Compliance

Chapters

Chapter Two
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
INTERLUDE
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter One
Chapter Three

Chapter Two

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Chapter Four

One of the worst foes for any military officer to face is waiting. The silent wait for an advance on the front to be made, the anticipatory wait to call the order for a Ratling sniper to pick off a target meters away, the terrifying wait for the enemy to make a move and eventually overwhelm unprepared forces. Waiting was an enemy of many faces, each with its own hurdles to face and ways of defeating it. The tedious wait in a lobby to be called in for a meeting has no such weaknesses, and has the resounding sensation of boredom as its weapon. There is no proper way to combat it, just surrender and admission to defeat.

Yamira Kalov would not accept that defeat, even though she had been seated in the Office of Relations lobby for the past twenty minutes with naught but the sound of a ticking clock to break apart the deathly silence. If only she had the abilities psykers had, then she would have simply exploded the thing with her mind to end her annoyance of it. Filthy abhumans they may have been, at least they had advantages and powers akin to the God-Emperor himself, though nowhere near his level. Yet still, here she was, a bored and irritated normal human, stuck dealing with the incessant tick-tock of the clock on the wall.

A unicorn opened the main door, carrying a clipboard in his magical grasp. “Commissar Kalov?” he said. “The Overheads are waiting for you. Follow me, please.” Finally, freedom from an eternal wait. Yamira stood up and followed the unicorn into the corridors. She took a moment to properly study the creature, now being the second of these ponies she had properly seen up close. Like Amber, he had eyes that were much too big and came in an array of bright colors. The horn on its head seemed far too small to be used for goring, like pike-mounts on a Rough Rider’s steed, yet the teal glow around it and the board hovering beside him certainly caught her eye. She had heard stories from fellow Commissars and Guardsmen that, of the variants of these pony Xenos, the horned unicorns possessed abilities that would take most psykers decades to master. She couldn’t tell whether that made her impressed or slightly more revolted, to see another Xenos psyker race. Adorned on his flank was an image of a quill on parchment, a peculiar thing that Yamira had neglected to notice before.

‘Must be a Xenos tribal rite of passage,’ she thought. ‘Or some other heretical trite.’ Come to think of it, she didn’t recall seeing what kind of marking that Amber Dust had when they first met. If time permit, she will have to investigate further, without looking like a damn nut for staring at rear ends of miniature horses. By the time Yamira came out of her introspective analysis on the Xenos, she and her escort had arrived at a set of double doors, which promptly parted way and allowed for the other Xenos to exit, the Tau Ambassador.

“Oh, hello again, Commissar Kalov!” Windmind cheerily greeted. Yamira had to restrain herself from gritting her teeth at the notion of this ambivalent Tau referring to her by nam;, the luxury of a concealing cheek was halfway lost upon her. “I had a delightful meeting with the Overheads. Such wonderful po’nai and gue’la! So much to talk about. We’ll have to talk later after you have your meeting with them. Good-bye!”

“Yes, talk later,” Yamira muttered as Windmind walked away through the halls. “When the Fabricator-General sprouts wings and flies to Phobos…” She strode through the doors and into the office. It was decorated with a few things, here and there, mostly pictures of Xenos, some plaques and things, bookshelves, stuff of little consequence for the Commissar. Her focus was on the two beings in the room already. First was the one at the desk, another pony female (or mare, as Yamira had been informed they were called), only this one had two large wings and a horn. She had been somewhat informed that the combination of these traits denoted leadership, in a similar vein to how Orks declare themselves leader for merely being bigger than the others. How droll. The pony was predominantly purple: purple coat, darker purple mane and tail, sporting a pink and orange pair of stripes through each, a mark of a starburst on her flank, and peculiar metallic things on her ears that made them seem a bit sharper. The smile the pony had on her face was welcoming, yet Yamira still held hesitancy.

Standing next to her, however, was a human. An older-looking man with rugged features dressed in refined attire, all while bearing the Merodi’s symbol upon his shoulder. From all her years serving in the Astra Militarum, Yamira had learned how to read a person’s stance to gauge who and what they were, as well as reflect it upon herself. Xenos, it was still difficult at times, but humans were easy to read as can be. This man, Yamira saw, was one of action, one of discipline. Military. She felt herself at ease, being in the presence of both one of her human kin (albeit from across the universal boundaries) and one who serves the military to boot. She had been in the presence of commanders and generals who carried themselves lightly, grown fat and lazy from decadence and hardly setting a toe on the battlefield, but this man’s firm stance and crisp look told of years in active duty. Admirable, indeed, and yet his association with Xenos weakened the aura a bit.

“Welcome, Lady Commissar,” the pony said, still maintaining her politician’s smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Evening Sparkle, I’m the Overhead of Relations.” Yamira simply nodded, keeping her face neutral as she strode into the room properly. The military man gave his own smile and tilted his head.

“I’m General Jack O’Neill,” he said. “Military Overhead. Eve asked that I come along to provide some ease for you, soldier to soldier.” Yamira immediately placed a hand to the right side of her chest in salute, bowing a bit.

“Thank you, General, sir,” Yamira said. “It is a pleasure to meet the leader of the military of this society.” Eve raised one of her eyebrows briefly, but brought it back down and kept her smile.

“Why don’t you have a seat?” Eve asked, gesturing to the two chairs in front of her desk. “Get yourself comfortable so we can have our talk?” Yamira rose from her bow and brought both her hands behind her back, staring at Eve with her one good eye.

“I would prefer,” she coldly said. “To stand.” Eve retracted her hoof and placed it upon her desk.

“This might be a while, so you should take a seat if you wish,” O’Neill offered.

“If you so insist, General.” Yamira immediately sat herself down, her sword clacking against the arm of the chair as she made herself comfortable. Eve cleared her throat, her large lavender wings slightly ruffling at her sides.

“As I told the Por’o who has just left,” Eve said. “We’re delighted to fully welcome new ambassadors to Celestia City, to further steel the bonds between our society, and the many cultures and empires of your universe. Unity and harmony is our ambition, and any way that we can achieve this throughout this galaxy, we will do as we can.” Her ears flicked as Yamira lightly clicked her teeth in displeasure. “This exchange of representatives will hopefully help us achieve that sooner, and we look forward to whatever aid you can provide us on this endeavor.”

“And what, Emperor willing, do you have in mind for me, Xenos?” The furrow on O’Neill’s brow was evident, but he still maintained his composure, despite his clear displeasure.

“Well, we hope you can provide insight into the Imperium,” O’Neill said. “And how we can best go about proper diplomacy without riling up local politics and making a scene. I’ve been around the bend plenty of times before to understand a militaristic political climate.”

“An excellent proposal indeed, General,” Yamira replied, glancing up at O’Neill. “A proper tactic for intelligence-gathering and establishing connections. Truly a well-coordinated move from a military mind such as yourself.”
Eve lowered her eyelids and raised a hoof.

“The representatives idea was mine,” she said. Yamira jerked her head back to Eve, her dead eye rolling slightly in her skull as her good lips turned downwards. Eve leaned forward and tapped her hooves together. “So, Lady Commissar, can you tell us what we could do to fully establish ourselves as peaceful allies of the Imperium of Man?”

“You want my suggestions, you say?” Yamira asked. She raised her right leg and crossed it over her left, planting both her gloved hands atop her knee. “Very well, I will provide my suggestion: Get out.”

Eve blinked repeatedly while O’Neill remained stoic. “E-excuse me?”

“You heard me, Xenos.” Yamira sneered. She uncrossed her legs and gripped both arms of her chair. “Get out of Imperium space, get out of our galaxy, and get out of our universe, and never return.” O’Neill clenched his fingers as Yamira slowly stood up, not once taking her eye off the purple pony. “The Imperium of Man will never bend the knee to an empire of Xenos and heretical sympathisers. The mere existence of you as a power, trying to coerce us to work alongside Xenos that have done naught but pillage, subjugate and destroy our worlds and homes, makes me and humanity itself want to vomit. The only reason that this floating nation has not been blasted from orbit by the combined artillery of Mars and every one of you butchered like the animals you are,” she slammed both her hands on the top of Eve’s desk, prompting her to wince from the sudden loudness. “Is because the God-Emperor wills it.”

Yamira felt a heavy hand on her shoulder, turning to her left and spotting a very irate O’Neill as the culprit. “I’m going to suggest you sit back down before I put you down,” he said. “Nobody wants an inter-universal incident.” Yamira growled, glaring at the General who dared touch her. Gone was the respect she had for the man of military she had initially laid eyes on when she entered the room. Now stood a man no better than a turncoat for the Rogue Traders or, Emperor forbid, the Tau.

“It’s alright, Jack,” Eve suddenly said. “We asked for her opinion, and she gave it. We can’t fault her for that.” O’Neill gave Eve a look of disbelief, one almost mirrored by Yamira. The Xenos leader was agreeing with her? Had the whole galaxy gone mad? O’Neill withdrew his hand and Yamira stepped back from the desk, still looking down at Eve. “And she is right. The only reason that we haven’t engaged in full-scale war with the Imperium is because of the Emperor, he told me so himself. This program of exchange is meant to fix that so we can be trusted amongst the populace.”

“A fool’s errand. You’d sooner find a coherent Ork with a lexicon than convince a sane member of the Imperium to side with -” Yamira stopped herself. “Wait… what was that you said?”

“The exchange program is to help establish proper relations amongst the Imperium’s populace?” Eve said.

“No, before that.” Yamira felt her eye twitch again. “About the God-Emperor.”

“That… he’s the only reason the Merodi aren’t fighting your forces in war?”

“You said he told you so himself.” Yamira’s left hand slowly drifted over her left side. “You were on Holy Terra’s soil.” Eve had already risen from her desk by the time Yamira unlatched the clasp of her holster and wrapped her fingers around the grip of her bolt pistol. “BLASPHEMY!” She screamed, drawing her hefty gun and aiming directly at Eve’s head. “PURE HERESY!” O’Neill shouted something, but his words were promptly drowned out by the loud pop and the rending of metal. When Yamira pulled the trigger on her gun, a rush of nausea seemed to flood over her, causing her to stagger and wobble. Her half-vision disoriented, Yamira was suddenly hurled off her feet and slammed into a wall, her sword and gun stripped from her person as her body ached with pain. Her mind swam about in an ocean of drunken delirium and rage, barely able to keep afloat amidst the ideas of a Xenos being on the Throneworld for the first time in thousands of years and speaking with the most holy being in existence. It was more than heresy. It was sin, and Yamira desired to see it purged.

When Yamira’s blurred vision returned, she saw Eve standing in front of her, horn glowing a pinkish color, while O’Neill glared viciously at her. “Commissar Yamira Kalov,” Eve firmly said. “If O’Neill didn’t react as quickly as he did, your action would have been grounds for war against the Imperium. While I’m sure the idea pleases you, it would be a war the Imperium would not win.” Eve took one step forward, and Yamira felt the pressure on her body tighten. “I would list all the ways that we hold the advantage, but I will remind you that already many Eldar Craftworlds, Ork Freebootas and even the Tau Empire have come to our side. Do you think the Imperium could survive that? Do you think this is what your Emperor would want?” Were it not for the heavy field of magic holding the Commissar in place, Yamira would have held her tongue regardless. As much as she could promote the strength of the Imperial Guard, the mighty bulwark of the Imperial Navy, the overwhelming power of the Astartes, and even the mere existence of the God-Emperor of Mankind Himself… she knew that the little horse was right. The Imperium, once a glimmering golden goliath in the galaxy, was now a shadow of what it was. Even with the return of one of the God-Emperor’s own Sons, the Imperium would barely hold its ground against the combined force of these otherworldly visitors and their Xenos allies. As good as it would feel to take her weapons and go on a slaughter even the Black Templars would balk at, it would have been a totally fruitless endeavor.

Yamira slowly nodded, and was promptly freed from Eve’s magical grasp, dropping down onto the floor with a thud. “I don’t want this to remain a partnership of mutually assured benefits that could turn to mutually assured destruction, Commissar,” Eve softly said, though her expression still remained stern. “But this animosity cannot remain throughout your stay here. You’ll have to comply somewhat with our rules, if you do not want to face punishment.” Yamira staggered to her feet, clutching her sore abdomen, while Eve levitated her sword and bolt pistol back to her. “I will let this slide for now, but please at least give us a chance. If not for your sake, then for the Imperium.” Yamira snatched her weapons from Eve’s magic and set them back onto her belt, still maintaining her glare, but her prior rage had been somewhat subsided.

“Very well,” Yamira said. “I will comply.” ‘Yet I will not bend the knee.’ she thought. Eve lightly smiled and returned to her desk.

“Thank you, Commissar,” she said stiffly. “You’re free to go. Amber will take you and your plus-ones to your new residency. I hope you enjoy your stay here in Celestia City.” Business concluded, Yamira tipped the brim of her hat and exited through the doors of the office. She might have been out of there quicker, thanks to her hurried pace, but a hand on her shoulder stopped her. She already knew who had grabbed her; there was no need to turn and check.

“Eve may give you this one free pass for your crazy actions,” O’Neill harshly whispered. “But you’ll be watched like a hawk while you’re here. This may be your universe, but you’re on our soil. You screw up, you face our judicial system.” His fingers tightened on her shoulder. “Is that clear?”

“Of course, General,” Yamira said. O’Neill withdrew his hand and walked back into Eve’s office, leaving the Commissar to stand alone in the hall. A full minute passed before Yamira finally decided to march out of the halls, back into the waiting room, and out through the doors into the wild open of Celestia City without so much as a glance towards the receptionist from earlier. O’Neill was right: Yamira was in a whole new world, and she would not let it break her so easily.

Yamira walked down the stairs of the Relations Office, keeping her stride cool and militaristic as she descended the steps. She spared a few glances to those passing by her, each as distinct and unique as the last. Humans, ponies, bipedal winged lizards, bird-feline hybrids, insectoid equines, more variations of the Gem Xenos, things like humanoid mushrooms, clumps of fur, it was like a menagerie of lifeforms, all coming and going about their daily lives. Were it not for the abundance of Xenos and abhumans, it almost reminded Yamira of the Hive-Cities she had been to in the past. A bit of home, almost. As she neared the bottom of the steps, she brushed past a portly man in a suit, barely regarding him and the wide smile across his face as she came to the ground landing. Off on the side was the parked rented vehicle, and there stood Devon, Cage, Bell and Amber. Judging by the way Devon was shaking his metal foot about, he must have been engrossed in recapping one of his war stories. Yamira folded her arms behind her back and marched over.

“- shifted my hips in just the right moment,” Devon said, reclining on the vehicle in a faux posture of being restrained. “I narrowly avoided the chain-axe coming down to lop my frakking head off, but it cost me my foot in the process. WHACK!” He brought his metal foot down with a clank, causing Amber to jump, but still stare in awe. “By the time the cultist realized he missed, I swung my other foot around and got the big bastard behind me in his gut, and broke free of the grapple!” He laughed and hopped onto his feet, putting his fists up and throwing a few jabs. “They were no match for me after that, especially after the dumb one with the axe threw his only weapon right into his mate’s skull. The rest was just easy pickings.” Cage smirked and clapped while Amber just continued her staring.

“Wow, what a story.” Amber breathlessly said. “I can’t believe you took on eight heavily-armed cultists all by yourself with only one foot and no weapons.”

“That’s interesting,” Yamira said, startling both Amber and Devon. “Last time you said that one, you told me it was six heavily-armed cultists and you had an empty stub pistol.” Devon smirked and rubbed the back of his head, jostling his helmet a bit.

“Well, ah… Truth be told, it was six, but one of them was a mutant with four arms,” Devon said. “But that technically counts as eight! Big as an ogryn, he was!” Amber looked perplexed while Cage just snickered and flung a spent cigarette into the street. Yamira shook her head and patted Devon on the shoulder, bringing the Captain down a bit. “Right… So, how’d the meeting go with the leader?” he asked.

“It…” Yamira had to stop herself from recounting the exact details on how she was flung into a wall for trying to kill one of the Merodi’s leaders for high heresy, but still maintained her composure. “It went as well as it could. General O’Neill was an interesting man, to say the least. A much clearer head than the Lord Commander, I’ll admit that.” Devon let off a light chuckle. “As for… Overhead Evening Sparkle,” she glanced down at Amber, who immediately shrank away from her half-melted gaze. Yamira still could barely process how, moments ago, this very same skittish pony had forced her from nearly capsizing the vehicle in the pursuit of trying to attack the black ship from before. Those same big eyes had that flicker of determination and fury, but now they were just buried away in those big pools on her face. Yamira turned back to Devon and lightly shrugged. “Is also interesting. Likely we will have another meeting after we have spent some time in our residency here.” Amber immediately seemed to perk up, her eyes practically sparkling with joy. “So, Captain, it seems you’ll be enjoying your shoreleave after all.”

Devon sighed in relief. “Thank the Emperor,” he said. “About time I get to relax. Barely got a moment’s rest during the Karthag Campaign.” Yamira internally winced at the mention of that travesty, but maintained her composure. “So, what’s to be done now?”

“The Overhead suggested that we could go to visit our new lodgings and situate ourselves,” Yamira said, stroking her chin. “I think some manner of rest is due.”

“Ooh! Ooh!” Amber suddenly spoke up, hopping and raising her hoof. “I have an idea! I know what we can do first!” All eyes turned on the little yellow pony. She stopped her bouncing and put on a hesitant smile. “Well, uh, I’ve learned that, ah, the best way to both relax and experience new environments and cultures is to… get some food?”

“Oh man, yes.” Cage said, snapping his fingers. “I could totally go for some great food right now. Hell,” he lit two cigarettes and added them to his mouth. Current total now stands at five, and Yamira already can feel the smell. “I know some of the best restaurants in the whole city, some places most people don’t even know about.”

Yamira raised her hand, cutting Cage off. “Food won’t be necessary.” Yamira said. “Captain Mangonel and I already have something to eat once we reach the lodgings.” Devon’s immediate look of confusion was promptly replaced with dismay as he rubbed his forehead.

“Oh no, come on,” he moaned. “Not the frakking paste again.” Yamira raised an eyebrow and glanced over to her ward.

“What’s wrong with the paste?” she asked. “It’s healthy, provides all the nutrients we need, keeps one fed for days on end…”

“And it tastes like grox shit.”

“It doesn’t even have a taste. There’s absolutely no need to complain.”

“There is when you’ve had nothing but that crap for weeks trudging through the blasted wastelands.”

“This the most childish thing I’ve heard you complain about in all my years knowing you, Captain.” Amidst the apparently awkward conversation between Yamira and Devon on the value of nutrient paste, Cage had gotten immediately bored and glanced off to the side, blowing more smoke into the air. As he paused to take another breath, he hitched and all color from his face drained. Directly across the street from their parked location stood a woman, dressed in a black dress with white diamonds patterned along the hem of the skirt, sporting long black hair that draped all the way down to her knees, ending in perfectly-rolled curls. She glared at Cage with an apparent burning fury.

“Oh shit,” Cage suddenly said, immediately looking away. The smoke around him began to coalesce, forming into a wide oval right behind him. “WELL, this has been a fun meeting, but I gotta get going,” he loudly said, breaking the conversation between the two soldiers. Amber and Devon looked confused, while Yamira simply looked annoyed. “I have a place to go and do the thing with the stuff. Ambs, I’ll call ya later. Captain, you’re a total bro, we should go drinking sometime. Ms. Rawhide, hope you get a proctologist to look at that rod soon. I’ll think of a nickname for Tau Lady next time I see her.” The smoke cloud had completely solidified in a thick gray haze as Cage backed up, pointing at everyone while keeping his usual smile. “Smoke ‘em if ya got ‘em. Cigarette Daydreams.” Cage backed into the cloud of smoke… and he was suddenly gone. Completely vanished, dispelling as the smoke blew to the winds. Yamira’s good eye widened, while Devon’s jaw dropped. Cage Jameson had literally disappeared in a puff of smoke, right in front of their eyes. Amber, however, immediately rushed over to the car and looked around the driver’s seat.

“Darn it, he took the keys…” Amber grumbled, stepping back from the car. “That’s just peachy-keen, Cage. Disappearing like that and taking the keys…” She growled and stamped her hoof. “Oh, that is just so TYPICAL of him!” Yamira broke out of her shocked stupor and turned to Amber, her brow furrowed and a scowl once again appearing.

“Explain,” she firmly said. Amber stopped her pouting and looked up at Yamira, bending her ears in response to Yamira’s angry face.

“Oh, um… yeah, it’s…” Amber gulped and took a few steps back. “It’s really, really, really hard to explain, but, uh… you see…” She tapped her front hooves together. “Cage has these, uh… powers, that can do all these… things with smoke? L-like make p-p-portals?”

“Portals.” Yamira repeated. Amber nodded vigorously. “With smoke.” Amber nodded again. Yamira sighed and rubbed her burnt side. “There’s no such thing as normalcy in this damn place….” Devon rattled his head, still staring at the spot where Cage once stood.

“Wait a tick,” he said. “If he’s got the keys, then how in the Emperor’s name are we supposed to get around without a proper transport?!”

“Hold on, hold on!” Amber said, cautiously gesturing with her hooves. “There’s other options, there’s no need to panic!” She rushed over to the vehicle and picked up one of the odd devices Yamira had seen her fiddling with during the flight. A square thing, no doubt similar to a dataslate or an auspex, or some piece of technology that escaped her. After a bit of fiddling, Amber smiled and hugged the device to her chest. “Okay, good news: I got us a ride. They’ll be here in about a minute.” Devon seemed to be put somewhat at ease, but Yamira still seemed mildly irked, half-glaring at the vehicle and the spot where Cage had vanished. Whenever she encountered the smoking twit again, she would have a few choice and interrogative words with him. Preferably with a bit of throwing him against things. That might help her alleviate some of her current frustration and anger.

As Amber promised, new transport arrived quickly, although it was less glamorous than the sleek transport vehicle that had brought them to the Relations Office. Although it was a hovering vehicle, it was a dingy-looking thing, with dulled yellow and black-checker paint, a cramped roof over the top, a dented front, and a phrase printed in obnoxiously large green letters on the side reading ‘Zoomie-Boom Cabs’. It swooped down from above and came to park right next to the rental vehicle, muffled music playing through the windows. Amber perked up and trotted over to the driver’s door while Yamira and Devon stood closely behind. The window rolled down, revealing the grubby driver behind the wheel, somewhat obscured by the dark lighting inside.

“Welcome to Zoomie-Boom Cabs,” the driver said, speaking in a rather thick accent in a semi-bored and squeaky voice. “Where we give you the best boom with yer zoom. Where can I take-” Before he continued, he took a brief look at Yamira, and immediately went wide. “Blow me down! A Commissar, here?! Hold on a toss, let me just…” The driver fiddled a bit in his seat, then opened the car and stepped out onto the pavement. Yamira was immediately surprised to see what was behind the wheel. It looked human, at least from a view, but he stood barely taller than the pony. His nose was far too large, two pronounced front teeth peaked out between his thin lips, thick brown hair accumulated over the sides of his feet, and his feet were massive with hooked claw-like toes. It had been a while, but Yamira knew enough to instantly spot a Ratling when she saw one. Though this one lacked the military camo of the sniper brigades she once commanded with the Cadians a few years back, instead dressed in a dirty sleeveless vest and thick baggy pants, she did notice that the Ratling’s right hand ended at a stump at the wrist, with a simplistic three-pronged metal claw in its place. The Ratling proudly saluted Yamira, a bold smile on his ratty face. “An absolute honor to meet a Commissar face-to-face.”

Yamira smiled and stood at her own rapt attention, looking down at the diminutive abhuman. “Ah, proper recognition,” she said. “Good to have that after being here for far longer than I wished. I take it you’ve served?”

“Yes ma’am!” the Ratling said. “Lieutenant Major Ruttiger, Salvar Sniper Brigade. Or was until I lost me trigger finger to some longshanks on Validiya.” He waggled his hooked hand with a resentful sneer. “So they frakkin’ discharged me! Can ya believe it?”

“I most certainly cannot,” Yamira said, shaking her head. “You seem to still have the fighting spirit of the Emperor in you, Lt. Major.” Ruttiger beamed widely, showing off his mouth full of crooked, rotted teeth.

“That’s what I’ve been sayin’!” he exclaimed. “But now I’m jus’ a down-on-me-luck cabbie driver, workin’ ‘til me spark gives out. But I’m keepin’ in good spirits!” He tapped his chest again. “Busy body means busy mind, so they say!” Yamira chuckled and stood upright, glancing over to Amber, who seemed to be patiently waiting for her turn to speak. Once she realized she was being acknowledged, she perked up and trotted up.

“Oh, yes, excuse me.” Amber said. “We were looking to get a ride to the food plaza on Restaurant Row, can we please get a lift there?”

“Ah, say no more, say no more.” Ruttiger said, patting the side of his vehicle. “I can get ya there faster than a lasfire going through a gretchin’s head at twenty paces. An’ for the lovely Lady Commissar, I’ll do this one for free.” Amber blinked in surprise. “So hop on in the back, we get goin’ now, we can miss the rush hour.”

“Well thank you, Mr. Ruttiger!” Amber cheerily said. She opened the cab passenger door and crawled inside, while Ruttiger himself hopped back into his seat, turning his music down low with a smile on his ratty face. Yamira moved to take her own seat, but stopped when she realized that Devon had been making somewhat of a face the whole time.

“Come along, Captain,” Yamira said. “We might as well indulge this food offer, especially if you’re so insistent on neglecting the paste.” Devon winced and walked over to the open cab door. He glanced inside, sniffed, and immediately recoiled.

“I’m not too cheeky on the idea of sharing a confined space with a Ratling, Yamira,” he said. Yamira rolled her eye and practically pushed Devon into the seat.

“If you’re so bothered by his smell, wear your gas mask,” she said. Devon grumbled and pulled his mask over his face, sealing it against his skin with a compressed hiss. “Besides,” she muttered, glancing up at the towering building of the Relations Office. “I’ll take the company of a smelly abhuman over more exposure to Xenos any day.”

Chapter Five

“So… this is Merodi food?” Devon said, picking at a plate of some mess of squiggly, dough-ey things adorned in a red paste and decorated in tiny leaves. He had been jabbing his fork at the thing on his plate for several minutes since sitting down at the table.

“Well, it’s food from Equis Vitis, called spaghetti,” Amber explained, pushing a round roll of bread across her plate with a hoof. “It’s from a country called Bitaly, which apparently has a lot of parallels in most Earths.” She pushed the plate down and popped the roll into the air, biting a piece of it just as it came down. “Iff rully goof.” Devon stared apprehensively at the ‘spaghetti’ and continued cautiously poking it with his utensil. Yamira watched the exchange between hardened Guardsman and foreign food with her usual poise, silently praising the Captain for following protocol and remaining properly suspicious.

The restaurant that Amber had Ruttiger drop them off at was a more publicly recognized place than whatever Cage had been prompting before he vanished into an apparent portal of smoke. The pony had called it ‘a biz-cas fancy-fun dining place’, which left both Yamira and Devon perplexed. Even when arriving at a place that had the apparent ego to be named the ‘Pasta Palace’, the questions just kept piling up. Not only was it not a castle befitting the name of Palace, but rather a one-story building with the facade of a castle, with painted white bricks on the exterior and a plaster crown over the entrance. The metal table they had been seated at was on the outside patio, by request of the pony staff who “politely” requested that two heavily armed diplomats and their flesh-adorned automaton do so to avoid potentially disturbing the other customers.

Devon had the sensible idea to tell the staff where they could shove their attitudes, but Amber had de-escalated things with profuse apologies and an offer to pay for the broken window.

Yamira drummed her fingers on the tabletop, shifting her gaze between Bell, standing idly by as it beeped and hummed its usual synthetic tunes, and Devon, still unsure whether or not his offered meal was indeed something edible. Amber had already received her order of a bowl of leaves and small vegetables, a salad she called it, while Yamira had yet to receive hers. She had naturally objected to receiving food, insisting on utilizing her military rations for their intended purpose, but the yellow pony was nothing if not persistent.

“How do I get this to frakking work?” Devon grumbled. He had been struggling with his food, spearing the squiggly things with his fork only for them to break apart and spatter on his place. The Armageddonite was getting frustrated, a rare look Yamira saw on the usually lax and aloof Guardsman. He scooped under the mess with his fork, in an effort to shovel it into his mouth, only for it to limply slide off and back onto the plate. He growled and stabbed his fork into the table, making little more than a dent. “FRAK! Might as well use my hands, I’m starving at this point!”

“Table manners, please!” Amber urged. “Did they not teach you how to use utensils growing up?”

“Growing up, I had to learn how to find radioactive lakes for drinking water and how to take the head off a scrounger thirty clicks away for supper,” Devon replied. “Though I suppose you lot would probably just call them ‘really frakking big rats’.” Amber made a face and recoiled from her plate.

“You’ve eaten rats?” Amber asked. “That’s absolutely disgusting.”

Devon shrugged. “I’ve had worse.” The exchange subsided as Cage again attempted to stab at the plate, only to break it apart even further. He growled and slammed his hands onto the table. “Emperor’s drawers, this food will be the end of me yet!”

“Here, let me show ya how it’s done, Cap.” All heads turned abruptly in surprise at a spontaneous arrival of their prior escort currently using Devon’s fork to twirl up the spaghetti like a rotating cog. Cage seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, smoke trailing off his body and the four cigarettes currently alight in his mouth. He slowly wound up the noodles around the prongs of the fork, holding them aloft in a spool with a smirk on his face. “Voila, how to teach military dudes how to eat spaghetti.” Cage then proceeded to stick the fork in his mouth with a very satisfied grin on his face. It took him the second bite from Devon’s plate to realize that Yamira was giving a very irate glare. “What?” Yamira grabbed Cage’s collar and yanked him over the table, causing the cutlery to rattle and the smoker to drop his fork.

“Talk, witch-man,” Yamira growled. Cage just pointed to himself for affirmation, Yamira responded by shaking him about. “How did you bend reality to your whims with a mere cloud of smoke?”

“... Oh, the portal thing I did for the bail?” Cage asked. “Right, my bad. I saw an old co-worker from a thing back in Earth Stand and panicked. But it’s all good.” He raised both his hands and smiled. “The car did not get stolen.”

“I said how, you blathering fool,” Yamira snarled, shaking him again. “Not why.” Cage glanced over at Amber, who seemed uncertain how to proceed without upsetting anyone further, and then to Devon, who was currently attempting to mimic Cage’s original spaghetti magic.

“Oh, I get it,” Cage slowly nodded. “You don’t know about the deal with people from my universe. Ambs, did you get pizza-face, Cap and Tau Lady - still working on the name - the Guidebooks?” Amber opened her mouth to give her answer, then closed it with the shrinking of her pupils. Her head dropped onto the table with a thunk, and Cage just shook his head. “Right. If you let go of me, I can give some kind of explanation.” Yamira huffed and released her grip, sending Cage stumbling back a bit.

“Then explain,” Yamira ordered. “And stop giving me ridiculous nicknames.”

“Explain only, got it.” Cage said, lighting himself another cigarette. “Okay, so here’s the deal: Earth Stand, the universe I came from, has this weird phenomenon where people get magic ghost spirits that are manifestations of a person’s will, or some complicated crap I don’t know the specifics of.” He spat a spent cigarette into an ashtray, leaving three of four. “These magic ghost spirit thingies are called Stands, and they give people like me all kinds of cool powers and crap. Mine gives me smoke-based powers.” He paused to take a drag, then blew a cloud overhead. “Oh, and you can’t see them unless you have one. Make sense, Commissar Crispy?”

Yamira shook her head and made a face. “Not in the slightest.” Yamira bluntly said. “Magical ghost spirits?” She scoffed and sat back down in her chair. “Sounds too much like daemonic influence and possession.” Cage just shrugged and sat down in the other vacant chair next to Amber. The pony’s head was still firmly planted on the table. “Perfect. First xenos, then humans who sympathise with xenos, then bloody Dark Eldar ships flying freely without being shot down, now heretics allowing themselves to be influenced by the wiles of daemons. Almost laughable how backwards this whole society is. Wouldn’t you agree, Captain?” No response. “Captain?” Again, no response. “CAPTAIN!” Yamira glared towards Devon, who had finally mastered the art of spaghetti spooling and was now halfway through his meal, with several strands still hanging from his lips. He looked up, eyes wide, uncertain of why he was in the spotlight.

“... This food is the best I have eaten since I graduated the schola.” Devon muttered through a mouthful. Yamira groaned and turned away from the table, cupping her cheek in her gloved hand. The sparkling glamour of Merodi Universalis had blinded him, but Yamira could still see the repugnantness of these outsiders and their bewitching wiles. They were worse than the Water Caste and their tongues of silver, at least they were blatant about their brazen beliefs in the so-called ‘Greater Good’. Yamira saw the Merodi as despicable nobles in the Hive Spires, ones who would use the affairs of others to advance their station while pretending to offer themselves as confidants and allies, all while looking for somewhere to slide in the knife. They would not get the opportunity to put that knife into the Imperium, not while she still proudly bore the golden aquilla on her breast.

While she half-heartedly gazed out onto the streets across from the restaurant, she took notice of the things around her. An astute lesson she learned quickly under the command of the Astra Militarum was to oversee every battlefield with utmost scrutiny and precision. Leave no place unseen, you never know what can be immediately converted into a barricade for a firefight or an open area that can be made into the perfect gunner’s nest. She found herself staring at a bench right across the way, which seemed to be occupied by two suited men, one who was not tall and one who was not short. Yamira wasn’t sure as to why, but the two men seemed to be interesting to her. Possibly because they were a better distraction than the apparent conversation that Cage, Amber and Devon were having about food or some such nonsense. Yamira simply watched the two men and their bench, unaware that they seemed to be watching back.

The sound of synthetic horns blaring immediately disrupted her focus, glancing around rapidly from the source of the noise. By the time she looked back at the bench, the two men seemed to have already left. A pity. It seemed that she wasn’t the only one to take note of the obnoxious horns, as both Cage and, surprisingly, Amber, moaned in exasperation.

“Ugh, he’s back…” Cage grumbled, tossing his spent cigarettes away.

“So my day can go from bad to worse….” Amber whined, massaging her temples with her hooves.

Devon swallowed the last of his spaghetti with a slurp, slapping a red streak of sauce on his chin. “Who’s back?” he asked. “Some big shot with you people?” The horns continued blaring a raucous tune, an irksome sound that seemed to intentionally grate on the ears and drive those who dared listen into discomfort, a chorus played on hollowed-out bones and poorly-wrought metal arranged in all the wrong ways. It felt familiar to Yamira. Too familiar.

“Worse, I think he’s one of yours.” Cage muttered. “I don’t mean Imperium, I mean one of those aliens that’s around here.” The horns sounded again, playing their ear-bleeding shrieks loud as can be. Ponies, humans and other denizens walking the street seemed to share their disdain for the music, pained looks on their faces as they hurried along on their walks and actively got out of the way. From the far end of the street, Yamira saw the source, a procession of people making their way along. It was some semblance of a parade, with humans playing long horn instruments that were affixed to their faces by eyeless masks, masked ponies tossing hooffulls of flower petals onto the ground, and more humans in robes with large metal helmets that concealed all but their mouths and ears, all chanting and singing a single mantra.

“Come, make way, oh do make way!” They sang. “Zasraman the Great has come today!” They repeated their mantra with poor timing and rhythm. Following behind them were a team of multi-armed creatures, rolling a red carpet along the street and quickly rolling it back up when the end came. Yamira squinted a bit to see just what was walking on the carpet, and immediately felt her stomach lurch. A tall, gangly figure in gaudy clothing made from far too many colors in a myriad of checkers and stripes that practically burned the eyes on a casual glance. It wore pointed yellow boots that curled into a spiral, rolling out like a child’s party blower with every step on the ground, with tassels of purple and yellow fabric hanging from its gloved wrists trailing on the ground before sloping back into its back. What caught Yamira’s eye most was not the outfit, or the way that it walked to mimic some form of acrobatic dance, but the mask. The abhorrent smiling mask of red and silver, with teeth like needles that arched all the way up to the brow like a demented crescent moon, a pointed nose that protruded straight like an arrow, and ears, long ears like knives plastered on the side of its head. It was a repugnant creature that dared mimic the facsimile of human gait, worse than the Tau, the ponies, or the xenos sympathizing humans.

“Is that a bloody Eldar?” Devon asked, rolling his head to the side.

“Worse,” Yamira said, digging her fingers into the table. “A Harlequin.” Amber, Cage and Devon all turned to Yamira. Her face had gone cold and rigid, but her eye burned with an inferno of hatred unlike any other. “What is it doing in this City, so close to Holy Terra?”

“An Expedition team encountered his Troupe while exploring the Webway,” Amber said, pulling herself up from her chair. “In exchange for safe passage and protection from less-than-friendlies, they asked for amnesty and that they gain a chance at joining the Merodi.” Amber sighed and looked away from the precession. “And they’ve been here ever since.”

“And that fop has been a collective pain in everyone’s ass,” Cage moaned. The procession seemed to be slowing down, the music dying out, the petal tossers ceasing their throws, and the carpet rollers ending their duties. Unfortunately, this was right in front of the Pasta Palace. “Ah shit. Uh, Commissar? I’d suggest… not doing anything right now.” Yamira’s world was already red the instant the Harlequin stepped off the carpet and onto the sidewalk. Before she could leap off her chair, draw her sword, and chop the Xenos into tiny little flamboyant pieces, something held her back. Not a metaphysical something held on by emotional and mental obligations, but a physical something was holding onto her shoulders and keeping her in place. She couldn’t see what, but she could feel the pressure of human hands pressing down on her and keeping her firmly glued to her seat as the Harlequin drew ever nearer.

Amber pleaded to some unknown deity that the Harlequin would not approach them, but as Yamira was wont to learn, prayers often go unheeded and are often ignored. Unless they are prayers to the God-Emperor of Mankind, which are the only prayers that are even worthy of being spoken. The Harlequin raised his pointed hands over his head and danced his way over to the gathered tables, stepping one foot in front of the other.

“Come, make way, oh do make way!” The Harlequin proclaimed. The warbling sound of its voice made Yamira cringe to her very core, the distorted facsimile of the human tongue making her own curl up in disgust. “Zasraman the Great has come today!” He stopped before the table, one foot raised overhead as it slowly curled back up, staring at the table. “What’s this, what do we have here?” He brought his foot down with a clack, planting his hands on his slender hips. “New visitors from the mon’keigh, I fear?”

“It speaks in rhyme,” Yamira muttered, unable to take her eyes off of the Eldar’s horrendous outfit. It was like something had consumed a rainbow and vomited all over his clothes. “Of all the bloody luck.”

“Is there something wrong with the way I speak?” Zasraman asked, placing a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Well, I expect nothing less from the Imperium’s dogs, I think.”

“What the frakk did you call us, you…” Devon growled, starting to rise from his chair. Immediately a hoof was jammed into his mouth and he sat back down, with Amber putting on a massive smile that was fake as it was clearly straining on the pony’s face.

“Hello again, Zasraman,” she said. Devon gave off a few muffled protests, but Amber held him in place. Quite strong for such a little pony. “I see you’ve returned from one of your…” she cleared her throat. “Excursions?”

“Ah, yes, and what a wonderful trip it was, Ms. Dust,” Zasraman clapped his hands and bowed. Yamira had forgotten how tall Eldar were, often standing at near equals in height with the Astartes, if not shorter. It did not help that Yamira felt the Harlequin staring down his long nose at her the entire time. “Daten City was a dominion of such misery and travesty, if I do say so, I must.”

“So you felt right at home then, Clownie?” Cage asked, puffing two new lit cigarettes. “Shame you decided to come back.” Zasraman tilted his masked head to the side and shuffled over to Cage’s side, barely shifting his feet as he kept himself bowed a full length.

“And miss more darling shows with an audience so delightful?” Zasraman said, hissing through the faux teeth on his mask. “Why Cage, sincerely slothful Cage,” in a blur of motion, one of the cigarettes was gone from Cage’s lips, and betwixt Zasraman’s pointed fingers. “Why would I ever consider an aspect so frightful?” Yamira was surprised to see Cage react so swiftly to the slight, snatching his sunglasses off his face and immediately glaring down the Harlequin, despite the clear two-foot height difference.

“Nobody touches my smokes,” he growled. Zasraman stared at Cage with unblinking eyes, the cigarette still smoldering between his fingers. A faint snap followed, and two halves fell to the floor.

“Oops.” The weights immediately left Yamira’s shoulders as Cage raised his fists and smoke congealed around him, and Zasraman’s hand went to one of two wicked swords on his hip. Amber’s eyes went wide as Devon vigorously pumped his hands in excitement. Yamira wanted to join the Captain in revelry, but again, she felt restrained.

“YOU’RE DEAD, BOZO! CIGARETTE-”

“Mr. Cage Jameson.” Yamira spoke up, her voice cutting through the tension like a bullet. She slowly stood from her seat, arms crossed behind her back, while Cage and Zasraman were frozen in mid-combat prep. All eyes had fallen upon her, even the pedestrians and the restaurant staff watched the Commissar stare down the smoking Stand User and the devilish Eldar. “Were you and Amber Dust not just informing me that this Harlequin’s troupe was granted amnesty for some assistance prior to your society?” Amber and Cage traded gazes before returning to Yamira. “As satisfying ast it would be to see you attempt to pummel this Xenos for insulting your honor, jeopardizing such a clear alliance would look bad on your record, would it not?”

“Well, uh…” Cage’s eyes darted around, dull brown irises flittering to look at something other than Zasraman or the half-faced Commissar. He dropped his fists and stepped back, the smoke around him drifting off into nothingness. “Fine, whatever. I got plenty more smokes anyway.” He emptied an entire carton into his hand and walked off elsewhere to prove his point.

Zasraman laughed, a weird sound like some sort of chittering beast. “Kweah hah hah hah hah! Such a sight has left me feeling so gay and jovial!” he pantomimed wiping a tear from his false eye. “To think that one of the Imperium’s leading troopers could be so cordial. I must know the why and how such a vicious primitive form oft so defiant,” He thumbed the base of his pointed masked chin. “To render this half-faced she-human so compliant?”

“Don’t take my blase demeanor as cordiality, Xenos,” Yamira replied curtly, glaring Zasraman down. Her dead eye rolled a bit as she craned her head up to look at the garishly dressed alien. “I hold more hatred for your kind than any in this outsider’s paradise. Were it not for the laws that bind me, and to the same extent, you, I would personally see you burned for the witch-xenos you are and parade your still-burning carcass through the streets of my home world for all to see and relish.” Zasraman stared at Yamira, unmoving and unblinking. Not that she could tell, what with that horrendous smiling mask concealing no doubt an equally disgusting face underneath.

“... You seem familiar, like a face, or in this case half, is one of yore.” Zasraman said, stroking his chin. “Tell me, mon’keigh, have we met before?” Yamira furrowed her brow and grit her teeth, shown clearly through the holes in her cheek. Before she had a chance to retort, two very panicked female voices came from down the street, shouting Zasraman’s name. Barrelling along, two women with obscenely bright red skin ran up to the table, panting and heaving. Both were dressed in matching tan pantsuits and well-kept black shoes, and had piercing yellow eyes. One had a mess of wild green hair that trailed down to her back, while the other had blue hair tied off in a ponytail and sporting sharp spectacles.

“There you are,” The blue-haired woman panted. “Zasraman, PLEASE stop running off like that!”

“This is getting a tad bit irksome, sir.” The green-haired woman added. “You’re running my sister and I ragged!” Zasraman rolled his hips about and leaned his head back. A dramatic sigh escaped through his mask as he lurched forward.
“I love you darling, dear sisters, even if you must continuously kill my mood.” Zasraman said. “But, very well.” He turned back to the table and gave a flourishing bow. “Farewell, mon’keigh and pony! Do enjoy your food!” The Harlequin rapidly danced off, leaving the stunned precession and the two red-skinned women behind. They both sighed while the one with glasses tossed a handful of credits onto the table with the casualness of throwing trash aside.

“Here, to pay for your cigarettes and the meal,” she said. “Come, Scanty, we’d best follow our ward before he adds to the already growing pile of paperwork.” The other woman nodded, running her fingers through her green hair.

“Yes, of course, dear Kneesocks.” Scanty said. “Although, after this one is finished, we will need a new support leg for Fastner’s desk.” The two siblings walked off, talking amongst themselves, while the procession of masked men and ponies followed meekly behind. It was a solid five minutes before anyone at the table decided to speak up.

“... Okay, who the frakk were those two?” Devon asked, pointing to where the two red women once stood.

“Scanty and Kneesocks Daemon, two semi-prominent members of Relations.” Amber explained. “They’re businesswomen from Earth Datenshi, a world prominent in the supernatural and faithful magic. I’ve spoken to them rarely, but they’re… interesting sisters.” Yamira rubbed her undamaged side with an exasperated sigh.

“Their surnames are Daemon?” she said. She sighed once more into her palm. “I need to rest, this day has been trying enough.” Amber nodded and collected the scraps of money on the table to give to the restaurant, leaving Devon, Yamira, and Bell at the table alone. Devon stood up from his chair and sat down in the vacant one next to the Commissar.

“That was… a surprising way you handled that situation, Lady Commissar.” Devon said, giving a faint smile. “I would have just taken my lasgun and blown a hole through that Xenos’ chest just for stepping close, if I had it with me.”

“I would have too, and I would have been glad to do it.” Yamira confessed. “After what the Eldar did to my homeworld, my blade would find its way through the heart of every one of their repugnant race and I would eat them off the still-sizzling metal like a skewer.” Devon scooted back in his seat, images in his mind of Yamira standing over Zasraman’s corpse, bleeding profusely with pieces of his alien heart wedged between her teeth, making his stomach churn.

“Delightful notions, my Lady,” Devon said, trying to get the greenness of his face to fade away. “Hold on, I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned your homeworld before.” Yamira shot her gaze to the ground, her good eye shut tightly. “Touchy subject, hmm? Permit me a guess?” Yamira said nothing. “Suppose not. T’ain’t my place to ask it, anyway. I’m just a Guardsman along for the ride.”

“Piamen.” Yamira said, gaze still averted. “My homeworld is Piamen. That’s all I will say.” Yamira stood up and adjusted the brim of her hat. “Jameson and Dust will be returning momentarily. Hopefully there will be no more stops to prevent proper rest.” As Yamira walked off, Devon was left with little more than questions and an agape mouth. Yamira stared at the vacant bench across the way, trying to recall a vague memory of something that caught her attention earlier, and also desperately trying to forget even mentioning Piamen.

‘Attachment to such a past is folly,’ she thought. ‘Piamen has passed, focus on the now, Yamira. Even if the now surrounds you with the enemy.’

“301, 302… oh, 303! Here we are!” Amber chipperly said, pressing her hoof on the doorframe. It was identical as all the other blue and black doorways that lined the equally dull blue hallway that she, the Commissar, and her servitor companion had walked down for a while now, with the Captain having long been taken into Cage’s custody to find his own residency. After having their meal at the restaurant (which Yamira never even received in the commotion, but opted to remain silent on the matter, while her stomach protested in silence), Cage had driven them to the newly-constructed residential complex, a massive dome nearly the size of an Upper Hive, yet having nowhere near as much majesty. Hundreds of floors with thousands of rooms for visiting dignitaries from across the multiverse, and they simply named it the “Diplomat Dome”. Surprising that a nigh powerful society from beyond the boundaries of the Warp itself naming itself in a High Gothic phrase would be lacking in creativity.

Amber tapped her hoof on a glossy black pad on the door’s left side. “This is a bio-lock scanner,” Amber explained. “I’m no big-brain sciencey type, but they’ve told me that you basically need to place your left hand flat on the screen, and then it takes a photograph of your hoof - wait, no, fingerprints. You don’t have hooves, I think.” Yamira refrained from rolling her eye, lest it roll straight out of its socket. “Anyway, once you do that, your hand will be a key to this lock and you can let yourself in and out whenever you please!” She turned up to Yamira, eyes sparkling and smile wide. “Go on, give it a shot!” Yamira stared at the black slab against the door frame, her own half-ghastly reflection staring back with disinterest.

“Use my left hand, correct?” Yamira asked. Amber nodded, gesturing towards the pad with her head. “If you so insist.” Yamira held up her left hand and slowly began to remove the glove, hiding any traces of pain from the sensitive plucking of thread against her skin. It was worth it in the end to see the look of shock on Amber’s face as she saw the meaty, boney mess that was underneath. Like Yamira’s own face, the extent of her apparent burns was extreme, exposing flesh, nerve, sinew and bone in a single cadaverous mess. She slowly reached her hand towards the black pad, the cool pricking of artificial breeze of the building making even the lightest twitch of her vulnerable fingers send small jolts of pain up her arm. Just as the tip of bone on her forefinger was about to touch the pad, Amber wildly flailed her hooves and interjected.

“I, uh, actually think that maybe using your right hand would be better!” The pony rapidly said. A ghost of a smile crossed Yamira’s face as she deftly slipped her glove back on. With far less flair with her left, she removed the glove on her right hand, exposing her soft white skin, undamaged by war and strife. Yamira placed her hand flat on the black pad, surprisingly warm to the touch compared to most cold machinery she had been exposed to. The pad hummed a blue glow for a few seconds, then turned a bright green. The door slid open into a single room complex, about as large as her usual quarters onboard the Penitent Oath, only with an iron-framed bed in lieu of a hammock, a vanity not emblazoned in gold, the Merodi’s mark on the back wall as opposed to the Imperial Aquila, and private indoor plumbing.

Yamira stepped inside, with Bell immediately following behind her. The Servitor found an unoccupied corner of the room and plopped itself down on the ground, an escaping hiss from its exhaust indicated a rest state. It was minimalistic, but the quarters would serve her well for the duration of her stay. She ran her fingers over the sheets of the bed, stark white and undisturbed, before settling her gaze back on the pony in the doorway, still maintaining her political smile.
“This will serve me adequately,” she said. She walked back to the doorway, finding a mirroring black pad on the opposite side of the doorframe. “As have your services. I’ll be retiring now.” She moved to press her hand to the pad, but Amber interrupted.

“Whew, that’s a relief!” Amber said, wiping her brow with her hoof. “I was worried you hated me for how the day went, what with that first reception on your ship, that stop at the Tau Outpost for Ambassador Windmind, the drive to the Relations Office, that meeting with Zasraman, but I’m glad it all turned out well in the end!”

“Of course,” Yamira flatly said. She placed her hand on the pad, and the door immediately slid shut in Amber’s face.

“Well, uh, okay!” Amber’s muffled voice came from the other side. “I’ll come by in the morning to give you and Cage a proper tour of Celestia City! It was… really nice meeting you!” Yamira stood by the doorway for five minutes, waiting to hear if the pony was still there. Satisfied at no further intrusions, Yamira sighed and removed her hat from her head, allowing a cascade of finely cut blonde hair to fall upon her shoulders. She tossed her hat onto the bed and sat down on a vacant chair.

She looked over to Bell and spoke to the Servitor in High Gothic. “Bell, commence new entry in personal data-logs,” she said. Bell’s eyes lit up as a roll of parchment fed through the slots on its chassis, auto-quills primed and ready for recording.

“COMPLIANCE?” it shrieked in its mechanical voice. Yamira ran her bare hand through her hair, working a few potential knots out of it before they could become troublesome.

“By the compliance of Lady Commissar Yamira Kalov, of the Commissariat of the Astra Militarum, by the glory of the Imperium of Man and the will of the God Emperor of Mankind.” Bell beeped and planted the quill on the parchment.

“COMPLIANCE ACCEPTED, COMMENCE ORATION.” Yamira slowly removed her boots, clearing her throat in commencement of her nightly rituals.

“My newly assigned duties as diplomat representing the Astra Militarum and the Imperium of Man for the multiversal society, Merodi Universalis, have commenced. As expected, it is a backwards society that allows for heretics, mutants and xenos to roam freely, including Tau and accursed Eldar. In my meeting with two of the leaders of the Merodi, I was wrongfully assaulted by one Evening Sparkle for demanding satisfaction for having an alien setting foot on Holy Terra, and accosted by General Jack O’Neill in the process. This may be one of my greatest challenges yet, but I will not let the Commissariat down. The Emperor watches over me and these tribulations. As usual, I will conclude this oration with a silent prayer to the God-Emperor of Mankind, and rest for the remainder of the day. End entry.”

“ORATION CONCLUDED.” Bell snipped off the final portion of the parchment with its pincers and began its filing. Yamira stood from the bed and knelt down on the floor, clasping both her hands tightly around an aquila necklace dangling from her neck. Her eye closed and her lips moved to utter silent words of faith to the Emperor. This was the most peaceful she ever felt in her day-to-day, where she could feel her spirit transcend her mortal form and be with the Emperor in the closest way she could, save for setting foot on Holy Terra itself. Though that may be a dream unattainable within her lifetime, Yamira was content at it being just this.

That contentment was broken immediately by a knocking on her door. Yamira sighed and stood up from her kneeling. She walked over to the door and pressed her hand on the pad, opening it and revealing the last person she wanted to see for the remainder of the day.

“Commissar Kalov!” cheered Ambassador Windmind. The Water Caste Tau female was standing in Yamira’s doorway, smiling just as sweetly as when she last saw her and making Yamira sick just by looking. “I did not know that we were neighbors! Joy of joys, this presents so many opportunities for bonding between our empires and ourselves! I’ll look forward to seeing you every day as we go about representing ourselves for the sake of multiversal unity and the Greater Good!” Yamira promptly closed the door in Windmind’s face and went back onto the bed, retrieving a can of nutrient paste from the confines of her jacket. She popped the lid off, dug two fingers into the grey goop inside, and started shovelling it into her mouth. Yamira Kalov had never considered herself a stress-eater, but now seemed an apt time to start.

Chapter Six

For whatever reason that Yamira Kalov could not fathom, she had grown to prefer the sound of mortar fire waking her up in the dead of night by Xenos or heretics to the utterly detestable blaring of a klaxon alarm in her ear at the crack of dawn. Her eye bolted open as the ear-bleeding digital scream went on and on right on her bedside. She smacked her hand against the nightstand in an effort to silence the synthetic noises, before immediately regretting using her far more sensitive, skinless hand as the jolt of pain ran through her entire body. Yamira rolled herself over, ignoring the burning pain of bare flesh on cloth sheets, and brought her undamaged hand right atop the alarm, silencing it for good. The end result had her completely cocooned in her own bedsheets.

This had been a ritual for Yamira for the past week, as diplomat to Merodi Universalis.

Yamira untangled herself from her bedsheet, a disheveled mess of blonde hair spilling out over her equally messy face. Slowly she sat upright in her bed, staring at the red lights of her alarm clock with a deep loathing. A look she seemed to give to a lot of people, locations and things in Celestia City, now that she thought about it.

“Bell, are you awake?” Yamira groggily called out. The servitor in the corner flittered to life, its servos chugging and eyes blinking, shining through the dark right into Yamira’s eye.

“AWAKENED, COMMISSAR.” Bell said. As much as Yamira appreciated the constant companionship and service of the servitor, that shrill voice it made that once may have been a woman was not helpful in the early morning.

“Good, good.” Yamira muttered. “Check for received messages.”

“YES, COMMISSAR.” Yamira stood up, ruffling out the creases in her sleepwear that was generously donated to her wardrobe on behalf of the Merodi. She shuffled over to the dresser while the servitor beeped and hummed to itself. She picked up her hairbrush and worked to clean herself up a bit, straightening her golden hair back from the bedraggled mess. “NO RECEIVED MESSAGES, COMMISSAR.”

“Of course not,” Yamira grumbled. “Not like I’ve received toss-all from the Commissariat or the Lord Commander of the Guard since arriving in this depraved land of, of, of…” She paused to yank her brush from a few tangled knots. “Xenos, mutants and heretics.” She set the brush down and yanked a red towel from a small basket to her side. “Tell me the day’s schedule while I make myself ‘presentable’, or whatever balderdash the Overhead thinks.”

“YES, COMMISSAR,” Bell droned. While the servitor went through its records, Yamira walked into one of the few things she actually somewhat enjoyed in Celestia City: the shower. Being on an active battlefield made such luxuries reserved only for the Spires of Hive Nobility or even the High Lords of Terra impossible. The soothing warm water cascading on her, the fruit-smelling lotions for her hair and body, the sensation of being freed of months of dirt and dried blood from countless battles across the galaxy, it was the greatest gift that the Merodi had ever given her. Not that she would ever admit it, but that would be as close as could be to bending the knee for these foul heathens. “SCHEDULE FOR TODAY IS AS FOLLOWS, COMMISSAR,” Yamira could still hear Bell’s horrid voice over the rush of water from the tap, much to both her relief and dismay. “MEETING WITH CAPTAIN MANGONEL AND REPRESENTATIVE JAMESON AT RELATIONS OFFICE IN 0130 HOURS. MEETING WITH OVERHEAD EVENING SPARKLE AND AMBASSADOR AMBER DUST IN 0200 HOURS. BOARD TRANSPORT TO HIVEWORLD ARMASTUS AND MEET WITH PLANETARY GOVERNOR IN 0300 HOURS.”

“Oh damn it, I nearly forgot about that meeting.” Yamira said. She paused mid-scrub, careful to avoid the sting of soap on her skinless sinew. “... How long has it been since I’ve actually set foot on Armastus?”

“TWENTY-THREE YEARS, TEN MONTHS, AND ONE-HUNDRED NINETEEN DAYS, COMMISSAR,” Bell replied.

“Rhetorical statement, Bell.” Yamira turned off the faucet and steadily toweled herself off, making sure to proceed cautiously on her exposed muscles. Years since her injury and yet she still found more ways her sensitive and damaged body could fire pain throughout. At least she wore a red towel, much easier to hide unwanted stains. Covered up to the best of her ability, Yamira stepped out of the shower and walked to her wardrobe, where her uniform hung in pristine condition. As it always should be. “Retrieve a tin of nutrient paste for me, Bell, I’m feeling peckish.” The servitor wordlessly skittered over to the table as Yamira dressed herself, yet another step in the dull morning ritual. By the time Yamira fitted her coat on, she was surprised to see Bell approach her empty-handed.

“APOLOGIES, COMMISSAR. OUR NUTRIENT PASTE STORES HAVE RUN EMPTY.” Yamira ran over to the cabinet, where should be several stacks of grey militant-issue tins filled with flavorless paste that gives the body what it needs, was an empty hole with a lone, open tin, bearing the Departmento Munitorum’s alteration on the aquila, dented and wrent. She slammed a balled fist on the top of the cabinet, rattling free the tin and sending it rolling onto the floor with a hollow clack.

“Damnation… there were enough tins to feed a battalion of fifty men for a month, how did I run out in a week?” She quickly stood up and pointed at Bell. “Rhetorical statement, do not answer that.” The servitor stepped back as Yamira rubbed her cheek. “This marks an ill omen for the day.” She grabbed her hat from atop the dresser and sat it atop her head as she walked towards the door. “Emperor bless me if this day gets any worse.” She opened the door with a tap of the reader, and was immediately greeted by….

“Good morning, Commissar Kalov!” Windmind greeted chipperly. The Tau ambassador’s smile seemed to never leave her face, pristine teeth that seemed to always greet Yamira at every turn. Before she could get another word in, Yamira closed the door right in the grey woman’s face. The Commissar silently stared at the door, her good eye lowered in a listless, dour gaze, while her hand hovered over the bio-lock scanner.

“... She’s still there, I can feel it,” Yamira muttered. She pressed her hand to the scanner, praying to the God-Emperor that she was wrong. Once again, her prayers had gone unheeded, as it has been for the week of her stay.

“Another wonderful day out, isn’t it?” Windmind said. Her hands were tucked into the folds of her silken robes and her head raised high with that same sunny smile. “With it being such a delightfully bright and warm day out, one just cannot help but feel truly invigorated.” The less-than-enthused glare Yamira was giving to the Tau clearly wasn’t deterring her. She tried to push her way past, but the greyskin seemed to block her at every turn. “Perhaps you and I might share this before parting ways for the day?”

“No,” Yamira curtly said, ducking at every possible angle to find a way past. “I need to get to the Relations Office to commence with my day, and I have little time to-”

“Oh, you’re heading that way as well?”

‘Of course I was heading that way as well,’ Yamira thought. ‘We are both bloody diplomats who work in the same bloody building.’

“Then it is fated that we meet this morning!”

‘You were waiting in front of my door, you Xenos halfwit.’ Windmind brought herself closer, the brims of their hats touching and their noses inches apart. Well, more aptly half a nose and a y-shaped crevasse.

“Let us go over to the Office together!”

“Absolutely not!” Yamira once again tried to push past, but Windmind still blocked the way. “Do your people not have the concept of obstruction?!” Windmind stepped back, her red eyes widened at the Commissar’s outburst. Yamira stumbled through the open doorway, but quickly regained her posture with a tug on her collar. “Finally.” A quick tip of her hat and a flick of stray hair from her eyes, Yamira set off down the corridors, leaving the stunned Tau behind.

“... We do, actually.”

By the time Yamira had arrived at the Relations Office with a grumble in her empty stomach, the day had already begun. Politicians, diplomats and ambassadors milled about the great steps to the building, shuffling papers and conversing with their fellows about how their days are going and any potential business that may be going on. Humans and ponies, aliens and mutants, all milling about their day to day, as though their mere co-existence in the same area were not an affront to the God Emperor’s holy vision. Yamira paid it no mind as she walked up the stairs, staring ever ahead.

Within the foyer, a room filled to the brim with the fare of travellers and petitioners talking up bridges between worlds. Yamira felt herself reminded of the councilors and advisors that would flock to the sides of planetary governors, providing a lip about the common people to ears that would not often listen over their wealth. While Yamira had yet to see anything akin to the corruption of those types within the Merodi, she still held her reservations and suspicions. At the base of a great statue in the center of the foyer stood Captain Devon, accompanied by Cage, both men relaxing against the base with smoke trailing from their lips. Or, in the latter’s case, three trails. Devon immediately saw Yamira walking towards them and quickly removed the cigarette from his lips, snuffing it out on the side of his metallic foot before ultimately standing at attention. Cage just waved and puffed another triad of smoke wisps.

“Good morning, Lady Commissar,” Devon said.

“Hey Bacon-face,” Cage said. His remark was met with a nudge by Devon. Yamira met Devon’s salute with one of her own, ignoring the smoking Stand User.

“Good morning, Captain,” Yamira said. “Receive any news from the chain?”

“None from the High Lords themselves, ma’am,” Devon shook his head. “But I’ve heard out and about that a big-name official will be arriving for a military inspection in a few days.”

“Inspection?” Yamira repeated. “From among the Imperium?”

“Aye, one of our own.” The Captain nodded. “Found it a bit odd, myself. Especially with a Commissar already staying here in the wings, hmm?” Yamira lightly nodded, thinking on the implications. For someone to be arriving from the Imperium to inspect the military of the Merodi Universalis, it would have to be someone who has the wherewithal to enact that type of authority. Someone like her.

“Perhaps…” Yamira muttered. “Perhaps… No matter, should this military representative and I meet, we might exchange words. For now, I’ve work to do.”

“Oh yeah, Ambs is already waiting for you at the office,” Cage said, jabbing a thumb behind his back. “She’s looking super frazzed right now, but hey, what else is new?” Cage chuckled as the ends of his cigarettes glowed lightly. Yamira rolled her eye and returned to focus on Devon.

“Continue about your day then, Captain,” Yamira said. Devon nodded and started to head off, with Cage making a head start, but Yamira held her hand, keeping the Armageddonite in place. “Before you do, I have a request.” She leaned forward and whispered into Devon’s ear in a hushed voice. “You wouldn’t happen to have any paste tins or ration bars, would you?” Devon slowly raised an eyebrow. “I’m running low and am feeling slightly peckish.”

“Peckish?” Yamira’s response was interrupted by the low grumbling of a very empty stomach. Devon smirked. “Slightly peckish?”

“Don’t make exert my authority over you, Captain,” Devon raised his hands defensively and stepped back. He quickly opened one of his pockets and produced a silver-wrapped bar bearing the Imperium’s iconography. Yamira snatched the bar from Devon’s hand and hastily tore off the wrapping. Despite it looking more like a dull grey brick than anything remotely edible, Yamira took a hurried bite, wolfing it down without even considering to taste the non-existent flavor. “... Civilian Relief Ration Bar. This will suffice. You’re dismissed, Captain.” Devon saluted again and took off after Cage. Yamira inspected the bar in her hands again and took another bite, chewing lightly as she walked down the halls. Like her nutrient paste, the bar was flavorless, but the hard texture made it difficult to swallow, even when gnawed down into crumbs.

Yamira stepped into a vacant elevator and pressed the switch to her floor. The doors slid shut as Yamira was left to chew on the relief bar, allowing her to eat and think to herself in relative silence. Until that damn music came on, at least. That infernal looping of those five damn piano notes that came from the warbling speakers hidden somewhere in the framework. Every time she used these elevators, that same fifteen-second loop of that grated on Yamira’s ears. Were she not already lacking one, she would have torn the other off to spare herself from the music that made her want to take a bolt to her head.

Thankfully, she was momentarily spared from suffering in silence when her elevator came to a quick stop. The doors slid open and two well-dressed men entered, a man who was not tall and a man who was not short. Yamira stepped to the side to allow the men to enter, but instead they flanked her, standing at both sides. Neither man moved to push the button as the doors slid shut. There was a pregnant silence between the three, even the music seemed to have cut out entirely, only broken apart by the sound of Yamira’s teeth grinding the stale ration bar into something remotely edible. The lights on the elevator signalled they were indeed moving up, but Yamira had a sinking feeling that she was going nowhere. Yamira tried to get a look at the two men, but the brims of their hats covered their eyes and cast shadows that obscured their faces. Everything about them felt off. Their suits were too tidy, their clothes tucked in impeccably, even their ties were done perfectly. It was like the two had come off an assembly line.

Yamira glanced up and saw the light arriving at her floor. “This is my stop,” Yamira said. She reached forward to open the door, but the man who was not tall stopped her, pressing a finger to the emergency stop. Yamira felt her stomach lurch as the elevator came to a full stop, while the two men didn’t move in the slightest. She stared carefully at the two men, feeling extremely naked without her power sword or bolt pistol on her. Damn security inspection, demanding she keep her weapons in storage. What kind of military official worth her salt would walk around freely without her weapons? She regarded the men carefully, waiting for one to make any movements, but they still maintained their perfect stillness.

“Commissar Yamira Kalov,” the man who was not tall said. “Do not be alarmed. We wished to speak to you in private.”

“Seeking a place with no witnesses, hmm?” Yamira replied. Her tone matched the man who was not tall’s own coldness, biting like the frost on a sub-zero tundra.

“Not at all, Commissar Kalov,” the man who was not short said. Were Yamira not watching them speak, she could hardly tell the two apart from their voices. “We’re here to extend an olive branch, hold out our hands for mutual benefit.”

“You are not a friend of Merodi Universalis,” the man who was not tall said. “It’s written all over your face, both halves. No offense, of course.” Yamira just hardened her glare and remained stationary. “Don’t fret, neither are we.” The man who is not short produced a slate white business card from the confines of his finely-pressed jacket, which Yamira took and swiftly tucked away without sparing a single glance. “We represent outside interests that have taken stock in the Merodi’s rapid expansion across the multiverse, and focusing on those who’ve been affected by their presence.”

“They’ve certainly gotten comfortable in the big boots they’ve been trying on,” the man who was not short added. “So much so that they don’t realize just how many ant colonies they’ve been stomping as of late.”

“You liken the Imperium to ants?” Yamira raised an eyebrow and unconsciously balled a hand into a fist.

The man who was not tall interjected. “Not in the slightest, Commissar Kalov. After all, the Merodi wouldn’t be expending this much effort into keeping your Imperium happy and compliant alongside the aliens you clearly despise, in exchange for safe passage through your world. Having your entire way of life changed in but the span of a few months cannot be good for anyone.”

“We sympathize with your plight, Commissar.” The man who is not short stepped in front of Yamira, hands kept hidden behind his back. “Know that you and those who think as you do are not alone in the multiverse.” While some would find comfort in this knowledge, Yamira felt more uncertain than ever. She already distrusted the Merodi, even as she served as a liaison between them and the Imperium, but the mere aura these two men gave off sent a creeping chill up her spine she had not felt in decades. The elevator opened on the nineteenth floor; Yamira had no idea when it started up again.

The man who is not short tipped his hat and stepped out, while the man who is not tall remained. “If you ever feel the need of some relief or even an intervention,” he gestured to the pocket where their card was placed. “Give us a call.” The man who was not tall exited and the doors slid shut once more. Wheels turned silently in Yamira’s head as the five-note music returned to the speakers. Her lips felt dry and her breath uneven. Once she regained her bearings, Yamira removed the card from her pocket and read it. There was no number for contact, no address, no name for whomever the two men were or who they represented. Just a single sentence, and a mind full of questions.

Agents from a vague, yet menacing government agency.

Amber Dust was seated patiently in Yamira’s office, tapping her hoof on the floor as she awaited the Commissar’s arrival. She was several minutes late, but Amber could wait a bit longer. Maybe it was her fault for arriving thirty minutes early, but being late was just as rude as being too early. Amber bit the tip of her hoof, tapping away to the beat of a ticking clock stationed at Yamira’s desk. When the door slammed open, Amber nearly jumped through the ceiling, hair standing on end and teeth clenched tightly onto her hoof to the near point of drawing blood.

“Ambassador Dust,” Yamira curtly said. Amber released her hold on her hoof and melted out of her seat, right onto the floor in front of Yamira’s boots.

“... Hi,” Amber squeaked. “I, uh… didn’t expect you to come in late.” Yamira just scoffed and stepped right over the small pony, tossing a spent wrapper into a nearby waste bin. Like Yamira’s apartment in the Diplomat Dome, it was barely decorated save for the necessities of a desk, a computer, a set of chairs, and Yamira’s prized weapons hanging on the wall by hooks. The only other thing that Yamira insisted on having to at least add some ‘flavor’ to her room (at the insistence of Amber, naturally) was a statuette of the God-Emperor of Mankind, resplendent in golden glory during his prime of the Great Crusade, his flaming sword raised on high to smite all enemies that dare impede humanity’s path to conquering the stars.

Amber called it cute when it was brought in.

“I was preoccupied,” Yamira said, sitting down behind her desk. She hovered her hands over the keyboard, but stopped herself momentarily. “Random question, but do you know anything about a ‘vague yet menacing government agency’?” Amber stood up and rolled her head to the side, perplexed written all over her face. Yamira sighed and returned to her focus on the computer. “Right, of course you don’t. Forget I said anything.”

Amber puffed her cheeks indignantly. “You didn’t give me a chance to answer!”

“Well do you know anything about what I said?” Yamira replied. Amber deflated like a balloon with her head lowered. “Then forget I said anything.”

“R-right…” Amber said. She cleared her throat and trotted up to the desk. “So, today’s gonna be a big day. Going on your first diplomatic mission! Isn’t that exciting?” Yamira stared at her computer screen, waiting for it to properly turn on so she could find something else to use to ignore Amber. Unfortunately, the blonde pony still continued, holding up a clipboard and rattling off information. “So, I know you probably got the sit-rep for it, but a recap couldn’t hurt. Celestia City is in orbit over Hive World Armastus, where you, me, and two others for protection - I’m thinking Cage and Captain Mangonel - will go down there and meet with the, uh… leader person...”

“Planetary Governor,” Yamira corrected.

“That, yes, thank you,” Amber said. She was pacing around the office, balancing herself on three hooves as she examined the papers. “Anyway, we’ll be going down to the capital city and have a meeting with the Planetary Governor to engage in peace talks. Once we’re done with that, we’ll mark Armastus off on the long list of planets we need to visit, then come back here and get some victory cake from the Pinkie Emporium.” Amber smiled widely and turned back toward Yamira’s desk. “Any questions?” Yamira stopped her typing and rotated herself in her seat, folding her fingers over each other and looming over her desk like a vulture over carrion.

“A few,” Yamira said. “First and foremost, why Armastus? It’s an almost insignificant world in Segmentum Tempestus, even as most Hive Worlds would go. In fact, what is this list you speak of? This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

“But… that was in the briefing the day after you got here.” Amber said, pointing at Yamira. “We gave you that big folder and everything.” Yamira inwardly cursed herself, recalling receiving such a file, regarding the papers within as one would receiving a paper bag filled with manure, and treating it as such by throwing it right out the window.

“Yes, yes, I recall the folder,” Yamira said, hastily waving her hand in front of her face. “But recounting what was in the folder could be of use in… reminding me before we traverse planetside.” Amber nodded and set the clipboard aside on Yamira’s desk.

“Well, it goes like this,” Amber explained. “When we - we being Merodi Universalis - arrived here in Galaxia Immaterium, we had a lot of difficulty trying to get anyone to take us seriously, or even consider us helpful. Sure, the Ethereal Supreme of the Tau Empire opened up to us after the first visit, but that was after a lot of convincing and negotiation. Nearly a month in and we managed to get representatives to Terra,” Yamira curled her lip. “Human representatives!” Yamira relaxed somewhat, but still kept her glare. “Anyway, when the representatives met with the High Lords, they, and a direct representative from the Emperor, the Captain-General of the Custodes,” Yamira rubbed her chin in brief contemplation. “Whose name I can’t really remember, but he was really polite and looked like a big golden banana.”

“Get to the point,” Yamira grumbled.

“R-right.” Amber blushed and brought her hoof down. “So, the Captain-General said that the Emperor would consider our offer for alliance, as it apparently wasn’t the first time the Imperium had worked with outside forces. But, he said that in order to do so, we needed to convince the entire Imperium that we truly wish to help. Which means-”

“Which means that you must convince every planet within the Imperium’s territory,” Yamira said. “A territory which encompasses… millions of worlds.” Amber slowly nodded. “I see. That’s quite a task for the God-Emperor to bestow.” Though her words were somber, Yamira’s mind was howling with laughter.

‘Quite a brilliant task indeed, my Emperor!’ Yamira thought, staring at the statuette adorning her desk. ‘To task the Xenos and their sympathisers to a task so impossible, you doom them to failure! They attempt to recreate your Great Crusade, but will find themselves walking on a futile path! I was a fool to doubt your infinite wisdom, magnanimous Emperor of Mankind!’

“Yes, but we’re making good progress so far!” Amber said, perking herself up a bit. “And Armastus shouldn’t be that hard! It’ll be the third planet I’ve visited, but this time we’ll have someone actually from the Imperium helping out! You!” Yamira’s joyous thoughts died a little at that. Again and again, she was reminded of her position, her sentence, to aid the Merodi in their endeavors as a political pawn. “If anyone can convince the Planetary Governor to give us a chance, it’ll be you!” Yamira sighed and reclined in her seat.

“Perhaps, though I would not get your hopes up,” Yamira said. “Lord Governor Velour is a stubborn man, but as loyal to the Imperial Creed as any servant of the God-Emperor should.”

“I’m sure you can probably talk some sense into hi-” Amber stopped herself, blinking rapidly as though it would filter the confusion running through her brain. “Wait, I never said his name. How did you know that?” Yamira stood up and adjusted the collar of her jacket, running her thumbs on the hem of her clothes.

“Simple: I’ve been to Armastus before,” she said. Yamira turned about and removed her sword and gun from the wall, slinging them both onto her belt. “Twenty-three years ago. Back when it was amidst a civil war.” Amber kept her mouth open, but no words came out other than dead air. Yamira adjusted her hat and started to the door. “Are you going to just stand there trying to catch flies, Ambassador?”

“Oh, yeah, r-right.” Amber grabbed the clipboard in her teeth and followed behind Yamira as the two walked out of the office. As they walked, Yamira’s thoughts strayed to the Emperor once more, his infinite wisdom and all-seeing gaze. Was he watching her right now, through her trials and tribulations amongst the Xenos and heretics? The mere idea that he did watch her from the Golden Throne on Holy Terra brought a sense of ease to Yamira’s troubled soul.

‘The Emperor protects.’ Yamira told herself. ‘The Emperor always protects.’

Chapter Seven

Author's Note

Before we continue, I'd like to take this time to thank you all for the continued support of this story, especially to those who are outright quoting source material from the Black Library to back points. It brings a smile to my face to see this kind of response to my work. Thank you immensely, and I hope you continue to enjoy, as well as support the primary work, Songs of the Spheres, by GM Blackjack. None of this could have been done without him, so go forth. GO FORTH I SAY!

Chapter Seven

Armastus was a rare blue jewel in the Segmentum. A world of pristine oceans encompassing the globe as far as the eye could perceive. Nary a stretch of land graced the surface of the world, unmarred by the rising earth from the depths. And yet, it was not without humanity’s industrious touch. Around murky brown stains that blotted the beauty of the oceanic world, the spires of Hive Cities floated on artificial land, barnacles on the belly of a whale unaware of its life slowly being drained to feed the Imperium’s machinations of war.

It looked even better than the last time Yamira beheld it’s majesty.

Yamira and Amber had long since left Celestia City with Captain Devon and Cage accompanying them as guards, descending towards the planet on a Merodi Skiff flown by a Peridot pilot. Once again, the diplomats and their associates were seated in the bay, idly passing the time until planetfall. Cage and Devon were exchanging smokes, Amber idly rocked in her seat, and Yamira was once again consulting her personal Lectitio Divinitatus, muttering prayers under her breath to the God-Emperor of Mankind. There was little conversation between anyone after boarding the Skiff; Cage wasn’t in the mood, Yamira made it clear she preferred to be disturbed as little as possible, and Devon was just as ambivalent.

“So… you’ve been to Armastus before?” Amber asked, glancing over to Yamira. Yamira barely regarded her with a nod as she turned to the next page. “It’s a beautiful planet, all those big oceans and… all that water. It’d probably make for a great place to go on a cruise, eh?”

“Aren’t the waters of Armastus extremely hostile?” Devon spoke up, putting out his spent cigarette on his metal leg.
“Giant sea monsters with scythes for fins the size of a battle-barge, or something.”

“Very accurate, Captain,” Yamira said. She still had yet to look away from her book. “The locals call them ‘Aquanadons’. Once we make landfall, you’ll see the Armastans have AA guns trained on the skies and the seas.” Amber swallowed and looked down at the floor. The pristine blue seemed less appealing to look at now.

“Right, right…” Devon said. He tapped his foot against the floor and stuck out his lip. “You think those Aquanadons would taste good if cooked right? I mean, I’m not usually partial to fish meat, but I’m not one to turn away a chance at new meat. Like this one time, I was stationed with a few mates and some Attillan Rough Riders on a Deathworld, and one bloke, Corporal Kajar, gave me a slice of Ovigor meat, and it was absolutely-”

“Pointless to discuss further.” Yamira said, snapping her book shut. “We should be arriving in the Capital Hive Spire in a few minutes, correct?” Amber jerked her head up after realizing that Yamira had been addressing her.

“Oh yeah, uh, that’s right!” Amber said. “Eve promised us that we’d be arriving right on the tippy top of the, uh, Spire, where the Planetary Governor, Mr. Randolph Velour, will meet us with his retinue of guards! Then it’s straight to his office for talks. Should be hunky-dory after that!” Yamira and Devon glanced at each other, the former giving a hard glare with the latter just looking concerned. Cage tossed a spent cigarette aside and sighed a cloud of smoke.

“Ambs,” he said. “Never say ‘hunky-dory’ ever again.” Amber’s ears fell in conjunction with her head. The ship rocked briefly, signalling the descent through the planet’s atmosphere. The black of space faded away to the bright blue of a cloudless sky, a mirror of the ocean below that was untainted by humanity’s industry and pollution.

“Commissar Kalov, Ambassador Dust,” the Peridot pilot called from the cockpit. “I need you two up front, we’re getting hailed by someone in the capital and they don’t sound happy.” Yamira and Amber unbuckled themselves from their seats and hurried into the cockpit, though Yamira made it a point to be inside first. The pilot gestured to the console, where the open-wave communications device was showing an active connection.

“- Repeat, foreign aircraft,” a man’s voice crackled over the feed. “You are entering into Hive Primus territory. Identify yourselves immediately, or be shot down. This is your only warning.” The color drained from Amber’s face while Yamira partially pursed her lips and furrowed her brow. The planetary defense forces of Hive Worlds took their duties extremely seriously, and thus any threats of being blown out of the sky were not mere bravado, especially in the case of worlds that had successfully overcome strife. It had been a few years, but Yamira hadn’t been too invested in Armastus’ security or their internal struggles. Seeing that, once again, the actual Merodi Ambassador was scared useless, Yamira opted to step in.

“Pilot, open communicae with the PDF,” Yamira instructed. The pilot obliged and quickly tapped a few buttons. The console flashed green, and the pilot gave a brief gesture of confirmation. Yamira cleared her throat and leaned to the hailer. “Planetary Defense, this is Lady Commissar Yamira Kalov of the Astra Militarum, with representatives of Merodi Universalis to meet with the Planetary Lord Governor Randolph Velour, requesting permission to land.” The line went quiet for several seconds, but Yamira could still feel the orbital cannons aimed right at her and her coterie. Finally, a response came through.

“Lady Commissar, please confirm signum identification,” he replied. Yamira folded her arms over her chest and leaned over the hailer, her mask of smugness loosely hanging off her flayed face with pride.

“Signum identification code six-delta-beta-nine-two-zeta-sigma.”

“Signum approved.” Amber had to hold her breath to keep a relieved sigh from disrupting the call. “Proceed to the shuttle bay on Upper Hive secundus. Welcome to Hive Primus.” The call disconnected, and the ship slowly descended towards a grand shadow that cast itself over them like the blanket of the night.

The Hive Cities of the Imperium of Man were always impressive sights, towering structures of stone and metal like living mountains. They stood as proud testaments to humanity’s tenacity to survive even in the harshest of environments and unforgiving of worlds, great black and grey pillars that dared to scrape the heavens themselves. Even from afar, the mighty gunmounts of the planetary defense and the statues of Imperial Saints and Bolter Monk towers were proud and imposing guardians that made true that this was a dominion under the protective gaze of the God-Emperor. For Yamira Kalov, it felt like returning home after so long. The shuttle flew hundreds of miles upwards to the highest points of the Hive City, the Spire, where only the upper echelons may even dream to reside. As the shadows of the hangar cast themselves over the Skiff, Yamira and Amber made their way out of the cockpit to rejoin the others.

“We’ve arrived,” Yamira announced. Devon and Cage unbuckled themselves from their seats, slowly stretching from the hours they had spent stationary. Amber lightly tapped Yamira on her calf, nearly jumping when the Commissar turned and gave her a slight glare with her half-burnt face.

“Th-thank you for saving us with the PDF, Yamira,” Amber softly said. Yamira stared at the pony in silence, the black void of her burned eye matched with Amber’s own deep blue.

“I only did it to avoid being shot from the sky,” Yamira curtly replied. The skiff touched down with a heavy thud and the exit ramp lowered. “Let’s get this over with.” Placing her hand on the pommel of her sword, Yamira marched out of the ship, with her accompaniment following, Devon flanking her right with his lasgun resting against his shoulder, Cage on her left with yet another cigarette alight, and Amber loping behind, a yellow addition to her shadow.

Descending the ramp and onto the cold steel of the Hive’s ground, the group was immediately met with heavily-armed resistance. Six men, decked in the grey uniforms and bucketed helms of the Arbites, each clutching an inactive shock maul and thick-plated riot shields in each tightly gloved hand, stood before them, judging eyes hidden behind tinted visors. Yamira, Devon, Cage and Amber stopped in their tracks, with Amber bumping against Yamira’s leg by accident. One of the Arbitrators approached Yamira, standing just a few inches shy of the Commissar’s own admittedly tall stature.

“Lady Commissar,” The Arbitrator said. “We will be escorting you and your associates to the Lord Governor’s office at the top of the spire. He is expecting you.” He turned his bucket-helmet upon Amber, the pony shirking away under the scrutinous, unseen gaze. “As are some unsettled Hivers. Any reason it doesn’t have a leash?” A terrified squeak came from Amber, and Cage’s eyes narrowed behind his sunglasses.

“You wanna rephrase that, tin-can?” Cage asked. Yamira could already see the Arbitrator’s thumb sliding over the ignition switch on his maul.

"The Merodi Ambassador will not leave my immediate side,” Yamira said. “It will not be a problem.” The thumb slid down, but the tense stature of the black garbed Arbitrators remained rigid.

“Another Xenos on this planet is problem enough,” he grumbled. “Form up!” The Arbitrators marched in unison, parting to form a protective circle around the group, riot shields raised at the ready. Devon and Yamira briefly exchanged glances, the Captain looking just as apprehensive as he was on the Skiff. Yamira shook it off and looked ahead, right as the Arbitrators began their steady march out of the hangar. The group followed, stuck right in the middle of the heavily armored fortification of men.

“Seems a little excessive, if you ask me,” Cage muttered. He cast one of his cigarettes aside, watching as it was immediately crushed under an Arbitrator’s boot.

“I’m surprised they didn’t bring in less,” Devon replied, chewing the inside of his cheek.

“Be quiet, both of you.” Yamira snapped. “And be on your best behavior.” She could barely make out a response Amber had said under her breath, something about it being her job to say things like that, but nobody seemed to pick up on it. Nor really seemed to care.

The Hive Primus of Armastus was like many of the other Hive Cities that Yamira had seen throughout her life. Industrial, metallic, looming, and yet still held its own innate charms here and there. Especially with the wonderful sight of Imperial propaganda posters plastered across various buildings, depicting the Astra Militarum and their various accomplishments across the galaxy. Yamira held back a smile when she recognized the always delightful line of Ciaphas Cain posters, ever the unmitigated badass, as the citizens would call him, and yet in all her years of service, she still had yet to make the legendary Commissar’s acquaintance. Yet, even when surrounded by familiar and welcoming sights of decor, the people were less than welcoming. Men and women, dressed in the finest clothes that only those whose blood ran with ill-begotten gold or ancient ancestry could even hope to possess, regarded the group and their Arbitrator escorts with sneers of revulsion and disgust. Many turned their noses up and went about their way, while others continued their gawking, like they had just witnessed animals fornicating in a zoo. One in particular, a portly woman who happened to have one garishly jeweled necklace for each additional chin she sported, ordered her bodyguard to throw the nearest thing to “spook the beast back into its pen”, but he stayed his ground for fear of incurring the wrath of the Arbites. Yamira spared one glance behind her, noticing that Amber’s eyes had gone puffy and red amidst their lengthy walk, the pony’s head barely looking up from the ground as they plodded along.

After an eternity of walking through the streets of the Upper Hive, they had finally arrived at the Lord Governor’s manor. Like much of the rest of the buildings in the Spire, it was decadent and lavish, finely-polished metal trimmed with the purest gold that could be acquired. The only bits of greenery on the entire planet lined the paths as small bushes, trimmed into nigh perfect circles, some accompanied by statues of various figures in Armastus’ history, each looking just as pompous as the last. Two guards stood vigilant by the tremendous doors, dressed in garish uniforms and carrying laser lances in loose and lazy grips. They parted way and opened the door at the sight of the Arbitrators, leading into the finely furnished interior of the manor. The Arbitrators broke formation, finally providing breathing space for Yamira and her company.

“Lord Governor Velour will be waiting for you inside,” the Arbitrator said. Yamira nodded and gestured to the door, already walking in with Amber still clinging to her shadow. Devon adjusted his grip on his gun and followed after, but Cage remained behind to stare at one of the Arbitrators while chewing on the butts of two cigarettes.

“So do those helmets of yours take ten gallons?” he asked.

“Jameson!” Yamira snapped. Cage winced and quickly followed after the others, just as the guards were closing the doors. He almost got the cuff of his pants stuck in the metal doorway, but nicked himself out just in time.

“Can nobody in this freaking universe take a joke?” Cage asked. Just as he struck himself another match, Yamira’s hand shot out and snuffed out the flame under her glove. In the partially lit interior of the extravagantly decorated manor, Yamira’s harsher features and burnt flesh seemed to be enhanced in a ghoulish manner.

“If you attempt any of your poor attempts at humor with the Lord Governor,” Yamira growled, “I will replace one of your cigarettes with an active krak grenade. Is that clear?” Cage said nothing, simply tucking his hands into his pockets. A sniffle diverted Yamira’s attention from the smoking Stand User to the small yellow pony. Tiny droplets fell onto the floor from where Amber was staring, making barely visible marks on the woven carpet. Yamira bent down, grabbed ahold of Amber’s cheeks, and forcibly hoisted the pony off the ground, suspending her by her own head. “And you! Stop that snivelling this instant!”

“B-b-b-but…” Amber blubbered, wet tears sliding down her cheeks and Yamira’s rough gloves. “They were s-s-s-s-s-saying all those h-h-horrible things! T-t-t-t-treating me l-like I was just some kind of-”

“Animal, yes, because to them, that’s what you are,” Yamira retorted. “To them, you are a small, fluffy, quadrupedal weak thing that is encroaching onto their homes and bringing with you all manner of trouble. If the Lord Governor sees you crying, then you simply confirm that fact.” Yamira hoisted Amber closer, half nose touching muzzle in an awkward display. “People can be cruel and hateful, especially when proven right. Either deal with it or consider taking the Emperor’s Peace.” Yamira pulled her hands back and dropped Amber onto the floor with an unceremonious thud. Amber wiped her nose and eyes with her hoof, getting the last of her sniffles out of her system. Devon furrowed his brow and knelt down next to the pony, placing a hand on her shoulder while supporting himself with the butt of his gun.

“Don’t let the Commissar scare you too badly,” he whispered. “She may be right, but there’s always potential to improve. People can be cruel and hateful when proven right, so might as well prove them wrong.” Amber sniffled again, but smiled as she looked at the rugged captain with still red eyes.

“Thank you, Captain Devon,” she said. “What’s the Emperor’s Peace, by the way?” Devon made a bit of a hesitant face, then made a slow slicing gesture across his throat, concluding by sticking his tongue out. Amber swallowed and stood back up, alongside Devon standing up and resting his gun back on his shoulder. With little else to say, the group found themselves with little else to do but stand around in the foyer. Yamira found the quiet tolerable, compared to the meek noises from Amber and the sneers and jeers of the nobility and the Arbitrators. Still, it was a boring silence, broken apart by the ticking of an ancient clock somewhere in the room.

“Is that supposed to be this Lord Governor guy?” Cage asked. Yamira whipped her head about, expecting to see their host, only to see that Cage had been staring at an oversized portrait of a man in a brilliantly decorated military uniform, bearing several medals of honor and sporting a scowl that would make an Ork shudder. Yamira sighed through her nose and shook her head.

“No, that would be the previous Lord Governor, Anton Velour,” Yamira explained. “He was a general in the Astra Militarum before his retirement.” Yamira walked over to Cage’s side and stared up at the portrait and the man’s stern scowl. “Shame, really. He was one of the best minds I’ve ever known.” Cage withdrew his cigarettes and regarded Yamira with surprise.

“Holy shit, you just said something nice about someone,” Cage said. Yamira scowled while Devon barked a brief laugh.

“Pay up, Jameson!” Devon shouted. Cage grumbled and walked over to Devon, shoving a wad of credits into the Captain’s chest. Devon smirked as he shoved the credits into one of his pockets, leaving Cage to grumble, and Yamira perplexed. Even Amber joined in on the fun with a light giggle.

The merriment was cut short by the sound of footsteps echoing up the enormous set of stairs in the center of the foyer. Slowly coming down from the second floor landing was the unmistakable sight of the Lord Governor. Not in mirroring his predecessor in the portrait, but being the sheer opposite. The man before them was obese, his gaudily decorated green and red clothes barely constraining a paunchy belly that seemed to have not once known hunger, a scrap of red hair neatly combed to one side to cover a very obvious bald spot, and a long mustache that somehow made his face even wider than it already was. Add to it the thick fingers bearing rings and a long golden staff bearing the Imperial aquila at the top, and you have either the Lord Governor or a bastardization of an Ecclesiarch.

“I thought I heard voices down here,” the Lord Governor said. His voice was tepid yet bubbly, like milk on the verge of being spoiled. “You must be the entourage from those, ah, those ah…” He rolled his wrist, steadily descending down the stairs with one plodding step at a time. “Melody University ambassadors, yes?”

“Um… That’s Merodi Universalis, sir,” Amber said, trotting ahead of the group with surprising conviction in her voice. “I’m Relations Ambassador Amber Dust, representing the Merodi proper.” She crossed a hoof over her chest and lightly bowed, just as the Lord Governor reached the ground floor. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lord Governor Velour.” Velour’s eyes had gone wide at the sight of Amber, Yamira almost expected them to fly out of his head like corks from a child’s wooden bolter.

“Emperor preserve me, a talking horse!” Velour exclaimed, pressing a hand to his chest. “I never thought I would see something so extraordinary since the Felinids!” Amber creased her brow, but maintained her dignity, even as Cage and Devon started quietly snickering.

“Yes, I am a pony, Lord Governor sir,.” she said. She stepped to the side and gestured to the humans standing behind her. “With me is my personal bodyguard, Cage Jameson, Captain Devon Mangonel of the Armageddon Steel Legion, and Lady-”

“Yamira Kalov!” Velour said, a wide smile stretching across his face like dough. “I cannot believe it!” He jovially laughed as he waddled up to Yamira, shoving past Amber with a bump of his pudgy belly, forcibly grabbing her hand and vigorously shaking it. Yamira herself remained both cordial and immensely confused. “When the Arbites told me who was coming, I almost couldn’t believe my ears to hear you returning to Armastus! Oh, if only brother were here to see you again, even if you do have significantly less of a face now!” Cage stopped holding back and burst into laughter, nearly losing both of his cigarettes while Devon’s face was bright red from holding his breath. In spite of this, Yamira put on a hesitant smile, even as she felt her arm was going to be shaken right out of her socket.

“Yes, it’s good to see you as well, Randolph.” Yamira said. “You’ve certainly been…” She glanced up and down at the stout, pudgy man still holding her hand. “Living well.”

“Well as can be, Lady Commissar,” Velour said. He broke his hold and started pacing around the foyer, his staff clanking on the ground with every step. “The life of governance is a tedious one, especially over the entire planet! All this work, paying the tithe, collecting taxes for the tithe, keeping the schola open for trainees, cleaning up the infestation aftermath, dealing with all the picketers and whining Underhivers, and meetings, oh!” He smacked his forehead with the back of his hand, nearly swooning over. “The meetings! How they bore me to tears! How father ever managed them for so many years, I’ll never know.” He withdrew his hand and sighed. “But, such is my life.”

“Clearly you suffer more than others,” Cage said, rolling his eyes.

“Exactly!” Velour proclaimed. “Why can’t most people see that? You clearly must be a wizened man, sir bodyguard.”

“Thank you,” Cage said, bowing slightly with a smug grin. “Why can’t most people see that?” Yamira rolled her eye, and Amber finally decided to speak up again, clearing her throat.

“We thank you for kindly hosting us for this meeting, Lord Governor.” Amber said. “Is there anywhere we can discuss things in a more comfortable environment?” Velour stared at the pony again, a mirthful look on his flabby face. No doubt he was picturing how amusing it was to see farm animals speaking like they were people.

“Oh, of course, of course,” Velour said. He patted Amber on the cheek,and she partially stepped back in barely-veiled disgust. “We can retire to my dining hall. I can have the cooks prepare a feast for us all, though I’m uncertain if we have grass to properly feed your palate.”

Amber’s forced smile wrenched itself onto her face. “I’m sure I’ll be fine with what you have, Lord Governor,” she said. “Lead the way.” Velour lightly nodded, plodding off westward to the dining hall, gesturing with his staff for the others to follow. Once sufficiently out of earshot, Amber sputtered and followed after, keeping her head lowered and her eyes narrowed.

Cage and Devon followed behind, with Yamira in the far back. As she followed behind, a creeping sensation ran across her unmarred skin. The casualness of this apparently important affair seemed off to her, furthermore the lack of guards within the premise seemed to bode ill. Such suspicions may simply be paranoia brought on by stress, and Yamira dismissed it as she ventured into the corridors of Velour’s manor. She did pause in her stride, only briefly, at the sound of hissing from one of the empty rooms.

‘Leaking steam pipe, most likely.’ Yamira thought, shrugging to herself and moving along. There were far more important matters at hand to think about than faulty piping.

Chapter Eight

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Chapter Nine

Light returned to Amber’s eyes in a sudden rush, forcing her to return to consciousness. She must have fainted after she was grabbed by those horrifying things. Either that, or hit her head pretty hard when she went straight through the floor. That would explain the pounding against her skull, at least, but not the tightness around her fetlocks and shears. She tried to move, but the sound of jangling chains and a straining pain on her limbs made it evident that she wasn’t going anywhere fast. Amber blinked repeatedly to clear her vision, the blurred lights slowly beginning to take shape in the dark. Unfortunately, as soon as she could see, Amber noticed that she was staring inches away from the eyes of a glowing skull. Amber screamed and tried to thrash in her bindings, but to her own surprise, it was the skull that recoiled more. Once she stopped her thrashing, Amber saw the wiring and metallic bits that ran through the skull.

“Oh, i-i-it’s just a servo-skull.” Amber breathed a sigh of relief. “... Why do these humans have to be so fascinated with skulls? It’s way too creepy.” The servo-skull let off a digitized whirr and flew off into the dark corners of the room. “No-no-no, wait, come back, I didn’t mean that! Aww…” Amber’s ears flattened again as she hung limply in her restraints. “I miss it already.” She tried to look around the room and get better bearings of where she might be, but it was still far too dark to properly tell. She was probably still on Armastus, and maybe the Hive City, but she couldn’t tell where. The cold, stone wall pressing against her back made her think she was definitely indoors. Underground, perhaps? Could be, though the Hive Cities on the planet were on artificial islands, and the only metal she felt was on her legs, binding her to the wall.

A bright light briefly shone in the corner of the room, a beat of hope ran through Amber’s heart that one of her friends had come to save her, but it died quick when she saw it was simply the servo-skull… followed by the eerie, unblinking eyes of the serpentine woman. Lady Tzahah emerged from the shadows, the glow of the servo-skulls eyes accenting her alien features in a nightmarish light, glimmering off her golden, fanged smile.

“I am sorry if my acolytes were far too rough with you, bringing you here.” Lady Tzahah said. Her clack of her golden staff with every step made Amber’s heart skip a beat. “Hormagaunts don’t really understand decorum and delicacy in these kinds of matters.” Amber just resumed her thrashing, wanting more than ever to get out of her restraints and away from this crazy woman. “Oh, why that’s a rude gesture, trying to run when I’m apologizing. I’ll have to rectify that.” Lady Tzahah twirled her staff about and rammed the topmost sphere into Amber’s exposed abdomen. Amber groaned, the sudden force causing her yellow cheeks to puff up to prevent the rising bile. “There, slight rectified.”

“Hoarff…” Amber swallowed the hunk of partially digested food and wheezed. “Pain… all the pain…” She coughed again, glancing up at her mutant captor. “Why?”

“Ah, therein is the ultimate question for everything, isn’t it?” Lady Tzahah said. “Why does the Imperial war-machine claim planets that are so hostile that even the flora itself seeks to render them dead? Why does someone as powerful in position as the Planetary Governor feed himself five meals a day while Underhivers starve in their effort to survive? Why wage a war against far more powerful Xenos adversaries whom simply wish to live their lives? Why work from absolute nothingness to gain the ear of the most powerful man on the planet?” She cupped Amber’s face in one hand, her clawed nails pressing against the pony’s cheek. “Why prompt an alliance with a power eclipsing existence itself that has access to a greater reality that one we currently reside?” Tzahah giggled, her nightmarish eyes matching with Amber’s own. “I gave you that answer already.” Amber shook her head, releasing the rogue advisor’s grip on her face.

“You think your plan will work?” Amber snapped. Tzahah put a hand to her chest, a gesture of mock surprise. “The Merodi are far more intelligent than whatever you and the rest of the Genestealers on this planet are planning. We’ve come against far more dangerous things and come out strong every time!”

“Ah, but I doubt even your precious Merodi Universalis can prepare for a widespread infiltration down to the genetic level, little morsel.” Tzahah replied. She parted her mouth, and out lolled an elongated tongue, thin and serpentine, that reached down to the center of her chest. “Especially after you bear witness to the ceremony, and hear the ever hungry call of the Hive as we do.” She set her cane aside, which seemed to magnetically keep itself straight on the floor even without Tzahah’s hold, and grabbed ahold of Amber again, bringing their faces uncomfortably close to one another. “I look forward to seeing what the Gift will do to you, my little treat. Once it is within you, you’ll play an instrumental part in bringing about a glorious new dawn for the multiverse. A veritably delicious banquet for the Hive.” She purred, a look of ecstasy upon her face appearing that made Amber extraordinarily uncomfortable and terrified. “I can taste it now.” The cold and wet touch of Tzahah’s monstrously long tongue pressed itself against Amber’s cheek, slowly tracing itself upwards along her face. The bile that Amber had swallowed earlier was already coming back up, the sheer thought of any form of violation by this thing that was jeopardizing her mission for the Merodi sending a surge of sickness and anger through her body. For the past week, she had been tormented and teased by the representatives of this galaxy, belittling her for her meekness and haste to apologize, even her friends viewing her as more a liability than a true contributor to the cause.

No more. No more!

A burst of strength ran through Amber’s body, emboldening her through raw emotion and fury as she tugged at the restraints on her hindlegs. With a sundering shatter of stone, the restraint on her left leg broke from the wall and shot upwards, striking Tzahah directly at the base of her jaw. A crack, a squelch, and a wail, and Tzahah broke away from her twisted embrace of the pony, clutching her mouth in agony as a waterfall of red and green ichor cascaded through her fingers and onto the floor. Amber yanked at her restraints again, pulling herself free from the wall with both her forelegs, even as the manacles still were bound to her ankles. As she came to the ground, her hoof touched something in the dark, wet and soft. She squinted her eyes, and saw, squirming in a progressively expanding pool of blood, was Tzahah’s own two-foot long tongue, writhing on the ground like a snake in the throws of death.

“How’s THAT taste, freak?!” Amber shouted, kicking the tongue to the side. Tzahah withdrew her hands, gawking in horror at the blood that stained her fingers, and the vacant sensation in her flooded mouth. She snarled, her bloodied golden fangs muddied in the dim light of the chamber, glaring at Amber like a feral animal. “Not too happy about losing your tongue, huh? Serves you right for being a creepy alien pervert!”

“Wha’… wha’ strenff you ‘ave….” Tzahah gurgled, more blood gushing through her lips and staining her robes. Amber smirked and stamped her hoof again, a sizeable crack forming underneath on the stonework.

“Might be out of touch, but there’s some things you don’t forget as a member of the Daughters of Manehattan.” Amber said. “Like how to really kick some flank when you’re downright peeved.” She lowered her head, scraping her hoof on the ground as she glared down the advisor. “Yamira would probably like to kill you first, but I think I totally earned this just now.” Amber yelled at the top of her lungs and charged, surging towards Tzahah with a fire burning in her eyes. The Genestealer woman snarled back, and raised her clawed hand overhead in an anticipatory swipe. Before either could make a response, a flash of two bright orange lights shone in the dark behind Tzahah. Amber only briefly looked upon them for a moment, but a moment was all that was needed. Drowsiness instantly took hold of the yellow pony, her slurred state of mind causing her legs to carry her off away from her path, careening right into a wall. The collision instantly knocked Amber out, sending her sprawling to the ground with a bloody gash on her head.

Tzahah stared at the pony with hatred and fascination, even as the blood flowing from her mouth trickled its last few drops. “Su’h powa’... Su’h re’ilian’...” Tzahah muttered. She walked over to her staff and picked it up, carefully keeping her eyes on Amber, in watch for any potential sudden movements. Save for the twitch of a leg, the pony did not move. Tzahah wiped her chin clean of blood, her snake-like eyes narrowed to slits as she glared at her future progenitor of a new Genestealer strain. “An’ i’ will belong to ‘e.” Her lips curled back into their usual wicked smile, the dripping of blood in the room accompanied by the sound of her claws pecking against the metal of her staff. A thought rang out through the Hive Mind of the cult, Tzahah issuing her command to her disciples to collect the soon-to-be addition to their clutch. The humiliation was brief, but soon, Tzahah would achieve far more than she could ever accomplish than on a backwater like Armastus. A planet would be an entree for the Swarm, but the Multiverse would be a buffet of infinite proportions.

The air in the cramped hidden corridor smelled of rust and mildew. Though Yamira’s nose only partially functioned, the half that could smell the rancid odor wrinkled a bit from the sting of decaying metal and fungus. Yet still, she needed to keep her nostril open to follow after the Genestealer filth. Though the shot Devon made likely cauterized the wound, burn wounds can still bleed. She knew this more than most.

The blue glow of her power sword only gave Yamira a few feet of visibility in the dark corridor, only shining the dark metal and ferrocrete just slightly out of her arms reach. Every step she took was careful and concise, moving at a slow and deliberate pace to mask her footsteps. One errant misstep and her position would be given away, and the Genestealer would come upon her.

‘Not that it has much room in here.’ Yamira thought. ‘Barely any room to swing my sword, let alone prepare for an ambush.’ True to her own thoughts, the corridor was far more cramped than she had anticipated. Were she to press her hands against both sides of the walls, Yamira would have no room to keep her arms even remotely straight. The ceiling itself was only a meter taller than she was, so her quarry had less opportunity to pounce upon her from above. Still, it was cramped and claustrophobic. Never a good place to be for anyone, especially an irate Commissar chasing after a mutagenic Xenos. Yamira removed her hat and brushed her sleeve across her forehead, the wet sting of sweat that started to drip from her hat and into her eye acting as an annoying distraction.

The tunnel ahead seemed to grow darker ahead, her sword no longer illuminating the environment around her. Before she could properly think as to why, she lost her footing on a phantom step and stumbled forward. Her shin clanged against something rounded and heavy, a dull jolt running up her leg as she quickly braced her foot against something else. The echoing clang ran throughout the chamber, now sounding vastly larger and cavernous in the dark. Yamira hissed and withdrew her leg, only to bump her heel against another hard, metallic surface, sending another ring throughout the room. She furrowed her brow and lowered her sword to inspect what she had just bumped into. A pipe, nearly as thick as a human head. Yamira glanced behind her, more pipes. The blue glow shone more and more pipes of varying sizes and groupings, snaking around her in a labyrinthine pattern.

‘A boiler room.’ Yamira mused. ‘Certainly explains the humidity.’ A few dull lumens flickered overhead, casting pale yellow light from above, barely enough to properly see. Yamira cursed and continued walking around in the dark, her hand held out to locate any other pipes that would seek to trip her up. Unfortunately, as soon as her hand merely brushed the surface of one of the larger pipes, Yamira pulled her hand away with a hiss. The metal was practically superheated, no doubt done so for distributing Velour’s bath water, and it nearly burned her through her own gloves. ‘Like I need further means of scarring my skin.’ Yamira slowly walked among the vacant spaces of the pipes, squinting in the dark even with the aid of her sword. To her fortune, some of the lumens seemed to flicker on and off, illuminating the room bit by bit, yet not nearly enough for her to properly see.

“Wait…” she stopped in her tracks, tightening her grip on her sword. “Can Genestealers see in the dark?” No sooner had the words left her lips that a primal roar resounded off the metal walls. Yamira whirled about and drew her bolt pistol from her hip, aiming it at the closest source of the noise and pulling the trigger. Three loud pops rang out, the muzzle flashes bathing the dark room in a blinding light. Her shots missed, simply denting the walls or grazing the pipes, but she saw where her prey was. The tall, gaunt and monstrous creature stood perched upon a pipe above her, clinging tightly to its vantage with a clawed hand. She could see the stump where Devon had removed one of the other limbs, but three arms still remained, with two holding long and serrated bone blades. The Genestealer’s eyes gleamed in the dark, its tongue rolling from between its jagged teeth. A single drop of drool dropped from its mouth and landed onto a pipe in front of Yamira, sizzling into nothingness.

Yamira drew a bead again and fired, but the Genestealer was already moving. It hissed as it jumped from pipe to pipe, flashes of its purple chitinous hide flaring in the light of Yamira’s muzzle flare. It was nearly identical to a full-blown Hormagaunt. The thought that the Genestealers had been so active that they nearly achieved full Tyranic genes made Yamira’s blood boil. She fired again, catching one of the pipes the Genestealer clung to. The bolt tore clean through the metal, breaking what little support it had for a creature of such size. The Genestealer shrieked and plummeted to the ground, landing in a mess of pipes just out of Yamira’s sight. No telling how quickly the damn thing could recover from such a fall. Yamira discharged the empty rounds from her pistol and set to reloading, keeping her eyes trained on the spot she saw the Genestealer drop. Once she heard the satisfying click of a reloaded gun, she slowly started towards the site of impact. Not two steps did she even move before the Genestealer burst from the dark, brandishing its blades with a scream.

“FOR THE EMPEROR!” Yamira shouted. She swung her power sword and met the bone blades, batting them both aside in a shower of sparks. The Genestealer recoiled and swung again, waggling its abhorrent tongue about, only for Yamira to meet the strike with a swift block. It was far bigger than she was, no doubt stronger too with its bulky frame, but Yamira was faster. Years of training in the schola and military experience had made sure of that. She whirled her sword about in a blue blur, slashing at the Genestealer’s swords, arcing electricity amplifying her attack to a potent degree. One of the bone blades was cleanly broken in two by the hit, clattering harmlessly on the ground, while the other met Yamira’s power sword with a firm block. The Genestealer howled in fury, thick gobs of spittle flying from its hideous maw, some of which spattered onto Yamira’s face, and it redoubled its efforts to slaughter the Commissar. Yamira parried and blocked any blows she could, but an enraged Genestealer was still far stronger than she was. Even with one arm missing and down one weapon made from a denser chitinous alloy.

Yamira leapt backwards as the Genestealer slammed its blade into the floor. She quickly drew her bolt pistol again and fired. In a spray of green blood, the Genestealer collapsed onto the ground with an anguished whine, what remained of one of its legs reduced to a stain on the piping. It was down, but Genestealers were still resourceful, even when severely injured. Yamira knew that well enough from Karthag. Bellowing her own war cry, she lunged forward with her sword and drove it directly into the mutant’s skull. The arcing energy lancing through the sword surged through the Genestealer’s head, blood leaking from its wound sizzling and popping as it ran down its hideous face. Yamira saw its sloping forehead, jagged teeth, and bulbous, spiteful yellow eyes, and shuddered to think this may have once been as human as she was. Those eyes, those horrible eyes that shone like the lumens over an operating table, stared back at her, even as the creature lay dying. She hated it. She absolutely hated it. Yamira screamed again, dropping her gun and letting go of her sword, and grabbed the mutant’s head, pressing her thumbs against those horrible eyes. With all the strength she could muster, she pressed her thumbs harder and harder, until they popped against her hands like egg yolks. The Genestealer ceased moving and slowly slid off the Commissar’s thumbs, landing on its back with her sword still sizzling in its skull.

Yamira’s breathing labored and sweat cascaded down her forehead as steam puffed around her from the damaged piping. She stared at the dead Genestealer on the ground, its horrid, eyeless face staring back at her in the glow of her power sword. It had been a while since she had properly killed anything in the name of the God-Emperor. She bent to a knee and placed her hand over her aquilla, closing her eye to be at peace. Yet, when she parted her lips to utter the first words that always came to her heart when praises were concerned, she found herself without breath. Did she really kill this abomination in the name of the God-Emperor of Mankind, He who paves the righteous path for humanity? No, she wanted to believe it, but she did not. She killed it because it was a threat to the Merodi. Because the Merodi were favored by the God-Emperor. Because they were stealing the galaxy from right under the Imperium with few to contest them. Because they extended an olive branch to the galaxy instead of a loaded gun. And Yamira had killed for them.

She rose to her feet and spat on the Genestealer’s corpse. Such a kill was not worthy of Xenos and Heretics, let alone a prayer in their heathenous name. She grasped the hilt of her sword and slowly pulled it from the mutant’s skull, trailing greenish-red blood that still burned on the blue glow of the blade. A casual flick and some of the errant blood was flung off onto the piping, still dirty, but now only slightly cleaner. ‘No point in staying here any longer than necessary.’ she thought. ‘Where there is a Purestrain, there is a Broodlord.’ Yamira turned to retrieve her gun she previously dropped, but stopped when her ears were assailed with a horrid and familiar shriek. A four-armed blur of purple lunged towards her, teeth like surgical equipment and eyes like dull lumens, ready to tear her asunder. Yamira quickly drew her sword, ready to intercept, but a cloud of steam erupted from one of the pipes and covered the Genestealer in a thickened haze. No, it was far too dark to be simple steam. The Genestealer coughed and recoiled as it found itself suddenly suspended midair, its four arms bound together by unknown bindings, hissing and snapping its teeth. Yamira sniffed and slowly stepped back. Smoke.

The Genestealer’s arms shot outwards, slowly being pulled further and further apart, the mutant screaming and thrashing in terrified confusion. Yamira stared in awe as the smoke cloud separated, and with a sickening crack and splatter, tore the Genestealer clean in half. The two chunks of the dead mutant fell to the ground as the smoke coalesced into a single condensed form in front of Yamira, dispersing into a familiar form. A human form, bearing a bomber jacket and a casual smirk aglow with two lit cigarettes.

“Did ya make a wish?” Cage asked. Yamira’s awe immediately broke away into annoyance, sighing as she scooped up her bolt pistol from the floor. “... Yeah, you’re right, not one of my better one-liners. Gonna admit, surprised to find you in this dump. Even more surprised when I went back to the dining hall and didn’t see Cap or Ambs there either, just a big hole.”

“Ambassador Dust was kidnapped by mutants.” Yamira curtly responded. One of the cigarettes fell from Cage’s mouth, dropping onto his foot. “I found one lurking in ambush and chased it here. Did you find anything about the corridor?”

“Hold up, time out,” Cage said, crossing his hands in a ‘t’ position. “Ambs got kidnapped by these purple fuck-ugly bug-men?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I said.” Yamira replied, checking the ammo on her gun. “Likely these Genestealers have taken her to the center of their disgusting lair. I plan to go there and slaughter them wholesale, before they take over the Hive City.”

“I know where they are.” Cage said. Yamira turned to the smoker in surprise, the tone of Cage’s voice had changed entirely. Gone was the casual, lax man who was sooner to quip than actually getting his job done right. Now stood someone rigid, determined, fierce. A soldier that could be molded into a true weapon. “That area Velour was talking about, that’s where we’ll find the freaks that took Amber. I can get you there.” Yamira slowly nodded and holstered her weapons.

“Lead the way, Jameson.” she ordered. Cage nodded and held his hand out behind him. The smoke that tore the Genestealer asunder drifted towards Cage’s hand, swirling in a large circular vortex.

“Hold your breath, Commissar.” Cage said. Before Yamira could say anything further, Cage grabbed her hand and leaped into the smoke vortex. In an instant, her world was smog and smoke, her eye stinging and her lungs flaring in burning pain. She felt her body being propelled forwards, as though she were swimming through toxic runoff, with Cage running ahead as though the air were as pure and clean as a Paradise World. She did not know how long she was in this world of smoke, but through the pain her body was being put through, she wanted out, and out soon. Fortunately, for what seemed like the first time in ages, her prayers were answered, as she and Cage emerged from the world of smoke and she fell to the floor, coughing and wheezing.

“What…” she coughed and hacked, struggling to rise to her feet. “What the HELL was that, Jameson?!”

“Stand ability,” Cage casually whispered, leaning against a wall and glaring down the area. Yamira took in her new surroundings, noticing how far different they were compared to the manor. The walls were made of pure stone, carved with man-made tools and supported with metal braces. It was like they had gone fully underground and entered a mine shaft. Down the pathway, a dull light shone, with various distant noises being heard. Very few sounded human. Cage patted the side of the wall, to which Yamira moved to and pressed herself against. “C’mon, we’ve got a vantage spot, but be super quiet.” Rather than snapping for a lesser giving her orders, Yamira nodded and tugged the brim of her hat. The two slowly shuffled alongside the wall, making their way towards the lights at the end of the path. Louder and louder the noises seemed to get, inhuman chatter being joined in by the sounds of machinery churning and chugging along. Yamira bit her lip, grim thoughts running rampant through her mind as they moved closer and closer. Cage dropped down to a crouch and moved over to a pair of large rocks on the opposite end of the wall, waving Yamira over. The Commissar joined Cage, and the two peered over the stones into the light below.

It was worse than she thought. The two Purestrains she had encountered in the boiler room were an ill omen, but seeing the swarm that ran rampant brought her stomach sinking. Below her and Cage’s vantage point was a massive chamber, roughly the size of a battle-barge’s hanger. Genestealers in varying stages of development ran about, many still adorned in human clothes of all sorts, chattering amongst each other and moving large boxes. She saw worker uniforms, nobility robes, even a few in Guardsmen armor and Arbites uniforms, all giving themselves slowly to the Tyranid menace. Further along, she saw several conveyor belts containing hunks of scrap metal from afar, with cultists working rapidly to randomly affix the pieces together.

‘No, not random scrap.’ Yamira thought. On second glance, she could recognize the pieces cleary. A primer here, a trigger there, a stock and muzzle, a plasma battery and a lasgun cart, these detestable mutants were building their own weapons and arming themselves. ‘They’re preparing for an uprising!’
“You see anything down there?” Cage whispered. Yamira kept looking at the crowd of Genestealers milling about below, especially at the conveyor belts where they prepared their weapons and stacked them into boxes. Suddenly, the chatter was starting to sound less like heretical ramblings and more coherent. Yamira shook her head, thinking it merely a byproduct of the steam or whatever that smoke-filled realm was, but she could hear them! She could hear the Genestealers speak as humans do! And what’s more, she could hear some of them singing. They sang a cacophonous tune as they pounded their tools to fix the weapons together and packaged them away, grotesque voices joining in harmony as they gleefully sang.

Rattle big, black bones,
In the danger zone.
There’s a rumblin’ groan, down below!
There’s a big dark town,
It’s a place we’ve found,
There’s a world going on,
Underground!

As they finished building the guns, the workers stuffed them into boxes and hauled them off to another section of the chamber, guarded by more cultists in even more advanced states of mutation. They were just as disgusting, if not more so, with their heads absent of all hair and even sporting far more limbs than should ever be permitted. And even so, they sang in coarse and sickening voices as they counted their boxes, stacking to the ceiling.

We’re alive, we’re awake,
While the rest of the world is asleep!
Below the mineshaft roads,
It will all unfold,
There’s a world going on,
Underground!

Yamira continued scanning the room for any sign of a potential leader, but all she saw were more hideous abominations. As by a stroke of chance, she did see something that caught her eye. Towards the center of the room was a large stone pedestal, concealed under a white tarp. Something was hidden underneath it, with head too large and body too stocky to belong to any human… or humanoid for that matter. ‘And there might be the Ambassador.’ Even as she thought, the cultists still sang their chant, pounding their rhythm into the very rock of the planet itself.

All the roots hang down,
Swing from town to town,
They are marching around down under your boots!
All the trucks unload,
Beyond the Hormagaunt holes…
There’s a world going on,
Underground!

Enough was enough, and Yamira had grown tired of listening to this disgusting drivel. She unclasped her bolt pistol from her belt, but Cage firmly held her in place, shooting a harsh glare at her.

“Do anything now and all those freaks are gonna come down on us and tear us to shreds.” Cage whispered. Yamira attempted to stand up again, but Cage kept her pressed against the rock. “Don’t move! I’ve got a plan.” Before they could move further, three loud clacks resounded in the chamber, and all productivity inside halted. Cage and Yamira slowly peered over the rocks and saw that the Genestealers and cultists had ceased their work, and stared at the concealed table at the center of the room. Standing at the center of attention like an idol amongst her adoring crowd was Lady Tzahah. A large bruise was underneath the cultist’s chin and her robes seemed stained red and green from some kind of injury, but the air of dignity around her was so thick it was suffocating. She raised her clawed hand and all went silent.

“My children…” Lady Tzahah purred. “The time for our ascendance is at hand!” The chamber erupted in a choir of hissing and clicks, some facsimile to cheering amongst the mutants. She raised her hand again, and the cultists went silent again. “Long have we resided on Armastus, and yet we have been confined to the shadows for so long that the cattle above has forgotten about us. Oh, they remembered when we took to the surface and even attacked the Spire.” She smiled eerily, her golden teeth shining in the light of the lumen’s glow. “I even enjoyed seeing the look upon Anton Velour’s face when I plunged my knife into his throat. Again and again, and convinced his boorish imbecile of a brother that it was one of the manor servants.” She laughed heartily, a sentiment carried by the rest of the cult. Yamira already heard enough, raising her gun and ready to blow the mutant’s head off, but again Cage brought her own. “Ah, but that was nothing, NOTHING compared to the bountiful feast that has been brought to us on this most glorious of days!” She pointed her claw to the ceiling, clicking her teeth in glee. “Interlopers from beyond even the reach of our masters have come, unaware of our existence amongst this pitiful planet. Soon, we will make our way off this planet, and consume the city in the sky from within, and soon spread our influence across not only this galaxy, but the universe! And the next, and the next, and the next, and the next, THE INFINITE WILL FEED THE TYRANID HIVE FOR ALL ETERNITY!” Again, the cult cheered, many even slamming their extra arms against the floor to showcase their primal excitement. Like locusts ready to swarm and strip a crop field dry. “Oh, but how will we manage this, you ask? Well,” Lady Tzahah placed her hand on the tarp. “We do as we have done for millennia. Strike from WITHIN!” With a dramatic flourish, she threw the tarp off and revealed their newest bounty underneath. A slumbering yellow and brown Earth pony, chained with numerous bindings across her legs and barrel.

“Ambs!” Cage grit his teeth, snapping his remaining cigarette in his mouth. “Oh, I’m gonna smoke that bitch like a Cuban Cigar, I swear.” Now Yamira took her opportunity to shush Cage, watching the cult and its leader with rapt interest.

“The Genestealer Virus has resulted in many interesting strains amongst the Xenos of our galaxy,” Lady Tzahah said, tracing one of her fingers on Amber’s cheek. “But I am curious to see what it can do to a creature like this.” She stood up and snapped her fingers, smiling maliciously. “BRING FORTH THE BROOD LORD! YOUR MATRIARCH DEMANDS IT!” The cult cheered again in their bizarre hissing and clicking as some ran off down a tunnel. Yamira and Cage slid back down the rock and into cover.

“Okay, so they’re gonna try and do something to Ambs, and I sure as hell am not gonna let that happen.” Cage said. “What’s the plan on getting her out and dealing with crazy psycho bitch down there?” Yamira blinked rapidly, shifting back to her apparent default emotion of anger.

“I thought you said you had a plan!” Yamira hissed.
Cage simply shrugged and lit two cigarettes in his mouth. “I’m more of an impulsive ‘punch what I can in the face to solve my problems’ kind of guy.” he said. “Besides, you’re the military lady person. Strategy should be second nature or some shit.” Yamira groaned and ran her hand across her face. Serves her right to even consider putting her faith in a smoke-addled idiot.

“Fine, here’s what we’ll do.” Yamira said. “The Brood-Lord is the primary source of the Genestealer Virus. We kill that, then we effectively cripple the cult. We wait for them to bring it out, wait until it’s in a vulnerable state, then blast it to oblivion. We execute Tzahah, slay as many Genestealer heathens as we can and save Armastus from these abominations. That’s the plan, understood.”

Cage nodded slowly. “Okay, yeah, good plan. Question though: Where’s the part where we save Amber and, y’know, not die?”

“Self-sacrifice is a part of the Astra Militarum, an integral one at that.”

“Hey, newsflash, I’m not Astroid Military, so I’m not exactly 100% on the suicide mission thing.”

“Then what do you suggest we should do then, Jameson?!”

“Not talk so loud and let yourselves get caught, that’s for starters.” Yamira and Cage realized immediately that neither one of them made that suggestion, especially with such a baritone voice. They turned slowly and found themselves staring down the barrels of five plasma guns, and the very irate cultists who wielded them. Cage glanced over to Yamira and shrugged.

“... That would have been a good part of the plan to have.”

Yamira and Cage were flung onto their knees before the altar, hands bound behind their backs and rough hands holding them by the collars of their shirts. Yamira struggled with her binds, but she was struck against the head with her own confiscated gun, glaring at the Genestealer who now held both her weapons in its disgusting claws. Lady Tzahah stood between the two, clicking her tongue and waggling her finger.

“My-my-my, you Merodi Universalis people simply have no manners, do you?” she asked. “If you wanted to witness the coming of a new and glorious age, all you had to do was ask.” Yamira simply spat, her phlegm spattering against Tzahah’s dress. Tzahah stared at her new stain, then at the furious Commissar, and responded by smacking Yamira across her scarred face. Yamira jerked her head to the side, her sensitive skin stinging from the blow, but remained stoic. “No manners at all. No matter, you’ll see things as we do soon enough, and you’ll be welcomed as brother and sister.”

“Can I take a raincheck on that?” Cage lazily asked. “Last time I joined a family, I ended up with a buncha crazy people who wanted to kill a Senator for some stupid shit, and I’m kinda done with the whole thing.” Tzahah shot Cage a glare and prepared to raise her hand. “Alright, alright, I’m shutting up.” Tzahah slapped Cage regardless, resulting in a large bruise on his cheek. “GOD DAMN THAT HURT! Jesus, lady, you have metal bones?!”

“Progressively developing exoskeleton, actually.” Tzahah said, flexing her fingers. She clacked her staff on the ground and glared down at Yamira and Cage. “So, any final words you wish to give before the Brood Lord gives you the proper welcome amongst the Children of Shan?” Yamira said nothing, instead straightening her back and keeping her head held high. She would not give the mutant the satisfaction of a final word. Even if she may die today, her soul belonged to the God-Emperor of Mankind, and she would join the Eternal Crusade against the foes of humanity when that time come. She would go with not a whimper or a cry or a shout, but simply a stance of stoicism.

Cage did not have that kind of dignity, and decided to run his mouth like a heavy bolter on automatic.

“Is that the name? Children of Shan? What the hell’s a Shan? Is your brood-thingy a Shan? Is it some kinda subspecies? Ah hell, I don’t care, I got a million more questions anyway just for shits.” Already Tzahah’s eye was twitching, as was Yamira’s. “Am I gonna get extra arms when I get infected or whatever shit? That’s gotta be a pain in the ass for, like, B.O. when you’ve got eight arms and not enough Right-Guard for all of it. You guys probably don’t get deodorant out here, which totally explains why you all smell like a fishing wharf. Also, I just realized this, but I don’t see a lot of guys here wearing pants. Probably explains why you guys get that nickname, jea-” Tzahah screamed in fury and annoyance, bearing down on Cage with bloodshot serpentine eyes.

“BY BEHEMOTH’S ENDLESS APPETITE, DO YOU NEVER SHUT UP?!” Tzahah screamed.

“... Are you missing a chunk of your tongue or something?” Cage casually asked. Tzahah screamed again and slammed her staff on the ground.

“WHY HASN’T THE BROOD-LORD ARRIVED YET?!” Several thuds responded her scream, as Tzahah, the Cultists, Yamira and Cage all turned left and saw several recently decapitated corpses drop to the floor. Among their masses lay the large and hideous head of the Brood Lord, its tendrils from its maw severed into stumps. Tzahah’s jaw dropped at the sight, while the other cultists slowly backed off. A shimmer of light danced in front of the severed alien head, tall, lithe and elegant. Slow and methodical footsteps echoed throughout the chamber as the light moved closer and closer. Finally, as it stood five feet away from the altar and the gathered precession (and prisoners, additionally), the illusion was dropped, and Yamira was greeted with the familiar, ever grinning face of silver and bloody red.

“Have no fear, have no fear. Victorious Zasraman is here.”

Chapter Ten

Author's Note

Apologies in the delay for this chapter getting out, keep an eye out for a secondary posting in a few hours to make up for this EXCRUCIATING wait to get this dang thing out.

Chapter Ten

“Alright…” Devon panted, his shoulders rising and falling in conjunction with his laborious breathing. He flipped a switch on the battery pack of his lasgun, depositing the empty cartridge onto the scorched carpet. The Captain staggered back a few steps and collapsed in the only thing untouched in the room: a velvet padded lounge chair. Everything else had been shot, slashed, reduced to ash, or completely stained in mutant blood. Sure, Devon had to expend all but one of his packs to keep himself alive, but it was either him or the two score and nine Genestealers that had ambushed him. Or maybe there were more of them, it was hard to tell amongst the half-melted corpses and strewn about limbs. Still, they were dead, he was not, and as a Guardsman, that was all he could really ask for.

After breaking off from Yamira to go and rescue Amber, Devon had chased after the carnage that the Genestealers had left behind in their wake. For an entire species of covert infiltrator mutants, they certainly never cared for cleaning up after themselves. Then he got lost. Immensely lost. He somehow ended up in back in the dining room, and yet didn’t recall ever going up the stairs. Devon did attempt doubling back, but somehow ended up in the foyer in the process. He ended up spending the next few minutes shouting indignantly and storming off in another direction. Only then did he finally catch up to the carnage, and the subsequent ambush that was waiting for him in the rafters. Which brings everything back to this point with Devon sitting in the undamaged chair amongst a bunch of dead, multi-limbed abominations.

“I’ll sit here just a bit longer,” Devon muttered. “Then I’ll go back to find Ms. Dust.” He took a pocket knife from his belt and raised his metal leg and inspected for a bare spot amongst a series of notches. After a bit of guesswork, Devon made a brief mark towards the back of his metallic calf. “There we go. Seventy-nine times I shoulda died but beat the reaper. One more and I beat the dead pool.” Something fell and clattered into the ground in another room, immediately catching Devon’s ear. Military instinct took hold and he leapt over his seat, diving behind the cover of an overturned, slightly scorched table. He pressed his back against the table, clutching his lasgun carefully as he listened carefully. Slow and methodical footsteps sounded from the far end of the room, almost cautiously moving about. Devon heard a single pair, then two more following behind, these next ones more rapid and hurried. Finally, they stopped, close to Devon’s position. They were too light to be Genestealers hurrying about, but Devon kept his finger on his trigger.

“Messy-messy, what an unsightly and garish mess,” rhymed a musical yet slimy voice. Devon’s heart sank and blood boiled at the sound of it. “The damage, the corpses, the stench! It all lacks a sense of... finesse.” Devon could practically hear Zasraman traipsing over the corpses like it were a dance recital. “Whomever is responsible for this has given me no end of distress.”

“It certainly is quite unsightly.” said a hoity woman. Probably one of those red girls that followed Zasraman around, the Daemon Sisters. Devon could never tell the two apart, even when they were together, so most he could do was guess. “So much collateral damage is going to result in an insurmountable amount of paperwork, I can tell.”

“Paperwork for us, dear sister,” said the other woman, either Kneesocks or Scanty, Devon couldn’t tell. “Or for the mortal authorities? Odds are, someone is bound to be buried in bureaucracy.” Kneesocks (or was it Scanty?) haughtily laughed, while Devon found himself mouthing ‘mortal’. His thoughts were disrupted by Zasraman clicking his tongue.

“Tut tut, my dear Sisters, thinking so much of work before any chance to play,” Zasraman said. “Focus more on the mission at hand, ‘tis best we do not delay. The genetic hungering broods would consume Celestia City swiftly, to them a boundless feast,” Devon heard one of Zasraman’s heels clack against the chitin of a partially mutated corpse. “If they had their fun before I could manage any, well, I’d be quite disappointed, at least.”

“Of course, of course.” said Scanty (or was it Kneesocks?). “First and foremost, we follow the tracker, make sure the asset is still alive, retrieve her, and possibly participate in some good ole fashioned stress relief a-la mass homicide, hmm?”

“You take all the fun out of things.” Zasraman pouted. “But no matter, for blood tainted most foul, doth my swords ever so sing! Onwards!” Zasraman’s odd and uncomfortably creepy laugh followed as he traipsed out of the room, with the Daemon Sisters following behind. Only after he heard their footsteps fade away did Devon move out of cover. The Armageddonite’s mind was rife with conflicting thoughts. On one hand, reinforcements had arrived and Devon was damn-sure that they could use it. Especially with the presumably innumerable number of the filthy mutants inhabiting this manor and the rest of the spire. On the other hand, the reinforcements were Merodi, and that could result in some matters being made a bit more complicated. On the other hand, it was Zasraman. Regardless of how many hands there were, Devon refused to let this opportunity slip by, especially with mention of them knowing Yamira’s location. Devon took a deep breath, readied his hand on the trigger of his gun, and sprinted down the corridor after the Harlequin and his cohorts. Another notch to add to his leg was coming soon, he could tell.

Silence had befallen the chamber as Zasraman made his entrance. The Genestealers had ceased all their activities to gawk at the garishly dressed intruder as he stepped away from the pooling mess of blood coming from the severed head of the giant alien lifeform. Zasraman flicked his blade again, spattering errant blood onto the floor, his plastered smile never breaking away from Lady Tzahah and her prisoners. Among which counted a very angry Yamira Kalov, whose unmarred face was turning red enough to match her own burned flesh. The Commissar herself seemed far more furious than the Genestealer Cult leader who just had her ritual so rudely interrupted.

“How?!” Tzahah shrieked. Her tongue flicked out of her mouth, still bearing the fresh wounds from being completely bitten off, like an irate snake. “How could a Xenos interloper find our most secret, deeply hidden lair?!”

“Oh, finding this place, so damp, so dismal, so horrifically nefarious?” Zasraman asked, lazily twirling his sword between his fingers. “I believe the matter of making your entrance a giant ruddy hole in the wall with shoddy plating as cover, only absolute fools with no eyes would miss a gaudy lair, so obvious.”

“That was a shit rhyme,” Cage called out. “But the rescue is definitely appreciated!” Were Yamira not bound by her wrists behind her back, she would have smacked the smoker upside his head. Zasraman flourished and bowed, despite the hisses the Genestealers were sending his way. Behind him came Scanty and Kneesocks, the two well-dressed red women each bearing far more serious looks upon their faces, their yellow eyes piercing like poisoned knives.

“Yes, this operation is certainly a combination of impressive and poorly coordinated,” Kneesocks said. “But it has to come to an end.”

“Quite right, dear sister.” Scanty added. “This rabble needs to be broken apart.” She turned to her sister and pressed her hand to her cheek. “Oh, this is a delightful part, which one of us should say it?” Kneesocks smirked and mirrored her sister’s gesture.

“Why don’t you say it this time, you’ve got the presence downpat with the stance alone?” Kneesocks offered.

“Oh, but I did it last time when we were in ‘Nest,” Scanty said. “You should do it, especially if you can get your glasses to glare with the lighting down here.”

“Oh, but the lighting is too dismal for it, but you can execute a far better stage presence with the moody atmosphere.” This exchange between the two sisters lasted a full minute, with much of the room growing progressively annoyed by the excessively playful banter. Someone was going to pop, either the furious Cult leader whose ritual was ruined, the furious Commissar in need of rescuing, the slightly irate Harlequin currently being upstaged, or the Armageddon Steel Legion Captain currently sneaking around the rafters for a clear shot.

“Oh, but you can make your gorgeous face downright terrifying for this very purpose, sister dear, you should have the honors.”

“Thank you, dearest sister, but really, it’s only fair for you to-”

“CHRIST, EITHER SCREW ALREADY OR GET ON WITH IT!” Cage shouted. All eyes fell on Cage, even the two Daemon Sisters who had been tussling each others’ hair. Cage shook his head and his casual demeanor slowly returned. “Sorry, sorry… I haven’t had a smoke in three minutes and I get really freaking wired without my smokes.”

“That’s your bloody biggest concern right now?” Yamira flatly asked. “Frakking addict.” The Daemon Sisters huffed and stood side by side, folding their arms across their chests.

“Very well, we’ll deliver our announcement together.” Scanty grumbled.

“That we shall, sister.” Kneesocks added. Zasraman lightly traipsed to the side, allowing the two red women access to the center stage. They stood side by side, their beautiful faces shifting to nightmarish caricatures of rage and bureaucratic ferocity. In this light, Yamira saw a change in these two women. They walked and talked as humans do, but the way they looked in this light, they seemed truly… demonic. Scanty and Kneesocks raised their hands above their heads, pointing to the ceiling as though to call upon the wrath of the heavens above. In a single dropping motion, they pointed to Lady Tzahah, and a burst of hellish green and blue flames burst around them. The Genestealers recoiled, Lady Tzahah hissed, and Yamira and Cage were nearly blown back onto their feet.

“By order of the governing universal power of Merodi Universalis,” The two sisters spoke in unison, powerful voices echoing across the walls of the cavern and rattled in everyone’s ears. “We, representatives of Expeditions and Military, declare you as obstacles to our ultimate goals of unity and governance. Your life has been declared forfeit! Surrender now, and you will be judged accordingly by the Justice Division.” A silent pall hung over the chamber, not a sound was made by any living being, save for the slow gritting of Yamira’s own teeth. Lady Tzahah looked positively stunned, her gold-capped teeth bared as she tried to manage some semblance of a response. Then finally, it came to her in the form of a chuckle. A small thing, barely audible save for those nearest to her. It soon doubled into proper laughter, her posh voice that she had used to introduce herself to Yamira and her company sounding easily in the dark. And finally, the illusion of calm that Tzahah had broke away into deranged cackling, her serpentine eyes wide with maddened mirth. It seemed to be infectious, as many other Genestealers in the vicinity slowly joined in with their own chortling hisses and laughs. The entire chamber echoed with the laughter of nearly a hundred mutants, all directed at the sisters and their Eldar accompaniment. Tzahah abruptly held her hand up, and the laughter ceased, but her smile remained.

“You order us to surrender?” Lady Tzahah asked. “I do not know if you outsiders have been taught the basics of mathematics, but we outnumber you in both bodies and firepower!” Several guns clicked and whirred in response to the proclamation, even from the Cultist who had stolen Yamira’s own weapons.

‘You’ll be the first.’ Yamira thought, shooting a sidelong glare at her captor.

“Again I ask, you have the gall to order us, The Children of Shan,” Lady Tzahah continued, making sweeping gestures with her staff. “To surrender to you? Dare I even consider asking ‘and what army’, or shall I simply have you torn piece by piece and reconstructed as genetic material for our growing war effort?” The sisters turned to each other briefly, looking more bemused than frightened by Tzaha’s proclamation. Slowly their eyebrows raised in perfect unison, then glanced back to Zasraman, who seemed to have almost fallen asleep whilst leaning on his sword. They cleared their throats and the masked Eldar seemed to have woken up.

“Sir, I believe they’ve just invoked a trope,” Scanty said.

“Asking for what army we have,” Kneesocks added.

“Care to respond accordingly, sir?” The two said in unison. Yamira watched the Eldar and his two accomplices carefully, their next moves would decide how many people would die on this night and whether she herself would be amongst the number. Zasraman slowly stood upright, his unnatural smile glimmering like a crescent moon overlooking a military graveyard. He raised his sword, a wicked thing of three hooked curves that glinted even in the darkened chamber. He seemed to be looking at his reflection in the blade.

“‘What army’ the golden-tongued serpent asks, I prithee?” Zasraman asked. He twirled his sword a bit and giggled, raising his free hand above his hand, fingers pressed against each other. A loud snap echoed throughout the room, and in an instant, the chamber was once again filled with laughter. Not the laughter of Genestealers, they had gone entirely silent at this point. This laughter was of unbridled jubilation and merriment, the kind heard when a rather amusing joke had been told, or when a most hated enemy was put down in a humiliating fashion. It washed over the chamber like a wave of merriment, many of the cultists recoiling in fear and raising their guns to shadows. Yamira only had to blink for a moment and everything had changed. Like a curtain parting to unveil a stage, blankets of invisibility were cast off, one by one, as tall, elegant and merry figures seemed to blink into existence. All with painted, smiling masks and coats of resplendent color, the Harlequins materialized with cackles and cheers, waving wicked swords and toting terrifying guns alike. They appeared on the walls, from the ceiling, behind boxes, even alongside the Genestealers, as if they were there the entire time. Zasraman lowered his hand and glared at Tzahah, and Yamira swore that faux smile of his seemed to widen. “I believe it is also cliche to say… this army.”

Yamira’s blood had reached the pinnacle point of boiling, she could feel it superheating in her veins. Reinforcements were one matter, but coming from not only outside forces, not only coming from a rival faction, not only coming from a filthy Xenos, but they were coming from Emperor-damned, knife-eared Eldar. And she was damned if she was going to let them fire off the first shot that was going to save her life. She took advantage of the stunned state of the Genestealers and their leader, vaulting onto her feet and bashing her head against the underside of her captor’s jaw. Her head throbbed from the blow, but seeing her stunned captor recoil and drop her weapons made it all the worthwhile. She quickly rolled to her sword and sliced the amplified blade against her restraints. By the time Tzahah had reacted, Yamira already had her bolt pistol drawn and aimed directly at her bald head.

“FOR THE EMPEROR!” she roared. Before she could pull the trigger, Tzahah opened her mouth wide, bearing her golden-capped fangs, and unleashed an ear-bleeding scream that rocked the chamber. Yamira felt herself staggering, Cage thrashed in his restraints with a pained look consuming his face, the Daemon Sisters fell to the ground with their hands on their ears, while Zasraman and the Harlequins just seemed upset at the thought of being upstaged. Tzahah snapped her mouth shut and swung her staff against Yamira’s head, clocking her in the side.

“CHILDREN OF SHAN, WE FEAST!” Tzahah bellowed. The Genestealers replied with their own hoots and hollers, their weapons readied once again.

“Ah, and now the show begins.” Zasraman muttered. He raised his sword overhead and gave it a twirl, a circle of glowing energy shining over his head. “Masque of the Crimson Bloom, commence the performance of a lifetime!” The Harlequins replied with huzzahs, prepping their weapons of wicked concoctions.

The chamber of ritual and industrialization became a warzone in an instant.

Yamira was fortunate that her blow to the skull had knocked her aside, otherwise her head would have been taken clean off by an errant shredder round. She had been at the center of many a battlefield before in her decades of serving in the glorious Astra Militarum, moreso as one of the Commissariat. She had learned to read the battlefield as a scavenger surveys a ruin, examining the surroundings and everything therein to locate worthwhile valuables, or in this case, suitable targets. Her survey pertained mostly to the two warring parties, the Harlequins and the Genestealers, both of which Yamira had years of experience fighting. The Genestealers were locusts, swarming the battlefield with weapons looted from the fallen, be they the enemies’ or their own. Strength in numbers, but quick to falter in savagery when the leader is lost. And with the Matriarch of the whole damn cult standing before her, it would be a simple matter of cutting the snake’s head off and leaving the body to writhe.

The Harlequins were another matter entirely. Yamira had encountered many of the Eldar factions in her travels and campaigns. Craftworlders and Corsairs had their protocols and witchcraft, the Exodites were organized savages, and the Dark Eldar Kabalites were nightmares of speed and sadism. These could be killed, once the patterns were studied and their vulnerabilities exposed. But the Harlequins? Yamira could never read the heirs of the Laughing God. They danced about the battlefields like it were a ballroom, bullets and projectiles curving around them as though they weren’t there, and slaughtering their enemies in artistic displays. Their swords were brushes, and their foes a canvas and paint all in one. They were unpredictable, only their madness and sheer jubilation in the kill could be expected. With these two killing each other, Yamira would be simply content to let them simply do the honors for her. Xenos and mutants still bleed.

Her tactical study was broken abruptly as the head of the golden staff slammed into the ground right next to her head, Lady Tzahah standing over her with her lengthy tongue slathering across her golden teeth. Yamira quickly rolled out of the way as the sphere crashed down again, jumping onto her feet and properly adopting a combat ready stance. Exchanging words would be pointless, honorable battle is the only language need be spoken here. Yamira swung her power-sword at Tzahah, but the cultist met the attack with her staff, catching it between two of the spheres that adorned the top.

‘Blast, my blade cannot cut through it.’ Yamira inwardly cursed. She reeled her sword back and swung again, only to be met with the same results. ‘What is the point of having a power-sword that can cut through most everything when there’s a nullifying metal that evens things out?’ Yamira yanked her sword back and opted to pull her backup weapon up to end the battle quicker. Tzahah reacted quickly and smacked Yamira’s hand with the butt of her staff, diverting her bolt pistol away and firing a shot into the fray, tearing clean through the head of a Genestealer Cultist that was attempting to tear the head off a downed Harlequin, reducing it to little more than a stump. Yamira quickly slashed again, holstering her bolt pistol to focus more on close-range combat, once again met by Tzahah’s block.

“You are impressive, Commissar,” Tzahah said, wrapping clawed fingers around her staff. “But you cannot hope to compete with my superior reflexes.” Yamira’s retort came as she broke away from the clash and swiped her sword across Tzahah’s face. The Genestealer ducked back swiftly, but something got nicked in the process: another portion of her tongue. It flopped onto the floor as Tzahah screamed again, her eyes narrowing to slits. “AGAIN?!” There came an opening that Yamira was quick to exploit, lunging forward and digging the tip of her sword into Tzahah’s shoulder. Again she screamed in agony, jabbing the end of her staff out and smacking Yamira on the back of her knee. The Commissar buckled and pulled her sword out, gritting her teeth as pain lanced up her leg, but quickly resumed the offensive to avoid yet another bludgeoning. Sword and staff met in a shower of sparks, electricity harmonizing across Yamira’s blade in blue bursts as it clashed against the tarnished gold of Tzahah’s staff.

As the two fought, Cage had been pinned on the ground due to a dead Genestealer completely falling on top of him, struggling under the chitinous weight of the mutant. He grit his teeth and squirmed underneath, trying to find some proper means of escape. Cage spared himself a glance upwards at the altar where Amber still lay, in a blissful slumber despite the battle going on. Worry and concern crept up his spine as he saw how dangerously close Yamira and the Cultist Matriarch were to fighting directly over the pony, spurring Cage onwards to get himself free. An explosion rocked the chamber, munitions likely exploding from an errant round, setting fire to a substantial portion of the room. More importantly for Cage, it was creating smoke, and plenty of it.

“Cigarette Daydreams!” Cage called out, smirking. The smoke suddenly snaked out, surging directly towards Cage and shoving the dead Genestealer off. “Thanks buddy.” Cage dusted himself off and, naturally, plucked three cigarettes from his carton bandolier and flipped open his lighter. Just as he ignited his silver trinket, a gunshot from some errant stub weapon shot past Cage, glancing across all three cigarettes and igniting them in a single motion. Though pondering the probabilities on how such an action could never be recreated again with such spectacularly insane results, Cage did still need to save the day. He turned towards the altar, watching as Tzahah stood directly atop the altar, prodding a very angry Yamira with her staff and smiling like a devil. The smoker immediately broke into a run, diving directly at the altar and bursting into a plume of smoke, wafting over Tzahah and Amber in a grey haze. Amidst the sickly coughs from Tzahah, Cage swiftly materialized his arms and picked up the slumbering pony, dragging both into the smoke and zipping away across the battlefield, startling Genestealer and Harlequin alike.

Yamira saw the intervention from Cage as the perfect diversion, the bald mutant was completely blinded and disoriented by his gift of smoke, even if it was some confusing sorcery from beyond the Warp itself. She had a clear stab at the Genestealer now, and she quickly drew her sword for a fatal strike. Cut off the head, the body will writhe!

“UPSTAGED, DEAR-HEART!” proclaimed Zasraman. Before Yamira could even register it, the Xenos had kicked her in the side, sending her stumbling off the steps and onto the ground. She quickly stood up, blonde hair falling in front of her face, parting a curtain to see that the damn Eldar had taken her place just as the smoke was clearing! Tzahah jumped off the altar and hastily waved the remaining smoke wisps away from her, serpentine eyes widening at the sight of not a half-scarred Commissar, but a smiling masked Harlequin standing before her. Immediately, Zasraman lunged, his wicked sabers gleaming as they collided with Tzahah’s staff, scissoring together mere inches away from her neck. Tzahah pushed back, trying to break the lock the Eldar had forced her into, but the Xenos was far stronger than the Commissar was. “It would be far too foolish for an artist such as I to not take part.” He shouted and kicked Tzahah in her gut, sending her sprawling backwards with a pained grunt. Already Zasraman was chasing after, twirling his swords around him in wide and vibrant arcs.

Yamira was furious, again and again, this flamboyant fool was testing her patience, and now he aimed to steal the victory of slaughtering the enemy from her? Absurd! Unbelievable! Absolutely heretical! She immediately sprinted after Zasraman and Tzahah, pausing only momentarily to lop the head off of a Genestealer Cultist that had the misfortune of getting in the way. She didn’t even acknowledge that the Harlequin it was quarrelling with offered her thanks, not that the gratitude of a filthy Xenos meant anything. Tzahah was just pulling herself up when Zasraman already appeared, swords raised overhead to strike her down in a single, decisive blow. They were brought down, but were immediately intercepted by the blue glow of a power sword. Zasraman gasped, his momentary lapse resulting in Yamira shoving his own swords back at him, the ornately carved hilts colliding with his mask and staggering him.

“The Xenos witch is MINE!” Yamira shouted, waving her sword about with renewed vigor. Zasraman stared back at Yamira with blank, black eyes, while the Commissar met the gaze with her single hateful eye and the point of her sword. He quickly batted the tip of her sword away and again tried to strike Tzahah, but Yamira was quick to catch his blades again. She refused to give the Xenos any sense of satisfaction, even if it meant his blood stained the floor. Yamira shouted as she slashed at Zasraman, but the Eldar quickly jumped out of the way, dancing around Yamira on the very tips of his curling toes. He continued to bounce around her, his bells ringing obnoxiously in her ears every time he hit the ground. In a rage, Yamira stamped her foot down just as one of the curls on Zasraman’s boot fully extended, pinning the Xenos down. He immediately fell flat on his face, a loud honk sounding as he hit the ground.

“Bad show…” Zasraman grumbled, voice muffled by the dirt. Yamira smirked, proudly reflecting on this moment again and again in her mind. The repeat of Zasraman’s fall was immediately interrupted by a painful bash on the back of her head, dropping her to the ground in agonizing pain. Tzahah stood over the two, staff in hand and face red with fury. She screamed and raised her staff overhead, set to bring the three orbs down upon Yamira’s skull like a hammer bludgeoning a nail. As they came crashing down and Yamira braced herself for immense pain, a curved and wicked sword quickly struck out and caught the orbs mere inches away. Yamira’s eye widened as she slowly looked over to her side, following the blade to the hilt, and the Xenos hand who held it. Zasraman’s white mask was stained partially brown with blood and dirt, but that smile still remained, unfaltering, unwavering, unnerving. He quickly swiped his blade out from under Tzahah’s staff, and left a pair of bloody cuts on the Matriarch’s shins.

Tzahah screamed and crumpled, dropping her staff onto the ground with a clutter. Vulnerability, the ultimate exploit! No more playing around on the battlefield. Yamira quickly shot her hand to her hip, snatched her bolt pistol from its holster, and pressed the barrel against Tzahah’s ample, bloodied chest. A single pull of the trigger was all it took. The bolt shell burst from the barrel, tearing clean through skin, flesh, muscle and bone, obliterating all that was in its path. When Yamira put her gun to Tzahah’s chest, the Genestealer faltered and fell backwards, resulting in the bolt tearing not straight through her body, but upwards, cutting through her ribs, her throat, her spine, and finally up through the back of her skull. She was dead before her blood even spattered against Yamira’s coat.

With the Matriarch dead, the rest of the Cult was soon to follow. Yamira drew her bolt pistol away from Tzahah’s bloodied corpse and searched to find another target. Much to her own surprise, there were none left. The Genestealers had been slaughtered wholesale by the Harlequins, bodies torn apart by shredder rounds and diced by elegant blades scattered the chamber in a disgusting arrangement. When she anticipated killing Tzahah would destroy the cult, Yamira did not expect it to be quite so literal.

“Well… the deed is done.” Yamira muttered, holstering her weapons. She turned to address Zasraman, offer some remark for saving her life, but again she was met with surprise. The Xenos was gone. She whirled her head about, the rest of the Troupe had vanished as well, even the Daemon Sisters were nowhere to be seen! The only traces of their presence were the scars left behind by their alien weapons. “... Frakking Xenos.”

“Commissar! Commissar!” called Devon from afar. Yamira felt a sensation of relief, knowing the Captain was still alive. She turned and saw Devon running up to her, his rifle bouncing in his arms. Cage and Amber were following behind him, Cage holding the still slumbering pony in his arms with a clearly pained look on his face. “Thank the Emperor it’s over.”

“That it is, Captain.” Yamira said. “With the Matriarch and Brood Lord dead, the rest of the Genestealers will devolve into ferality, making them far easier to exterminate.” She turned to Cage, nodding to him and the prone pony. “Amber Dust will recover, she likely was affected by a severe hypnotic attack and rendered unconscious.”

“Figured, those things had some jacked up eyes.” Cage said, clearly straining under Amber’s weight. “I’m totally sure Ambs will be fine once backup gets here, I wanna take a one hell of a bath once we’re back in the City.”

Yamira raised an eyebrow. “Backup?”

“Oh yeah, once I got Ambs away from you and Pope Snake-Eyes over there,” He gestured with a slight lean towards the mangled corpse of Tzahah. “I sent out a call to some people. They should be by any-” The thunder of boots echoed throughout the chamber like a rockslide, drowning out Cage’s words as hundreds of humans, Gems, and ponies wearing the grey and orange unforms of Merodi Military poured into the chamber, barking orders at one another and securing defensive positions. They had surrounded Yamira, Cage, Devon and Amber in seconds. “... Wow, ka’s really on point today.”

Shuffling through the crowd of soldiers stepped a woman, also garbed in the Merodi militant uniform, with skin as white as snow and hair like lilacs. Her stature denoted her of someone with years of military experience, especially with the way the rest of the soldiers seemed to regard her. Yamira and Devon stood by cautiously, while Cage did his best to stand at attention whilst holding a sleeping pony in his arms.

“Commissar Kalov,” she greeted. “I’m Captain Suzie Mash, Military Division. We intercepted your distress signal as soon as it was broadcast. It took a little coercing from the local authorities, but it seems we made it before anyone could be put in severe danger.” She paused to look around the room, surveying the carnage left behind during the battle. “More severe danger. We’ll escort you back to your ship and bring you and your team to Celestia City for rest and briefing.” Yamira never actually gave an answer before the soldiers started to guide her and the others out of the cave. If anything, she was holding her tongue at this point. Yet again, she had needed saving from a damn outside source. Humiliation weighed down on her spirit, but she refused to let them see. Nobody would see anything other than her scarred yet determined face.

“So, to recap: You found out that the Lord Governor’s lead advisor, one Leilani Tzahah, was actually a leading member of a cult of mutants, that was secretly attempting to infect Celestia City with a virus that would mutate every creature into… basically beacons for a race of alien locusts called ‘Tyranids’, but you managed to stop them by killing Tzahah with the help of a… surprise force of Harlequins.” Eve said. She placed her hooves atop her desk and gazed back at the bemused Commissar. “Is that the entire story?”

“Word for word.” Yamira replied. After being collected by Merodi Military, Yamira was immediately taken to the Relations Office while Amber was taken to Aid for medical treatment, with Devon and Cage going with her for potential support. The next hour had been spent in Overhead Eve Sparkle’s office, recounting exactly what had happened. Unfortunately for Yamira, there was no General O’Neill to buffer her in the presence of this Xenos leader, so much of the conversation was through grit teeth. Eve sighed and flopped back into her seat, her wings ruffling against her back.

“Right, this sounds completely par for the course for the level of crazy in this universe.” she muttered. “I’ll take everything you said as true, except for the part about the Harlequins.”

“Excuse me?” Yamira asked, leaning forward with her arms crossed over her chest.

“The Harlequins of the Crimson Bloom haven’t left Celestia City in weeks,” Eve said, tapping her desk. “Same goes for Zasraman and the Daemon Sisters. Tabs are kept on them at all times, we’d know if they were gone.”

“But they were there, Xenos.” Yamira firmly stated, rising from her chair and planting both hands against Eve’s desk. “They killed the Genestealers and vanished as soon as the job was done.” Eve used her magic to lightly push Yamira away from her desk and back into her chair, prompting a huff from the Commissar. “Won’t matter anyway. Knowing what happened, Lord Governor Velour is even less likely to accept offers for alliance from your Merodi now.”

“Oh, he already said yes.”

“WHAT?!” Eve winced, her ears twitching as she brought a wing to her metallic aids.

“We spoke to Governor Velour before we brought you in.” she explained. “After calming him down, we told him that, because of what happened, our Science division is currently developing a means to locate and distinguish Genestealers so that this doesn’t happen again. It’s quite similar to the Changeling Detectors that show up in many Equestrias, we’d just need to tweak it to scan right down to the cellular level.” Eve smiled, tilting her head slightly to the side. “In spite of all that happens, you and Amber succeeded in gaining Armastus’ alliance. Thank you, Yamira, you’ve done very well today.”

Were this coming from a High Lord, or commanding officer in the Astra Militarum, or even one of the Emperor’s own chosen, such praise would have brought a rare smile to Yamira’s face. But to hear it come from a Xenos witch that had bent the ear of the Emperor, it might as well have been a spit in the face. Yamira waited for no excuse to leave, simply standing and walking out the door, leaving Eve to her own devices. She need not lash out again after such an arduous day, she’d had more than enough. Yamira marched through the halls of the office, paying no mind to officials and workers that had passed her with concerned looks and wary stares. The faster she could get away from this building and all the damnable Xenos and their sympathizers, the better she’ll feel. She produced her personal vox (Amber seemed to call it a “cellphone”) from her person and quickly dialed a number.

“Ruttiger, pick me up outside of the Relations Office.” she instructed. “I wish to return to my residency and rest.”

“Yes’m, I’ll be there in a few clicks.” the Ratling replied. Yamira pocketed her vox and walked out the front doors, back into the technologically advanced wonderland of Celestia City. The shininess of it all still hurt her eyes to look upon it. Too much like an Eldar Craftworld. As Yamira stepped down the stairs, she was blocked by the appearance of a woman, with purple hair that draped past her knees and dressed in a black dress with diamonds patterned along the base. Up close, Yamira could see blood-red eyes and a distinctively bemused face. She tried to step past, but the woman merely stepped in her way again. Yamira attempted to move again, but the woman still adamantly blocked her.

“Move.” Yamira ordered. The woman said nothing. “Move out of my way, NOW.” Again, nothing. Her rage reached a peak, and Yamira raised her hand to strike the woman down. Before she fully brought her fist even close to hitting, the woman’s hand lashed out and grabbed onto her wrist. Yamira’s eye bulged at the fast reflexes of the woman, grunting from her crushing grip. Slowly, the woman lowered her hand, and brought Yamira down with her. She wordlessly turned around and dragged Yamira down the stairs, the Commissar struggling to both keep her balance and to break free. The two women entered into an adjacent alleyway next to the building, away from prying eyes. Yamira was released of the bone crushing grip, only to immediately be shoved against a wall. “What is the meaning of this?!”

“A warning, Commissar.” the woman replied. Her voice was young, yet a chill seemed to escape her lips with every breath, as though the grave itself were speaking. “My name is Delilah, I’m with a group of people who’ve been keeping a very close eye on you.” Yamira furrowed her brow. Something about this scenario seemed eerily familiar to her.

“Are you with those men from the… vague, yet menacing government agency?” Yamira asked. “They already gave me their little blathering shpiel, so best save your breath, little girl.” Delilah’s eyes flared and her scowl widened.

“DON’T INTERRUPT!” Delilah shouted, slamming a fist onto the wall right next to Yamira’s good eye. She turned ever so slightly, and saw the formations of a sizeable crater where Delilah’s fist lay. The smaller woman sharply sighed and slowly withdrew her hand. “Lost my temper… Damn it, I said I wasn’t going to do this. Alright, you listen very closely,” she grabbed Yamira’s collar and yanked her in close. “We’re going to be watching everything you do very closely. If you do anything that jeopardizes our mission, then your stay in Celestia City will be very brief, and very painful.” Delilah released Yamira from her grasp, dropping the startled Commissar on the ground. She started to walk away, but momentarily stopped to pay one last glance to Yamira. “And one more thing: Tell Cagey that if he misses another date night, he’s getting put through the wringer.” Yamira barely had a chance to offer retort when Delilah had completely vanished, leaving Yamira alone in the alley.

It took a bit of effort to convince herself that it was safe to move again. Yamira placed a hand to her chest to ease her unsteady breath, to little avail. Fear was a tool she utilized to inspire troopers, rare was it when she felt genuinely afraid for her own life. Yamira found herself staring at the crater in the wall. She had only been acting as liaison for Merodi Universalis for a week, and already her life had been threatened thrice over. Feeling the fear subside, Yamira steadily strode out into the street, where the familiar dull yellow of Ruttiger’s hover taxi. She wasted no time in walking up to the vehicle and seating herself in the back, the smell of Ratling providing little comfort.
Ruttiger leaned over his chair, glancing back at Yamira as he chewed on a cigar. “You alright back there, longshanks?” he asked. “Look like you’ve just seen the Reaper.” Yamira shook her head and waved.
“I’m fine, lieutenant.” Yamira said. “Just exhausted. Take me to the Dome.” Ruttiger shrugged and turned back to his wheel. As the vehicle hummed to life, Yamira turned to look out the window, her half-scarred face staring back at her with a melancholic gaze. A long rest would do her well after the arduous day she had, maybe another one of those lovely baths. Anything to take her mind away from the woes of her station.

INTERLUDE

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Chapter Eleven

“‘Ere we are, Commissar.” said Ruttiger. “Relations Offices, first stop o’ the day, straight ahead.” Yamira sighed as she leaned against the side of the door, watching listlessly as hover cars and personal ships travelled across the skyways. Her scarred face stared back at her in the window’s dulled reflection, blistered and cracked in numerous places, while her unmarred other side was only a crescent in her view. She was tired and weary, not for an abundance of work that she had been faced with, but rather for the monotony and lack of properly fulfilling her Emperor-blessed military duties.

After the crisis on Armastus, Eve and the other Overheads had suggested numerous diplomatic teams consisting of ponies, humans and Gems be sent across the galaxy to spread the word of Merodi Universalis, able to work faster in completing the task set forth by the Emperor of Mankind. This resulted in Yamira’s station being reduced to a mere advisor on Imperium matters. Her days now consisted of delegates coming to her office, asking various asinine questions on worlds in the Imperium and how they functioned, what social faux pas to avoid, what dangerous wildlife existed on the planet itself, all of which were pure tedium that made Yamira wish she had died back in the underground with the Genestealers. She was no Orator or Departmento Munitorum slag, she was a Commissar! This was beneath her, and yet every damn day and every damn question dragged her further below.

Yamira was jostled in her seat as the hover cab came to a stop, nearly bumping her head on the ceiling of the cramped vehicle. She slowly exhaled through her nostrils, letting the pain dull itself - it will come back once her day begins in earnest - and unbuckled herself from her seat. She was used to it, at this point. Yamira opened the car door and stepped out onto the pavement, the noises of Celestia City assaulting her ears in force. Diplomats, politicians, tourists and civilians alike were milling about, conversing with each other about their oh-so-perfect lives in the Merodi’s society over the hums and thrums of passing vehicles and starships. Yamira would have spat on the floor, but it would have been a waste of fluid.

“Be back here at 1600 hours, lieutenant.” Yamira ordered.

“Yes ma’am,” Ruttiger said, tapping his hooked prosthetic on the side of his cab. Yamira tipped her hat and started to walk away, but the Ratling called out to her. “Oh! Ma’am! One t’ing to ask ya before ya go!” Yamira turned back to the cab, regarding Ruttiger with a dulled glare. The Ratling stabbed his cigar with one of his hooks and blew smoke out overhead. “Coupl’a me mates and I are plannin’ on hittin’ the town tonight, and, well, I figured I’d give ya an invitation to join. Y’know, just somethin’ to show the Community that well…” he faltered and cast his long nose downward, unable to finish his statement. Another step in Yamira’s daily routine. In the long rides with Ruttiger as her chauffeur, Yamira had occasionally heard the abhuman mention something about a ‘Community’, prattling on about names she never recognized or events she never cared about. She had her guesses, but kept her thoughts to herself. The abhumans were irrelevant.

“Another time, lieutenant.” Yamira said. “Far too much to do today.”
Ruttiger sighed and pulled his gangly arm back into the cab. “Always gotta be another time….” he grumbled, chewing on the end of his cigar. The cab sputtered back to life and took off into the skyways, the yellow blip vanishing from sight into the flow of traffic. Yamira marched up the stairs, arms folded behind her back to keep her jacket from billowing out behind her. Ponies and other skittish xenos delegates gave her a wide berth, as they had done since she first arrived, but there was always one that seemed intent on being in her path. The one who held the door for her every day. Windmind.

“Good morning, Commissar!” Ambassador Windmind said, cheerily. The dull pain Yamira had felt earlier started to creep back into her skull. “Another pleasant day, isn’t it?” Yamira paid the Tau as little mind as possible as she strode into the building. Worked about as well as using coarse sand as a burn salve. Windmind walked alongside Yamira, her silken tassels wrapped around her blue fingers and a smile upon her face. “You look tired. Another restless night?”

“No.” Yamira said, bluntly.

“I recently received this delicious herbal brew from a small establishment further into the city,” Windmind said. “It does wonders for the mind and spirit, and I think the little gue’lla with the adorable hat said it helps people sleep better. Perhaps it will help you be less tired?” Yamira grit her teeth and hastened her pace, but somehow Windmind kept up, even in that large dress of hers. “I can come by your residency after the day is over and pour you a cup?”
‘I would rather drink poison and chase it with Grox piss.’ Yamira thought. As much as she would like to outright smack Windmind and chase her off, Yamira received enough stares from Merodi diplomats as it was. It hurt her immensely, but cordiality was the only viable response here. “No, thank you.”

“Some other time, then!” Windmind chirped, still maintaining her sweet smile. How Yamira hated it. “Aun’va teaches that patience is one of the primary virtues of the Greater Good.” Yamira suppressed an urge to vomit at the mention of the Tau philosophy. While she had heard it in mere passing when participating in Crusades against the abhorrent xenos of the Eastern Fringe, it was now bombarding her at every opportunity. Water Caste Tau and their Fire Caste bodyguards frequently passed through the Relations Office and the streets of Celestia City itself, offering to share the wonders of their Greater Good with any who listened. Whether they wanted to or not. In her few weeks of living amongst the Merodi, Yamira had learned more about the Greater Good than most Xeno Biologis researchers.

Respite came swiftly once she approached the elevator, hastily entering and jamming her finger on the button to ascend. Windmind hardly seemed to notice Yamira slipping out of sight, continuing on her way. Yamira breathed a sigh of relief, pressing herself against the elevator wall in one of the few silent moments in her day. Sure, it was partially disrupted by that irksome music that played through the speakers, but so long as it wasn’t someone talking to her, Yamira was fine with it. Just her, the tiny box, and the annoying, fifteen-second loop of piano music.

Her respite was broken when the elevator opened up with a soft ‘ding’. Yamira sighed once again and stepped out of the elevator and into the hallway, marching straight towards her office. Or rather, would have, if she didn’t bump into her other daily annoyance. Yamira looked down and saw Amber standing right in front of her, two saddlebags resting on her sides bursting with documents. Despite the change in her station from diplomatic aid to diplomatic advisor, Yamira still saw the skittish pony far more frequently than she would have liked. At least she wasn’t as insufferably saccharine as Windmind.

“O-oh! Good morning, Yamira.” Amber greeted, back-pedalling to properly give Yamira her space. “I was actually making my way to your office. Good timing, huh?”

“I suppose it could be.” Yamira replied. “Dropping off more forms for me to overlook?”

“Huh?” Amber glanced to her side, noting the bustling saddlebags. “Oh! Oh no, these aren’t for you. Eve was just having me run an errand, I was supposed to get these to the Expeditions Office as a favor. No new paperwork for you.”

“Ah, then you should be on your way.” Yamira said. She wasted no time in stepping around the pony and continuing her way down the hall. Amber blinked and hastily followed behind Yamira.
“Wait, I still needed to tell you something important!” Amber exclaimed. Yamira rolled her eye and did not break her pace, leaving Amber no choice but to speed up her trotting. “There’s going to be a meeting coming up that Eve wants you to come to, but I thought-” Yamira stopped in front of her office door, resulting in Amber bumping into the Commissar’s muscular thigh.

“If the Overhead wishes for me to attend a meeting,” Yamira said. “Then she can extend the invitation herself.” Yamira reached out to open the door, but Amber quickly moved to intercept her.

“But it’s who the meeting is with that I think you should know.” Yamira frowned and shoved Amber’s hoof out of the way, pressing the button to open the door. The door slid open and Yamira walked into her office, still only decorated as sparsely the day she arrived, only this time she had a proper rack for her sword and bolt pistol. Yamira wordlessly sat at her desk and examined the paperwork strewn about. Amber was about to enter, but found the entrance blocked, not by the door, but by a mass of partially rotted flesh and metal. Amber gasped, quickly putting a hoof to her chest to ease her breathing, all while glaring at the Servitor. “Gosh darn it, Bell! I told you not to do that anymore!”

“COMMAND NOT RECOGNIZED.” Bell droned. The bell-shaped Servitor wobbled back and forth on its spider-like legs, scampering over to the side of Yamira’s desk. “WELCOME BACK, LADY COMMISSAR.”

“Thank you, Bell,” Yamira said. “Have you received any new messages?”

“NEGATIVE, LADY COMMISSAR.” Bell replied, servos creaking with every chugging motion. “NO NEW MESSAGES RECEIVED.” Amber pouted and furrowed her brow at Yamira and Bell.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to bring that thing here anymore.” Amber said.“

I said I would consider it, then promptly decided ‘no’.”

“You know that Bell gives everyone around here the creeps. It’s a walking metal corpse, for Celestia’s sake!”

“It’s a useful aid and assistant for me in the mundane hours of the day.”

“We can get you an actual assistant, like a Gem or someone else!”

“Those have the capacity to talk back to me. Bell does not.”

“That’s because Bell’s a darn robot with no feelings!”

“Servitor, Bell is nothing like those Abominable Intelligences that I’ve spotted strutting about.” Amber groaned and knocked her head against the side of the doorframe. She tugged at her face with a hoof and furrowed her brow.

“You know,” Amber said. “I think ponies would like you more if you learned to look at things from other perspectives.” Yamira stopped her writing and glared at Amber, the pony’s blood running cold as the half-scarred woman stood up from her seat.

“I don’t need people to ‘like’ me, Ambassador.” Yamira said. “I am a Commissar of the Astra Militarum, I am to inspire people by fear. If the feeble xenos that roam this accursed metropolis find themselves unnerved by my mere presence, then I have done my duty to the Emperor properly.” She walked around her desk, her heels clacking against the floor in slow, methodical steps. “To suggest I look at other perspectives would be a violation of everything I have known from birth. An act that is,” Yamira slammed a balled fist against the wall, the thud echoing like thunder in the small room. “Heretical.” Amber gulped and stepped back into the hall as Yamira approached. She saw her fearful face in Yamira’s dead, lidless eye, terror painted across in sweat across her brow. “You may suggest whatever you wish regarding how matters are handled in your world, but I will not stand for any notion that I should change my world.” She did not wait for Amber to respond and simply closed the door in the Earth pony’s face.

The silence was deafening as Yamira returned to her desk and resumed her work, only punctuated by the occasional escape of steam from Bell’s metal bodice. Her day went on, scribbling mindlessly on form after form of paperwork. She read through them with the interest of a feline in the face of an obsessively attentive owner. Words blurred together on the white backdrop, all saying much the same thing with only slightly different variations. Support this, culturally appropriate that, militarize these, all of it dull, all of it monotonous, none of which were relevant to a Commissar. Yet, this is what she was consigned to do. Fill out the blanks on sheafs of paper for a higher power she loathed above all others. Yamira could pray for a reprieve, but tempting such a prayer for such selfish needs would be a disrespect towards the God-Emperor.

“LADY COMMISSAR.” Bell said. Yamira inwardly sighed in relief, finally a break in her dull cycle of signing papers and approving forms.

“Yes, what is it, Bell?” Yamira asked. The Servitor hobbled over to the desk, swaying side to side on spindly legs. Its left eye, dull and lifeless, was now flashing an orange light, blinking on and off as though the dead flesh had functioning eyelids once more. Yamira’s own eye widened in recognition. It had been a while since she had seen her Servitor’s eye glow.

“I HAVE RECEIVED A VOX MESSAGE FROM AN EXTERNAL SIGNUM.” Bell announced. “DESIGNATED: ALPHA PRIORUS. VOX MESSAGE IS INTENDED FOR YOUR LISTENING ALONE.” Yamira nearly jumped out of her seat in jubilation. Finally, a message from high command! After weeks of silence, ever since the Commissariat damned her to this fate of catering to the whims of Xenos and heretics, now she finally received contact! Breaking her composure though, even in the isolation of her office, was not within her code of conduct. She cleared her throat, curled a finger through her blonde hair, and gestured to Bell.

“Play the message then, Bell.”

“ACKNOWLEDGED.” Bell’s eye glowed brighter, illuminating its pale face in an orange light. “PLAYING MESSAGE.” Bell tilted its head back and opened its mouth wide, exposing the vox speaker embedded in what once may have been a human throat. Feedback crackled and echoed in Bell’s mouth as the message came through, slow and methodical.

“Commissar Yamira Kalov,” a man’s voice came from Bell’s mouth, wisened and stern, yet Yamira could not recognize whom it may belong to. “I apologize for not contacting you sooner, attempting to hail any sort of vox system onboard this unusual mobile platform the interlopers call a city has proven to be quite arduous. I speak to you on behalf of the Imperium, the High Lords, and the God-Emperor of Mankind Himself.” Yamira couldn’t believe her ears. She leaned forward across her desk, listening with rapt attention. “Destiny shines upon you, Commissar, but it cannot be spoken of so brazenly in enemy territory.” An understandable notion, although Yamira was less than pleased to be left in the dark. “Fret not, for we shall speak face to face on these dire matters soon enough. In three hours as of transmitting this message, I will send a Servo-Skull to you. It will guide you to me, and I shall impart my wisdom onto you. The Emperor protects, Yamira Kalov.”

“Emperor protects.” Yamira replied, placing a hand upon her chest in solemn prayer. Bell closed its mouth and leaned its head forward in a stiff bow. Yamira’s lips slightly curled upwards as she granted the Servitor a pat atop its head. The flesh may be cold and dead, but the machinery within made the construct somewhat warm. “This is marvelous news, Bell. Marvelous news indeed.” The Servitor beeped in approval, its eye no longer flashing but still sounding pleased with itself. It stood upright again and scuttled off into a corner of the room like a crab, while Yamira returned to her seat, glossing over the papers still in need of signing. Yet, Yamira did not reach for her autoquill to continue. There was no need for her to continue the work of the Merodi, restricting her to menial desk duties to maintain their oh-so-perfect image. Her Imperium was calling to her, and she was eager to answer.

The office door slid open, disrupting Yamira’s internal revelry, as a blue-skinned woman wearing a blouse, buttoned with a matching stone, made herself present. Another one of the Gems, a studious Zircon, if Yamira remembered correctly. She strode into the room, her long nose looking down at a holographic discus in her hand, covered in various symbols and sigils Yamira could not recognize.

“Overhead Evening Sparkle would like to speak to you, ma’am.” The Zircon said.

‘Ah, that’s right, Amber Dust was blathering on about that.’ Yamira thought. She rose from her seat and made her way to the door. “Remain stationary until I return, Bell. Acknowledge command.”

“COMMAND ACKNOWLEDGED.” Bell replied. The Zircon spared a look at the Servitor and shuddered, a rare sensation for the inorganic alien. She stepped aside and allowed Yamira to pass, leaving Bell alone in the office once more. The lights went out in the room, only illuminated by the glow of the lumens in the Servitor’s dead eyes.

“I’m sure she’ll be here in just a few minutes,” Eve said, reassuring her guest. “The hallways are a bit… well, labyrinthine is a bit much, but it’s kind of easy to get lost in if you’re not paying attention.” Eve was cut off by the tell-all sound of her office door opening, and the arrival of both the Zircon she had sent and the lady in question, Yamira Kalov, who seemed more interested in looking at the wall than the Overhead herself. A rude gesture, but Eve was getting used to Yamira’s abrasiveness at this point. It didn’t help that when she looked away, the most Eve saw of the Commissar was the mangled and burnt flesh on the other side of her head, dead eye and gaping cheek on prominent display. The Zircon, duties concluded, excused herself and hurried back into the hall.

“You summoned me, Overhead?” Yamira curtly said. She still refused to turn and look at the alicorn, even as she stepped inside. Eve smiled and set her hooves onto the desk.

“There’s someone who just arrived in Celestia City that I’d like you to meet.” Eve said. “In fact, he’s… sitting right here.” Yamira knew that the pony was gesturing to her blind spot, but Yamira felt no particular need to move.

“Another one of your stature, attempting to convince me to see your ways?” Yamira curtly replied. To her own surprise, Eve did not respond, but rather the gentle chuckling of an older man.

“Quite the opposite, my dear,” he said. “Rather someone who is already well versed in our ways.” Yamira’s head jerked so quickly towards Eve and her guest that her neck nearly snapped. Sitting in the chair in front of the Overheads desk was a human, dressed in ceremonial white and red pastoral robes, aged and elegant, with numerous holy rites and scriptures pinned to his body by blood-red wax seals. Chained to his side was an enormous leather-bound sacred book that made Yamira’s pocket booklet seem like a brochure. Atop his head was an enormous white hat that nearly graced the ceiling with its gentle touch, an all-too familiar golden ‘I’ with a skull surrounded by the holy rays of the sun itself embossed on the center. Yamira couldn’t believe what she was seeing, her lips had gone dry and her mouth agape.

“Eh… eh….” Yamira stammered, her posture gone slack. “Eh… eeh…”

“Ecclesiarch Decius XXIII.” Eve said, still smiling. “High Lord of Terra, and head of the Adeptus Ministorum.” Decius rose from his seat and clasped his hands together in a praying bow. Yamira hastily slapped her hands together and repeated the gesture, falling to one knee in compliant submission before the holiest man she had ever laid eyes on.

“It… it is an honor, Your Grace.” Yamira said, quietly. “Such an honor to be before you, Most Holy of Men.”

“Rise, my child.” Decius said. While it was no command, Yamira treated it as though it were the highest of orders. “There is no such need for formalities here, I come not as a man of holy edict, but simply a man wishing to stand beside his fellow man. Err,” he scratched the side of his head, his oversized hat wobbling slightly. “Wo-man, in this case.” Were it not for the burns that had severely damaged her tear ducts, Yamira would have been crying. Instead, she simply nodded and bowed.

“Of course, Your Grace.” she said. Yamira turned back to Eve, her prior gentle face once again shifting to mistrust and loathing. Eve simply kept her smile and gestured to the other vacant chair. Yamira wordlessly sat down alongside Decius, watching the Ecclesiarch’s hat brush against the ceiling with visible marks. The rumors of his hat size were true, apparently.

“Alright, now that you’re both here,” said Eve. “We can begin this little meeting.” Eve levitated a small datapad over from an alcove on her shelf and rested it upon the desk. “As I’m sure you both know, the Emperor’s requirements for the alliance between the Imperium of Man are that all known planets under the Imperium’s control must willingly accept our presence in the universe.” Yamira and Decius both nodded, though Yamira was far more rigid in her nod and Decius had to prevent his hat from falling off with his. “Due to the recent issues we’ve been having with some of the other residents of your galaxy,” she paused to spare a glance to Yamira. Yamira said nothing, simply narrowing her good eye and prompting Eve to continue. “We’ve been forced to re-route our travel path for visiting sectors.”

“Not wanting to risk another Genestealer incursion, are we?” Yamira snidely asked.

“Be polite, Commissar.” Decius said, furrowing his brow. Yamira immediately shut up, but a part of her mind kept insisting how wrong it was that the Ecclesiarch, the voice of the Emperor’s holy word, had just told her to be polite in the presence of a Xenos.

“Right,” said Eve. “Aside from sending multiple diplomatic teams to different planets, we’ll also be keeping a closer eye on the planets we haven’t had direct contact with.” Eve brought up the datapad, displaying several static images of planets.

“These particular Hiveworlds and Shrineworlds haven’t responded to any of our messages, and the Imperial Fleets that pass through those sectors haven’t told us much about their status. Chances are, they’re ignoring us.”

“As they should.” Yamira said. “Imperial Citizens know far better than to accept transmissions from any power that is not the Imperium of Man.”

“And that’s why we need more support from humans in high positions.” Eve said, setting the datapad down. “More people who are willing to give us a chance.”

“People like myself,” Decius added. “If I am presuming correctly.” Yamira’s gaze snapped to Decius, looking at him as if he grew a second head.

“Excuse me, what?” Yamira stiffly asked. Decius shifted in his seat and planted his hands atop his lap.

“Oh, were you unaware?” he asked. “I presumed that the Overhead had informed you in advance.” Yamira jerked her head back towards Eve, her good eye now bloodshot and her face flushed pale.

“Explain.” Eve flinched under Yamira’s terrifying gaze, but kept herself composed.

“When Merodi representatives first arrived on Terra and spoke with the High Lords,” Eve carefully explained. “Only two of them were actually willing to hear us out, before the Emperor made his own summons. The Captain-General of the Adeptus Custodes,” Eve gestured to Decius, smiling. “And the Ecclesiarch here.”

“Much has changed in the Imperial Palace that has broadened my eyes to the galaxy at large,” Decius said. “It is by the Emperor’s own teachings and through my interactions with Him, the Captain-General, and His Sons, that I have learned to see beyond my limited scope. And these ponies and those that accompany them,” he waved a ring-adorned hand about the room. “May do our ailing Imperium some good.”

Everything around Yamira seemed to shatter. Her mind had broken like a stained glass window under the treads of a Baneblade. The Ecclesiarch, the face and voice of the Adeptus Ministorum, a Living Saint in the making, had openly confessed to endorsing Xenos. Everything crumbled around her, breaking away into naught but a black void that sent Yamira down into the depths. Nothing was sacred anymore, the sole bastion of faith that Yamira had in this forsaken dominion of heresy had ceased to be. Best to let the nothingness claim her, spare herself any more suffering.

“Yamira? Yamira?” she heard Eve’s voice call out to her in the dark, muffled and distant. She ignored it, closing her eye and falling ever downwards into the empty void. Let the sweet release of death claim her. “YAMIRA!” Suddenly, a wash of wetness rushed over her face, drenching her clothes and matting her hair. Yamira flailed and sputtered, wiping the water away from her stinging eyes. By the time she stopped, she felt her seat back underneath her and saw that the darkness had been stripped away. She was still in Eve’s office with the Ecclessiarch.

“Is everything alright, Commissar?” Decius asked, concern evident in his voice.

“You went slack for a few minutes,” Eve said. In her magical grasp was an empty vase and a bundle of flowers, dripping droplets of water onto the floor. “Are you feeling well? I can call for a nurse if you need.”

“No, no, I’m fine….” Yamira said. She removed a handkerchief from her jacket and dabbed at her face. “I’m… perfectly fine.” It was a forced statement, but causing a scene in front of the Ecclesiarch would bring nothing but trouble. Eve set her flowers back into the vase and set them aside, but kept a wary look on her face.

“As I was saying…” Eve continued. “Ecclesiarch Decius has agreed to join a few of the diplomatic teams meeting with the planetary governors, and addressing the general populace as well. Your words have power, sir, and we’re very happy that you’re willing to help us.”

“Thank you for allowing me this opportunity, Overhead Sparkle.” Decius said. “I’ve been cooped up in the Palace for far too long.” He leaned forward in his seat and smirked. “It’s about dang time I put my station to good use.” The Ecclesiarch’s voice briefly went coarse and gravelly with that proclamation, but swiftly returned to normal with a clearing of his throat. “Pardon, still working that out.”

“Of course, Ecclesiarch.” Eve said. “Now, Yamira,” Yamira stuffed the handkerchief back into her pocket, still very wet and very bemused. “I’ll be putting you in charge of the Ecclesiarch’s protection. I know bodyguarding isn’t part of your job description, but I believe that more humans accompanying him will raise our chances at approval.” Yamira said nothing, her mind was still processing the concept of the Ecclesiarch praising the efforts of the hated Xenos. “We’ll be making our first stop on this new galactic tour on…” Eve swiftly searched through the datapad, names and numbers flying past in rapid rows. “Erdun V, a Shrineworld. Yamira, you’re free to take the remainder of the day off.”
Yamira stood up and exited the room without a word, even ignoring the passing farewell from Decius. She stormed down the halls in a hurried gait, hiding her furious face from any passers by. As the door slid shut behind the Commissar, Eve slumped in her seat, downcast.

“She’s such a difficult woman to work with.” Eve sighed. “The Gems were a stubborn bunch at first, but this blows them out of the water.” she tilted her head towards Decius, who also seemed a bit dour. “Why would the High Lords even send a person who propagates wars over ending them to be a diplomat?” Decius raised an eyebrow, an act that nearly resulted in his hat falling off his balding head.

“Truth be told,” Decius said. “I actually don’t know. When the Emperor demanded that we send some form of representative to serve as liaison, none of the High Lords could provide a suitable candidate, especially with the doddering old windbags arguing more over inane rulings and their own fecal matter than focusing on actual issues. It wasn’t until a few weeks ago when the representative was chosen for us, Commissar Kalov.”

“Then who did choose for you, Decius?” Eve asked. “Who sent Yamira Kalov to us?”

Author's Note

Special thanks to the many people on the Songs of the Spheres Discord chat for continuing to aid me in the writing of this story. You guys are the real MVPs here. Wouldn't be able to do this without you.

Sappiness aside, 'ERE WE GO, NEW CHAPTER!

Chapter Twelve

Recaf wasn’t a beverage Yamira drank often. It was coarse, bitter, lacking any semblance of proper taste, and it never was able to keep her awake as so brazenly advertised by the Munitorum’s propaganda boards. Still, there was a sense of comfort in the drink. The thick and rough taste often was enough to snap her back into reality after a long campaign, or a reprieve from a skirmish on the battlefield. It was a rare, pleasant surprise to find that the Merodi had their own version of recaf, a slightly less thick substance they called ‘coffee’. Yamira had stumbled upon a store that produced this ‘coffee’ whilst on a walk with Devon through the streets of Celestia City, a quaint little establishment owned by a wide-eyed, fast-talking, snappily dressed man who introduced himself as Joe Cuppa. Granted, his introduction consisted of accidentally spilling an obscenely large mug of coffee on Yamira, apologizing profusely for giving her severe coffee burns, Yamira assuring him that her burns were from elsewhere, and receiving a discount on future purchases for a month.

Yamira went back the next day and had sugar in her coffee for the first time in centuries.
Cuppa’s cafe became Yamira’s go-to spot after an arduous day, a chance at reprieve from her constant burden of pushing papers. Every visit brought her a new drink at the recommendation of Cuppa, each one providing her a new taste, a new sensation she never even considered possible. Though Cuppa himself was a tad irksome at times with his short-talk and constant running about, Yamira found him good company when Devon was off enjoying his shore leave. Pleasant drinks, somewhat pleasant company, and comfortable seating, it was one of the few places Yamira genuinely enjoyed in the whole of Celestia City.

Today, Yamira ordered her coffee black. Cuppa was too busy handling the other customers to take her order, leaving a lackluster employee in his stead. The cup was hardly filled to the usual standard and the lid wasn’t even fastened on properly, regardless, Yamira paid the usual sum and sauntered off to her usual seat by the window. Her seat was denied to her by a pair of irate griffons in Merodi soldier uniforms, blocking her off with their wings. On any other day, Yamira would have not let this slight stand. She would have demanded that her order be corrected, reprimanded the failure of an employee, and drawn her sword and bolt pistol on the avian-feline mutant Xenos with no hesitation. But she couldn’t. She had no spirit for it. Instead she sat down at the awning outside, exposed to the cacophonous sounds of Merodi traffic.

“Oh hey, I didn’t know Joe sold bacon here.” Yamira had yet to take a sip when she was interrupted by the spontaneous appearance of Cage Jameson. The smoking Stand User seemed to make it a habit of simply blinking into existence around her, somehow showing up at random intervals in her day without her ever noticing him being there. He just invited himself into whatever Yamira was doing, regardless of any objection. Cage sat down in the vacant chair opposite Yamira, two trails of smoke drifting from his lips. She paid him no mind and sipped her coffee. The bitter taste burned her lips and boiled across her tongue. Cage frowned, putting out one spent cigarette butt on the table. “Bad day, I’m guessing?”

“Every day in this damned city is a bad day, Jameson,” Yamira bitterly replied. She raised her cup for another sip, but stopped when she felt a rather painful stinging in the vacant area around her cheek. Yamira sighed and gingerly placed a napkin upon her flayed flesh.

“Yeah, but usually when I make my zings, you give some kinda response,” Cage said. “Usually of the snide remark variety, or a general threat on my life.” The napkin slowly stained red around Yamira’s fingers, the stinging pain not yet subsiding. Cage turned his chair around and rested his arms on the back, leaning over as flecks of ash fell onto the table. “Wanna talk?”

“I have very little to discuss with you,” Yamira said. She sipped her coffee, a mixture of brown splashing against the red on her napkin. She flinched, ever so slightly, but kept herself steadfast.

“Does it have something to do with the fact the Space Pope is here?” Cage asked. Yamira looked up from her cup, catching a glimpse of one of Cage’s trademark smirks. “Called it. Ambs told me that he was here.”

“Ecclesiarch, not ‘Space Pope’,” Yamira sneered. “The title bears respect, treat it with such, and do not associate it with a long dead Terran faith.”

“Woah, don’t let Rev hear ya saying that,” Cage chuckled. “She’ll start going full sermon on you, and we’d be here all day.” Yamira rolled her eye and returned to her drink. “So yeah, Space Pope. Figured that’d be a huge deal for you, considering how often I see you praying.”

“It was.” Yamira curtly replied, only to quickly silence herself again with another sip. Cage just nodded and leaned forward on his seat.

“You probably figured out that he’s supporting the Merodi’s unification efforts, huh?” Cage quickly moved aside to avoid the empty coffee cup hurled at his head. It instead struck a man who was not tall, sitting in a bush with a pair of binoculars next to a man who was not short. “Gonna take that as a ‘yeah’.” Yamira huffed and reclined in her seat, refusing to look Cage in the eye. “Now I kinda understand why you’re pissed at me, I just kinda have that effect on people and damn proud of it,” he popped two fresh cigarettes from his bandolier and put them to his lips. “But care to explain why you’re pissed about the,” he took note of Yamira’s scowl and her grinding teeth through the vacant hole in her mouth. “Ecclesiarch being here?”

Yamira somewhat relaxed her scowl, but still kept her irate glare. “In the few moments I have to repeat myself, Jameson,” Yamira said. “It usually follows an immediate execution of a disobedient Guardsman.” Cage frowned amidst lighting his new cigarettes. “But, I will say it again, I have very little to discuss with you.” Cage puffed on his cigarettes, sending small clouds overhead and into the sky.

“... Yeah, but I’m not a Guardsman.” Cage smugly replied. “So you can’t shoot me without consequence, so spill.” Yamira wished she hadn’t thrown her cup at Cage earlier. She would have had a better shot the second time around. Still, the smoker was intent on getting her to speak, and Yamira was equally intent on keeping her mouth as sealed as a Space Marine’s reliquary. She knew that Cage was going to keep prodding and prodding her until he either grew bored and left, or she finally decided to end the fool’s life. No idea how long Cage’s attention span was, and murder here wasn’t as viable as in her service. Yamira needed an out, something to divert attention away from her quelling rage, something to completely shift focus. Then, it came to her. Something she had pushed to the back of her mind for the past few weeks, but resurged like a slap to the face. Yamira took a deep breath and turned herself back towards Cage, who was once more enjoying his four burning cigarettes.

“Who is Delilah?” she asked. Cage’s eyes bulged behind his sunglasses as he took in a startled gasp, inadvertently inhaling his cigarettes directly into his mouth. In his sudden panic, Cage swallowed the still-lit cigarettes, coughing and wheezing as they burned the insides of his throat. He repeatedly punched his chest as he belched clouds of black smoke and pained tears ran down his cheeks. Finally, he managed to cough three of them up onto the floor, but he still felt one more still stuck inside, still burning and still coughing. The whole ordeal nearly brought a smile to Yamira’s face, it was the funniest thing she’d seen in weeks.

“Who,” Cage coughed and wheezed. “Who told you about Delilah?” He wobbled in his seat and wiped his tears away from his face with a dirty thumb.

“She told me herself,” Yamira said. “After the debacle on Armastus, she pulled me aside, threatened my life, told me she was watching me, and mentioned you missing out on a… date, I believe.” Cage coughed his last few clouds and slumped in his seat.

“Did she say anything about ‘putting me through the wringer’?” Cage asked.

“Word for word.”

“Yeah, that’s Delilah alright.” Cage propped his elbow on the table and rested his head upon his hand. Now he didn’t want to look Yamira in the eye, tables properly turned. “It’s… complicated.”

“Complicated enough to warrant an explanation?” Yamira asked. Cage pursed his lips and inspected the remnants of the soggy, snuffed out cigarettes strewn about his feet. “After all, you seemed so insistent on prying into my personal life, I should be permitted the same courtesy.”

“Oh, you crispy bitch.” Cage groaned. “Fine, fine, I’ll tell you. Delilah Morreo and I are… kind of a thing. Except it’s less of a thing and more of a…” He rolled his wrist about, once more glancing to the side. “Hostage situation? She and I are from the same universe, known each other for years, hell, we used to be work acquaintances back before we got picked up by the Merodi. Don’t get me wrong, there was something there between us for a while, but she’s…” Again, Cage trailed off.

“Possessive?” Yamira suggested.

“Suffocatingly crazy,” Cage admitted. “Like, not in the ‘I’ll text you a lot in hopes you respond’ kinda way, but more like that ‘I will paint your ass in barbeque sauce and throw you to the crocodiles if I see you looking at another woman’ kinda way. Delilah gets scary when she’s mad.”

“She did punch a wall and leave a sizeable dent when I interrupted her,” Yamira mused. A lumen bulb went off in her head. “Wait a moment, does she think that you and I are-” Cage’s impromptu laughter did alleviate her concerns somewhat.

“Oh, god, not in a million years.” Cage laughed. “No offense, Yamira, but I’m more into women who have… all of their face.” Concerns alleviated, but rage and loathing still ever present. Cage sufficiently calmed down from his fit and leaned over his seat once more. “... Though knowing her, that’s a big possibility. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure she doesn’t touch you.”

“A bit late for that.” Yamira muttered. Cage frowned, spinning his cigarettes in his mouth. He pushed himself up from his chair and walked around to Yamira’s side.

“Alright, c’mon, get up,” he ordered. Yamira looked at Cage with her usual contempt, unaware of the smoke swirling behind her. “Up and at ‘em.” The smoke cloud pushed through her seat and quickly brought Yamira onto her feet. She stumbled a bit and nearly fell to the pavement, but Cage swiftly caught her by the nape of her collar and tugged her back onto her feet. Her response was to grab Cage by the scruff of his bomber jacket and hoist him off the ground. “Woah, you are… so much stronger than I realized.”

“You have two seconds to explain yourself before I blow a hole through that nicotine-addled head of yours.” Yamira growled.

“Neat trick, can you do that without a gun?” Yamira glanced down to her hip, reminded of the absence of her bolt pistol. Cursed ‘No Weapons’ policy. She released her grip on Cage and set him back onto the ground. “Look, I’m gonna take you to a place I know to get you outta whatever funk you’re in right now. No arguing.” Yamira tried to object, but a wreath of smoke trailing from Cage’s cigarettes ensnared her. “Adventure time!” As the two walked off (one technically walked, the other was dragged by the heels, cursing her partially fried mouth off), the man who was not tall and the man who was not short watched them zip from sight. They didn’t leave the bush, even after they were gone, and simply kept their presumed watch on a theoretical path they were taking, until finally asked to leave by a League member answering a public disturbance call.

“‘Boomshop’?” The sign Yamira read was hanging by a pair of worn chains, swaying back and forth in the light breeze over a steel-plated door. It seemed more down-to-earth compared to the sleek, high tech look much of Celestia City boasted at every corner, from the bricks that built the place up to the chain-link fence that surrounded the portions on some derelict yard. It felt like a melding of both suburban and urban lifestyles, all foreign to the gothic industrialized Imperium of Man. It even stood out amongst the future-tech architecture of the standard Merodi buildings, a peculiar oddity. And yet, for some odd reason, Cage felt it pertinent to bring Yamira here.

“Yep.” Cage said, smirking proudly. “Finest drink-stand, alchemist hub, and scrapyard hidden off the beaten path.” He jabbed a thumb to his chest, twirling smoking loops with his lone lit cigarette in his mouth. “I’m on good terms with the owner, so she’ll cut us a good deal.” Yamira took her eye from the sign and brought it to Cage in an incredulous gaze.

“Alchemist?” Yamira repeated. “As in the craft of… turning lead into gold?”

“I wish.” Cage said. “Vee is more of a specialty chemist, making all sorts of drinkable stuff that has all kinds of effects on people.” He gestured to a sign in the window, displaying a trio of corked bottles filled with a variety of colored liquids. “Good prices, too, compared to the price gougers from Nirn.” Cage grabbed Yamira’s wrist and dragged her into the building proper. “C’mon, I’ll introduce ya.” Yamira relented. She groaned as she stumbled up the stairs and was practically thrown indoors.

The transition from the stifling hot air of the outside to a cool, conditioned interior was welcoming, but Yamira was surprised at just how cramped and cluttered the storefront was. Despite the relative size of the building itself, the store was more wide than properly accommodating, dividing the front and back of the store with a wooden counter. Various displays lined the walls, filled with innumerable odd bottles, flasks and jars, all sporting unusual oddities within. A jar full of amphibian eyes, a glass flask filled by strange black hairs floating in a ghoulish green mixture, a vial of a thick red substance eerily similar to blood, some sort of preserved skinned serpent skewered on a spit, the variety of things on display made Yamira feel a touch queasy. Cage had casually walked up to the counter and began rapidly ringing the small bell, over and over again with little regard for decency.

“Hang on, HANG ON!” A voice shouted from the back. “I’m in the middle of a very delicate procedure, just the slightest slip could result in-” A burst of pink smoke erupted from the curtained-off back door. “... Never mind. I’ll be out in a second.” Cage plucked his cigarette from his mouth and sniffed at the smoke as it wafted through the air.

“Mmm… Strawberries,” he mused. Yamira watched the pink cloud pass overhead with incredulity. Every day in this madhouse of a city, Yamira found such baffling things that questioned her very sanity. The curtain parted in the doorway, and the owner of the establishment stepped out. Much to Yamira’s surprise, the owner was not only human, but a significantly young girl, her tannish head barely even reaching over the counter. She wore a casual white dress and long white gloves, all stained pink by whatever concoction she had been working on, but what caught Yamira’s eye was the absurdly large red hat the girl was wearing. It covered much of her head, barely concealing a mess of black hair, and draped all the way down to the small of her back. She hopped up to counter with the aid of a concealed box and reclined on the countertop with a smile on her face.

“Hey Cage, good to see you again.” The girl greeted Cage. “Looking for some more of your party favors? Just about got that Voice Changing Elixir perfected, only need to work on fixing the taste.” She stuck out her tongue and furrowed her brow. “Black licorice, still the worst taste in the multiverse.”

“Nah, I’ll hold off on that for now.” Cage said, chuckling. “I’m actually here to get something for my…” He trailed off, wracking his brain for some proper way to describe his relationship with Yamira Kalov. Friend would be too much, and they weren’t exactly co-workers due to different lines of work. Associates? No, too formal, and Cage loathed formality. “... Person I brought with me.” He turned and gestured to Yamira, who stood stationary behind him with a mute glare. The girl visibly reacted at the sight of Yamira’s horrifically scarred face, wincing and tugging at her collar.

“Yeesh, should’ve come to me sooner.” she said. “Though I don’t know if my Growth Potions can fix something like that. Skin’s been dead for too long, her face is fifty-percent scar tissue.” Though it was a correct assessment, Yamira still bristled at the comment.

“You’d be best to watch your tongue, child,” Yamira said. “Now, where’s the actual proprietor? I’ve never had patience for children.” Now the girl seemed to be offended, putting a hand to her chest and staring aghast at Yamira.

“Hey now, who are you calling a kid?” she snapped. “I’m probably a lot older than you are by a mile. Better looking too, but that’s not fair to compare looks against your mug, ain’t it?” Yamira was about to stamp over and pull the child over the counter for well-deserved discipline, but Cage had already stepped between the two and held up his hands to keep them from killing each other.

“Hold on, I am not breaking apart another fight today, it’s too exhausting,” Cage firmly said. “So let’s just calm down, take a deep breath, and talk about this like rational people.” ‘Vee’ leaned over the side and sneered.

“Cage, I recognize that uniform. She’s Imperium,” she said. “Word is that ‘rational’ isn’t part of their vernacular.” Yamira again tried to push Cage to the side, but the smoker kept his ground.

“Not helping, Vee,” he grumbled. “Let’s just back down, start over, and take it from the top. Okay?” ‘Vee’ pouted, but nodded her agreement. He glanced over to the still fuming Yamira, rolling his cigarette between his teeth. “Okay?” Yamira relented and stood at attention, but she still kept her spiteful gaze on the girl. “Alright, good. Let’s start with introductions.” Cage glanced to ‘Vee’ and gestured to Yamira. “Vee, this is Commissar Yamira Kalov, she’s a liason for the Imperium of Man, currently doing desk work for Relations.” He turned to Yamira and mirrored his actions. “Commissar, this is Vanna, the owner and proprietor of the Boomshop, from the World of Twelve. Vanna, Yamira, Yamira, Vanna.” Vanna politely bowed, but she was a bit rigid in doing so.

“Nice to meet you, Commissar.” Vanna said.

“Likewise,” Yamira said. Both knew they were lying, but putting hostility aside for now would ease any situation. “A very interesting shop you have.”

“Thank you, I’ve been running it for a few years now,” Vanna said. “I sell potions, remedies, and concoctions at reasonable prices for relatively reasonable people.” She picked up a small shot glass filled with a soupy green liquid. “Care for a free sample?” Yamira stared at the glass and the thick green goop inside.

“... Sample of what?” Yamira asked. Vanna looked at the glass, looked at Yamira, then at the glass, Yamira, the glass, Cage, the glass, the glass again, a stuffed yellow bird hanging on the wall, and finally Yamira.

“I have no idea.” She slid the glass aside and lounged on the counter. It came to rest at the base of a bovine skull on a platter; a light splash resulted in the steady growth of moss on the bone. “What brings you here today?”

“Jameson dragged me here for some odd reason or another,” Yamira said. She glanced over to Cage, who was currently inspecting one of the whiskered buns on display. “Which you still haven’t explained.”

“Huh?” Cage dropped the bun back onto the display case. “Oh right, the thing.” He plopped his elbow on the counter and drummed his fingers on the wooden top. “Miss Overcooked over here is in a bad mood and needs some cheering up. You got any… I dunno, potions that make people happy or something?” Vanna pursed her lips and tapped her chin, humming a few bars of some song she knew to herself.

“Maybe. Might have to check the stock for it,” Vanna said. She dipped behind the counter and began rummaging through a storage case, hidden from sight. “It’ll take a while, I’ve had to re-catalogue everything to have pictures on the bottles since my new assistants can’t read words.” She popped back up, holding a plastic tube that reminded Yamira of a brightly colored whistle. Vanna took a deep breath and blew into the tube, a sound akin to a lazy hive of bees resounding throughout the shop. After Vanna had ceased blowing, a series of noises broke out from the floor above. Things crashed, furniture was being knocked about, heavy thumps followed, all accompanied by nasally shouts and whimpers arguing with one another. Vanna just smiled and waited. “They’ll be here any second.” Yamira carefully listened to the noises above as they faded away, an uncomfortable feeling rising in her chest at the familiar snorts and grunts.

A ceiling tile came loose and nearly fell atop Cage’s head, missing him by mere inches. Naturally, Cage took this with his usual grace and cool, simply lighting another pair of cigarettes to replace the one that was haphazardly crushed by the falling debris. Three green shapes fell after the tile, one landing on top of the other. Yamira felt her blood freeze, stepping back as the three things untangled themselves. They were gangly green and hideous creatures, each a full head shorter than Cage, with long ears, long noses, beady red eyes and mouths filled with sharp, crooked teeth. They wore naught but dirty loincloths and oversized boots, and had crude knives slung to their hips. They looked virtually identical to one another, save for the oversized tags sticking out of their floppy ears, marked with crude etchings of numbers. They scrambled over to the counter and started eagerly jumping.

“We’re here, Missus!” They each shouted in raspy, giddy voices like nails on a chalkboard. “We came as soon as ya blew tha’ ‘orn, Missus! Whaddaya need?” Vanna gently lowered her arms and lightly waved, attempting to calm the green creatures down.

“Dimbolt, Bolt’ead, Niknak,” Vanna said, her own voice calm like a schola educator. “I need you to go and grab me the box of potions with the big happy face on it. The one in yellow, got it?”

“Got it, missus!” Said Dimbolt, the one marked as ‘1’.

“Big ‘appy face on it, missus!” repeated Bolt’ead, the one marked as ‘2’.

“We’ll get it right for ya, missus!” added Niknak, the one marked with a backwards ‘3’. The trio clambered over the counter and zipped behind the curtain, hooting and hollering their orders with surprising vigor and joy. Vanna turned back from the counter and took notice of Yamira.

“You, uh… doing alright?” The Commissar was absolutely aghast. Her jaw had dropped, the sinews that hung in her heavily scarred cheek were stretched thin and visibly bleeding from the tension. Her one good eye had shrank to a mortified pinprick. When Vanna spoke to her, Yamira ran to the counter and slammed her hands atop it.

“How long have you been dealing with this infestation?!” she demanded. Vanna reeled back, confused and a bit terrified to be this close to burned flesh and the Commissar’s dead, vacant eye.

“Uh… Infestation?” Vanna repeated.

“Gretchen!” Yamira shouted. “Emperor damned Gretchen here, right before me, freely running around and scattering their spores to the winds, you have a Xenos infestation on your hands!” Vanna glanced over to Cage, looking for some semblance of assistance. He was too busy pretending his lighter wasn’t working and standing in another corner of the room.

“Right…” Vanna put a small hand on Yamira’s shoulder and slowly pushed her away from the counter. “I’m not infested. In fact, I think those Grots eat any potential rats that get in. There’s nothing wrong here, lady.” Yamira’s good eye twitched and her fist clenched.

“You referred to them by the Ork name, there is DEFINITELY something wrong here! More so than the rest of this bloody City!” Yamira wildly exclaimed, flailing her arms about. The curtain to the back room parted, and one of the Grots returned, holding a rather heavy-looking box filled with clanking bottles. Yamira immediately saw it, and screamed bloody murder. She jumped over the counter and lunged to the diminutive alien. The Grot yelped and dropped the box on the ground, sprinting off into the back room. “GET BACK HERE SO I CAN WRING YOUR SCRAWNY, GANGRENOUS NECK!” Yamira kicked the box aside and hurried after the Grot, her eye blood red with murder.

The back room was a surprisingly spacious storage room and laboratory, filled with all sorts of boxes, crates, and display racks containing numerous fragile, and potentially valuable, jars and bottles of ingredients. At the center of it all stood the Grots, scraggly and beady eyed. Yamira snarled and charged after them. The Grots all shouted something in their Ork-language and scattered, running about in different directions to escape the rampaging Commissar. One started climbing on the shelves, another dove into a pile of boxes, while the third was just running around the shelves themselves. Yamira sprinted for the only one on the ground, arms extended and fingers wide for grabbing and strangulation. Yet, the damn Xenos was continuously out of reach for her, its thin yet lanky legs outpacing Yamira even in the cramped corridors of the store room. When it finally decided to dive out a window, Yamira had collided with the wall in a desperate attempt to get close. She cursed and swore, but was temporarily distracted when a ceramic jar fell down beside her, shattering into pieces as several gemstones scattered about. She looked up and spotted the Grot above. It had lost its footing and was now hanging by its little grubby claws.

Immediately, Yamira jumped onto the shelf, digging her gloved fingers into the wood and jamming her boots into whatever alcove she could manage. Unfortunately, while the shelves could accomodate a 75 lb. Grot hanging from it, it was not built to handle the full weight of a 125 lb. grown woman. The shelf moaned and creaked, tilting ever so slightly and spilling its contents onto the floor little by little. The Grot squealed as the shelf crashed into the one adjacent to it, and into the next, and the next. By the time the domino effect had ceased, the floor was covered in shattered glass, wooden splinters, all sorts of scattered and destroyed ingredients, and the broken dreams and ambitions of the store owner. Vanna and Cage stood in the doorway, bearing witness to the utter carnage. The former was utterly mortified, while the latter just stood there, face buried in the palm of his hand. Yamira emerged from the wreckage, her hair a mess and many of the scars on her face opened up, staining her black uniform an unfortunate shade of red.

“WHERE ARE THEY?!” Yamira screamed, swerving her head about and darting her eyes like a rabid animal. “I’LL SLAUGHTER THEM! I’LL SLAUGHTER THEM ALL!” Yamira raised her fist to the heavens, proclaiming at the top of her voice. “DEATH TO THE XENOS! DEATH TO THE MUTANT! DEATH TO THE HERETIC! GLORY BE TO THE GOD-EMPEROR OF MANKIND!” Yamira threw her head back and howled in mad laughter, adrenaline and piety pumping through her blood like a life support system on overdrive… and everything went black.

Author's Note

Special thanks to runtrivena for allowing me usage of her character, Vanna, for this story. I wouldn't have been able to get as far as I have on this story without her aid, and the help of others on the Song of the Spheres Discord server. You're the true MVP, even if you keep trying to sneak Catbread into my daily meals. NEVER AGAIN

Chapter Thirteen

When Yamira returned to consciousness, she became acutely aware of two things: the bandages consuming half her face, and the handcuffs on her wrists. She attempted to stand up from an awkward sitting position on the floor, but when she found herself unable to get up, the clanking of metal on a hollow pipe and her sudden inability to move told her of her apparent confinement. She struggled a few more times, bracing her back against the piping, but to no avail. Yamira slowly sat back down, slumping against the pipe as her hair fell over her eyes. She surveyed the room, a mostly empty place with a few unmarked boxes and a large boiler. Judging by the brick-laid walls and the metallic door, she was still at the Boomshop. And, by proxy, near the Grots that had evaded righteous extermination. Her previously subsided anger bubbled up, reminded of the casualness of the shop’s owner in dealing with a serious threat. More relaxed and slothful mentality from the Merodi that made Yamira repulsed. To treat the Ork threat so lightly, it was as though these supposed greater than the galaxy interlopers were begging to be put to the sword.

The door unlocked and slowly parted way, prompting Yamira to cease her struggles once again. She had expected the small shop owner, or perhaps Cage, provided the smoker hadn’t scarpered off after she went on her micro-Crusade. The small glimmer of hope she had was snuffed out quickly as thick green fingers clasped onto the door. It slowly parted, and entering the room was something far worse than a simple Gretchen. It was huge, a wide and bulky creature that stood nearly as tall as the Space Marines of legend, barely able to even fit through the doorway. Sharp, jagged teeth jutted out from rugged lips, further accenting the monstrous face of the gargantuan alien as it snarled. It lumbered into the room, one boot thudding against the floor, while a sharp clack echoed as a faux foot made from the head of a serrated axe followed suit. It kept getting closer, towering over Yamira and blotting out what little light was left in the room. She began struggling again, less out of anger, and more of a rising fear. She needed to get out. Needed to escape from the Ork.

The Ork stopped short of Yamira, looming over her and casting a long shadow. It stared down at her with its beady red eyes, slowly breathing through flat, slitted nostrils. Yamira thrashed in her restraints, desperately trying to kick herself away, or at least kick the Ork. All for naught, her captors had chained her so low that she could barely bend her legs. Her ankles buckled and slipped on the ground, a wince of pain escaping her half-burned lips. She looked up and saw the Ork open his mouth, several jagged teeth jutted from behind grimy lips. Yamira was certain it was going to eat her, rip her apart and tear her flesh from her bones as many of its monstrous ilk had done to her comrades.
Instead, it spoke.

“Oi, good tah see me meat ‘unk didn’t kill ya,” it rumbled. “Jus’ means one less mess fer Vanna tah make me an’ the Grotz tah clean up.” Yamira stared up at the thing, baffled at what she was hearing. The Ork was taking to her, actually talking. Not the savage grunts and incomprehensible shouting she had heard so frequently on the battlefield. Either that or she must have hit her head harder than she thought. “You’z gonna say somefin’ or jus’ stare at me like a Squig et yer tongue?”

“You… you speak Low Gothic?” Yamira asked.

“Low whot?” the Ork asked. “Nah, I iz speakin’ Ork, jus’ like you iz.” Yamira’s brow creased, her bile-laced anger rising.

“Don’t be absurd, you gargantuan hunk of putrescent meat,” Yamira snapped. “I don’t speak your guttural facsimile of language, I only speak the Emperor’s own Gothic, High and Low. Just like you somehow are now.”

“I ‘ave no zoggin’ idea what you jus’ said,” the Ork said. “But it was Ork, not Goffic. I don’ e’en fink that tha’ Goffs even ‘ave their own talky-bits.” Yamira banged the back of her head against the pipe she was chained to. Unfortunately, it did not wake her from this apparent nightmare she lived in.

“Actually, you both are speaking your respective languages.” Yamira lifted her head and saw the door open once more. An orange-yellow hoof stepped in, followed by a military boot and metal foot. “It’s just the Language Spell that Overhead Eve created to make communication much easier.” There was little warmth in Amber’s normally docile eyes, a definite change that Yamira had not seen in the small pony, but what surprised her more was Devon, who looked disappointed as he dourly stared at his Lady Commissar. The Ork snorted and reclined against the wall, clanging its axeblade foot on the floor.

“About zoggin’ time you lot got ‘ere,” it said. “This crispy ‘umie done zogged up tha’ whole workshop! Tha’ Grotz is terrified an’ won’t work until dis git is gone. No respect for a workplace, no sir.”

“I’ll give you no respect you degenerate Xenos-” Yamira resumed her attempted escape, rattling her cuffs feebly against the pipe. “RELEASE ME, DAMN IT!” Amber rolled her eyes and trotted over to the pipe. Devon spared wary glances at the Ork, the big alien decidedly more focused on finding whatever treasures it could in its nose than whatever was ongoing in the room. In a few seconds, Amber freed Yamira from her bindings, dropping the cuffs to the floor.

“There, you’re out,” Amber said. “Now, move your flank.” Yamira glared down at the pony, but for once, Amber was not perturbed. “I said move, Commissar.” Yamira was taken aback by Amber’s suddenly commanding voice, barking an order to her though she were but a common soldier in the face of a commanding officer. She would have told the pony off, yelling at her for daring to tell a Commissar what to do, but looking into those big eyes told her the severity of such a decision. Instead, Yamira obliged and walked through the open door, followed by Devon and Amber, whilst the Ork remained. They had entered back into the shop proper, still reeking of freshly exposed ingredients and spoiled mixtures. The shopkeep, Vanna, stood there, accompanied by a small group of ponies and humans dressed in Justice garb.

“What is this, an arrest party?” Yamira asked, creasing her brow. “You lot should be thanking me for attempting to stop the Ork Menace before it could spread and reduce this place to rubble.”

“Lady Commissar,” Devon whispered. “Please, just stop. Don’t make it any worse than it already is.” Yamira’s eye twitched as she glanced to her sullen Guardsman companion. He looked like a kicked Cyber-Mastiff pup, a far cry from the boisterous and lax soldier she knew.

“You should listen to your friend,” one of the ponies said. “We should lock you away for vandalism and assaulting an Expeditions Agent, but Ms. Vanna here dropped the charges.”
Vanna shrugged and smiled. “With an Ork and his Grots living here, I’d have Justice coming here every few hours when something broke.”

“That child is an Agent?” Yamira asked, prompting Vanna to frown once more.

“No, I iz.” Yamira nearly jumped at the sound of the Ork’s rumbling voice behind her. It trudged around her and Devon, settling right next to Vanna, easily dwarfing her with his bulky size. “First an’ da bestest Ork Agent fer da’ Merodi.” Yamira’s jaw went rigid, staring between the Ork and the Merodi enforcers. Slowly, she pointed at the Ork with an accusatory glare.

“That… is one of yours?” she asked.

“His name,” Vanna said, planting a small hand on the Ork’s red-leather chest wear. “Is Gobnaz Gitwit. And yeah, he’s an Agent. Just like me.” Vanna poked her own cheek and smiled snarkily, while Gitwit just stood there, once again digging for nose gold. Yamira just kept staring, no doubt contemplating whether or not her brains were leaking out her ears.

“Yamira, we’ve also got Tau and Harlequins here,” Amber added. “Along with a massive abhuman community. This should be the least surprising thing for you since you got here.” The Commissar didn’t move an inch, she just kept standing there and staring agape at the utter blasphemy before her. The lead enforcer rubbed her hoof against one of her legs in a clear sign of discomfort.

“Well, if there’s no need to issue an arrest,” she said. “We’d best be on our way. Ma’am, sir.” The Merodi enforcers filed out of the shop, one by one, occasionally sparing harsh glares to Yamira in passing. The door closed behind them, leaving the shop once more in relative silence.

“... You can leave too, you know,” Vanna said. “I’m not pressing charges, but I do want you out so we can clean.” She made an idle sweeping gesture to the door. “Go please.” Amber nudged Yamira along with a butt of her head, steadily pushing the prone and furious Commissar out the door, bit by bit. Devon followed behind, trying to avert the gaze of the Ork as he scampered out. Once the three were onto the streetside, the door slammed shut behind them. And Amber Dust exploded.

“What in Celestia’s multicolored mane were you THINKING?!” Amber screamed. Her mane and tail were frayed and on end, her pupils shrunk to pinpricks and voice shrill as a banshee. “I know you jump the gun a lot, but are you legitimately insane?!”

Yamira snapped of her stupor and whirled about, glaring down the Earth Pony. “Insane? I might as well be to continue dealing with this utter crock!” she shouted. “This entire Emperor-damned city is an affront to everything in this galaxy, and that frakking Ork with its Gretchen is just the tip of the Fenrisian glacier! Everything here is wrong!”

“Wrong to you!” Amber shouted back, digging her hooves in the ground. “Only because your narrow-minded zealous thought-process can’t process the idea of there being a chance at actual peace for this galaxy! Look around you, Yamira,” Amber swept her hoof about, gesturing to the surrounding neighborhood. “Do you see anyone fighting here? Anyone scraping and struggling to survive? Any sign of strife or hatred in anyone’s eyes?”

“All I see are heretics, mutants and Xenos,” Yamira replied, thumbling her acquilla. “Cavorting about and frolicking with each other, spreading a disease upon the galaxy while calling it a cure. No better than the enemies that seek to destroy our way of life.”

“We just want to help fix this galaxy!”

“You will bring RUINATION TO THIS GALAXY!”

“BOTH OF YOU SHUT UP!” Amber and Yamira turned to Devon, who had remained quiet throughout the whole shouting match. He was red-faced and sweating, like a boil about to burst. “You’re both acting like children, screaming at each other over broken toys!” Amber swayed in her stance a bit, but Yamira only seemed to grow even more embittered. She tightened her fists and stomped up to the Captain.

“Captain Mangonel, you have no authority to tell me to silence my voice,” she growled.

“Neither do you, Lady Commissar,” Devon snapped back. “We’re not under Imperial jurisdiction here, so neither of us have any authority, period.”

“I have enough authority to declare you out of order!”

“Declare all you want, Yamira,” Devon waved his arms about, stamping his metal foot on the ground. “Frakking hell, you can practically scream it all the way from here to Holy Terra, only ones who are gonna hear are you, me, Amber, and any sodding person who’s even giving a damn!” More than a few street-goers had taken notice of the conversation and started to congregate. A few ponies were tempted to call the authorities, but a few more curious humans and aliens preferred to see where this is going.

“Then I might as well be the only sane person left in this galaxy!” Yamira shouted. She retrieved her pocket Lectitius Divinitatus and waved it in front of Devon’s face. “What does the Emperor teach in these words, Captain? ‘Loathe the heretic, the mutant, and the Xenos’, the very same words taught to us from birth, enforced in the schola, what you and I swore by when we joined the Astra Militarum, and yet here we stand now! Surrounded by heretics who know not the Imperial Truth, mutants free to go about and fornicate with normal humans,” A mother quickly covered her filly’s ears. “And worst of all, leashed to Xenos like we are mongrels and lapdogs! For 20,000 years, the Imperial Truth has protected us, and the very existence of this place puts that same truth in jeopardy!”

“Well maybe the Imperial Truth isn’t right!” Devon shouted. By the time he realized what he had said, he clamped his hands over his mouth, eyes wide as the headlights on a battle tank. A hush fell over the crowd, as Yamira’s arm fell slack, nearly dropping her holy book to the ground. He pulled his hands away slowly, taking a slight step forward. “I didn’t mean it.”

“Heresy.” Yamira whispered. Her breathing was becoming ragged, her movements stiff and rigid as a corpse.

“It was a heat of the moment, Commissar, I didn’t mean it.” Devon pleaded.

“Heresy.” Yamira repeated, slightly louder. She slowly put her holy book back into her pockets.

“I’m loyal to a fault, it was just a slip of the tongue!” Devon begged, backpedalling a bit.

“Heresy.” Yamira slowly started to advance.

“Yamira,” Amber cautiously said. “Calm down, it was an accident, there’s no need to-”

“HERESY!” Yamira shrieked. She reached to her side and felt around for her gun, drawing a panicked gasp from the congregating crowd. Again reminded of its lacking presence on her person, Yamira opted instead for a less elegant method. She drew her hand back, and punched Devon dead center of his face. The Guardsman staggered back, a trickle of red running down his chin from a split lip. He looked up at Yamira, horrified, only to be met with another blow to the face. Yamira advanced with every punch, swinging her fists with ferocious precision, each one staggering and bloodying Devon. A few ponies gasped in horror at the sudden viciousness, others just stared and watched it play out. Yamira knocked Devon onto the floor, his face bruised and stained in spit and blood, and straddled his chest, not once stopping in her unrelenting assault.

She didn’t want to do it. She didn’t want to discipline the only Guardsman in the Imperium she confided in, but this was the traitor’s punishment. This was the price to pay for heresy. While a single bolt to the brain would be more preferable, it was a Commissar’s sacred duty to treat any sign of heresy amongst the ranks with as much discipline as possible. She needed to make Devon feel how it felt to be a traitor to the Imperium, even if it meant bludgeoning him to death. Yamira stopped feeling the sensation in her knuckles after a few minutes, but her gloves still felt wet.

“GET OFF OF HIM!” Amber screamed. She reared back onto her hindlegs and shoved Yamira as hard as she could. The Commissar, unaware of the world around her, was pushed off Devon with a forceful blow, tumbling to the concrete. She quickly scrambled back to her feet, the bandages that partially covered her face torn clean off, stained a darkened brown and red, leaving Yamira to snarl like a beast. Amber rushed to Devon’s side, biting her lower lip as she looked over the Captain. One eye had swollen completely shut, blood trickled from his nostrils and several cuts on his lip. His teeth were stained red and his skin decorated in purple and blue blotches and bruises. The smile that oft graced him had been beaten from his very face. “Stay with me, Devon, please, just stay with me.”

As Amber begged and pleaded with the prone Guardsman, Yamira inspected her now bloodied hands. The knuckles of her gloves had worn down, little tufts of grey poking out between little seams. Her breathing, once fierce and ferocious, had devolved into ragged, shaking gasps for air. She whirled about, taking in the gazes all around, from aghast ponies, to frightened humans, to unreadable aliens alike. Yamira’s mind had gone entirely blank from the ordeal, barely even registering all that had unfolded. It wasn’t until she gazed upon Devon, strewn upon the floor in his own blood with Amber desperately attempting to revive him that reality flooded her senses. All eyes watching her, born witness to her actions against her fellow man. Yamira could only do one thing, one thing she had never thought to do in her entire life.

She ran.

Yamira broke through the crowd and ran down the street, pain burning across her face from open tears in her scars and the stinging of tears in her eye. She ran between streetgoers and civilians alike, shoving a few aside in her path just to get them out of the way. Just for her to get away. She heard someone call her name, but she didn’t listen. She couldn’t listen. All she could do was run, let her legs carry her as far away as possible. The sounds of the City were all around her, indistinct chatter between the races of the multiverse drowning Yamira’s own vindictive thoughts. She screamed at the top of her lungs and dove into an alleyway, escaping into the shadows between two towering buildings. Yamira ran through the corridors, taking whatever twists and turns that came her way, regardless of where she might end up. Only until the raucous bellows of the City became distant murmurs did Yamira actually stop.

Yamira lay slumped against a stray garbage can, panting and heaving. Her burn scars were stinging, she reflexively drew her hand to her face. As she pulled away, her once pure black glove had been stained an even greater red. She slapped her open palm against the wall, leaving behind a crimson print. Slowly, she peeled her hand off, and slapped it again. Again and again, she painted the wall in hand prints of ichor, until her palm stung and the smears started to fade. Yamira stepped back from the wall, a witness to her own flagellant piece of graffiti.

“God-Emperor on the Golden Throne,” Yamira weakly said. Her hands were shaking and her stance dropping. “Why? Why must I be punished for carrying out your will?!” A spurt of blood stained an untouched portion of the wall, Yamira swiftly bringing her hand to her cheek. One of the sinews that held her cheek together had snapped, dangling from the upper part of her mouth and flopping freely on her jaw. She slumped to the wall, desperately attempting to piece her face back together. All her floundering led her black and gold uniform to be dyed red. Her vision was growing bleary, sliding down onto the cold, hard ground. “Why, Emperor?” she asked again. No answers before, why expect anything different now?

A light trilling noise sounded above her. Weakly, she lifted her head up to see, her hat falling from her golden head and onto her lap. Crimson eyes in a hollowed-out skull stared back at her, a mess of thin mechadendrites trailing where once may have been a jaw snipping about with tiny claws. It hummed and beeped at her, as Bell would often do, then flew off to the left. Yamira weakly held her free hand out, desperate to reach for the servo-skull, only to be further out of her reach. Instead of more beeping, the response she received was footsteps. A figure had emerged from the shadows, bulky and grand. Her vision continued to blur as her hand peeled away from her fresh wounds as the visitor drew ever closer, accompanied by the servo-skull, flittering above like an errant butterfly.

“You’ve made quite a mess of yourself, Lady Commissar,” the figure said to her, distinguished yet firm in tone. Yamira tried to say something, uncertain if this new arrival were angel or devil, but her tongue grew as tired as her eyes. The shadowy person knelt before her, placing a cold metal hand upon her shoulder. “Come now, let’s take you someplace to… clean this all up.” As her eye slowly closed and her mind gave way to darkness, she glimpsed something upon the stranger’s chest. Her last thing she felt she would ever see was a human skull, mounted on a gold and red ‘I’.

Chapter Fourteen

Author's Note

If you're wondering where I've been, I've been working on a special segment for GMBlackjack's Songs of the Spheres' illustrious Chapter 127. If you wish to see the fruits of my labor (as well as what has delayed this chapter for so long), keep posted on his story and see an epic battle and an evocative radio broadcast. For now, here's the long awaited update to this. Enjoy!

Chapter Fourteen

Desolation. That was all that surrounded Yamira Kalov. A desolate, barren landscape stretching into an infinite void. The sun was stuck at the zenith of its rotation of the system, bearing down upon her head. Nothing for miles around. Orders rang in the back of her head like a brass gong to march. So, she did, without question, without heed, and without supplies. Boot by boot, Yamira marched across the wastes, staring ever forward, not once looking back, even as the ground cracked under her every footstep. Amidst her marching, something did finally appear on the horizon, seemingly materialized in a single blink. A mountain of awesome size, with spires jutting out from it like fractures on a spine. Yamira stopped in her tracks and stared at the mountain, a familiar feeling rising in her gut.

“Mt. Bacra,” she repeated. Her voice carried across the wastes in an irreverent echo. Her brow furrowed as her voice faded away. She looked up at the mountain, its jagged cliffs and treacherous extremities seeming sharper with every passing stare. “You stopped existing.” Fed up with staring at the not-mountain, Yamira turned around, but again she stopped. The wastes behind her had gone, fallen into a gaping abyss that swallowed all light in an all encompassing darkness. She looked down and saw nothing, the ground slowly ebbing away from under her boots. Reluctant, Yamira turned back around to face the mountain, but it too was gone. In its place were bodies, scattered about and fading into the horizon. Men and women, dressed in green and tan, all lay strewn about, limbs hacked off and bodies filled with various holes; they lay amongst each other in a grizzly cavalcade. And yet, Yamira shed no tears. They died for the Emperor, as they should, but something was wrong. Something was missing.

Stepping gingerly over the bodies as she passed them, Yamira continued her aimless marching towards something, regardless of the dead in her way. Many were face down in the ground, ancient brown stains upon the chipped ground where they had been wounded, while others lay on their backs, staring upwards as their eyes boiled out of their skulls from the unforgiving sun. Yamira couldn’t recognize any of their faces, but the numbers on their shoulders were clear as an ocean of glass. 947. Yamira licked her dry lips and kept moving forward, averting her eyes from the fallen Cadians. Yet still, as she continued on, the bodies still followed her, strewn about and tripping her every other step. Only Guardsmen among the dead. Where was the enemy? Why were they not lying amongst their righteous killers? Yamira stopped in her tracks when she felt a bump against her heel. It rolled into sight in front of her, a bloodied helmet with a large fang jutting out of the top, stained red. Yamira slowly turned about, greeted by a nightmare of teeth and chitin easily dwarfing her. It opened its cavernous mouth wide, rows upon rows of bladed teeth. Yamira reached for her sword, the beast of the mountain lunged and was immediately met by the rough impact of a wooden floor.

Pain surged through Yamira’s head and arched spine as she lay strewn about in a mess of red blankets, her legs awkwardly dangling in the air overhead. A groan fluttered through her lips as she slowly righted herself, becoming tangled in the blanket. ‘Hold on, blanket?’ she thought. She felt herself about and yes, she was indeed ensnared in a fine red blanket patterned in a variety of triangles and diamonds. She didn’t remember ending up in bed, she half-expected to not wake up at all after bleeding out in that alley. Remembering her severe injuries sustained in all the accumulative stress, she reflexively reached for her cheek, only to be obstructed by bandages. Not just on her face, but her arm as well, carefully and neatly wrapped in gauze, not even slightly stained by freshly opened wounds. She pulled the blanket off herself, overlooking her entire body, save for her undamaged arm and leg, all completely concealed in bandages, fresh and unstained with blood. It was then that Yamira made another realization.

“Did someone undress me?” she asked to no one in particular. It was already jarring enough to awake in an unfamiliar locale, but to wake up wearing naught but a sleeveless tanktop and undergarment was more than a little unsettling. Yamira hastily pulled the blanket back over herself, wrapping it around her waist as she slowly stood up, surveying the room. It was a quaint and idyllic bedroom, akin to ones she had seen in Lord Governor Velour’s manor, only less decidedly gaudy. Wooden walls were decorated in no real furnishing, save for a banner of the Imperial aquila hanging over a set of ornately carved dressers. There was the canopied bed she had awoken from her nightmare in, all else that was there was an iron-wrought door with no latch or knob. No chance of getting out yet, so Yamira opted to take advantage of the comfortable bed in the room and sat back down. It was a really nice bed.

Before she could lay her head back down and attempt to get some sleep, the door opened and in entered a rather peculiar creature. It walked on two feet, like most sentient creatures, but was only about four feet tall and hunched over. It was dressed in rags, tattered and torn, slumped about and shuffling on huge, plodding feet. Thick black nails like horseshoes jutted from two large fingers that scraped along the floor as it hobbled into the room. Slowly, it turned its lumpy, potato-like head towards Yamira, its mouth covered by another tattered cloth, but its tiny orange eyes staring at her with a mixture of surprise and something else. Yamira quickly got to her feet, ready to defend herself against the intruding creature, but it quickly proved harmless as it raised its large hands up and hurriedly mumbled something Yamira could not understand. Regardless, she curled her lip with a snarl and growled, frightening the strange creature even more.

“I know it’s a hideous thing, but there’s no need to go beastly over it.” Yamira swiftly glanced to the doorway, surprised at the appearance of a familiar voice. Entering into the room, shoving the strange, rag-garbed creature aside with a black cane, was a man of distinguished air. He wore black and silver power armor, nowhere near as elegant as one of the Emperor’s chosen but still no doubt just as durable, concealed mostly under a large military overcoat that draped over the man’s shoulders, giving him a distinctly squarish look. He was certainly wisened in years, with little hair atop his head going grey and creeping to the center of his scalp, with a prominent mustache and beard curling down along his chin. While his left eye was piercing in its gaze, the right was concealed under a small, golden-plated skull, a red lumen glowing from the hollow of its singular, cycloptic eye. His right arm was safely tucked into the confines of his overcoat, while the left rested atop the simple walking cane, where an all-too familiar golden ‘I’ jangled from a chain around his wrist.

The lumpy creature raised its stumpy hands up, still mumbling something under its cloth. The stranger in the coat furrowed his brow and smacked the creature’s hump with his cane. “I told you to remain out of sight, you mumbling cretin!” he snapped. The creature mumbled again, only to be met with another whack. “Get back to your hole, and don’t come back until summoned! Go on!” The stranger continued whacking and beating the creature as it slumped off back through the door, mumbling and whimpering as it went. Once the door closed shut, the man sighed and clacked his cane on the floor. “I apologize, Lady Commissar, that was certainly not a pleasant first impression.”

“I’ve had significantly worse,” Yamira cautiously said, still holding the blanket around herself. “Though it’s rare for impressions from the Inquisition to be pleasing.” The man, the Inquisitor, simply nodded.

“An unfortunate truth, but a viable one,” he said. He walked over to the dresser across the room, walking with apparent ease despite the presence of the cane clacking on the floor. “Your attire is in here, freshly laundered and pressed. Dress yourself at your leisure, but do hurry, lest the tea grow cold.” The Inquisitor politely bowed and exited the room, the door he had come through only closing partially. Yamira stared at the doorway for a bit, checking to see if the older man was lecherous, or worse, the Xenos-thing that had lumbered in earlier remained. Nothing but a dim glow through darkness. As comfortable as the blanket and the bed were, Yamira did feel very much naked without her attire. Besides, one must dress properly for meeting with higher authority. Yamira rose from the bed, casting the blanket aside to carefully walk towards the dresser. Her bare feet felt cold across the wooden floor, but at least one of her feet was well insulated in bandages. The pain was at least somewhat dulled, compared to the usual unbelievable flare that would occur with every footstep. She opened the dresser and, true to the Inquisitor’s word, her uniform and garb were neatly tucked inside, looking as pristine and perfect as the day she first received them from the Commissariat. Even her medals were still pinned to the breast, all polished to the point she could see her reflection in the gold and brass. After sufficiently inspecting her clothes for any tears or potential bugs (one cannot be too careful, especially with wardrobe), Yamira dressed herself properly, finishing by placing her hat atop her head.

Not wanting to keep the Inquisitor waiting (the stories she had heard were enough to tell her that testing the patience of one of the secret society’s elite was a poor idea), Yamira pushed the door open and entered. Inside was an equally luxurious sitting room, again reminding her of Velour’s manor, but significantly smaller and with fewer pictures of a filthy overweight man leering over her. There were a surprising number of very peculiar decorations, mostly resting atop shelves and inside plexiglass cases; a yellow ball depicting the number ‘9’, a vox-hailer of ancient design made from a cheap material with a rotary wheel jutting from the center, a simple red sphere bound in various chains, a small-scale model of an Imperial Knight, and a pair of orange auspex with no visible view-ports were but among the few that caught Yamira’s eye. At the center of the room was a well-dressed table and two chairs, one of which was occupied by the Inquisitor. The Inquisitor gestured to the empty seat, which Yamira was quick to sit upon. They sat in relative silence while another door re-opened, and the lumpy Xenos shuffled into the room, carrying a metal tray bearing two tea cups, a teapot bearing a beautifully painted picture of a Living Saint, and a covered platter also depicting angelic wings. It set the tray down on the table and glanced towards the Inquisitor, who simply waved the creature off. It bowed repeatedly and hastily hurried out of the room, with Yamira watching it leave all the while.

“Gruenak,” the Inquisitor said. Yamira glanced back to the Inquisitor, concern fluttering in her chest. “It’s called a Gruenak. Lesser Xenos only good for servitude and labor.” He laid the cane against the leg of the table and reached for the teapot. “It was a gift to me for assisting in an older matter. Not nearly as smart as a Jokaero, but far more useful and versatile than an Ogryn.”

“I’ve never heard of such a Xenos before,” Yamira confessed.

“The universe is a very large place,” the Inquisitor said, tilting the teapot and pouring a golden glimmering brew into his cup. “Though not as large as the world you’ve been exposed to.” He finished pouring and raised the pot over Yamira’s cup. She quickly raised the cup, allowing the Inquisitor an easier chance to pour. “All these new Xenos, new humans, new ideals… it’s all overwhelming, is it not?” The Inquisitor set the teapot aside and got to sipping at his own tea, while Yamira held the cup carefully in both hands, keeping a close watch on him. He took notice of the one-eyed stare Yamira was giving him and set his cup aside. “It’s Saint Rarum’s Kiss, a quaint tea from Shrineworld Illusa. A bit of a gift from the Sororitas there. Give it a sip.” The Inquisitor once again drank from his cup, though Yamira still remained hesitant. She was fairly thirsty from all that blood loss, and put the cup to the unbandaged side of her mouth. She carefully poured the tea into her mouth, and was met with the surprisingly sweet and warm taste. By the time she finished, she had inadvertently drunk the entire cup. As she was setting it down, the Inquisitor had already picked up the teapot.

“Thank you, sir,” Yamira said, presenting the cup for another portion.

“Think nothing of it,” the Inquisitor said. Once the pour was complete, Yamira returned to drinking, albeit at a more moderate pace. “It will help regain your strength after that proverbial snap you went through.” Yamira stopped her sip and once again narrowed her gaze at the Inquisitor. She set her half-empty cup on the table and laid her gloved hand beside it.

“You know who I am, clearly,” Yamira said. “But I do not yet know who you are.” The Inquisitor raised a bushy eyebrow and set the entirely empty cup down.

“Yes, I do suppose introductions are appropriate, given the circumstances,” he said. He cleared his throat and held his hand out, allowing his Inquisitorial seal to hang freely from a golden chain around his wrist. “I am Lord Inquisitor Boris Indellum, of the Ordo Hereticus.” Yamira nearly felt her heart launch out of her throat, and the Inquisitor clearly saw her sudden look of peril. “Relax, Lady Commissar, this is no witch hunt or interrogation. Just a simple conversation over tea.” He snatched his seal up and tucked his hand back into the confines of his overcoat. “Drink, before it grows cold.” Yamira swallowed and raised her cup, though her nerves were far from settled.

“I am loyal,” Yamira firmly said. Indellum sipped his tea, his mustache only twitching slightly. “I truly am, Lord Inquisitor. My mornings begin with a prayer from the Lectitio Divinitatus, and so too do my evenings end with offerings to the Emperor on His Golden Throne. I loathe the Xenos, the mutant, and the heretic with impunity. With every life I claim on the battlefield, I give thanks to the Emperor for guiding my hand so that a bolt may strike true or a sword slice a vital artery. Lord Inquisitor, I am a true believer in the Imperial Creed, and would never betray that which is right.”

“Very good to hear, Yamira,” Indellum said. She nearly melted in her seat at the relief of the statement. “Your loyalty was never even put into question. If it was, then I would not have bothered with the initial message.” Yamira’s eye widened. She knew this man’s voice was familiar.

“It was you, then,” she said. “You who sent that message to my Servitor.” Indellum nodded, setting his empty cup aside for another pour. “Why?” This finally encouraged a reaction from the old Inquisitor, his mechanical eye piece glowing ever so slightly. He set the tea pot aside and rested his hands on the top of his cane.

“One of the many duties of an Inquisitor is to root out corruption,” he said. “And see to it that the best of humanity rises from the refuse of existence to the pinnacle we so rightly deserve.” He drummed his fingers against the top of his cane in rhythmic waves. “You have dutifully served the Imperium of Man for over two-hundred and seventy-five years, Lady Commissar Yamira Kalov. You have commanded the Astra Militarum with zeal, vigor and ferocity that has brought many planets back into the light from the grips of heretics and xenos alike. Even in the wake of your disfiguring injury, you still continued to fight in the name of the Imperium and the wrath of the God-Emperor of Mankind.” Yamira brushed her hand against her bandages concealing her face, barely able to feel her scars under the mass of wrappings. “And yet, in the aftermath of one battle that went awry, you are cast aside by the Commissariat to act as an aid to a power that does not belong in this universe.” He leaned on his cane, his stoney face shifting into a glower. “It drives you mad being with them, doesn’t it?”

“Y-yes it does, Lord Inquisitor,” she muttered, lowering her hand back to her lap.

“There’s no need to stay quiet, Yamira,” Indellum said. “You have a voice, use it!” Yamira looked to Indellum, her hands clenched tightly. “Hatred is a facet of life for us, Lady Commissar, repressing it in the face of Xenos and heretics is a disgrace! Shout your hatred to the heavens above! Scream and preach your feelings for Merodi Universalis and the destable scum that have infested our great galaxy!”

“I HATE THEM ALL!” Yamira screamed, jumping from her seat and stamping her boot on the cold metal floor. “I UTTERLY ABHOR AND LOATHE EVERY SINGLE SENTIENT HEAP THAT SEES MERODI UNIVERSALIS AS A GREATER PATH!” She glanced down at her hands, fingers locked up in a pseudo clench and her mouth curled up in a vicious snarl. “They come here, preaching falsities on how they only wish to better the existence of all in the galaxy, when they want to domesticate us like common animals. Can you imagine? Xenos horses heralding themselves as the new dawn?! If I was told the new greatest threat to the Imperium would be colorful equines from beyond the stars, I would have shot the messenger dead and had their carcass converted into a Servitor! And yet, here I stand, head down and ass up for these damn ponies, imitation humans, and blind subservients who so eagerly prostrate themselves before them!” She snatched her tea cup from the table and clutched it tightly in her hands. “They are to us with words and empty promises as the Tyranids are with their endless appetite, and I refuse to see my Imperium be swallowed up!” Wrath pumping through her veins, Yamira hurled the tea cup at the floor, shattering it into hundreds of tiny white fragments. She heaved and huffed as she glared at the remnants of porcelain scattered about her feet, yet felt no earlier pain where her scars sat upon her face.

“Very good, Commissar,” Indellum said. “Though you had no need to destroy my drink-ware, you made your point perfectly.” Yamira’s anger melted away as she sat herself back down in her seat.

“Forgive me, sir, I got carried away.”

“All forgiven, I’ve seen more than I’ve needed to in order to make my decision.” He placed his closed hand on the table, clenched tightly in a fist. “Yamira Kalov, the Imperium requires your help more than it realizes. There is much that has been learned about Merodi Universalis, and the God-Emperor’s Holy Inquisition will not stand by and allow it to destroy everything that we have worked towards. Hold out your hand.” Yamira did as instructed, presenting her unblemished hand to the Inquisitor. Indellum placed his closed hand atop Yamira’s and clasped it with the other hand. “By accepting this, you will forfeit your life to the Inquisition and the Imperial Truth. Should you betray my trust, you betray the Imperium, and will be subjected to a ten day submerging in pure promethium, your flesh stripped from your bones, your humanity rendered non-existent, and your remains converted into naught but servitor meat. Do you accept?”

“I do, Lord Inquisitor Indellum.” There was no hesitation in accepting. Not because Yamira was convinced that saying no would result in immediate termination and no one would find her body, but because declining the Inquisitor would mean declining her very Imperium, her values themselves. Indellum nodded and pulled his hands away, leaving behind a small dataslate chip in her palm.

“Insert this into your dataslate, and you will receive instructions for your future duties, Lady Commissar. You will serve well as an acolyte.” Yamira stared at the chip intently. She had been named ‘acolyte’ by an Inquisitor. An acolyte. It was the most rapid promotion in the line of duty she had ever heard. Were she undisciplined and ill-mannered, she would have fallen from her seat and repeatedly kissed Indellum’s well-polished boots. Instead, all she did was bow her head.

“Thank you, Lord Inquisitor,” she said. “I will follow your orders without question.” Indellum gave a curt nod and folded his fingers atop the ball of his cane.

“You’ll do great things, Yamira Kalov,” Indellum said. Yamira had to restrain herself from breaking out into a smile. He tapped his cane on the floor once more, and the door she had previously entered through slid open, yet the room was without a single bit of light. “You are dismissed. Go through the door and you’ll be on your way.” Yamira bowed once more and stood up from her seat. As she turned towards the door, she was briefly stopped, Indellum had grabbed onto her wrist. His aged features had furrowed, the lumens in his cybernetic eye glowed hardly in the socket. “Tell no one of my presence, be they Imperium, Xenos, or otherwise.” A peculiar request, but an organization dedicated to secrecy and the protection of mankind (although the Emperor had revealed their existence in his Voxcast Publicae, a quality Imperium program for all loyal citizens) would most definitely prefer to remain an unknown. She gave a nod and Indellum released his grip on her wrist. Steeling her nerves and holding her breath, Yamira marched through the open door and into the dark, determined to commence her new mission.

Indellum watched the door slide shut behind Yamira, leaving the old man alone in his tea room. He drank down the last drops of his tea and sighed. “Phase One, complete,” he said. “Now…” He reached into his overcoat and produced a peculiarly designed Vox, a hand-sized slate of black and white design, marked only with a wicked red eye on the right side. “We commence with Phase Two.”

For some reason, the room Yamira had entered was significantly more cramped than she remembered. She did initially come from a spacious, hexagonally shaped bedroom, not this extremely cramped box room. Something did feel wrong when she first entered the room and barely took two steps before walking into what may have been a shelf. Several shelves, most likely. It was pitch black inside, so Yamira was mostly left with reaching around for anything of assistance. Her hands brushed against various cylindrical objects inside, others feeling like peculiarly shaped bottles of flimsy material with some sort of sloshing liquid inside. She bumped her knee against a large device by her leg, and must have activated a switch that brought it to life with a loud whirring noise. Yamira fumbled a bit and touched the only wall that had no shelves and fell backwards through it. Pain arced up her back as she came into hard contact with the floor, but at least she could see again. And she could see that she was… in the hallway of the Relations Office, being looked over by an all too familiar greyskin and a pair of yellow-dressed guards.

“Yamira?” asked Windmind. “What were you doing in the janitorial closet?” Her run of good luck for the moment clearly ran out just in time for this abject humiliation, apparently. Yamira stood up and shut the closet door, maintaining her composure. Windmind’s red eyes widened once she noticed the bandages covering Yamira’s face. “You’re hurt! Do you want me to call a healer or-?”

“Never mind that,” Yamira said, hastily raising a hand to silence the Water Caste ambassador. The Fire Caste guards did not like the gesture, and cautiously moved to draw their weapons, but a glance from Windmind kept them in line. Yamira cleared her throat and folded her arms behind her back, addressing Windmind eye-to-eye for the first time since the two had even met. “I need to speak to Overhead Evening. There is much I suspect she wishes to talk about, and I have much to say.”

Chapter Fifteen

Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

A day had passed and the hour of departure had come. Yamira strode confidently into the hangar bay, her sword and bolt pistol resting on her hips and a significantly clearer mind rattling in her head. To her own pleased surprise, among the fleet of docked transport ships used by the Merodi, a sizable battlebarge of the Imperium’s own grand design lay ready for takeoff. Among the hurrying dockworkers and engineers, Yamira spotted a few red-robed techpriests uttering prayers to the Machine Spirits and a cluster of Sisters of Battle, no doubt acting as the Ecclesiarch’s personal guard. She spotted the pointed white tip of his hat amongst the heavily armed Sororitas from several yards away. Yamira marched over to the gathered Ministorum representatives, weaving around cargo crates and low-hovering transports until she was within earshot of the Ecclesiarch and his coterie.

“- worst thing I had ever laid eyes on,” Decius was explaining to one of the helmeted Sisters. “To think that human hands actually created something like that, and that I was exposed to it on a live Voxcast. Horrible, positively horrible.” He took notice of Yamira’s arrival with a smile, while the Sororitas seemed to tense up. “Ah, Lady Commissar, I’m glad you have arrived.”

“Good morning, Your Grace,” Yamira said, lightly returning the smile with a simple nod. “Today’s certain to be an eventful day.”

“Certainly should be.” Decius said, lightly thumbing his aquilla on its chain about his wrist. “I will admit, I am both nervous and excited to be engaging in these negotiations and speeches.” He glanced to the Sisters behind him, his voice dipping into gruffness. “The armed security aren’t providing me any ease.”

“Your protection is our highest priority, Your Holiness,” said one of the helmeted Sororitas. Like the rest of her Sisters, she was dressed in stunning yet imposing black and white power armor, sporting sacred fleurs on her epaulets and on the mantle of her helm, though she did seem shorter and sound younger than the rest of the zealous women armed with bolters and glaring under yellow lumens. Decius sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Protection is fine, but you have no need to wave guns at absolutely everything that passes by,” Decius said. A dock worker passed by as he spoke, an abhuman of some sort with a physical appearance resembling some type of large lizard. The Sororitas immediately raised their guns and took aim, resulting in the worker hissing and scampering off. “Like that!” Decius groaned and turned back to Yamira. “I should best provide introductions. Commissar, these are Sisters of the Order of the Generous Violet, and this,” he gestured to the shortest Sororitas in the more decorated armor, “is Canoness Sacchari Belladonna, who will be acting as head of my guard.”

“Commissar,” the Canoness said, only slightly nodding. Yamira returned the nod, but she was somewhat caught off-guard by just how young the Canoness sounded. It may have been the metallic ringing of her voice through the vox-grill of her helm, but she sounded like a recent graduate of a Schola Progenium. “Worry not, we will be overseeing His Holiness’ protection throughout this entire tour. No foul xenos, mutants or heretics will so much as get within smelling distance of him. Duty until death!” The proclamation was echoed by the other Sisters, much to the Ecclesiarch’s dismay. Their revelry was broken by them turning their guns on another presumed threat, one a bit more familiar to Yamira. “Stay back! Back, beast!”

“Seriously? Every time?!” shouted Amber Dust, hooves raised overhead in surrender. She lowered herself after nearly being scared out of her pelt and shot a glare at the armored Sororitas. “I just want to talk to the Manclessiarch about finalizing some details of this trip, get those guns out of my face!” The Sisters refused to lower their weapons, all glaring furiously at the little pony. Decius seemed to have completely resigned at this point, leaving Yamira to be the responsible one.

“Leave her be, Sisters,” Yamira instructed. “She’s harmless, and an asset to this tour.” The Sisters obeyed and stayed their guns, though the air of hostility around them was still suffocating. Amber smiled in relief, but her smile dipped into a frown when she realized it was Yamira who gave the order. She narrowed her eyes and glared at the half-cooked Commissar.

“Yamira,” she said flatly.

“Ambassador Dust,” Yamira replied, trying to match her tonal neutrality. “... How is Captain Mangonel?”

“Fine,” Amber quickly said. “How’s your face?”

“Recovering,” Yamira replied. The two stared at each other, the harshness of Amber’s normally soft features glaring hard at the stern-faced semi-features of Yamira. After a good while of matching dagger-glares, Amber broke off and turned to Decius, her hoof clutching an information tablet.

“So, Mancclesiarch Decius,” Amber said. “I wanted to go over some information with you regarding this system we’re visiting, Erdun V. If the information is right,” she glanced down at the tablet. “It is a… Shrineworld? A planet dedicated to the worship and memory of a prominent figure?”

“Yes, that’s quite right,” Decius said. “Many are quite beautiful and pleasing to the eye. Although,” he glanced over to Yamira, a confused look on his wrinkled features. “I can’t quite recall whom it’s dedicated to, nor which Cardinal presides over it.”

“Says here that it’s dedicated to Cardinal…” Amber looked through her notes again. “Carmine Clupeid? The Cloister of the Flighty Waterfowl watches over it, and it’s them we will be meeting with. Should be a straightforward mission, we’ll end up back home in time for tea and cupcakes at the Emporium.”

“Sounds splendid, Ambassador,” Decius said, chuckling. “I believe we shall set off then. Lady Commissar, you’ll ride with me. Canoness?” Sacchari and the Sisters of Battle stood at attention. “Let’s make for the bridge of The Glorious Light.”

“YES SIR!” the Sisters shouted. They stamped their white metal boots and marched in unison towards the ship. Decius glanced over to Yamira with a light smile, gesturing towards the boarding ramp of the ship. Yamira was about to follow, but she spotted Amber trotting past out of the corner of her eye, a hard look on the Earth Pony’s face.

“I will join you in a moment, Your Grace,” Yamira said. “I have something I must quickly do.” Decius nodded and turned to follow his departing guard. Once the Ecclesiarch was out of earshot, Yamira heel-turned and quickly followed after Amber. “Amber Dust, wait! I need to talk to you-”

“No, I don’t think so, Yamira,” Amber spat, turning around with a heavy scowl on her face that stopped Yamira in her tracks. “You’ve already spoken enough with your actions, and the blood on the street.” She stamped her hoof on the ground and furrowed her brow even further. “I’m only doing this job because Eve insists I’m the best ambassador for the job, but love and tolerance can only have so many limits. So YOU,” she jabbed her hoof at Yamira. “Keep your distance, and I’ll keep mine.” Yamira was barely able to open her mouth before Amber decided the conversation was over. The little pony turned about and started to trot towards the nearby docked transport Skiff… and bumped right into the jeans-wearing leg of a very startled Cage Jameson.

“Hide me,” Cage urged, bending down and grabbing Amber by her face. The smoker looked absolutely terrified, he only had one cigarette in his mouth! Yamira had seen this man face down Genestealers armed to the teeth with stolen contraband with a smile, and yet something had him sweating bullets.

“Wash wrong?” Amber asked, her speech a bit slurred from squished cheeks. Cage looked up from the pony and spotted Yamira, dropping Amber and hurrying over to grab the Commissar’s collar.

“Yamira! Oh, thank god!” he exclaimed. “You can probably protect me, right?! Wait, no, she’ll lose it too.” He fortunately let go before Yamira could threaten him for touching her uniform. Cage began hastily pacing back and forth, flicking his lighter on and off with one hand, while hastily puffing his cigarette with another. “Maybe I can just fake a stomach cramp and get called off this mission? No, then she’ll break into my place and try to nurse me back to health. Think, Cage, think!” His thinking was cut off swiftly when he tripped over Amber and landed on his face.

“What’s going on, Cage?” Amber asked, slightly pinned under Cage’s astray leg. “Who’s ‘she’?” Yamira narrowed her eye and pursed her half-burned lips.

“I think I know….” she muttered. Cage hurriedly stood up, his cigarette crumpled flat against his cheek. He spat it out and stuffed another one in his mouth from his bandolier.

“I’m gonna THROTTLE whoever decided to assign me to security detail with her,” Cage exclaimed. “I don’t think I can handle another minute of her completely crazy, batshit insane, overbearing, super-psychotic-”

“Oh, Cagey~” A voice sang out, shrieking like harpies descending upon unexpected prey, a shrill sound that sent shivers down the Commissar, smoker, and Ambassador’s spines. It was as though the cold chill of winter’s wind came rushing through the dockyard, and brushed against them with biting nips. Worst of all: Yamira knew this voice. Cage barely had a moment to flee before his arms and torso were restrained by pale hands garbed in black sleeves. “Why’d you run off from me, Cagey? I thought we were going to board the ship together~” A smile forced its way onto Cage’s desperate face as Delilah Morreo nuzzled into his back, the brim of her obscenely large black sunhat jabbing into the side of his face.

“Hey there, Delilah,” he said. “I wasn’t running off, I just needed to…” He quickly glanced between Yamira and Amber, sweat cascading down his face like a rainstorm. “Clarify a few things with the two ladies here about the trip!” Delilah turned her head towards Yamira, her neck audibly snapping as she met eyes with the Commissar. “Ambs, Bacon-Face, this is Delilah, my-” he coughed as he attempted to free himself from Delilah’s hold. “Girlfriend. She’s with,” Cage managed to break free with a puff of smoke, resulting in Delilah falling on the floor with no boyfriend to cling onto. “The Security Division. She’s gonna be helping keep everyone safe in case any shit goes down.” Delilah hopped back onto her feet and curtsied, although her smile seemed to have been forced.

“So nice to meet Cagey’s friends,” Delilah said. Cage tried to walk away, but the instant he lifted his foot, Delilah just trapped him in another hug. Yamira thought he heard one of the smoker’s vertebrae snapping. “Don’t you two worry, I’ll keep my dear sweetie Cagey-wagey safe with my LIFE!” And now Yamira thought she saw Cage’s eyes shoot from his sockets.

“Lilah, air,” Cage gasped.

“Oh goodness, so sorry!” Delilah released Cage and he dropped on the ground like a sack of oxygen-deprived potatoes. She looked over at Yamira, and her expression once again was as painted as a child’s doll, and gave the same look to Amber. “So, what’s this clarification you were going to provide? Since I’m involved in this little trip, I think I should be in the know.” Amber took a few steps away from the overbearing woman in the wide hat and reiterated the information she gave to Decius moments ago, regarding Erdun V and the Cloister of the Flighty Water Fowl. Cage slowly pulled himself up and walked over to Yamira’s side, wheezing a bit and fumbling with his lighter.

“Perhaps save the cigarette for later,” Yamira suggested. “When you don’t sound like the clogged vox grill of an asthematic Kriegsman?”

“It’s fine, I’ll be fine.” Cage wheezed, putting a pair of cigarettes in his mouth and lighting up. One long drag in and relief came to Cage as quick as the ends fizzled out on his smokes. “‘Sides, I’m gonna need these while Delilah’s here.” He flicked the two spent butts to the ground and plucked two more from his holster pack. “I think I go through a pack and a half every time I go on deployment with her.” Yamira nodded in understanding, once more looking to Amber and Delilah conversing. It was peculiar to see Amber comporting herself in a far more refined and ambassadorial manner, maintaining eye-contact and speaking precisely and coherently. A certain far cry from the bumbling mare Yamira met the first day who nearly broke out into tears at the sight of her scars.

“So we’ll just be there for a few days,” Amber explained. “The Manclessiarch will talk with the Cloister there to ensure the Merodi intend no harm, we sign the peace agreements, and then we’re back here, easy-peasy, lemon-squeezy. Provided we,” Amber scraped at the ground with her hoof. “Don’t run into any trouble. Like what happened on Armastus.”

“I doubt we will face another threat like the Genestealer Cults on Erdun V,” Yamira said, maintaining her half-scowl alongside burned features. “Shrineworlds are among the safest planets in the galaxy, alongside perhaps Paradise Worlds. It should be a rather simple transition.” Amber regarded Yamira with a very curt nod, hostility still evident in her eyes. A klaxon alarm sounded across the docks, lights shining from the Ecclesiarch’s vessel as more dock workers and Engine-seers flitted about for final prayers to the machine spirits. “We should be off, the Ecclesiarch insisted that I join him.”

“I will be riding The Sun Singer, along with other Merodi operatives,” Amber said. “Which includes you two.” She pointed at Cage and Delilah with one of her hooves. She turned back to Yamira. “We will see you planetside, Commissar.” Yamira did not get a word in before the pony ambassador trotted off, taking Cage and Delilah with her. Alone on the deck, Yamira was left with little but her thoughts, and even those were drowned out by the roaring of engines. She simply adjusted the brim of her hat and made for the barge. The Ecclesiarch awaited her, and she would not turn away from the orders of her people.

The planet of Erdun V was a pale orb hanging in the sky, a sandy dot in an ocean of starry darkness. Yamira was surprised to see the illustrious Shrineworld of the Cloister of the Flighty Waterfowl appear so… bland and desolate. Many worlds in the Imperium are, of course, but there at least is some sort of visual on the Hives or even the Shrine itself from the orbital view. Here, it was completely covered in a blanket of pale mist. Yamira stood idly in the command deck of the barge, alongside the Ecclesiarch and his retinue of Sisters of Battle, her face impassive as she stared at the planet from above.

“We will depart for the surface in ten, Your Grace.” Yamira said.

“Excellent, most excellent.” Decius merrily said, rubbing his hands together. The Ecclesiarch was far too eager to depart for this mission under the Merodi flag; such enthusiasm should better have been held for more important matters for the Imperium and its glory. Yet here they were, about to act as envoys for those from beyond with no questions asked. “Canoness, have we received word from the Cloister on the surface?”

“Negative, sire,” Sacchari piped up. “The Astropaths have heard nothing, but claim that there is a pall over the planet itself. Perhaps some latent storm that is affecting communication.” Yamira furrowed her brow some, her scars creasing slightly as she gazed upon the planet. A lack of communication was not unheard of, technical issues were abundant on worlds such as this, but for the arrival of His Holiness on a world dedicated most to the Imperial Cult? That was cause for many an alarm. Decius, however, seemed to pay no mind.

“No matter, it should be resolved once we are inbound to the planet itself.” Decius said. He turned to Yamira, thumbing the holy book that hung about his chest like a fine ornamental decoration. Must have been a newer copy, compared to Yamira’s own pocket version of the Lectitio Divinitatus. “Lady Commissar, shall we depart?” Yamira snapped to attention and nodded firmly. “Good, very good. Canoness, make way for the landing craft.” The Sororitas shouted their affirmations and prayers, then marched off out of the deck. Decius lightly tapped Yamira’s arm and gestured in suit. The Commissar and the Ecclesiarch both left side by side, walking down the gantry, menials rushing past them to fulfill various duties across the ship.

“Are you prepared for this, Your Holiness?” Yamira asked.

“Of course I am prepared for this, Commissar Kalov,” Decius said. He thumbed his robes and presented himself proudly. “This is not my first time giving an ecclesiastical sermon to a planet to reaffirm the mission of our people to the masses, and Emperor willing, it will not be my last.”

Yamira grimaced, though her scars hid it well. “Yes… the mission of Merodi Universalis.” Decius’s proud smile faded as well, his posture slackening along with his large hat. “I am not sure how they will react to the notion of the Ecclesiarch-”

“Mancclesiarch.”

“Mannclesiarch of the Adeptus Ministorum itself, promoting the ambitions of Xenos and Heretics as though it were the word of the Emperor Himself.” Decius opened his mouth some, opting to bring some insight to Yamira’s thoughts, but shook his head instead.

“You’ve much to learn about the workings of our new world, Commissar,” he said. “As I did when the Emperor first spoke his decree to the galaxy.” Yamira slowed her steps some, glancing down proper at Decius.

“The decree?”

“Yes, the Decree Reductive.” Decius solemnly said. “By word of the Man-Emperor of Mankind, the organizations of the Adeptus Ministorum, the Ecclesiarchy and the God-Emperor’s Holy Inquisition, were to undergo extreme restructuring from within and without. Those that failed to comply were to be disbanded outright, and condemned to a fate not spoken of in the Lex Imperialis itself.” Yamira nodded. She recalled that some odd years back, a message was sent across the entire bulwark of the Imperium, claiming to be from the Emperor’s own voice itself, ordering the disbanding of the organizations that were as much part of the body of the Imperium itself. The result was a massacre on Terra perpetrated by zealot members of the Inquisition believing that the heart of the Imperium was tainted by heresy, a mass slaughter of the citizens and an attempted hostile takeover by the Inquisitorial representative. Yamira couldn’t recall his name, but considering he was attempting a siege on the Golden Palace, it was best his name be stricken from history. The zealots were cast into the Warp by one of the Emperor’s own Sons; those that remained were deemed loyal and willing to heed the Emperor’s words and were given a chance to restore their organizations. Among those was Ecclesiarch Decius XXIII.

Who now was heeding the words of aliens and heathens.

“A dark fate indeed,” Yamira muttered. After more aimless wandering throughout the ship, they arrived at the shuttle bay, where the Canonness and her Sisters awaited at a Stormhawk transport ship, ready to travel to the surface. Sacchari immediately took over Yamira’s position, escorting the Ecclesiarch as gently as though she were handling a child, and secured him in his seat. Yamira followed suit, joining the heavily armed Sororitas onboard the ship. Buckled in and secured in place, they were ready for transport.

“Pray to the Machine Spirits for safe travel,” Decius intoned. “And pray that we too shall have a successful mission in reconnecting with our people.” A chorus of ‘yes sirs’ rang out across the shuttle as the boarding ramp closed, sealing all within the metal box. The engine roared to life as the Enginseer conducted final prayers to the Machine Spirit of the vessel. With a gust of power and mechanical might, the shuttle took off and rattled loudly as it disembarked from the barge. Yamira gripped her harness restraint tightly as the shuttle rocked and shook wildly about, a sentiment shared by many of the Sisters under their impassively staring white templar helms. Once they reached into space properly, the rumblings had ceased, and Yamira let off an eased breath. Takeoff was always the hardest part, followed closely by the landing.

“I can see our accompaniment through the viewport,” one of the Sisters said, pointing to one of the panes of peleglass that sat beside their heads. Yamira peered through, spying the crescent-shaped ships of the Merodi in their view. She frowned and clicked her teeth slightly. Amber and the others were onboard, but she could still feel the hostility the little pony gave off all the way from here. It didn’t feel right, and yet she was still Xenos. Such animosity was natural, as were the heathens.

Yet why did Yamira still feel bad?

“Entering into the planetary atmosphere now,” the Enginseer announced from the cockpit. The view from space began to fade as the ship entered into a thick pale haze, obscuring all in a fine cloud. Suddenly, klaxon alarms sounded from the cockpit, the shuttle jostling ever-so-slightly. “Alert! Alert! Electrical interference is affecting the controls of the shuttle! The Machine Spirit! It screams in agony! By the Omnissiah, something is- AAAAUGH!” The Enginseer screamed as a pulsating surge of energy ran through the ship. Yamira shot her head to the now open door of the cockpit, the familiar scent of smoke and burning flesh assailing her nostrils. The ship rumbled again, and slowly began to tilt. Decius exclaimed in peril, tugging repeatedly at his restraints to free himself, while the Sisters did the same. A low groan ran through the vessel, metal creaking and bending as heavy winds tore at its hull. Yamira tore herself free of her restraints, throwing herself to the floor as gravity went against her. They were in a free-fall.

“Emperor help us, we’re going to die!” Decius screamed, his oversized hat floating just slightly over his bald head from the long drop. Yamira refused to let her death be something like this. She forced herself onto her feet and staggered her way to the cockpit, where the sound of sizzling skin and frayed wires resounded with the screams of terror. The Enginseer was slumped back in his seat, chest exposed from an internal explosion that had fried his mechanical parts and set flame to what little flesh remained, his face frozen in a pained wail as he stared up with unblinking lumens. Uttering a prayer to the Emperor, she shoved the dead pilot over and made her way to the controls. None of the lights were on: the console itself had erupted in some sort of electrical surge, and everything was completely inert. Through the forward viewport, a vast wasteland lay before them, an endless field of craggy canyons as far as the eye could see. And they were coming to it fast.

“Everyone!” Yamira shouted. “Pray to the Emperor and hold on tight!” She took hold of the helm, relieved to find it still moving in her grasp, albeit as stiff as a long-dead corpse. She’d only flown a scant few times in her life, but flight was a necessity for a Commissar needing to act in an emergency. This certainly qualified for one of those. She pulled hard on the wheel, attempting to force the winds upwards to slow their plummeting towards the surface of Erdun V. The Stormhawk resisted greatly, with audible groans and moans from the rending metal. The horizon leveled out and the descent seemed to slow. Yamira nearly gave herself praise, but a loud snapping and ripping noise broke her attention. The ship pivoted to the side, and Yamira let out a pained yell as she was flung into more of the inactive equipment. One of the wings was torn clean off, there was no attaining balance here. All that could be done now… was brace.

Author's Note

After nearly a year of inactivity, I finally return. First and foremost, I deeply apologize for the delay in updates, this past year has been... well, a nightmare, if anyone can be so surprised by that knowledge. That being said, I am glad to say this story is not dead nor abandoned, but updates will be rather slow and sporadic from here to the unknown. Still, I'm glad to have finally gotten this out and am happy to be entertaining you all once again.

~Mal Masque, He of the Late Arrival

Chapter One

Author's Note

As a reminder, this is a side story in the Songs of the Spheres multiverse, as part of the story Songs of the Spheres by GMBlackjack. It's highly recommended that his story be read first to better understand this work. Thank you, and enjoy!

~Mal Masque

Chapter One

“Bell, commence new entry in personal data-logs.”

“COMPLIANCE?”

“By the compliance of Lady Commissar Yamira Kalov, of the Commissariat of the Astra Militarum, by the glory of the Imperium of Man and the will of the God Emperor of Mankind.”

“COMPLIANCE ACCEPTED, COMMENCE ORATION.”

“The battle on Hiveworld Karthag was a pyrrhic victory, even in the eyes of the Emperor. While the Xenos forces were purged from the system and all traces of their existence expunged from the planet itself, the staggering losses we faced were greater than imagined. Of the regiment of fifteen-thousand strong, only seven… including myself… were amongst the survivors. In spite of this, Karthag has been reclaimed by the Astra Militarum, and re-colonization efforts to establish a new Hive have already begun. And yet, the scars of the Tyranid invasion remain on the surface, as well as the mass graves of the fallen under my command. I have been recalled from my services with the Cadians, and have been ordered to return to speak with my fellow Lord Commissars, in regards to a recent development with the Astra Militarum’s… growing association with the other-worldly visitors the Emperor so fervently dotes upon. Perhaps it will be a simple committee overview, consolidating our forces for another strike against the foes of the Imperium. For now, I will conclude this personal entry with a silent prayer to the Emperor, and wait for further instructions. End entry.”

Chapter One

The halls of the Penitent Oath were abuzz with activity. The flagship in the Imperial Navy had been in orbit over the semi-barren planet for some odd days now, joined by other ships under purview of the Adeptus Ministorum and the Adeptus Arbites to set up the new Hive-Cities for the world. Though it had come along for protective purposes, the proud ship of the Commissariat was there for more official business. A meeting between the Lords, the high elite of the Imperium’s most honored taskmasters of the Guard. And yet, this was no pleasantry to congratulate the defeat of another Xenos threat. This was far more… volatile. In a private meeting room, Commissar Yamira Kalov had taken a stand before her fellow Commissars of the board, seven men in fine red and black raiments adorned in the finest golden tassels and medals for decades of service. Yet even these men, trained to bring forth obedience and stoicism in the Militarum, flinched under the duress of Yamira’s words.

“Transference?!” She shouted, fingers digging into the sides of the metal podium. “I understand that the loss of the 947th was a grievous matter, but to transfer me to such, such, such…” Her gloved hands twitched to find the appropriate words. “Such a pandering political position is beyond my status! An insult, even!” The Commissars flinched a bit from their shadowy seats, but held firm before the screams of the relieved militant.

“Our word is final, Commissar Kalov.” One of the Commissars said, a rigid man bearing many scars of battle on his face. “While yes, the overall conflict on Karthag was a success, with the visiting representatives and their outlook on the expenditure of forces, we will need to make this move in order to save face.” The other to his side immediately elbowed him in the side. “Oh! No offense intended, of course.” Yamira sighed, but kept her composure, despite the obviousness of the statement. At one point, Yamira Kalov had been a beautiful woman. Blonde hair, beautiful blue eyes, and skin as smooth as the acquilla pinned to her breast; she truly was a captivating woman. Was. Shame how an incendiary explosive detonating at point-blank to the left side can marr that beauty with burnt flesh, partial blindness, and a lacking cheek. The half-and-half appearance has both been a prime motivator for her to lead troops in the field of battle, and a detriment to her social life amongst other members of the Astra Militarum.

“None taken, Lord Commissar,” Yamira said. “In regards to the face comment, not on my transference to this glorified meet-and-greet with a bunch of outsiders and Xenos sympathisers!” She slammed her gloved fist against the podium, causing the other Commissars to flinch once more.

“Yes, yes, we are well aware of your standing on our new allies,” The Commissar said. “But it is as the High Lords dictate, and their word is that of the Emperor’s himself.” At the invocation, Yamira withered slightly and backed down. “You are subject to the Emperor’s word as are we. That is our compliance on the matter. Is that clear, Lady Commissar?”

“I will-”

“Is that clear, Lady Commissar?” The silence of the meeting room was only met with the hum of ancient machinery and the occasional creak of metal. The Commissar slowly stood from his seat, while the others rose in suit. “This tribunal is adjourned. You are to meet with the representative in the hangar in 0200 hours. You will be limited to two personal accompaniments during your time with the representative until authorized otherwise. Go forth, and show the might and wit of the Imperium to the Xenos from beyond. Emperor bless.” The mantra was repeated amongst the Commissars, including Yamira herself, albeit under a ragged breath. The tribunal had already left by the time Yamira even registered the door had closed, leaving her isolated in the dark room. She wanted to remain there for an eternity, gripping onto the podium until either her fingers broke or she had to be pried off by menials to remove the bits of metal wrapped around her hands. But she couldn’t.

She let off a ragged sigh and reluctantly released her grip on the podium, walking out the open door and into the gothic corridors of the Penitent Oath with the grace and authority her uniform represented. Though slightly brighter than the tribunal room, the auspex lamps and corridor’s glow only served to keep things easy to navigate, idle observations were pointless overall. Why gawk at the architecture when you could be serving your best for the Emperor and the Imperium? As Yamira walked, she passed by several of the Navy and Guard alike, all dropping to salute her with still faces and stony stances, while Menials hauling equipment, guns and armor alike in large metal boxes averted their gaze from the fierce flayed face. Were she more focused on her looks, she would have spared a sneer for those who looked upon her with disgust, but she was a prouder woman than that. She rounded a corner, and came face to face with a detachment of familiar faces in tanned duster uniforms. The one leading the bunch, a man with a scruff of a beard and a pair of matching scars running down his lips, gave a rather lackluster salute accompanied by a smug grin.

“Evening to ya, Commissar,” the Guardsman said, voice hoarse from one too many lho-sticks during off-time. “What’s with that look? Other than the bloody usual, eh?” A few of the younger Guardsmen gave wary looks to each other, some downright terrified at their CO’s brazen insult to a Commissar. Yamira, however, sighed and shook her head.

“Still the same tactless slag as always, Captain?” she half-heartedly asked. The Guardsman just chuckled and knocked the side of his helmet with two fingers. Yamira, in return, grabbed him by the ear and yanked him down the corridor, causing the Captain to yelp under protest with every tug. The two ducked around a corner and Yamira released her grip, while the Guardsman rubbed his now very sore ear.

“Corr, you almost tore my ear off!” He whined.

“Daven Mangonel, if you read a battlefield as you do the room, I pray for the survivability of your troops.” Yamira huffed. Captain Daven winced from the accusation, standing at proper attention with a concerned look, while Yamira deflated a bit with a sigh. “That was uncalled-for. I’m just a bit wound up from a meeting with the Tribunal.”

“Wound up is an understatement, Lady Kalov.” Captain Daven said. He patted the decorated shoulder of Yamira to rouse her a bit. “I’ve got some amasec to loosen things up, if you need.” Yamira lightly batted the hand aside, while her undamaged lips curled into a faint smile.

“As much as I feel a need to drink myself into such a stupor to think you were a Living Saint, I unfortunately can’t.” Yamira said. “It’s good to see you again, Daven. It seems the 805th remains in good hands in my absence.” Daven eased up a bit and smirked as his hand fell back to his side.

“Doubting the persistence of Armageddon Steel again, eh, Commissar?” He nudged her elbow playfully with his own. “Are we going to have another row like on Caledon, eh? Eh?”

“You mean back when you were a Corporal, and I didn’t look like I had partially lain in a Prometheum vat?” The two shared a rare laugh, despite the brief onlooking of a menial passing by. In these days, laughter was a rarity, often more valuable than the gold that decorated the Imperium’s mightiest strongholds, and treasured as greatly as was possible. The two slowed their laughter as Yamira straightened herself up, taking on a more serious demeanor. “Actually, Captain, our meeting could not come at a more opportune time. Follow me.” Daven followed the Lady Commissar without hesitation, despite his platoon still likely waiting in the halls. Someone else would take command while he accompanied Yamira. “I presume you are aware of the visitors aboard the Penitent Oath, correct?”

“Yes ma’am. Even right saw one just as they left that oddball ship of theirs.”

“Eldar craftworlds have more subtlety with their ships than those Xenos.” A few more Guardsmen stopped to salute the Lady Commissar and the Captain as they hurried along the corridors. “Planetary Defense Forces would blow those floating limbs from the sky were it not for this damned armistice.” Daven tucked his hands into the pockets of his cloak, clicking his tongue a bit.

“They are strange, I’ll give ‘em that.”

“And I have the pleasure of acting as the Astra Militarum’s representative for them, on behalf of the Commissariat.” Daven almost stopped in his tracks at the practical sneer in her voice at the statement. “And you’re coming with me as one of my wards.”

“Excuse me?!” Daven had to hurry along to catch up with Yamira, bustling along. “Lady Commissar, with all due respect, but don’t I get a few days’ notice before getting assigned a transfer?”

“If this is policy, then I wasn’t privy to it until now.” Yamira grumbled under her breath.

“What was that, ma’am?”

“I said I’m invoking my authority as Lady Commissar and ordering you to do so.” Daven sighed in defeat. A commissar’s word was law in the Militarum, and to violate it would be under pain of death. And it wouldn’t be a quick death, either. “Besides, for this, I’ll be needing a close confidant while in an unknown territory, dealing with…” Daven could practically hear Yamira’s teeth gritting. “Aliens, mutants, and heretics!” All eyes in the hall fell upon the two, a chill passing over as though the icy hand of death brushed across their collective shoulders. Daven quickly pressed his hands to Yamira’s back and scooted her along the hall by the heels of her boots until he was sure they were out of sight of the accusatory eyes of the crew. They ended up in a supply closet, Daven shutting the door behind them and planting both his hands on Yamira’s shoulders.

“Yamira! Emperor’s sake, calm yourself!” Daven harshly whispered. “You’re a Commissar of the Astra Militarum, you command the respect of thousands with a harsh glare and the wave of a gun. Act like it.” Yamira blinked, albeit with one functioning eye, out of both confusion and surprise. It took her a moment to register that she had just been told to act her position by a Guardsman. Naturally, she resatablished her authority by furrowing her brow and putting on her trademark scowl.

“Captain Devon Mangonel, I am going to ask you this question and want you to think very hard about it,” she said. “How much do you value both of your hands?” The hands came off, and Devon stepped back a good foot for safety. “Thank you for answering honestly, Captain.” She softened her expression slightly. “And for the albeit brief pep talk.”

Devon brightened up a bit. “So can I go back to my platoon and enjoy what little shore leave I’ve got left?”

“Absolutely not,” Yamira brushed past Devon and opened up the door. The captain sighed and sagged his shoulders as he followed Yamira out of the room. “I’ll need your level-headedness to get me through this new mission.” A muttered ‘yes ma’am’ brought the spring back into the Commissar’s steps as she and her ward walked down the hall. “Now, head off to the hangar and keep an eye out for the representatives. I need to go and retrieve Bell.” As Yamira walked down the halls, Devon found himself a bit surprised at the notion of a secondary companion. Though he did end up asking himself...

“Who the bloody hell is Bell?”

“Keep up the pace, Captain,” Yamira called, marching through the corridors once again. “Our hours are up, the time to meet the representatives is at hand.” Devon huffed as he hurried behind the Lady Commissar, only to stop slightly when he had to glance at Bell rumbling behind her, feeling a bit queasy looking at the thing that Yamira considered an aide. Devon may have kept his cool in the battlefield and before his troopers, but Servitors always gave him a bit of a lurch in his gut. The machine wearing the skin and organs of the deceased clattered behind Yamira like a puppy on six mechanical insectoid legs, hissing steam escaping the exhausts while those half-dead eyes blinked ghoulish lights. Bones and muscle intertwined with wires and metal made what was once a living person into a nightmarish simulacrum of a human. He hated the way it moved; the sound of a beating heart should not be accompanied by the pumping of machinery. Even the nickname Yamira gave the thing didn’t help, calling it ‘Bell’ because of the way it rocked back and forth as it scrimped around.

“So any idea which blokes we’re going to be meeting, Lady Commissar?” Devon asked.

“I am certain we will know them when we see them.” Yamira said, grumbling under her breath. “I pray to the Emperor that they’re at least easy on the eyes.”

“They’re Xenos, you might as well be asking for a golden tower on Holy Terra.” Yamira held her response as she, the Captain, and her Servitor entered into the spacious hangar bay. Guardsmen and menials alike marched in rank and file, carting crates of weapons and explosives from Valkyrie Gunships and storage bays alike. Merely one aspect of the Imperium’s war machine at work, a beautiful thing. Yamira frowned at the notion of that beauty being marred by the appearance of that hideous thing they called a vessel docked between the Thunderhawks. A crescent-shaped thing of shining metal that seemed more fitting of a Necron Dynasty amongst the Imperium’s finest attack ships. Looking at the thing made Yamira’s eye burn. Waiting just below were the representatives, an equally motley crew of rabble that the rest of the ship seemed to actively stay away from. A pair of large, purple-skinned humanoid creatures with messes of white hair spoke with an average-looking human who seemed to be currently smoking from a lho-stick of some kind. Yamira marched forward, clenching her gloved hands as tight as the leather would allow before any tears could form, with Devon and Bell bringing up the rear (reluctantly, in Devon’s case).

“You are the representatives of Merodi Universalis, correct?” Yamira called. The two hulking purple things turned with proper military discipline, though one seemed to have flinched slightly upon seeing the Commissar’s grisly visage. ‘Good to see that these new Xenos can show fear.’ She thought. ‘It will make things much easier to work with.’ The human was slower to react, only now giving Yamira a good look at the apparent liaison from another world. He seemed a civilian, with loose and baggy clothes not even the most desperate of Hive-Dwellers would wear. What further caught Yamira’s eye was this man’s apparent decor: two bandoliers draped across his chest, with small boxes in place of ammunition, while between his lips sat three lit lho-sticks. The apparent disinterest on his face was somewhat hidden by the black shades concealing his eyes.

“Huh? Oh yeah, yeah we are,” the man said. It was odd: despite the apparent addiction to the substances that he dressed himself with, the visitor lacked the rasp most lho-stick users commonly have. A relief for Yamira, though the smell of smoke and whatever herbs were in the concoction was getting into her nostrils. “You the captain-lady that’s coming with us back to CC, right?”

“That’s Lady Commissar to you,” Devon interjected, stepping forth as his brow furrowed. One gesture from Yamira caused the captain to stay his hand.

“Yes, I am Lady Commissar Yamira Kalov,” she said, tone neutral. “With me is Captain Devon Mangonel of the Armageddon 805th, and my personal Servitor, Bell.” Devon gave only a slight nod, while Bell said nothing, save for the dead eyes of the thing flashing in recognition. The purple things clearly had some discomfort looking at Bell, Yamira could tell by the way they averted their eyes. She bowed slightly towards the smoking man. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Ambassador.”

“Psssh, Ambassador?” he said. The way he smirked looked like Yamira had just told him a particularly funny joke, and she didn’t know the punchline. “That’s a good one. Like hell I’d want a job like that. Too much work. I’m Ms. Dust’s bodyguard,” He jabbed a thumb to his chest as he curled his sticks between his teeth, trailing smoke above his head.

“Name’s Cage Jameson, from Earth Stand.” He stuck his thumb behind his back to the two purple ones. “These two are Amethysts, from the Gem Vein. The Ambassador is using the ladies’ room on the Skiff, she’ll be out in a second.” Yamira took a slight step back, her good eye twitching a bit.

“You… aren’t the Ambassador?”

“Nope.” Cage shrugged and spat one of the burnt-out sticks onto the floor and stamped his boot down to smother it.

“Just security.” He lazily glanced between Yamira and the servitor as he produced another stick from his bandolier. “So, uh… you donate some of you to pretty up that hunk of junk?” He lit a match to the stick as he placed it up to his mouth. “Seems like a downgrade to me. Thing looks already plenty ugly.” Yamira’s blood went from still to boiling in seconds.

“How dare you!” she shouted. Her hand flew to the hilt of her sword, only stopped from lopping this daft idiot’s head clean off his shoulders by Devon latching onto Yamira and yanking her back. The two Amethysts also yanked Cage back, glaring at him for his apparent apathy.

“What? It’s a legit question,” Cage innocently said. “Not my fault these guys don’t have a sense of humor.” All that got him was a bop on the head from one of the Amethysts. Yamira finally broke off from Devon’s grasp and let go of her sword, though her anger still remained. Any chance at further problems was halted when the sound of running came from the lowered platform of the Skiff. Yamira and Devon turned and saw, speeding down the metal platform with the urgency of her rear end on fire… was a horse. Not a majestic beast of speed and ferocity, like the ones raised by the Attilans or the Chogorisians, but a smaller thing with a dull orange coat, dirt-brown mane and hair, and the biggest green eyes Yamira had ever seen. She trotted down the platform and hurried her way over to Yamira and her coterie, panting and heaving.

“I am super-duper sorry I wasn’t here!” She exclaimed. “I had lunch before jumping and travel is always super rough on me, but I wasn’t thinking!” She clonked the side of her head with a hoof. “Amber, you big dumb-dumb, you’re supposed to make a good impression! YOU’RE NOT DOING THAT!” She stopped her little berating and cleared her throat, putting on a polite-as-can-be smile for the humans. “Right, from the top: Hi, I’m Ambassador Amber Dust, Merodi Relations,” She looked up and extended a hoof to Yamira in friendship. “A pleasure to meet you-wahAHAYAHAHAYEE!” One look at Yamira’s half-melted face and the little pony had practically jumped two meters in the air with her fur on end. She came to an abrupt landing in Cage’s arms, scared out of her wits and clinging like a pterra-squirrel to a tree.

It almost made Yamira crack a smile.

“Here’s the Ambassador.” Cage tiredly said. “Can I put you down now, Ambs?” Amber shakily shook her head as Cage unceremoniously dropped her back onto the floor. Yamira raised an eyebrow while Devon barely contained a stifled laugh. She turned to Bell and cleared her throat.

“Bell, record est verbo.” She instructed in High Gothic. The Servitor’s eyes lit up as a lengthy roll of parchment fed through a slot on the machine’s chest cavity, several small prongs ejecting with ink-filled tips onto the page.

“DIALOGUM MEMORIA, COMMISSAR.” Bell screeched. The horrid once-feminine voice coming from the voxes built within the throat cavity grated on the ears, the Merodi representatives shrinking as the thing practically screamed in their ears, while Yamira and Devon hardly bat an eye.

“On behalf of the Commissariat, the Astra Militarum and the governing body of the Imperium of Man,” Yamira said. As she spoke, Bell rapidly scribbled away on the parchment verbatim in Low Gothic. “I, Lady Commissar Yamira Kalov, accompanied by Captain Devon Mangonel of the Armageddon 805th Regiment, will now commence new service as a representative of the Imperium with the outsider allies, Merodi Universalis. This will be a documentation of my services as representative and will be updated as is seen fit. God-Emperor protects.” She turned back to Bell and cleared her throat. “Memoria finem, Bell.”

“RECORDATIO FINEM, COMMISSAR.” Bell concluded, tearing off the completed strip of parchment with numerous small mechanical pinsers. Yamira clasped her hands behind her back and turned to Devon.

“Captain, secure us a seat on board this vessel,” she instructed.

“Yes ma’am.” One crisp salute and Devon was already on the move. “You there, smokey, show me where we’re going to be sitting.”

“Wah-huh? Oh yeah, sure.” Cage and Devon walked sidelong up the boarding platform, with the two Amethysts following shortly behind them. Amber chuckled nervously and trotted back up to Yamira as she began to move.

“R-right, let’s get you situated, miss,” she said. “It’ll be such an honor to have an esteemed member of your military working alongside us in harmo-” Yamira’s pace picked up as soon as Amber tried to offer her hoof again.

“Don’t touch me,” Yamira quickly said. Amber’s ears lilted and her eyes fell downcast while Yamira entered the ship properly with Bell rolling behind. ‘Xenos in command, humans as secondaries and compliant to this?’ Yamira bitterly thought. ‘The Commissariat expects much of me to do this. Too much, perhaps…’ She sat herself down in a vacant seat adjacent the cockpit, alongside the currently seated Devon, while Bell just situated itself in a corner of the ship. The Amethysts still refused to look at her scarred face, Cage continued his absent-minded smoking while still staring at her. Yamira closed her good eye and quietly sighed. This was her duty now. And she was loath to be part of it any longer than she needed to be.

Chapter Three

“We’ll be arriving in Celestia City in just a few minutes!” Amber said, poking her head out from the cockpit. “We just need to navigate through the debris of the Martian atmosphere. There is,” She glanced back into the cockpit and the window. “whew, a LOT of space garbage here. Sit tight and we’ll be back on the ground soon!” She ducked back into the cockpit, leaving the room filled with dignitaries and Merodi guards to their prior silence. There had been little conversation between anyone since they made landfall at the Tau Embassy and retrieved Windmind. The tension had made the atmosphere barely breathable as everyone sat in awkward silence. While Windmind herself had been kind, cordial, and overall relaxed company, every time she made some movement, gesture, or so much as said a word, Yamira and Devon both appeared to restrain themselves from doing something so brazenly rash. It had even reached a point where Devon requested he change seats to the other side of the transport, so he didn’t have to be in the immediate proximity of the female Xenos diplomat, all because she simply smiled at him. With the news of arrival, the tension eased a bit, but Yamira still refused to take her eyes off the Tau woman.

“About time,” Cage said, dusting off a layer of ash that had accumulated on his clothing onto the floor, joining a mess of cigarette butts that Yamira had lost count of after thirty. “If I sat here any longer, my legs would go stiff from rigor mortis.”

“I am most excited to see this City of Celestia myself,” Windmind said. “Aun’va have spoken such wondrous things about it, the integration of such technological wonderments, and the blending of many cultures and peoples.” She let off a breathy sigh and clasped her hands together. “It is such an honor amongst my caste to represent our Empire in such a way.” Though Yamira’s experiences with the Tau were few (much of her service spent facing against Tyranids, heretics, the occasional Ork Warband, and those of the Aeldari here and there), she knew enough to familiarize herself with the loathsome race. The diamond-shaped symbol on her chest denoted her to be of the Water Caste, the diplomats and ambassadors of their race. Yamira had heard stories of human planets visited by these silver-tongued Xenos, beguiling them into joining their budding empire with promises of unison and equality for all. She even heard of fellow Guardsmen falling for propaganda and abandoning their oaths to the God-Emperor to serve the Tau as a slave would serve a planetary governor. And now one was in her presence, freely speaking like it had the right to. “What are you most excited for, gue’la of the Imperium?” Yamira blinked back to reality, she hadn’t even realized her focus was lost until the Xenos spoke. She narrowed her gaze and adjusted her hat.

“A moment to remove myself from the presence of Xenos and heretics,” she growled. Windmind pursed her lips together briefly, then gave a slight nod, her large bowl-shaped hat bobbing a bit atop her head.

“Yes, a time to rest would be beneficial to us all,” Windmind said. “Perhaps there will be some form of housing provided to all of us?”

“Oh yeah, I think the Overheads got something in mind for you guys,” Cage said. He flicked a cigarette butt off his lap and scratched his head. “Probably that huge residential complex for all the other diplomats and ambassadors, or something. Labor’s been working hard as hell to get it made.” He stretched a bit and folded his arms behind his head. “I’m just looking forward to getting back to my place and taking the longest nap I can before they haul my ass off to another thing.” Yamira reclined in her seat, idly running her fingers over the cover of her book as she tuned out the blathering of Cage and the Tau diplomat. Her mind wandered to other things. Of the litanies she read, of the orders she received, even of the hum of machinery and the chugging noises Bell made off in its corner. None of them soothed her agitated nerves. She rolled her head to the side and spotted Devon, idly sitting in his chair and tapping his metallic foot on the floor in rhythm with a light hum he had going. He’d always had that false leg, long before even meeting the Armageddon Guardsman, but he was never very consistent with how he got it. First it was from an Ork landmine left behind from the Third War of Armageddon, then it was a collapsing Space Hulk falling onto him whilst escaping genestealers, one time was apparently some daft story of being lost on a sand-covered Death World and having to eat his own foot to stay alive. She stopped asking around the same time she received her own war wounds.

The Skiff groaned as it rolled to the side, disrupting everything within. Buster and Gab collided with one another and fell onto the floor, Cage dropped all seven of his cigarettes, Windmind squeaked as she tried to keep that hat of hers atop her head, and Bell had fallen right onto its back, screaming in binary from the sudden lack of stability. Devon covered his ears from the techno-babble screaming from the servitor’s vox, while Yamira clung tightly to her seat as she felt her stomach churn with the twists of the ship.

“Bell, engage mag-locks!” Yamira ordered. Bell immediately ceased its digitized screaming with a series of beeps. A low hum came from the base of the machine as it slowly began to pull itself upright with its spider-like legs, digging themselves into the panelling to support its heavy body. Once it was upright, a dull blue light shone underneath, and with a dull thunk, Bell had affixed itself in place with a magnetic pull. By then, the Skiff had balanced itself out, though everyone was still naturally shaken.

Amber opened the cockpit door, her mane an absolute mess and eyes wide as saucers. “Everyone okay?” she asked. “So sorry about that, there was a big metal thing flying past us and we had to swerve to avoid it, then there were these towers in the way and we had to go around that, I ended up hitting my head on the side of the controls…” She rubbed the side of her head with a hoof for further emphasis. “But we should be in the clear for now!”

“Great…” Devon muttered, massaging his temples. “Does that we mean we land soon? Saint’s ashes, I thought this would’ve been smoother than Warp travel with the gellar fields on high….”

“Oh, about two minutes, actually!” Amber said. “So please sit tight, we’ll be landing shortly.” The cockpit door closed again, and the cabin was left in relative silence once more. While Bell disengaged its mag-locks and the others picked themselves up from the crash, Yamira simply sat in her seat and patiently waited for the most uncomfortable journey of her life (thus far) to end. Thankfully, the wait did not last long, as the familiar sound of the Skiff touching down on solid ground. Amber exited the cockpit again, smiling gleefully. “We have arrived!” Yamira couldn’t unfasten herself from her seat fast enough, already back on her feet and making her way towards the gangplank. She briefly halted in her steps to order Bell to follow. The servitor beeped and skittered across the floor behind its master, with Devon, still massaging away at his temples, following suit. When the door of the Skiff opened, Yamira had stayed herself when she saw into the pride of Merodi Universalis’ capital city.

First she noticed was the taste of the air itself. Worlds within the Imperium always had this taste in the air, a coppery taste laced with ash from the industry of war, often heaviest in Forgeworlds and Hiveworlds, even the glorious Paradise Worlds and the Throneworld itself were not spared of this taste. But this? The air had a taste of freshness to the air that made Yamira’s tongue tingle, a purity to it not found even on most Agriworlds or unsettled territories. Once the taste had passed, she saw the sprawling city before her. Great glimmering towers of sleek and elegant design, sprawling as far as they eye could see. The metropolis lacked the intimidating overview of the Hive-Cities or the Fortresses of Imperium might, but it was an incredible sight to behold. It even held a beauty even as the skull-faced foundries of Mars loomed overhead in the sky above. She didn’t even realize she was holding her breath until Devon tapped her on the shoulder, rousing her from a daydream.

“Lady Commissar,” he said. “Amber Dust procured us a transport. C’mon, let’s get going.” Yamira nodded and followed the Captain into a moderately sized wheelless transport vehicle, roughly bigger than a Hellhound Tank, where Amber, Windmind and Cage were already waiting, with Cage at the wheel. Yamira and Devon took their own seats in the back of the transport, while Bell stood upright and mag-locked itself in the most vacant seating spot it could find.
“Tau lady, Bacon-bits, Captain Devon,” Cage said, resting his hands on the wheel. “Welcome to Celestia City, the big shiny heart of Merodi Universalis. Next stop, the Office of Relations.” Cage plucked two of his three cigarettes out of his mouth and snuffed them out in an ashtray. “Buckle up, because like hell am I going to get caught in the midday rush.”

“Cage, no.” Amber cautiously said, already buckled in.

“Cage, yes.” Cage replied, grinning ear to ear. The transport hummed to life as Cage turned on the ignition on. For some reason, Yamira felt her stomach prepare to lurch, and she never even considered motion sickness. “Smoke ‘em if ya got ‘em.” Windmind barely had a moment to ask ‘got what’, before they had gone from zero to eighty miles per hour, taking off into the wild expanse of the shining city of the Merodi.
Yamira hated going fast. She hated having to hold onto her hat, she hated the sting of air in her eyes, she hated feeling the wind rip through the shreds of burned flesh in her cheeks, but the one thing she hated most was insane drivers who relished going fast. This was happening all at once. Zooming through the Merodi airways like a round from a misfired sniper, the hovering transport vehicle flew past other transports and ships with reckless abandon, everything was a blur of colors all around, and it was nauseating. Yamira had dug her fingers in as hard as she could into the upholstered armrests, feeling the sheer turbulence peel away what little skin she had left on her face, staring dead ahead as the smoking madman drove them through Merodi airspace. She moved what little she could to see how her fellow passengers were doing on this madcap ride. Devon clung just as tightly as she did, but the lucky sod had managed to get his hazard mask on to keep himself safe from the torrent of wind. Amber looked positively terrified, blown back into her seat with her eyes forced wide open by the sheer g-force. Even Windmind looked completely startled, using her bowl-hat to shield herself while her silken robes billowed about wildly like a blanket in front of a cooling fan at maximum speed. And Cage, mad smoking Cage, was just grinning ear to ear, his cigarette smoke trailing out of his lips as he simply embraced the speed.
“Woah, red light.” The transport came to an abrupt stop before a hanging display of three lanterns, one of which, of course, glowing bright red. The whiplash was instantaneous, Yamira and the others immediately buckling forward in their restraints, although a wet and squishy pop didn’t sound all too appropriate for a midday drive. Yamira felt extremely lightheaded, rubbing her undamaged half looking around woozily.

“Um… Lady Commissar?” Devon said, tapping Yamira’s shoulder. She turned her head towards the Captain, feeling something wet smack against her cheek. Devon pointed to his right eye, a gesture which Yamira mirrored and…

“... Saints preserve me,” Yamira muttered. “It happened again.”
Amber turned around in her seat. “What happened agai- OH MY GOODNESS!” The pony went from yellow to green quickly, pressing a hoof to her mouth to keep the bile down. Yamira sighed and rolled her head back, clutching her own greying eyeball, dangling haphazardly off her scorched cheek by useless nerves and sinews.

“Captain, watch to make sure nothing is awry.” she instructed, carefully raising her eyeball up. Devon just nodded and watched Yamira carefully insert her eye back into its socket. It was a gross process, one that required a lot of precision and care, lest she end up with one more missing piece of her body and a demand by the Astra Militarum that she get proper bionics. If she wanted to consign herself to augmetics and constantly maintaining herself like a war machine, she may as well don red robes and join the Machine Cult. With a wet squelch, Yamira set her eye back in place. It rolled a bit in the socket, trying to situate itself properly in Yamira’s half-fried skull. “You can stop emptying your stomach over the side of the vehicle now.” Amber groaned and sat back in her seat, still a bit green with a line of drool running from the corner of her lips.

“Sorry again…” Amber said. “I, uh…” She swallowed and rubbed her head. “I don’t handle blood well. Haven’t been able to since I was a filly, when I saw a carriage, ulp, run over a poor squirrel.”

“I didn’t ask for your life story, Xenos.” Yamira curtly said. “I simply got tired of hearing you painting the side of this vehicle green.”

“Doesn’t matter, this thing’s a rental.” Cage added, flicking his spent cigarette into the expanse below. Amber sighed again and leaned on the arm of her seat, while Yamira looked on the opposite side. She immediately wished she hadn’t when she saw what was hovering beside them. A jet, black as midnight, with curves and points all ending in fine sharp blades, only slightly eclipsing their own transport thricefold. The sleek, edged exterior looked ready and able to lop any an unsuspecting head clean off from a mere drive-by, the silver, sinister weapons no doubt primed and ready to tear a hole in the fabric of reality of whatever target it may meet. It hovered silently midair, an ominous, nightmarish thing that could sooner be classified as a weapon more than a ship. Yamira stared at the jet agape, her lips going dry and sweat forming across her brow as she slapped her hand on the arm of her chair, trying desperately to reach for a weapon.

“Everything alright, gue’la?” Windmind asked. She hadn’t even noticed the Tau was staring at her.

“Razorwing.” Yamira quickly said, still slapping her seat.

“A what?” Windmind tilted her head.

“Razorwing!” Yamira shouted. Devon practically sprang to his feet, only constrained by his seatbelt.

“A what?!” Devon exclaimed.

“THERE’S A DRUKHARI RAZORWING HERE!” Yamira screamed, finally tearing free her sword from its sheath and wildly swinging it over the edge of the transport. The gap between Yamira, her sword, and the Razorwing was a good few feet, so the Lady Commissar merely sliced at the air. “DRIVE ME CLOSER, I WANT TO HIT THEM WITH MY SWORD!” Yamira unbuckled herself and stood up, still swinging haphazardly, while the transport itself started to rock.

“Hey, hey, hey, are your brains fried too?” Cage said, clasping tightly onto the wheel. “We’re hundreds of miles in the air and I don’t think any of you guys can fly!” Yamira just kept screaming and trying to cut the black metal jet to ribbons from fifteen feet away. “Alright, can someone sit her ass down? The light’s about to turn.” Devon unbuckled himself and wrapped his arms around the Lady Commissar’s abdomen, just as she was about to plant a boot on the door of the transport. She fought and screaming bloody murder, still resisting being pulled back down onto her seat. She wanted the ship destroyed, she wanted to tear open its cockpit, she wanted to plunge her sword into the heart of its pilot again and again and again until she painted the whole damn thing with its disgusting alien innards.

“THAT’S IT!” shouted Amber, jumping from her seat and slamming both of her hooves onto Yamira’s shoulder. The Earth Pony’s surprising display of strength caused Yamira to buckle from the blow, dropping her sword onto the floor of the transport and losing her focus. Yamira quickly found herself both free of Devon’s grasp and sitting down back in her seat, staring face to face with a very angry pony. “I tried to be as nice as I could be, I know how crazy sensitive and violent the Imperium gets, I got enough of it back home, but good gosh and golly, my patience has worn thin quick! You’re in Merodi territory as a dignitary representing your entire empire, so sit down, shut up, and behave!”

Yamira had no words. This meek little Xenos, which was practically quivering at her boots when they first met, had the gall to yell at her. More than that, it struck her down with those flimsy nubby hooves of hers. Yamira was too shocked to even say anything, just remaining sat in her seat. Amber snorted and sat back in her chair. “Cage, let’s go. And don’t go so fast, this isn’t a street race.”

“Uh… yeah.” Cage said. Seems he was equally as dumbfounded, not even lighting the cigarette hanging limply in his mouth. The light changed from red to green, and the drive continued, while the Razorwing sped off ahead. The rest of the drive was in silence, even more pregnant of a quiet than the flight aboard the shuttle to Celestia City. Yamira felt her mind stuck in a feedback loop, trying to process what had just happened. First a Drukhari ship, here, so close to the Throneworld itself, just slightly out of arm's reach; and now the meek, miniature horse Xenos had suddenly grown a pair, as someone so crass would put it. The galaxy had gone mad, and Yamira couldn’t tell whether she was a byproduct, or only now aware of it. She hadn’t even realized the ride had ended and the others were offloading onto the ground until, once again, roused from her daydreaming by her second.

“Let’s go, Lady Commissar.” Devon said. Yamira nodded and unbuckled herself from the transport’s seat, exiting as everyone else made their way to the towering spire of the Relations Office. Though Yamira still felt at a state of unease, as she saw a sharp black shape entering into one of the entrances high above. Yet still, she moved on. The apparent leader of the Merodi Universalis awaited.