A red-robed figure moved ponderously amongst the Cogitator stacks, looking to all the world like a librarian wandering the halls of some ancient archive. He moved with reverence amongst glowing stacks of data, a halo of servo-skulls chittering around him. Occasionally he would pause, drawing a thin cable from one of his floating attendants before connecting it to one of the data-stacks many ports. He would then pause, and begin a low droning chant in incomprehensible machine-cant, a low electrical thrumming that nevertheless managed to form a haunting melody. Once he completed each prayer the skull would issue a short tone of its own before, with the scratchy sound of a printer, it deposited a narrow scroll of data from beneath its jaw. Each scroll would be studiously examined by the priest, before being filed away in a small book bound in iron rings. A second strip of parchment would then be affixed to the stack by a wax seal, stamped with the skull of the Adeptus Mechanicus. The priest would then connect one of his own mechadentrites to each stack, prompting another, briefer, round of chanting before he disconnected and went on his way. Another figure lurched throughout the stacks, passing along each avenue in an endless circuit. This servitor strode with irregular but stable footsteps and carried a small censer filled with an incense that was cold to the touch, flowing clouds of white vapour sinking to the floor of the chamber, dropping the temperature slightly and shrouding the room in a blanket of mist.

Amelia stood outside the room, deferring to the request of the Tech-Priest that all non-Mechanicus personnel withdraw while he conducted his ritual. Instead she looked in on the stacks through the arched door, her right hand holding her staff whilst her left rested on the small of her back. It had been four hours since she had first entered the temple, enough time for the first of the Investigative team to touch down. Her Adjutant, Helena Brazier, had been the first off the aircraft, followed by a small team of adepts, lexmechanics, and the Techsorcist who now wandered amidst the cogitators found within the Ziggurat. There was thousands of years’ worth of medical data stored inside the data hall, the records of hundreds of thousands of candidates in the Warrior’s Trial. It would take hours for even the most skilled lexmechanics to parse through it all, and so the Techsorcist was verifying whether the data was safe to transfer onto a quarantine network aboard the Silent Observer, where it could be given the attention it deserved. The rational part of Amelia knew that it was worth the wait to ensure that no tainted data was accidentally brought onto Imperial systems, but she knew nothing about the rituals of the Mechanicus, and this made the Techsorcist’s progress seem agonisingly slow.

At long last the red-robed priest completed his rounds, having assessed each individual data stack, and he left the room, followed by his attendant skulls and the lurching servitor, his censer now closed. The man’s face was, being half mechanical, entirely unreadable and Amelia was reluctant to use her psychic abilities this close to the remains of a heretical shrine. She could have asked, but she was still annoyed at his slow progress, and so simply offered the minimum greeting politeness required, accompanied by a barely perceptible nod.

‘Techsorcist.’

He offered his own jilted approximation of a nod before turning to look Amelia head on. His one organic eye, pale and discoloured by the disregard with which much of the Mechanicum treats their organic bodies, took a fraction of a second longer than the small trio of cameras that sat on the other side of his face.

‘Prime Agent. The stacks have been exorcized of any lingering scrapcode, and the machine-cant has been adjusted to be more in line with orthodox codes. The data itself is intact, and can now be transferred by the Grace of the Ommnisiah. I would remain, however, to see the data safely conveyed.’

Amelia paused as she considered her request, but only for a moment; he was the expert on matters mechanical, certainly more than anyone on her staff, and after all this waiting it would be a tragedy if poor handling were to corrupt the data.

‘Very well, please see it delivered directly to the Silent Observer.’

The Techsorcist left without a word of farewell, but his kind were an antisocial lot by nature and Amelia could not in good conscience hold it against him. Soon a long line of Lexmechanics moved into the cogitator chamber. These were the lowest ranked members of the Priesthood of mars and they wore simple robes of dark material that showed their status. They sported only the most basic of augmentations and carried small, briefcase-sized, data stacks that they set beside each of the tall cogitators before copying the data from one to the other. They carried their heavy loads out of the chamber to the waiting transport, where they would collect an empty stack and repeat the procedure again. It would take them some time to complete, and Amelia had spent enough time in the basement. She followed the first group to leave up the spiral staircase that ran through the heart of the Ziggurat, then went on to the top floor of the building.

Here, data collection of a different sort was happening. A half-dozen Archivists were cataloguing and copying the many paper records contained within the administrative headquarters of the Raptor’s Nest. In many ways, they were the Administratum’s equivalent to the Lexmechanic. Both groups, from what she understood, were little more than data gatherers, whose job was to input information endlessly, without any room for deviation. These particular data-collectors belonged to her, they were her staff and served under the command of Adjutant Brazier. The woman herself had taken up the desk just outside the Station Commander’s office and was being subjected to incessant queries from her staff. Amelia wondered why she hadn’t placed herself inside the Station Commander’s office, with its plush leather seating. If she was giving the girl the benefit of the doubt then she would believe it was because the secretary’s desk was more central, but Amelia suspected that her Adjutant was just as literal-minded as her staff, and viewed the commander’s office as above her station.

Once Amelia stepped into view her Adjutant immediately stood, offering a quick bow, and all her staff did the same. Amelia had become used to the stunned silence of subordinates that seemed to follow her around, and had waved them back to work almost as soon as they’d stopped.

‘Madam Lafayette, we’ve almost finished our catalogue of the camp’s paperwork. As expected, the filing pattern is a deviant form of Segmentum Tempestus standard, and most of the forms are based on the Departmento Munitorum template. We have everything from the nominal roll to the flight plans of incoming and outgoing aircraft.’

There was a hint of pride in that last statement; they may have been mere data-collectors but there was nothing the Adepts of the Administratum loved more than the clean and orderly flow of information.

‘Excellent work Adjutant, now we can uncover every little secret-‘

Amelia was cut off by the sound of her microbead bursting into life. The small, in-ear, communicator was only good for a few hundred meters but it was far more portable than any vox unit. Corporal Al’Said, from his position with the remaining Cazadores, spoke in a hirried voice.

‘Ma’am, there’s another Inquisition flyer touching down. A Valkyrie. They’re broadcasting over the vox that Interrogator Filburn requests the pleasure of your company on the landing grounds. The transmissions are civil but I don’t like this, Ma’am.’

‘Thank you Corporal.’ Amelia said, maintaining a calm voice even as her head began to spin. Whatever this was about, it was hardly likely to be good news. She turned to Helena, who had heard the conversation through her own microbead, a luxury afforded only to Amelia’s inner circle.

‘Follow me, Adjutant, let’s go see what the good Interrogator wants of us.’

The Valkyrie flared its jets as it approached, the Aquila painted across its body gleaming in the face of the setting sun. The aircraft had no escort, but its wings bristled with pods of missiles and it bore a hefty lascannon on its nose. The landing field, now swept clean of corpses and crashed helicopters, played host to an ad hoc welcoming committee. Amelia stood at its head with the Techsorcist, by virtue of his rank, to her right and Colonel Forjaz to her left. Behind them both, Adjutant Brazier and Corporal Al’Said stood at the head of a group of six Arbites, the Archivists and the Lexmechanics, each group standing to varying degrees of attention. Behind all of them stood a mere forty Cazadores, all that could be spared from their duties, managing to stand tall in spite of their ash encrusted uniforms. They looked like they had gone through the warp and back, but they still stood with steely determination as if they were parading before the Inquisitor himself. Amelia was still wearing Forjaz’ jacket beneath her cuirass and the Colonel stood in his beige shirt marred by sweat and grime.

The Valkyrie flared its jets as it hovered above the landing ground, before settling down with its nose staring down Amelia and her small force. The hatches on either side of the gunship were swept open and two Sisters of Battle leapt out, their bolters raised and ready. They wore tight-fitting armour of blood red plates beneath flowing black robes that blew uncontrollably in the downdraft beneath the Valkyrie’s engines, a red rose appearing and disappearing in the folds. Their faces were covered by heavy helmets whose baleful red eyes seemed to almost pierce the soul. After a moment, one of the two raised her left hand, and the rest of the Interrogator’s retinue stepped out of the gunship.

The Interrogator himself led the group, he was a dark-skinned man whose foppish red coat and tight white breeches spoke of a noble upbringing. Were it not for the Interrogator’s rosette he wore over his chest like a medal then he could easily have passed for a Rogue Trader, or at least a Rogue Trader’s head flunky. He wore a heavy black cape that blew behind him in the downdraft, and he carried a thin rapier that held some arcane technology in place of a cross guard. He was immediately followed by a freakishly tall Tech Priest, who stood a head and a half taller than the Interrogator. He wore robes of pure white, trimmed by the traditional red, and had a jumble of cabling in place of a face. A hunched figure emerged from the other side of the aircraft, an aged, bald, figure whose appearance spoke of decades of work bent over cogitators and scrawling on parchments. He carried a personal cogitator upon which he was constantly typing. His furtive glances and stilted mannerisms identified him as a Savant, an unfortunate who, by accident of birth or deliberate gene-tailoring, had an incredibly talent for memory, arithmetic and problem solving at the cost of much of their personality. The last figure was forced out of the gunship by another sister, who kept her bolter aimed at the back of his head. This man cut a ragged figure, he wore a mixture of tattered rags and steel armour and his head had been heavily augmented by a steel shroud that left only his nose and mouth uncovered. His eyes had been replaced by an irregular quartet of red lenses, and two grilled microphones sat where his ears should be. Thick wires emerged from this faceplate, sweeping behind his head and into a heavy pack welded onto his back. In spite of his circumstances, he still stood tall, almost proud, and moved up to his Interrogator without being prompted.

The Interrogator stepped up to Amelia, who offered a small curtsey as he approached. Beside her, Colonel Forjaz saluted whilst the Techsorcist simply stood, eying the proceeding with a disinterested gaze. Interrogator Filburn held out a vellum scroll, sealed with rich red wax, which Amelia took, but did not open.

‘Your orders, Prime Agent, signed by our master himself. You are to return to Hive Castle with your retinue and report to Inquisitor Heydrax for reassignment.’

Amelia could not believe what she was hearing, after all this effort she was simply to return empty handed. She couldn’t believe the arrogance of this man to swoop in and claim all her good work. Still, he outranked her, and so she struggled to keep any hint of anger out of her voice as she spoke.

‘Sir, I don’t understand. My orders were to investigate the Warrior’s Trials, we’ve only just begun sifting through the data here. We’re onto something big, sir, we just need time to investigate it.’

The interrogator sighed ever so slightly, and his eyes darted for a split second across his face, taking in Amelia’s borrowed uniform, the ash covered men that stood behind her and the significantly depleted size of what was supposed to be a full Inquisition Cell and an entire Regiment of men.

‘We know. Headquarters sent me immediately after hearing your after-action report. The Archenemy sent a single marine to lead the attack on the precinct, but they dedicated two to guarding this training camp. That’s as many as all our other cells combined have encountered in a month of investigation. The Inquisitor was intrigued by the Warrior’s Trial, but viewed it as a secondary concern to the Commando conspiracy. Your discovery of the medical facility has shifted our priorities. It appears that the true heresy is here. I’m afraid this is simply too important for such a new team. You’ve done incredibly well in getting us this far, and I promise it won’t have been in vain.’

His apparent remorse mollified Amelia somewhat, and brought her back to her senses long enough to notice that the Interrogator also had a touch of psychic power. She’d been broadcasting her emotions like a novice, so used to being around blunts, and he had clearly noticed her distress and acted accordingly. Taking a moment to centre her psychic presence, Amelia spoke again.

‘I understand. Thank you, Interrogator. The data has been cleared by the Techsorcist, and is ready for transfer. The camp files in the administrative area of the Ziggurat have also been ordered, ready for your perusal. With your permission, I will prepare my acolytes to leave.’

He nodded, and Amelia moved off, followed by her team. As she did, the Interrogator called out to her.

‘Agent Lafayette.’

She turned to look at him, a figure dressed in immaculate finery surrounded by an ash-covered hellscape.

‘What you did here goes above and beyond what anyone expected of you. I will be watching your career with great interest.’

‘After all.’ He spoke directly into her mind. ‘We must look after each other in this galaxy of blunts.’

Amelia smiled, before moving off with her acolytes to make ready to leave. The next few hours passed at an agonising pace, their transport aircraft had already left with the data stacks and there was little for her cell to do except sit around and wait. Amelia spent the time wandering the camp, speaking to the few survivors of the Cazadores and offering what solace she could. Eventually she stumbled across the steel-shrouded figure, pawing through the dirt surrounding a great bonfire. She paused and watched as he sifted through the sand, watched constantly by his armed escort who stood at a respectable distance but kept her bolter levelled towards his head. After a while brushing aside the sandy soil the man leapt up with a jubilant cry. Amelia craned her neck to see what had got him so excited. Beneath a thin layer of soil, the ground was smooth stone, and there was a line of red paint that ran along it. It curved slightly, suggesting it was part of a great circle that ringed the bonfire. The ragged figure paused, as if noticing Amelia for the first time, and ambled over to her waving his arms excitedly.

‘It’s all connected, don’t you see? Skaroth, Prangar, Boros Minor, all the way to the damned Maelstrom!’

Amelia wasn’t quite sure what to make of this wretched lunatic, but it wasn’t like she could ignore someone like him.

‘What do you mean?’

She asked tentatively, knowing full well that she may have just opened the floodgates to hours of rambling.

‘The patterns, the ritual, it’s the same on dozens of different worlds, each spreading out from the Maelstrom. We’ve just never had the Astartes here to prove it. Not that they really care about proof though. Not like they need to…’

The man was raving, and with his augmetic eyes it was difficult to tell if he was even looking at her. His watcher, the red armoured sister, strode silently behind him before grabbing him by the shoulder.

‘Enough, traitor. Don’t disturb your betters. Sorry my lady, the galaxy would be better off if he were dead, but the Inquisitor insists on keeping him around.’

‘Who is he?’ Amelia couldn’t help but ask.

It was the man who spoke next.

‘I was a traitor, a renegade, a blasphemer, a cultist. I was weak, and that made me vulnerable to their whispers of power. The Inquisitor came with his angels, and burned us away but I survived! The Inquisitor took me, wanted to know what I knew, which was a lot, you understand? He took my sight, and then I saw! He took my hearing so I could hear! In his care I came to see the folly of my ways and begged for redemption, knowing that I did not deserve it. Now I help my saviours, turn my evil knowledge to good deeds in the hope that I may one day earn redemption at last!’

Amelia recoiled in mute horror as the man was dragged away, still ranting and raving about angels and forgiveness. She felt sick to her stomach at the thought of what she had just seen. She barely even noticed the noise of her transport landing on the other side of the camp. As the cargo plane flew off into the night sky, travelling away from the Raptor’s Nest, Amelia reflected that, although she was disappointed to be leaving her work behind, she was happy to be leaving that dark place.