I briefly activated my power sword's energy core, the blood marring the blade evaporating instantly before my eyes. I shut it off, but did not sheathe it. Something told me I would have more use of it soon. Clara bit off the end of her bandage and finished tying it up, hefting her lascarbine with an iron will writ on her face. Lazarus seemed perturbed by their surroundings, but otherwise unharmed. Ortega watched the zealot with open suspicion, but made no move to strike her. 

"Lead on," I ordered her, retrieving my autopistol from its holster. I felt a sharp stab in my side, but I gave no indication I felt a thing. There would be plenty of time for fretting later. 

Elektra nodded with tear laden eyes, all but running out of the room to better fulfill what she likely thought was her act of redemption. I am not a priest, but the Inquisition is the left hand of the Emperor and one cannot be in the Ordo Malleus without some knowledge of sacred texts and rites. I was not comfortable being placed in the shoes of one who speaks for the Emperor himself, but I was not unused to such treatment, and in an extremely convoluted way, Elektra was not entirely incorrect. 

We followed her brusquely, hurrying through a short corridor and passing a door bedecked with reliquary fetishes and scripture etched in blood. The zealot stepped through and shrieked as if she had been shocked, but no one else complained as they passed, finding we had entered a small lobby leading to a stairwell made of plascrete and adorned with crudely wrought symbols of the emperor made in stone and placed to frame the stairs on every level we passed. 

"How many of these followers are there in the main hall?" Ortega asked as we reached the correct floor. Elektra turned to me, eyes pleading. I nodded my consent, and she turned to Ortega, placing a hand on Emmaline's arm for what I imagined was support. 

"Dozens, though they might not all be present. I don't know if the master is there, either." She lamented cryptically, looking away as if ashamed. Ortega racked his shotgun again in preparation as Emmaline inquired about who this master was. But Elektra would simply shake her head and mumble, unable or unwilling to speak. Emmaline glanced my way helplessly, and I knew well enough that Elektra's mind was already fragile enough. Delving deeper could break her, and I was not yet prepared to kill a woman who had renounced the ways of the ruinous powers. 

"Ortega, Clara, take point. Shoot anyone who does not look like a civilian, and quell anyone who does. I go in next. Emma, behind me. Lazarus, once we sweep in, find the roots of the station and pluck them. We need this cut immediately." I said. "Elektra, stay with Emmaline. I don't want you caught in the confusion." 

"Right boss," Clara said, stepping to the left of the door, eyes peeled. Ortega joined her, signaling readiness. She nodded, and he waited for my go before he went. The big arbites raised his weapon, and blew the handle off the door with a well placed 10 gauge shell. The door lazily began to open before his foot sent it all but flying off its hinges. As he pulled back the forestock, Clara was already moving in. Her lascarbine cracked, superheated beams of red scythed into the room. I saw figures turning in surprise and falling, scorch marks erupting on their barely clad forms and one even lost a forearm, the lasbolt hitting him just at the joint of elbow. Ortega barreled through as Clara rolled to the left, gunning down three zealots with five slugs. I followed in after, giving a quick survey of the room that lasted less than a second. 

There was a central table festooned with wiring and candles, a great collection of scrolls piled at its center. Skinny, [i]used[/i] men and women in rags operated various consoles, or had been before they had run for cover. Dead PDF guards occasionally littered the floor, and the room along with its subsequent hallways swarmed with zealots. I stepped forward, igniting my power sword as a zealot wielding two long butcher knives leaped over its fallen companion and bore down on Ortega before he could rack another round in. My sword cut through him from abdomen to collarbone in a backhanded stroke. He fell with a cry to the emperor on his lips. 

The irony was not lost on me.

"Lazarus, find the signal before they can utilize it!"