Dark Heresy: Cell Achates

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Merrez stepped down along with the rest, his gas mask, being rather used to shuttles and the quick deployment that was needed of them from time to time. As it was his turn to state his name, he snapped to a salute, and rattled off the whole thing. "Sargent Merrez Kora of the Haryzan 259th Siegebreakers, sir!" He wondered for a moment if they would be asking why they were here, and if so, if they should actually tell the truth, or make up something about being a special Arbites squad or something.
 
Phillipe disembarked, his nose wrinkling over the stink of the promethium, the smell stronger than the spaceports he was used too, poorly maintained promethium lines perhaps? Regardless, when their turn came up he moved up to the scribes and removed his dataslate from his pocket and called up the whole teams credentials, minus the inquisitorial assignations. "My name is Phillipe Kelman, assigned Administratum representative of this party, here are the credentials for the rest of the party." He looked at his colleagues, "if we could also be informed as to the location of our cargo?"
 
Wilhelm stood amongst the cluster of the party listening to the pen-pusher being a pen-pusher and expecting to get out of this without much difficulty, being of noble birth he knew that he should rankle over this, but being a mutant he expected nothing better, this made for a fine situation where he just didn't really care. He studied his surroundings instead for anything out of place.
 
The scribe started scribbling on his parchment, as the Acolytes rattled off names, pausing only to accept the credentials and review them. The guard, upon hearing Merrez' rank, snapped to attention with a curt, "Sir!" before the scribe, without breaking his eyes from his work, said, "Not one of the General's regiments." With a faint, "Oh," the guard sheepishly returned to at-ease. "Still, welcome to Scaevola, sir."

Wilhelm looked around, observing the landing pad. He noticed one of the older scribes, one without a rebreather, was seized by a coughing fit, spitting up black phlegm, doubtless the reason why so many working here had rebreathers.

The scribe finished reading and recording the credentials and handed them back to Phillipe. "Warehouse B-17, Inventory Serial Code: C593-K3. Your cargo will be held there for one month from today. Retrieve it before then or its contents will be forfeit to the Port Authority. Don't forget your Inventory Serial Code." To the guard he said, "Everything checks out, move to step five."

"What is the purpose and expected duration of your visit?" The guard asked.
 
The Arbitrator finally chimed in. "We've been called in to assist in an ongoing investigation. We might need to stay on planet for a while." Iudex looked towards the non-Arbites members of the party. "Just esscorting in some specialists to help on the case." Iudex posed himself tall with the lower half of his face doing its best to portray 'and yes that's all you need to know'.
 
"I see...." The guard said. He looked to the scribe, who simply looked back and shrugged, not sure how to deal with this divergence from the script. "Um... wait a minute, please." The guard said before turning away and apparently activating a micro-bead. "Sarge, I have a squad of arbitrators here.... An 'ongoing investigation'.... two of them, and some 'specialists'.... Gate D.... Yes sir." He turned back. "If you would come with me, sirs, my sergeant would like a word." The guard led them through the gate and into the building. Inside was a broad thoroughfare, teeming with people and vehicles.

Suddenly, an open-backed Salamander, stripped of weapons and painted the same light-gray as the guards' armor rolled up. A guard, his left pauldron with an insignia of sergeant marked in red hopped out. He took off his helmet and rebreather and saluted the guard who escorted the Acolytes in. "At ease, Cadet. Return to your post, I'll take things from here."

"Yes, Sergeant."

"Welcome to Scaevola, Arbitrators. I'm Sergeant Vinker, Monument Gendarmerie." Vinker offered a hand to shake to whoever would accept it. "My cadet tells me that you're here for an investigation. I'd be happy to assist any way I can. I can arrange for a transport, escort, guide, anything you need. Just ask."

Spaceport Thoroughfare
The indoor road is a simple, unadorned concrete, wide enough to accommodate four or five tanks. The arched ceiling is at least twenty meters above them and studded with skylights, allowing sunlight to illuminate the area; deactivated glow-globes stud the walls for nocturnal illumination. Several other gates to other landing pads can be seen, with people flowing in from other landing pads. Vehicles move along the thoroughfare as well as people, including Sentinel Power-lifters, Industrial cargo-haulers, and occasional worker shuttle. Some of the gates are larger than others, allowing Sentinels and even cranes to move cargo into and out of the thoroughfare. The hallway echoes with the chatter of people, the growl of industrial grade engines, and the occasional blaring announcement from speakers.

Sergeant Vinker
Vinker is of average height and build, has brown military-style hair, brown eyes and a young face that makes him look younger than he really is. At his waist hands a stun baton and a holster containing an ornate bolt-pistol.
 
Galliath felt eyes press upon his back once he left the relative safety of the voidship, and decided that the safest place to stay in within the group would be close to Elleantra. She seemed the most capable in fighting within these areas, plus no one with a brain would dare to fight her with her flamer close by. When he well heard the introduction of the Sergeant, he knew what he'd ask for. It was simple and would help them out relatively well: "Lucas Fantz, local merchant in the City. We've been told that he has information we could possibly require for the investigation. We may also require an entrance for some of our comrades to enter the Underhive, in search for the mutants and... speaking with them, regarding what they believe's going on. So if you could do a search on where Lucas Fantz is directly located, we'd appreciate it, and have the location of known entrances to mutant's residences mapped out for us." It was of course brash of him to talk like that, even for Larl's standards, but he didn't want to drag out time with normal chatter. This needed to be finished quickly, and discretly if possible.
 
If Wilhelm had not been in front of a potential group of hostiles he'd have slapped Larl upside the head. He wondered if next their lovely Adepta Sororitas would strip naked and run through the streets going 'Imperial Inquisition! Bear your assholes for inspection.' Not only had they now drawn, and made obvious, what they were investigating, but drawn the local guard forces attention to them if this 'monument gendarmie' had anything to do with this their own movements just became a hundred times harder.

The real problem Wilhelm noticed was that the Salamander and it's occupants arrived too quickly. Much too quickly.
 
Sergeant Vinker nodded. "Of course. Give me a moment and I'll arrange some transportation." He returned to the Slamander and exchanged words with the crew before returning. "I have a chimera and escort en route and will meet us at the spaceport hub. They'll take you to Spire Fantz or wherever you need to go. The hub isn't far. I can walk you there." He started leading them down the spaceport thoroughfare. "You mentioned an underhive. Monument doesn't have one, a common off-worlder mistake. The city may look impressive, but it's still young; the city's second strata was built only in the last decade. As for mutants, the Gendarmerie does a good job of keeping them under control, along with all the unranked. So, what do you believe is happening to mutants here?"
 
Iudex let out a loudly fake and unconvincing cough as the searan to lead them away. "You know, we really need to go find a warehouse first. Some of our equipment was sent ahead of us, and we must retrieve it first." The uncovered portion of his face remained as emotionless as possible, but under his helmet his eyes would give away a hint of anger. "So, if you don't mind. We will go retrieve our kit, and then we'll seek out your assistance Sergeant Vinker. And as far as the mutants of your world are concerned, I'm sorry to say that information is strictly need to know at this moment." As his words fell he gave a look to the Chirurgeon. "Don't concern yourself with it at this moment. If we find that your assistance is required, we will seek you out. But thank you for arranging transport. Much appreciated."

With a slight grin, Iudex began walking in the direction he had been told his weapons were being stored. He always felt more confident talking to local authorities when he was armed. His badge gave him authority. His rifle gave him the power to enforce it.
 
"Of course. The warehouses are over that way, just before the hub and on the left." He pointed down the thoroughfare in the direction he was headed. "Good hunting, Arbitrators." Vinker saluted and stepped back into the Salamander. It rolled off, down the thoroughfare in the opposite direction.
 
As the Sergeant headed off, Canto would analyze the general area to see how people had taken the fact that they were actively looking for mutants, were unarmed, and had told off the sergeant in charge of this place...
 
In between the teeming masses passing by and the constant echoing chatter and noise surrounding them, it was impossible to tell if anyone had head their intentions, or even if anyone was listening in the first place.
 
The Acolytes moved on to the warehouse that Sergeant Vinker pointed out, passing through a large sliding gate flanked by a pair of gendarmes. The warehouse was expansive, housing stacks of cargo pods in neatly organized rows. A desk manned by scribes hemmed them in from the rest of the warehouse. Dozens of workers could be seen patrolling the corridors between the stacks, and the occasional Sentinel Power-lifter could be seen stalking through the stacks. A large 'B-17' could be seen stenciled onto the floor in front of the desk.

A cheery female scribe greeted them from behind the desk, "Welcome to Warehouse B-17. Please make sure that you're in the right warehouse before providing your Inventory Serial Code. How can I help you today?"
 
Annoyed at his lack of success, Canto silently prayed to the Ommnissiah as he followed after Iudex. As he walked, he cocked his head towards the rest of his companions, beckoning them to follow...
 
Merrez stepped up the the surprisingly cheery scribe, and gave her their number, before leaning against the table to wait. In the Guard, at least they got to be armed all the time... But then again, there they always had to carry all their gear. Always made him a bit happy that he wasn't in any of the heavy weapons squads.

He lit up a lho-stick as he waited, and looked around the large room. A sentinel could be useful... Maybe next time they were here.
 
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"Alrighty then. Just wait a moment and we'll have your cargo out in a jiffy." She entered the code into a nearby cogitator and, consulting its result, wrote something down on a piece of parchment and handed it to another scribe who headed into the sea of cargo pods. "Just remember, we'll keep your belongings safe here for 30 days. Be sure to pick it up before then, or we'll have to take it. If that worries you, don't! The duration of your cargo's stay can be extended by up to 60 days if you fill out the M4-CDE form and pay a small fee at the main office. Of course you'll have to also fill out a E7-CE form and a ODC7 form, a SaS Consent form, submit to an official search of your goods, then we have to fill out...."

About fifteen minutes later, a worker in a sentinel power-lifter carrying their cargo pod arrived, along with the scribe who was sent out to find it. "...then you must swear the Scaevolan Oath in front of at least 17 ministers, each with traceable lineage to- oh, your cargo has arrived."
 
Elleantra offered a stern frown as the cargo pod was delivered. Rather annoyed at the fact that the administratorial clerk was so obsessed with the many levels of beurocracy, she would only wait a few more momnts until the pod was dropped. "Open it up." The statement was directed at nobody in particular, though her tone betrayed her annoyance. She crossed her arms, only slightly bothered by the amount of time it took for that simple task.
 
The scribe unlatched the doors and they swung open. Inside was all their weaponry, just as they had left it, along with Wilhelm's bike and their armorer servitor, deactivated and hanging limp in the back of the pod.
 
Seeing the opportunity to be reunited with his weaponry, Larl didn't hesitate to walk into the cargo pod, and looked over towards where he stored his 'pile' of equipment. After turning his eye over towards the right corner, he spotted his Autogun, just as he had left it. He swooped it up and slung it over his right shoulder, and took ahold of his two sacred vials of unguents. What else he had when it came for equipment, was already attached to him in form of his mechadendrites. Remembering them, he looked over his shoulders and offered them a light smile. He was very glad to have them around. They were like his own children, yet portable and lacked the basic human needs that he had. Larl looked over towards the Scribe as he began to walk out of the Cargo pod, approaching her calmly. He had remembered what she was saying up until the Cargo had arrived, and was impressed with her knowledge and -most of all- confidence in what she was saying. Larl simply had to know how she could've remembered them: "I must say, your knowledge of these things are, extra ordinary. You wouldn't mind if I asked, whether or not you have a Memory Implant? If not, I must give you credit for remembering the forms in the correct orders like you just did."
 
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