"That would be an exceptional housefly."
"Hah! Perhaps it was from Catachan." Palais comments with a polite laugh.
"Or some Chaos infested daemon pit." A Sister ('Liana' by her armor runes) from Sister-Superior Derosa's squad mutters, shaking her head. Her voice drops to little more than a whisper. "Blotted out the sun..."
Faced with two dissenting opinions, one of whom was her direct superior, Eriko could do nothing but bow out. She was somewhat irked that this turned to become a two-way lecture delivered at her.
It was the way of the world. You win some, you lose some. Losing smarted all the same, doubly so when she was the sister who had dedicated most of her life as a Hospitaller here. It was her former order who taught her to use the Excrutiator, its needles and serums, implements which were as far from the brutish methods everyone thought torture should imply.
Dirty, unclean, but less so.
"Hmm." She raised her hand to pinch the bridge of her nose, thought better of it, then lowered her hand and bowed her head once again.
Her ideals as a noble clashed. On one hand, she was supposed to be civilized, a warrior who offered her foes the respect of a fight, not torturing them needlessly as Pia and the others wished to do. On the other, those others were her superiors and to go against their collective voice was both useless and would tarnish her own name.
She stumbled into the latter in the hopes she could steer a few of them into a better, more honorable path when it came to it.
"Of course, Sister-Superior, I would never think to withhold punishment when punishment is due. Though in my own modest," and professional, she stopped herself from adding, "Opinion, the use of psychology could prove just as effective. I won't stand in the way after that if matters need to be escalated further."
And they won't need to even as she gave them her word. She'd make sure of that, for all their sakes.
Palais purses her lips up as she looks at you. "Yes...? Why...Is something the matter?"
Sister-Superior Derosa leans forward from the line of chairs behind you. "My dear firebrand, I do believe that you're speaking past each other. Sister Eriko has misunderstood and thinks that you wish to take physical violence as a
first resort."
Palais blinks several times. "Oh, no, no, no, of course not. At least, not for mere rioters. Like Pia said, kind words can work quite well. And like our Palatine-" She nods at Rathitta at that. "-mentioned, more violent methods can be risky. We don't want to risk harm to one of the God-Emperor's servants if necessary. But we're dealing with violent rioters, Sister Eriko. We're probably going to end up needing to disperse them with non-lethal force at some point, and there's nothing
thuggish about that."
The Arbitrator Judge speaks up, a wistful look in her eyes. "If you want to see
thuggish, you should see riots in a hive city after a sports game. Throne, I still remember the riots at Hive Adler, with the Ogryns. That made all this look like a minor street brawl." She laughs. "Word of advice: Never get into a maul and board fight with an Ogryn."
"
The Palatine made it look easy..." You hear one of the Sisters mutter too low for the Arbitrator to hear.
Ilana grimaced at the notion, whilst ordinarily she would find Collier's aims to be nothing but laudable there would be no denying that the blood shed in the incidents perpetrated by her followers. Yet how much blame could she truly assign when the quarantine represented nothing less than life and death for them and their loved ones? The sin of heresy would be a different matter of course, but outside the presence of the witch among Vennedes' group and the dangers of the deviation from the human form in the mutants, there was little evidence that they had gone to such unconscionable lengths as of yet.
And of course there was the honourable Pater, though Ilana knew that duty might one day demand it of her, the notion pointing her bolter against a priest for merely speaking out for the sake of his flock made bile rise to her throat. It would be a dark day indeed when her hand would be finally forced against fallen men of the cloth, yet the Apotasy had made clear the consequences otherwise. Ilana sighed and shook her head. Her thoughts were turning too dark of late. A sign of her inexperience? Perhaps she should finally seek the kiss of the holy lash to rectrify it.
"Palatine," Ilana spoke. "How much authority are we granted to respond to demands in the instance we enter negotiations with any of these groups? I fear without the ability to give concrete promises any negotiations we initiate would be destined to come to nothing."
The Palatine frowns at that, and shakes her head. "The Ecclesiarchy has its resources as its disposal, and I will see what can be spared, but it is the Administratum and planetary government that hold control here in the end. We are, technically, only allowed into the quarantine zone by their leave." She states, though you understand the truth of the matter is somewhat more complex. The Decree Passive cripples the Adepta Sororitas authority in military matters, but in the end, you do possess a remit to hunt heresy were you find it and to spread the faith as you will.
"It is my hope that the presence of our Order alone will help calm tensions. If you must make promises, make them as though they were on your own personal honor. Do not hesitate to help those in need, for we are a guiding light." Rathitta states. "But in the end, our primary objective is to deal with the cult here. Once that infection is cleansed, the real healing can begin in others' hands."
The Palatine and Judge spend a few more minutes answering questions for your squad and others, in particular delivering a rather morbid report on the specifics of the Shechin plague, including its symptoms and treatments-both unpleasant.
Slowly, but surely, your squads disperse to assigned rest quarters as the Commandery under Cannoness Jessira return to their Fortress-Monastery to rest, rearm and prepare for the operation. Your quarters at the spaceport are spartan and cramped, having been designed for departing pilgrims. Still, you find such surroundings far from uncomfortable.
Rain pours through the night, rattling the glass windows. Before the first ray of sunlight beams through the glass, you are up for a hearty breakfast before the arduous business of donning your warplate and readying your weapons begins, a skull masked tech-priest leading the rest in prayers as they fuss over your wargear. The cloying scent of incense and sacred oils follows you as you take to a small chapel at the space port, dedicated to Leanna. As the Palatine leads you in a recitation of the Fede Imperialis, the so-called 'Battle Hymn of the Sisters of Battle', the first rays of sunlight pour through the stained glass to gleam upon your scarlet armor.
As you look up, you see Leanna, her image covered in power armor that obscures even her face with great white wings outstretched. In her right hand, a rose lit by flame that does not die. In her left, the Rule of Sororitas, the codes that guide your Order and countless others bound to her by thick chains. Thick adamantium beads of the Chaplet Ecclesiasticus run down her legs, each representing a sin of another she had taken on jangling past her feet. Her feet alone are unclad, and they bleed freely, as though having walked through broken glass. Red stains the adamantium beads.
Then, you go forth into the beckoning dawn.
Inside the yawning maw of a PDF vehicle garage, you had found The Viatorem's engines were already running and waiting for you, much to Palais' appreciation and Sister-Superior Derosa's amusement.
"A loyal steed." Palais had commented.
"With an appropriate name.
Traveler." Derosa had replied, before directing her squad to mount their own vehicle.
A dozen vehicles based off the Rhino chassis set out of the spaceport less than an hour later, each vehicle filled with the cloying scent of fresh incense and blessed oils. Your vehicles follow in the wake of the Palatine's Command Rhino, rumbling through the wide, clean roads that leads through the Rise, though even here the streets are a confusing morass of seemingly random paths, some with rockcrete that looks like it was poured just days ago, others weather-beaten and moss riven from what may have been long centuries or millennia. You pass homes in the latest styles out of Velorum, others that date back to an age where the ascendancy of Krone was still in doubt. Autocarriages and grav-speeders for local noble houses, government offices or guilds stop as the convoy rolls by. You see lords and ladies in the finest silk, priests of the Adeptus Terra in flowing robes, servants and road workers in their uniforms, all stop and gawk at the passing of your holy armour.
Beside you is the
Ex Cathedra, a Rhino-Razorback that sacrifices some of the space of the Rhino-Transporter for the additional firepower of a heavy bolter turret. The convoy is made of all sorts, including flamer equipped Immolators and Repressors. As one, you pass by a trio of hulking fuel tanker transports, each of the hulking civilian vehicles the size of a Baneblade, each comfortably supported by the size of the reinforced highway. Then, you pass into the middle city, tenement buildings, storehouses and promethium refining facilities passing you by along with massive crowds of staring workers. Then, you reach the Bilge Districts, slicing across a sunken, water logged street surrounded by crumbling tenement buildings and clusters of scrap built hovels. Hand assembled bridges pass by over head, leaving you in constant shadow as you press forward. Even here, though, you find the factorums and refining facilities. Some are crumbled into ruin, home now to squatters. Others, however, are thriving hubs of movement, swarms of people moving through the metal gates into the walled compounds.
The crowds grow larger, nonetheless. You see children kicking around rag dolls, or playing tag. Men and women sliding on tatty work uniforms, or fishing at sinkholes that have consumes parts of the district. At some points, you cross over long stretches of dry land, moving slowly as the crowds shift out of your way. At others the water gets deep enough you ride on bridges-sanctioned or otherwise-or spot streets flooded to the point houses float on their moors and flocks of boats pass by.
Then you arrive at the quarantine lines. Crowds suddenly shrink, and rows of sandbags, flak-board barricades, anti-vehicle barricades and chain-wire spread across the streets and alleyways. Tents and prefab buildings spread between the slum homes, banners raising from occupied tenement houses. Gasmasked PDF and Astra Militarum troops patrol the area with lasguns held ready, the raincoats over their scaled Velorum-pattern armor flapping in the morning breeze. At one intersection, you pass a burn pit, charred carcasses piled up as flamer equipped PDF troops deal with the mess. At another, you faintly make out a filthy cadence as a unit of Imperial Guard troops go for a morning PT run. Most of the Rhinos split off as you enter the base, moving toward different checkpoints to begin your sweeps.
The
Viatorem, the
Ex Cathedra, and the
Chariot of Saints reach the edge of the quarantine zone together, towering watch towers and rows of barbed wire fences and sandbag barricades aimed toward the slums beyond. Cries and bellows fill the air as you spot the blue and white of the Adeptus Arbites, shining bright in the sunlight. Smoke pillars rise into the sky from recently lit trash fires and a burning junker, another of the rusted auto-carriages smashed against an anti-vehicle barricade along the edge of the line. Even as PDF troopers stand in rows behind their barricades, just ahead the line of blue and white stands tall in the face of a flood of filth ridden, screaming bodies. Water cannon equipped Arbitrator Repressor-tanks open fire as the crowd rushes in, the high velocity jets bowling bodies over, but more just push through, chanting unintelligible slogans.
"Tide incoming!" You hear bellowed from a laud hailer as you disembark, a line of Adeptus Arbites as wide as the streets slamming shields together into a testudo as the crowd closes in. Rocks, bottles, cans and heavier objects pound against their shields, firecrackers lighting off against the armaplas barriers. There are the flash of flames here and there, bottles filled with flammable fluids bursting against the shields and coating them with flame. Then the horde-men, women, even children-slams home, battering against shields with clubs and mauls and other improvised weapons.
"Hold!" Someone bellows, as the shield wall is forced back by the weight of the bodies. "Hold!" The order is barked as here and there, the shield wall buckles as men and women with cybernetic augmentations or chem-altered muscles lay in with hammers and flakboard signs. "Hold!"
"Sun's coming up!"
Your auto-senses darken sudden as the boom of machine grenade launchers rings out, followed by the brilliant light of detonating photoflash grenades. Rioters stumble to and fro, clawing at one another. "Prepare arms! Shields!" The crackle of electricity fills your senses as the Arbites as one activate their suppression shields' electro-systems, rioters jerking back and falling as the shields slam forward. "Push!"
The Arbitrators push forward, a lance formation driving dazed, disoriented rioters apart. Here and there across the line though, you see rioters, more augmented or better prepared for the rest, launch counter-attacks. You hear gunshots, see the flash of detonating firebombs. But the Arbites push forward. You see one seemingly not notice her left arm being aflame as she batters down a rioter with a blow to the chest before headbutting another. Another ignores a burst of autopistol rounds into his breastplate as he beats down a cybernetically augmented worker, before bringing his shockmaul down on the shooter's elbow with bone-snapping results. Bit by bit, the rioters begin to fall back.
All the while, the PDF troops remain at attention, lasguns raised and ready.
"
Ex Cathedra, provide cover. Just in case." You hear Derosa bark to her squad as Palais strides toward the Arbitrator line.
"Given the opposition, be a waste of rounds." Grouses a Sister equipped with a Stormbolter from Derosa's squad, her armor adorned with numerous honour markings. Ident-runes reveal her name to be 'Sister Liandra'. Besides Sister Greiland who totes a heavy flamer and Derosa herself, she is the only one equipped with a special weapon-discounting a handful of non-lethal sidearms.
As you near, an Arbitrator officer staggers from the crowd, face hidden by a eagle topped helmet and closed rebreather with noticeable dents. He pauses as he sees you, staring for several long moments.
"Oh." He says, quietly. "The Sisters of Battle. Forgot you lot were coming. With all the excitement."
Behind him, you still see the clash of bodies, but also hear the rise of voices speaking through laud hailers. Your auto-senses just barely allow you to make out men and women standing atop ruined junkers, tables or other improvised stages, bellowing invective to the crowds rallying at their feet.
"Hrn. Well. Uhm, good morning. And welcome to the quarantine zone. You caught us at a bit of bad time."
A moment later, you hear the detonation of a small explosive. Beneath his mask, you barely make out a strangled curse.
"Just a bit?" Palais asks.
"Not as bad as Velkas." The Judge breathes. "Not as bad as Velkas. Welcome to the Little Cog District Quarantine Zone. Believe me-it only gets better from here."
