Finally inside her tiny room again Imisha coughed heavily and removed her protective mask. She spat black phlegm into the waste disposal and took a sip of her daily ration of the disgusting recycled water. Grimacing she forced it down. No use complaining. It might taste like sewer slime but it kept her and her children alive. That and the equally gruesome protein bars. Imisha didn't dare to spend too much money in case it would raise suspicion. The destitute refugee she was posing as could hardly afford to pay for a clean bed and tasty food.
Her small room was right next to the main ventilation system. The constant clanking and whooshing made sure she had not slept a full night in almost a week. Three times malfunctions had caused her room to fill up with stream. The entire thing smelled of oil, rust and grime. Actually 'room' was a bit of an overstatement. It was more like a mattress thrown on top of some rusty machinery in with a flimsy door to section it off. Any time someone walked by outside you could hear it so well that Imisha had made a game of trying to judge the size of their feet.
This place was a dump. Quite literally. Eambar was a garbage planet. A free zone where anyone could dump anything. And they did. Toxic sludge, spent radioactive fuel, unstable weapons. Sometimes whole spaceships. Perhaps once a long time ago this planet had been habitable. Now it was a wonder anything could survive in this place. The entire surface was covered with garbage. The only places where anything wearing less than a space suit could survive were the salving stations Imisha had spent the last few weeks touring in search of her elusive prey.
Most of salvaging stations she had visited turned out to be little more little more than warrens of maintenance tunnels and makeshift living quarters. The current station was almost a shining gem in this place. At least it had proper avenues and streets under the protective dome that shielded it from the deadly outside.
Even in these "clean zones" she had to wear her a breathing mask at all times just to survive. The thick oily air clung to her delicate skin causing her whole body to itch and erupt in angry hives. Her hair was now a lost cause and she feared she would have to shave it all off once she left this place. Clean water was a premium and showers were apparently unheard of. The best thing her current hotel could offer was wet wipes. And even those cost a small fortune. But that was one luxury she had decided she could not live without.
There was an upside though. As long as she kept her head down Imisha didn't have to worry about sticking out here. No one stuck out here. No one asked any questions what so ever as long as you could pay your keep. Even so Imisha kept her refugee cloak on just to be safe. It also helped conceal the fact that her stomach had started to swell. But she had yet to see anyone so much as raise an eyebrow at the prospect of a pregnant eldar refugee.
Although gretchins and humans were most numerous she had seen just about every race in the galaxy in her short stay. There were already plenty of eldar here. Rangers, exodites, pirates. Imisha had even caught sight of the multi colored cloak of a harlequin at a transit station a few days ago. She could have swore the dancers mask had smiled ever so slightly for the instance she had caught his eye. And that his head had tilted in the smallest of bows. But in the next second he was gone in the crowd.
Even so there was strange harmony to the planet. Over the time Imisha had spent here she had seen very little open violence. She could imagine that there was lots of violence behind the scenes when the dumpster diving teams fought each other for the right to the best salvaging locations. But such things seemed to be kept mostly out of the public eye. Overall this place was safer than many places she had visited.
Maybe it was because out here everyone needed each other just to survive. Or maybe it was because a bolter shell to the wrong piece of garbage might just blow up the planet.
Today had been another dead end. After wiping down her body and discarding the used stinking brown wet wipes Imisha reviewed her notes. Finding the orcish writer was like looking for a needle in a haystack. When she at first had narrowed down his position to this world she had thought tracking him down would be a rather easy task. How many orcish smut novelists could there be in a place like this? As it turned out quite a few. Except for salvaging Eambar was also the center for orcish pornographic production in the entire sector. Why anyone would choose a toxic dump like this to produce adult content was beyond her wildest dreams. But actors, writers and filmers all seemed to pilgrimage here. Imisha has spent almost a month fine combing shady massage parlours, dirty film studios and dubious bookshops for the accursed orc. She had seen, heard and smelled things she previously could not have even have imagined. Now she was terrified she would never be able to get the memories out of her head again. If only the hotel sold wet wipes for the mind.
The farseer buried her face into the stone hard pillow on her bed. Orcish porn and toxic garbage. One would think that things could hardly get any worse. But truth was she had saved the worst for last hoping it would not be needed. But now she was out of options. There was only one place left to search. Imisha shuddered at the thought.
Naught but Naughty was sort of an academy, although hardly what imisha would call a place of learning. It was instead a place where the various adult entertainment professions could learn their craft. Everything from writing, to dancing, to...acting. Around here the place was highly respected and one of the reasons why people travelled far and wide to this place. It was the place for the kind of behind the scenes information she so desperately craved.
The one problem was she would never get into such a place posing as a refugee. The academy had no shows, no shops, all in all very little interaction with the consumers. And what Imisha wanted to know was the kind of things whispered in dressing rooms and on smoking breaks, not announced out loud. To access this place she would need to change her strategy.
Reluctantly Imisha started unpacking the cheap vulgar piece of clothing she had purchased before coming back to her room. There was but one way she could think of to get in while maintaining any form of secrecy. Although she could read and write the human speech Imisha had never been great with words, she had much preferred runes. What they called 'acting' was a line she was not willing to cross. But she shortly danced when she was younger and had grown rather fond of it. Dancing and combat training went hand in hand and all Eldar warriors learned a little dancing as a part of their training. Although her training had most certainly not prepared her for something like this. But combined with her natural grace as an Eldar it might be enough to get her through the door. Her own revulsion at the entire thing would fit right in with that of a destitute refugee willing to sell her dignity for money. It could actually work.
A high farseer and former craftworld fleet commander posing as an exotic dancer. Imisha couldn't help but to smile at the absurdity of it all. Kalitha would no doubt be proud of her. Varunastra would probably lose his mind. Both thoughts helped her to steel herself for the coming task.
Critically studying herself in her small mirror she started to apply her makeup. At this point she knew pretty well how she was supposed to look. Her nimble finger easily replicated crude look she had seen on other prospective actresses. Not that Imisha was that young. But being an eldar her age didn't show much. There. That would do just fine. Only one things really set her apart. She sucked in the slight bulge on her midriff as much as she could.
That is when she felt it for the first time. To begin with she thought her stomach was just reacting to all the crappy food she had forced into herself. But the second time she realized what it really was. Her babies were kicking her. They were not at all happy with the sudden constriction of space. Amazed she let out her breath and placed her hand where she had felt the kick. The tiniest of punts propagated from inside her flesh into the flat of her palm. For a split second Imisha lost her cool and wondered what in the name of Khaine she was doing. Then the image of the mangled exodite princess and the certain doom of the life inside her washed over like a bucket of cold water. The golden thread of fate was still present in her mind, calling her onwards. She was still on the right path. And everything she did was for the little ones growing inside her. And there was nothing she would not do for them.
"I am sorry" she whispered out loud and caressed her belly. "It's going to be a little cramped for a while. Mommy has to..." Imisha could hardly form the words. But if she couldn't even form the words how could she expect to go through with it?
"Mommy has to go learn how to dance for orcs"
Later that same evening Imisha found herself banging on a cold metal door leading to the back entrance to the academy. This was the time and place she had been told that the auditions to Naught but Naughty were taking place. At first there was nothing and Imisha feared that her money had been down the drain. But after a while she could hear the slow shuffling of feet towards the door. A tiny metal slit opened and two beady red eyes peered down at her.
"What yer want?" asked a rough green skinned voice through the slit. Imisha was shivering in her refugee cloak. A filthy brown rain was pouring down. Orcs! Imisha muttered in her mind. How bad do you have to screw up the environment controls to make it rain indoors when water is as rare as it was around here?
"I..." she started timidly and looked at her feet. It was one thing to make the plan and quite another to go through with it.
"Bah! I haz no times for yer!" The slit started to close.
Imisha could think of only one thing to do. Blushing heavily she opened her robe under which she was wearing only the ridiculous dancing outfit she had aquired earlier. The slit stopped closing. The red eyes scanned her critically from head to toe.
"Yer ain't got nutting I aint seenz before" the orc said in a laconic voice.
"Excuse me!?" Imisha didn't have to fake her outrage or indignation. Not that Imisha had ever been considered a beauty among her own people. But he was an orc for Ishas sake! To him she was supposed to be a goddess.
"Yer heard me." The slot slowly continued to close but the orc's eyes were twinkling curiously.
"I can dance!" Imisha stammered in genuine desperation. There was now only the tiniest sliver left of the door slit. A single red eye still gleamed at her.
"Showz me" the orc said at last.
At this point Imisha realized she probably should have practiced before coming here. She could hardly do one of the warrior stance dances. Nor one of the religious dances she had learned as a farseer. Growing desperate Imisha at last tried to mimic what she had seen at the various clubs. How hard could this crude dance be? They just kind of waved their arms and legs and...
"Yer look like someonez put a stick up yer buttz and yerz tryingz to yank it out." the orc chuckled in amusement and shook his head.
"And yer got too much in the cellar and not enough in the attic. Go home, little pointy ear!" The lone amused eye flicked first towards her stomach and then towards her barely covered chest. From somewhere Imisha recognized that look and it infuriated her even more than his words. Before the slit could close Imisha rushed in fast as lightning and stopped it with a lone finger. Pouring her warp strength into her grasp she forced the slit open again and put her face right next to it. Her furious eyes lined up with the doorman's. For a moment Imisha forgot all about her cover as a timid refugee.
"You listen to me, you slime coloured old degenerate! I might not be the greatest dancer. And I might not be the greatest beauty either. But one thing you can be sure of, I am getting through this door!"
Panting in rage Imisha could see the red eyes lighting up behind the door. To her great surprise the door clicked and swung open. Behind it a massive grey haired orc coughed and chuckled heavily. His body was crisscrossed with scars and the battered face was missing both ears. All in all he looked like a typical orc to Imisha. Yet there was something familiar in his eyes she could not put her finger on. Before she could continue her train of thought a heavy clawed hand patted her heartily on the back so hard she almost fell over before ushering her in from the rain.
"Dat be more like it! Lesson noomber one: Yer got to show yer fire! Else is dont'z matters what yer look likes or what yer wearing! Welcomez to Naught but Naughty!"