Ghost in the Machine (IC)

In the Halls of the Mechanicum, Rook stood in front of a tech priestess much taller, older, and wiser than himself. This is where the trail of breadcrumbs had led him. This was where Mae had directed him to go. Shushilla Chloe gazed at him from one organic, vibrantly green eye...

[Continued from Private Messages]

She cocked her head to one side as she fiddled with whatever she was doing. "Then I will assume that you speak Low Gothic. This is what we will speak. It is better than Techna-Lingua, at least for our purposes here. I have taken all the precautions, but even then one never knows who is listening."

She turned and in her hands were two cups. From the large pot she had poured a hot, thin, dark fluid. She offered one to Rook.

"Sacred ungents, but for the flesh. Drink."

She stands near him. There was a subtle, constant movement under her robes. This was the work of many mechadendrites. Rook had no doubt. She drinks deeply. Her flesh eye had concern in it once more, and Rook knew she was deep in thought.

"What have I become part of?" he asked eagerly.

"Nothing you would not have willingly become a part of anyways, given your reputation." She was referring to his penal status, but it was not meant with hostile intent. Indeed, she even could have been making a joke.

"But that is not the appropriate question. You should be asking why you were chosen to be a part of it. Mae is no fool. She is brilliant - more intelligent than me -or you- by a googaplex. She is a survivor. But she lacks the experience of years. That will come with time. Anyways, desperate or not, I doubt she would have chosen you at random. She did not pull your name out of a hat. You impressed her in some way. Perhaps she felt something in your code."

The way she emphasized "felt" was clear enough. She finished her cup and a servitor refilled it.

"But I know nothing about you. You will fill me in on every detail of who you are, your past crimes, and what brought you to my presence right here and now."

Now her eye was watching intently, scrutinizing.

Rook smiled a metal smile at the Adept.

No, I suppose you're right, he said. My only crime was to explore and experiment with technology in a way that those above me were not willing to do. They have grand reputations and titles which freeze them in place, lest they lose them. They prefer the current way of things rather than pursuing true discovery. I do not hold it against them. They are where they are because they are brilliant, but they do not see how I see things. I was low enough not to draw any notice until there was an accident with a Sergeant which landed me in the penal regiment known as the Bastards.

He continued his story without seeing the need to leave anything out. He had been brought into something and hiding his past was pointless. He recounted their missions and use as puppets by the Separatists on Hervara. He told her the story of how RICTUS came into his possession, and how he received the blessing of the Omnissiah when he fired the God Machine. His voice was robotic and repetitive as he remembered everything. His eyes rolled back down again as he finished and he leaned forward with another grin. Now, why have I been chosen. And do you have any amasec I may have?

"What was the accident with your sergeant?"

After he answers, and after she asks any follow up questions, her interest was clearly, though not overtly, piqued by talk of the god machine.

"The Omnissiah does seem to have smiled upon you," she said after tracing no hint of deceit in his tales. "To see Ordinatus is a blessing in and of itself which untold billions of tech priests would spend decades on pilgrimage for. To fire one? That is the hand of fate, of the Omnissiah acting through you. So many toil in mediocrity, but mediocrity is a killer."

She shakes her head slowly. "I am afraid this is my only vice. I do not partake in amasec. It is quite good, I assure you."

She moves to a control console and interacts with it for a moment. There is a soft *voooof* hum but nothing else has changed.

Roll for Rook:

"You have been dragged into a story of which you are not the author. The story began twenty four Terran years ago and, like me, you are not the main character. But I think you can guess who that person is. She is special, tech priest enginseer Rook Malakai, though she doesn't know that. I need you to transport something back to her."

Common Lore tech test:

What makes her special? She is gifted, I gather, but in what? Tell me everything. Rest assured, I will deliver your package to the best of my abilities, but I must know what we are talking about if I am to be or real help to you both. He took a deep draught of his drink in anticipation of a mission heavy with intrigue and subterfuge

"If the Omnissiah decides to grant you that knowledge, then you will know. But know this, if I suspected you had that knowledge in you already, you wouldn't be leaving her alive. Ask yourself if you really want to know before you pursue such things."

She finished her second cup and smiled. "You are to take something from here to Mae. It is not contraband and it will not get you stopped at customs. Truly, I mean no offense when I say that if you need more information to complete this task, you are not the man for it."

The light humming around the room continues, Rook none the wiser to its purpose.

She approaches closer and Rook can tell from the movement under her robes that she has many mechadendrite attachments.

"Rook Malakai, be on our side in the days to come. Mae trusts you, and I have no choice but to do so as well. Please." There was pleading in her tone, but it was not desperate. It was genuine. It was true.

Rook bristles slightly at the jibe about not being the man to deliver the package if more information was required. He hated not knowing things. With a deep sigh he finally spoke,fine, I will ask no more questions on Mae, though it disappoints me that you would question my intelligence on how I would take the information. Give me this package and I will depart. Judging by his internal cogitators revolutions and cycles, he had been away from the others for over an hour. They would be having fits right now at his disappearance. Is your part in this story over once we depart here or will we see you again?

"Be disappointed if you must, but is it not about how you would take the information. It is simply not information for you to know. It is for Mae alone."

Before she can respond to his question, there is a beep at her cogitator console. As she starts moving toward it, Rook notices that both of the protection servitors in the room activate. Neither of them seem to move to engage him, but they are definitely powering up.

She reads the screen and attempts to respond. Judging by her multiple attempts, however, it is clear something is not working properly.

"Rook, I truly hope that my part in this story is not over." She moves to a wall unit and inputs a series of codes. It slides up. She pulls out an item, regarding it for a moment. She pulls it close to her face and whispers low.

Test opportunity:

She then hands it to Rook. It was a small, plush animal - an octopus in purple with green dots. Rook knew that this sort of thing was commonly used by children, but for what purpose he could not imagine. Why Shushila would have it, and why it needed to go to Mae was even more puzzling.

"Protect this at all costs. Ensure it gets to her. But you must be quick; something is happening on the Port and I fear it will complicate things."

Awareness Test:

Rook took the animal from Shushila and gave it to Jacjonson which had snaked out to snatch up the object from him. It then disappeared under his robes much like a biological snake would retreat to its lair to devour prey. I will go then. I have comrades to link up with again. Is there a quicker way back to the Gilt Processionals from here? He bows and makes the symbol of the cog across his chest. If there is nothing else, Blessings of the Omnissiah upon your circuits.

"Yes, but you must make haste. There seems to be a communication blackout on a massive scale and I cannot imagine what could cause it. Certainly nothing good."

Almost on cue the vox opens up. An arbitrator was issuing a warning that the station was in lock-down.

"This is station-wide. The last time this frequency was used was when the Ork Warboss Gulgrog attacked the Port in force." Her one good eye bore into Rook as she spoke.

"Come quickly." She led him to the rear of her immaculate laboratory. "M-1917, take him to the end of the tunnels and stand guard." One of the protection servitors took two heavy steps out of its housing area and moved to a hidden door on the back wall. It opened up to reveal a tunnel system; no doubt this was some sort of old maintenance area. It took a few steps forward and waited for Rook to follow.

Shushila looked at Rook.

"Mae is all that matters. Protect her at all costs."

Station wide? This must be serious indeed, though I'm sure we would know if we were under attack. As he crossed the threshold into the tunnels, he looked back at Shushila, you have my word. She will be protected, though how much weight the word of a penal trooper carried was up to her. He walked into the tunnel without a backward glance. He followed the automata to the end of tunnel where it stopped and stood silently. Having fulfilled part of its directive, it was now fulfilling the rest.

Spoiler:

The tunnels went on for some time, but were fairly easy to follow. The servitor kept a steady pace. The entire time a sensory-suite on its back scanned and hummed. It was either in a mode that made it constantly scan for contact, but was it actively searching for hostiles?

Eventually, you come to a four-way junction. To the left and right, the tunnels grew nearly double in size. Perhaps this was an early avenue of transport. Straight ahead on the other side of the "road," it was the same size as what he had been previously walking in.

Test Op.:

CL Ad Mech:

*Edited*
Jacjonson snaked out from under his robes as they walked through the tunnels, still holding the octopus in its clutches. The object looked like a children's plaything, and had to have some sentimental value. Why would someone send such a gift to another adult? His guess would be that they were family in some way. Perhaps Mae was the child of Shushila or something. It was a strange confluence of events that he had become caught up in. He had a burning desire to know what made her so special. He hated having information kept from him. As they walked, he examined the object more closely in Jacjonson's grip. There was nothing special about it. He reached up and felt the toy for hidden compartments or things hidden in the seems. Surely this benign, and somewhat worthless, toy had another secret inside it?

Updated DoS Rules:

Rook's exploration of the plush toy revealed 12 tentacles. Something about them seemed different from the body of the plush, however.

Test Op.:

Rook couldn't navigate very well, but that didn't stop him from innately understanding the workings of Mechanicus constructed structures and avenues. Judging from the layout, going forward would only lead him down more maintenance tunnels. The larger road that went left and right was a main thoroughfare and would lead deeper into the Halls of the Mechanicum to the left, and outside of them back into an area of Port Wander not under Mechanicus authority to the right.

+0 Scrutiny:

Deciding that there wasn't anything he could discern from the toy, Rook turned back to the intersection. His mem banks recalled something about them as being standard and decided that going right may take him back towards his comrades in the Gilt Processional. They certainly weren't towards the Mechanicus grounds. He left the Servitor behind and briefly thought of how the others were faring. Had they located the contact yet? Or were they still bumbling around at that fleshpot place. He still needed to find a bottle of damned amasec for his associate aboard the Hudson, but with this lock-down of the port he doubted he would be able to get it, or even trade for something! He quickened his pace, hoping that there may be some stalls still open somewhere when he emerged from these tunnels.

Rook's boots echoed off the steel flooring as he walked. The thoroughfare was wide and he was isolated inside of it. If he thought on it long enough, the similarities between himself and a rodent in an experiment of some kind were evident.

After half of a Terran hour of walking, a slight bend straightened out, revealing a sudden stop in his journey. For whatever reason, the bulkhead in front of him was sealed tight. The heavy doors had closed, revealing a techno-skull of the Mechanicus staring back at him. To the right and the left of the large sealed doors, working at wall panels, were two tech priests. One of them had a servo skull hovering near his shoulder. Both were chanting in Techna-Lingua. Neither of them had noticed Rook yet.

As Rook stumbled upon the two priests he experienced a moment where he had no idea what to do. Should he try and bluster his way past them or tell them the truth? He decided that blustering through them may work better. They may just let him pass since he technically wasn't doing anything wrong by being there.

Greetings he speaks in Binary to convey respect and explain his story more efficiently. What is going on here? Why is the port on lockdown? I am late to get back to my ships crew. I have been sent this way to back to the Gilt Processionals more efficiently than using the monorail. He didn't ask to get through just yet. He wanted to hear what they knew about what was going on.

The tech priests stopped what they were doing and looked toward Rook in unison before looking at one another and then turning to face Rook once more.

+++Greetings+++ the one on the right said. He was taller than the other, but not by much. Neither wore robes. Instead, they had on more functional red uniforms, more practical for work in this setting.

The servo skull shined a light on Rook, scanning him from foot to head.

The one on the left stepped forward. Both of his eyes were bionic replacements, somewhat crude. He was clearly a junior tech priest, but he seemed to be willing to do the talking.

+++Sent this way? By whom? We have closed the pass under orders from the council of the Halls of the Mechanicus. Did you not hear the Arbites' announcement? There was no reason given.+++

+++When the council issues a directive, there is no choice other than following it to the letter.+++ The one on the right then walked back to his station and started chanting in techna-lingua as he pushed in a lengthy code.

Test Opportunity:

The servo skull shined its light up and down on Rook a few more times and then started emitting a very soft noise.

Spoiler:

I was not made aware that there was directive given by the one who sent me this direction. Had I known, I would have complied with their wishes to the letter. He echoed the priest's statement. I am only passing through to the Processionals and the gathering crew. If there is a lickdown in effect, then we will be gathering in anticipation of departure when it lifts. I am a member of the Hudson rogue trader vessel. My credentials from that vessel should absolve me. May I pass?

The tech priest who remained speaking to Rook listened carefully. Nodding slightly as he spoke.

+++Can you provide credentials that prove you are of the ship you claims?+++

The other one stopped his machine cant briefly to interject.

+++It will not matter. When the council issues a directive, there is no choice other than following it.+++

Spoiler:

Rook needed to change tact. The first adept who had done most of the talking had been somewhat amicable so far, but the older of the two was beginning to be a stickler. Smiling broadly he pushed forward. They didn't exactly give me a hall pass on entering the port, but I have this chit for a locker where my Omnissiah axe is stored. The locker is located at the entrance of the dock where the Hudson is clamped. Will that be satisfactory? He glanced at the other adept's back before looking back at the other and continuing. Look, you are both busy here, and I do not want to impede your progress. I am simply trying to pass through and meet with my crew where we can wait until we board our ship once again. All you need to do is open these blast doors and I will be on my way.

The one working at the cogitator looked at Rook with annoyance.

+++You were not asked for a "Hall Pass." You were asked for proof that you are a member of the ship you claim - not an unreasonable or illogical request in any sense.+++ He looked as though he were ready to challenge Rook right then and there, but decided ultimately to get back to what he was doing.

Had Rook been paying attention, he would have known that the machine incantation was nearly finished. He also would have realized that it was an incantation of locking...

Spoiler:

The priest speaking with Rook nods at his plight. He switches to Low Gothic. "Let me see what I can do. Wait here." He moves off and begins whispering with his partner. The more aggressive one seems to push back verbally at first, but then rolls his eyes and shrugs. Eventually the less aggressive one returns.

"You may pass. Please hurry, but know that once you go through, these doors will be locked and you will not be allowed to enter again."

The chanting stopped. With a hiss, the blast doors slid open no more than four feet and halted.

+++Now or never, Enginseer.+++

Opposed WP:

Rook ignored the combative tech priest who needed to thin his lubricant fluids. He grinned broadly at the younger priest and made the cog across his chest. Thank you for your assistance. I will be away and you may lock this area down behind me. Many thanks for your understanding and help. May the Omnissiah bless your future endeavors. He hurried through the threshold and didn't look back as he heard the doors close and lock down behind him. That went far far better than I had calculated. he thought as he continued moving forward. The angry one could certainly have derailed us if he wanted to. What a fool. Were the tables turned, I would have detained him and enjoyed every second of it.

Spoiler:

The doors closed behind Rook and locked with a final, heavy hiss. They were sealed for good now and the only way Rook was getting back into the Halls of the Mechanicum was if he was extremely creative or lucky. Of course, he could always waltz back to the front door.

He found himself in an alleyway. Where he came from and what he entered could not have been more different. Where the Mechanicus thoroughfares were well maintained and sterile, the world he entered was much like the lower commons he had left the rest of the Bastards in. While he was still very far away by foot - some miles - it was clear that the lower commons stretched and connected between the two areas. A rapidly decaying sign painted in, at one time, bright yellow read: Lower Commons - Sub Level 8

pic:

The streets were oddly devoid of life. There was the odd person moving quickly here and there, but that was it.

A vox tower nearby buzzed and repeated a message: "All citizens, guests, and personnel of Port Wander be advised: The Port is officially in lock-down. I repeat, the Port is officially in lock-down. All entry and exit to external vehicles is hereby prohibited until further notice. Anyone attempting to surpass lock-down measures will be subject to the full extent of the Law, up to and including summary execution."

Before Rook could process, a second message blurted out.

"All citizens of Port Wander, be-advised: Mandatory curfew is in effect - fifteen minutes post night cycle. There is to be no one out on the streets at this time. Monorail systems have been shut down during curfew. Violators will be subjugated to the full extent of the Law."

Like clockwork, the lights dimmed and a softer automated voice came on. "Night cycle will begin in ten standard minutes."

Rook checked his immediate vicinity. Lights were shutting off. Shops were closing down.

What now?

Curfew? Why would a cesspit such as this have a curfew? Rook thought angrily as he began walking. He had managed to charm his way out of one situation and into another. He looked for places of lodging in the hope that he could wait things out there until morning. What is happening in this place? What could cause the entire port to intitiate lock-down without there being an attack? He decided to try and find a data port somewhere once he got off the street to see what he could glean from the system.

Spoiler:

Spoiler:

Rook sees a dank, rusty data port on a corner nearby. He could also see that lodging was full almost everywhere. He had two choices left to him: Pearl's Pump Pit and The Westin: Port Wander.

Looking at Pearl's Pump Pit Rook thought, that sounds like a vile attempt at humour at Mechanicus expense. Knowing that no self-respecting Mechanicus member would open a hostel, he decided the latter would be a better option for hiding. He made his way toThe Westin and walked in. He saw the Publican behind the desk and flashed his best smile. He laid his last two stimms on the desk and said simply, I need a room for the night cycle. What can this get me?

"Ha."

The "publican," a man whose age was not readily apparent given the makeup and flair of his facial decorations, whose suit shone with an artificial glow of its many patterned flowers, shook his head.

Publican:

"You must have us confused with a den of inequity, or perhaps you thought this was an apothecary? You are at The Westin, sir. And we do not deal in pilfered goods. Well, we do not deal in them exclusively, at the very least. What we do deal in is credits."

He flashed a smile.

A quick look around told Rook all he needed to know about this place - it was as upper-lower class as it got. No one in the lower commons could call themselves "middle class." At least, no one who wasn't in a position of running things. But there were those who liked to pretend they were higher than the dregs of society; they were those who came into assets in some form or another and lost them just as easily. For those few nights that they wanted to act like big shots, this was the place they laid their heads.

His smile faded away. "So, what else are you bringing to the table?"

Test Op.:

Rook looked aghast at the accusation, These are not pilfered, Sir...Rook rolled the two stimm tubes over so that the imperial army logos were showing. I am newly released from service and these were part of my kit I was disbanded with. He held his serious tone for a moment before changing tack. These are of the highest quality. The army only offers the best for her servants, and they would carry a good deal of value. We are both here to make a deal, friend. I do not require your best accommodations, or even your mid-tier. I only need a place off the street for the evening. He flashed another smile and slid the stimms closer.

(pause in dialogue)

Spoiler:

Spoiler:

Un-pause Dialogue

Giving the stimms a pat for good measure, Rook pushes on. I will take a cleaning closet if that is all you have. You would certainly be getting the better end of this deal if that were the case. Also, there would be no need to clean a room after I depart. We are professionals you and I, I believe we can work something out.

Rook's skills at negotiating were finely tuned. He had worked his magic via underground connections in almost any setting he found himself in, but he couldn't find that in here. Not tonight for whatever reason. He had to rely on simply sticking to the basics of supply and demand and go from there.

The publican listened to him, his eyes every now and again looking at the goods and then back at the cogitator screen in front of him. He smiled patronizingly at Rook, but it wasn't personal. Rook got the feeling he did this to everyone he encountered. He thought for a moment as Rook finished, mulling it all over.

Finally, he sighs. "Turns out we have a closet available after all." He flashes his pearly whites. He takes the stimms off the counter top and places them securely behind it, out of sight.

"Here is your key. Room number 213. There is a lounge area down here that serves food and drinks all night. Given the recent situation outside, I imagine it is going to be plenty wild and busy tonight.

**Item Attained: Room Key card; Items Lost: Stimm x2**

Opposed Commerce:

Rook's smile grew even broader, like a felinid that had found the cream, as the publican slid over the key. This has been a pleasure. Thank you for your hospitality. He looked around to see where the lounge was. Are there interesting characters you expect to be mingling tonight? Also, is there a data port I may use? I need to send a communique to my ship and check in.

"No, no. Thank you for your patronage. To answer your question, the Westin always has interesting travelers. With the curfew in effect, we are bound to be absolutely swarming. Mind the men and women in lime green and blue though. They love to drink and take easily to offense. As for data ports, we have only the one. It is just over there."

He extends a finger to a tall red booth occupying the end of a hallway. It is made up of opaque glass panels so to allow only limited vision/privacy to whomever is inside.

Another traveler comes in and the publican turns away to greet them, leaving Rook to his own devices.

Rook turned away and walked over to the Dataport booth. He pulled open the door and sat down on the small bench provided. Jacjonson snaked out to watch as Rook hook in. He was desperate to know what was the cause of the lockdown on the port, and communicate with the Hudson if at all possible.

Spoiler:

******
After he was done with the dataport, Rook went off to find what he had just bought. Two stimms would have more than sufficed as payment in most places he was known to frequent, yet here he felt he had made some small miscalculation. The overly stuffy Publican made him all too aware of his appearance and the company he may find in the lounge later may not be the sort he was used to dealing with. Miscalculations...Everything has a price. Every miscalculation has consequences. He shook off thoughts of the past before they could occupy his memcoils and continued up the cagelift to the second floor. The lift offloaded into a short hallway which terminated in a T-junction after a few paces. Markers showed his room was left where it turned out to only be a few paces offset from the junction on the right side of the hall. The key fit easily and the door swung inwards smoothly.

Spoiler:

Data Port:

Rook finds the room much nicer than he may have expected elsewhere. It was more than a simple cot or a shared living space. He had a bed - not big by a long shot, but a tried and true bed. There was a room to wash up should he require, and there was even a pict-viewing screen on one of the walls. A window looked out onto the avenue outside, but there was no obvious way to open it.

There was a storage unit for clothes that was empty save for a few hanging rods.

Spoiler:

As he jacked into the intranet, Rook could feel the security systems in place making sure he stayed in the areas he was supposed to be. Their walls were thick and multilayered, with kill sequences patrolling on varying routes. Knowing that his skills in mainframe exploitation were three degrees worse than sub-par, he decided caution was the better form of valour and tried to send a message to the Hudson via text based means. If there was a reply, he hoped it would be stored in a mailbox with the dataport. His code was sloppy broken in places given his lack of practice, but he managed to put together something semi-legible and send it off. He had no idea who would, and someone would, read the message, so he kept it simple and non-incriminating. This Rook of seventh squad stop There a lockdown
stop I avoiding curfew at Weston stop Advise next move stop. Once the message was sent, he exited the booth and went to see his room.

+++++

His room was exactly that. Functional and better than he thought he had purchased. He was fully expecting a garment closet, so this was better by far. Having nothing to store or unpack, he decided to go down and see who these people were in the green and blue.
The Publican had been correct in his assessment of the crowd that would be gathered due to the curfew. The spacious room was quite literally full of people. Many were well dressed and drank pretentiously from high stemmed glasses, but the majority were dressed in the lime green and blue uniforms he had been warned about. Having nothing else to barter with in a place such as this, he could not buy a drink, but he didn't partake in alcohol anyway so it would have been pointless anyway. Subtlety not being his strong suit, he walked up to a group of three and tried to begin a conversation. The man and two women looked at him curiously as he greeted them. Good evening travellers, my name is Rook. Is this curfew not the most curious event?

Rook's message seems as though it will go through, and then his screen blares with an error message.

+++CONTENTUNABLETOSENDCONTENTUNABLETOSENDCONTENTUNABLETOSENDCONTENTUNABLETOSENDCONTENTUNABLETOSENDCONTENTUNABLETOSEND
CONTENTUNABLETOSENDCONTENTUNABLETOSENDCONTENTUNABLETOSENDCONTENTUNABLETOSENDCONTENTUNABLETOSENDCONTENTUNABLETOSEND
CONTENTUNABLETOSENDCONTENTUNABLETOSENDCONTENTUNABLETOSENDCONTENTUNABLETOSENDCONTENTUNABLETOSENDCONTENTUNABLETOSEND
CONTENTUNABLETOSENDCONTENTUNABLETOSENDCONTENTUNABLETOSENDCONTENTUNABLETOSENDCONTENTUNABLETOSENDCONTENTUNABLETOSEND
CONTENTUNABLETOSEND+++

It fills the black screen in pale green text.

Test:

+++

The man and the women raised eyebrows at Rook. The man sipped his drink, something electric blue with something purple swimming around inside of it.

"Quite," he replies unimpressed.

One of the women piped up. "An overcoat? That is so millenium 38 is it not? Is that retro-chic or avantgarde galactarian?"

:

test:

Spoiler:

Rook looked askance at the man as he answered the woman in as charming a voice as possible. "my dear, this is strictly retro-chic. This garment serves more purposes than mere fashion, yet I feel it is misrepresented and under appreciated by many. Do you like it?" He flips out the long tails in a vain attempt to look dashing. Before his coattails are even still again he gets down to the point, "Do any of you know what is going on?"

The woman's smile fades as Rook speaks. "Oh," is all she offers. When he asks his question, she simply shakes her head and offers nothing else.

The man seems stuffy still. "Curfew is rare but not unheard of. Maybe the Arbites are cracking down on one of the gangs." His eyes briefly move from Rook to another section of the bar.

Awareness:

Other than that, they offer no further advice or conversation for that manner. In fact, one of the women turns her back on Rook.

Spoiler:

Placeholder.

Seeing that he had been snubbed, and missed what the man had been looking at, Rook turned to find another group of people to bother. He scanned the room for other faces that seemed interesting or out of place.

Spoiler:

Rook takes a look around the room. No one here has the look of any underworlder he had seen. In fact, perhaps frustratingly, they all looked like upper-lower/lower-middle classers pretending to be of a higher station. Truly this low in the Port, no one could be of any real, overall significance. Yet those with credits who called this place home had seemed to congregate here. One character does seem to catch his eye. She stood alone at the bar, elegantly dressed, gently thumbing an untouched drink. She was absolutely gorgeous by human standards. Perhaps it was surprising that Rook was drawn to her then.

Before he realised what he was doing, Rook found himself beside the woman at the bear. She had caught sight of him as he walked up, ignoring him, but now that he was beside her she glanced at him. She had an air that made him feel that directness was far more efficient than bluster, so he dove in. "What is your chronicle? What brings you to this place?"

"Well, you certainly get straight to the point."

Her extremely blue eyes never left Rook, not as he had approached, nor as he had spoken. She smiled like someone amused, but not annoyed. She finally blinked, after what seemed like ages, to regard her drink and take a carefully thought out sip.

"My chronicle is like many others, I suppose. Stranded on a star port in the wrong part of town, waiting for this silly lockdown to end. I'm here on business, but my adventurous side got the better of me, and here I am."

Her blonde hair was elegant and pulled up, supported by a tight green scarf that wrapped around her head. She ordered a second drink and when it came gestured for Rook to take it.

"You may very well be the first interesting person I have seen here all night. What brings a tech-priest - that's your title, no? 'Priest?' - to this place? I am just dying to know."

Her eyes briefly danced over jacjonson, and she smiled again.

Rook looked sidelong at the drink as she offered it to him because, try as he might to deny it, she was captivating him. She had a mystery that he needed to uncover, much like any mechanism must be pulled apart and reassembled to find out it works. He had to know her story. Reaching out smoothly, he took the drink while holding eye contact and took as sip. The drink was vile, and he could feel his insides burn as the cells reacted adversely with the chemicals. Looking at the glass, he instantly took a fancy for it. To his untrained palate it was like the solvent fluid his brethren used to strip spent unguents from motor blocks. That thought alone made it more appealing. He took another sip before he could catch himself and realised he must have looked like a wanderer lost in the desert. "....Priest to this place?" He snapped back to the task at hand and set the drink down. My dear, he paused for a moment with a wicked gleam in his eye, it may be the most interesting story you've heard in M41. He proceeded to rattle off the incident that landed him in the penal colony, the deployment of the Bastards and their fights against Orks and rebels, his freedom with the transfer to the Hudson, and his subsequent landing here at the port to find someone and his separation. And if you know where I can find a bottle of amasec on this port, for a friend, I would be most grateful. He then leaned in close, Now, what is your story? Jacjonson snaked over his shoulder inquisitively, waiting to hear her story also.

"Oh, my," was a gasped response as Rook retold his saga so far. She seemed genuinely intrigued, so much so that she only took sips of her drink when Rook moved from one narrative to the next. By the time he finished, she was enraptured.

"That was extremely interesting. I don't believe anyone else in the establishment cold have matched it. I'm here for both work and play. I follow rumors for a certain private organization, and my latest rumor trail has led me here. Boring, I know. I could never match battling an Ork Warboss or firing a machine of such untold power. At least I could buy you a drink, right?"

She smiled, and if Rook was more human than machine, he might just be moved by how inescapably gorgeous it was.

"But I do think I can help you. I happen to know a not-so-by-the-books establishment that carries amasec. Might not be the best quality this side of the galaxy, but it definitely isn't the worst. That's if you're willing to risk going out past curfew..."

She awaited Rook's response.

Rook froze when the woman casually mentioned follow rumours for an organisation. To him that sounded too much like the Inquisition or the Arbites. He smiled at her tightly and reached out a hand from under his robes, I've been talking so much, I don't believe I caught your name. I am Rook Malakai, Tech Priest and vagrant guardsman of the Hudson. What is your name? He shakes her hand warmly, disarmed once again by her smile and fair looks, and leans in conspiratorially. And whom do you work for? Someone who follows rumours and hearsay does not sound very boring. It must a pretty exciting career choice, much like a detective woul be. He paused and sipped his drink again as she replied before changing the subject to the bottle of Amasec. Breaking curfew sounds like a guaranteed appointment with a firing squad, if the vox speakers are anything to go by. I am not the most stealthy of individuals either. Do you have a way of sneaking around that may keep us safe? Every synapse in his brain and linked cogitators was screaming that this is a trap, but to Rook's mind he needed the access to the workshop that Amasec would afford. It was part of the larger picture in which he wanted to expand his operation. Perhaps he was being paranoid, and this woman may even lead him to more people in the same line of work as Heisenberg...Caution was overridden by ambition, and Rook was all but ready to chance curfew in pursuit of his goals.

"Apologies. I am Kaylith. It is very nice to meet your acquaintance." She held out a hand. It was slender and elegantly manicured.

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"Well, it is very exciting," she says taking her hand back politely. "That's the thing about private organizations, is it not? They like to keep private. Forgive me if I am rude, I am simply not permitted to say. You understand."

She finished her drink and laughed. "Firing squad? For breaking curfew? Boy, you really are Guard, aren't you? No, no. I imagine if we get caught we will have some explaining to do and may end up spending the night in a cell while our bosses get hustled to pay our bail. But, I have been known to talk my way out of a pickle. So, shall we?"

She was putting on a coat. Rook could tell it was expensive as he had never before seen fabric like it. It was extremely dark and heavy, but looked warm and inviting. Somehow, heavy looking as it was, it still managed to fit her frame tightly. Just right. She locked eyes and gave Rook a wink.

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Rook couldn't argue with her logic. Secret organisations did like to stay that way. As she put on her jacket, her comment about being able to talk her way out of a pickle was the nudge he needed to chance the curfew and see where they would go. He downed the rest of his drink, probably in poor form, and set the glass down with a clang. He could feel his excitement building. He turned away from the bar towards the door and held up an arm. Lead on Kaylith. Let's see what trouble we can get into.

Spoiler:

Kaylith leads them out of the bar and into the foyer where the rude publican greets her as though she was the Emperor's daughter. Rook doesn't have to wonder why he didn't receive the same treatment. He briefly mentions, "Madame, the doors to this establishment will always be open should you need return." He looks at Rook and nods. "All of our paying customers can enter these doors freely - curfew or no."

She thanks him and moves out onto the street. The night cycle was on in full force, but it was never truly dark. Glow globes high up on the ceilings kept it dim and in perpetual twilight. Kaylith moved with a purpose, heading off to the left - away from the direction Rook approached from (away from the Halls of the Mechanicus). She seemed to know where she was going, as she turned from the main avenue down a side alley. It was easy enough for Rook to keep up.

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After about five minutes of walking, she stops. "OK, Tech Priest Rook Malachai of the Bastards and the Hudson, where we are going is another level or so down." She smiles and points to the heavy manhole cover locked on the ground. There was an electronic keypad that needed to be accessed to open it. No doubt, it would be locked. Failing that, Rook could see that brute force could also be employed.

"But it appears we need to hurry." She raised an eyebrow. Back down the main avenue that you had turned off of, two beams of light were growing stronger. A vehicle was approaching.

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