Meanwhile, the route from the monastery to the local precinct-fortress of the Adeptus Arbites is fairly clear and direct, and the gunjeep parks out in front. The difference between the Arbiters and the local constabulary is approximately the difference between a pistol and a tank gun: the Arbiters are clearly much less inclined to half-measures. And judging by the armor cladding on the walls of the short tower of the fortress, they also seem o have taken 'suspicion' to new heights.
The Arbites, Havelock reasons, will have their own secure vox-caster equipment, given the precinct-fortress' function as a redoubt in case of hive-wide unrest, and quite frankly, he needs non-natives at this point. No one else can be trusted.
The trip is also fairly short, given the psyker's inclination to aggressive maneuver. Which is to say he drives like a Khornate.
Spike bounds easily out of the cupola to the ground, landing lightly and following the psyker into the building. While Havelock is ahead of him, Spike signs a fervent Aquila that he survived that trip! He's met drunken pilots who weren't quite so... alarming.
They don't quite enter the building; the precinct-fortress doors remain firmly closed, and instead a phalanx of servo-skulls descend to surround the two, red eye-sensors glowing as they are thoroughly examined. "State your name and business," a vox-grille grumbles tinnily.
"Acolyte Lionus Havelock, on remit by the Inquisitor Andrea Moth," the psyker answers.
The servo-skills complete their examination and flit up and away out of sight. A viewport in the doors slides open, revealing only a pair of hard eyes. "Identification!" a muffled voice barks.
Havelock unrolls his scroll.
Silently, he sincerely hopes Inquisitor Moth is planning to award rosettes to them after this. This scroll nonsense is getting tiresome.
The eyes read over the scroll, then the viewport slides shut with a snap. A moment later there's a grumbling of mechanisms as the doors slide open enough to let a large person through, revealing a... surprisingly petite man in bulky carapace armor. "Enter, Acolytes. What seems to be the problem?" He stands to the side, allowing the two in.
Havelock enters quickly, waving Spike through behind him. To the Arbiter he says, "We need to make brief use of the Precinct's vox-caster, if it can be arranged, Arbiter. The Hive Astropath's been suborned-- we need to contact Inquisitor Moth in orbit and we can no longer consider the native population trustworthy."
Spike is swift and silent, on Havelock's heels, glanceing around warily where he stands.
The Arbiter makes a thoughtful sound. "These are serious charges, Acolyte, but you're welcome to use our vox-caster. This way." The arbiter leads them deeper into the fortress, not asking any further questions. To spike, the interior of the precinct-fortress is much as he would expect: a redoubt against insurrection, it is built -- literally -- like a fortress of Law and Order, and within it's walls are not only heavily-armed arbiters but also only-slightly-less-well-armed adepts conducting extensive paperwork operations. There is a controlled cacophony here.
In short order -- about the time that Havelock and Spike are at the vox-caster -- a small convoy emerges from the monastery. Preceeded by an APC carrying half a dozen bulky lightly-armored cyborgs in power armor who say nothing, a pair of trucks with Cat, the Tech-Priest, and a number of enginseers. The convoy gathers no little attention, least of all because the Skitarri hypaspists haven't been seen outside the monastery in centuries.
Which makes it understandable when one of the adepts bursts into the vox-room where Havelock and Spike are and says, "Captain! Servos are showing the Tech-Priests are moving out of the monastery. They've got a Chimera APC with Skitarii."
The captain takes just long enough to blink, once, before looking inquiringly at Havelock and Spike.
Spike rather likes the organization of the Arbites -- it reminds him a little of his natal home. He watches around him with silent enjoyment. He nods at the adept, "Good. Sounds like our Tech Priest is doing her job." He glances at Havelock -- he figures keeping the psyker undisturbed is currently his job.
Havelock says, reasonably, "Well, yes-- someone's rigged a kill-device of unspecified nature to the Hive's Astropath. That's a rather serious tech-heresy, and a crime against Psykana, Hive, Planet and Empire. Suborning an Astropath endangers the well-being of the entire globe. More to the point, however, these are clearly delaying tactics. Something is about to happen, Arbiters, which is why we chose to allow our Mechanicus associate to persuade the Cult to see to its interests while we enjoined you for aid, rather than simply wait for the Astropath to be freed."
The captain nods, then turns back to the adept. "Adeptus Kleiner, please contact the squads, and issue a lockdown on the spaceport and rail terminal."
Kleiner says wryly, "The Colonel won't like it."
The captain puts on a mock-sad face. "Awww."
Kleiner snickers a little, "Yessir."
The Captain turns back. "Depending on how long this takes, we might be too late for the suspects to have made their escape, but we may be lucky."
The Vox operator says, "I have the Albion, Acolyte."
"You are a credit to the Adeptus Arbites, Captain," Havelock says with a faint smile. He turns to the vox, nodding to the adept there, "Thank you. Albion, this is Havelock reporting."
The voice that comes over the vox is... almost incomprehensible. Doubtless a rogue trader's crewman. "Jah, zisiss Albion, Vandinhive. Vhat hyu vantin'?"
Havelock answers, "We need to speak to Inquisitor Moth, Albion."
"Oh, hyu wait moom'n't, Achoolyte! Vill get 'er, jah?"
"We'll wait, yes." Havelock schools his annoyance out of his voice.
Spike coughs behind his gloved hand to hide his amusement.
The convoy is a thing of beauty to Cat's eyes. She rides in it with the reverence and care it deserves. But it isn't long before there is trouble for Cat. The Chimera APC grinds to a halt, the trucks following, when they come upon a blockade on the route to the Upper Hive, not by the constables, but by units of the Guard. Cat actually recognizes the officer in charge of the blockade, who stands off to the side in deep conversation with a female commissar she has not seen before: Captain Kirkland.
When it is brought to a halt, her eyes narrow. "I know one of those people." She looks to the Tech-Priest she first met, "We cannot be delayed." "And Inquisitor Moth will know of this." she thinks.
The Tech-Priest in charge nods. "No, we cannot. I can feel the Machine Spirit becoming vexed. If you know them, please see what we may do to continue. We must not be diverted from our duty."
Cat nods and says, "I would ask that I have someone somewhat more skilled in things martial come with me."
The techpriest considers, then nods, and gestures to one of the older enginseers. "This one has served with the Guard at times, before injury brought him back to the bosom of the Omnissiah."
Cat nods and descends from the transport to move toward the familiar face in the armed crowd. She holds herself upright, almost indignant and certainly impatient.
Kirkland looks over, takes in a breath, and visibly girds herself for an unpleasant experience. As she and the commissarre near Cat and the enginseer, though, recognition makes Kirkland frown. "Inquisitor?" She glances to the commissarre, then back to Cat. "I was told this was an unauthorized movement of troops within the hive, and Colonel Braddock sent me to stop it."
After a few moments, Moth's voice comes over the vox-caster. "This is Moth. What is going on, Havelock?"
"Primary objective complete, Inquisitor," Havelock answers, "The primary vector of contamination has been purged. However the moral threat appears to be vastly more widespread than initially speculated. Vaxanhive's astropath has been compromised with a kill-device of unspecified nature to prevent access. We are transmitting from the Arbites precinct; we have reason to believe that the native nobility, the chirurgeon's guild and possibly elements of the PDF are compromised."
Kleiner pokes his head into the vox-room again. "Captaiiiiiin, you're not gonna like this. The Mechie convoy just hit a Guard roadblock."
Moth is quiet for a moment. "I see. Define 'compromised,' Havelock, please. And what was the nature -- no, tell me in person. For now it's enough to know that you have delt with it."
Havelock looks up when Kleiner returns and says to the vox-unit, "Compromised as in 'responsible,' Inquisitor. We just received word that the PDF is now actively impeding the Mechanicus unit with Acolyte Cat from reaching the Astropath."
Moth snarls, "Emperors spleen. Right. Are you in communication with Cat?"
"She should still be in vox-bead range, Inquisitor. Orders?"
Moth says, "She has to do whatever tech work needs doing to make the astropath free from duress. That is an unacceptable affront upon the Emperor himself and the fabric of the Imperium. Between the nobility, the PDF, and the chirurgeons, whom do you two see as the greater and more immediate threat or risk of flight?"
Spike thinks a moment, then murmurs very softly behind Havelock, his lips barely moving, "The PDF."
Havelock says, "The PDF must now be considered the gravest threat, Inquisitor, as they are blocking progress to the Astropath and possess the most firepower. I believe the chirurgeons are the secondary targets based on the length of their involvement and... evidence at the scene," he says, thinking of the bizarre augmetics in the heretic but that is, as she said, for face-to-face discussion. "It is likely that the orders to obstruct came from the nobility, but we must assume that in the event of full moral outbreak, the PDF will form the core of the physical threat. In any event, the nobility is largely powerless without military force."
That announcement makes Cat's brows arch over her optic-lensed eyes and she says, "This is a matter of some urgency, Kirkland. It is not an attack. These come with me simply for defense."
Kirkland looks over at the half-dozen Skitarii, who stare back with unnerving silence. She visibly swallows. "Hell of a defense," she murmurs. "We haven't seen them in, uhm--"
"Over three hundred years," the commissarre says testily.
The enginseer beside Cat murmurs, almost subsonically so that only Cat an hear, "The woman with the Captain is a commissar. She is authorized, and has as her duty, to enforce discipline and obedience to orders, even to the point of shooting an officer-unit in charge and taking over if she does not feel orders are being carried out as specified. Sometimes it works well for the conglomerate-soldier-units, sometimes it does not. It of course does not end well for the leader-unit."
"We do not have time to argue here. Time is of the essence." Cat turns to the Commissar and says, "This convoy is not a threat to any of the faithful. We go to repair the effect of Tech-heresy upon an astropath. There is a potential moral threat and we mean to correct it." She pauses slightly, "Now."
The commissar does not back down. Her gaze is level with Cat. "Our orders," she says tightly, "are to prevent an unauthorized movement of Tech forces through Vaxanhive. Captain Kirkland is well aware of her duty. If the Cult Mechanicus wishes to move troops within the hive, you may contact the Lord Vaxanide. Not a moment earlier." Kirkland, for her part, doesn't look entirely enthused about that.
Cat say with carefully controlled impatience, "Then I suggest you contact Lord Vaxanhide with the greatest haste, Commissar. It would be unfortunate to be found to be aiding a moral threat." The Tech-Priest slides her scroll out of its place in her robes and holds it out toward the Commissar, "Most unfortunate, indeed." She uses her vox, speaking quite audibly, "Havelock? Could you please pass on the information that we are being blocked by Lord Vaxanhide's forces?" Cat is quite sure to let that be heard as well.
"Throne blind me," Havelock murmurs, then says to the vox-unit, "Just in from Cat, Inquisitor, the PDF's forces are working under the Lord Vaxanide's orders. We must assume full-scale heretical metastasis." The psyker leaves his bead channel open, so that the Tech-Priest can hear him doing so.
Spike waves a hand to catch Havelock's attention, whispering, "It could be just the Colonel lying, no?"
Havelock cuts his bead-channel and says, "It could. But at this point we have to assume otherwise. It's unlikely that the Colonel could have gained access to the Astropath on his own."
Moth says, "Agreed. This needs to be cooled down fast. Do what you need to do to bring order to chaos. I will be down as soon as I can but time is of the essence." She adds, a touch wryly, "A bit more complicated for a first assignment than I had planned, but that's how these things go."
Spike nods and steps back again, staying out of the way.
"We'll deal with it, Inquisitor. Vox me on the standard channel as soon as you arrive, we will leave the priority channel open for you." Havelock says, "Throne protect you, Inquisitor, and hope to see you soon."
Spike tilts his head inquiringly towards the door as he watches Havelock -- he's impatient to be away and rejoining Cat.
Havelock straightens from the vox-caster and turns to the Captain. "You've heard the situation, Captain. I'm afraid I don't have more information for you regarding just what the threat may entail, but I must advise you to have all Adeptus Arbites personnel on high alert now. We may be on the brink of widespread outbreak."
The captain is smiling almost sharklike. "Ah, I live for this sort of thing. Anyone in particular we should be 'securing?'"
Spike murmurs amusedly, "The Colonel."
"It may not be possible to reach him, under the circumstances," Havelock says, "With the Guard fully deployed he may be difficult to get to. However, I strongly urge you to secure the Chirurgeon's Guild. There is strong evidence that they are complicit in the threat and, frankly, I don't know what they may do now that the game is up."
The captain nods, "I'll have a couple of squads sent out to the Guard HQ and the rail-cruiser right away. Kleiner!" and he repeats the orders, even as Kleiner is already repeating them and moving to put them into action.
The captain puts on a helmet. "And I'll take care of securing the chirurgeons. Shan't be long! Have the coffee warm for our return, Kleiner!" he adds as he heads off, shouting out for his command squad to form up."
Havelock turns to Spike and says, "And this is why the Arbites frequently end up recruited by the Inquisition."
Spike grins tightly and nods -- then turns and nearly darts out the door, "Let's go, yes?"
Meanwhile, the commissarre accepts the scroll, not taking her eyes from Cat's but to glance at the title and contents of the scroll. To her credit, she doesn't fidget much, though a bead of sweat begins to trail down from her brow. "I will... I will contact the Lord, then... Acolyte," she says. Then, with much more bravado, she spins around, her greatcloak whirling. "Voxman! Get me Headquarters"
Cat turns toward the engineseer with her and subvocalizes, "The Commissar has drawn her pistol. We should expect to be engaged."
Havelock voxes for Cat, "Moth is en route. What's your situation?"
The enginseer doesn't look surprised, but rather saddened. "Indeed. This is not a good sign."
The Tech-Priest's eyes move toward Kirkland and she says, "You would do well to decide where your true duty lies. And you would do well to do it soon."
Spike keeps his vox receive-only, so he can hear but no one else will be sent his exasperation with the PDF.
Kirkland says, tightly and wryly, "Surprisingly not hard to do, Inquisitor, believe you me. A .75 caliber barrel pointed at one's head gives most people pause, though, to be honest."
"I don't like what I'm hearing," Havelock says, tapping his vox-bead lightly. "We'd better get there. Remind me to light a candle to the Machine God for this gun-jeep."
Spike's soft laugh trails behind him -- he's dashed ahead so he's ready to roll in the cupola as soon as Havelock starts up the gunjeep.
Spike shoulders the hunting rifle once he's settled, wondering if he can get a long shot off from a jumpy vehicle if necessary to protect Cat.
The psyker mutters a half-remembered prayer as he turns the key. He voxes Cat, "We're on our way and the Arbites have just rolled out, Cat, hold out a little longer."
The subvocalization reaches Havelock and the enginseer, possibly even Kirkland, "May the Machine-god grant you speed."
The voxman hasn't quite reached the commissarre, however, before she seems to get impatient. "Tech-Priest, as a gesture of good faith, I strongly recommend you return your forces to your monastery while this is sorted out."
If Cat's mechanized voice could show emotion, there might be the slightest thread of irritation in it, "You are not given authority over me, Commissar.
The constables' and Guards' roadblocks are causing havok in the transit system within the hive, and traffic is horrible, delaying the other two-thirds of the Inquisitorial cell.
Quietly and with no fuss, Cat adjusts the volume on her vox to a level that would be good for nothing but feedback, glancing meaningfully at the enginseer at her side.
The commissarre's eye twitches a little beneath her shako. "I am a commissar of the Imperium, Tech-Priest, and I have my orders. And Captain Kirkland has hers." Her voice drops dangerously. "You will carry out those orders, Captain."
The enginseer gives a barely perceptible nod to Cat, making utterly no move, but inwardly shutting down his audio-receptors. Surely that isn't the faintest of grins on what little of his lips are visible.
Spike scans ahead worriedly, wishing he had better vision.
Havelock is not driving like a Khornate anymore-- he is driving like the Blood God Himself, half up on the pedwalks and absolutely not stopping to be inspected. They can send a grievance to the Holy Ordos-- later. There's a hive to save.
Spike rolls his eyes, hanging on desperately, and wishes he had more hands too!
It has become quite obvious to Cat that this is going nowhere fast. Her loyalty to Moth and her reverence to the Machine God can be a mighty force when combined. When the Commissar's not-so-veiled threat is directed at Kirkland, and there is an almigty feedback screech.
Spike blinks, his attention quite thoroughly grabbed by that unholy racket. He thinks a moment... then simply tightens down the securing belts holding him into the cupola. Perhaps he can sort of... ride this out and shoot anyways? He lifts the rifle, sighting through it... then sighs and shakes his head. This is simply too unsteady a base to be shooting from with any hope of accuracy. He settles patiently and waits -- shouldn't be too much longer.
Things suddenly happen all at once. Kirkland opens her mouth, squeezing her eyes shut as she is about to give an order that possibly the commissar isn't going to like. With narrowed eyes and a tight, knowing smile, the commissar sees that, and prepares to end Captain Kirkland's command permamently.
Then suddenly what could very well be Machine God's wrath screeches into the air nearby. The commissar yowls, dropping her boltgun as she clamps her hands over her ears, teeth gritted. The boltgun drops to the ground, going off with a thunderous crash but doing little more than putting a hole through a nearby statue's nethers. Kirkland, for her part, manages to weather the sound, diving to the side and trying to shout for the Guard to stand down.
But the boltgun shot makes one of the Guardsmen twitch, and a lasgun blast glances off the Chimera. As one, all six Skitarii leap from the Chimera, seeming to converge on that one hapless Guardsman from twenty different directions at once.
And the gunjeep, with a roar, carooms over a ramp a level higher, landing with a squeel of tires and a thunderous roar of the engine but twenty yards from the convoy and the Guard blockade.
Basically, mayhem ensues.
Spike is already sighting down the barrel of his hunting rifle; the little red laser dot is still bouncing with the gunjeep as he tries to settle it on the Commissar's center of mass. Being somewhat above everyone else in the cupola, he has a more commanding view, and as he sees things going to hell in a handbasket he bellows as powerfully as he can, "INQUISITION -- STAND DOWN!"
Spike figures Havelock can sort out what to do after that.
The Skitarii pause an instant from tearing apart the Guardsman, who has wet his fatgues, and both Skitarii and guard look to the gunjeep at mention of 'Inquisition!' That allows Kirkland to repeat the order, and the Enginseer to give the same order to the Skitarii. Both Guard and SKitarii are frozen in some odd sort of 'This is going to hurt a lot' tableau. The commissar for her part, is half-staggering/half-running.
Havelock leaps out of the jeep and bolts toward the Commissar.
Spike yells, "DETAIN THE COMMISSAR!"
In the seconds after havoc ensues, Cat adjusts her vox, calm again as she says, "We will be on our way again, soon." She looks at Kirkland and says, "You made a wise decision."
"Do it!" Kirkland shouts, "I vouch that they're Inquisition!"
While the Guard hesitate visibly, the Skitarii don't, and immediately turn their attention from the Guardsman to the fleeing commissar.
Kirkland looks up at Cat, giving her a wan smile. "Thank you. And thank you for keeping me from getting a bolt to the head."
Cat nods once, almost tersely, "I would suggest seeking another command after this."
Spike scowls as he aims -- these are utterly rotten conditions! -then he sighs in annoyance, raising the rifle barrel. There's too much chance of initiating a huge firefight between the Guard and Skitarii. Worse, there's a slim but possible chance for shooting Havelock in the back. He drums his fingers in annoyance on the edge of the cupola, wishing he could do something useful.
Kirkland stands, brushing off her fatigues. "Mmmph. Believe me, I'm writing my resume in my mind as we speak."
By the time Havelock reaches the commissar, she has almost reached the corner and out of sight where a Skitarii simply tackled her. 'Detain' fortunately does not mean 'render into salsa,' and the commissar has the unpleasant experience of being glared at by six of the Cult Mechanicus's cyborgs.
Havelock skids to a halt, frankly startled. He didn't know cyborgs could *move* that fast.
Spike glances out over the Guard, scowling and half wishing any of them would try something!
He voxes back, "Good play, Spike. Good play."'
Spike chuckles quietly, replying in kind, "Figured you wanted cover, not perforation."
"I appreciate your kind consideration. The Skitarii took your command to heart, it seems," Havelock says. Straightening up somewhat, he says to the Commissar, "The game is up, madam Commissar. I believe we both know what comes next; I leave it to you whether or not there is an excruciator between here and there. Shall we discourse? Or do we do this in the classical tradition?
Spike voxes quietly, "Bring her in closer, Havelock, so she's surrounded by Skitarii and away from the Guard."
The comissarre is quite unceremoniously pulled to her feet. "Please do not attempt to resist detainment," one of the Skitarii intone. "The Inquisition wishes you cognizant and unterminated at this time. For now."
The Guard platoon, for their part, have been witness to virtual giants making their imprint in their lives, and have utterly no wish to make a move under Spike's glare.
The commissar grimaces. "Orders." She coughs. "I was ordered to keep the Mechanicus forces from going to the Astropath."
Spike says, "And remember -- we need to get Cat through." He taps his fingers a little impatiently on the stubber, still glaring at the Guard.
Havelock nods the Skitarii back to the main roadblock. "Bring her," he says to them. To her, he asks simply, "Whose orders?"
Spike leans and barks at Kirkland, "Clear the Guard out! The Tech-Priests go through!"
For her part, Cat says, "Shall I proceed? Since it is obvious there is dire need."
Havelock voxes, "Yes, we'll handle the rest, do what you do, Cat."
Kirkland nods and snaps a salute to Spike. "Aye, Inquisitor!" she replies, clear enough for the Guard to hear.
Spike nods once, straightening and suppressing a smile. He thinks he likes this Acolyte/Inquisitor thing. He hopes Moth's pleased.
"Jenghiz!" the commissar almost spits. "Commissar Jenghiz! By authority of Colonel Braddock."
"Braddock...?" Havelock frowns. "What's his force disposition right now? How many and where?"
"I don't know. They're scattered. Hell, I don't even know where Braddock himself is."
By now, the Guard has swiftly moved the blockade out of the way. The enginseer touches Cat's arm. "Come, honored sister. The way is clear. Lead us to the Machine Spirit that is in need that we may tend to it."
Cat's chin is up and her spine is very straight. Every molecule of the Tech-Priest seems to scream 'I have a purpose' as she gets back to the caravan with the enginseer and the Mechanicus' forces. Such is her irritation with the delay that she takes much longer than she would have wished to sooth the Machine Spirit that encases and enfolds the astropath.
Havelock frowns again. He takes the Commissar from the Skitarii, allowing them to rejoin their group; to Kirkland he says, "Secure this one. Consider her relieved of duty by the authority of the Holy Orders of the Inquisition until such time as Inquisitor Moth makes a ruling. And tell your voxman to raise the local Arbites commander and make it known that Colonel Braddock is hereby declared Hereticus."
Spike watches silently from his high vantage point, warily trying to keep an eye on everyone he suspects. He voxes to Havelock, "Jenghiz too?"
Kirkland nods, looking relieved and with purpose again. "Aye, Inquisitor." S he glares heatedly at the commissar. "Madam commissar? This way." Resignedly, the commissar is led away within a cordon of Guardsmen.
"Yes," Havelock answers Spike. "The moral integrity of his attached unit is Jenghiz' responsibility. He has clearly failed, either through incompetence or heresy, and either way, he is now our enemy."
Spike nods at that, falling silent again so Havelock's not interrupted while he transmits orders.
The messages are sent to the Arbites, and shortly word comes back to the two Acolytes: The chirurgeons have been secured, Lord Vaxanide is infuriated at what has transpired and pledges the resources of the hive and House Vaxanide to assist the Inquisition (of course), and Braddock and Jenghiz are... missing. The spaceport and rail terminal are secured, however, and they have not left the hive.
"It would appear," Havelock says up to Spike, "That at least not all of the PDF has been compromised... and we have the cooperation of the Arbites, and at least the nominal cooperation of the Lord Vaxanide, for what that's worth. We may be forced to make another trip into the Underhive at this rate."
Spike wonders as he stands guard, though... what does one insane not-a-person with a mechanical contraption in his forehead, infected mutants in the Underhive, and a Colonel have in common? He nods slowly to the psyker, replying over the vox only so his words aren't heard by all, "If Janus had succeeded the Underhive and the local area would all be swamped in mutated undead. Why would Braddock want that, Havelock?"
Kirkland is still nearby, having her troops get the commissar into a simple unarmored cargo truck, one of the ones that the one the Guard troops apparently used to get to the blockade.
Havelock takes a deep breath. "To be honest, Spike, I'm not certain. Vaxanide isn't a strategically valuable planet... it's possible that merely causing suffering and death was itself the goal. But... this feels different than the usual depredation of Chaos, somehow. Chaos makes no use of Pariahs... they are antithetical to Chaos because they drive the Warp out of the Real."
Spike nods puzzledly to Havelock, considering... then he leans to call to Kirkland, "Hey, Captain! A moment of your time." He waits until she's closer to ask, "Who were in Braddock's close, trusted circle?" He wonders if the name of a possibly heretek Tech-priest will come up. He adds quietly to Havelock, "I want to know how the Pariah got that thing in its forehead, you know? Because if it wasn't one of Braddock's... maybe we should be looking higher, you know?"
Havelock nods. "The Chirurgeons have been secured. We'll have to hope that they aren't hiding any horrible surprises for the Arbites in the meantime."
Spike suddenly remembers the things he picked up from Janus and he adds to Havelock, "Throne blast me -- I have some things from the Pariah I wanted to show a Tech-Priest!" He glances around, then shakes his head ruefully, "They'll have to wait, I guess."
For his part, the psyker conjectures that the guild would have been the logical place for a rogue biologis to start a heretical cult. He looks up and nods, "It'll keep for now. I think we've disrupted their timetable, whatever it is they've planned."
Spike murmurs quietly, "Hope so."
Kirkland considers for a moment. "Well, I wouldn't say he had a 'circle.' Certainly he seemed to trust Jenghiz. I can't think of anyone else if that's what you're asking.
Curious, Havelock, "Do you know where Jenghiz was from?"
Spike nods silently to the Captain, frowning as he glances warily around again.
"No idea, Inquisitor. He was a Schola graduate like all commissars, but he wasn't native to here. Mordia, maybe."
Spike glances over momentarily, "Braddock a native here?"
"Braddock, yes. The entire Guard regiment is native, they usually have to be. Distant cousin to a cadet branch of the Vaxanide family."
Havelock thinks, quietly. Mordia rings no bells.
Spike frowns consideringly, then looks down at Kirkland, "Who's next in line after the current Lord?"
Kirkland thinks for a moment. "That's probably be one of his twelve sons and fifteen daughters." She adds, deadpan, "He's had more than a few concubines, and wanted to make quite sure there was an heir. So he says, anyway."
Spike snorts amusedly, glancing away -- unlikely Braddock was angling for the metaphorical throne, with that sort of line of succession in place!
"But not a cadet branch, certainly," Havelock says. "Perhaps that's the motivation... overthrow in the name of the Ruinous Powers in exchange for ruling the ashes? That sort of bargain's been made before."
Spike glances over at Havelock, "But then why the Pariah?"
"Why indeed," Havelock answers. "We're still missing something."
KIrkland stays quiet; this is not for her to debate with Inquisitors.
Spike nods, his expression a little sour within the cowl of his cloak. He goes back to overseeing the crowd as he adds over the vox to Havelock, "Should we set up someplace where we can be easily voxed, where we're out of open line of fire, Savant?"
Spike adds suddenly, still over the vox, "There were only three bracelets left. Who might they be for?"
"A fine question. I suspect we might know if Cat's brethren can decipher the dataslate she located."
Spike says, "And... I have something I want to show you that I got from Janus."
Havelock glances up, "Those bits of metal you took from the corpse before?"
Spike nods silently down to the psyker, still not speaking aloud.
"Alright. We'll go somewhere and have a look. Before we do that, however..." Havelock switches vox channels. "Arbites Captain, from Havelock. Question for you, Captain."
It takes a few moments for the contact to be routed, but the captain answers, "Captain Armand here, Acolyte Havelock. What can I do for you?"
"Captain, have your men at PDF HQ searched any of the local databanks or files for Braddock's likely whereabouts? A redoubt, bolthole, what have you?"
"We're in the process of checking his HQ records, but so far we've not gotten any leads on where he might have gone to ground, I'm afraid."
"I see. Tell your intelligencers that they may consider themselves granted Inquisitorial authority to impound and sift any and all of the PDF's datafiles."
THe captain laughs. "You just gave them the best gift they could ask for, Acolyte! They'll redouble their efforts."
Spike chuckles quietly, still scanning the area warily. He doesn't like being out in the open so much like this.
Havelock allows that faint smile. "They're doing the Emperor's work, it's the least I can do to make certain they do it unhindered. As for the Chirurgeons, have your men hold tight for now. I apologize for keeping them committed, but it's possible the moral threat originated among their number and we'll need Inquisitor Moth's assistance to properly assay the damage involved; I want the guild contained but I would not throw your men in against a potential moral threat without knowing precisely what they ought to expect."
Whatever shape the threat takes, Havelock sees no reason to casually risk wasting the lives of good Arbites with no reason at this point.
"Understood, Acolyte, and my thanks."
"Emperor protect, Captain. Vox if you find anything."
Spike glances down at Havelock, murmuring, "Back under cover now? We should let Tech-Priest Cat know where we are too, so she can look at the things I found on the Pariah."
"Back to the Arbites precinct," Havelock says. "I don't want any of those items being shown about in public. She can meet us there once the Astropath is freed."
Spike nods, settling warily back a bit in the cupola of the gun-jeep.
The Tech-Priests have no further impediment to their journey to the Asropath's nest while Spike and Havelock go to Arbites precinct-fortress. It takes Cat a bit less than an hour to direct the efforts of the enginseers to removing the kill-switch. They discover that, had it been triggered, enough electricity would have been channelled through into the Astropath to kill him ten times over. Upon completion of the holy repairs, and receiving the heartfelt thanks of the Astropath, Cat goes to the precinct-house to meet with the other two Acolytes, where she is ushered to the room holding the Acolytes which also has a generous supply of what locally passes for coffee.
"All right then," Havelock says. "Let's have these xenos trinkets out."
Spike is sitting glumly on a table, rifle across his knees, silently wondering if landlubbers ever eat! He looks up at Cat's entry, then nods to Havelock, producing the various bits and pieces he found.
Cat is near-glowing with a job well done in the company of like-minded companions. She greets her fellow Acolytes with a bow that's almost jaunty.
Havelock silently wonders if that's a joke, a malfunction, or a sign of incipient madness coming from a Tech-Priest.
It doesn't take long for Cat to realize that she's being perhaps a bit... giddy... and settle into her more normal demeanor. She sits near Spike and watches him pulling out the things he found.
Spike lays out a small data-slate and a couple of thin strips of black metal. They have gold hieroglyphs on one side, and a series of complex patterns of dots (all different sizes and configurations) on the other. There's also a few Thrones of coin, a simple wooden rosarius of the Cult Imperialis, and (gingerly produced from a heavy leather thigh pouch holding nothing else) a large, thin metal ring that has three wooden bracelets upon it. Then Spike pushes back his cowl, revealing he has rather porcelain pale skin and bright gingery hair. He grins at Cat, "Any idea what it all is?"
"Bearing in mind," Havelock interjects, "That we are keeping the bracelets just long enough for Inquisitor Moth to examine them, and then burning them."
Spike nods to Havelock, turning his pale-blue-eyed gaze on the psyker, "Definitely. But I'd like to know more about the little metal bits and pieces."
The laying out of all that triggers Cat's memory and she produces the data-slate she herself found. "There is a number on this. Quite a complex one. I have not had time in which to study it."
Spike turns the little data-slate over curiously, wondering if there's a place in it where one could insert the metal strips. He murmurs absently, "Where'd you get that, Priest Cat?"
Cat says, "The room in which we found the heretic. While you were guarding the body.""
Havelock's eyes are too blue for his skin, almost sapphire; and they reflect a disconcerting impression of intense focus and doll-like emptiness. One is reminded why it's a poor idea to meet a psyker's eyes. He says nothing, only listening.
Spike looks up interestedly at Cat, "Ah, so that was the Pariah's too? So... what do you think of this?" He holds out the little data-slate he's got.
The data-slate that Spike hands Cat flickers for a moment, and Cat's fingers fly quickly over the few controls. She managed to interrupt some sort of self-destruct system which would have... not been pleasant, and would have not yielded any information. As it is, what pops up is a simple itinerary of stops on Vaxanide that would probably not look out of place for any sort of itinerant friar making rounds of the planet and it's communities. Of course that takes a much more sinister tone when considering that the friar was some sort of Pariah whom wasn't noticeable as a pariah right away.
The Tech-Priest's brow furrows as she skims through the data slate, examining the itinerary. After a moment, she says, "The last date here is two days ago. We were lucky to have caught him."
Spike glances at the bracelets, wondering aloud, "Then who were these for?"
"For anyone who seemed to take an interest in his... teachings," Havelock says, "If the previous pattern holds true."
Spike hmms quietly, resting his chin in his hands and watching Cat.
Cat nods, "An unholy symbol of brotherhood."
"Both times prior, gifts to unfortunates who took an interest in him. It's a perfectly useful means of distribution; without this unifying sign it would have seemed a random scattering of afflictions." Havelock frowns, thinking. "And it would take only a few, as we saw, to spread the curse."
Spike nods again. "So the rest must be for... the next planet?"
"Or wherever his next stop was planned. Offworld does seem a likely pick. I can't imagine the southern slime jungles are any place to proselytize, xenos heresy or no."
Spike snorts in quiet amusement, nodding again.
Cat puts the data slate down on the table and notes, dispassionately, "I disabled the self-destruct. It is likely wise it was not meddled with before now."
Spike smiles faintly from where he watches. "Not likely. I like myself in one piece."
"We'd expect nothing else from a Tech-Priest," Havelock says, and glances at his chrono. "Moth will be here soon; with luck Captain Armand will have something for us before she arrives." He adds, as an afterthought, "I take it you don't recognize the trinkets."
Spike says, "So what does it do, Tech-Priest? What are the metal bits for?"
Cat shakes her head, "They are simply metal as far as I can see."
Spike says, "Well, do they go in the data slates?"
Cat shakes her head, "They do not look like any storage device I have seen and they do not fit these slates."
Spike sighs, settling his chin in his hands again. "Annoying. So... now what?"
"We'll see what Moth makes of them. If anyone, she'll have some experience with xenos tech."
Havelock says, "It doesn't look like any pattern I know of."
The Arbiter captain raps on the door, poking his head in. "Acolytes, I thought I should let you know. Braddock and Jenghiz have been spotted in the factory levels of the middlehive. My people lost them, but they're we know the general area where they might be.
"We'll go at once," Havelock says. "Have them keep an eye out."
Spike pulls up his cowl before he glances over, then hastily tucks all the pieces away again. He pauses, glancing at Cat, "You want the tech?"
The captain nods, and calls out orders to his men.
The area of the underhive that the Acolytes are directed towards is thick with machinery and tricky to get through at best. The sector seems to consist mostly of an air processing plant that has been running at low output for a century.
"Perfect territory for an ambush," Havelock murmurs, dryly.
Machinery of any sort tends to draw Cat's attention and she is almost abstracted as they move through the hive, looking at the air processors with an eye toward the happiness of the Machine Spirits in them.
Spike glances around, finally starting to feel comfortable again -- this reminds him of his natal Voidship. He asks for them to be taken to the last known location of the two fugitives.
Havelock closes his eyes, and gathers the Warp close about himself... and prays his ambushers haven't gathered more of the dead... or the Untouchable.
The Warp, however, is in a sharp mood today-- and while it consents to grant him the power he seeks, it also reprimands him sharply-- perhaps for having been separated so long by the Pariah. He sits back in his seat with a jolt, "Hnnngh--!"
Spike blinks, his startled gaze going from the soldiers to the psyker, "Havelock?"
Havelock doesn't move for some moments, empty eyes wide... then he shakes his head slowly, "I'm alright. Alright. It's nothing."
Spike watches silently for a few heartbeats, not sure what to do... then he shakes his head slightly, turning back to the soldier, "Just lead us to where you last saw the fugitives, please."
Once his head clears, Havelock reaches out with his senses for the flickers of living beings.
Cat tips her head, watching the psyker with detached curiousity.
The Arbiters eye Havelock with nervousness and apprehension, holding their weapons warily and wondering what they should do. When Havelock recovers, they relax a little bit... but only a little.
Spike's sensing of presences yields nothing right away; for sixty meters into the processor facility it's clear. As the acolytes advance, Spike notices a pool of something that resembles oil... with a few traces of a boot print about a foot ahead of it.
Spike paces quietly and warily forward, glancing around before he tries tracking through the tangled machinery. He hopes he's on the right track.
"Nothing so far," Havelock murmurs. "Nothing living, anyway."
The processing plant is a maze, and getting anywhere within it is difficult at best. But Spike tracks the oil traces left by the boot well, only getting turned around and loosing the trail briefly once. Ten minutes later, Spike hears some voices up ahead, through a 'corridor' that is less of a passageway and more of where a convenient opening in the pipes and tubes maekes for a cramped area to squeeze through.
Spike raises a hand to caution everyone to pause, listening intently to see if he can make out what's being said.
Spike shoulders his rifle and carefully starts wriggling through the pipes, pausing often to be sure he's soundless, and to check and see if he can hear yet.
Havelock just waits, silent.
Braddock is saying, "...won't have much more time before the arbiters or those damn Acolytes show up."
Jenghiz replies, "No fear, my friend, just hold no fear. If it's one thing I've learned as a Commissar, it's to know to show no fear."
"And where to hide the bodies."
"True."
"Except we're not the one with the bodies to hide! This is the Inquisition--"
"Which is much like the Commissariat, Colonel, in that it rules by fear as much as anything. Come, though. We need to get the landspeeder running and be on our way to the southern continent before anyone else knows we're here...."
Spike wriggles slowly and carefully back out, then repeats the conversation to the others, adding to Havelock, "So, do we want them alive? They seem to know of someone *else* who has bodies to hide?"
Having heard the conversation, Havelock says, "I believe our friend is just making a wry comment on the Commissariat. Let's go; alive is a bonus but not a requirement."
Cat thinks carefully for a moment and says, "If only I had access to taht speeder... but that is far too slow for their comeuppance."
Spike nods to Havelock, then adds, "If you stand guard here, I'll move around and see if they have another exit -- and if so, cut it off?"
"That would be perfect. Vox us when you are ready."
Spike nods again, then trots silently off, carefully searching around the knot of machinery to make sure there's no other exit. He also keeps an ear out for the sounds of the two fugitives emerging.
After a short three minutes, Spike finds what looks like a ventillation duct that will lead to the small bay; daylight and shadows of the landspeeder filter in through the grating.
Cat lowers her voice, "I could perhaps incapacitate them, though it would be unpleasant for you as well."
"What is pleasant for me is not a factor. If you have an option, you're welcome to make use of it," the psyker answers.
Cat nods onces, "Perhaps I should say that it would incapacitate you as well, if you were unable to cover your ears quite well."
Spike backs away a bit to quietly vox his companions, letting them know what he's found and asking them to come meet him. He watches and listens carefully at the grate after that, checking to see if the two fugitives are there already.
"Let me worry about that," Havelock answers. He waves her forward, drawing his sword.
Cat voxes back to Spike, quietly as she can "Protect your ears." She tries to creep forward to get the fugitives within range of her feedback screech.
Beyond the grate, the two fugitives are still working on the landspeeder, though their chatting has died down as they ready the landspeeder. Braddock is apparently doing something in the small engine compartment while Jenghiz is checking over the instrument panel.
"Bloody thing hasn't seen use since the spooling Eldar last attacked," Braddock mutters.
Jenghiz says easily, "But it was made by the Tech-Priests, it will still work. Hopefully."
Spike voxes back, "I really think you should join me first." He takes aim through the grate, targeting Jenghiz.
Havelock answers, "We're going to allow Cat to try and incapacitate them, and I'm going to accompany her. I'm of more use defending her if I have a free sword-arm."
Spike hms thoughtfully. They really only need one to talk to, and Braddock is the theoretical leader. If Spike shoots Jenghiz, they'll still have Braddock. He murmurs softly, "Do it now."
"You heard the killer," Havelock answers, flat. "Do your duty, Tech-Priest." He clamps his hands over his ears.
Spike remembers to cover his ears, which he does a bit awkwardly, the rifle still cradled in his arms.
Cat nods and turns her vox to its highest setting, eyes narrowed as the ear-slitting screech of feedback is released. This is the second time just in this day she's used this ability of her vox and it's oddly satisfying.
Spike shifts the rifle back into his hands, flicking on the laser sight.
The screech fills the bay, and with a yowl, Jenghiz tries to clamp his hands over his ears. Braddock grimaces and shouts, "What th' hells?!" as he scrambles for his laspistol
Spike barks, "Drop your weapon!" at Braddock, and draws a bead on Jenghiz.
Braddock spins arond, trying to get a bead on nothing he can see, considering how well Spike is concealed, and he does not drop the weapon.
Spike fires on Jenghiz. Unfortunately, he misses. The wheeee of the bullet singing past Jenghiz jolts him and his hand goes for his revolver.
Havelock dashes forward, seemingly unfazed by the infrasonic attack, ducking and weaving over the broken conduit and awkwardly-placed machinery, bearing down on Braddock; just beyond arm's reach, the sword sings out of its scabbard, edge resting at the level of the Guard officer's throat. "Avaunt, Braddock."
Cat pulls her las pistol from its holster, moving with the careful precision of one who is trained in the weapon, but who does not use it often or casually. She draws a bead on Braddock, standing carefully still and quiet. Almost as an afterthought, she carefully adjusts her vox back down to normal levels
Braddock gives pause when he sees the sword at his throat. "Jenghiz!" he calls out, his face going pale.
Spike continues aiming, and fires on Jenghiz again. His shot strikes Jenghiz in the left leg.
With a cry, Jenghiz's leg is struck by Spike's round, and he collapses against the edge of the landspeeder, hissing through his teeth. "Em... Emperor's teeth...," he stammers, dropping the pistol. "We're shellacked right an' proper," he sighs, sweat appearing on his brow from the pain.
The two conspirators, grumbling and growly but complying, are restrained and pulled from the bay. During the trip to the precinct-fortress, the arbiters report no less than a dozen requests from half a score hive agencies requesting information, including the Lord Vaxanide, as to why the colonel of the regiment and the top commissar have been taken into custody. The arbiters revel in politely telling them nothing.
The two are brought into separate interrogation rooms in the precinct-fortress. These are most certainly not pleasant rooms, but they are, for the time being anyway, free of any particular torture implements; they are simply rooms to interrogate and interview subjects.
Havelock enters Braddock's interr cell first; Jenghiz can stew on his broken thigh for a while longer yet. He sits, folding his hands on the table in front of himself, glancing at a data-slate he produces from his cloak. He says absolutely nothing yet.
Braddock sits there, hands folded on the table as well, back ramrod-straight. He watches Havelock in return, silently.
Spike settles relaxedly behind the one-way mirror, his rifle cradled between his knees. He murmurs quietly to Cat, "Wish we could have just shot them. Would have been easier."
Cat's voice is almost impossible to read as to emotion, but her eyes are tight and narrow, "Easier, but not better. They are our only good source of data at this moment."
Spike sighs quietly, pushing his cowl back and shaking out his long red hair. "True." He stretches out in the chair, adding amusedly, "This is going to take a while."
Without looking up, Havelock asks, "I assume you were told I am a psyker?"
Braddock grumbles, "Aye, I was. Guard, from the look of your kit and stance. What regiment?"
Havelock raises his head and answers, "I don't know, Colonel. I'm a mind-scrub. You may regard me as nothing more than the face of the Inquisition."
Spike sits up, "Emperor's fucking balls! He's what?!"
Cat tips her head to the side, "It does fit all the data."
Spike is silent for a bit, watching the psyker... then he looks away, muttering, "Poor fuck."
The colonel grunts. "All right, then. Where do I start?"
Havelock raises his face, having made this confession, and regards the colonel with his unpleasantly uncanny eyes. If he seems to blink less than is normal, well.... "Start with the Pariah eliminated in the Underhive," Havelock answers him. "The source of the contagion you were ostensibly tasked with eliminating."
Braddock blinks. "The what?" He shakes his head, frowning. "You lost me Inquisitor, I swear to the Throne! The contagion, the mutants, they were all out near Morgansburg."
"I see. You are not aware then, that there was a cyborg of xenos manufacture spreading this mutation in the very foundations of Vaxanhive."
Braddock shakes his head. "I did not! I thought it was just a mutation or disease of some kind! What kind of xenos?"
"We'll just have to find out together," Havelock says. "Let's move on. The kill-switch on the Astropath?"
Braddock sags a little. "When I was told that the Inquisition was coming, I ordered precautions to be taken to ensure that the infestation was handled and kept under control. But we were never going to kill the Astropath, that would be, well, insane."
"You'll understand if I'm a bit skeptical, having seen a murder device removed from his support bay," Havelock answers.
Spike snorts amusedly, watching again, "Oh, and threatening him with death... *that* was sane."
Braddock takes in a breath. "Yes, well...." He sounds a little unsure of himself.
"Well?"
Braddock takes in a slow breath. "If we could not take care of the infestation on our own, it would... reflect poorly upon us to the sector commander."
Spike mutters under his breath, "You're either lying or hiding something."
"And complete loss of astropathic contact would go unnoticed by Lord Sector Hax?" Havelock gives the Colonel a wry look. "Lord Hax tried to circumvent the Commissariat with his *own* Commissariat because he felt he lacked sufficient control over the sector Guard, Colonel. You are going to tell me that the man who created the Chaliced Commissariat would overlook that?"
Braddock replies, "That would depend, Acolyte. If he agreed that we should take care of this matter ourselves."
Havelock says, "Lord Marius Hax is not known to be a great believer in autonomy, Colonel."
Braddock mutters, "Which is why we needed to take care of this ourselves and make sure we didn't loose what we have...."
"If this is the case, Colonel... why do I suspect that Commissar Jenghiz had more to do with convincing you? You don't sound committed."
Braddock draws himself up. "It's hard to stay committed to anything when you're facing the Inquisition, if you don't mind my saying, Acolyte."
"Very well. Let me ask you this," Havelock says, "On whose orders the did the Chirurgeon's Guild engage in deliberate destruction of evidence?"
Braddock's jaw works, and it takes him a moment to say, finally, "Mine," in a quiet voice.
"Then why did the Lord Vaxanide commit PDF units to block all access to the Astropath," Havelock rejoins, "Requiring the intervention of a unit of Skitarii to force the point?"
"That... that was my orders as well. To... to delay notification of the Inquisitor."
"Would you like me to list for you the seventeen involuntary responses of a liar, Colonel? I know them all because I am incapable of producing ten of them due to my reprogramming."
"No, Acolyte. You do not have to. They were my orders, to delay notification of the Inquisitor... so that Jenghiz and myself could have enough time to evade arrest."
"I suppose," Havelock says, after a measuring moment, "That I may have been hasty in declaring you Hereticus. You may in fact merely be guilty of colossally poor judgement."
Braddock reaches up to wipe sweat from his forhead. "Wouldn't be the first time," he mutters.
"I wouldn't know. But my question now is, why did Commissar Jenghiz permit this action to go forward?"
Spike mutters under his breath, "Encourage, even."
Braddock opens his mouth to answer... then blinks, pausing. "I... to be truthful, Acolyte, I... I can't answer that. I first told him how the mutations would be problematic should Lord Hax hear of it and if we were unable to control it, and he suggested we do what we could to control it, then." He frowns. "I never really asked why more than that."
Havelock fortunately is no longer involuntarily predisposed to gape. Instead, he says, "I see. We're done here, Colonel." He picks up his data-slate and rises, saying, "I find you guilty of abysmal judgement, but free of heresy. As such, executing you falls outside my remit. Your fate is up to Inquisitor Moth for the time being. That is all."
Braddock's shoulders sag, and he nods, looking down at the table. "Aye, Acolyte...."
Havelock pauses once, to glance over his shoulder... then pulls his cloak around himself and leaves. A pity, he thinks. But perhaps he will end up merely dead-ended in his military career and not made an example of. The Emperor may yet be merciful. But as for this Commissar... he crosses the narrow corridor to the other interrogation cell.
Spike paces across the way with Cat, settling in the new room behind the next two-way mirror.
Jenghiz sits in his chair, head bowed, simply waiting. He does not move when he hears the door open and close.
"I won't waste my time with intimidation, Commissar," Havelock begins, "Out of respect for the Departmento Munitorum. Let's be candid with one another. What exactly did you hope to accomplish in manipulating Braddock?"
"When did you realize you were a psyker?" Jenghiz asks in return.
"When the woman who mind-scrubbed me told me what my name was," Havelock answers.
"Ah. Yes, of course."
"I'm afraid, however, that I don't see what bearing that has on the line of questioning. Elaborate, please."
"I was curious as to when you found out you were a psyker. But if you've been mind-scrubbed you would likely not even remember your mother's teat, let alone the Black Ships." No bitterness, no mocking, simply words.
"Allowing time for something to have happened to me that would have necessitated the process," Havelock answers, "I must have been quite young. But no, I don't actually recall the last teat I laid eyes upon, let alone the first."
"Yes, you would have to be. You are not an old man by any means. None of you are particularly on in years. Well.. it's hard to tell with the tech-priest.... And the other one... never put his hood down but a quiet voice, not like he's spent decades breathing in the air of a hiveworld. Moves spry, too. But you know, you're the only one who's really shown themselves."
Havelock says, "That is my role. Authority that is wholly invisible is only effective by half."
Spike nods in silent agreement. There's a reason he stays quietly behind Havelock, and will continue to do so despite learning about the mind-scrub.
"Yes. that's the way of things, isn't it? You must rule by fear, but to be effective, those ruled must be shown why and what they fear."
"Commissariat Manual of Common Tasks, yes?"
"Oh, yes. Among other tomes. But yes, that is the embodiment of the commissar's work."
Havelock says, "Indeed. By our conversation, you seem to be in firm command of your faculties, Commissar. So tell me what you intended to achieve by manipulating Braddock."
"Why thank you, Acolyte. I have done my best." He looks up, a bare lifting of his head so that his eyes are visible and looking at Havelock's. "What do you mean by 'manipulating' him? He had a duty, a mission. I merely provided the tools for that mission to be accomplished."
Havelock's unpleasant gaze meets his, level and flat. "Braddock is evidently incapable of thinking more than one move ahead, Commissar. He never stopped to consider that a complete cessation of Astropathic contact-- particularly in the context of a mutant outbreak-- would merit immediate attention from Scintilla. To say nothing of potentially involving the Adeptus Astartes, dependent upon just how paranoid such a vanishing would truly make the sector Administratum. You suggested this course to him, and I will not insult your intelligence by pretending that you could not know how the Lord Sector would react. You gave him tools that would cut him, and not the knot of the problem, Commissar, knowing that he would never bother to question why."
Jenghiz gives a half-smile. "But that is the nature of tools, isn't it, psyker? You know as well as I that any tool can harm as well as help, can damn as well as save. Fear, for example. You can let it control you, as I have seen so many tremble when faced with the orders of a commissar... or you can master it, and wield it like a weapon. Does not the Inquisition itself do this?"
Spike sighs, and wonders when Jenghiz will get to the point.
As he sighs, Spike hears something from the other side of the room. It's the observation bay looking out into Braddock's cell. The colonel is pacing, looking terrified. He's apparently wet himself, and he looks extremely agitated and terribly scared.
"Only a madman wields a weapon to no conscious end, Commissar," Havelock says. "I know madness very well indeed, and you do not strike me as mad, sir. To what end were you aiming?"
Spike wanders over to watch Braddock a bit puzzledly.
"No, Acolyte, I am not 'mad.' At least, I do not consider myself such. And there are many ends. I am a commissar of the Imperial guard. The colonel had a mission. I simply allowed him to accomplish that mission. That is what a commissar does."
Braddock is pacing, but it looks like he's trying simply to work off a huge amount of nervous energy. Over the audio feed, Spike can hear him muttering to himself. "Throne take me, what was I thinking...? Oh, God-Emperor, the Inquisition, the Inquisition, I'm going to die, my name'll be dragged through the streets.... Throne, why'd I do this?!" This is most definitely not the fearless, swaggerstick-up-the-ass Colonel that Spike saw but a day or two before.
Spike taps his vox and murmurs to Havelock, "Hey, Savant? You know how people are automatically terrified of the Inquisition? And how Braddock wasn't? Well... he is now. He's terrified and he's wet himself! Could... could Jenghiz have... damaged his ability to feel fear or something? Just when he was around?"
That's a rather sudden turn of-- oh. A thought occurs to Havelock, then. He asks, "Might that include doing some of his thinking for him?" He adds, "It isn't unknown for psychic ability to develop late in life."
Jenghiz's smile widens a little. "I was wondering when you would ask that. What was it that made you think that? Has Braddock shat himself in fear?"
"Something like that," Havelock answers, dryly. "I suppose I should have realized sooner. Touche, sir."
Spike blinks, his head coming up -- then he darts back over to stare intently at Jenghiz. Hm... no horns or tentacles yet. He runs a hand lightly over the mirror, checking to see if a bullet would go through it cleanly or not. The glass is not bulletproof to Spike's examination.
"Thank you, Acolyte. An unexpected compliment. Allow me to return it in kind: It wasn't easy doing that when he found out the Inquisition was arriving."
"I'm sure that even blunts must feel the palpable aura of fear he is currently exuding," Havelock says. "Which brings to mind another question. Why ruin Braddock?"
Then Jenghiz's smile turns visibly nasty. "Why not?"
Spike nods, settling back into his chair and putting another in front of him to brace the rifle. He sets up the rifle so it is supported and aimed carefully at Jenghiz, then simply waits patiently.
"If serving alongside him was truly that unpleasant-- and I hasten to add that I am not asserting that it might not have been-- if you possessed the strength to so completely overmaster a human will, you possess at least Gamma-level psychic potential; you almost certainly would have received sanction. You could have returned to the Guard and gone literally anywhere in the Imperium."
Jenghiz leans back in his chair, then, folding his hands before him and looking over them at Havelock. "It's true, I have very little fondness for Braddock. He was a self-pompous ass even before he put on that uniform. He was no great loss. But I... I had no desire for Imperial sanction, Acolyte. What would Sanction do to benefit me, to benefit you? In truth, Acolyte, please answer me this, as one psyker to another: What do you gain from sanction?"
Spike murmurs amusedly to himself, "He doesn't have a rifle aimed at his head."
"The permission to continue growing my art without the threat of spontaneous combustion," Havelock answers, honestly. "I don't think any of us wish to be burned as witches." Havelock reflects also that this effectively exonerates the Commissar of any involvement with the xenos; no nascent psyker would suffer the company of a Pariah. Indeed, likely they would not suffer it even to live.
"I suppose the Imperium has done it to itself. Instilled raging fear at the very imagining of psychic powers, despite the one of us who developed his powers the most having been the Emperor. Wouldn't you rather not be seen as a monster? Respected and lauded -- and yes, feared, but in addition -- for who and what you are? Please," Jenghiz adds, "even if you do not answer me out loud, be honest with yourself."
"I am the face of the Inquisition, Commissar. I am a monster. It's what I was created to be."
Jenghiz spreads his hands. "Created, perhaps, but not by your own hand. You are a psyker! You can make anything of yourself that you wish. You can make yourself be anything."
A moment passes, before Havelock says, softly, "The truth, Commissar? I will tell you the truth."
Jenghiz sits patiently, watching Havelock.
Spike listens with only half an ear -- he's quite focused on the dangerously self-absorbed, untrained psyker.
He leans forward slightly and says, "I do not wish for the Imperium to die. If I allow that to happen... then the sacrifice of the greatest of us all, will have been in vain. I am not a religious man, Commissar. But I will not allow my ultimate ancestor to suffer the indignity of restless death for nothing."
Jenghiz watches Havelock for several long moments, then smiles quietly and serenely. "Well said, Acolyte," he says. "Well said. Nobility like that, sentiment like that, is worth more than a dozen blindly-charging legions.
Jenghiz lets out a breath, then stands, slowly and carefully and keeping his hands visible at all times. "I can but leave you with two things then, Acolyte...."
Spike leans down to the sights, readjusting to Jenghiz' movement, and gently curls his finger through the trigger.
Havelock watches him, quiet.
"The first: I do not know what ill befell Morgansburg. It was like the Plague of Undeath and yet unlike it. I tell you this because you -- and your friend with the obscenely long gun who is no doubt aiming it at my cerebral cortex, and the tech-priest -- did not kill the Pater of Morgansburg out of hand but spared him so that he might give penance. Such mercy is... unusual, for the servants of the God-Emperor. And yet I cannot help but approve in some way. It shows... enlightenment."
"I believe you," Havelock says, simply.
Spike smiles faintly to himself -- he's more a fan of the center of mass, usually.
Jenghis bows his head briefly in acknowledgement of that. "And second... I have hope for you, Acolyte. You are not a zealot, neither are you apostate. You and your comrades are reasonable. It is... good to see. You may yet come to understand what I have spoken of here." His voice drops in volume a little. "There is a maze beyond the door in your mind, Acolyte Havelock. A maze with many secrets. Secrets a mind may comprehend. A strong mind, a disciplined mind, unburdened by zealotry and unbelief. A mind which you may have."
Spike raises an amused eyebrow, wondering if the Commissar really means to sound like he's starting down the path to Chaos.
Havelock rises, slowly. "You may be right, Commissar." What he does not say-- need not say-- is that there is a maze in his own mind, but that it has nothing to do with the waiting Warp. He is a stranger in his own psyche. But... perhaps he may one day comprehend the pattern. Perhaps. "We shall see, sir." He turns, and exits.
Jenghiz nods. "Indeed. We shall see." After Havelock exits, he smiles a bit. "In time," he adds. And sits back down at the table, folding his hands.
Havelock leaves the interrogation area, and goes to meet with Captain Armand once more.
Spike raises his eyebrows again -- so, no attempted attacks. Interesting. He shoulders his rifle after a few heartbeats, and slips silently out after Havelock.
The Captain, as per standard procedure, was not himself monitoring the interrogations, and offers the unviewed spools holding the recordings of the interrogations to the acolytes as they enter. "Inquisitor Moth's arriving in about an hour," he says. "The spaceport munged things up when they were ordered to lock down, but her shuttle's on approach now."
Havelock nods. "Very good, sir, thank you. Colonel Braddock is cleared of the charge of heresy. He has been victimised by a psyker. He is a fool, to be certain, but I cannot punish him for foolish thoughts that were not his to think. However, he is not to be released before Inquisitor Moth has her final word on his disposition. You may tell Lord Vaxanide that it is... protective custody, if you wish."
THe captain snerks. "All custody is protective, Inquisitor! Protecting them for the Emperor's justice! But I'll pass that on to the Lord."
Havelock nods. "Just so. The psyker in question is Commissar Jenghiz, so I urge you to take the appropriate precautions in moving him about the precinct."
Spike glances between the psyker and the captain, pondering... he'll have to ask Havelock later about who 'fixed up' the Pariah.
THe captain seems intrigued. "Ooh, a psyker, eh? I'll see about getting the psy-shackles out, and a dose of...." He looks to Kleiner. "What's that stuff they give the psykers on the Black Ships? The one that keeps 'em in torpor? Whatever it is, give it to the commissar. I'll be the Commissarriat'll love to hear about a psyker in their ranks....."
"Just the shackles, Captain," Havelock says, holding up one hand. "That will be sufficient. Inquisitor Moth will be here presently... it won't need to be longer than that."
Spike narrows his eyes and drifts silently away. He heads quietly to the observation room again, checking on the psyker. Jenghiz seemed far, far too calm -- as if he had some form of escape ready.
Jenghiz is simply sitting in his seat, hands folded, and murmuring to himself, as if in prayer. After a few moments, though, the murmuring stops, and he lifts his head a little. "Not many people can tell what it is about you that disturbs them, assassin," he says. "Me, I have met enough voidborn to know what it is that makes them special."
Spike raises an eyebrow, unslinging his rifle, then voxes Havelock, "Savant, he can apparently tell I'm watching him. Should I get out now or just put a bullet in him?" He doesn't bother identifying who 'he' is -- Havelock will know. In the interim, Spike continues to listen curiously to the rogue psyker as he waits for an answer. Spike wonders what Jenghiz 'sees' about him that is 'special.'
Jenghiz continnues: "Voidborn have a special place in the universe, Assassin. You were born in the warp -- and yet almost universally, voidborn are well-adapted, fortunate sons and daughters and suffer few ill effects of the medium they were born within."
Spike smiles faintly to himself, thinking, Got that right...
"Leave that to Moth," Havelock answers. "But be wary. You may wish to leave; he will have more difficulty assaulting your will than he did Braddock's... but I cannot guarantee he cannot defeat you. Bearing in mind, of course, that if he possesses an extrasensory ability to perceive your mind... it likely does not matter where you go. I suggest you be very careful."
Spike grins again, "Thanks, Savant. It must be your comforting nature that draws people to you, aye?"
"That would be news to me, Spike."
Spike laughs at that! -then grins and shakes his head, wondering why Jenghiz is even bothering to talk to him.
Jenghiz says, "What ship were you born on, Assassin, if I may be so bold to ask?"
Spike smiles, shaking his cowled head slowly. He's not willing to offer any more potential handles, thanks all the same. Plus he can't think why that's relevant. He paces sideways a bit, leaning so he can peek into Braddock's cell as well, checking to see if the terrified man has done anything foolish or not.
Braddock himself is curled up against the wall, head in hands. He's shucked off the uniform pants and tossed them in a corner.
Spike shakes his head slowly again, strongly reminded of why he should really take Havelock's advice and remain extremely cautious around Jenghiz. He takes the few steps back to where he can see Jenghiz again, wondering what caused the man to be so cruel... and at the same time compliment Havelock on his 'enlightenment.'
Jenghiz tilts his head to the side. "Ah. Not willing to speak it's name, I see. I understand. Names have power, especially in the Immaterium, and it is wise to be cautious of that."
Spike voxes Havelock again, "He seems... mostly just chatty just now."
"Be on your guard," Havelock answers. "And keep your thoughts close."
Spike says, "Shall do. Call me when Moth arrives, please?"
"At once."
The doorway in the cell opens, three arbiters there: one carrying a shotgun, one a wicked harness made from chains and wires that must be the psy-shackles, and the third carrying an injector of some kind. All three are wearing bulky psycloaks to protect them from psykers. Jenghiz stands obediently, and says, "I hope to see you as well in the future, assassin. I may perhaps know some people who may help you hone your skills."
And with that, Jenghiz suddenly tenses, gurgling something as his back arches... and there is a sudden swirl of something around him, suffusing him. Something... unwholesome, mentally oily and slick....
And a moment later the body collapses back into the seat like a marionette with it's strings cut. The commissar's eyes are open and blank, and he begins to drool slightly.
Spike voxes tensely, "Havelock! He's... gone! Like the Pariah but not!"
Havelock, for his part, felt the slash of daemonic claws through the thin membrane between the real world and the warp. Arriving in a hurry, he surveys the scene in grim silence, before waving off the Arbiters. "You've nothing to fear from that shell, men. Jenghiz-- or the thing that he became-- has escaped."
Spike sighs quietly, relaxing a bit and slipping out to fall silently into place behind Havelock again.
"Ill omen," the pskyer murmurs. "To possess that much raw power... and yet have not taken complete leave of his senses... this is not over, by any means."
Spike murmurs quietly, "Savant, we need to talk -- later, please?"
"Yes. Later."
Spike nods, satisfied, and goes back to his usual careful, wary perusal of their surroundings.
"Come," Havelock says. "Let's allow the Arbiters to clean this mess up. We should receive Inquisitor Moth at the port."
Spike follows silently, waving Cat to come with them when they pass her again in the hallways.
Havelock says nothing. Only leads, as he ever does, cloak floating silently behind.
Cat falls silently into step with her companions, hands folded into her sleeves. She's still carrying herself with quiet aplomb.
The Arbiter captain approaches, looking a touch pale. "Ah, Acolytes.. I've been informed that your Inquisitor Moth is landing at the spaceport in fifteen minutes."
Havelock says, "Very fine, Captain. We'll be going to receive her at once."