Holt completely ignored Yarr.
"Very well. I would not wish to further tax their no-doubt limited attention-span."
Holt spots a group of priests, who obviously believe themselves to be whispering fervently to each other but are rapidly growing quite loud. Pushing his way towards them through the crowded space, he slowly begins to be able to hear what they are arguing about.
"No, look. The texts clearly state that He claimed all worlds for Humanity and thus we must fight to take them and settle them and build them." One says, his robes flapping as he gestures wildly.
Another, perhaps less of a firebrand than her companion, shakes her head.
"It's a matter of self defence. All human worlds are ours, not all worlds are humans. It is our divine right that we will, as a species, hold our worlds and turn away all invaders. Karl, you must be seeing him as wrong."
"Julian is right..." The third, presumably Karl, says with a deep frown and furrowed brow. The firebrand thumps his chest and grins, "To an extent. Conquering all worlds, taking war to the alien and the heretic and the daemon is our right, as to do so is to defend ourselves."
Holt steps up to the group as the last sentence is finished.
I would sit awhile but I would see any information your archive's contain pertaining to the ship Kalkithan and her crew especially the background of her captain and her navigator.
The red-robed woman of the mechanicum is old, older than this war, the mansion, than perhaps anything else on this world by the lines on her face. You wonder how ancient she truly is, how much of her is tech and how little organic remains.
The library is, when you take the time to look at it, less opulent, less overbearing than perhaps it seemed at first sight. The detailing on the walls is machined, rather than hand carved, the gold detailing is paint and not leaf, the lamp covers are plastic rather than stained glass. it gives the idea that perhaps only the public areas of the mansion are designed to impress at anything but a brief glance - or perhaps they simply couldn't afford the costs involved in such construction.
The books that you can see tell another story, however. While the collections who's titles are clearly visible are not the most adventurous selection of works, they are at least broad and expensive. The library is, quite assuredly, an excellent research space.
"Kalkithan?" The woman says, pursing her lips. Her eyes go blank as she mouths words silently. Finally she speaks again, her voice monotone "Merchant, Carrack class, Captain, Runcible, Douglas, crew, 18,000 souls, Free Trade Warrant." She blinks rapidly and her face lights up again with a smile. "Yes dear, we have several documents in the records on the ship."
She skitters backwards, mechandrites reaching up to tall shelves and pulling down books.
"Now what are you looking for? We have several decades of trade reports? They're sparse, but interesting. The family genealogy of the Runcibles? The ship's construction records? She wasn't built here, but when we became her home port, we took ownership of them so we could do full works on her structure if needed."
She looks at Kaityana expectantly, smiling as she looms over a pile of books.
"Ah, by the way, you may be receiving a bit more supplies than usual. A merchant vessel decided to donate considerable supplies to the war effort." Scratch said, carefully omitting the details about the KalKithian and the fact that he had 'negotiated' for the donation. After all, bragging was beneath a man of his stature.
"Supplies? Hadn't heard anything. Never a bad thing." The Catachan grins again.
"Medical supplies. I read the dailys, Major Brant, do you not?" Attus says quietly, expression not changing, "We've had disease and infection sweeping the ranks on Debicar, I can only imagine they'll be very useful to our medicae teams."
"Your work, I assume?" Eveffor asks. After a moment of self effacing silence, she shrugs with a chuckle "Well, whoever it was, we're grateful to them."
Scratch's servo-skull buzzes at him in binary, bringing his attention to whatever it has noticed. Commissar Holt is making his way across the room, making small talk with this person or another, though his obvious objective is the group of priests arguing just loudly enough to be noticed by everyone in the room about some minutiae of non-omnissiac Imperial divinity. Following him, stepping from conversation to conversation, group to group, just far behind enough that he's almost unnoticeable, is the nasty looking XO from the
Duke Quintus.
"We're Navy men, Captain! If I couldn't survive a month of tedium, I expect I'd have keeled over on my first extended patrol."
Averill excuses himself and wanders over to meet with the Cobra Commanders.
Yarr gives a sickly smile before turning away.
The Cobra commander's look up from a low conversation almost as one as Averill appears beside them. The oldest of them, who can't even have reached his third decade if that, gives a slow salute, the others following suit.
"Captain Averill." He says, "Good to have another torpedo-man amongst us."
"Aye, even if the
Patris is a little too slow on the bows to work her properly." Another says, her captaincy pins glinting silver in the light, "Not a judgement. Served a stint on a Dauntless, found the class stiff."
"Captain Xinth likes to speak her mind." The first says with a frown. "Captains Duggan, Nettis and Lyanus, all of us of Orzel Group." He points at himself, and then the other two men with him. They are all young, all relatively fresh faced, and all immaculately dressed. "Ever sailed a cobra, Captain?"
"Got better question." The one named Lyanus said, lips thin, "You noticed it in here? The tension? The bodyguards? Think this world more tense than a planet should be after peace. You watch, Captain. Think something will happen."
Silence reigns for a moment, before Nettis breaks it.
"I apologise for my comrade, Captain. He's... suspicious. To a fault."
