left so unexpectedly..."
In a lower voice he whispers, "Is he back?"
Such is the psychological and emotional impact that the killer known as the Vaxus Eviscerator has had on both of your lives that Quincus knows immediately the "he" of whom you speak despite it being mentioned so out of context. Suddenly no trace of color is evident in her pallor, as if your mention of him stirred up every terrible memory she possessed at once. Her smile wilts, she swallows once before whispering back to Johnnie.
"Your bullet ended him. We left his body, you had to...if not, I would have bled out. Duct-wolves or scavs made off with him. He is dead, Juan.
The killings have begun again though, a copycat more than likely. Our old friends at the precinct are handling it, but I have been keeping tabs."
She shakes her head, surprised that this was the first thing you would have asked her about, but the obsession you had for this case was often a rift between you in the later years.
"So in short, no. Believe it or not, what is going on now is far worse the our mutual friend from the past. If you are here to meet with Desius Krade, I'm afraid I have some bad news for you. He was abducted yesterday. Kidnapped from his offices. It is not public knowledge yet, but half the arbitrators in Orcut VII are searching for him, and the other half are scouring the planet for the group of rogue guardsmen that hijacked one of his shuttles. Let's just say I have some questions of my own now that you and a cadre of your interesting acquaintances, poorly disguised as Malfian nobility, have suddenly returned in the very same shuttle."
"You do not have to worry about the rogue guardsman, They will not be bothering anyone. That search can be called off. But that leaves the question, how could Desius Krade be taken out of his own office and not be seen? If you know him, then you know Kalaziel who is acoompaning us. Shall we go somewhere private? There many manners that need to be discussed"
As I say this, I am staring at Ishmael.
"Lets move Ladies... We are an easy mark for a sniper out here." I cast a weary glance toward the hover vehicle. When she alludes to our Malfian covers I almost want to laugh. Any Arbitor worth there salt would see I stand out as a Duct Wolf Soldier. From the hide I wear on my shoulders; to the tattoo's covering my body.
Albrek lights his long awaited lho-stick, and takes a deep drag, relieved to no longer be playing a part. He glares at Ishmael's thinly-veiled insult to Uriah, but can't help but agree with the basic premise.
"Savalos is correct, too much open space, too many eyes potentially upon us. I want to be nowhere near this shuttle when the rest of the Arbites figure out what has happened and descend upon it. I fear even Thul here would be hard pressed to find a way to talk us out of that kind of mess."
"Whoa! Much has happened I see."
Johnnie chambers a shell.
"To cover then. Let's go. Weapons at the ready. Dove, you're with me."
"And what the name of your buddy over there?" Johnnie nods in the direction of the ogryn.
Quincus stares at Johnnie sardonically after he speaks, and then shrugs.
"The philosophers say that the only constant in the universe is change, but I think you are living proof to the contrary, Rico."
She turns and signals the large ogryn to follow behind the rest of you, as everyone begins to move toward the doorway.
"As I said before, Druuther is my bodyguard. Once one is deemed important or relevant enough in the Judicium hierarchy (basically when the cost of replacing one of your specialized training and expertise exceeds some Administratum-defined variable) one of the Aribites' elite is assigned to you as a matter of course. I guess this means that I 'have arrived', so to speak."
She glances over at Juan and smirks.
"For that matter, what manner of fool would I be to show up at a clandestine meeting without back-up of some kind? You taught me better than that."
As you move through the towering doorway, the heady scent of the humid night air is swiftly replaced by the old, cold, stony scent of cast ceramite and the antiseptic smell of the processed air emanating from the ventilation system of the spire. The walls and vaulted ceilings are largely unfinished, with rough-hewn edges and flecks of sparkling minerals indigenous to Oremor, giving the interior the airy, gothic feel of a Ministorium cathedral. The deep-green floors in contrast are almost reflectively polished chitinum, the petrified calcification of fungoid remnants that are machine-planed to be as glass-smooth as Terran marble. The vaulted corridor curves inward as you walk, sturdy but aesthetically pleasing doors of darkly-grained wood passing to the left and right, signified only by numbers graven into stone lintels above their frames.
"I'm sorry we don't have time for much of a tour, but I don't think the Arbites investigatory teams would very much understand you presence. As High Arbiter Halleon is away on business at Fulcus Prime, if there is any place where we will remain undisturbed and undetected, it is likely his suites. He is on the same level, but the opposite side of the spire from Krade's offices. Without the ocean view, of course, your contact's seniority does have its perks."
Quincus comes to a bank of lifts in a small oval-shaped lobby whose only decoration is a gilt aquila suspended upon the wall on golden chains that then form a border around the vaulted ceiling. Pressing a well-worn keypad beside one of the lifts, one is summoned quickly, the silent passage of it in the shaft undetectable save for the displaced air that hisses out just before the sliding plasteel doors open. The spacious lift accommodates everyone, even the burly ogryn with room to spare, and once inside, Quincus Dauln punches keys in a flurry of finger movements once again. A sense of ascent and abdominal displacement assails you for a moment as you rise. The doors soon open again.
"Move quickly, the evening shift has ended, but several teams of investigators are still working into the night processing the crime scene."
Stepping off the lift into a more lavishly appointed corridor, one replete with framed tracts of Judicium legal dictates beautifully illuminated by master calligraphers, and several hand-sculpted busts of prominent High Arbiters from Oremor's past, you draw close to an imposing door of bronze-hued Unduz shellwood, the solitary name "Halleon" chiseled into the wide lintel overhead. A janitorial servitor, the first being you have encountered so far, shambles by with bucket in hand, oblivious to your presence. Quincus punches an authorization code into a tiny keypad cleverly hidden by a sliding panel in the door's surface. A seal releases and she ushers you into the offices beyond.
Relief is evident in the senior clerk's voice as she strides inside the well-appointed Judicium office. The ogryn stands at attention outside as the door closes on its own.
"Well Rico, the least you can do for me now that I have risked both my career and perhaps my life on getting you and your motley little band here is tell me what the hell is going on..."
I try and spy the key codes Quincus punched just in case something happens to her and we need a way out of here. I also keep a eye out for any stairwells, or other avenues of escape. While I find it amusing to sneak around in the Arbites Command Spire. I definately don't like being here.
When the suites door shuts and Quincus demands answers from Johnnie. Humor aside I realize in what kind of spot he put himself in. Even though He gave up his Oaths to the Duct Wolves. He is still a part of the pack. Regardless if he went astray. I clear my throat seeing if I can grab her attention and heat away from Johnnie.
"Go ahead Rico, brief her, but we must deal with one other matter. Albrek and Savalos keep your weapons on Ishmael. One of you strip him of his weapons. Now, I told you that you had oaths to make at landing. Are you going to make them, or are you going to announce your disloyalty? Answer carefully, I do not want to explain to our master why I had to take the actions that refusal will cause, but I will do what is necessary. If you take those oaths, you will have to live by them and be true to them, or the penalty will be the same as refusal. Albrek, Savalos, and Rico, you will have my permission to take action without orders at that time."
As I say this I point my laspistol at Ishmael.
I try very hard not to let my face betray my emotions. As much as I think Ishmaels question of loyalty needs to be resolved. I do think this is the worst possible time and place to do it. You never start a fight when you are trying to lay low. Exspecially in a safehouse!
"Well... I'd prefer if this is settled down in the underhive and not in the middle of the Arbites Spire. This should have been delt with on the landing pad. Right now we are all stuck with each other. So kiss and make up quickly, or wait til when gun shots won't be noticed I say. Sound good to you Fraggers?"
My hands are in my pockets. Brass Knuckles wrapped around one hand. A firm grip on my autopistol in the pocket of the other. Really wish I had a silencer.
It seems I am more distracted with Kalaziel being right behind me, and the tension amongest the group. Rather than actually looking at keypads. It feels like an emotional timebomb is about to go off. Quincus and Johnnie; and the showdown between The Headcase and the Zealot.
Ishmael stands aloof in the corner of the entry foyer, obscured by shadow. When Uriah turns on him and issues his demand, the Redemptionist steps forward into the dim amber glow radiating from an ornate lamp set upon a pearl-inlaid curio table. He says nothing, staring the whole time at the psyker, and proceeds to place his revolver and looted autopistol on the piece of antique furniture. He then slips the metal crossbow from his shoulder and lets it slide to the floor behind him with a clatter. His self-disarmament culminates in the cleric dropping the heavy hammer to the floor with an ominous thud.
Eyes never leaving Uriah, he smiles, lips tightly closed, and pulls the frag grenade from inside of his vestments, dangling it mockingly from the pull-pin for a moment.
"I, like my My Master, serve the God Emperor. My oath is sacrosanct and unremmitting. I have not faltered in my duties, or deviated from what My Master expects of me. My loyalty to him is unswerving and my honor unimpeachable. I can see how a warp-tainted twist such as yourself may be confused by such things as faith..."
Ishmael slips the grenade back into his clothing, patting it once for good measure.
"Nevertheless, you have my oath of steadfast service as chosen proxy to Master Ahmazzi, as he does his service in the name of He Who Sits Upon the Golden Throne. For what you are, be grateful you have even this. I expect that you, too, will be judged one day, Uriah, as you have seen fit to judge me. I urge you to recall the third of the holy Scintillan Dictates:
'Though shall not over-esteem thine own importance...'
"Words to live by. Let us not forget what brought us here in the first place, I am not the only one who perhaps needs a reminder."
Albrek steps between Ishmael and Uriah, tossing his half-smoked lho-stick to the floor, using every bit of the discipline drilled into him by the Imperial Guard to avoid shouting, instead hissing through his teeth in his anger.
"You are making a mockery of our Master's rosette, both of you. Put your petty egos aside. Or do I need to remind both of you that the first Dictate is:
Thy Master's will shalt be the whole of the law!
We were all chosen by Master Ahmazzi, all for a reason. Let us not devolve into mindless bickering when our task is now at hand!"