Friends in Dark Places

Merrick and Hurst sat silently in the small chamber. Days must have passed, Merrick guessed. He'd lost track of time. The Techpriests had not been cruel to them, but neither had they been kind. The two soldiers had seen that they were fed, if processed protein bars could be considered food. But nobody had spoken to either of them, and they had heard no word from Talros. All Merrick could do was mull over what Logis Corsis had said when they had been cornered days ago.

Commissar Connor a traitor. It just didn't make sense to him. A hardliner for discipline, sure, but Merrick could never believe that she would actively betray the Imperium. Just what had happened while he had been imprisoned? How did she play into Talros's little conspiracy theory? He wanted the truth, not more questions and shady assignments. And he wanted out of this damned room. His last wish was soon answered, much to his surprise.

The steel door flung open. Rather than the usual servitor arriving with their daily food, a short, red robed priestess entered the room. The top of her head had been replaced with cybernetic implants, and the flesh around her mouth and chin had begun to suffer the effects of necrosis. Small chunks of skin dangled freely from her face. Her voice was unusually soft for such a ragged exterior. "Logis Corsis will see you now. Follow me."

Two Skitarii guards marched behind Hurst and Merrick, each pressing a gun into their backs. The priestess led them down winding corridors with no windows, further and further into the bowels of the forge. Merrick tried to count the number of turns they made, should they get the chance to escape their captors. It was a maze, and he soon gave up. A shaped charge pointed directly upward would give him a better chance than trying to navigate this labyrinth.

They passed countless servitors, each with a large, boxlike implant embedded in their heads. They were chained together at the ankles, slowly shuffling down the tunnels while being guided by lesser priests. Nobody stopped to give them a second glance. Merrick doubted they were even aware of his and Hurst's presence. Cogboys were all the same, barely regarding your existence, unless you caused trouble. And right now, two guardsmen being marched down the halls at gunpoint was someone else's problem, so the others paid them no notice.

They arrived in front of a large iron door, labeled the office of the Priest Logis. The two Skitarii moved to flank either side of the entrance, while the priestess activated the console. The doorway split apart, slowly opening multiple layers of blast bulkheads "You must enter, and speak with the Logis alone. I am not permitted in his presence," said the priestess, lowering her head.

Merrick glanced at Hurst, then shrugged. The priestess bowed and moved away as they entered, and the door sealed shut behind them. The chamber was half lit, with creeping shadows filling the corners of the room while harsh white light casting itself upon the contents of the office. Dominating half of the room was a large table, covered in graphs and charts. Small miniature designs littered the workshop, some of strange robotic limbs, and others appearing to be scale models of solar systems Merrick knew nothing about. The wall to their left was covered in video screens, each one switching between several different cameras across Angel Forge.

Logis Corsis waved to them with a bony hand. He sat in the center of the room, plugged into a massive chair through cables attached to his skull. With his hood down, Merrick got a good, long look at the techpriest's skeletal face. What little skin was left was stretched tightly over his bones, and his nose had completely rotted away, leaving two slits from which various tubes attached to inner augmetics. His eyes were mechanical, glowing a fearsome blue. When he spoke, his voice was tinged with metal; his voice box was artificial. "I will be straight to the point, guardsmen. You are in a position to be of great use to me. I need your help."

Merrick crossed his arms. "To do what, exactly? You could have just asked us, I don't know, a week ago, rather than throwing us in a box."

Corsis's gaunt face didn't change, but there was an exasperation in his tone. "We required such time to properly interrogate Aldan Talros. Relying on such archaic verbal communication extends the process. As your Arbiter is of no further use to us, I have now turned to you. If you will-"

"What have you done with him?" demanded Hurst, pointing an accusing finger at the priest.

Corsis was irritated. "If you will let me finish without any more extraneous interruptions, I will tell you everything. Talros is not who you think he is. He is an impostor, a man who has used you to further his own delusional need for vengeance. As it happens, his goals and ours are the same. We both wish to see Magos Dolthem dead for his treachery. I simply happen to have the proof that he was searching for."

"An imposter?" said Hurst, raising his eyebrows. "Nonsense. We worked with him in the past. He has always been with the Arbites forces. He helped save Governess Derosa, why would he turn traitor?"

"Oh, has he?" said Corsis, emotionless. "Then his deception has played out much longer than I believed. And despite what you may believe about the unwavering loyalty of the Adeptus Arbites, there are always cowards and traitors among all branches of the Imperium. Aldan Talros was from Spire Legis, you see. It seems he was one of the lucky ones to escape that city's fate. He told me that he joined the Adeptus Arbites under a forged persona. Perhaps he wanted vengeance, perhaps he simply wished for a better life, it doesn't matter. What does matter is what Talros did next.

"During his interrogation, he revealed why he wished to go forward with this infiltration. As I said, Legis was his home, and now, it is rubble. Losing all he knew to the Ruinous Powers was hard enough for the man, but to see it destroyed in radioactive fire put him over the brink. So he seeks to blame others, and find justice for his lost home. And this act of vengeance brings him much closer to the truth about the conspiracy plaguing Meridian than he would ever have realized. Aldan Talros was correct: Magos Dolthem is indeed a traitor to both the Imperium and the Cult Mechanicus.

"As Logis of the Cult Mechanicus, it is my sworn duty to predict trends and future needs for our sect. No data passes through this Forge without my consent. Magos Dolthem knows this, so he has had me under surveillance for nearly a year. We both hold leverage over the other; I am unable to make my knowledge of his treachery public, and he cannot silence me without throwing his precious forge into anarchy. Thus, we are in a stalemate.

"When our sect was sent to Meridian to repair Angel Forge, we had no idea just how far the damage had spread from Chaos's corruption. Even now, entire regions of the Forge are unusable, as the taint of Chaos is still too great."

Merrick flapped his arms against his sides. "Great, another chaos tainted warmonger with more gears than brains in his skull. So what happened next?"

"As you may have noticed over the past few years, Magos Dolthem has appealed to Governor Derosa for more aid and security forces for Angel Forge. This is nonsense. Those men were never to be used for security. Dolthem used them to venture into the dark recesses of the manufactorum, searching for safe passages and treasures that might help him restore the Forge to its former glory. None of the searches came back, save for one. And that expedition returned, with Dolthem claiming an immeasurable prize. A standard template construct."

"A what?" asked Merrick blankly.

Hurst spoke up. "A standard template construct, Merrick. They are ancient analytical blueprints from the pre-Imperium days. Mere fragments can change the course of history with the wealth of technological knowledge they hold. Finding a fully intact one is thought to be impossible."

"Indeed, it is impossible," agreed Corsis. "I had my doubts that Dolthem truly did find anything down there. And my suspicions were confirmed. There was no STC fragment on Meridian. Those new tanks you may have noticed on your way in? There is nothing ancient about them. Magos Dolthem has been inventing new designs without consent of the Fabricator General. This is the ultimate heresy among our order. Dolthem has no desire to further the will of the Mechanicus, he has succumbed to his own greed and ambition. He would see this whole world burn around him before he gave up his designs."

"But how do you know this, then?" asked Hurst.

"Like I said, trooper, no data passes through this Forge without my knowledge. And I have had centuries to hone my skills at identifying a fake. I knew of your arrival in the Forge the moment it happened. I quickly deduced why you are here, and how I could use you to my own end.

"There is something very wrong with this Forge, that no mechanical repairs can mend. It has an influence on people, a madness. The crime of invention runs rampant within these foundries, and yet I am powerless to stop it. Should you fail in your task, all Meridian shall suffer for it."

"Then what would you have us do?" said Merrick. "You killed Talros when you finished interrogating him. Why should we believe you would do anything else to us when we outlive our usefulness to you?"

Corsis peeled his lips back in an approximation of a smile. "I didn't kill him, he merely ceased to be useful for information. Talros's body will be put to good use among the Forge workers. Though, you are wise to question me, trooper. You are correct, you have no reason to trust me. However, this is not a matter of trust. It is a matter of death now or later. If you refuse, you will die here, now. If you accept, you may live to see another pointless battlefield to throw your life away on. It's your choice."

Merrick growled, but grudgingly accepted. "Not much of a choice is it? Seems to be a week for this sort of thing. Fine, we accept, priest."

"Indeed," said Corsis. He clasped his bony hands together, and rose from his chair, pulling the cables free as he did so. "We have much planning and preparation ahead of us if this is to succeed."

Hurst raised his hand. "Wait," he said. "Before we go any further, there is still one thing I must ask. You said that Commissar Connor was involved in this. How? What has she done?"

Corsis leered at Hurst, and brought himself up to his full height. The priest towered over him on his spindly limbs. He placed a deathly cold hand on Hurst's shoulder, and brought his head down to stare the sergeant in the face. "It is not what she has done, soldier. It is what she is going to do, when the time comes."

The sky was a murky grey, slowly turning to black as the moons of Meridian struggled to cast their glow through the thick layer of storm clouds. Flinn peaked around the corner of the barracks, watching for night patrols. He hefted a large sack over his shoulders and took a deep breath before crossing into the open. The streets were illuminated by spotlights. Flinn hid his nervousness as one of the patrolmen began to approach him. The trooper wore an MP badge, and he raised his hand for Flinn to stop.

"Where are you going, soldier?" he asked skeptically. "Lights out is in fifteen minutes. What's in the bag?"

"Just uniforms, sir, from our casualties. I offered to drop them off at the quartermaster's," Flinn said. He steeled himself and looked the MP in the eyes. "Honestly, sir, that's it."

The MP wasn't convinced. "We'll see. Open the bag." Flinn obliged. He set the bag down and let the MP rummage through the contents. After a few moments, the MP stood up. "All right, you're not lying. Carry on, trooper, and be quick about it. Lights out is in a few minutes."

"Yes sir, thank you sir," said Flinn, and he picked up the pace. When he was safely out of sight, he breathed a sigh of relief. He really was going to drop them off at the Quartermaster's, but hiding his true intent for being out so late was nerve wracking. After dropping off the bag at the supply depot, he quickly made his way towards the listening post where Rast was waiting for him.

Rast was alone when Flinn found him sitting in the emplacement. The listening post rested at the very edge of the Regiment's western perimeter, watching the approaches further along the canal. Flinn dropped in beside him. "Where's the watch?" he asked, noting the lack of guardsmen.

"I told them I was sent to relieve them and that you were on your way after you finished dropping off some equipment," said Rast. He pulled out his own sack, and opened it. "Here, I managed to scavenge these off a few bodies. Say what you will about the other regiments, some of them have some really nice kit." Rast presented two sets of rebreathers with night vision goggles, and several las gun charge packs. He held one up to Flinn.

"Managed to find some hotshot packs. Only fifty rounds in a pack, but one shot should be enough to drop a Greenskin. They'll be better than our normal rounds. Hopefully we won't need them, but better safe than dead."

Flinn peered into the bag. "All right, is there anything else?"

"Yeah, there's one more thing." Rast pulled out two headsets. "Short range vox beads with an auspex tracking system. They attach to the rebreathers. If we get separated, or if we find Gren and the others, we'll use these to find each other and get out of there. Are you ready, Flinn?"

Flinn nodded, and gathered the stolen gear. "Yeah, I'm ready. Let's go."

Lars sat next to Connor's bed in the hospital ward. After the combat support hospital had managed to stabilize the commissar's condition, she had been passed onto a civilian center, located on the north bank of the canal, at the base of Temple Hill. Connor had been struck hard by the Ork's hammer. Her collarbone had been broken, as had several ribs. A mess of gauze and padding was wrapped tightly over the right side of her chest, stained red as she had bled. But she was alive, and that was all Lars cared about.

He held her hand tightly. Connor was tough. It was one of the things that had drawn him to her in the first place. She would get through this. But to Lars, seeing her like this was difficult. Elle meant more to him than any of his soldiers, and he hated himself for it. How could he sit here and fret over her, when men under his command died horribly? He hated the weakness and vulnerability that he felt in his concern for Elle. And yet, he couldn't tear himself away, much as it would be best for both of them.

Connor moaned, slowly coming to. Lars grasped her and got her attention. She strained a smile and spoke weakly. "Well, this is familiar. I think we had it reversed last time, didn't we?"

"More or less," said Lars, relief flooding through him. "Though, I don't think you'll need a new arm just yet."

"Well, that's reassuring," she said. Connor tried to pull herself upright, but she gasped painfully while trying to shift her weight. Lars leaned over her, carefully helping lay her down. "What's the damage?"

"You took a hammer to the chest," Lars said, "And the doctors believe there might be some complications with your spine. You need to rest for a while, or you'll cause irreversible damage."

"Oh, is that all?" said Connor. She rested her arm on her forehead, looking agitated. "Well, that's just perfect."

"I'm sorry, what? You think permanently paralyzing yourself is a minor inconvenience? It's a few weeks in the hospital while they perform treatments and physiotherapy, not a discharge. The company has been pulled off the line for the time being, I'll come and visit you."

Connor pulled away from Lars, not meeting his eyes. "Don't bother. I'll take augmetics first. I will not be bedridden, not now. I know you only want me safe, Captain, but I cannot stay here."

"Oh, it's Captain now, is it?" said Lars angrily. He stood up, pacing around the bed. "Well then, 'Commissar', what is so important that it cannot wait? What aren't you telling me?"

"You wouldn't understand," snarled Connor. She pulled her blanket over her injured shoulder. "What I do for the Schola Progenum is none of your business, Lars. It is not my decision."

Lars slammed his hand against the wall in frustration. "To hell with what the Schola thinks! Sooner or later you'll need to be honest with me. We can't keep secrets like this from one another."

"I am as honest with you as my position allows me to be," said Connor in protest. "It's for your own good if you don't know."

"Oh, so now you're protecting me," Lars said. "Here I was thinking that you were just going to fuse a metal shoulder onto yourself But of course, it's for my own protection." Lars was fuming inside.

"I wouldn't understand, right. What is wrong with you, Elle?" demanded Lars. "You can't tell me what is bothering you, and you have criticized my decisions for months. You've changed, and I don't like it."

Commissar Connor's response was short and harsh. "I wouldn't expect you to. Get out."

Lars said nothing. He left the hospital ward, slamming the door behind him. As the minutes passed, the lights dimmed to save energy. Still in her bed, Connor quietly wept.

Rast and Flinn, clad in their new gear, quickly ran along the waterfront, back towards the entrance to the undercity. They had encountered no patrols. When they reached the service tunnel, they found it sealed. Rast ran his hand across the doorway, muttering. "No, no, no! It's completely sealed, the console's fried too."

Flinn cursed under his breath. "Well, we can't exactly blow it open. They'll hear us."

"Give me some time, Flinn. I'll have to do a manual override." When Rast caught Flinn's look, he added, "Well, what else do you expect me to do?" The guardsmen heard a click behind them. Walking out of the darkness was a man clad in a black coat, brandishing a large bolt pistol. Junior Commissar Provost held both men at gunpoint.

"That's what I would like to know, soldier," said Provost. The young officer eyed Flinn. "Captain Caius told me to watch you, Private. Gren's attitude problems stem toward his subordinates as well, it seems. Now, backs against the wall."

The guardsmen hesitated. Provost waved his gun menacingly to reinforce his point. Flinn slowly put down his lasgun and pressed himself against the wall. Rast did the same, not taking his eyes off of Provost. Without taking his gun off them, the junior commissar walked around them. "Now, troopers, here is what is going to happen: you two are going to face punishment for treason. Do you know what that means? It means I'm going to execute you. Now, Captain Caius told me that he would like to take you alive to be made an example of, but you see, I don't answer to him. I administer justice on my own accord, where I see fit, and when I see fit.

"Right now, I see two guardsmen attempting to gain access to restricted territory, in spite of express orders from your commanding officer, and a decree from headquarters that the undercity is to be sealed before purging may commence. Entering the underground at this time represents a severe security breach, and I cannot allow that." Provost leveled his gun at Flinn. A cruel grin crossed the Commissar's face. "Let's start with Gren's little protege."

Flinn squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself. There was a sudden snap hiss, followed by a thump. Flinn immediately opened his eyes again. That was no bolt pistol. Provost was lying in the snow, a large, black hole in his chest where the las bolt had passed through him. Rast quickly pocketed his laspistol. "Frak, I thought he'd never shut up. First rule of cornering somebody, Flinn: always keep their hands where you can see them. Commissar junior here must have missed that part. Help me move him."

"You just shot the Commissar!" hissed Flinn.

"He was about to shoot us," said Rast. "Only one side was going to come out of this alive, so it might as well be us. We'll have to take him with us before we can find a place to dump the corpse. They'll never find it in the undercity." The two dragged the body over to the wall and propped him up beside it while Rast worked on fixing the console. Finally, the doors slid open. "Well, I guess we're murderers now, too. Come on, we don't have much time. Somebody was bound to have heard that."

Flinn hauled Provost's body inside. Rast quickly worked to seal the door behind them. As it closed, he and Flinn switched on their night vision, rendering the pitch black hallway a crisp, visible green. "We can't come back this way," said Flinn nervously. "and Provost said the undercity was sealed under orders before the army sends a purge team through."

"Uh huh," murmured Rast. "I never said this would be easy, friend. We could be down here longer than I thought."

Valeris couldn't move. As she slowly regained consciousness, she realized her hands were tied behind her back. Her whole body ached, and her head was spinning. She remembered... crashing? Yes, she had crashed into the undercity. And then, she had been bleeding. The last thing she remembered was stumbling into a building before finally passing out. How long ago that was, she had no idea. Where was she now?

A small, portable generator sat in the middle of the room. The device let off a weak orange glow, and it let off heat that was entirely too uncomfortable for Valeris, already sweating from the undercity's thermal emissions. Craning her neck around, Valeris took stock of the room. It was filled with supplies; guns, ammunition crates, food, tools, vox packs. It was a veritable stockpile. She must have been in some storage container.

Rolling onto her back, Valeris noticed that her wounds had been bandaged. Her flight suit was shredded, but whoever had fixed her injuries had done a good job with what little they had to work with. Yet that raised another question. Just who had found her and placed her here?

She tried her restraints. They were bound tight, and she couldn't loosen them a hair. Giving up for now, she contented herself to wait. Her captor or savior couldn't have gone far. Several hours passed before Valeris heard the sound of the container hatch turning. She pulled herself upright, sitting in the corner furthest from the hatch. She wasn't afraid, but she was still wary of the newcomer.

The entrance opened a sliver, and a disheveled man wearing a ragged cloak slipped in before swiftly swinging the door shut. He breathed easy. "Thank the Emperor for that," he said to nobody in particular. His eyes spun around and focused on Valeris. "Oh, good, you're awake at last. It's been a few days, I was worried you weren't going to come out of it. I hope my handiwork helped, I'm not the best with medicine."

Valeris said nothing to the stranger. She ran her eyes over him. He was wearing a large cloak, but underneath, her keen gaze caught the sight of metal. He was armored. The stranger sat down on a crate. "So, what brings you to the undercity, pilot girl?"

He offered her a hand. Valeris gave him a wilting look. "If you want to shake, you might try untying me first."

"Oh, right," he said. "Sorry about that, it's just I didn't want you running away when I wasn't here. That would be no good for either of us." The man produced a knife, and cut the bindings on Valeris's wrists.

Massaging her raw arms, Valeris spoke. "If you know I'm a pilot, then I think it would be obvious to you why I'm down here. Crash landing, thanks to those damn Greenskins."

"Heh, I suppose that's true," said the man with a chuckle. "I guess you could say the same for me. Ended up down here in a crash. I'd say I'm lucky to be alive. Must be the first time that wearing a helmet has actually saved me. I guess there's a first for everything." The man shifted over the crate to give Valeris a place to sit. "Do you have a name, ma'am?"

Valeris answered slowly. She wasn't sure she could trust this man. But, he had saved her, and he willingly set her free. "Valeris Hexus. Pilot."

The man smiled, revealing several cracked and missing teeth. He offered her his hand, and she shook it. "Lenham Remer."

Author's note: been a while since I've had something to say. I know that my updates are infrequent, but that's just life. I found this chapter difficult to write. There are several ongoing plotlines that don't quite intertwine, and yet they run parallel to one another. So it was tricky bringing them together like this, especially for such a dialogue heavy chapter. But I think it turned out alright, and I had a lot of fun writing the final section. Hopefully you guys like it too.

Watch for Greenskins, boys.