Pacitus' main source of income was its tourism, as well as the annual subsidies provided by the administratum to the local administration and nobility that kept the planet in pristine condition. There was no small amount of pride being one of the most beautiful worlds in the imperium, and the local nobility considered themselves the old guard of its near divine beauty. As Emmaline and I entered the venue, it was immediately apparent who was of the local nobility and who was visiting for business or pleasure. Almost every pacitus noble, as well as the various financiers and politicians, wore dark green and bold blue, with a delphinium sigil worn proudly somewhere on their person. The men wore finely cut suits, slimmer than the usual imperiam fashion, with a propensity for stylish embroidery, but otherwise relatively tame. The women wore blue and indigo, with old fashioned ballgowns and bodices of resplendent quality. The tourists and off-worlders sported various different styles and colors, as did a few of the more rebellious members of local houses to stand apart. I spotted the Svoboda family in their satin and urban finery, chatting casually with Gotz Dorn, my prior investigations informing me he acted as the head of a lucrative banking conglomerate. I recognized over a dozen faces, in fact, having familiarized myself with the world and its main players before I concluded this was to be my base of operations when not on the hunt.

Giulio and Milena Chazalettes sauntered off the terrace, their interest in forbidden texts of note to my predecessor, albeit the investigations concluded it was a harmless fancy, more for the thrill of collection than any arcane use. Dark haired Milena waved to Franscesca Maazel, a fashionably dressed brunette, and the widow of the late Lorin Maazel, who had found solace in dabbling with politics and various male concubines. No doubt the broad muscled man at her shoulder was one of them. It was not nearly as scandalous as Master Voglebaun's first born, who eloped with a scullery maid not months ago. The wealthy merchant was making his first appearance tonight, after that lengthy debacle. Much to my amusement, I also noticed Hans Rysnatek, the city judicial officer who preferred his drink to his job, idly chatting with an off-worlder I was not familiar with. No doubt for some ulterior motive, no doubt.

Despite the expected manner of company, the room was expansive, with dazzling gold filigree along the old theater balustrades and scintillating colors of jewels along the soaring arches and aerial grottos of the dome.

"How eclectic," Emmaline admitted, gazing upwards. "I was expecting less."

I looked at her. Out of all the rejuvenat treatments, the biological implants and reshapings, even the moasics that towered above us, I had to admit she was the most beautiful thing in the room. It was not often I was struck speechless for a moment, but despite her impetuousness, her slothful pleasures, even her penchant for the occult, I was truly in love. I chuckled at myself for my schoolyard musings, and she turned to look at me quizzically.

"Do I amuse you?" She asked with an arched eyebrow. It only deepened my smile, and I took her hand in mine. I squeezed it gently, and drifted closer to her.

"Tonight is going to be an act, but let's begin with something genuine." I said, cradling her neck and sweeping her into a passionate kiss. It was so fervent, I can still remember it to this day, as if I had just tasted her. The adeptus sororitas would have been jealous of the zealoutry I displayed. Despite her normally salacious attitude, when I pulled back, her cheeks were flushed and she was out of breath. I glanced around, and noticed half the ball had deigned to watch, as well. I turned back to her and grinned. "Now let's dance, shall we?"

"I suppose we ca-" She said breathlessly, cut off as I pulled her to the central floor. There was a suggestive whistle from our left, by the open bar. A quick look showed it was Edward Hornsgun, the leader of the PDF forces. I had personally invited him, and despite his low class upbringing and lack of financial acumen, he had just enough of a reputation to make admittance. As I led her to the dance floor, a few other couples and family that were casually waltzing and the like instinctively made way. I stopped abruptly, Emmaline unwittingly bumping into me, her hands now in mine.

"Estallen," I breathed to her, and she nodded, catching up quick. My voice rose above the din. "Something more lively, eh!?"

Cheers and clapping followed by a few of the more prudish lord's dirty looks followed. A number of them involved in byzantine schemes glanced in our direction with distaste, and I did not hide my satisfaction at ruining whatever mischief they had planned, however brief it was. The music lagged for a moment, the band unsure if they should halt their original banal tune, until a man hurried on stage and whispered into the lead man's ear, and they abruptly shifted songs seamlessly. Swiftly they brought out a pair of bongos, and the guitar followed the rhythm of the beat, a piano adding zest to the music as we began our dance. Emmaline placed her right foot back and stepped right as I moved forward with my left, stepping faster than the other dancers who found themselves too bewildered to catch up, and we had only gotten started. The guitar thrummed and I pirouetted my lover, Emmaline spinning before stopping, her hips gyrating suggestively as my feet began to snap against the floor in a blur. Moments later I swept her into my arms again, and we spun. I caught the glimpse of a scope in the vacated viewer boxes, noting the arbites waiting for any foul play. I doubted we would be attacked during the party, but right after? That was when the trap would be sprung.

Women scoffed or gasped as we danced by, and men watched with jealousy. I was second to none when I danced, and Emmaline had been trained well, my confidence in her keeping her stamina up.

Once I partied for myself, now I partied for the Emperor. It is a surprising fact that dancing and drinking are often necessary tools of the trade when blending in with almost all strata of Imperial Society. The attendees at the charity gala probably wouldn’t have appreciated the fact that they essentially went in for the same entertainment as mutants and underhivers at Pound bars, only with more violins. But appreciated or not I had been to both places and everywhere in between. I was able to dance with considerably more abandon than the rest of the company, even more conservative dances pushed to the point of scandal with exaggerated hip movement and passionate embraces. It reminded me a lot of dancing on the mess table on the Caledonia just after I had joined Hadrian’s band, though then of course I had been dancing alone. Hadrian too revealed hidden depths. The Inquisition actually trains its operatives in most aspect of high culture, but he had also seen the full gamut of Imperial society and not just on Pacitus. Some of the young crowd were able to keep up but the old and augmented were left behind. For me it was as though we were the only people in the room, dancing just for each other and the half scandalized glances were from some other, lesser reality.

The champagne glass in my hand we refilled many times between dances, and though I was asked several times by the younger men I danced only with Hadrian, an attitude almost as scandalous as the dances themselves. Despite the steady stream of liquor, I did not become drunk. Every few dances I paused to apply an ivory and gold stim injector to the inside of my wrist. To the assembled gathering it no doubt looked like simple drug use, angelum or pax, popular party drugs. In Fact it had been loaded with a cocktail of drugs which neutralize the effects of alcohol, a standard piece of kit for Inquisitors who need to keep their minds sharp and heads level while undercover in places that required a high ethanol diet. You could drink as much as you liked with no worse effect than a slight lemony taste in the back of your throat If anyone noticed a lack of drunkenness it was easily explained by my party girl personal, Hadrian was more abstemious even though the Naval penchant for drink was the stuff of jokes throughout the Imperium.

Periodically throughout the night, auctions of sorts were held. The various glitteratti vied with each other to spend more on this orphanage or that scholam. Sometimes there were titles for sale, mostly things like the freedom of the city or other honors which wealthy socialites liked to collect but had little practical effect on the Imperium writ large. Several pieces of art were also sold, including some rather magnificent illuminated manuscripts containing the sayings of Saint Agripina, allegedly related on her deathbed. Given the size of the tomes I figure it had to be a rather drawn out death. Hadrian bid on some of the items, especially a rather splendid pair of pearl inlaid dueling pistols but he was inevitably swamped by other bidders. It seemed that our display of wantonness with the dancing had shown up the local nobs and they wanted to make sure that this uncoth upstart and his bimbo were outclassed in at least one area. That made me smile as given that we were cut off from our funds we could ill afford the prices being asked, and at least the local charities were benefiting from the snobbery. Assuming any of the wealth actually trickled down that far of course. In my experience there is never a shortage of bureaucrats willing to extract a ‘fee’ as money moves from one place to the next.

It happened just before the final dance. By then I was rather distracted and was forming certain designs on the body of my dance partner, half convinced that nothing of note would happen despite Hadrian’s certainty to the contrary. I was just finishing a particularly energetic round when there was a sudden surge in the artificial canals that had been set up around the dance floor. Men with large rubber masks, rebreathers with huge round eyes like gas rebreathers burst from the water. There was a collective gasp by those who witnessed it directly which spread like falling dominos through the crowd. Hadrian, who had been in the process of dipping me by my waist, dropped me without ceremony and dived behind a planter box. Gun fire erupted through the crowd as our attackers, dressed in soaking body armor, came out of the canals, rose scented water streaming from their battle gear.

I rolled to the side, miraculously avoiding the legs of panicking dancers. A rather fat baroness who had been scowling at me took a las bolt to the chest and fell screaming, rubies from her golden necklace clattering down like hail. I got behind a marble bench that held finger food as las fire stitched across the floor in sparkling ricochets. I pulled a small deringer from my gater belt and popped up in time to see another group of attackers clambering up onto one of the faux islands, unslinging las guns. I thrust out my hand and summoned my Will.

“Drop them,” I commanded, my empowered words cutting through the spreading chaos like a templem bell. Every single person in the vast hall who still had a drink dropped it in a shattering avalanche of glass. Unfortunately not one single attacker so much as flinched and I dropped back behind the bench a heart beat before a blizzard of las fire ripped across the top, showering me with burning finger sandwiches and pieces of tableware. I didn’t bother trying to shout a warning across the room to Hadrian, no doubt he wouldn’t be able to hear, and he didn’t need to, the fact that my psykanna had failed would be as obvious to him as it was to me. I scrambled along a few feet and popped around the side. Three men were charging my position, literally blasting apart a pair of waiters who had frozen in place between us. I fired all four rounds of the deringer. It was a tiny weapon, but very powerful, its capacitor fed las lens able to take far more punishment than a las gun which might expect years of continuous service. The knee of the lead man exploded, spattering the white uniformed corpses of the staff with even more blood. He went down in a heap, screaming and tripping his companions. I tossed the pistol, I had no time to reload it and no ammunition either, and snatched up a knife that was smeared with some kind of cake. Leaping to my feet I darted away through the crowd, heading towards where I had last seen Hadrian and trying to avoid being trampled by the gaudily dressed nobility of Pacitus.

Initially, I had figured we would be caught in an ambush as we left. The marksmen positioned inside of the gala were there for precaution, rather than predicted utility. Only in the most strangest circumstances did I believe we would be attacked in the very center of the party. I spent my time, while vigilant and performing the same discreet injections as Emmaline, doing my best to enjoy myself. I began to feel more unburdened by the worries, and despite the lingering thoughts of what was going to occur, I found spending time with Emmaline without care for decorum was immensely enjoyable. She recieved more than a few men's attention, but to my surprise I had to politely decline a number of young women, and a surprising amount of married ones, much to the glowering displeasure of their husbands.

However, the trap was sprung nonetheless. I dropped Emmaline in a dip and vaulted over a stone alcove. The CRACK CRACK CRACK of the lasbolts ripping through even the screaming. Men scattered and women tripped and screamed, but to my satisfaction the local arbites and the PDF forces that had been requisitioned were returning fire without hesitation.

There were moments in firefights where the combat shifts, and you can sense it. If you've been in as many as I have, it's like feeling a change in the wind. As soon as I felt it, I lifted myself up and planted my arms on the stone's solid surface to steady my aim, discharging my autogun three times into the closest assailant, who had redirected his fire and attention to the upper floors of the refurbished theater. Two slug hit his body armor, but the third pierced his neck, blood spraying into the goggles of his closest partner. I switched targets and emptied the magazine into him before he could duck behind cover, not giving him time to reorient himself. Briefly I saw Emmaline to my right, and it was after the second man was dead that she used her will. I felt an almost impenetrable urge to drop my weapon, but I was trained to resist such compulsion.

Well, that would bring questions, I thought to myself. Luckily we could blame it on the attackers, easily enough.

As she turned and fled the three men swatting aside the waiting staff, I reloaded quickly and provided cover fire with five quick shots. She screamed but did not stumble, and crashed into the stone. I pulled her over to land heavily beside me, the other men diving behind cover as I did so, lasbolts superheating the air just above our heads.

"Good job on hitting his knee," I said, referring to the first man she shot as I returned fire again and then hastily reloaded. I only had two magazines left, I noted.

"What?" She asked, incredulously.

"We need one alive, remember." I said with a grin. She was going to shake her head, but then she screamed my name and pointed. I turned as a man landed just beside me, spinning his carbine to take me in the head. I kicked out on instinct, knocking him off his feet. His carbine went off, lasbolts flying inches from our feet. That gave me the moment to leap up and tackle him to the ground as bullets and laser pierced the air a mere meter above our heads. He managed to knee me in the stomach, attempting to break my teeth with his forehead, but I dodged the blow and returned with my own, dazing him and pressing his gun into him, redirecting my previous pulling motion. The carbine went off again, spraying the stonework with lasbolts. I felt I had him, but our contest ended when Emmaline plunged her knife into his leg, and I yanked the gun out of his hand and bashed the butt of it into his face, knocking him out cold.

A bullet ricocheted off the floor beside my head, and I hastily slid back, pulling the masked man's limp body into cover as I handed Emmaline the lascarbine. "Here, be careful. Try not to hit the guests." I deadpanned, and swiftly tied the assailant up, binding his hands behind his back before I retrieved my fallen gun.

A half dozen of the guests were already down, some were screaming in pain others were dead. I saw an ecclesiarch sprint across the dancefloor at full tilt, robes hitched up. An autogun round snatched off his mitre but he dived into one of the corridors that led back to the food preparation area none the worse for wear. Apparently the Emperor did protect. One of the guests, a handsome man in false middle age lifted a hand and obliterated one of the gunmen with a greenish blast from some kind of digital laser before two rounds punched him in the chest and dropped him into the shallow waters. I levered myself up from behind the planter and aimed the las carbine. I tried for a moment to remember the Litany of Accuracy but gave up and just squeezed the trigger. Brilliant energy lashed out, far too high, I hit several paper lantern and sent them drifting to the floor in flames. Cursing I adjusted my aim, then ducked back into cover as autogun fire blasted cracks into the heavy marble.

There were perhaps a score of attackers, all similarly kitted and equipped, and they were rapidly spreading out to catch us in crossfire. They would have us in a matter of moments, would have already done so if Hadrian had not spotted them the moment they emerged from the water. A grenade bounced over my planter to clatter to the ground beside me. I shoved it with my mind, sending it spinning into the water a moment before it exploded in a huge geyser of spume. The nearest barge began to cant to the side and sink, spilling hundreds of goblets of champagne that had been arranged in a pyramid in an avalanche of glass and expensive liquor.

The doors flew open and a dozen men in the red and white uniforms of valets stormed in. Given the riot guns they carried, parking was a serious business here abouts. A blizzard of well aimed fire tore from the phalanx of men. For a moment I thought our assailant’s body armor would save them, but Hadrian had briefed his men well. The riot guns fired saboted solids that smashed our attackers from their feet, crippling more often than killing as the flak plates crushed ribs and organs. Within a handful of seconds it was over, though the high pitched screaming of the wounded continued.

“ Clear Admiral,” the leader of the valiant valets called. Up close he had a hard bitten look and I recognized him as a genuine Arbite. Most of his men were probably local law enforcement, but he was the real deal.

“The rest of my men are securing the site, we aren’t sure how they…”

“Sir!” one of the valets called and we all turned to see two of the prisoners were convulsing, greenish white froth spattering from the corner of their mouths. I whirled to our own prisoner and was horrified to see the same twitching death theros. It was some kind of fail safe to prevent capture, a poison secreted in a tooth or otherwise implanted on a soldier. When the mission looked like a failure it had been triggered and all of our mysterious attackers were dying.

“Move!” I shouted, infusing the command with enough of my will that the valet between me and the nearest prisoner leaped out of my way, dropping his riot gun as he did so. THe weapon barked and blew a bunch of apline flowers to colorful confetti. I dropped to my knees and ripped open the jacket covering his armor. It took me a second to find what I was looking for. Reaching down I took hold of a silver amulet around the dying man’s neck and ripped it off. The silver was very cold to my touch and burned me as though the metal was ice cold. I tossed it aside and slapped the man hard. Black lines were spreading along his blood vessels and his skin was very grey.

“Look at me! LOOK AT ME.” Every eye in the room involuntarily jerked towards me, save Hadrian who was already looking at me voluntarily. I opened my mind and sketched a symbol on his forehead, then two fingers to certain points on the design. The dying man screamed and thrashed, trying desperately to break eye contact but writhe as he might his eyes remained locked to mine. The lights guttered and plants wilted. A timepiece in the pocket of a dead man began to chime and chime and chime before finally breaking with an audible crack. I yanked my hand away and the dying man’s eyes went slack, then blank.

“Holy Terra,” one of the valet/sanctioners muttered and spread his hands in the sign of the aquila. The dead man’s head now bore a shallow but exact imprint of my finger tips, down to the whorls of my prints. Hadrian’s eyes flicked from me to the other men.

“That will be all, spread out and see if anyone is left alive, help the civilians,” Hadrian directed. The knot of men dispersed to their tasks with the efficiency their profession bred.

“What was that?” Hadrian asked with an arched eyebrow.

“I think I might have something we can use… but not here, we need to go back to the hotel room.”

An hour later we were back in our luxurious quarters. I had refused to elaborate too much during the drive back, but had told Hadrian that I needed time to prepare my mind. That was sort of true but not in the way he probably imagined. I bathed in clear cold water and cleansed myself of both sweat and perfume. I washed my hair and brushed it, carefully delivering 600 strokes of an ivory comb. Finally I put on a simple translucent shift and joined Hadrian in our sitting room.

“Sit with me and I’ll show you what I learned,” I told him, and sat down cross legged on the floor. I reached out and touched his face. Our eyes met and there was a sudden flash.

The air was dank with wet stone. We were standing in front of a dungeon cell, its iron bars mortared into the stone Hadrian stood beside me, his clothing flickering oddly, now battle armor, now a tuxedo, now his swimming trunks. I was wearing a flowing white toga in a neoclassical style, with a laurel wreath around my head and a golden torch in my hand. Well I say ‘I’. Emmaline-who-explains-things was dressed that way. Two more Emmalines, their hair up in identical buns canted left and right stood before the cell, long pikes slanting in exactly opposite directions.

“Who goes there?” demanded Emmaline-who-guards-things.

“Who else?” I responded to myself. Hadrian was looking around, justifiably wondering what in the Emperor’s name was going on.

“Are we in your mind?” he asked. The attention of both Emmaline’s focused on him when he spoke. Half a dozen other Emmaline’s in various garb flickered in and out of existence around us.
“Sort of…” Emmaline-who-explains-things, I for the moment, responded.

“Help! Help me! I should be dead! Let me die! Let me die!” a terrified voice called. A man in sackcloth appeared at the bars, his features those of the mercenary I had touched, though in his own self image he was a little less battered and a little more handsome than his real life counterpart.

“You have his mind in your head?” Hadrian demanded.

“It wasn’t that hard,” replied Emmaline-with-false-modesty, suddenly standing beside Hadrian, her clothing in a conservative style but cut to show off every curve.

“That isn’t the point,” Emmaline-who-worries-about-things replied, running her hands nervously through her hair.

“Let me out you crazy bitches!” the prisoner screamed, throwing himself against the bars with absolutely no effect.

“No,” said a half dozen Emmaline’s simultaneously.

“Yes, I was able to take his mind before the poison claimed him,” said Emmaline-who-explains-things.

“We can interrogate him here but…” Emmaline-who-explains-things waved her hand at the various incarnations of me as they flickered in and out of existence.

“I think it might be easier if we went into his mind together… it won't be as clear but it won't be as distracting for everyone.”

I admit, I was concerned.

Having given Emmaline my trust and the near endless resources on which to devote herself to perfecting her psychic abilities, she had found a way to cordone off and compartmentalize her mind in order to keep herself safe from the toll dabbling in the warp enacts on the mind. I would have to talk to her about it later, more for her own safety than any concern of heresy, despite her proclivities. I figured something out of the ordinary would occur, however, so I adapted with a herculean effort, despite the myriad of Emmalines surrounding me. Truth be told, I had experienced a similar dream before, without the mercenary chained up and pleading for death. It was unexpectedly erotic, though I found my outfit flickered from my suit, to my battle armor, to my own nude form. The Emmalines all looked at me and blushed. I closed my eyes, or my fascimile's eyes and focused, letting all thoughts leave my mind before I placed an iron clamp on my mental projection. I opened them, and I wore my naval-cut inquisitor uniform, resplendent with the fur cloak signifying my ascension to Kronus's position.

"How did you learn how to take his mind to question?" I asked the Emmaline that seemed inclined to elucidate various matters. In my years of study, I had heard of similar skills, but Emmaline had learned it rather quick by my estimation and concern. Before she spoke, Emmaline-who-is-guilty appeared, her hair unbrushed and her evening dress marked as if she had just gotten out of a scuffle.

"I've been reading a small bit of Leiber's Treatises of the Mind." She said. I made certain not to sigh, noting it as a tome I had warned her about delving into. It was not strictly heretical, but it had been banned by various segmentums for being too loose on protocol and too stringent in how one describes dabbling in chaos, using technicalities and half-truth to justify very dangerous practices. It was the perfect book for Emmaline, I thought to myself.

"You're not mad are you?" Oh throne, you're angry, right? Don't be, please..." Emmaline-who-worries-about-things pleaded, clutching my sleeve. As if she worried it would wrinkle the fabric, she let go and shrank back.

"Don't fret, I'm rather impressed," I admitted, smoothing my coat.

"Don't be, I'm certain anyone could do it." Emmaline-with-false-modesty gently admonished.

"Let me go!" The man cried. "Burn you all, just let me die!"

"Silence!" I roared, using my will. Or, I attempted to. The dungeon vibrated gently, the Emmaline's flickering for a moment, but returning steadily. I apparently could not use it in here, but the effort did cause my voice to rise three times louder. That alone cut the man off from speaking, and I approached his cell. The two Emmalines-who-guard stepped aside with parade ground discipline and stood at attention. My eyes burned with righteous fury. "You will speak when spoken to, and when you speak it will be to answer our questions. You have turned your back on your species, you have assaulted a member of the Emperor's most holy inquisition," I said, my voice filled with quiet menace. "And worst of all, you attacked the woman I love."

Behind me, Emmaline-who-loves ran to embrace me, wearing the same black dress and hairstyle when we shared out first dance and kiss. Emmaline-who-disciplines, wearing a black justicar bodyglove and wearing her hair in a severe bun stopped her, holding a cudgel out to keep the other from reaching me. That was fortunate, and I turned to the mercenary, who looked horrified. I was uncertain if striking him would work, but I took Emmaline-who-explains-things advice. "Very well, we'll pierce his mind and find his secrets. Which Emmaline comes with me?"

It was the wrong question to ask. Immediately the blonde women began to bicker, trying to yell over one another. Even the worried one and the infatuated one showed wrath at the other Emmalines. The Emmalines-who-guard brandished their weapons, but it didn't seem to inspire any fear. Emmaline-who-explains-things lectured the others as Emmaline-who-loves slapped aside another Emmaline and waved her hand, trying to garner my attention.

As much as I wanted to experience my lover in such naked affection, this was not a social visit. I stroked my fascimile's chin and considered. Emmaline-who-explains-things would be useful, but the others were not adverse to explaining. Emmaline-who-disciplines and Emmaline-with-false-modesty seemed to be the most professional, and I almost chose the former before I felt we did not need two hard touches. I pointed at Emmaline-with-false-modesty. "You, Emmaline, come with me. You and I will go inside his head."

"I wasn't expecting to be the best choice, but I suppose it makes sense." She said with a barely suppressed smirk, gently fixing her hair with a swift tug of her hand. She sauntered up to my position, and I nodded, turning to the man.

The pair of Emmaline’s who guard clashed the hafts of their halberds on the ground and suddenly the dungeon was gone. They were standing instead in an Ecclesiarchy court, flanked on three sides by imposing stained glass windows that stretched fifty feet into the air. One of the windows showed an Emmaline dressed in the Adeptus Sororitas battle armor that had been my (our?) disguise the previous year, bolter raised heroiically. Another showed a naked Emmaline emerging from the ocean off Agesilea, in the style of some ancient painting I had once glimpsed. The central window held a depiction of the Emperor in the style of the Great Crusade though the details around his face flickered as though the artist were leafing through several rough sketches.

A central dias held a stone judges throne, on which sat Emmaline-who-judges, a rather overly sexualized Ecclesiarchy robe wrapped around her body as she gazed on the rest of the scene with ill disguised contempt. The prisoner sat in a witness box his eyes wide and staring, his mind under considerable psychic strain. Behind a stone balustrade carved with straining gargoyles and cherubs scores of Emmalines sat, forming a jury or a simply witnessing proceedings.

“Did you learn this from the tome… the…” Hadrian began.

“Splitting into different aspects? Emmaline-who-explains-things finished, then shook her head.

“Emmaline-who-over-analyzes thinks it is due to leading a life of deception prior to coming into your service, a habitual donning of masks and fake personas.”

“Orr it could be a result of childhood trauma, or a way to defend myself against early psychic awakenings or…” Emmaline-who-explains things waved her hand to quiet a rather overwhelmed looking Emmaline who was making a diagram on the wall with various notations connected by pieces of crimson twine.

“So who is the Emmaline I see in the real world?” Hadrian asked. Every single one of the hundred or so visible Emmalines turned towards him and in perfect unison replied: “I am.” Hadrian shook his head but was spared from comment by another crack of halberd butts on stone.

“Begin,” Emmaline-who-judges declared, adjusting her mitre on her head and shooting a disgusted look at the prisoner.

Emmaline-who-disciplines stalked onto the floor and began reading out a list of charges against the mercenary. They ranged in severity from betraying the Emperor of Mankind to getting blood on her favorite dress.

“What happens now,” Hadrian asked, his eyes flicking sideways to where an Emmaline in a psykers robe was flipping steadily through a large leather bound book. It had been hung with purity seals and inquisitorial interdicts, the ink on its pages flickering and twisting wiildly.

“Hadrian Drakos, Emmaline-with-false-modesty come forward, Throne of Terra I can’t believe he picked you,” Emmaline-who-judges said disgustedly. The two of them moved forward to stand before the prisoner. A great stone seal had been wrought into the floor, a combination of an Imperial Aquilla, an Inquisitorial Electoo, and the letters H and E intertwined. There was a soft murmur from the assembled Emmaline, as though each one of them was whispering a chant under their breath.
“Ask your questions, the accused will answer them,” Emmaline-who-judges declared.
“I’m not going to say a damned thing to any of you crazy blondes!” the merc screamed, a moment later a gag appeared over his mouth forcing his jaw shut.

“Very well…” Hadrian began “What is your name? The merc screamed into his gag and tried to turn his eyes away from the Inquisitor but try as he might he couldn’t quite break eyecontact. There was a stomach churning lurch and we tumbled into his eyes as though we were plunging into a deep pool of water.

“...Demik Veb,” the mercenary replied, reaching out to shake Hadrian’s hand. The air around us was thick with moisture and the caws of tropical birds was all around us. We were on a trail surrounded by lush jungle. Though recognisable as the prisoner Demik looked younger, less hard bitten, the way the mind liked to picture itself. He reached out and took my hand.

“Wow , I bet your clan got a hell of a bloodprice for you,” he said to me. I shook his hand and smiled.

“Oh you know, it wasn’t that much,” I replied demurely. Something, maybe a big cat screamed off in the distance and Demick tensed. He was dressed in green and brown camo cloth and carried a las rifle with a bulky underslung grenade launcher. I was dressed in my conservative suit, it wasn’t too fancy but I guess it looked ok, despite being completely inadequate for the jungle conditions that surrounded us. Giant trees with no lower limbs rose up trailing beards of wrist thick vines with colorful sucker like flowers that seemed to slowly reach and grasp for each other. Spikey looking fungus projected up from the ground like tank traps, bristling with thorn like projections.

“We better make the compound before nightfall, or the flesh rippers will take us for sure,” Demick said, moving on down the trail as though lead scout for our little band
“What is happening, he dosen’t recognise us?” Hadrian asked in a quiet voice.
“This is before we met him,” I explained, “We will be able to see pivotal moments, and he should interpret us as friends or comrades. We can ask questions, it might make him jump to those memories though, at least that is what Emmaline-who…. Well that is what I understand,” I concluded, following Hadrian as he set off after Demick.

“He mentioned fleshrippers, are we in any danger here?” Hadrian asked. I put my hands on my hips.

“You picked the wrong Emmaline if you wanted explanations, though of course I will do what ever I can to help, no matter how small.”

Emmaline-with-false-modesty and I walked as quietly as we could with Demick, keeping our eyes peeled for any movement or noise that was out of the ordinary. It was no small task, considering the jungle itself was filled with the noises of strange beasts and the rustling of endless ferns and undergrowth beneath the canopy. I had my sidearm out, though only to keep up appearances. Much like this dreamscape, my autopistol was not real, nor was any danger in the merc's memory. My Emmaline did her best to hide her disgust and lack of enthusiasm slinking behind us.

Demick sneezed loudly, and I could tell he seemed absolutely horrified at the notion. For a brief moment I wondered what problem it could cause, considering the screeching of bugs and the distant hooting of unknown fauna. But I was quickly reminded of my own upbringing on Demaratus. The long summers and the beasts that had become specialized at hunting men. Even if that weren't the case, a sneeze was a strange noise, unlike the repeated calls. It would draw curiosity if nothing else.

Still, after a few tense moments, it seemed like nothing would happen. Demick began to move forward again, taking a few careful steps. Like a shot the jungle came alive as a tall, lanky avian humanoid screamed like the birth of slannesh and leaped at Demick with an uncontrollable barbarity. Demick cried out in fear, and only by the emperor's own luck did he manage to throw himself out of the way of a ceremonial club that would have broken his head in three pieces. I recognized the thing. It was a Kroot, one of the indentured servants to the Tau Empire. I was not of the Ordo Xenos, but I knew enough to realize I would expect Demick to be dead and consumed had we not seen him at the party mere hours before. The Kroot broke a sapling in two and whirled around with movement somehow both sinuous and weighted. I watched as Demick crawled along the ground, before uncovering a fern to find the red light of a proximity mine flashing.

"FRAK! Get out of here!" He warned us, and scrambled to his feet as the Kroot loped after him. Demick got eight feet from the mine before it detonated, right between the stick-like legs of the xenos warrior. I flinched and reached for Emmaline out of instinct, and she did the same as the bloody shrapnel of the Kroot was flung across the reeds. Demick had been thrown half a dozen meters before a tree stopped his flight just as suddenly as it had begun. He hit the ground, and the scene began to waver. I held Emmaline protectively.

"Are you alright?" I asked Emmaline-with-false-modesty, turning to her.

She seemed somewhat startled, but played it off. "Nothing I haven't seen before," she remarked, and looked at me. Our gazes lingered at one another, but then I felt something odd. Something intrusive, but not wholly uncomfortable. There was a pressure, before Emmaline's blue eyes swallowed me up and there was a-

FLASH

I was in the Tiddusdowns, chasing my boyhood friends through the gullies. We were six and seven, mostly. I forgot which I was at the time. My brother Marius was waiting for me, tumbling down the leaf covered decline and cutting me off. I skidded to a stop and scrambled up the slope as both parties of my friends turned to pursue, desperately trying to tag me, before I heard a deep roar emanating from the woods. I turned in time to see my friends stop cold and gaze at the saplings that bended-

FLASH

I was thirteen, dancing with my classmates at the spring equinox scholam ball. Parents and teachers had joined us, the auditorium a whirlwind of movement and the sound of clapping feet. On Demaratus, you lived as if you were going to die young, and the youth had to learn how to live just in case. A girl named Chandra danced with me. My best friend Galanand retired to go hang out with some of the boys out back. I did not go, I wanted to keep dancing, until Chandra left and I followed. Thunder rolled in the distance, as we-

FLASH

I fired seven shots, my firearm still too loud in my ears. Kronus watched with speculative expectation, hands behind his back. I was sixteen. I reloaded clumsily, nearly firing at the floor. Kronus took my autogun from me and gave me an anecdote of a Krieg trooper who had killed his own comrade during the invasion of Armageddon, and was left to hang along the walls as an Ork invader. I nodded, my eye still smarting from our sparring session not an hour ago. I was hungry, but I would not admit it. I needed to piss, but if I said so I would come back to a relentless challenge. The last had been two buckets of scalding water balanced on my hands as I ascended the stairway of the Indomitable.

FLASH

Lazarus tinkered with the Salamander, explaining in detail every different model and useage of this particular chassis known in the Imperial records. He noticed after recollection thirty two that I had begun to drift off, and warned me I could lose my rank as interrogator if I was not duly focused. I was seventeen. I helped him, watching him rerout the power cables to increase the engine efficiency. Afterwards he allowed me to eat as he began to tell me of his days in service to the Omnissiah. I drifted off every once in awhile, but his metallic chuckling of a small anecdote always brought me ba-

FLASH

Nineteen years old. Last year I had killed my first heretic. Kronus had finished teaching me on how to ritually banish a low-level warp entity with a small incantation, and I was restless. I was an avid reader, but that night I could not concentrate. I found Selencia in the hallway, and we spoke for awhile. She was a handful of years older, intelligent, attractive. She looked at me in a way I was not used to, but I enjoyed it. I had never kissed a woman before. That night was my first, and more. We never spoke of it to anyone.

FLASH

I was twenty five. Kronus had trusted me on a third assignment as he conducted business in the Ultima Segmentum. With my sanctified relic and a few well placed shots, I had ruined an underhive daemon worshiper's ritual. His lips cut off, he wore a necklace made of sewn tongues and the canines of children. He screamed in frustration at my as of yet unused name of Blasius Deckard, before the maelstrom of warp energies flowing out of the desecrated sacrificial circle. I will never forget aiming at his head, only to watch the hands of the warp reach out, and bore witness to his soul being ripped out of his body so violently I was stunned. The maelstrom had consumed him, and his fallen husk hit the floor as his mutants scrambled away. I knelt down to check the pulse of a hostage. She was dead-

FLASH

I wept over Kronus's body, having killed those responsible, and yet knowing it could not bring him back. For the first time, I had considered dabbling with warp treachery. Surely the end justified the means? Surely a man as stalwart as him could benefit the Imperium for another century. Why did the Emperor take our best, and leave only me?

FLASH

Brother Bracchus and I had killed the cultists, and I held my gun in the face of a naked courtesan. She was blonde, blue eyed, and scared. But I felt I detected more. Something-

FLASH

She was brilliant, beautiful, but unorthodox. She tripped but kept crawling. She laughed when she shouldn't. She drank too much. I helped her to her room after eating and dancing with her. Maybe I should recruit her myself. She did have some talent.

FLASH

We kissed under the moonlight, our dancing and banter unmatched. Her lips were soft, her sighs were intoxicating. Even the longlas that nearly took our heads did not ruin the realization I was infatuated. She was what I wanted, what I still want.

FLASH FLASH FLASH FLASH FLASH

I held her injured form more times than I could remember, under fire from the soulless necrons, pinned down during a chaos raid, hiding behind flimsy material cover as immaterial daemons rampaged in our direction. Each time she looked up at me, and she felt self. And I felt whole. I was shot, but she cried my name, and cared for me. Willing to risk her immortal soul to keep me alive. We faced a chaos marine, and killed my dark mirror, Tertius Vorn. We made it back to Pacitus. I wanted to keep it a secret. I wanted to ask her to-

FLASH

Emmaline and I found ourselves in gloom, a dank underground room with strategically placed lights, as if the power would cost too much or its consumption would garner too much attention. Demick stood there, or rather he was on a knee with two dozen others as a masked man spoke to them with a commanding tone. Demick had been stitched up, but still held minute burns across his visage. Somehow I knew this was weeks later. The room did not look evident from a hive, it was too civilized. I could not make out the masked man's words. I was too enraged. I looked at Emmaline, who had drawn back from me. She seemed unperturbed, but wary. "What did you just do to me?"

"Nothing much," she remarked coyly, but from my eyes she drew back another step. "I did not mean to see all of it. I just wanted a small peek. I"... even her false modesty was breaking as the implications flooded into her, and her sapphire eyes brimmed with tears. "I love you! Well, it's not like I love you, but I... I do! But I didn't mean..." She shook her head and reached for the sapphire choker at her neck, a gift I had given her on Moldar.

"The governor of Haephestus was not without his gratitude." The cloaked figure boomed, cutting us off. "The operation was a success. The Talons of the Black Hand appears to be one as well. But now it is time to put you to the test." In the back, men in shadow stood vigilantly. "You will have two days to sup and prepare, before the shuttle will arrive and take you to a Von Hagen vessel. Your destination is Moldar..."

I looked away from Hadrian embarrassed by the clumsy contact. I wondered if Emmaline-who-studies or Emmaline-who-practices would have done a better job. There was a slight trembling around us and I brought my emotions under control. Of course not, I was the best Emmaline even if I was far too humble to show it. I suspected that Hadrian would have words with us once he exited the nested mindscape but that was for later and frankly, only partially my problem.

The landscape shifted again and I found myself running across an assault course, probably in the belly of a starship. A psyker with an Imperial Sanctioning mark was lashing at Demick and a half dozen other mercenaries with similar features and coloration. I guessed they had all been recruited from whatever hell world he had come from, somewhere near the Damocles Gulf if the kroot was typical. Burning awls of mental energy lashed out only to vanish a few feet from each man as they encountered the warding necklaces we had been issued to protect us.

“They are training to fight psykers,” I told Hadrian as he caught hold of a rope and swung across a ventilation shaft. “Not that I am really that much of a threat.

“Move damn it! Demick shouted and the scene shifted again.

I found myself looking at a beautiful blonde woman through a high powered skype. She was stunning, but that couldn’t be me could it. Demick knelt behind a high powered las rifle. Despite his apparent concentration he turned to speak to us.

“The key is to control your breathing,” he explained, then pulled the trigger.

Warm autumn air and soft music played across me. I was at a Harvest Ball. Demick was dressed as a servant carrying a tray of drinks. He was wearing a mask that contained a compact pict recorder and was measuring distances and scouting hard points. The style of the richly dressed guests seemed to say Pacitus to me though I suppose the Imperium is vast and I could have been wrong. Demick moved through the ball, busing drinks from various guests before following another waiter back into the food preparation area. Demick closed the door and slid the vertical bolts to close it.

“Hey what are you doing?” a portly man in a spotless chefs tunic demanded. Demick drew a suppressed hand gun and shot the man twice, once in the heart and once in the head. The second waiter also revealed himself as a merc by pulling a gun. Both of the sous chefs fell within a heartbeat and the kitchen maid was just opening her mouth to scream when a bullet splashed a red ribbon of blood and brain across the wall. The whole operation took less than two seconds. Demick and his accomplice crossed the kitchen and opened the walk-in freezer, icy crystals blasting out into the air. The second merc pulled up his black and white tunic and began unwinding something from around his stomach. Of course I recognized it as tubular fiscolene but Hadrian knew such things better than me so I didn’t say anything. They marked out a rectangle on the floor of the freezer, then took cover behind several haunches of beef. There was a flash and crash of explosive detonation and as the smoke was whisked away into the recycler vent we saw a section of floor had been blasted clear and had fallen into the floor below. Demick and his companion leaped down into what appeared to be a data storage annex of some kind and began to pull data cores from racked cogitators and thrust them into a pair of expandable canvas sacks. I was no geographer but I recognized the skyline of Exkultis out of a narrow window at the end of the room.

“Any questions?” a severe looking man in mottled alpine camo demanded. I was squatting beside Demick and Hadrian as we examined a sand table that showed the progress of the Zephyr, with arrows and lines which a party girl like me could not possibly have interpreted as a plan of attack. Black armored landspeeders stood in ranks nearby beside temporary flakboard barracks. A transorbital shuttle with the crest of Van Hagen sat on ice crusted struts. I turned my head to see we were on a small island surrounded by a large icy lake, clearly a staging point of some kind.

“No sir!” The mercenaries chorused and then were up and moving heading to their speeders and checking their weapons. I could faintly hear the whistle of the Zephyr in the distance as it shouldered its way up toward the pass.

“I’m no judge but I think we should think about g…” a trio of kroot leaped from the woods, yelling weird ululating cries. Demick screamed and lifted his las carbine, hosing one of the aliens with las fire. A six legged cat like thing vaulted from behind the speeders and began ripping the commanding officer appart, pulling out ropes of entrails with its teeth, the horrible mouthfuls steaming in the frosty air.

“What in Terra’s name?” Hadrian, now dressed in mercenary armor and carrying an autogun demanded. A blast of heavy bolter fire ripped the cat thing to pieces but six kitchen hands wielding long knives sprang from the resulting offal, they were pale and corpse like their heads disfigured by the bullets that had killed them. One of them ran at me and slashed with his knife, drawing blood as raked up my arm. Hadrian put three rounds into him sending him staggering to the ground.

“His mind…. It is starting to collapse,” I gasped. Either Emmaline-who-knew-occult-lore was starting to lose control, or else Demick’s own mind was starting to react violently to our presence as we left the fog of his memory and reached the clearer recollections that led to his violent and temporarily suspended death. His own memories were starting to rally to try to destroy us, and everything else in this mindscape. One of the airspeeders was rising on its lift fans when a great pterodactyl like creature smashed into it, long claws reaching into the cabin to rip the driver free like the meat of a nut. Gunfire and smoke and the smell of death was everywhere. Demick was on his knees, fingers digging into the bloody sockets of his eyes as he wailed in agony. The very waters of the lake were blackening and growing choppy with omni directional waves, trying to crash in on the island from all directions.

“How do we get out of here?!” Hadrian demanded.

“You want Emmaline-who-explains, she is soooo much better at this sort of thing than I am,” I began. Hadrian slapped me across the face.

“We cannot stay here, tell me how to get us back to…. Wherever we were!”

“Wherever we were… Hadrian you are so smart!” I yelled. One of the kitchen hand corpses rushed me with a cleaver and I extended my hand. Clara Strong, equipped with the ceremonial sword she had used to help me raise the dead, stepped from my palm and in a fraction of a second grew to full size. She decapitated our attacker and charged into the panicked melee sword raised.

“Run for the speeders!” I called, lending what little help I could to Hadrian as he strode towards the speeder. His mercenary gear had gone and now he stood in full inquisitorial regalia, sword drawn. Dark unclean things were stirring beneath the crashing lake and dark tentacles began to slither up onto the shore. Hadrian pulled open the cab door of the nearest speeder, shot the mercenary trying to start it through the head and yanked his body clear.

“How does this help us?” he demanded.

“You should have asked for Emmaline-who-explains-things she is so much better…”

“Emmaline! You know how to get out of this place, tell me thrones sake!” he roared as I bundled into the back of the speaker. The whistle on the Zephyr screamed again, far closer this time.

“In Demick’s memory, Emmaline-who-is-all-of-us is on the train!” I yelled, swinging the heavy bolter mounted in the door and firing a long burst that, by pure luck, ripped one of the flying lizards from the sky.

“If you can get us to her, we can get out, but we have to do it before Demick dies, I don’t know what will happen if his mind collapses before we can get free!”

I set the throttle and ran my hands over the activation runes along the speeder. The promethium fueled vehicle roared to life and audibly lifted off the ground. Emmaline-with-false-modesty squeaked, but then fixed her hair and professed it was nothing. I pushed the level for thrust and she cried out as she was nearly set careening into the backseat, but with a will she kept herself seated as if she controlled gravity. It seemed Emmaline was getting more used to the mind-scape, though I was afraid it was almost too late. As we streaked up the wooded mountain, snow and crags dotting the landscape between the immense collection of pines, I found myself wondering if there was even a train up ahead.

Past a break in the trees, another speeding skidded into view from the left. Faceless mercs from Demick's memory held on as they aimed their submachine guns, the vehicle sliding closer to get a better shot at them. Emmaline was about to open fire with a lascarbine of her own, before there was a flash, and a deafening BOOM, and the merc's speeder was torn asunder. The mercs that had not died on impact flailed for dear life as they were shot out of the vehicle over a hundred kilometers per hour. Behind me, a fascimile of Lazarus hefted his Transuranic Arquebus and gave a nod my way.

Suddenly a large boulder rose up before us. I banked hard, the vehicle screeching in protest before I eased it back and redirected it to the tracks again. Above us, the sky was beginning to shimmer and blink, black to red in a coruscating horror show. Even the hills were beginning to undulate gently, as if reality itself was unraveling. The roaring wind was cut by a stormtalen helivehicle rotor blades, veering over them like a bird of prey adjusting its flight pattern so it could better swoop in for the kill. Stubber rounds knocked up snow and debris around us, and two hit the speeder, emperor protect with only cosmetic damage. Without warning, lighting engulfed the stormtalon, and smoke erupted from its body as it tumbled out of sight as quickly as it had come. I looked to my right, and above Emmaline-with-false-modesty was another Emmaline, robes of white and blue and holding her force staff, frost coating her golden hair.

Emmaline-with-false-modesty turned to look at me, and her outfit blinked to a deceptively conservative satin dress with a cleavage window and a slit showing a shapely leg, her hair long and straight, obscuring one eye in a classically sensual fashion. "Even in my mind, you imagine me?" She asked, clearly touched and preparing to show her appreciation physically. "I mean, of course you would. But still..."

"EMMA! CONCENTRATE!" I roared, spinning the steering on the speeder before we struck the opposite treeline, dirt and snow spewing out behind us. Luckily, that turn brought us in eyesight of the locomotive. To our left and right, trees began to whither and die as if both moisture and time was being sucked out of them. I slammed on the throttle, speeding up to outrun the collapsing mind. My glance told me Emmaline still wore her dress, but she also had a jump pack and a helmet on. A vox unit that had not been in my ear a moment before cackled with static.

"Keep her steady! Let go on my mark!" She told me. I sincerely hoped she knew what she was doing, setting the speeder on autopilot and unfastening myself. I placed my hand on the windshield and set my foot on the dash as we drew closer to the tail end of the train. Emmaline grabbed my hand, and I took hers and gripped tightly.

“Are you sure you know what you are doing?” Hadrian asked.

“Well I haven’t had alot of training, but I will struggle through,” I replied and then we jumped from the moving speeder. At the last moment something black and monstrous struck the flier, the jolt sending us spinning into the air. I caught a glimpse of something black an immense, some kind of flying lizard from Demick’s homeworld or his nightmares. The jet pack fired several short bursts correcting our spin as the train seemed to slide out beneath us in slow motion. The landscape below us was a nightmare of decay and madness. The train line seemed to ripple as unseen waves passed through the landscape, the lowering clouds were filled with snapping mouths, the bit flying lizards in two, showering the snow below with blood. A tunnel in the distance had the appearance of a sucking chest wound, opening and closing as though the mountain itself was bleeding.

“Where are we…” Hadrian’s voice crackled over the link but there was no time to speak. We hit the shattered window of the pool car like a cannon ball, crashing down into the water. The jetpack guttered as it went under boiling water around us and filled the air with the smell of the chlorine the trainstaff used. I slapped the release studs and it tore off my shoulders, careening away into a stand of palm trees, smashing several flat before shattering on the wall. We came up gasping for air. Something long and tentacular wrapped around my leg, and I squawked as I was pulled under, I turned in time to see a vast luminous eye that split into thousands of dagger sharp teeth. The tentacle dragged me down, an impossible depth in the real pool. Bolter rounds hissed through the water and burst among the teeth, obscuring the horror in a mist of dark blood. Hadrian’s strong hands grabbed me and hauled me up onto the beach, soaked and gasping for air.

Emmaline stood over the body of the Imperial General just as she had done in reality. Despite the chaos all around her she seemed completely oblivious to us. I hauled myself to my feet. Around us the car was rusting to dust, great holes appearing as the wind whipped the flaking metal away to expose it to the elements. The sand beneath our feet became tomb dust, sticky and coating us like flour.

“Run!” I yelled and pulled Hadrian with me as I sprinted towards Emmaline. She turned towards us with tears in her blue eyes. They widened for a moment and then we were tumbling through. Suddenly we were back in the Ecclesiarchy court room. Emmaline-who-heals things was kneeling over Demick’s mind form, furiously pumping his chest to keep his heart beating. The starched white wimple of her medicare outfit flapping like stubby wings. Arcanemmaline in her long ritual robes was knocking other Emmaline’s back with a long ivory staff. Demick’s body was running, like ink dispersing in water, black and viscous. He was screaming in terror his eyes wide as teacups. Several of the more inquisitive Emmalines were connected to him, their own substance flowing into his, their own screams adding to the sonic assault which broke over us. Arcanemmaline screamed a word of power the moment she saw us and slammed her staff down. A circle of dazzling energy sprung up around Demick, severing the inky tendrils attaching him to the other Emmalines, leaving herself and Emmaline-who-heals things the only ones inside the circle.

“Out! Out! Out!” Arcanemmaline shouted, her voice booming with authority. Hands grabbed Hadrian and lifted him, passing him hand over hand like a crowd surfer at a juvie rave. He passed upwards impossibly lifted into the air, lifting up towards the great stained glass window of the ambiguously uncertain stained glass window representing the Emperor of Mankind, the luminous portrait growing until it filled the entire universe. Hadrian twisted in time to see Arcanemmaline’s staff driving towards Demick’s throat in a death stroke, a sea of Emmaline’s screaming in terror below him, then the gripping hands pitched him straight into the stern and disapproving face of He On Terra.

I gasped with psychic backlash as Hadrian and I snapped back into the physical world. A terrible stench filled my nostrils and tendrils of smoke choked the air. A ten foot circle of expensive carpet had been blackened and burned, the embers of it still smoldering angrily. Every clock in the place was ticking a furious pace, the hands never advancing. Books and papers were scattered everywhere as though flung by a blast wave. Several vases of flowers were wilted, the water inside them boiling. Plasmic residue, a slick slime that combined the smells of the void and deep ocean coated everything inside the circle including the two of us. It was fair to say my white shift was ruined. Nor had I emerged unscathed, blood ran from both my nostrils and was welling up from my pores, a familiar side effect of psykanna over reach. I tasted almonds in the back of my throat, the bitter aftertaste of the poison that had killed Demick. I had pushed myself close to his death in order to keep the mind link going as long as I had, I had pushed it further than I should have. I felt weak and my body trembled with exhaustion. Any minute now the smoke would trigger the fire suppression systems but I didn’t have the energy in me to use my psy to snuff the smouldering carpet.

“That went well,” I said weekly, then vomited black bile over my lap and collapsed.

If I had a world for everytime Emmaline collapsed, I would own the ultima segmentum, and yet I never got comfortable with the feeling. I still ran to her, scooping her up in my arms and helping wash and tend to her, despite the amalgamation of weirdness and the strange closeness we had with our minds linked. I knew we would need to speak of it. Letting things like that go undiscussed was the same as allowing a wound or an underhive cult to fester. However, we had other, more grim tasks to deal with. While Emmaline slept, I contacted Lazarus and spoke in binary, using numbers rather than the screeches most tech priests used, to relay the information we had received so he might utilize his databanks.

However, I was not satisfied, yet I also could not leave Emmaline to sate my curiosity. Not without some protection, at least. I was ambivalent, at first, however I felt as if I needed to find more cognizant answers than the bastard Demick could show us. There was bound to be another in this metropolis that could give more information, and so with hesiation, I pulled out what was left of my luggage and checked the encrypted compartment beneath my personal belongings. Gingerly, I lifted out a consecrated scroll I had no expected to use, and here I was about to use it not for banishing a daemon, but protecting my lover and my second.

Unrolling it, I found the Stigmata Incantamentum. It was a ritual of Theosophamy, a sister study to Daemonology. The latter was used for direct conflict typically, or more specifically, controlling the warp's energies through force. Theosophamy was more esoteric and passive in its application of immaterium manipulation, and with a small cut to my finger and the proper incantation, I conducted it within the hotel room. It required psychic strength to be performed, but it was not an immensely taxing work. Concentration and the proper pronunciation was key, and within minutes I had warded the material plane within fifty meters from my exact spot in all directions. If a daemon approached and met the barrier, it would dispel, and if a proper heretic stepped into it, I would feel it and they would experience an immense sense of foreboding and vertigo. As for mercenaries, I planted a small, controlled explosive device by the door that could only be disarmed by the proper code 'Omega Lambda 7-X-L-9.'

Emmaline was privvy to it, but if she woke and I was gone, I would hope she believed I went to the authorities for a quick chat. It might be the only thing I could accomplish this night anyway.

I grabbed my coat and my weapons, and kept the scroll in my pocket just in case. I left my comm there. It was clean, as far as I was aware, but I did not wish to be tracked. Which meant I could take both comms and leave Emma without one, or leave both so she could call the authorities or even a hospital while I was away. I left a small note, telling her I would return soon, and locked the door behind me. I would first check the precinct, and work my way back from there. Wherever the shithole in the gleaming jewel of the north was, I would find it.

I was hungry when I woke up, the physician and psychic strain of the past few hours wearing on me at the cellular level. Hadrian was somewhere off to my right, too far away to order room service. I froze at the realization. He was there, not in the next room but blocks away. How was it possible that I could know that? Oh I don’t know, maybe because I had drawn him into my mind and given him a guided tour. My lips grew dry. Every psyker worries that at some point touching the warp, no matter how carefully, will leave a mark. Most psykers develop stigmata even mutations if they over reach repeatedly, and the physical type of corruption was, in some ways, the least distressing. I told myself that whatever had happened would fade and that there was nothing to worry about. I was too careful, too skilled to allow any kind of corruption to take root in my mind.

Hadrian had cleaned me up and tucked me in bed before he had gone out on whatever errand he was about and I scrabbled around until I found the ornate brass vox set by the side of the bed. I called room service and ordered an unreasonable amount of food then hung up slumping into the comfortable covers in exhaustion. I must have dozed off because I was awakened by the door bell and a cry of: “Room Service.” I was about to call them in when I saw the folded note Hadrian had left by the bedside. I picked it up and opened it, calling for them to bring the food in. My stomach dropped as I read the content of the note.

“STOP!!!” I screamed, all but leaping out of bed. I laced the words with my will and the door knob to the room froze in mid turn. I scrambled, trailing the sheet, out across the destroyed sitting room to find Hadrian’s explosive charge clamped to the door. Letting out a slow breath I unhooked the trigger plate and peeked through the doorway. A young waiter, sweating profusely, stood frozen his hand on the door plate. I unclenched my mind and pulled open the door. The waiter sagged and gave me a look. Then another look as he realized I was naked but for a sheet that I had clasped rather inadequately to my chest.

“Madmioselle?” he stammered, his eyes huge and shocked. His nose wrinkled as he caught the scent of the psyburned carpet. I gave him a languid smile and a wink, then grabbed the silver and brass cart of food he was pushing and pulled it into the room, slamming the door behind me. I sat for a minute leaning my backside against the door, then re-engaged the manual lock and carefully reconnected the explosive. Certain death averted, I read the rest of the note while shoving a hot grox bun into my mouth and washing it down with a half a bottle of champagne that I didn’t bother to decant into a glass. Reaching out with my mind I touched the ward Hadrian had created. It was always interesting to examine the work of another psyker. Hadrian was very workman like, everything done just so and by the book. He lacked the artistic flair I employed but then our powers were vastly different. I would not have been made an Inquisitor if I had been found by the Black Ships as a child. The best I could have hoped for was the rather miserable existence of a sanctioned psyker, or perhaps to have been condemned to go to the Throne itself. I lacked the inherent discipline of someone like Hadrian, not matter how much power I had at my disposal. Time and study had gone a long way to increasing my power but ‘workman like’ would never be applied to my psy-craft.

Wearily I pushed the cart to the bedside and then climbed back under the covers, shoveling pastries and sauteed tuberites into my mouth. I felt I should be doing something, but there was no way I was up to an auto seance or a reading of tarot just yet. I thought about what I had learned from Demik. It was irritating that his mind had collapsed. I could have kept him ‘alive’ for as long as I wanted if we had not pressed him so hard. That had been difficult at the time as the temptation for just a little more information had been too much. Well it was done now and he had managed to outlive his body by at least a half hour. Well if psychic means were out, there were always the physical ones. I picked up the phone and patched myself through one of the hopefully still secure call forwarding services Hadrian had set up, and began making some calls.