Ivaanov, Techpriest's page

The Gran Pallazzar Casino, Secondary Vermillion Ring Service Annex Corridor 9L

Private Kotts, pale and bloody, rises from the crate and begins to move around the storage chamber, still pressing the wadded bandage to his face while looking for some means of egress.

Kaltos kneels beside Ivaanov, who nods weakly at his words.

Kaltos, Common Lore (Tech) failed, Tech Use successful by one degree.

Examining the tangled mass of components and exposed wiring it is abundantly clear to the secutor that he has no viable schematic or practical experience with this manner of vox modulator. Still, he must do something for his Mechanicum comrade, and he begins to gingerly work through the leads and audio output circuits, unwinding the Gordian knot of conduit that Ivaanov had hastily rigged for the improvised transmitter/receiver that likely saved all of their lives.

Working quickly, he solders several leads, diligently adjusting the positions of the various components, genuinely regretful that this is not his area of expertise. This thought, unbidden, brings his mind back to the hive-born boy, Launce. A strange feeling of unease and regret fills him, a sense of concern for his well-being, and oddly, guilt. Perhaps if he had possessed the acumen, he could have effected the surgical procedure necessary to install his vox, giving him back his voice, instead of the heretek from whose fastness he was abducted.

Lost in his reverie, he is taken aback when a squawk of raw, abrasive static sounds from the tech-priest's vox-grill. Adjusting the gain, Kaltos finds that feedback generated is too powerful at normal volumes, and he must settle on lowering the setting to the minimus output.

When Ivaavnov speaks again, his voice is barely audible, filled with a tinny vibrato, quite unlike his normal voice. Kaltos momentarily adjusts his auditory receptors to compensate. The tech-priest sounds like a ghost of himself, and the metaphor is disturbingly apt considering the severity of the injuries and damage he has received.

"Serviceable work for a secutor. My thanks."

He coughs, lubricant and blood flecking his pale lips, one eye staring at Kaltos, while the other has gone as black as the void. The lumen strips along his cheeks flicker on and off as he talks.

It is almost as if Ivaanov reads his mind.

"Fear not for the boy, Kaltos Havelock. In his wisdom and foresight, my master has seen to his safety. We all have our roles to play and his is yet to come---or has come to pass." Ivaanov laughs, a metallic scratching sound that only a fellow servant of the Adeptus Mechanicus could know was amusement. "I apologize, it is sometimes confusing even for one such as I, who comprehends better than others some of the theories involved in just what he is capable of."

Kaltos somehow knows the person Ivaanov speaks of is not their shared master, Magos Triskaedestes, and a chill passes through his body, both in his organic and mechanicum components.

Somewhere Dark

For the sake of the guardsman I do not respond in the divine voice but in the language that he can understand. "Yes Ivaanov it is I. How are you and our friend here. Everything functional?"

Ivaanov, picking up on your decision to include the guardsman in your conversation, refrains from further binary utterances.

"I can only answer for myself, Kaltos Havelock, as Private Kotts and I are only recently reunited as well. Prior to our arrival in this larger chamber we were each held in individual holding cells of identical proportions where we were provided with our present accoutrements."

He holds up an iron-shod staff, similar to the one you carry, while pointing toward the chainsword Kott's holds.

"Private Kotts has expressed to me between vulgar imprecations about the progenitors of whomever imprisoned us here that his cell experienced the same mobile aspects that mine had. Although I am unable to precisely cogitate our present location, I would postulate that we have been transitioned from the Vermillion Ring to one of the upper levels of the Gran Pallazzar proper. I hypothesize that we are to be compelled to engage in some manner of confrontation, and given that we have been deliberately armed, I would suspect it would entail an arena spectacle of some kind."

When Ivaanov finally stops speaking, Kotts lets out a resigned sigh while looking without much hope toward Kaltos for succor from this verbose, pedantic, way of speaking.

"Don't worry, I'm fine."

"Seen Hurchal?"

Although he does not have the answer himself, the burly guardsmen's absence does not bode well given their circumstances, and despite his query, he does not believe Kotts has missed this salient detail.

Somewhere Dark

Stepping forward into the larger chamber, Kaltos realizes it is a confluence of sorts, ringed by nine doors similar to the one he steps through, only two of them open other than his own.

In front of one of these doors, just outside a cell identical to his own, crouch the two figures. One rises almost immediately upon sensing his presence, a chainsword blazing to life in his hand, shattering the stillness and echoing through the larger space with a strident peal of machinery.

The second figure, still crouching, holds up on hand as if to forestall his companion, and after the blade is silenced, he rises and a burst of binary chatter reaches the Disciple of Sollex's auditory inputs as the slighter figure regains to his feet.

<'The Machine God be praised, is that you Kaltos Havelock?'>

Ivaanov's greeting is uncertain, and halting, but as the techpriest moves into the diffuse actinic light, Kaltos' relief is palpable. Walking behind him is the guardsman, the communication officer, Private Kotts.

The Grey Way, The Vermillion Ring, Hypogeum Sub Level B, Cogitator Hub Cross-Conduit Terminus #117

The two guardsmen move behind the nearest of the bulky cogitator equipment and Ivaanov backs away as well, fiddling with dials and punching buttons quickly as moves toward Kaltos, bracing his lasgun over the lowest bank of pict-screens.

"As you will, Kaltos Havelock."

The already faint amber illumination in the cogitator hub winks out, screen by screen, plunging everyone within into darkness. There is a muffled grunt and the sounds of boots scuffing across the floor from Hurchal and Kotts as they ready their own weapons, and then silence.

Kaltos, please attempt a Routine [+20] Awareness test.

<<<Unfortunately, Kaltos is unable to access the registration data-loom from our present location, it is in a separate partition from the those accessible from the security subsystems cogitator hub.>>>

Uriah again finishes scanning the lift-lobby, whose crowds never seem to diminish, such is the steady flow of people to and from their rooms in the lux-suite tower. Bothle gamely tries to control his nervous fidgeting, wringing his hands behind his back where he stands next to an elaborate wall fresco depicting Orcut VII hive silhouetted against the midsummer sky, ocean waves shown crashing against the shores of the rocky estuaries at the base of the steep cliffs upon which it sits.

It is obvious the woman wanted something with Savalos beyond what her apparent vocation implied, but what?

His razor-sharp intuition suggests to the psyker that perhaps his fellow acolyte has not been entirely forthcoming with him on this matter.

The Gran Pallazzar Casino, Lux-Suite Tower #3 Lift Lobby

Hissing into his microbead while standing in the corner of the large caged lift, Savalos strains to listen as Ivaanov quickly replies:

<<<The floor appears to be comprised of a sizable wing of luxury suites, ninety-nine in number, the suite you have indicated is on the very end of the southern wing. Preliminary scans of the corridor show very little activity. A handful of cleaning and maintenance servitors and a few patrons; largely unremarkable personages, either exiting or re-entering their suites from the lift-lobby. I regret to advise you that as there are no picters in the suites themselves, I cannot remark on their occupants or contents. I will have Kaltos scan the concierge sub-system data-loom while I monitor to see if there is anything in the lodging or registration documents that seems amiss or ambiguous.>>>

Kaltos, this can be done through your electro-graft linkage with a successful Ordinary [+10] Tech Use test.

The Grey Way, The Vermillion Ring, Hypogeum Sub Level B, Cogitator Hub Cross-Conduit Terminus #117

<<<Uriah, Kaltos is examining the live pict-feed and spooling back through the data-loom's archival footage to see if there is anything amiss about the woman prior to your arrival, or where she originated from. At present I cannot discern anyone in the lift-lobby that may have you under observation.>>>

<<<In answer to your query, Savalos, I believe with the proper admonishing rites spoken through the data-loom to the machine spirits of the lifts they may be forestalled, or at the very least compelled to be recalcitrant when responding to commands. We are secure at present, but circumstantial evidence points to the high probability that another faction has infiltrated the Gran Pallazzar's surveillance system in addition to us. A servitor stumbled upon our intrusion, and the servo-skull accompanying it proved to be a servant of the Adeptus Astartes once it was disabled and examined.>>>

As Kaltos steps back, Ivaanov leans over the monitor, replaying a looped segment of the footage that his fellow tech-priest just viewed from picter 26A. He stares long and hard at what is depicted, saying nothing, but Kaltos can see immediately that something is wrong.

"I programmed certain parameters into the recognition filters of the cogitator hub's primary data-loom, specifically to identify personages of relevance to our mission based on physicial descriptors, biometric parameters, and other sundry data so that we would have warning if any of our many foes presented themselves here. I regret to say that it appears that my subroutines have proven successful."

He shakes his head mechanically, whether a twitch of misfiring augmetics or a very human shiver, Kaltos cannot be certain.

"I suspect I may know who this robed stranger is also, based on who he accompanies, and if I am correct it does not bode well for our objective."

Turning away from the screen, he speaks into his microbead again, his voice uncharacteristically urgent.

<<<"Savalos, Uriah, We are not alone. It appears that Trizo dol'Soulard has just arrived through the Grey Gardens entryway. It appears that his mysterious sorceror accompanies him.>>>

"Acknowledged Ivaanov."

"Ivaanov, can you do a scan to see if Quincus is here? Got a hunch..."

<<<I have begun canvassing the casino floors and connecting corridors outside of the resort suites on all levels at this time. As your 'hunches' have been shown to have a veracity of 67.9997 percent to this point in time, I will apprise you if any of the specified personages are observed, as well as any other aberrations in activity within the Gran Pallazzar as soon as they are detected.>>>

The Grey Way, The Gran Pallazzar Casino

Savalos and Uriah hear the tech-priest's tinny voice over their microbeads simultaneously as they move through the press of bodies leading to the main entrance of the Gran Pallazzar.

<<<"We have all of you in sight. Surveillance conducted of the entrance plaza stair and the Luminous Antechamber show no appreciable Arbites or 1st Legion presence. Slightly elevated security staffing for the casino is in effect, there is a high probability that this is simply a logical consequence of the events in Geltdown. Savalos Thul, you are approximately seventy meters northwest of Uriah Trantor's position. He, Sergeant Einhardt and the man accompanying them await you near the top of the nine hundred ninety-nine.>>>

Kaltos pries his augmetic eyes away from the monitor, unnerved still by the eerie robed figure's unnatural attentions. Looking across to Ivaanov, he sees the tech-priest speaking to the others over microbead.

The Grey Way, Radial Promenade Nine, Commercial Traffic Bypass Tunnel

<<<"We are meeting at Dunkan's suite at the Gran Pallazzar. Hold position until we know the exact location.">>>

Ivaanov's response is terse and to the point, the buzzing reverb of his vox tinny and jagged-sounding over the excellent connection.

<<<Message received and acknowledged. I am even now accessing the external security picter feeds from the casino and will monitor your approach. Use caution, although we have not observed any of their personnel directly, there is a high probability of Arbites presence at the Gran Pallazar. A servo-skull bearing the markings of the 77th Precinct nearly compromised our position in the last hour. Ivaanov out.>>>

The Grey Way, Radial Promenade Nine, Commercial Traffic Bypass Tunnel

<<<"Savalos, are you receiving me?">>>

<<<"Ivaanov, can you receive me">>>

As Uriah transmits, he gazes through the groundcar's windows at the increasing congestion on Radial Promenade #9 as they draw nearer to the central Grey Way, specifically the casino district. The massed pedestrian and vehicle traffic moving throughout the outlying mercantile hub fades from view as Stroinigli turns off the main route of Promenade #9. Negotiating a narrowing commercial access route running parallel to the larger thoroughfare, the Sabrewolf soon descends into a tunnel transiting beneath a series of enormous, overarching pipe networks carrying the lifeblood of the lower hive; reclaimed water and oxygen. The oppressive weight of the titanic conduits passes overhead, and it is as if the groundcar has entered the belly of the proverbial beast. The tunnel walls flash by in an inrregular strobing pattern of passing luminen strips, mimicking Uriah's chaotic thoughts.

Despite the substantial interference the tunnel must pose, someone answers his query, the tech-priest's tinny voice coming through strangely loud and clear, a testament to the efficacy of the antenna and Dunkan's technological prowess.

<<<"Uriah Trantor, this is Ivaanov, I confirm receipt of your message. We have attained our primary objective and are awaiting further orders. What is your will.">>>

The Grey Way, The Vermillion Ring, Hypogeum Sub Level B, Cogitator Hub Cross-Conduit Terminus #117

"A masterful technical improvisation, Kaltos Havelock, it seems the bypass to the security feeds has been re-routed successfully, and the failure alarm has been contained by the subroutine's reactivation. Magos Triskaedestes has taught you well."

The gangly tech-priest begins to adjust dials and knobs on the pict-screens, and you watch as images of the Gran Pallazzar casino begin to wink into life in a sub-divided frame of images akin to the compound vision of an insect's eye. Another few minutes of work, and the audio feeds come fully online, overlapping voices of patrons, security, and staff blending with a bedlam of other sounds; the clack of markers, flapping of dealt cards, and the audible kaleidoscope of sounds from various gaming machines and currency stations.

The Grey Way, The Vermillion Ring, Hypogeum Sub Level B, Cogitator Hub Cross-Conduit Terminus #117

Ill assist Common Lore Tech 44/2 non trained=22 +10 if there is a data port 1d100

Actually Kaltos, the test was for Tech-Use, a skill you are trained in with a score of 44. The Aid Another roll is a success, yielding an extra success on Ivaanov's resulting roll, if it is a success.

Rolling for Ivaanov's (Tech-Use = 58) skill test, it will have one additional degree of success for Kaltos' successful Aid Another, 1d100 ⇒ 69, test failed, Ivaanov expends a Fate Point for a re-roll, 1d100 ⇒ 71, failed again.

To the guardsmen, Kaltos and Ivaanov work with almost frightening efficiency, with no duplication of effort, carefully examining each input and wire before disconnecting, soldering, or re-connecting them to the cogitator interface. They confer in short bursts of binary cant from time to time, but otherwise show no signs that they are coordinating their activities. After barely ten minutes of intensive activity, Ivaanov steps back a few paces and plugs a final feed into the closest of the pict-screens.

Flicking a switch to one side, Kaltos watches as the green back-lit screen winks into life for a moment before just as quickly going dark. There is a brief buzz from inside one of the nearest cogitators, followed by an anticlimactic puff of grey smoke from behind the device and a smell of burnt plas.

Ivaanov shows no outward disappointment, merely reviewing the hypogeum blueprints again. Satisfied, he calmly disconnects his electro graft lead and moves toward the door.

"Most unfortunate. The power supply could not endure the influx of so many foreign machine spirits despite my fervent entreaties to the Omnissiah. Another chamber similar to this one is located on the opposite side of the hypogeum level. We must make our way there if we are to complete our objective."

He regards Kaltos and then the guardsmen, delivering his next words without any inflection that suggests what he says is anything other than simple fact, no fear or concern evident in his voice.

"It will take time before the Vermillion Ring adepts detect the failure of this substation, but detect it they will. Even if we are successful in intercepting the Gran Pallazzar's surveillance feeds at the alternate hub terminus there is no doubt that a comprehensive survey of each such substation will be initiated by this facility's servants of the Omnissiah. They will find us eventually. Our window of opportunity has considerably decreased."

There is still a chance to salvage this hub's usefulness, Kaltos. You can attempt a Difficult [-10] Tech-Use test to rewire the interface to bypass the damaged cogitator, but this will require some time. Success means the damage won't be detected, but you also run the risk of losing more time and still not being able to use this hub if you fail. Your call.

Ivaanov pipes up at the circumstances surrounding the disappearances from Danico's medicae wing, his strident vox-grill vibrating with each word like a poorly tuned musical instrument.

"The nature of the disappearances defies logic in all of its variables. The similarities bear the hallmark of High Arbiter Krade's initial disappearance as well. If there is one addendum to my knowledgebase that I have acquired in my few short days with the Inquisitorial acolytes, it is that when confronted with a scenario that contravenes the laws of the physical universe, the effects of the Immaterium must be suspected, as well as the hand of the Ruinous Powers."

The Vaxus Deeps, the Duct Wolf Sanctum

It only takes a few minutes for Savalos, Kaltos, and the others to reach the old suite used by the Duct Wolves as a makeshift medicae. After Savalos confers briefly with the burly healer at the door to the room, the very same who treated the tech-priest a short while ago, the man begs his Packmaster's pardon, taking his leave to treat the injured survivors of the Auldmaw's rampage in the neighboring rooms. Stroinigli, Einhardt, and his fellow guardsman, the comm officer, opt to wait just outside the room when Kaltos and Savalos enter.

Inside, they find Uriah, seemingly recovered from his strange seizure sitting on the edge of one of the Guard surplus cots lining the far wall. Ivaanov strides over to the two of you, hands fidgeting together as he replaces the cap on his forefinger auspex.

"From my examination, it appears that Uriah Trantor has recovered completely from the seizure. I am unable to detect any signs either of lasting trauma to him or any injuries of significance. My prognosis for him is positive."

The Vaxus Deeps, the Duct Wolf Sanctum

"That is good at least." I keep looking at the hole in the flack helmet. A little closer and more straight on and I would probably not be here any more. Not since I was a little boy have I had to face my own mortality or any kind of real fear. Its a bit daunting.

With that reflection I run some subroutines to calm my self and to keep the memory clear. Making the memory unclouded with the emotions that would make it something that it was not.

Once the subroutines are done I square my shoulders and say, "So do you have any parts to fix this hole? I am not sure I do."

Ivaanov takes the helmet from Kaltos and runs his slender finger through the las-blasted gap that had his fellow tech-priest ruminating about his own mortality a few moments ago. Checking the tool bag at his side, he rummages through it, producing a thin sleeve of metallic material that folds like cloth. Rolled up inside is a small plastek bottle containing powerful bonding agent. As he deftly maneuvers the tip of his index finger, now glowing brightly with the flare of a small fusion torch, a small patch of the material is cut out of the whole. He begins to secure it to the helmet with the aid of the adhesive, reciting a quiet litany to the Omnissiah as he works.

The repair done, he hands the helmet back to Kaltos, and considers him with the round gaze of his insectile goggles again before speaking in a hushed burst of binary Techna-lingua.

"I have been cogitating the probability of success for the servants of the Inquisition and the hereteks as the circumstances and the natures of their adversaries presently stand, Brother Havelock, and I must concede, success in their current endeavor is extremely unlikely with their present resources. The time will soon come when we must reconsider our present allegiances, if only so that the trust placed in us by Magos Triskaedestes does not turn into misplaced faith. My indentureship to High Arbiter Krade is the only tie that still binds us to their objectives. The likelihood that such foes would keep him alive for such an extended period of time is altogether minute. It is entirely possible that this is a technicality that will allow me to discharge my duty, as it were."

"If one of your pack has medicae experiance Savalos. I am in need of repair to my forehead mostly."

Rook, Kaltos will use this time to rest and recover from this mornings ordeals.

While the others are gone, Ivaanov and one of the Duct Wolf healers attempt First Aid through their Medicae skills on Kaltos. Kaltos is considered Lightly Wounded, rolling a Medicae [43] test for Ivaanov, 1d100 ⇒ 90, failed. The Duct Wolf healer aids him in the endeavor, Medicae [38], 1d100 ⇒ 15, success, Kaltos regains 3 Wounds.

Kaltos cannot help but be skeptical when the Duct Wolf healer arrives in the old banquet hall where he, Ivaanov, and the guardsmen wait. The man looks more like a shaman of some kind than a medicae, accoutered in furs, bone-beads, and an old Munitorum public work's coverall. While Ivaanov carefully probes the damage to his fellow tech-priest's damaged cortex components, the superstitious healer applies a milky white salve to the head wound, fingers darting nervously back with every spark that arcs from the edge of Ivaanov's combo-tool as it works on the connecting leads to Kalto's cranial circuitry. When the suturing work is done, the thickly bearded healer seems to be immensely grateful to leave the company of the strange, half-metal men.

Ivaanov, seeing Kaltos' doubtful looks, shakes his head deliberately from side to side.

"Do not doubt his primitive bearing and antiquated techniques, the ganger displayed an impressive autodidactic proficiency in his profession. I believe his salve was a distillate of the henjebonte fungoid, a natural anti-inflammatory and analgesic. His suturing was exceptional as well, despite his use of cured felid-gut."

Somewhere in the Vaxus Deeps

Ivaanov backs away until he leans awkwardly against the side of the battered groundcar. He toggles his microbead, answering Savalos with another ciphered message:

"De fumo in flammam..."

Sav, this literally translates into the Taper Cipher to "Out of the smoke, into the flame", signifying: 'Danger, requesting immediate assistance'. Following your nonverbal response which Ivaanov clearly understood, this portends something dire.

Somewhere in the Vaxus Deeps

Ivaanov nods his head upon hearing the confirmation click for comm silence from Savalos. He turns to Kaltos and Sgt. Einhardt.

"They are coming for us now, the message was received by one of the acolytes."

The Vaxus Deeps

Ivaanov's vox grates into life.

"I have triangulated the single and pinpointed its coordinates. It is only a few kilometers from this location."

Geltdown Docks, High Above Platform #7

"Well it looks like the cavalry is on its way." I move back and see if I can help. "Is there anything I can help with."

Assisting Albrek on to the lift with the aid of Dunkan's enforcers, Kaltos turns to Ivaanov, who regards the militant tech-priest with a steely gaze, quite unlike the detached expression he wore for much of their time in the tunnels beneath the Gear Box. His posture has changed as well, becoming less meek, now more upright and commandeering, as if some deeply-buried subroutine has finally processed itself to conclusion within his logic-cortex.

Turning to his fellow disciple of the Omnissiah, he lowers his vox to a static-filled hiss, and communicates in a short binary burst of techna-lingua.

+++Magos Triskaedestes must be apprised that the infection is spreading. Before long, quarantine measures will become impossible.+++

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.

Dunkan is as surprised as the rest of you when Ivaanov steps forward, his motions swift and precise, to lift the glass of water proffered by the heretek that he had thus far ignored. He holds it overhead in an awkward, but strangely genuine imitation of the others.

"May the Omnissiah look favorably upon our toil."

The tech priest raises it to his thin, pale lips and and drinks a single swallow.

"I did tell that we have evidence of Krade's taking. Would you please take the child where he can not see it."

I look at Savalos when I say that.

"Ivaanov, would you please show him and anyone who would like to see the taking of Krade and the mirror on the holopict."

You would think Ivaanov would only grudgingly move over to the bar with hidden pict-corder in the copy of the Corpus Presidium Calixis found in Krade's office, but nothing could be further from the truth, he promptly retrieves the weighty tome and walks toward the bar, whispering a quiet prayer to the Machine God as he reverentially adjusts levers and taps buttons hidden in the book's spine. It is as if the tech-priest has merely flipped a switch in his psyche that allows him to deal with Dunkan Danicos with no outward sign of dislike or incivility.

Having heard Savalos' request, he awaits Savalos to remove the boy from the immediate vicinity. Dunkan, having found some prepackaged snackfoods, hands them to the boy and eyes the odd piece of technical legerdemain with an expert eye.

"I will commence when the child is beyond his viewing and listening capabilities, as requested."

Ivaanov seems to relent somewhat, satisfied, or at least mollified by the truce brokered between Kaltos and Danicos. He refuses to even look upon Dunkan Danicos, but obviously speaks to him tangentially through his words to Kaltos and Uriah.

"Thus do we invoke the Machine God. Thus do we make whole that which was sundered."

"The original directive assigned to me by Magos Triskaedestes on Oremor, that of serving the High Arbiter Desius Krade, still has not been executed to completion. My fealty was given to Uriah Trantor of the Holy Ordos in proxy to this original directive, and nothing has transpired to alter this pact between us. As my interlocutor and brother tech-priest, Kaltos Havelock attests himself, I will in no way serve this heretek in any capacity, and will patiently await such a time that his blasphemy against this holy machine can be punished. However, in the interests of productivity in achieving our mutual objective of finding High Arbiter Krade, I will subsume this antipathy for the present."

Almost as an afterthought, Ivaanov releases a peal of binary chatter from his box directed toward Kaltos, and identifies himself verbally for the benefit of the human child.

"I am tech-priest Ivaanov Drivanovich of the Adeptus Biologis, vassal of Magos Triskaedestes."

Ivaanov makes his next statement with the incontrovertible truth of someone stating one of the basic physical laws of the universe.

"You are a madman."

Ivaanov standing as still as a statue near the entry door continues to regard Dunkan Danicos with cold enmity.

"As I stated before; you are a heretek, reclaimator, and blasphemer in the all-seeing eye of the Machine God. You dare to defile one of his holy creations, cowering within its noble, ruined body and cannibalizing its sacred mechanica to further your own worldly schemes. Being uninitiated and apart from the faithful of the Omnissiah, your crimes, your heresies, are punishable by death. These are irrefutable facts by my reckoning, the obvious evidence abounds all around us, do you deny this, then?"

Ivaanov clips his clinically terse response at this point, his teeth actually audibly clacking shut in his mouth above the vox-unit embedded in his neck. It is the closest you have seen the tech-priest come to an emotion approaching anger.

His insectile goggles still focused on Dunkan Danicos with the inhuman attention of a bird of prey, the tech-priest's vox warbles to life.

"You are a heretek; a reclaimator. You are anathema in the eyes of the Machine God and antithetical to my creed and beliefs. What you are trying to accomplish here is an abomination to the Omnissiah, and for this unforgivable transgression you will be punished."

yet."

"Ominous words coming from a worshipper of the Omnissiah."

A low buzz escapes from the tech-priest's vox, like a weary exhalation.

"..."

Ivaanov doesn't answer, merely continuing his march toward the open airlock, like a penitent going to the gallows, reluctant to meet his fate, but still firm in his beliefs.

Beneath the Gear Box

Navigation1d100

"Clearly, we are lost."

Trudging by an enormous bulkhead lining one of the ancient tunnels, Ivaanov glances up at it superstitiously, sighing deeply at Rico's words.

"We are all lost Juan Rico, some of us just have not realized this fact yet."

"Yes, I am coming."

Jarred from his introspection, Ivaanov Drivanovich looks about distractedly and rises as well, almost reluctantly trailing the others from the room.

"I did say if he was too far gone, the merciful thing would be to end it quickly. Some how, in that short time at the Mercy, He was exposed to the immaterium and corrupted by Malleus. I know one thing, do not repeat that name ever. A name like that, to say it out loud, is to let it notice you. I do not know that name, but I assume that it is connected to the power that summoned that flaming daemon, and we have gotten enough attention from that power as well as the other one."

I walk out of the room and go to the common area. I get on my knees and pray as fervently as I ever had. Make the sign of the Aquila at the beginning and at the end of the prayer.

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..."

"Ivaanov, would you please erase those signs. They are dangerous."

EDIT: I pray to the Emperor, for the strength to resist the Darkness within my soul (silently). Then I make the sign of the Aquila.

Ivaanov has been staring at the sigils for some time when you ask this. He reacts to your words slowly, only after a pregnant delay. Finally, the mechanical irises on his goggles cycle with a whir, narrowing in their focus as if he is coming out a deep reverie.

"Of course. Yet, you must admit, the glyphs have such fascinating symmetrical qualities. The curving aesthetic and the arrangement of the base polygons as geometrical constructs is unlike anything I have ever seen."

He pauses while reaching into his robes, his hand hesitating.

"Such... unbound order..."

Ivaanov shakes his head and strides past the indigen who is now curled into the fetal position, mewling in the corner. He wipes the bloodstains away with a small cloth from within his maroon robes, leaving messy, cloudy-looking streaks behind.

It is barely better. The blurred streaks now look like nothing less than an abstracted, composite image of how the individual symbols appeared. Before you can say anything, Ivaanov senses this and rubs his metal-covered palm across the mockery, marring it.

"Most disconcerting..."

"Affirmative. You read my mind."

Johnnie flashes Iacton a furtive sign before he says to Ivaanov, "Don't worry. I won't tell your bosses at the Mechanicum that you've turned psyker on them."

A little humor into the life of our techpriest....

Ivaanov's brow furrows above his opaque wraparound goggles, his jaw hitching slightly to one side in an expression of confusion. As typical of the tech-priest his first instinct is to take Johnnie literally.

"Despite the preternatural events of the last day, I was fortunate enough to avoid both of the warp incursions that occurred. To the best of my knowledge, Juan Rico, my mind and mental faculties are, as they were before we initially met, without tangible trace of psychic ability. Nor have I experienced any visions, portents, or premonitions of events to come as have some of our companions. Were I to be showing some indicator of being a nascent psyker, I would hope that prior to notifying the Magos of the Machine Cult, you would instead contact the Adeptus Astra Telepathica so that they could perform the requisite tests and commit me to the Black Ships for due processing."

Watching Rico's incredulous expression, Ivaanov angles his head slightly to one side as if in reflection, and then forces the pantomime of a thin smile on to his bland and oft-times emotionless features.

"That was a joke, Juan Rico."

Beneath the Gear Box

Noticing Rico and Iacton's glances when he examines the chrono, Ivaanov folds his hands together and rests them upon the table.

"The present time is 22:19:33 local time. You were asleep for approximately thirteen hours. Does this satisfy your unvoiced interrogative, Johnnie Rico?"

At this moment, Savalos ambles into the room.

As the others retire to their separate rooms, Savalos takes the heavy book from the tech-priest's long-fingered hands. Ivaanov then spins around silently in the padded chair, pulling back his crimson hood before steepling his hands together on the table, focusing his undivided attention toward the two secure rooms at the far side of the asylum-ward that hold your captives. Savalos stares at the pale, withered flesh on the back of the tech-priest's wrinkled skull for a moment, noting the cables and extrusions of metal and conduit.

Something.

Something had changed about Ivaanov since they arrived in the strange underground complex beneath the Gear Box.

As if sensing this scrutiny, despite his back being turned to the ganger, the tech-priest's vox warbles into life again, its tone matter of fact, flat and emotionless.

"In my analysis of the pict-corder, I happened upon another fragment of footage that might be of interest to you, Savalos Thul. You may depress key preset number three if you wish to watch it."

"My thoughts...Okay"

"Oremor is an agricultural planet. It is the main supplier of food to the Malfi subsystem. You contaminate the food supply you can paralyse the whole subsector, and create anarchy. Whole worlds will starve. Oremor also a major supplier of plant based medical supplies. So if the Prisoner gets free, and is allowed to live it could very well be the death of the whole subsystem. Oremor, Malfi, Dusk, Fydae Cluster, all of it. It could even come down to the fact that Oremor wasn't always an Imperial World."

Upon hearing Savalos speak of Oremor's place in the Malfi system, the tech-priest seems to come out his impassive, silent reverie. He seizes the opportunity to expound upon his biological sciences specialty with a machine-like efficiency in his reply.

"Savalos Thul is correct. Oremor with its claustrum plantations supplies over 22.39% of the viable agricultural exports needed to sustain the inhabited hive worlds of the Malfi sub-sector. The indigenous medical extracts from the plants and animals of this world are priceless and are vital to all planetary populations in the Calixis sector as well as beyond."

He pauses, considering his next words carefully.

"It is true. I am impressed with your knowledge of your own world's hidden history. I suspect you have taken advantage of the classified sources in the Holy Ordos' librariums to claim this otherwise secret knowledge. Oremor was at one time in the hands of the Eldar; it was one of their garden worlds."

Leaning his iron staff against the oval-shaped table, Ivaanov sits down, adjusting the tattered edges of his crimson robes. Looking around, the bright white overhead lights reflecting off of his narrowly irised goggles, he speaks to Uriah, his buzzing vox brusque.

"I still do not believe this has been explained adequately, Uriah Trantor: What is this place?"

Not receiving an answer, Ivaanov regards the servitor warily, his goggled eyes irising almost shut, making them look like they are narrowing in a facsimile of suspicion.

"I ask again, where are we?"

Anyone who wishes, please attempt a Challenging (+0) Scrutiny test.

Ivaanov examines the corroded door carefully, his augmented eyes behind the goggles drawn to the curious, socketed control panel suspiciously.

"Intriguing. What is this place?"

As the rickshaw speeds away, Ivaanov quietly reflects, with no trace of irony in his buzzing voice,

"I stand corrected."

Coldly rational, Ivaanov is the first to answer in his buzzing vox-box drone.

"I am disinclined to believe that Kalaziel's serendipitous presence throughout our entire endeavor is purely coincidental, just from a purely logic driven hypothesis. But, consider for a moment: the servitor did not warn us away from the warp-spawned evil that awaited us in Saint Trobriund's hospice, nor has it so far been able to lead us to our ultimate objective, Krade himself."

The vox softens slightly in volume,

"While I am not in argument against the truism that she has aided more than hindered us, she represents an indeterminate variable. Can we place our lives in her hands again, potentally at the expense of the mission?"

While waiting for Iactons answer... "How much room you got in the trunk?"

Unnerved somewhat by the state of his companions now that they have emerged from corrupted hospice, Ivaanov keeps silent, both hands gripping the steering wheel. Biding his time, he seizes upon Savalos' question as one he can easily answer with an affirmative or a negative, thus mitigating the disconcerting effect the anxiety, and emotionally-charged dialogue of the others is having on him.

"The schematics in the operator's manual indicated that there is a sizable storage boot situated under the aft armaplas access panel on this vehicle. I have not been at liberty to ascertain its contents, if any, to this point."

The overriding static on the microbead abruptly ceases, and a tinny voice is heard by all.

<"I am outside in the vehicle. I apologize, but my microbead link has been disrupted for some time. The Arbites vox was nonfunctional as well, but now that it is operating again, they are reporting the explosion that just took place in a panic over their vox communications. I hear sirens as well. They are drawing closer.">

"Damn! Am on my way!" Johnnie replies.

"Ivaanov, clear this vehicle of any tracking device and get ready to go back for me and the others! I'm headed there now!"

Ivaanov passes the small mechanical probe protruding from his fingertip over a portion of the third cogitator board he has removed from the dashboard of the groundcar. A faint electric-blue spark sizzles forth from the tool, blackening a small piece of circuitry upon it, leaving a small puff of black smoke and the smell of burning metal in the car.

The tech-priest responds, a monotone satisfaction detectable through his vox unit.

"There! It is done."

As Rico slips out of the driver's seat, he pulls his combat shotgun over the wheel, and the tech-priest awkwardly slides into his place, acknowledging the former arbitrator's order.

"I will await your signal, Juan Rico."

Just then, over the crackling static of the cruiser's vox-horn, the pair hear an excitable voice call out.

"Overwatch seventy-seven to Viscount, Overwatch seventy-seven to Viscount, we have lost the signal, repeat, we have lost the signal! Last known contact on Raptor's vehicle was on Grey Way verge, coordinate grid marker minus 774 dash 441, somewhere between the Grey Way and Torn Angel Lane. Sorry to use the general channel, Intelligencer, but there is some kind of interference in this sector neutralizing the secure microbeads."

Following a short pause, a voice familiar to Rico, obviously indignant with the sender of the previous transmission for breaking vox-silence, responds. His tone is cold and pointed, as if he somehow knows his quarry will be listening in.

"That is a three block grid, Overwatch. Dispatch all units from Grey Way sector three and the neighboring units searching sector eleven in Geltdown, begin a street by street cordon, I am on my way. The traitor and his coterie have killed one of our brethren and kidnapped a Judicium clerk, they are to be apprehended alive if possible, but if met with resistance do not hesitate. Shoot to kill. Viscount, out."

Leprade. Rico stares off into the distance for a moment before turning and running back toward the Mercy as fast his still painful limp will allow. After watching him go, Ivaanov lowers his head, shaking it ruefully, realizing that he may not have been quick enough in neutralizing the transponder. After allowing himself this grim reflection he redirects his efforts to familiarizing himself with the controls of the Vesper.

Running all out, Johnnie will arrive in the Mercy's chapel at the beginning of round #3, Rad.

"Ivaanov, can you check if there's a tracker on this thing?"

Ivaanov frowns, his hands working deftly over the exposed panels rooted out from within the heart of the Vesper's console. He fingers leads and wires, the induction strips in his hands humming with energy, the small soldering tool flicking over the components of the geo-locater module.

"I am. Give me a moment more, my communion with the vehicle's Machine Spirit is nearly complete."

Nodding obediently to Albrek and Uriah, Ivaanov makes for the stairwell, half-carrying the nearly unconscious indigen with him, retrieving his compact laspistol should he need to provide a greater level of intimidation for the man.

"I will interface with the machine spirit of the groundcar and deceive the transponder if one exists."

Looking back at the chapel door nervously, the tech priest shows a rare display of empathetic emotion.

"Be cautious, friends."

Finally finding the small key amidst the folds and pockets of his voluminous robe, he passes it to Savalos gingerly, taking deliberate care not to drop it upon the floor where it would no doubt be especially difficult to find amongst all of the spent shell casings.

Sniffing the air deeply, he frowns slightly, a curious grimace crossing the tech biologis' face.

"Incendius Osseum.".

"Someone has been using a bone cutting saw hereabouts recently. Burnt bone is a most distinct scent."

The double drone of Ivaanov's vox over the microbead is jarring:

<The ornate golden key that Uriah speaks of is still in my possession; it is intricately forged to say the least. Based on its design, size, and hand-wrought craftsmanship, if I had to speculate, I would presume that its purpose was to open a small coffer, lockbox, or reliquary of some kind.>