Chapter 7: The Usual Suspects (SGT Tully's POV) Part Two: BLUE

As we make our way back to the Chimera, I can't shake the unease settling in my gut. The thought of venturing into the Black again—or near it—brings back too many ghosts.

"Emperor help me," I think. "Let it be anything, anything else."

Valeria falls into step beside me. "Thank you for trusting me."

"Don't make me regret it," I reply gruffly.

"I won't," she promises.

I nod, hoping that's true. "Let's get to it, then."

We climb aboard the Chimera, the engine sputtering to life as Jaquelin guides us toward Lutefisk's territory. The squad is uncharacteristically quiet, each lost in their own thoughts.

"She doesn't understand," I think. "She's idealistic—a liability if not managed properly."

Jaquelin fires up the engine as we climb aboard. The vehicle shudders, belching black smoke before settling into a rough idle.

"Where to next?" she asks over her shoulder.

"Set a course for Lutefisk's territory," I reply.

"Aye, Sarge."

Valeria sits across from me, her expression unreadable beneath her helmet. Bee hovers beside her, silent but ever-watchful.

"You handled that well," Diaz whispers to me.

I grunt noncommittally. "Just doing what's necessary."

Keller leans in. "Think Lutefisk will be any more helpful?"

"He'd better be," I mutter.

The Chimera lurches forward, and we trundle away from Gnarl's domain. The squad settles into a wary silence, eyes scanning the shadowed ruins we pass.

After a few minutes, Valeria speaks up. "Tell me about Lutefisk. Do you think he'll cooperate?"

"He will if he knows what's good for him."

She falls silent again, but I can tell she's mulling things over. Probably plotting how to steer us back toward Quadrant D.

"Emperor save me from idealists," I think.

The terrain changes as we enter Lutefisk's territory. The air grows damp, the scent of stagnant water replacing the acrid fumes of Gnarl's realm. Makeshift aqueducts crisscross overhead, dripping murky liquid onto the cracked roads below.

"Eyes sharp," I call out. "The Blues like their traps."

As if on cue, a group of Lutefisk's enforcers steps out from behind a rubble on both sides of what goes for a road down here. They level weapons and I count a significantly greater number of hard-round and las weapons than Gnarl's gangers sport. Their uniforms are a patchwork of blue hues, better maintained than Gnarl's rabble as I've come to expect from the Duke and his gangers.

"Hold up!" their leader shouts. "State your business."

"Sergeant Tully of the Adeptus Arbites," I shout as Jaquelin skids us to a quick stop. "Here to see Lutefisk."

He eyes our Chimera, then Valeria and Bee. Something, probably fear flickers in his eyes at the sight of her armor. "Wait here."

He steps aside to speak into a handheld vox-unit. After a terse exchange, he returns. "You're cleared. Follow the marked path. Any deviation, and we open fire."

"Charming," Briggs mutters.

We proceed slowly, the Chimera navigating the narrow, waterlogged streets. Lutefisk's base looms ahead—a fortified wall of scrap built around the central pumping station. The sound of churning machinery echoes all around.

We disembark, and I motion for the squad to stay alert. "Standard protocols. Let me do the talking."

Gangers escort us through the wall's only gate and into the main structure.

Inside, we're led through dimly lit corridors to a spacious chamber filled with humming cogitator banks and glowing datascreens. Lutefisk stands at the center, clad in a tailored blue coat, his silver hair slicked back. His eyes are sharp, calculating.

"Sergeant Tully," he greets with a slight bow. "A pleasure, as always."

"Lutefisk," I reply curtly. "We need to talk."

"Straight to business, then." His gaze shifts to Valeria, eyes sharp and appraising. "And you've brought distinguished company."

"Sister Valeria," I introduce. "Here to observe."

He offers a thin smile, the kind that doesn't reach his eyes. "Welcome to my humble domain, Sister of the esteemed Order of the Sanctified Shield—a Hospitaller, if I'm not mistaken."

She inclines her head, momentarily caught off guard. "Um, yes."

"Ah," he muses, clasping his hands behind his back. "It's been quite some time since I've had the pleasure of conversing with someone of such refined standing."

"We're not here for pleasantries," I interject, keeping my tone firm.

He glances at me sidelong. "Of course, Sergeant Tully. Always the consummate professional." Turning back to Valeria, he adds, "Though I must admit, it's a rare delight to encounter a Sister down here in the depths."

Valeria shifts slightly, uncertain how to respond. "I go where I am needed."

"Admirable," he says softly. "Tell me, how fares the upper hive these days? Still awash with opulence and ignorance, I presume?"

She hesitates. "I wouldn't know."

Lutefisk chuckles, a dry sound. "Wise answer." His eyes drift over the group, lingering on Bee. "And a genuine servoskull of extraordinary make, a veritable herald of the Omnissiah. Gnarl must have wet himself, though, crass remarks aside, I am honored, truly."

"Enough," I cut in. "We didn't come here to reminisce."

He sighs dramatically. "Very well, Sergeant. What pressing matter brings you to my doorstep?"

"You sent a message requesting my presence," I state bluntly. "Attacks on your facilities, I assume. Sabotage? We need details."

He raises an eyebrow. "Straight to the point, as always. But perhaps before we delve into such grim topics, a bit of context might be beneficial—especially for our esteemed guest."

I grit my teeth. "We don't have time for stories."

Valeria interjects gently, "If it's relevant, perhaps it would help."

Lutefisk smiles appreciatively at her. "Thank you, Sister. Ever the voice of reason." He begins to pace slowly. "You see, I wasn't always the so-called 'Duke of the Dike' that our dear Sergeant here so fondly labels me."

I suppress a snort. "Fondly. Right."

He continues unabated. "Once upon a lifetime ago, I resided in the upper hive. A place of light, luxury, and lies. I was... educated. Groomed for a life of tedium amidst the aristocracy."

Valeria's eyes show a flicker of surprise. "You're from the upper hive?"

He inclines his head. "Indeed. But fate, as it often does, had other plans. I was discarded—tossed out with the garbage, quite literally. Left to die in the depths."

"Charming story," I remark. "But what's your point?"

He stops pacing, fixing me with a steady gaze. "My point, Sergeant, is that labels can be deceiving. You refer to my organization as a 'gang,' but we are so much more. A collective of the educated and the enlightened, striving to bring order and purpose to this forsaken place."

"By controlling the water supply and extorting the locals," I counter.

He smiles thinly. "Survival necessitates difficult choices. Surely, you understand that."

Valeria steps forward slightly. "If you have information that can help us prevent further attacks, we would appreciate your cooperation."

"Ah, ever so diplomatic." He gestures gracefully. "Very well. Ask your questions."

"Your facilities have been targeted," I say. "Let me guess same pattern as Gnarl's territory—men disarmed, equipment stolen, no casualties?"

A shadow crosses his features. "Regrettably true."

"Any idea who's responsible?" I probe.

He taps a finger against his chin. "One might suspect Gnarl, though similar attacks on his own forces seem to rule that point quite out, if his word is true. Trebor then, given his... unpredictable nature I would place the blame with the Yellow Dead. But this lacks his usual… flair for chaos."

"Agreed," I nod. "Which leads us to believe there's another player involved."

"Perhaps," he concedes. "Though I doubt it, anyone new coming to the scene would have approached me for access to clean water, and, none of the attacks on the outer pumping stations showed signs of sabotage."

"But Gnarl said—"

"That mindless brute was told what his little mind could conceive, that someone attacked me to access the water." I can feel the ice in his glare, damned noble that he was he clearly learned to look down his nose, "but no such sabotage took place. The only losses were the equipment of my men and…"

"And…?" I prompt, not bothering to hide my impatience.

"The loss of one gang member, one of the women, missing. Although the others were found wandering aimlessly, gazes blank, unable, it seems, to respond to external stimuli. It's quite possible she was simply jumped by any number of opportunist predators before we found the rest."

"Noted…" I mumble, annoyed that I have to enter it into my data slate and give him the satisfaction of having provided new information.

"Your tech-adepts have access to the cogitator arrays at the water treatment plant," Valeria points out as I write. "We need any data they can provide on Quadrant D."

His eyes flicker with interest. "The Black Quadrant? Now that's a dangerous curiosity."

"Can you help us or not?" I press.

He studies us for a moment. "I may be able to assist. The cogitators are ancient and temperamental, but with the right... persuasion, they might yield some secrets."

"Bee can interface with them," Valeria offers.

Lutefisk glances at the servo-skull, a hint of admiration in his gaze. "A fascinating construct. Very well, you may have access."

"Appreciated," I say curtly.

He motions for one of his attendants. "Prepare the cogitator chamber for our guests."

As we wait, Valeria addresses him cautiously. "You mentioned you were from the upper hive. May I ask what led to your... change in circumstances?"

He chuckles without humor. "Curiosity is a dangerous trait, Sister. Let's just say that I chose a path less traveled—one that didn't align with the expectations of my esteemed family."

"Meaning you got caught doing something you shouldn't have," I interject.

He smirks. "Always so cynical, Sergeant. But believe what you will. The underhive has been far more... invigorating than any life I left behind."

"Exploiting others tends to be," I retort.

He raises an eyebrow. "And enforcing the will of an indifferent aristocracy is any different?"

I feel a flare of anger but clamp it down. "We're not here to debate philosophy."

"Indeed," he agrees lightly. "Though it's a discussion I'd relish another time."

An attendant returns, nodding to Lutefisk. "The chamber is ready, sir."

"Excellent." He gestures toward a side corridor. "Shall we proceed?"

We follow him into a dimly lit room humming with the energy of ancient machinery. Rows of cogitator units line the walls, their interfaces blinking sporadically. A trio of tech-adepts hunch over terminals, their mechadendrites weaving through nests of cables.

"Impressive setup," Valeria notes.

"Years of restoration," Lutefisk replies proudly. "Salvaged from the ruins and given new purpose. Not the main banks in the heart of the facility of course, but these units predate whatever catastrophe lead to the abandoning of this level of the hive, they may yield information."

"Bee," Valeria prompts, "see what you can do."

Bee emits a soft whir, drifting toward one of the primary interfaces. "Initiating connection."

The tech-adepts watch with a mix of awe and apprehension as the servo-skull's data tendrils merge with the ancient system. Screens flicker, streams of code cascading faster than the eye can follow.

"Accessing archival data," Bee reports. "Retrieving information on Quadrant D."

Lutefisk folds his arms, observing intently. "Remarkable. Your construct is quite efficient."

"My mentor's own holy workmanship," Valeria acknowledges and I can hear the pride in her tone, clearly she thinks quite highly of the Omnisiah herself.

He nods thoughtfully. "An individual I would very much like to meet someday."

I keep my attention on the screens. "Any progress, Bee?"

"Data retrieval at seventy percent," Bee responds. "Encountering numerous fragmented sectors."

"Can you bypass them?" Valeria asks

"Affirmative. Reconstruction of data pathways possible."

Bee's optics flicker as streams of data pour into the cogitator's ancient systems. The room hums with a low vibration, the tech-adepts murmuring litanies under their breath. I watch the screens, but the lines of code mean little to me—I've always been more comfortable with tangible threats.

Bee's tone shifts to a more formal register, echoing the archaic language of the Mechanicus. "Accessing archival records pertaining to Sector Sigma's utility schematics. Available data encompasses industrial, commercial, and administrative zones."

"That's Quadrants A, B, and C," I note. "Not precisely broken up like that, of course but close enough. What about Quadrant D?"

"Quadrant D is referenced indirectly," Bee replies. "Specific records are absent or redacted."

"Convenient," I say, suspicion gnawing at me, "and a great waste of time."

"Wait," Valeria interjects. "Bee, what about historical events that mention Quadrant D indirectly?"

Bee pauses for a moment. "Affirmative. Approximately 1,400 standard years ago, records indicate a significant power fluctuation affecting Sector Sigma."

One of the tech-adepts leans forward, interest piqued. "Specify."

Bee continues, "Due to destabilization in the primary geothermal conduit, the Ecclesiarchy permitted a temporary linkage of an entity referred to as 'the Seat of the Sacred Lady' or possibly translated 'Heart of the Saint' to the main geothermal system, thus restoring equilibrium over a period of… time unspecified."

"The Heart of the Sacred Lady?" Valeria repeats. "That sounds... significant."

"Sounds like Ecclesiarchy jargon. I once met a priest who referred to my recaf as imbibing the sacred fluid of vitality," I remark. "But why isn't Quadrant D mentioned directly?"

"Given the context," Bee explains, "it is plausible that 'the Heart of the Sacred Lady' resides within Quadrant D. The absence of explicit references suggests that the area was under exclusive control of the Ecclesiarchy. Data pertaining to it, therefore, has likely been classified or stored separately. Clarification: this is a summary of 3.8 gigaquads of data, more than 70% of which is corrupted or partially corrupted by time and therefore subject to some liberal interpretation."

I rub my chin, pondering this new information. "So, you're saying Quadrant D had its own power infrastructure, separate from the main grid?"

"Correct," Bee confirms. "Available Schematics of Sigma Sector imply an independent network, a further implication of separate hydrostructure, and likely, transportation systems, though these cannot be verified as anything but high probabilities due to the age and lack of maintenance of the data involved."

"That doesn't make sense," I argue. "The only structure we know of in Quadrant D is that sealed temple, and it's big, sure, monstrous even, but it's not large enough to house a geothermal power station, not even a small one."

"Well, this is only the tip of the hive, as it were," Lutefisk chimes in, "if, as is true of every layer of the live, this layer was once the upper hive, then what lays beneath it in chasms as vast as Sector Sigma or far smaller, is completely unknown. Anything could be down there."

"All the more reason to avoid it," I glare at the former noble and tap my data slate, "I'll deal with what we do know. Now, mark out your grievances."

Lutefisk makes a tutting noise that makes me want to wipe his nose with my fist and picks up the slate, entering several locations. "Two attacks, far fewer than Gnarl's it appears, but my infrastructure is far less tangible. There are only a few dozen pumping stations and only four within a few hundred meters of…"

He pauses and I close my eyes, knowing what he's going to say next. He seems to notice and purposely leaves the sentence dangling. "Only those four are near quadrant D?" I grind out.

"A most astute deduction," he hands the slate back and I snatch it.

"Could I examine the survivors you recovered?" Valeria asks, and it's not a bad idea.

"I'm afraid not." Lutefisk's tone drops a few octaves into dour regret, "once we determined no physical damage had been done, I had them burned, everyone involved in their… apprehension, is currently quarantined, just encase this is some sort of chemical or biological effect, which… I pray and hope to the God Emperor it is."

I shudder. The underhive has produced its own index of nasty diseases, mutations, and pools of mixed liquids that can kill you any number of ways, including reaching out and dragging you in. "You hope!?"

"Indeed, good Sergeant. The two probable alternatives are, in order or probability, a rogue psyker, or a hitherto unexplained advance of whatever malevolence exists in quadrant D into quadrant's A, B, and presumably, C."

He taps the data slate, "I'm reinforcing these positions, bringing in more light and brighter minds. When you leave, I'll send my condolences to Gnarl and ask for additional power to support that endeavor, suggesting he do the same in a spirit of mutual cooperation against a common foe."

"You think that will fly, after he's already blaming you for the attacks on him?" I question.

"It will if I grovel," Lutefisk rolls his eyes. "Gnarl is a simple creature; begging will always work at least once, and I don't care how I have to ask if it gets the job done. But… Sergeant." His tone drops and, for the first time, I can hear the fear in it. "If I reinforce those pumps and this same thing happens again… I will have to abandon them."

"You poor thing." I manage.

"Oh, I don't say that to engage your sympathies my dear Arbite, but your own sense of survival." His tone takes on the cutting edge of a bone saw, "those two pumping stations supply the water to your complex."

By the time we leave Lutefisk's domain, my nerves are frayed. His parting words about our water supply still echo in my mind. The man thrives on manipulation, and I can't shake the feeling we've played right into his hands.

"Next stop, the Yellow Dead," I announce, climbing into the Chimera. The squad exchanges uneasy glances but says nothing. They know better than to question the route.

Valeria settles across from me, her helmet cradled in her lap. Bee hovers silently beside her, its optics dimmed to conserve power.

"Trebor's not going to be any happier than the others," Diaz mutters, checking her sidearm.

"Trebor's never happy," Briggs retorts. "Mad as a grox in a thorn patch, that one."

"Enough chatter," I snap. "Stay focused."