I was much less certain than Hadrian seemed to be about the existence of this so called curse. Power armor was power armor and I suspected with a little reworking anyone could wear it. This whole thing seemed less likely than Hadrian was just spinning an elaborate self deception to convince himself Lazarus couldn't make a mistake. The pronouncement however set of a babble of conjecture and questioning.

"How have we come up with correct leads so far?" Clara wanted to know. A reasonable concern though easily explained if you knew the underlying psykannic principles. The scheme wasn't protected but Vorn was. That said something interesting about the enemy and their priorities.

"Why wasn't ever aspect of chaos cloaked this way?" Selenica enquired.

"Did this mean we could trust Lazarus on his analysis of priestly vestments?" and so on and so on.

I slipped out during the general furor and headed aft and upwards towards my quarters. I changed quickly (for me) out of my golden dress and into a simple black body glove with a mantled coatlet of soft grey leather. It may surprise you to learn this but the Caledonia was a cold ship, and a humid one, as though a mist were perpetually about to form. Apparently this was some kind of tribute to the world that Urien and his crew hailed from, and a unique one in my experience. Just keeping the air breathable at all is a struggle on all but the most luxurious of ships, and even those tend to go for a dry sterility that will avoid rust and other mechanical issues.

I left the room and wandered the ship, partly to keep working on cleaning my mind from my recent contact with the dead Bishop Simon, partly just to think. My efforts were perhaps not competely successful, as quite by accident I found myself at the Caledonian's chapel. Modest is a term to be used in context when it comes to both Imperial chapels and Starships, but it is fair to say that this one was modest. It was one of the few areas of the ship that stuck me as completely Imperial, without the embellishments of Urien and his crew. It even felt warmer, though this was likely due to the votive candles and braziers that rimmed the roof twenty meters above with a perpetual mist of smoke. I stepped inside and took a seat at the back out of sight, contemplating the march of stately columns up to the stained glass window of Him on Terra, depicted here gazing up to the stars, perhaps about to embark on his great crusade. I thought about Simon Philovong, whom I had jumped to his death, still in the unshakable belief that he did the Emperor's work. A man so devout that it had led him to become a heretic, killed by a woman whom, despite having no faith at all, served the Emperor's avowed purpose. Not forgetting raising the shade of a dead heretic to get answers in the bargin of course. Was I the real Heretic? Was Philovong? Both of us? Neither? I bowed my head and did something like pray.

I must have dozed off because when I woke my face was pressed against the front of the pew. I hastily wiped the drool from the corner of my mouth and glanced about to make sure my dignity was intact. It was, but a moment later I saw a figure enter the chapel. Elektra walked, head bowed, to the altar, her evicarator held before her like an icon. She laid the weapon on the altar and stepped back, sheding her cloak to reveal the rippling muscles of her back. She drew a length of knotted rope from a pouch and began to chant rythmically. At the end of each verse she whipped herself hard across the back. It didn't quite draw blood, she was too toughened for that, but I saw mottling of bruises form as she chanted her devotion to the God Emperor. I wondered at her devotion, reliving the flashes of divine inspiration I had seen in her mind during out mental contact. I was going to have to slow down or I would have snap shots of half the sub sector living in my brain. After a shockingly long time Elektra ceased the flagellation. She was tough, but even so she was trembling. Reverently she reached out and retrieved the sword then turned to leave. Either she didn't see me sitting in the dark or she didn't dain to comment. Instead, she strode regally from the chapel like a queen, leaving me alone and wondering at her devotion.