With the help of the Cult Mechanicus monastery, Cat is quickly set aboard a Mechanicus starship that heads almost directly for the Panopticon, the center of Mechanicus operations within the sector. A massive orbital platform, marking a complex path around several of the Lathe forge-worlds, the Panopticon is probably the largest manmade object in the sector. And it is owned completely by the Mechanicus... though that doesn't mean it's owned by the same faction of the Cult Mechanicus.
Cat is met almost right away by Magos Hieronymous-98120. The Magos's robes almost completely conceal the fact that little more than his brain and some of his internal organs remain. Nevertheless, he greets Cat politely. May the Machine Spirit grace you with logic and forbearance, Tech-Priest. Welcome to the Panopticon. Inquisitor Moth informed us of your arrival. We have a cogition-chamber prepared to receive the data."
Cat bows in greeting and responds, "May the Machine God see that your joints are perpetually oiled." She nods to the announcement that the chamber is ready. "I look forward to being able to unravel this mystery."
"As do I. I... dislike mysteries that arise from enemies of the Imperium. At least those that are not yet solved." Hieronymous-9820 inclines his head, and gestures for Cat to walk with him; his hand is little more than a module with several mechanical tendrils extending from it. And he walks with a curious gait. This, of course, would not disturb any true Tech-Priest. "What is the nature of the data?" he asks.
The only attention Cat pays to Hieronymous-9820's gait or upgrades is to admire the workmanship and make notes as to how they might be useful in her own life. "It is a number. One more massive than I can come close to parsing."
"I see. Well, then. We shall soon plumb it's numerological depths. Here we are." The two stand before an immense circular door on the periphery of the Panopticon, and as they approach the door splits into dozens of pieces, sliding back and spinning open and clearing the way for them.
The chamber beyond is, like the rest of the corridors, dark and virtually unfinished, as the tech-priests and enginseers in attendance are all but melded to the machinery. There is a single circular screen in the center of the room, and the screen is surrounded by two tiers of enginseers who are plugged directly into the cognition engine. Hieronymous-9820 steps forward into the room, standing upon a dias that lies just a few feet below the edge of the circular screen. Come, Tech-Priest. We must seal the room behind us."
The immensity of the chamber is awe-inspiring and she steps forward, letting the door be sealed behind her. The door spins closed and re-seals behind her. The room is silent but for the hum of the cooling outlets and the faint hiss and crackle of the screen. Hieronymous holds out his tendril-hand for the data-slate Cat carries, as the chorus of enginseers begin to chant the Rites.
Cat is almost reluctant to hand the slate over, examining the feeling thoughtfully even as she turns it over to the Tech-Priest. Her eyes scan the room, ears drinking in the Rites as much as she can. This is a breathtaking display.
The Magos's tendrils simultaneously plug into the data-slate and the console before him, as light shines down from the cognition engine in the domed ceiling, filling the room with slightly more light as the enginseers' Gregorian chants rise to a crescendo and the Machine Spirit is invoked in it's full glory. On the screen above, all the tens of thousands of digits flowing smoothly as the cognition engine reads each and every one into itself, guided by the enginseers.
Hieronymous shortly hands the data-slate back to Cat. "It should not be too long now," he says, folding his "hands" under his robes again. "I am gratified to see Andrea Moth sending this data to us, as we would know best of anyone in Calixis as to what to do with it or learn what it might portend. Just as I am gratified to see a member of the Inquisition trusting one of our number so."
Lost in a moment of near-ecstasy at the workings of the Mechanicus' machines and priests, Cat's breathing is swift and shallow and her eyes slide over the seemingly-endless stream of digits, hoping that perhaps she can decipher something. She takes the slate back and tucks it into her robes again, flashing her brands for a moment without meaning to. "I find that being part of one of the Inquisitor's retinues allows me to see the way the Machine Spirit is treated. It is a fascinating study."
It does not take long at all, in fact. After a few minutes, the enginseers falling silent to focus completely upon their work, the screen goes from hazy white to a harsh blue, a soft but urgent chime sounding in the chamber. HERETECHNIC DANGER, the screen reads. CARNIFEX DATUM. INFOSOLATION REQUIRED. CARNIFEX DATUM.
Hieronymous looks startled, and is actually speechless for a moment, when a louder chime sounds in the chamber, and he straightens. "Yes, Lord?" he asks humbly, the warning chime dampening in volume.
The voice that answers seems to speak completely in some kind of binary, not any language that Cat speaks, and likely not any sort of 'natural' language at all. Yet it sounds authoritative, and quite insistent. The conversation Hieronymous has with it seems distinctly one-sided. "Yes, Lord.... Of course. Should we--? ... No, then, of course, it shall be done...."
The announcement makes Cat jump a little bit, eyes flicking around the room, tensing at the blaring chimes. She works not to fidget (such an emotional thing to do!) as the Magos has his strange conversation.
Hieronymous is quiet for a few moments, seemingly studying the words on the circular screen for a few moments, before dropping his voice. "We should leave this room," he says quietly to her. "That was... one of the Lords. The Lords Dragon. It was quite insistent that we follow procedure. Infosolation protocols are to be undertaken here."
The quiet urgency is more blood-chilling than anything else the Magos could have said. Cat's hand goes briefly to the data-slate, wondering if there was a copy left on it. "As you say, brother."
Hieronymous steps down from the dias with Cat. Behind them, the room is dimming, the screen flickering and dying. There is the his of escaping steam as the cognition engine is drawn up out of the chamber.
Outside, as the doors spin closed behind them, a handful of junior tech-priests are gathered. "Mind-wipe everyone within the chamber," the Magos says. "The cognition engine is to be cleansed and purified. May the Machine Spirit forgive us for this trespass." After the tech-priests depart, Hieronymous sighs, reaching under his robe and bringing out what looks like a hatchet that has half a mechanical gear for a head. The haft extends with a fast, pneumatic hiss into staff-length, and he leans upon it heavily. "Forgive me, sister," he says, sounding tired even through his vox-grille. "But I must ask this in order to gauge what it is we have seen. You encountered Necrons on Vaxanide, yes? And a pariah was involved?"
The mention of mind-wipe causes another moment of startlement and something edging toward concern. She considers closely, and finally says, "There was a pariah involved. And the Necrons were cleansed."
Hironymous says, "I see. Then there may yet be time. The Pariah Gene that causes humans to become Pariahs, to become empty, soulless voids within the Immaterium, is hereditary, and generally recessive or dormant. In one in a billion, it becomes dominant, and within one in a billion of them, it becomes active.
"The data-slate you have holds a piece of data that was known in the latter days of the Dark Age of Technology, and uncovered by the Mechanicus several hundred years ago. It is a 169,966-digit prime number, specifically the primorial of 392113. It is also, somehow, a key to the human genome for finding and unlocking the Pariah Gene in those for whom it is dormant, even those for whom it is recessive. We learned of it's importance when we learned that the Necrons were taking Human pariahs and urning them into... into near-perfect undead killing machines. We have kept it secret and, we thought, safe for all this time. It is called the Carnifex Datum."
Cat's eyes widen despite herself and her fingers tighten on the data-slate in her pocket. "That is... abominable." Her mind races. Moth will wish to know of this, and Cat herself wants this data to die, which feels heretical in some deep part of her mind.
Hieronymous says, "Aye, it is. It violates every tenet that we of the Cult Mechanicus hold... although some might feel it doesn't violate enough tenets.... But that is besides the point. Who possessed the Carnifex Datum?"
Without even thinking, Cat says, "The heretic."
"And the heretic -- do you have anything to link him to the Necrons in any way?"
Cat nods silently, mind still racing.
"May I see them, please?"
There's not even a hint of the hesitation she feels as Cat pulls out the slate and the metal strips. "There were also bracelets, but I do not have them."
Hieronymous wordlessly examines the metal strips, and then actually sighs, handing them back. "Necron. It is as the Lord Dragon feared, then. The Necrons -- at least the Necrons of Vaxanide -- have access to the Carnifex Datum. They can, in theory, make armies of Pariahs. This can only result in blood, I fear. We must return you to the Inquisitor as soon as possible. I warn you that she and the members of your cell have been authorized to know about the Carnifex Datum. The Lords Dragon will be wroth if others learn of it."
Cat nods and says, "Thank you for the information, Magos. I will take this knowledge back to them." She pauses, "It will serve as further reason that the cleansing was needed."
"Come. We must not take up any more time."
Cat is fitted for the mechadendrite set, a pair of instrument-laden arms that attaches to her cyber-mantle, and hurriedly sent aboard the ship to return to vaxanide. She is permitted to retain the data-slate, as the Tech-Priests have reprogrammed it to be able only to compare the Carnifex Datum to similar numbers, and to explode when tampered with. She also keeps the Necron metal 'keys.' Cat arrives on Vaxanide mere hours after Havelock and Spike have returned themselves.
The mechandrite set installation leaves Cat distracted in the extreme, leaving how to use them and examining them in as much depth as she can manage on the trip back. She makes her way to meet her companions with all due speed upon landing.
Not long after the three are back on Vaxanide, Moth calls them together in a conference room in the Ecclesiarchy cathedral "We've been fortunate," she says by way of introduction. "There appear to be no actual Necron warriors stationed on this world that the Deathwatch has been able to find so far. Of course that leaves the rather large Necron facility, with it's attendant scarabs and tomb spyders, and whatever it is that they're guarding. We have reason to suspect that there are other Necron facilities here as well."
Spike nods silently. Under the ubiquitous dark cloak the observant can see he's sporting a very nice new rifle, and a different bodyglove. Aside from that he's in his usual good mood. He tends to grin every time his china-blue-eyed gaze falls on Havelock's broad-brimmed, wrinkled hat.
Havelock has shed his previous disguise and moved up to something more... distinctive. Instead of the insignialess Guard uniform, he wears a mandarin-collared tunic under a coat of slick black mesh armor, loose black breeches and high boots, and a voluminous black storm-coat with plated shoulders fringed with faded and tattered purity seals. The only splashes of color are his own fair hair, and a bright red sash tied around the mail coat's waist. In his left hand he carries a scabbarded sword-- obviously not the same one he departed with-- and the other is holding a hat with an exagerrated brim. Fortunately the haberdasher was able to flatten it out after all.
Cat waits for Moth to speak before she lays the re-programmed data-slate and the strips of metal on the table. The Mechandrite arms are moving rather unnerviingly as she speaks, the Tech-Priest not yet perfect at keeping them still. "These things are more of a threat than we suspected, Inquisitor. The data contained on the slate... it is the Carnifex Datum." She waits to see if there is a reaction.
Spike tilts his head curiously -- the name doesn't ring a bell.
Havelock says nothing. Doesn't sound familiar.
Moth waits for Cat to continue for a moment, before saying, "I've never heard of a 'Carnifex Datum' before, but considering 'Carnifex' means 'butcher' in High Gothic, I don't imagine this is going to be very favorable...."
After no one seems to understand what it is, Cat says, "It is a piece of data meant to unlock the gene that creates pariahs." She looks at all of them, "This is how the pariah corrupted these people."
Spike nods slowly, then shakes his head, "How does it link to the bracelets?"
Cat thinks, "I believe the bracelets were a marker. Not a source of infection."
Spike says, "Why the sting then?"
"For that matter, are they even doing it correctly," Havelock says, struggling to raise his voice enough to be heard; his throat is ruined, voice a husk. "The Pariahs are normally indistinguishable from humans... not rotting mutants."
Moth clears her throat, "I've had the bracelets examined...."
Spike gives Havelock a puzzled glance, then looks inquiringly at the Inquisitor.
Moth says, "They are not directly related to pariahs. They inflict the wearer with a form of the Plague of Undeath. The wearer doesn't have to be a pariah. It's possible that Janus was pursuing two simultaneous missions: one involving the Carnifex Datum, and one involving Necron use of the Plague of Undeath. The reasons why for both are still obfuscated -- though it's not hard to explain Necron interest in the Carnifex Datum.""
Havelock nods.
Cat nods as well, head down.
Spike sounds uncertain, "So... the pariah created undead? And was looking to create more pariahs? What about that -- that thing in the middle of its forehead?"
"Animus Speculum," Havelock rasps.
Spike says, "And that means...?"
"Some kind of animus speculum, I imagine, Spike. Designed specifically to allow a pariah to mingle with normal humans without them wanting to kill him or, at the very least, notice him. Unfortunately, that leaves the Plague of Undeath." Moth opens a small stasis-box, and sets one of the offending bracelets on the table.
The psyker whispers, "It's a weapon. Ordinarily a psychic blank radiates a null field in the Warp. Think of it like a shutter. A lens. Lets him use it like a weapon."
Spike frowns, staring at the bracelet with distaste, then turns and nods once to the psyker.
Cat has gone quiet as Moth explains the bracelets, and then says, "Is it possible he was not aware what the Carnifex Datum did and it was used to transform him?"
Spike says, "If so, he must have known by the time the Animus Speculum was inserted, surely?" He looks at the Inspector, adding, "Has the chirurgeon responsible for that particular abomination been aprehended yet?""
Moth is very quiet for a moment. "After intensive interrogation of the chirurgeons' guild of Vaxanhive," she says slowly, "we have determined that the chirurgeons had nothing to do with Wilhelm Janus having an animus speculum. Above and beyond it beyond beyond their technical capabilities from what we've seen while you were away."
"Why the cover-up, then," Havelock whispers.
Spike sighs, his shoulders slumping a bit, "So... whoever did that is still out there. Throne blind us, that stinks like a three-day corpse."
"The chirurgeons were operating under orders from Braddock, though we now know that they were the orders of Commissar Jenghiz. They were pawns, little more, I'm afraid."
Havelock nods, swallows with some difficulty.
Moth folds her hands, still watching the bracelet as if it's going to walk off on it's own. "The wood of the bracelet was made here on Vaxanide. The metal core is Necron. So they were made here. But Janus is not. He came from somewhere else."
Spike sighs softly. "Ah. So the pariah has help on some other world. Is there any way to find out from ship records?"
Cat says, "And he has had help here."
Spike nods, "Necrons."
Moth nods. "Yes. Necrons here, and... something else, elsewhere. We have managed to track back what planet he boarded the ship which brought him here."
The Tech-Priest nods and asks, "Are we to be sent there?"
Moth nods. "Yes. And I want you to go quietly, covertly. Put together a cover story you are comfortable with, and I will arrange for proper documentation which will stand at least cursory examination. The Albion will take you there directly with a falsified charter and itinerary. We do not have the time for more complicated ruses."
Spike glances up in a bit of surprise, but then simply nods.
Moth takes the bracelet, and puts it back into the stasis-casket. "I'll give you whatever information we have about Janus's movements when you decide your cover story. Please be quick. I need you on your way to Fenksworld by tomorrow night."
"Fenksworld," Havelock whispers, "Which hive?" Oh for the Emperor's sake, he thinks, don't tell me--
"Nova Castillia. We didn't notice any of his movements in any of the other hives on Fenksworld. Thank the Emperor."
Spike looks a bit confused within the cowl. Why would the Inquisitor hold out on information until they'd decided on a cover story?
Thank the Emperor indeed, Havelock thinks with an inward sigh. He was sure it was going to be Volg. "Easy enough then," Havelock rasps. "We're stubjacks. Bounty hunters."
Moth nods, smiling a little. "Good choice. All right, I will have the documents written up. As I said, I want you to do this covertly. Do not reveal yourselves as Inquisitorial Acolytes unless absolutely necessary."
To Cat, Havelock whispers, "You're gonna have to hide the vestments somehow. The mask is fine, but the robes..." He shakes his head. "Get yourself a shitty robe," he rasps.
Cat starts to stiffen as if afraid Havelock is going to suggest she not wear vestments at all, but relaxes. "I will do so."
Spike wishes a bit wistfully they could get those Rosette things Havelock had mentioned... then smiles ruefully. They're probably hard to hide or something.
"Not red," Havelock insists, quiet. "And the dirtier the better. Trust me... on Fenksworld, nobody is going to notice."
As if reading Spike's mind, Moth says, "I will have the Rosettes for you when you return, but for this mission I need to see you perform without wielding inquisitorial authority from day one. And it's better to do this covertly as it is."
Havelock pauses at the mention of Rosettes-- that is not an insignificant bequest.
Cat nods to Havelock, but she, too, is caught by surprise by the rosettes.
Spike's cowl tilts towards Moth, and he grins. That's a fine reason to do an excellent covert job! He would have anyway... but it's nice to have such a blessing to return to.
Moth continues, "I will confess something to you. I do not have the support in Calixis that I thought I would. By coming here to join the Tyrantine Cabal directly, in order to best pursue the problem of the Tyrant Star, I have alienated myself from some other Inquisitors. I am already... unpopular with the Puritan faction Inquisitors, and some of the Radicals are not fond of me as well. In particular I need you to be wary of one Witchfinder-General Gunther Apollo. He is a Puritan, a member of the Ordo Malleus, and would seek to inconvenience myself and mine, even while seeking answers to the riddle of the Tyrant Star. Be wary of him and his Acolytes."
Cat nods silently. She knew upon accepting this that not all Inquisitors were the same and that not all was quiet amongst them.
"And so you are the core of my support. Giving you Rosettes are not only a sign of trust, but I warn you they may turn you into targets as well. Which is why I want to assure myself that you can operate together under cover."
Havelock says, only, "Watch your back, Inquisitor."
Spike frowns thoughtfully, considering... the Puritans wish to destroy all the information about the Tyrant Star, right. He nods slowly to the Inquisitor, murmuring, "As the Savant whispers, Inquisitor."
Moth smiles quietly. "Thank you. When I get information on Apollo's acolytes, I will forward it to you. For now, though, focus on finding what Janus was doing on Fenksworld."
"We'll leave now," Havelock whispers.
Cat nods, already thinking about where to get different robes.
Spike nods and follows the psyker out. Once they're in another room he pushes his cowl back enough that his shadowed face can be seen, "Havelock, what happened to your voice?"
"Had an attack of memory," is all the psyker will say in answer to that.
Spike raises an eyebrow, then cheerfully adds, "Emperor's blessing on you getting it back soon, then, considering you're our 'face'!" He shakes the hood back into its usual position on himself and continues padding after the others. He grins as he adds, "Like the new prosthetics, Tech-Priest!"
The tentacles shift and curl behind Cat as she nods to Spike, "Many thanks. I am still learning the skill of controlling them. When I have them mastered, I can begin replacing my hands."
Spike blinks at that, considering for a moment... then nods slowly, "Emperor's blessing on your endeavors too then, Cat."
"You're gonna have to keep those concealed," Havelock rasps, "As best you can. Nobody's going to believe a Mechanicus is bounty hunting. But someone with augmetics isn't so rare. Especially on Fenksworld, Asscrack of Calixis." It's difficult to tell, but Havelock's stiff hypnoconditioned accent appears to be mellowing out somewhat; more reminiscent of the cadences used by Calix highborne.
Spike snorts amusedly at that.
Cat nods and carefully folds the tentacles down along her back, adjusting her robe to try to hide them.
Spike idly checks his rifle -- it's new but he was careful to darken it entirely. It shouldn't show up unless he pulls it out from under the cloak.
Havelock removes his hat once they reenter the spaceport proper. "We'd best hurry. I wouldn't count on the Albion's captain to wait for us."
Spike murmurs, "Ten, fifteen minutes?"