A/N: Had some issues uploading this chapter, ended up cut-and pasting into a previous uploaded chapter. Please forgive any formatting issues.
Assuming that the doc manager function works next week, and nothing unforeseen happens, look for a double post.
Thank you all for reading.
Chapter Eight: Sed Fons Ascendebat
Lyta woke well before her allotted time. Visions of a Botan Hive-that-was, of open grass and golden boughs on impossible trees hung as afterimages even when her eyes opened. Memories lingered that were not her own, of a time thousands of years before she was born.
She sat up alone in her chamber and rubbed her face tiredly. She could never get accustomed to the feel of her ocular implant. It looked human norm, but the synth skin around the right eye was hard with the titanium implant just below. It often hurt with the memory of her injury, and extreme cold made her whole head ache with it.
A thought impulse confirmed the time, and another confirmed that the Inquisitorial Transit hub of Lord Inquisitor Rassilo was eleven hours ahead. She used more thought impulses to adjust the channel of her vox bead, and sent a secured message, just like Rassilo instructed.
Transmission failure. Line termination.
Surprised, Lyta sent a communication through the Lord Inquisitor's office in the clear to the hub, using only normal Ordos security credentials.
The line was answered almost immediately by a gruff, unfamiliar voice. "Interrogator Amelyta Rothid, of Lord Inquisitor Moro's retinue. Why are you contacting this number?"
No introduction. "Lord Inquisitor Rassilo encouraged me to contact her once I was settled."
"The Lord Inquisitor is not available. If she wishes to speak to you, she will initiate such communication. All further communication should route through appropriate channels."
The channel clicked dead.
"Okay, then," she muttered. She glanced across the room at the exquisite armor. It fit perfectly, and moved with astonishing precision because of the cerebral jack she had installed at the same time as her ocular implant.
But for now, her long-neglected physical therapy awaited. She'd gone straight to work when she arrived, but the tight muscles and soreness from waking told her she had to work out.
Which was why she made her way, for the first time since arriving, to the training facility on level twenty. Even at this early hour, she was not the only one awake. She saw menials cleaning the halls–Moro preferred them over servitors, and only used the lobotomized former prisoners in secured areas not appropriate for civilian personnel.
When she reached the facility, she felt no surprise whatsoever to find it full. After all, Lord Moro's hab spire was, in essence, a military facility.
The space took up almost the entire level, with devotional stations set randomly around the floor. A quarter-kilometer track ran along the perimeter of the chamber, while within the track's circle she saw training mats and various exercise machines.
Lyta had to pause as a dozen or so Tempestus Scions ran by her, chanting prayers to the Emperor as they ran. To her right, she saw Artigan in training grays overseeing CQC drills with a handful of newer troopers.
Lyta herself made her way to the weight machines to do her morning physical therapy.
She felt no surprise when Sister Zhaena walked up beside the machine toward the end of her first set of reps and stared down at her. Even free of her armor, Zhaena was a tall, powerfully built woman. Though she had voluptuous curves, her stomach was as flat and hard as iron and her shoulders broader than most women. She outmassed Lyta by several kilos.
"You're capacity is…surprisingly low," she said, obviously struggling for a diplomatic way of noting how ridiculously weak Lyta was.
"I have a newly cloned hip and musculature on my right leg," Lyta explained. "This is prescribed physical therapy."
She finished her required reps. "Though even at my best, physical prowess will never be my strongest attribute."
"Interrogators must be able to fight. Spar with me, let's see where you are."
It was coming; Lyta knew it was. Zhaena was a warrior through-and-through. Lyta was the only other female interrogator in Lord Moro's retinue, and the youngest interrogator by a decade. Deon Kotran was considered a child, and he was in his early thirties.
Rather than delay or resist, she chose to get it over with quickly. "Very well."
The two made their way to a training mat, pausing only long enough to secure padded gloves, sparring shoes and protective helms.
"Lord Moro shared your interrogation results from yesterday," the Battle Sister said as they set positions. "I will admit you were far more productive than I first acknowledged."
She stepped forward in an obvious feint, then spun with astonishing speed with a leg sweep. Even with her psyker power telling her it was coming, Lyta barely avoided the move. Her feeble counter-strike didn't even come close to Zhaena's bobbing head.
"Sometimes Chaos wants to spread its madness," Lyta said as she tried her own kick. It wasn't to hit a target, just to create separation. "Sometimes, it just wants to feed and destroy. Those poor souls were not vectors, not this time. Simply victims."
"If they had been vectors?"
"Then I would have applied the instruments to all of them, however long it took."
It was inevitable that Zhaena landed the first strike. Not only was she larger and stronger; she was simply better. She batted away Lyta's desperate jab, kicked her right foot behind Lyta's feet, and with her right arm hooked her neck and put her down, all in a second.
Lyta did manage to get one minor victory over the course of their sparring, using Zhaena's own momentum to flip her, but the next four grapples all ended with her on the ground and sore from it.
"Your form is not bad," the Battle Sister said. "But you are too weak and slow to make good use of them."
"So my Drill Abbot at Progenium told me. Repeatedly. At the top of her lungs."
For the first time since meeting the battle sister, Zhaena laughed freely. "I would imagine so. I agree close combat is obviously not your strength. We will work on it regardless. What are your strengths, sister?"
"Prior to losing my eye, I was a rated marksman. I haven't had time to recalibrate, but will continue to work on restoring that skill. I also had some proficiency with blades and small arms."
"Proficiency? Not expertise?"
"There is always someone better, Sister. I serve the Emperor to the best of my abilities."
The taller woman regarded her intently for a moment, before nodding. A low, determined smile cracked her hard countenance. "Humility before the Emperor's name is a virtue. You could almost be a battle sister in that regard."
"I tried. When I was a child, I tried to sign up as an acolyte at a convent. The psykana identified me before I could be inducted. My one and only mission, sister, is to fight the Ruinous Powers in the Emperor's name. Whether it's with a Chambers Militant, or as an interrogator, that remains my sole purpose."
"A worthy goal," Zhaena declared. "I judged you harshly, I apologize. Come, I can assist you with your training. We'll concentrate on blade play and marksmanship, while accelerating your PT. We will do so every morning, until you achieve your maximum potential and do Lord Moro and the Emperor proud."
Zhaena was Lord Moro's senior acolyte; she was not making a suggestion.
~~Revelation~~
~~Revelation~~
Lyta felt like stretched sucro-gum when she arrived at the morning briefing two hours later. Interrogator Gamet, still recovering from his own injuries but in much better shape, revealed that he fined the sector administrator and had her dismissed from her post rather than flogged or executed.
"She was in her position less than sixty days and was a political appointee pushed by her family onto the Archduchess. The previous administrator died last year, so no further punishment was warranted," he reported. "I stressed to the Archduchess the need for at least partially competent administrators rather than schola acquaintances.."
Lyta was surprised at the relatively merciful outcome, but also grateful.
Lord Moro received the report with a nod. "The Archduchess was only confirmed to her position two years ago; the regency council before her were…somewhat lax due to infighting. Despite the best efforts of her Aunt, she does not fully appreciate the heavy burden her position carries. Perhaps we might leave word with Marshal Aquitaine that a review needs to be made of the hive's administration and security systems. An audit, if you will."
Gamet didn't quite seem to understand what Lord Moro was suggesting, but Lyta knew immediately what the man was getting at.
So did Abertfort. The largest of the Interrogators snorted laughter. "A pleasure to serve you, Lord. That will educate the Archduchess faster than anything else I can think of. I served with Aquitaine when he was a Drill Abbott."
"Exactly. Gamet, if you would be so kind as to mention our concerns to the Arbites marshal?"
Lyta found her mind trying to identify Lord Moro's accent. In the phrase, she could hear traces of Terra, but also off-world influences. Not important, she knew, just idle curiosity. Despite her psyker intuition, she had no idea where Moro was from.
Gamet agreed with his new orders, and the briefing moved on. Moro made no mention of her meeting with the Archduchess, which she had no doubt was the talk of the higher echelons of the hive. The prodigal daughter–the Archduchess elect who fled her titles–had returned with the Inquisition.
She was inclined not to talk about it.
After the meeting, she met with Aberfort. The man towered over her by a head and a half, with dusty auburn hair thinning at the back and temples. He wore a thick beard, but standing close she could see the scars on his jaw the beard hid.
"I appreciate your assistance, Interrogator."
"Call me Hol. Titles are for superiors and subordinates. Do you go by Lyta or Amelyta?"
"Among peers? Lyta."
He nodded as the two made their way down to the interrogation rooms. "She's your cousin?"
"Yes. We grew up together. But it's been ten years since I last saw her. What I remember was a devout child who would weep at the thought of menials starving."
"That's why you believe her soul is pure?"
"She had no taint that my power could detect. But she was there, and she saw things that should have infected her. I'll use the instruments if I need, but I don't wish it."
The floor was relatively clean and well lit for what it was, but there was no mistaking that this level was a place of torture. Instead of the wood paneling, the walls were bare rockcrete with frequent drains set in the halls and each cell. Servitors moved along slowly with disinfectant sprayers at the far end of the near hall, cleaning out a cell from yesterday's interrogations. Even so, she could smell the iron taint of blood in the air. Even after years of conditioning, she hated that smell and had to almost physically force herself to continue.
The floor held two central halls, each lined with sound-proofed interrogation rooms, and three narrow secure access halls for the small observation rooms. Corantha Rothid waited in Interrogation Room 17-2435A.
"You left the instruments on the wall," Aberfort noted.
"Something Lord Norquis taught me. Imaginations can cause just as much harm as actual torture."
The man nodded. "Lord Inquisitors Dolette and Crowl both use similar approaches. Safe word is Sky. If you feel compromised in any way, use the word and I will interrupt the session."
"Understood."
They parted ways, he to the observation room, and she to the interrogation. As she walked down the bare, brutal corridor, she began reciting prayers and cantrips to prepare herself. This wasn't just a subject, this was Corantha Estalia Rothid, her cousin and best friend as she grew up. She was the only child of Lyta's beloved Aunt Caethia. Whenever Amelyta and Amorine fled during their brother's fits, it was to Corantha's home they fled too.
Even by the measure of the nobility, Corantha was spoiled. Anything she could ever hope to want was showered upon her in an endless rain of gifts, adoration and indulgence. Perhaps, Lyta thought, that explained the girl's devotion. She never cared about material things because she was never in want of them; only her love of the Emperor and her compassion for those who had less than her mattered.
Those less fortunate than her included nearly the entire Imperium's population.
Lyta reached the door, took a deep breath, and stilled her features before opening the latch.
Corantha jumped in her seat when Lyta stepped in. As intended, she'd been staring at the torture instruments with a blank expression. The last days had left her looking filthy and stressed. Her normally perfect hair was in complete disarray and hung in lank, blonde curls about her thin neck. Her eyes hung with dark circles of exhaustion and worry. She always eschewed cosmetics as a child, and Lyta saw nothing to suggest that had changed.
Even without cosmetics–even stressed and tired and scared–Corantha looked beautiful.
Once the startlement eased, Corantha's face split in a pained grin; her chapped lips tore at the expression. "Lyta? God Emperor, Amelyta? You're…" The grin faded as Lyta stepped into the small room, closed the door behind her, and moved to the steel table that was the only furnishings; two chairs bolted to the floor, and the table. She placed a dataslate on the table before sitting.
The younger Rothid's eyes watered as she focused on the Interrogator's mark, and the power armor. "You…you found a way to heed the Emperor's call. I'm happy that you escaped, cousin."
"I need you to listen to me, Corantha. It's essential that you listen and understand what I tell you. I am not your cousin. We are not related. I am an agent of the Inquisition. In the past two days I have ordered the deaths of over two thousand lost souls. I killed a dozen personally. I hate it; but in the Emperor's name I shall not commit the sin of Mercy, not where such a sin could lead to more deaths. You will answer all of my questions completely. I will know if you lie. Do you understand?
Corantha could not wipe her tears–her hands were bound by manacles to the table. "I understand. I'm…I'm sorry it had to be you."
"What were you doing in that sector?"
"I'm the chairwoman of Saint Elosia Benevolent Society. We were funding Father Colindaus's schola for food and teaching supplies."
That much Lyta already knew from her preparations for the interview. "How did you know Father Colindaus?"
"Deacon Paulus introduced us last year." Corantha did not disseminate or hesitate; Lyta's power assured her the woman was being open and honest. "The Deacon has been my personal confessor for years, and both our mothers' as well. He spoke very highly of Father Colindaus. The father told me he wanted to provide a schola for the menial children. To get them out of the alcoves, he said, and provide them some training that might better their station. It's difficult–the children of menials are so often undernourished that many struggle with basic learning. But it was a noble effort, and one I supported. I visited him often, and volunteered at the schola to teach."
The privilege of extreme wealth was the ability to volunteer one's time. She'd not heard a single untruth. "Did Father Colindaus ever say anything that struck you as unusual?"
"He…he became very interested in Saint Elosia. And then…well, he started to become more agitated in the past few weeks. He kept insisting that a terrible crime had been done against the Saint's memory. He insisted the Saint was still alive, somehow, even though she died in the Emperor's service many thousands of years ago. Something about trees."
"Lost in the trees?"
"Yes! Yes, that's it." For a brief moment, the old, excitable Corantha shone through, only for her present circumstances to once again bring her native enthusiasm back to the ground. "He asked me for help. To research her story. I…he was such a good man, Lyta. His devotion to the Emperor and his love of all the Emperor's children could not be understated. So, I agreed to look for more of the Saint's story."
Lyta, with deliberate slowness, removed the dataslate she'd found in the priest's chambers and placed it on the table. Corantha stared at it for a long moment. "Yes! That's what I found."
"Where did you get this?"
"I found it in the family archives. Here in Gimel Spire. The most ancient legends say this is where Saint Elosia was born, and where she joined the Emperor's light in the most ancient days of the Imperium."
Lyta was familiar with the story; every educated member of Botan Hive was. The Holy Saint of the Early Imperium served the Emperor in overcoming the Technobarbarians of Merican.
Except, that was not the vision she had. There was no doubt that Saint Elosian was the same being as the saint depicted in Malcador's vault. "Why this one dataslate? How did you find it?"
"Oh, it was a long search! I looked in other places, too. The Botan Public Datastacks, the old Unity Memorial. But I realized that our family datastack likely had more information than any public resource. We were there, our ancestors. Through the Unification Wars."
Lyta was a child the last time she visited the archive, but even so she remembered some of the datapoints from her father's prideful discussions. "There are over seventy-five million dataslates and volumes in the archive. Again, why this one?"
"It was the oldest thing I could find that mentioned Saint Elosia. Or…well, they called her Telos then."
Though Corantha didn't notice, having no sensitivity to the Warp at all, Lyta felt a definitive cooling in the air, while at the same time the hexagrammic runes on her armor grew warm. The name Telos was enough to generate a Warp effect. However, something about the effect confused her. It did not feel like a tool of the Ruinous Powers. Rather, the name seemed to generate rage within the warp.
"Corantha, the entire sector was corrupted. Things that no mortal should see, or can handle without specific training. How did you survive?"
The tears returned. "I prayed, Lyta. I fell to my knees and I prayed to the Emperor and Saint Elosia. The monsters came for me. They came for me, and I was going to die, so I prayed. And the Saint answered my prayer. It was a miracle, cousin. The saint appeared before me and drove the monsters away. I am alive by the light of the Emperor and his most faithful saint."
~~Revelation~~
~~Revelation~~
She and Aberfort reviewed the biometric auspex scans of the subject as she recounted her testimony.
"Everything checks out," Lyta muttered. "I've confirmed her visits to the various libraries. The timing matches up, the donations, everything. But I can't find her in any of the picter and scanner feeds"
Aberfort shrugged. "Ask Thenes for picter footage of our subject. You're an interrogator, now. Delegate."
She opened her mouth to defend her actions, only to stop herself. "Right." She touched her voxbead. "Savant Thenes, this is Interrogator Rothid."
"Rothid, Amelyta. Fifty-four kilos, body mass index of 17.5 kilos. Indicative of slight undernutrition. Ocular implant, clone hip replacement. Highly symmetrical features prior to injury. What can I do for you?"
She stared at Aberfort, who shrugged. "I'm old and ugly, he doesn't care about me. But when I found him tracking my girls, I had a gun to his head while explaining why he needed to stop. There's a reason Moro doesn't let him out."
Lyta ground her teeth and touched her vox bead again. "We will discuss my biometrics at another time, Savant. I have a subject in 17-2435A. I need to find any security footage of her from the Black 299 Quad 4 event."
"Rothid, Corantha. Fifty kilos, body-mass index of 19 kilos, no injuries of note, symmetrical features to 89% human standard. Very healthy indeed. Footage found, forwarding to your observation room now."
"He scans all the women?" She directed the question to her partner for the day.
Aberfort nodded. "The man is one step above a servitor. But he is, without question, a pervert. He is also one of the most effective savants I've ever seen. As witnessed by the fact he just went through two thousand hours of security footage from over three hundred picter and auspex scanners in seconds, while at the same time remotely ogling your cousin."
"What does Zhaena make of him?"
Aberfort shrugged. "The sister uses him to keep track of her own fitness. Here we go."
They watched the footage Thenes forwarded to them. Lyta found herself chanting a prayer under her breath as she watched menials being twisted by the dark power of the warp into monsters out of nightmares. "I've never even heard of anything like this on Terra," she whispered.
On the flat monitor within the observation room, they watched as Corontha did exactly as she claimed. The woman fell to her knees and held up a golden icon in her hands. The sound was lost to the eerie screeching of the Warp, so they could not hear her words, but as the monsters moved to destroy her, the footage seemed to blink, and the twisted, lost souls fled screaming to find other victims.
"Slowing the footage," Aberfort said without prompting.
Even at one frame at a time, there was no continuity. The blink itself was simply an infinitesimal flash of light.
"Those of great faith have been known to withstand Warp events," Aberfort noted.
"And she's always had that. I've not met Deacon Paulus."
"Typical ecclesiarchy," Abertfort said. "He's worked with Lord Moro several times. A former firebrand, mellowing a little in his old age. He came personally to Lord Moro last night to submit himself for examination, fearing he might have been contaminated through Colindaus. Lord Moro cleared him personally. This data slate you talked about. Tell me about it."
Rather than talk about it, she handed it to him.
"Golden Throne this thing is old," he muttered. He started reading, one heavy, bushy brow rising as he did so. "Lyta, why would your family archive have one of Gallent Sidozie's reports? These are supposed to all be locked up in black cells at the Fortress."
Gallentist. "How do you know what it is?"
"You're obviously not a student of history. The coding. EOTer–the Elucidatum Order of Terra. The prelude to the Inquisition, founded by Malcador the Sigillite. The date is during the Heresy. It's the name, though. Recorded by G. Sid. Elucidatum. I can promise there was only one G. Sid. in the proto-Inquisition. One of Malcador's personal chosen. Lyta, we should not have this. And there was no way your cousin should have found it in your family's archive."
"Do you think she was lying?"
"You have the power. You tell me."
"Not once. She didn't speak a single untruth. I could read her like a book even when we were children. If that dataslate was the vector that infected Colindaus, somehow she was immune to it. But now I know my next step. I need to find out where that dataslate came from."
"Agreed. And your subject?"
Lyta looked back to her cousin. "I feel my judgment may be compromised, Hol. I love her. I love her mother, my aunt. My intuition and judgment say she is innocent and untainted, and at no risk of spreading the taint of chaos. I wish to remand her to the Deacon's care for meditation, prayer and observation. After, of course, she shows me exactly where she got that dataslate. But I would value an objective second opinion."
The former Chastener studied their subject through the one-way mirror. Corantha rested her head on her clasped hands and was praying quietly, though the sensitive auspex captured every word.
"It's a hard test Lord Moro gave you, having you interrogate family," Abertfort finally said. "By normal measure, we would purge her just because of what she has seen. But Maerya can perform a mind-wipe to remove the offending memories once you are done with her. I agree with your recommendations, Interrogator. I'll sign off on such, pending a mind-wipe."
"Good. Thank you, Interrogator Aberfort."