There is something to be said about a nice refreshing day. It could clear a clouded mind and reinvigorate the body. Unfortunately, this was not what Fatima was feeling currently. Much to her detriment, in fact, the sunny disposition of the day would work against her. The woman had entered her workplace with subversive thoughts trailed by anxiety in her mind. The task at hand was practically too hard to swallow for her. It was virtually a buffet of challenges or an impossibility to pull off casually. Wiping the sweat away from her brows, Fatima would need to feign sickness.
"Looks like I don't feel too good," Sejanus only offered an arched eyebrow to look up and down her body.
"Looks like you don't, by The Emperor, your skin is deathly pale. Do I need to fetch the medicae?"
Fatima would furiously shake her head in response, "I think I just need some time outside breathing in the day."
"Aye, if you say so," Sejanus pressed a button to slide the doors open and then keep them available to the guard station.
This lie was easy enough for Fatima. She would quickly slink out of the room to briskly walk around the corner of the hall. Her chest felt tighter as deep breaths were gulped in while making her way up into this security building. Fatima's guard station was one of many different rooms within this vast construct. She knew there would be other guard stations, at least one cogitator room, and the filing center, which stores all the paperwork for the security departmentum of this spaceport. Etched into the placard that was drilled into the wall, it read: Saint Drusus' Mosul City Spaceport.
Navigating both inside and around the security building was easy enough. The problem lies in doing so without being detected by the pict-recorders and leaving no witnesses. Fatima, being a security guard of this spaceport, did afford her most level of access through the various gates, doors, and checkpoints. Everything had been working out smoothly for this nervous wreck. That changed when Fatima arrived at the last and most significant obstacle to her mission. Clutching the small device close to her breasts, she could only stare at the pict-recorder that was looking at the roof of the building.
Fatima was gazing up from the stairs that were conveniently too low for the machine's field of view. The woman's nervous tick of scratching her ear kicked in. No matter the attempts to slap away the hand, her mom tried to kill the habit, but it came back in times like these. It was a cheap-looking primitive thing. Fatima had once remembered that in order to save more relevant footage, the machine spirit within only stirred to awaken at fast motion detection. The Adeptus Mechanicus priest had earlier explained that an example of a bird flying past the machine would have it be recorded, but a bird strolling wouldn't cause the machine spirit to stay slumbering. All of this was told to gathered security guards at the time as they watched the Mechanicus priest casually install the recorder while talking. The unnerving appearance of him and his clergy unnerved her, what with their speakers talking instead of the mouth and one too many metal tendrils acting as arms.
That was when an idea hit her. "Paper boxes!" Carelessly, Fatima thought the epitome aloud. Running back downstairs, she remembered the assortment of varying-sized boxes that lay strung across an ally. These were just bland paper-based cubes that could carry paper and light cargo. Grabbing a box big enough to fit herself crouched, Fatima dragged this construct up a flight of stairs.
It would take a glacial pace to shuffle across the vision of the surveillance device slowly. Careful not to make any undue movements, Fatima had reached the metal box she needed to tinker with. This machine spirit was tricked by the most primitive prop the woman had on hand. The stupid thing couldn't tell the difference between the roof and a person hidden in a cube. For all that the device knew, it just saw the wind push an inanimate object across its building.
Fatima's objective was a fairly mundane task. All she was to do was sneak up to and slot an object into one of many available ports that existed for this metallic box. Supposedly, the rather vulnerable-looking machinery was attached to both the cogitators of the security building and the antennas located up here. Any data that was being received off-world onto this spaceport would need to be sifted through by these pylons reaching up to the heavens. Once adequately sorted, the information should be distributed through the wires to the rest of the structure. She would only pray that whatever attachment she was playing with wouldn't ever be used with malevolent intent.
Returning to the church after departing from the spaceport, Fatima had left the shift with none the wiser. There would be no investigation, no alarms, and no idea of what had happened. The woman would smirk a smug grin as she reveled in her own cunning. That prompted a barrage of guilt from the back of her mind. Was what she had done really illegal? Did she need to lie to Sejanus? Would the God-Emperor know about what'd happened? Her soul already knew the answers, and it would all be yes. The light steps of Fatima became leaden as she slogged through the congregation, exiting the sacred grounds. From excited anticipation to quiet dread, the woman's mood changed in only a few seconds of spotting the church.
Performing the proper rituals of prostrating before the Dominus-Imperator, then offering the prayer with open palms. Fatima held up her hands to the sky as she, along with others of the late congregation, said, "Praise be!" Like some of the more mystical and rural parts of Mosulite society, Fatima kept her head bowed in subjugation as her eyes were kept closed. Contemplating the thought, Please, I seek your forgiveness, Master-Emperor, Sovereign of a Million Worlds, and Carrion Lord of the Imperium. The prayer rushes through the mind as a quick sequence of words is mouthed without a sound.
"The God-Emperor of Mankind once walked among mortal men and women in a physical form identical to theirs and that He is and always has been the one, the true god of Humanity," Repeating the first tenet with fervor, Fatima was bowed by the singular might of the Master of Mankind. "That the God-Emperor is the one true god of Mankind, regardless of the previous beliefs held by any man or woman," The feeling of divine lights showered over the woman as the electro-torches lit the room and incense fragrance filled her nostrils. The shroud of doubt in the Emperor was burnt away with these words. "It is the duty of the faithful to purge the Heretic, beware the psyker, the witch, the sorcerer, and the mutant, and abhor the alien," Where her faith in the God-Emperor would shield Fatima, the gift of hatred bestowed by Him would be the sword to strike down these abhorrences. "Every Human being has a place within the God-Emperor's divine order, which is not to be questioned once made manifest," Reminding the woman of her place in society as the dutiful daughter and spaceport guard, contributing to the broader Imperium in her own minuscule way. "It is the duty of the faithful to unquestionably obey the authority of the Imperial government and their superiors, who speak in the divine Emperor's name," Now, this tenet, she wasn't sure about. Since would a Space Marine be of higher rank than whoever was the superior overseeing the spaceport? Would they outrank the planetary governor? She honestly didn't have the faintest hint of a clue. While that matter was being questioned within the mind, another intruded: was Falaquin even an Astarte? Unfortunately, that inquiry was more hazardous than previously believed. She came to the realization that if Falaquin wasn't an angel, he was either a figment of her imagination, which was worrying. Or worse, he was a malign entity set by the Dark Gods, the stuff of the Warp and sorcery.
No, no, that didn't make any sense, as that would mean Falaquin was an immaterial being. Yet, the antenna device held in her was a very material thing, especially considering that the Astarte knew the exact place and time to retrieve the box. His precise instructions and timing forever burnt into Fatima's mind as she dug through the trash disposal unit behind a bakery. The very same bakery she frequented and was aghast to find the small object wrapped in paper administratum receipts. Whoever Falaquin was, he was much too mysterious or frightening for the mortal to understand, at least for the time being. The doubts about her visions weighed her down like boulders. There would be no relief unless she could confide these revelations to somebody, anybody who wouldn't betray her trust. For the time being, Fatima decided only to drip-feed the information to that local preacher.
Where others left the tranquil room, Fatima meekly shuffled over with her socks to Shahid, "May I request a confessional? I know it's late, but if you were free," The words slid out as she played nervously with her fingers.
"Why wouldn't I be?" Shahid's face beamed a warm smile, "Just let me finish brooming first."
Fatima was ushered to a booth with two seats. It was a small metal thing that both of them would be sitting in; the only separation from their seats to the outside world was a mare curtain. Despite the rich imperial purple of the fabric, at the end of the day, it was only cloth that divided the confessor and the world beyond. Once both the confessor and preacher sat down, the dark metal mesh obscured all sight between the two women. This thin wall of metallic net was all that stood between Fatima and Shahid.
"Be free to speak of your sins, sister," The line flowed out of the preacher as naturally as a stream.
"I'm afraid I might be doing something wrong recently," Fatima's hands clasped, and her forehead sweated from this conversation.
"Well, you wouldn't be here if you thought you were doing something good," Sarcasm practically dripped from every word spoken, and a smug grin was plastered on Shahid's face.
Something to lighten the mood was all Fatima needed to cause a chuckle, "No, I don't suppose I would be here if I did something I'm proud of," Livity was a welcome air for the spaceport guard.
"Now, speak! Be liberated with your confession!" Shahid speaking in proper earnest.
"In some recent days, I've been having dreams or nightmares. But, the last two are too vivid to be dismissed as only my imagination,"
Shahid expected only monotony and boredom working in this church. This was a newly established branch, and the Mouslite of Capital City wasn't exactly the most exciting bunch in this world. In fact, it appeared that the more daring and dangerous fled the cities of this world to make a living in the wilderness. Her superiors knew this, her comrades knew this, and her commanding officer knew this. That's why they all vouched or recommended Shahid to be reassigned away from the front. The entire debacle was a demotion in all but name. The Ecclesiarchy, wishing nothing more than to be rid of the problem, just shoved Shahid to a nice, quiet, dark corner of the Imperium where she couldn't bother anybody. It seemed that arguing in favor of escorting civilians away from vile enslaving Xenos wasn't taken kindly. Especially when taking into consideration the bruised ego of a governor and yelling out of turn in a war council.
Yet, here she was, living in some desolate world with a backward people who were more than happy to kill each other in raids and clan feuds. There was no sense of unity of purpose or solidarity. That might've been from the lack of a regimented daily life, but it unnerved Shahid to live on such an anarchic planet. The only institutions that resembled order in Mosul were the Ecclesiarchy and the Astra Militarum with its mighty Imperial Guard regiments. Oh, how Shahid yearned to rejoin its ranks once more. But for now, she really should be paying attention to Fatima, the woman with an odd affection for the icon of Saint Sanguinius.
"I-I can't stress this enough: my last two dreams appeared to be as real as you or I,"
"Do not worry, I believe you," Well, that wasn't exactly true, but Fatima needed to hear it.
"I've been receiving visions from an angel,"
"Really?" Another raving prophet, Shahid, truly hoped not to have to put another one down.
"I think so. At least he was convincing enough to appear as one to me," Fatima's legs almost started shaking from the confession.
"And why do you think he was an Astarte?"
"His sheer stature! He does resemble the statues of Space Marines and bore the wings of Sanguinius!"
This was an intriguing detail. Shahid almost wanted to flip the switch that stood on the wall next to her feet. That would turn on the recording devices planted all over the booth to capture enough evidence to damn Fatima. Her fingers hovered over the sliver plate that surrounded the flip, and she wondered to herself if it was a good idea.
"Sister?" The question dragged Shahid out of her mind.
"Please, describe this Astarte with as much description as possible," It wouldn't do to scare or kill off the only source of entertainment for her. Not to mention, Shahid could even be wrong to condemn the woman. She would go on to intensely listen to Fatima while recollecting all her memories of Astartes in the Imperial Guard. These angels of death, indeed, were a sight to behold as their rare presence pronounced wars the Imperium took seriously. Shahid is doing her best to match up and verify the words spouted by Fatima. She would need to do more research at the libraries before talking to Fatima again. The description of the Astarte and the brutality that could be inflicted by them were accurate for the most part.
"Well, what you've told me thus far hasn't been heretical, but I still advise caution when encountering this spirit," The preacher tried her utmost to sound official.
"Th-thank you for the advice,"
"And Fatima,"
"Yes?" The response caused a muffled laughter from the other side of the mesh as Fatima slammed her palm to her forehead.
"You can just call me Hana when we're in private, and we can just talk outside the confessional booth when nobody is around," Fatima would bow her head at the black net inside the booth before leaving her burden behind in the church.