You left not long after; you had work to do, and you needed to be seen doing it. You wished you had access to the resources needed to post somebody at the hospital door, but it wasn't practical in this situation. You needed more information, that's why you'd come down here in the first place.
Guided by Enforcer Galene, you proceeded on to this Hammock-Hang Alley, which was a shockingly short distance from the hospital clinic, yet felt as though it was part of another world. You turned a corner, and then another, and then the beautiful, tense city was gone and you were in a place of neglect and rust, of the kind found on every Imperial starship sailing the void. True to its name, there were hammocks strung across the hallway, hanging from the exposed support pillars or embedded hooks in the walls; many were occupied, others were strung on just one side, wrapped around their seated owners like shrouds. The ancient overhead lights and the more recent wall lamps had all long failed, plunging the area into darkness. It was rank.
Yet it was just a single hallway, maybe thirty metres long. Maybe two dozen people lived here, and about half that were here now; the others were evident by the empty spots. With space at a premium, even their slums couldn't afford to be large.
"What do they eat, Galane?" you asked quietly.
"Some of them go and beg at the main arteries for spare coin; we used to have to drive them off whenever we came down. I understand the Churches both provide meals and spiritual services on occasion, but it is left mostly to the false sisters," he explained, looking extremely uncomfortable as the Catachans switched on their flashlights and swept the entrance to the alley. In the beam, you spotted two figures moving among the group, standing out in spotless blue robes, heads bowed. Local lay sisters, no doubt.
"Which side are the Sisters on?" Cass added, and he shrugged.
"Not really sure how that works, to be honest."
You suspected the lay Sisters here operated as the Sororitas proper usually did in such theological disputes; they took the question seriously but held a diplomatically ambivalent view, and then treated the conflict as a temporal matter until either one side was in definitive ascendance or an authority arrived to settle the matter one way or another, at which point they would be first in line to set up the pyres. The Adepta Sororitas and its emulators existed in delicate balance; they had no
legal authority, for that was the domain of the Frateris, but their status was dependent on their unquestioned spiritual authority and unshakeable faith.
Moreover, though, the Orders Passive and lay sisters had practical reasons to maintain neutrality; they functioned as a vital secondary interface between the Ecclesiarchy and the regular people of the Imperium. Grand temples, great processions, confessors and preachers, the Frateris Militia like the local groups who enforced local religious law, and the Battle Sisters in the role as the Chamber Militant of the Odos Hereticus, these functioned as arms of the authority and glory of the Adeptus Ministorum, and as its violent enforcers. It was Sister Charitina's belief that the Holy Synod would very much prefer if that was all there was.
The lay sisters had clearly noticed your party and were moving toward you now. The one nearest adjusted the bag over her shoulder, her eyes still glued to the deck plate, while the other was holding her hands to her sides in a way that made it clear she wasn't going for her holster. They ducked under the nearest hammocks and emerged, bowing low.
"Please excuse your humble servant…" the nearest began, a generic deference to an unknown authority. "I am here on behalf of my Order, tending to the faithful."
You eyed the bags over her shoulder; one was bulging with food and water, the other a slim case marked with the Red Helices. She was very young, dark skinned, filled with anxious energy; sixteen at the oldest. The other was older, mid-twenties perhaps, and while she had a bag and canteen as well her primary purpose was betrayed by the stub pistol at her hip, to make it clear any interference would not be tolerated.
"We are not here to stop you," you assured her. She nodded, but didn't move. "What aid are you bringing these people?"
As the Inquisitor often said, man cannot live on faith alone. All the Imperium's systems were extractive, but most were distant or alien; tithes and tolls, conscription papers and press gangs, roving enforcers and watching Inquisitors, serving distant officers which intruded into the lives of citizens only to take. But people went willingly to the Church, believed it in, loved it, they needed it, and the Church in turn needed that fervour so it could be directed toward their political and economic ends.
"Food and water, mostly, and medication for some of their ailments. We come once every other day on permission of Father Rharv; it keeps the alley quiet, you understand," the older Sister explained, relaxing marginally and folding her hands in front of her.
Hence the Orders Passive, who performed for the Church the thankless maintenance work women had done since the murky dawn of human civilization, the hearthkeepers of the faith. The lay sisters who distributed food and water, did paperwork, laboured and assisted the true Orders. The beloved Hospitaliers who healed the sick and comforted the dying, the Famulous who educated the youth of nobility and ran the pauper's schools, Planxilium to guide pilgrims, Vespila to bury the dead… all the forgotten functions of community the Imperium's absolutism had abandoned fell to them.
It varied, of course; the more urbanised and populous and developed a place became, the more heavy-handed Imperial authority grew. In a hive city, where there were more people than uses for them, they could respond to poverty and unrest with poison gas or flamers or simply cutting off the food supply and welding shut the doors. But a smaller place like this needed ways to ease the tension, lest the collateral damage cost the very expertise the ship traded on.
"My name is Interrogator Hussain of the Odos Hereticus, here on behalf of the Imperial Inquisition. We're investigating the ongoing sectarian violence in the hold; I thought I would begin with the unnoticed people of the hold," you explained. The older Sister nodded firmly.
"My Lady, I know to whom you should speak, if you'll permit me to fetch them," she said. You nodded, and she ducked back under the hammocks. You noticed the people in them had not moved, despite your presence and the conversation; you suspected they were under the influence of narcotics to the point where if they were at all aware of you, they may very well lack the capability of moving.
The sister returned with an older man in tow, bearded and ragged but with a broad, toothless smile and alert eyes. He introduced himself as Nathaniel, no other names, and you asked his story out of curiosity before getting to proper questions; it interested you how one fell to poverty in a prosperous space like this. He said simply that twenty-five years ago he had been a goldsmith, and he had made debased coins; the metal had been supplied by a man on the planet they were stopped at, and while Nathaniel had noticed the impurities, he had said nothing and taken the job.
That man had been hanged, and while Nathaniel would not be handed over, he had been blacklisted by the community and driven from his workshop. He could not work or find a place to live; his old friends in the guilds had for a time put him up and fed him, but he could no longer stand to take their charity (and risk their standing) after a few years, and he had come here.
What made him a good source of information was that he was, oddly, beloved. His guild had followed its code when they exiled him and none others would take him, because that was not how the hold worked, but everyone understood the fault lay with the perfidious crustrunner who had supplied the metal and that Old Nate had been done dirty. When he was younger people would give him odd jobs in exchange for food and drink, and now that he was older and his hands shaky he simply talked with everyone, and everyone spoke with him; a confessional with no scourge at the end.
It also meant nobody batted an eye when he crossed between the territories of the two Churches; the mad old man could believe what he liked. His guild had been a Luminar one, but he knew nothing of spiritual affairs in particular and hadn't been to a sermon in the time since. What he did know was, in close detail, the rough disposition of both side's forces and the reasons things were rough.
It was quite simple; the agreement the Churches had with the Captain and each other was that each paid half the 'passage fee' for the hold, which went to the Captain of the ship to keep it flying to planets where they would make their wealth. Some of that wealth would invariably flow down into the hold again as the crew required their passenger's expertise to fix things.
And thus the issue. The industries of the hold were not equally divided; the Luminars held the majority of the metalworkers and tech-smiths, while the Sanctifiers' wealth came mostly from the medical services and esoteric skill training they could provide to planetary clients. Both sides made good money wherever they went, to be sure, but only when they were able to work. Neither had been much able to in the four months you had commandeered them, but the Luminars held the majority of income from the ship's work. And both sides were painfully aware that it would be the better part of a year before they got back to their route.
The Sanctifiers were losing ground; they might be forced to sell precious land to their rivals just to have enough coin; the man on the street knew that the money he gave to his Church was ended up in the coffers of the heretical bastards across the way. The Luminars were ascendent, and eager to press their advantages; while poverty loomed over all, the laity rejoiced that its burden fell most on their enemies. There was only so much to go around, there was no place to go in the void, and the Tithes were coming due.
---
You have bought some time before things boil over again, but you do not know how much. You will need all the information you can before you make a decree.
[ ] Those three armed men, presumably members of the Popular Crusade, were an obvious path to a meeting with Father Rharv, the leader of the local faction, the Church of the Sanctified Saint. The clerics are the law in the hold; you should speak to him.
[ ] There was another story here. The Illuminated Church of Saint Malpeus, its cleric Father Gründ, and their militias represented the other side of this conflict. A masked member of their Martyr's Platoon pulled the trigger which had killed Ada, but you suspected they had tragedies of their own.
[ ] The lay Sisters are a neutral force in this conflict; they may have information, or could be swayed to back a side.
[ ] Tensions had been calmed. This might be a good time to regroup and get your bearings (clear penalties and gain XP).
[ ] You are ready to make a decree, with all your authority, that will hopefully put an end to this.
[ ] Write In
