I reassured Emmaline with my mind. Not out of any sort of force of will. I likely couldn't have done that if I genuinely tried, but I assured her we wouldn't be here long. We ascended two levels, my estimation being that moving in the center of the manufactora would save us time. Untold amounts of liquid metal poured from rockcrete ladles into crucibles, water drawn through clever piping quenched the steel, sending superheated steam into the air and making the entire, vast facility feel like the ancient terran idea of hell. Faceless men and women in heat-resistant masks worked with a tirelessness borne out of need. 

Varying gangways led to platforms for workers to occupy, some guiding the ladles, others cutting and spooning the steel to make pipes, others bundled steel, and it seemed the workers both hot rolled and cold rolled their product here. Efficient. I made a show of approaching one of the platforms to watch more closely, my eyes flicking between the four workmen's exposed necks, but finding no sign of any tattoo. 

One saw me and regarded me through his visor, and I could tell he was going to tell me to piss off until he eyed the Arbites standing behind me, as well as the retinue. I supposed Ortega's presence was good for something. I walked back, a thoughtful expression on my face. "Nice work. I'll need to examine most of the sections on this floor to maintain accuracy, however." 

Arbitrator Ortega grunted, falling back into the usual mood of remaining silent from the dull routine and likely griping later to his fellows. I waved Emmaline over, and she approached, trying not to flinch from a sudden uproar of steam a few meters from our position. 

"Do you remember the exact tattoos from Havenos?" I asked her quietly. "The tribal tattoos?" 

"Yes," She said after a moment. 

"Good. We cannot afford to make a mistake here. Take the four bully boys and go below." I ordered, glancing down through the small rivulets in the walkway. "Even if Ortega insists we stay together, do not stop. We need to find these men. Try not to draw more attention to yourself than you have to, and be careful." 

"Alright," she agreed. Had Ortega not been watching, I would have kissed her. I merely stood as she made a show of sashaying away, gesturing for the four men of the Caledonia to follow. She had reached the stairs when the Adeptus Arbites stepped forward. 

"Where is she going?" He asked, a harshness to his tone.

"She is just as fully capable of checking the stock as I am. I merely wish for her to examine the lower levels where they twist the iron. It will not be a problem." I assured him, and turned to stride down the gangway before the Arbitrator could formulate a rebuttal or response.