Cat moves around the room, looking here and there in a strangely distracted fashion. She crouches and looks carefully at the body, eyes blinking slowly. With her face half-covered, it's difficult to tell what she's thinking. In the hostel room, it isn't hard to find Janus's little corner -- it's the area that's neat, tidy, and at the epicenter of the destruction and violence. There isn't much there; a data-slate, currently turned off; a pouch with a few more Thrones in it; no weapons, perhaps not surprisingly; and a Cult Imperialis prayerbook and icon.
Once she's finished looking around the room, Cat checks out the data-slate, examining to see if there is perhaps anything odd about its spirit. She seems oddly distracted, though her expression is hard to read with half her face covered.
The data-slate flickers on -- and in an instant, what looks like an immense sequence of numbers fills up the screen. The slate seems to be functioning properly, this is simply what's on it. And as the series of numbers scrolls on, it seems to be completely filling the data-slate's memory.
The more Cat looks at it, the more she's convinced that it is a single number, not merely a sequence of random digits. The Tech-Priest's eyes narrow as she examines the number, trying to discern what could possibly use such a number. Encryption, perhaps? If it is indeed a single number, it's far too huge to simply comprehend what it might mean just by looking at it. She'd need to get hold of a logic engine or a cogitator.
Cat contemplates the data-slte and then glances out the shattered window. The number is tickling the part of her brain that loves intricacies. With some regret, she shuts the data-slate off and tucks it away. Once the slate is tucked away, Cat also examines the gangers carefully. The gangers have little if anything on them. Ramshackle armor, crude weapons, nothing really usable.
Outside, Spike has been having no problems keeping people away. A combination of intimidation and declaratons of 'moral taint!' keep most people, even those of the Underhive, away from the misshapen form that used to be Wilhelm Janus. He grins quietly to himself inside his cowl -- being a supposed Inquisitor makes dealing with people far easier than his usual struggle with non-Void-born!
After a while, Havelock returns with a small can of promethium that he got from the missionary's flamer. After dousing the body thoroughly, he ignites it, and with startling quickness the body of Janus is consumed is flames and reduced to a black smear on the pavement.
Spike silently signs the Aquila as the body burns. He's quite ready to head out after Havelock once the disgusting thing has been purified with fire.
Havelock says, "I think that's acceptable, under the circumstances."
Spike nods silently, a grimace of disgust hidden within the cowl. He murmurs softly to Havelock, "Let's get out of here now, yes? I'll get Cat. Did you deal with the hostler yet?"
The hostler has fled the vicinity, and judging by how long it's taking people to return it doesn't look like he's eager to come back anytime soon.
Spike snorts amusedly at that, then runs swiftly up the stairs. "Cat? Everything okay?"
The Tech-Priest has arranged the gangers' bodies side by side, just for something to do with her hands. At Spike's appearance, she nods, "Yes. I have found something interesting. I think it would be best to examine it later."
Spike glances into the room and can't help a grin at the tidying up. He tilts his head towards the door, "C'mon then, mate... let's get out of here."
Havelock waits outside. He looks at the empty canister in his hand, and then at the deserted alleyway whence the hostler fled. "Imagine if I'd had the whole flamer," he mutters to himself.
Cat nods and follows after Spike, as quiet as usual, hands folded into her sleeves.
The psyker glances over his shoulder. "Anything?"
Spike trots warily wide around the corner, head tilted to spot Havelock as quickly as possible. He shakes his head, "Priest says she found something but wants to check it out later. Got a few things like that myself. Is the Mission safe?"
Cat nods to the psyker, "Something interesting on a data-slate."
"As safe as anything can be in the Underhive," Havelock answers, dryly. "We should return to the Spire at once. We'll need to bend an Astropath's ear and make report."
Spike's voice is pleased, "Let's go then -- sooner out of here the better."
"Mmm," Havelock grunts, and goes, stopping only to return the missionary's borrowed flamer reservoir.
Spike quietly lets the rather... excitable missionary know what happened, and that the three Singe-Spears will not be coming back -- and nor will Janus itself.
The missionary is saddened by that, certainly, but promises to try to smooth things over with the Singe-Spears and convince them that Janus wasn't really an Ecclesiarchy friar; that should keep the underhive from exploding.
Spike nods at that, then heads off silently after Havelock. He wonders what the little strips of metal are that he has in one of his pouches. Maybe Havelock or Cat will know?
Havelock does his part as the Inquisitorial heavy to remind her that an Underhive riot is only going to lead to purgation. He doesn't relish the task, but someone has to make the situation perfectly clear.
Spike grins quietly at that, shaking his head once in admiration. He always forgets those touches... good thing he's the only Voidborn here.
Havelock is, if nothing else, a model Inquisitorial agent. Whether that is in spite of or due to the fact that he has almost no discernible personality, is a question best left to others to judge.
The silent presence of the Tech-Priest is still hard to read, her eyes looking perhaps abstracted.
The trip to the upperhive is quick and expeditious; flashing their scrolls opens many doors for them until they reach the last hurdle: the Astropath himself.
At the top of one of the tallest spires, far from the teeming masses of humanity below, is a small, windowless, circular room. The ceiling is low, such that if one were tall enough their hair would be brushing the many tubes and cables and mechanisms set there. Where machinery doesn't cover the dark, steel-grey room, there are murals and shrines and frescoes and bas-reliefs of the Emperor, the Navis Nobilite, and the Adeptus Psykanna.
In the heart of the room is a sunken pit, lined and packed with mechanisms and bionics; and visible only from the waist up, wearing a thick respirator mask is the Astropath. No part of his body is visible; if it isn't bionics and augmentations, it's a cowl and a thick, rough leather or cloth. Nevertheless, he notices the group entering immediately. "Ah. The acolytes of Inquisitor Moth. I have been told you were on Vaxanide." His voice is artificial, created by vox-grilles set throughout the room.
Spike glances around in wary astonishment at the voice coming from all directions, then back at the Astropath. A moment later his gaze flicks to Havelock.
Unusual for an Astropath, Havelock thinks, but makes no sign. "We understand your heavy workload, master Astropath; we have a short message that must be relayed to a ship in orbit bound for Inquisitor Moth, and we will trouble you no further."
The room, strange as it is, makes Cat relax, the stiff way she was holding herself relaxes a little. The voice-from-everywhere doesn't faze her.
The astropath nods his head. "I understand; I expected you to come here. However, I have been instructed not to send any messages without the approval of House Vaxanide or one of it's representatives." The Astropath sounds unnaturally calm.
Spike raises an eyebrow and slides silently to the door, glancing outside thoughtfully.
"And these instructions carry sufficient weight with you to countermand Inquisitorial authority," Havelock says. It's not a question.
The Astropath inclines his head to Havelock. "It is curious, actually, Acolyte. I have never encountered a situation where I have been forced to choose between the Inquisition and my duties. I consulted the sector astropaths, and they have not, either. Obviously, my Imperial-mandated duties require me to cooperate with the Inquisition. But to do so would result in termination of my life before I even sent the message out. I am unsure as to the mechanism, but the message I was given said as much. You can understand my concern, I hope."
Spike glances at Cat, whispering, "Can you do anything for the Astropath?"
"I don't suppose," the psyker answers, dryly, "That they'll permit you to tell us exactly whom handed this order down."
Cat cat glances at Spike and starts moving around the room, examining the mechanisms that fill it. Her eyes narrow as she peers at this or that interesting tidbit, half-listening to the astropath and the psyker.
"I would that I could, Acolyte. But as you can see, I am connected to many streams of information. This one was anonymous, and from I don't know where."
Spike gives the Astropath a curious glance, then looks at Havelock inquiringly, "How would he know it's legit then?"
Havelock says, "How indeed."
The Astropath turns to Spike, which is unnerving because the respirator clearly has no eye-holes. "Indeed. There are infostreams which have authenticators. I imagine an adept could spend some time with the logic-engines and cogitators here to examine the infostreams and determine where in the hive the message originated from. But any message saying 'If you do this then you will die,' which I cannot immediately trace, does cause me some concern, Acolyte."
Cat is not an expert at Astropath support systems, but there are some things about the room that still do not make sense... like the rather large switch-box nestled half-behind one of the Imperial shrines that looks a touch too new.
The mention of cogitators brings to mind the strange number on the data-slate tucked into her robes. Cat glances at the astropath and then goes to examine the switch-box a little more closely, keeping a mental list of other oddities.
Spike tilts his head curiously at the odd figure, "Can you see everything in this room?"
"I cannot, Acolyte, no. I have rudimentary sonar-receptors but I am blind. I was born blind, you see, as many of my fellow astropaths are."
Spike says, "So it would be easy for someone to slip in and damage you." He nods, turning his attention back to the door, "I can see why you'd be nervous about such a message."
"I suppose that makes the soul-binding a bit easier to take," Havelock murmurs, dry.
Spike crouches comfortably next to the door, mostly out of sight but so he can scan both room and stairs easily. He lays his rifle to ready over his knees and tucks one of his throwing daggers into his left hand. He can't help fix things for the Astropath... but he can make sure his companions are not harmed by either outside attackers coming up the stairs, or the Astropath somehow being able to reach them.
After a moment, Cat asks, "Astropath, this switch box. It does not belong, does it?"
The Astropath "looks" at Havelock, an intrigued and amused note in his synthetic voice. "Indeed, Acolyte. That is one of the ironies of being soulbound to His Imperial Majesty. I am safe from the spawn of the Warp, but that means I am all the more vulnerable to physical threats... as your Tech-Priest seems to have indicated." The Astropath turns -- more to the point, his entire body spins slowly around on some platform so that he can face Cat. "I am not familiar with much of the biomedical equipment in this room. But it is safe to say, Tech-Preist, that if something does not strike you as regular, then it possibly is not. You would have to consult the local Cult Mechanicus monastery, or the chirurgeons, to be certain."
Havelock gives Cat a significant look at the mention of the chirurgeons.
The mention of the chirurgeons and Havelock's look makes Cat nod slowly, "I believe that there are several... irregularities here, astropath." She carefully closes her hands and folds them into her sleeves, finger itching to fix this.
"Ah, I see. That would explain much. I beg to impose upon your help, then, Tech-Priest, to set things aright so that I may pursue my Imperial duties without further hinderance from those who know not how important it is to the Imperium that the Astropaths function without duress."
"Perhaps it would be best to take this up with the Mechanicus, then," Havelock offers.
Cat nods and says, "I would be quite willing to do my best, astropath. I believe having assistance of my brethren may be wise."
"Thank you, Inquisitors." The change from 'Acolytes' to 'Inquisitors' as an honorific and mark of respect is audible.
"Attempting to suborn a Hive's Astropath is a serious crime against the Scholastica Psykana, the city and the entire planet, master Astropath," Havelock says.
Spike nods amusedly at that, still watching down the stairs.
"Something doesn't reckon, though," Havelock muses.
"We are in agreement, Inquisitor. Unfortunately they appear to be quite unscrupulous in their workings, whomever they are."
"This is very clearly a delaying tactic. What are they buying time to *do?*" The psyker frowns. "Something is going to happen, soon. We need to move-- and stay ahead of this, whatever shape it may take. We'll drive Cat to the Cult Mechanicus' shrine. She will be safe there while the two of us return to the spaceport. We'll commandeer a transmitter there and try to make contact with the Guard unit and see if they'll have a vox-caster operator send a direct message to Moth's craft for us. I believe she needs to be here, this situation is going to escalate."
"Cat, have the Cult guard you on the way back. You'll need to trust your confederates over any of the natives from here out."
Spike gives the psyker a faintly surprised glance, then straightens, "Awright. Ready when you are."
The order brings a nod of the head from the distracted Tech-Priest.
"Return here to tend the Astropath as soon as you can, and come straight here. From here out me must assume that the Hive is hostile territory," Havelock says.
Spike curiously asks, "Didn't you say the not-a-person was in a form you'd never seen before, Havelock? How would he have gotten that way? Wouldn't he need a Tech Priest to set up that thing on his forehead?"
"He would need a heretek, at the least," Havelock answers.
Spike shakes his head exasperatedly at himself, hastily adding, "Er, right! Sorry, said that wrong."
Cat's eyes were starting to narrow until Havelock made the distinction.
Spike pauses, then slowly adds, "You know... maybe that's why the Colonel wasn't worried by Inquisitors on-planet. He knew no word could get out."
Havelock answers, "That's why we're going to contact the Commissar first and pray the situation hasn't gone entirely to Cadia in a handbasket."
Spike nods, turning to lead the way downstairs, rifle ready to hand again. "Let's go then."
They group board the gun-jeep, and begin to make their way to the monastery. But almost as soon as they reach the base of the spire, there is a constable roadblack; vehicles are backed up for about a mile by a roadblock set up by local police, who seem to be conducting one of their manhunts.
Cat considers for a moment and says, "I believe I dislike this."
Spike grins at Cat's words, casually calling, "Aye, me too!" He makes sure the stubber is loaded and swinging freely, then tilts his head to listen when Havelock talks to the authorities. He's curious as to who they're hunting.
"We don't have time for this," Havelock murmurs. "Cat, get into the access lane and take us up there, and be prepared to get us out of here in a hurry if this turns out to be local constabulary and not the Arbites."
Cat nods and carefully steers the gun-jeep to the free stretch of not-quite-road.
Spike raises an eyebrow, then makes sure he has a firm hold on the gunjeep.
It does indeed appear to be local constables and not the Imperial-wide Arbitrators. They appear pleasant enough, though, even when one armed with a heavy rifle and light armor waves the gunjeep to a halt.
Cat glances to Havelock and then ahead, hands tightening on the steering mechanism.
Havelock produces his scroll-tube, "Apologies for the unsubtle approach, constable, but we are on the business of the Holy Ordos and time is of the essence."
Spike lets the stubber swing around as he leans on it, so it just happens to be covering the closest clump of constabulary he's curiously watching.
Cat says a silent prayer to the Machine-God, asking forgiveness for any damage she may be about to cause this lovely machine.
The constable accepts the scroll, frowning as he reads it, then blanches. "Ah.. a moment, Inquisitor, let me call my supervisor over!" He calls over his shoulder, "SERGEANT!" A moment later a man who looks like he could be half-brother to a space marine ambles over and reads the scroll as well. He salutes crisply almost immediately. "Pardon f'r interrruptin' ye, gov'nurs," he says. "We were told ta search f'r a crim'nal who mighta been goin' on this road." He looks over to the roadblock and shouts, "LET "EM THROUGH!"
Havelock gives him a parade-perfect Guardsman's salute. "Quite alright, Sergeant, please, do continue with your duties." More delaying tactics, Havelock is sure. What are they planning?
Spike wonders, as they drive on through, who the criminal was. Just a distraction, or something more?
They are otherwise unimpeded in their travel to the monastery. The Cult Mechanicus has a long and storied history with Vaxanhive. It was the Tech-Priests of Mars who first laid the foundations of the hive and the massive machinery needed to keep the arcology functional. Thus, the monastery is a major part of the infrastructure itself, the location of the Holy Heart, that is, the power reactor that provides the majority of seed power for the hive's multitudinous other power plants. It is huge and foreboding and looks like its a part of the mechanism of the hive itself... just as planned. To Cat it is almost an emotional moment -- almost -- to see a structure of human hands become virtually a thing of mechanism itself.
Havelock says to Cat, "Go to the Astropath as soon as you're able-- and get someone to guard you. I don't care if it's three technomats with las-welders or Skitarii with plasma guns-- although I'd prefer the latter. Just go quickly and go with your back watched. If we don't contact you within half an hour of your arrival back in the astropath's chamber, transmit the report without us as soon as the Astropath is free."
The Holy Heart elicits a moment of quite reverent silence from the Tech-Priest when they first reach it. She nods silently to Havelock and enters the temple, head up and mission solid in her mind.
Spike leans down, "Hey, Havelock -- we taking the the gunjeep with us or what?"
Havelock slides into the driver's seat. "We're going to have to. We don't have time, and the Cult has more than enough transportation of its own." He revs the engine, "They built most of it, after all."
Spike nods, settling back in the cupola, "All right. I'm staying up here with the stubber unelss you need me elsewhere."
"Just keep your eyes open," Havelock says as he pulls out, "And watch for pursuit. I've changed my mind about the port. We're going to the Arbites precinct instead."
Spike raises an eyebrow, but simply nods and does as directed.
As Cat enters the labyrinthine tunnels of the monastery, she is almost immediately confronted by a Tech-Priest. "May the Machine Spirit guide you and show you all slots where all tabs must be inserted," he intones.
Cat bows formally and greets the other priest, "May your bolts never come untightened." And then she says, "Forgive my unseemly haste, brother, but there is a wondrous machine that has been interfered with by those that would see it twisted against its purpose. I require assistance and guardians to correct it."
"Indeed?" the brother says. "This is most vexing. Which machine it is, that we might allocate the proper resources to it's soothing?"
"The mechanism surrounding the astropath. It has been interfered with to cause the fleshly part to be discontinued if certain duties are performed. These duties are part of its purpose. This must not be."
The Tech-Priest says, "Then there is no time to waste. Come, then. We have a patrol of Skitarri and our enginseers shall assist you in the accomplishment of this work."
"The Machine-God will surely watch over you for this, brother."