“The Arbites doo their best of course,” The Governor explained as she led them from the imposing grandeur of the reception chamber through a smaller connecting corridor that would still have admitted a Leman Russ without difficulty. Silvana nodded at the trite useless statement. The reality in most hives was that the lower levels were a completely uncontrolled warzone, riddled with gangers, mutants on the other assorted sewage of the levels above them. Few hives had the manpower to patrol the dilapidated and long forgotten lower levels. As a practical matter the Arbites tended to draw a line beyond which only the occasional sweeps were conducted, and those in full armor and in force. Govener Ackavae wasn’t able to admit that. It clashed too strongly with the official Imperial Truth to be said aloud.

“We are familiar with the problem your Highness,” Silvana said quietly. Constantina’s head pivoted in surprise as though shocked that the other woman had spoken. She didn’t know who Silvana was, other than she was vaguely associated with the Inquisition and people who spent their lives in hierarchies didn’t do well with ambiguity. 

“Ahh,” she said, evidently decided to treat her as an extension of Hieronymus rather than risk insulting her. A good instinct.

“Well than you can appreciate how thin the information I have is about what is going on below 221.” Silvana assumed 221 was the lowest level the Arbites had any pretentions to controlling.  They entered a large dining room evidently prepared for the occasion. A table, set with formal dinnerware and overhung by an impressive chandelier of glittering storm diamond, was the central focus. The governor took a seat at the head of the table at a high back chair of dark black wood. Silvana waited for Hieronymous to sit before taking her own chair. Servitors with the faces of gilded angles glided into the room and set silver chased platters on the table in perfect choreographed silence, whisking away the covers to reveal candied ploins, intricately carved garan nuts and artfully arranged sweet meats. A second set of servitors produced crystal flutes of a bluish sparkling wine.

“From what we have been able to determine the rate of kidnapping increased sometime in the last two or three years,” the Govenor explained as she picked at some of the sweetmeat, dainty fingers prying apart the sticky dried fruit pulp.

“So long as it was just gangers and degenerates we didn’t pay much attention. Perhaps six month ago the first disappearances began in the lower levels. Of course I increased Arbite patrols.” Silvana didn’t doubt that the records would show that Constintina had increased patrols, although she wouldn’t have put a lot of gelt on it being true. Carefully she removed her veil to expose her mouth and the black silken blindfold she wore. The governor glanced uneasily at her but made no comment. Silvana sipped the wine finding it spicy and sharp. She had a momentary glimpse of fields of green blue vines under a pair of alien suns, somewhere incalculably distant.

“The vanishings continued, and they rose to better and better levels, people began to be afraid to go out into the streets. I had to call out the PDF to force workers into the factories,” Ackave went on, clearly disgusted.

“Nothing has helped, I am even considering declaring martial law, I suppose I shall have to if another high ranking noble goes missing.” There was real concern in her voice now. Though the governor didn’t care about a few thousand of her subjects going missing, the fact that it might make her look weak infront of her peers was a serious concern. It was not impossible that some group or another planning a coup had reached out to the Inquisition for an unofficial blessing, triggering the dispatch of the pair of them. Such things were common enough, the Imperium had an interest in stability in a general sense, but they tended to let matters on its billions of individual worlds sort themselves out.

“I pray to Terra that the Inquisition may turn up leads we have missed.”
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