In response to the events that nearly brought down the Imperial government on Haikk One, a secret council meets in the shadows, with dangerous implications for a certain knight of Anglerre. Meanwhile, after the Leopards return to the Starfort Langriano and the Haikk Crusade command, Sister Evita finds herself consoling a deeply troubled Parky, haunted by actions from both his recent and distant past.
Then, after trying to enjoy some rest and relaxation, Roger is summoned by Prince Edmund for a new mission that may be his most arduous yet...
And after trying to enjoy some relaxation, Roger is summoned by Prince Edmund for what may be a long to solve and desperate situation...
The rain was coming down in a slight drizzle, hitting the coat of the man as he moved inside the warehouse. As usual, the pollution of the Hive had turned it acidic, the few drops getting on his uncovered hands stinging slightly but causing no severe damage. He hated being in this crowded, dirty, and violent nest of humanity, but such was his lot. To continue being incognito required one to be amongst a crowd, away from prying eyes. What better place to be hidden? He moved through the abandoned building, once a storage area for weapons of the Imperium, but that was when Haikk Four and Golgotha were industrial titans of the system. Now, with half of it still in ruins after the Imperial campaign to retake it from the rebellion that attempted declaring independence, it was a shadow of its former self. He was not interested in politics unless it involved his true passion: faith.
He moved through some collapsed boxes, finding a hidden latch on the floor. He lifted it and stared down a dusty staircase before closing the panel behind him. He moved down a hallway to a door, pressing a set of numbers before it opened to reveal a single room bunker. There was a large table in the middle with a chair at the end, around it eleven servitors all missing their heads. The rest of their bodies were a mixture of metal and formaldehyde layered flesh, which hid the stench of slow decay by replacing it with a clinical, sterile odor. Their arms were also replaced by light, skeletal frames that mimicked their human originals, all placed flat on the table. There was a time when he found them ghoulish, but their more useful new forms eliminated any doubt he had. Sat comfortably, he pressed a button on the small cogitator in front of him and took a breath. A few moments later, a red light blinked three times then turned green as the servitors shuddered to life. The metal that completely covered their necks lit up one by one, showing blank, generic holograms of faces.
The meeting had begun.
"Ah, March. You finally arrived," one of the servitors said through a crackle of static and voice modulation.
"Always a pleasure, August."
"Now that we are all here," the one at the opposite side of the table said, his voice authoritative even with the modulation,"We can begin our meeting."
March sat and rubbed his temples. They were all called by codenames of course, the twelve-person council conveniently naming themselves by the months of the ancient Julian calendar used on Holy Terra. They had all spoken to one another hundreds of times by now, but none knew each other's true identities or locations, every talk or movement done with absolute secrecy.
Such was the way of what the reformers called "The Temple Tendency".
"I'm quite surprised that you would show your face March, especially given your recent showing," July said with a hiss, pointing one of the robotic arms fingers directly at him.
"We need to speak about that," their leader, obviously named January, agreed.
"The situation on Haikk One was regrettable, but our mission still saw partial success."
"Partial success? Success? You lost us two of our most valuable assets there, our headquarters on that planet! What the hell even happened to the Cathedral?"
March sneered at July's questioning. It was obvious he wanted to be in his position as the second in command of the council, but he would be damned before that happened.
"Some of my men destroyed it to protect our other assets and hide our actions. We lost about fifty or so Chantry Guards along with Father Abel."
Gasps or groans followed this statement.
"Meanwhile," May angrily added, "I can barely hold onto what I have and get reinforcements, yet March can find fifty or so more of our finest warriors and throw them all away in a pathetic attempt at revolution!"
The other ten at the table started to argue or agree with one another before a metallic arm slammed down to silence them. It came from January, who always knew when to refocus and restore order.
"If you wish to discuss this, we will do it in a manner befitting this council!" he roared.
July was the first to respond.
"I believe that March should be removed from his position as second in command for us all, but he should still be a member of our organization. I motion to begin a vote of no-confidence in his leadership."
"The motion has been put forward. March, for obvious reasons, you shall sit out the vote. Now, all in favor, raise your right hand."
The cameras inside each device tracked their arm and facial movements, the servitors mimicking their motions like macabre puppetry. Only three were lifted, the remaining eight still and unresponsive.
"July, your motion fails. March, continue."
March was glad that the holograms could not show how much pleasure he found in July's humiliation but felt a slight twinge of disappointment. He wished he knew who the lapdog was and where so he could speak with his fists in displeasure at the action.
"January, our actions were well organized and not expected by the local defense forces. However, the success was entirely from our failure. I am now certain that we have a group observing and preparing to strike at us."
To his surprise, he was greeted by silence.
"What proof do you have?" asked November, one of the quieter members of the council.
"The local forces on Haikk One had no troops or understanding of our operations to ever face us adequately, and considering our late agents position in the PDF, warnings would have been long coming anyways. I have on good authority, with multiple witnesses, that my plan was foiled by a knight. Judging by what I have been told, his accent was foreign. Given the Imperial forces still in the system from the crusade, that leads to one answer."
"Edmund and his men know of us?" January said in slight panic.
"My source inside the Starfort says that's unlikely. But whoever this knight was, he was certainly instrumental in our failure."
"Then we should find and kill him."
"His death would be too noticeable. But something else disturbs me about what happened in Melstram. Whoever engaged our Chantry Guards… they were experienced fighters. Most of the guards had no chance."
This last statement brought mumbles of disbelief and concern. Chantry Guards were some of the finest and most dedicated warriors' humanity could offer, at least short of elite Imperial Guard units and Astartes. The Temple paid top Throne for even one of them to undergo the long and arduous process to become one and always got results to their liking.
"But with our mole on the Langriano… there's no movements of elite units, anything close to being capable of that."
"The Inquisition?" December asked.
"Possible. And considering who the new Inquisitor observing the campaign is… we have little on this Beauchamp, but I doubt she's friendly."
Silence followed before a hand raised. Now it was April's turn to speak.
"I am willing to accept that I have committed a grievous error in plotting Von Kam's death. I was certain we would be able to pull strings and replace him with someone sharing our beliefs or friendly at least. This was a blowback of great proportion, and I wish to resign from this council."
"Not necessary April," January chided. "And I think we all agree. Beauchamps arrival was not planned by any of us, and you would have no idea about such an occurrence. Your willingness to accept blame for your failure is noted and respected, and your resignation should not be considered tenable. Any objections?"
None came.
"March, your mission is now to find any information on this knight. I would suggest waiting for a moment to strike, but until then, we must be sure whether he knows anything. Killing a man who has nothing to do with us or is grasping in the dark will only bring unwarranted attention."
"Yes, January. I have nothing else to report."
"Very well. August, your report on the situation with Haikk Four?"
"Unfortunately, no progress. The Ostau regiments and their commander Lovric have forced us into a stalemate on the Cacciatore mountains. They cannot push north, and the Anglerre forces there would quickly move to engage even if we broke through. However, they would not be prepared for the kind of war the mixed former Guard and rebel forces would wage against them."
"Continue the delaying action. We still need half a year or so to fully prepare our influence in Yazd and be prepared when the rebellion is defeated. How is Volkster?"
"Happy to be of service."
The Tendency would continue to plot, hearing status reports on the various operations and hidden moves to secure their position and begin to continue their shadow Ecclesiarchy in the system. March sat back, starting to drone out the response of places and plans he had little say in. He devised ways to catch a knight, one who seemed to have powerful warriors in his service. But where was the fun in an easy hunt?
XXXXXX
Sister Evita, Retributor of the Order of Our Martyred Lady, stood watch in front of the Bishop of Chelmster's door. She had escorted her charge, Sir Roger Wessyng, across the entire station, apparently being the only member of the Leopards trusted to protect him and not tell others any specifics. Considering the alcohol consumption and irreverent mood of the average Anglois, she had half a mind to agree. On the other side of the door frame was one of her fellow Sisters from the Order, Alexa. Officially, they were to be silent and standing at attention but given the late hour and boredom of the duty, they had spoken to each other for the last hour or so Roger had been inside the Bishop's office.
"So, nothing exciting happened on Haikk One?"
"Nothing out of the ordinary for one of our order," Evita sighed. "I have to say, the Order of Sacred Avis are quite… different."
"Rough around the edges," Alexa agreed.
"They struck me as the kind of Sororitas that justifies laymen to call us…Bolter Bitches."
"Hmm."
The two stood quietly for a few moments before Evita spoke.
"Has Prince Edmund been treating you and the others well?"
"Just dirty comments and jokes. You know he has never laid a hand on any of us. I think he does it for his own amusement."
"I know he does it for that."
"And what about Sir Roger? It is not every day that a lowly knight receives the service of a member belonging to such an august organization."
"He is a fine commander, and a good man. For the most part, at least. He has some failings that really should be questioned, but I cannot complain."
"Ah. So he makes untoward comments and attempts to place his hands on you in uncouth ways as well? Typical."
Evita blanched, still focusing on the wall in front of her.
"He has not done anything of the sort actually. In fact, he has kept the other Guardsmen in line when it comes to me."
"Oh? He has not made any comments about you? No voyeurism during undressing or bathing?"
"No."
Alexas bob cut, silver like the rest of her Sisters in the Martyred Lady, swung around to look at Evita.
"Is… Sir Wessyng a homosexual?"
"What?" Evita said, turning to face her fellow Sister in disbelief.
"I've heard no rumors of mistresses or other such things when it comes to him. He pushed away the one Cadian female he operated with, and he will not even give you the time of day. He obviously has no interest in women."
"He never struck me as one of… them. Should I ask?"
"That will only make him defensive. Try to ask his comrades. Or watch him closely and you can make the correct inferences."
"I will."
The two went back to observing the walls in front of them, waiting for the door to open.
"And what about Parker? The other Sisters and Palatine Jessamine miss his attention."
"H-he is w-well taken care of."
"Are you protecting his soul from his comrades? I heard they are most deplorable."
"If you do not know them, it is true. But I have found them fair and enjoyable."
"Especially Parker?"
Evita went quiet, much to Alexa's amusement.
"Lucky girl, getting him all to yourself."
"It is not like that!"
"Sure. At least he is a young man."
"He is mature for his age."
"...you did not just say that out loud, did you?"
Evita's face turned nearly crimson, both from anger and embarrassment. Relationships, contrary to widespread belief, were allowed for members of the Sororitas, but were rare enough that it took little for their fellow Sisters to identify and make them difficult. Before the conversation could go any further, the door opened as the voice of Bishop Chelmster barked in his northern accent.
"And may the Emperor protect you, Sir Roger!"
"Pray for us, Your Grace," a more generic accent responded. "You know we need it."
Sir Roger Wessyng, wearing the lightest armor possible and his jupon bearing the blue and white heraldry he was entitled to, stepped out into the hall. The Sororitas snapped to attention as he did so even though he ignored them both, stopped in front of the door as it closed and sighed.
"Bloody hell," he groaned through his fine leather gloves.
"Are you alright sir?" Alexa asked.
"Thank you, Sister. Physically yes. Emotionally? Drained."
"I feel that way as well. What time is it?"
"Station time is 23:42."
"God-Emperor, I have been up since 0600 and have spent nearly every hour since then in debriefs and other bullshit like that! I need to get some sleep."
"Understood. Farewell sir. Evita."
"Alexa."
The two moved away from the Bishops chambers, almost comical in their contrasts. On the one side, a knight, complete with belt and sword, the epitome of martial and noble strength, dwarfed by the frame of the Sororitas, already massive without the powered armor that made her a near giant.
"Long day," she said flatly.
"Truth if I heard it. It's one thing to tell someone what you did and everything that was involved but having to repeat it five bloody times in one day, right after one another is… just don't bother Evita."
"I told you to call me Eve."
"And you should be calling me sir, but we aren't perfect."
She giggled slightly before composing herself.
"So, you had to speak with the Prince, D'Uxford, the Bishop, who else?"
"Inquisitor Beauchamp and Canoness Izabel."
"I… do not remember guarding you for that."
"Secrecy and all that. Can I tell you something? Privately, and don't share it please."
"Of course Roger."
They stopped in the middle of an empty hallway, the knight looking around for prying eyes and ears. He leaned in and whispered.
"I like your Order more than the Avis."
He leaned out and winked at her.
"They are a different kind of people. Esperanz is not an easy place to live on, I would assume you get bitter and turn out the way they do."
"Frankly," he said as they started to move again. "They're… I don't want to say it, especially if you can hear."
"I can take whatever you say."
"Well, the average Sister that we've spoken to or dealt with, they're fine. But the leaders… they're cunts!"
"No disagreement, other than your choice of phrase."
"They train you all at Scholas, right? So how did you and the rest of your order turn out all right compared to them?"
Evita shrugged.
"There are thousands of Scholas across the Imperium. Not all create such, let us say, "diplomatic" personalities."
"True. Thanks for coming along and escorting me."
"I was not doing much anyway. But why me in particular?"
"I can't divulge too much, but whatever I'm looking into seems to have no way to infiltrate the Sororitas, or is outright hostile to them, as you've seen on Haikk One."
"I see."
"Don't say anything to anyone, please. I got enough shit to dig myself out of. Anyway, I'm heading back to my quarters if you want to follow me. Otherwise, you're free to go."
"Well, my quarters are near yours, so it would make sense to follow."
Roger nodded, seeing the validity of her choice. When the Leopards had moved onto the Langriano, one of the most important concessions was good quarters for his troops, Evita included despite protocol stating she was to stay with her Sisters. But when offered an entire room to herself, even if it were a bit ramshackle, how could she refuse? Especially when offered the spartan and unpleasant standard lodgings offered to the Sororitas as an alternative. She spent enough of her life living in pious asceticism.
"Whatever you are facing, do you believe you are up to the task, Roger?"
The question would have had anyone else in a rage at the insubordination or implications of incompetence.
"Hell if I know," he responded.
At least he was blessed with self-criticism and honesty. Being exhausted did not help much either, but that was not here or there at the moment.
"But I have to get the job done."
They moved past the Leopards quarters and stopped in front of Rogers room, the knight turning to Evita. She was able to hide her surprise looking at his face for the first time since they left the Bishop's quarters. His eyes were sunken, his face grayish pale. The bags under his eyes were more visible than ever.
"Roger," Evita said politely, "You look terrible."
"I feel it too. Thankfully, we'll have the next few days spent in rest and relaxation in payment for our services."
"Glad to hear it."
"Right. Well, I'm going to go pass out on my bed, you do what you need to do. Good night Eve."
"Good night Sir Roger."
He used what little strength he had left to smile politely, opening his door and vanishing inside. Evita waited a few moments for him to be safe and secure, quietly wondering why he needed an escort in the first place. She had seen him in combat, his swordsmanship some of the best she had ever seen, but he was genuinely concerned about whatever could be threatening him. Feeling vulnerable out in the middle of the hallway, she moved quickly back to the Leopards quarters, pulling it open and rushing inside. No sooner had she done so that every lock was set, as much an illusory comfort as sleeping with a weapon. She did both anyway, as much to feel secure as any actual effect it would have.
"Who's there?" a voice slurred by broken sleep and alcohol grumbled.
"Sister Evita."
"Well be quieter, we're trying to fucking sleep!"
"Then close your door, you damnable drunk," she hissed.
"Aye, I should," he said.
A few moments later, he was snoring back into his slumber. He was inside one of the small, hut like buildings that gave the Leopards privacy and a form of true personal quarters. Roger had been given the storage area they called home at first, but where he found the small constructs had never been determined. Once again, she would not complain, as having what amounted to a small house was an almost foreign luxury to anyone on the station. Opening the door to her own quarters, she deactivated and started to pull off her power armor, putting it on a nearby stand. That was the easy part, the skintight bodysuit being the real issue. She hated the thing, almost believing that its use had less to do with the armor and more the disturbing fetish of some long dead Ecclesiarchal pervert.
"Damn!" she hissed.
A few leg hairs caught on the suit, being pulled as she undressed. Of course, she shaved her legs as a matter of professionalism and health, but she must have missed a few. Standing naked in her room, Evita saw her body in the mirror, instantly disturbed by it. Well-toned, fit, and undeniably feminine, she could only regret that her body was permanently ruined by the scars and circles of marble flesh that marked her body. It had been something that had tortured her psyche for years, never telling anyone, Sororitas or otherwise. She had never had the illusion of finding love, but the fact that she would never be beautiful in her own eyes was something that tore into her daily. It at least made being pious and chaste easier. The thin robes she threw on gave her relief, pulling a rosary off the armor and clasping it before kneeling to pray.
"Our Father who waits upon the Golden Thone,
Hear our plea,
Grant us the strength to defy your foes-"
Her recitation of the familiar verses was interrupted by an odd noise. Stopping, Evita stayed quiet, wondering if whatever Roger was worried about had happened. Then, what sounded like a muffled yelp came from the wall behind her, followed by a thud. It was from Parky's quarters next door. In controlled panic, she grabbed a nearby knife and rushed out into the main room, opening his door.
"Parky!" she asked quietly.
His room was dark, the lights turned off so he could sleep. A grunt of pain followed in response.
"Eve?" he asked pathetically.
"Parky!" she almost yelled, rushing to his side after turning on the light.
He was gripping his shoulder, his face crumpled in pain as the light finally illuminated the room. He fell on it after rolling out of bed, and as bad as he felt physically, to have her see him like this was a bigger wound. He was now sitting up on the edge of his bedframe, Evita crouching next to him.
"Are you all right?" the Sororitas asked breathlessly.
"Yeah, nothing's broken."
"Let me check."
She ran a hand along his shoulder, feeling no damage. The years spent in Hospitaller training before learning the art of the Heavy Bolter had come in quite handy during her time with the Leopards, even with Bob's help, mysterious and efficient as it was.
"What happened? Did you just not realize where you were?"
"I-it-um…"
She looked him over, realizing his pupils were dilated and sweat was pouring down his forehead. He was trembling slightly, his breathing fast and uncontrolled, and when feeling his shoulder, his heart was racing. All were classic signs of a nightmare. He quickly figured out what she assumed, nodding slightly before taking a deep breath and sitting down next to him.
"Did I ever tell you what happened at Acra?"
"I watched the battle Parky, I know."
"No, what happened to me."
She opened her mouth to speak but realized that all she knew about his experience in the battle was the aftermath: desperately searching amongst the dead and dying to find him. It was among the most terrifying moments of her life, unsure if he too had fallen with the masses of Vretans who so desperately held the Anglois right flank and paid dearly for it.
"No."
"When-when the charge tore through the rebels, we moved forward with the Vretans. I got cut off from Roger and the others, but I had my spear, and we were chasing them off. I got caught in a duel with one, he knocked me on the helmet and-"
He shuddered, gritting his teeth.
"Everything went hazy, I fell down. Felt something fall on top of me, and then- hundreds of boots crushing me. It was so sudden, and I just couldn't understand. I tried calling out for help, but no one heard me over the battle… hell, I had trouble being able to breathe."
Evita had never experienced such an experience, but she had a long fear of claustrophobia that let her sympathize.
"What fell on you? It probably saved your life from being trampled to death."
"It-" he trembled again. "It was bodies. Rebels who had been killed and fell where they stood. One of them was staring right at me the entire time. His left eye was hanging out of its socket by a string of muscle. The other was looking directly into my soul."
Parky said it with such assured conviction that it frightened her.
"The other bodies, their blood leaked down onto me. It's why you saw me covered in it. It was only a little from the battle, most of it was-"
He stopped and buried his head between his legs, almost in a fetal position.
"Emperor above Eve, it was horrible. I thought it would go away like the other memories, but it never has. I see that man, staring at me, he never leaves my dreams!"
The last part was said with a whimper, almost in defeat.
"And now the other ones are coming back, the ones I killed on Corio Two, the others on Haikk Four…"
He moved his head up and grabbed her hand.
"I need to confess something. I never told anyone this."
"A confession is for a priest, you know that-"
"Please, I don't even want to tell anyone else this. I trust you more than anyone else."
Between this admission and his pleading eyes, there was no chance she would refuse.
"What… happened?"
He bit his lip and swallowed hard before speaking. It did not take a professional to figure out something had been bothering him for a long time.
"Before I served with Roger. Before I joined the Guard, when I was back on Anglerre. I… killed a hero."
Evita's blood turned cold from shock and disbelief.
"How?"
"I lived in Bergwick, near Lord Fitzwoods castle. Father hadn't needed me for anything, so I went out into the woods and started looking for berries and such. Then I saw him."
"Saw who?"
"Sir Eustace Brynwald."
Evita looked blankly back at him, knowing the name but not recognizing it.
"During the War of the Lions, twenty or so years ago," he explained, "There were nobles who tried to overthrow Prince Edmund's dad, King Edward. Most of them surrendered, but a few kept the fight up, even ten or fifteen years after they lost. The true king for them, the young boy Geoffrey, he'd disappeared when his general Lord Tholom was killed. At least, that's what the rumors were. But Eustace was an outlaw knight, someone who fought the injustice of King Edward and his Sororitas-born bastards. Apologies."
"None taken, continue."
"Well… I found him there, resting. He never heard or saw me, but I realized that someone with his armor and heraldry had to be an outlaw. I rushed back and told Lord Fitzwood about it. He was prouder than my father was when it was all over. They ambushed Eustace, taking him prisoner and throwing him in the dungeon for trial."
"What exactly did he do?"
"Ran with bandits, rogues, that sort. Stole money being transported by the government, started trouble, dueled knights and never lost."
"Folk hero," Evita said.
"Yep. And then because of me, after all those battles, evading the might of the king and his armies for nearly twenty years… they hung him like a dog. He looked at me before he was dropped, even winked at me. He had no idea I was the one who damned him. And after he died, he had that same look on his face, those lifeless eyes judging me. Then they drew and quartered him, sent parts across all of Avalon as proof. His head was stuck on Castle Bergwick's gate. Now he has songs and ballads, even sung by the loyal troops, cursing the men who betrayed and killed him. And I murdered him."
She looked at him, his eyes full of regret and self-loathing. Before she could soothe his nerves and speak, he slammed his fist on his knee and growled.
"How many have I killed now? How many more will it be?"
"Parky," she said quietly. "You are a Guardsman. Until you return home, you have no choice."
"Do I?"
Evita was getting increasingly disturbed. His boyish and carefree charm had vanished, now showing a dread and introspection that was beyond his years.
"You did the right thing. He was a criminal."
"But he wasn't a murderer, or one who deserved such a fate. And the people loved him, even if they were loyal to Edward! And I killed him."
"His own actions got him executed, not yours. All you are guilty of is standing for the law, which is the exact opposite of a crime."
"It doesn't feel right either way."
"Oh Parky," she replied sadly.
The Sororitas wrapped her arm around his body and gently pulled them together. Their heads rested on one another's, as despite her impressive build for a woman, he was tall himself, if a little shorter than her.
"There is little absolutely right and wrong about the universe, despite the best efforts of the Emperor and his loyal citizens. Some would say that is blasphemous, but it is the truth. You should not dwell on it so it can haunt your soul. You have done more than enough good to outweigh whatever bad you have done, real or imagined."
"Am I a bad person?"
"The answer is a definite no. I can assure you of that as a Sororitas."
He took the answer to heart, his mood lightening almost instantly.
"Thanks, Eve."
"Of course. Now get some sleep, we do not know when our services will be needed again. Even Roger is not sure."
They stayed together for a few more moments before he nodded, breaking off their embrace and standing again.
"You're right as usual."
Evita stood and was about to walk out when she heard him clear his throat awkwardly.
"Eve, if it wouldn't be a bother… would you mind staying with me for the rest of the nigh-"
"Yes! Er, I mean, certainly. I understand that having a Sororitas nearby would be a comfort for someone like you. I think we both can fit in your bed."
"Well, I meant if you could-"
He was unable to finish, the Sororitas nearly leaping to his side. He was a bit surprised at this, but he had a feeling that even if he refused, arguing with someone like Eve would not be good for anyone involved. Their quarters had a nasty habit of heating poorly, so there was the added benefit of having another body to stay warm with. He tried to show some decorum and did not lay a hand or other part of his body on her, and to his surprise the next morning, fell asleep quickly. Evita would find it more difficult to sleep, spending most of the night trying to not grab him, but Parky would never know that.
XXXXXX
Roger adjusted his sword belt, having caught in his jupon once again. It was hard enough to fix it when standing and looking at oneself in the mirror, another entirely when in motion.
"Bloody thing," he grumbled, passing desks of intelligence analysts.
He wanted to look professional, more than the last time he saw him two days ago at least, considering he had an audience with the Prince of Anglerre himself. Despite having met him dozens or more times in multiple states of dress and formality, Roger still found himself slightly intimidated by the man. Maybe it was his size, legendary anger, or the fact that even with the added benefits of being a knight, it would only take one argument or comment to bring him down. Now that he had a seat in Parliament as a member of the Commons, he had more power and influence than ever, but the pressure of losing it was just as great.
"Good morning, Sir Roger," Sister Marie said from her secretary's desk.
"Sister Marie. How is he today?"
"Day is still young, but he seems in good spirits."
"Well, that's good. How do I look, if you don't mind me asking?"
She looked him over, finding no issue. She stared at the symbol at the bottom of the jupon bearing his heraldry, eyeing it with suspicion.
"Don't ask," he replied.
"Very well."
The light on her desk turned green with an attention-grabbing buzz.
"They are ready for you."
"Thank you Sister."
He started walking into the Prince's office when he realized what she said. "They"? What was he walking into? The messenger told him to visit the Prince as soon as possible, nothing more. As he approached the desk, he stiffened slightly upon noticing D'Uxford on the side of the Princes desk. Edmund himself was behind it, comfortably sitting in his chair with a large grin.
"Roger Wessyng!" How are you?"
"I am well, Your Highness," he replied with a bow. "I see we aren't alone."
"Yes, Duck here gave you a couple days off. Hope you enjoyed it because we all need your services."
"Did something happen?"
"Did something happen?" the Prince chuckled. "Wessyng, you have no idea how deep in shit you're about to be."
"Ed speaks the truth I'm afraid," D'Uxford said calmly. "You and your unit are needed once again. I was hoping that you would be able to get more recovery time, but this is not going to be some fly by night, rush in and rush out operation. You are going to Haikk Five, and it's going to be more than a few weeks at least."
Roger's eyebrows shot up. It had been over half a year since he had been on anything approaching a longer-term deployment, and so suddenly…
"What exactly happened? And how serious is it really?"
"Quite," a feminine voice said from the windows.
His eyes shot where it came from, quickly realizing who said it.
"Quite serious, Sir Roger," Katherine Beauchamp said with a blank face.
The Prince's comment about being deep in shit did not seem to be hyperbole.