conversations: human
conversations:  Imperator Non Inridetur  
    Act I: Beati Pacifici    
   "ND0/K4"
  
  The dry, rustling sound of moving paper filled the air as the dossier revealed its secrets, Dreschner's expression inscrutable as he scanned the parchment, digesting the information behind his dark eyes. Minutes uncounted passed in relative silence in the confines of the study-office, broken only by the whisk of paper in motion or the faint scratch of a finger tip pulling back a new page.
  
  And then...
  
  "Ah". The Inquisitor's voice was not unlike the paper he handled, quiet and faintly rasping as he methodically placed individual papers about the desk. In short order, piles of varying size began to appear seemingly at random as off-white pages began to obscure the desktop.
  
  "It's a gas giant, tucked away in the bowels of Golgenna. Next closest planet is...Iocanthus," he offered to the six figures gathered in the uncomfortably cramped space before his place of work. Everything was done in sombre colors and crafted of dark woods, from the wall panels and floorboards to the great desk itself. In combination with a very dim set of glowglobes set into the high ceiling, it lent a cavernous feel to the area despite the close-set walls. There were two articles of furniture, and of those two, only one chair.
  
  This was intentional, of course.
  
  "The planet itself is, obviously, uninhabitable. There are three low-orbit platforms from which gas extraction and compression is done, overseen by the Cult Mechanicus. This gas harvest is shipped out to the Imperium at large, for use in industrial processing by Forge and Hive alike. The Cult is by far the largest power group of the stations, and as such, everything moves according to the Omnissiah's will. Tithing is regular as the Black Ships, work hours are managed down to the second, and rationing is done precisely to the needs of each platform. Like clockwork."
  
  A ghost of a smile flickered onto Dreschner's face as he placed the last page carefully in front of him, pausing to steeple his fingers before looking ahead into the group of Acolytes. "All of these things were true once, but no longer. Clockwork needs maintenance and--ave Imperator--I am in a position to order its upkeep and repair. The tithe has fallen short of its traditional goals in months past, which is worrying enough, but the Ecclesiarchy has also informed me of more...disturbing developments."
  
  "While the rationing of food and water is a necessity of life on the stations, there have been riots of increasing intensity in the past few months for a greater share of food by disgruntled dockworkers. This has slowed productivity immensely. The Cult Mechanicus throws the blame of fomenting rebellion and encouraging unrest squarely at the Ministorum's feet; the two administrations scrap for territory in the hearts and minds of the station workers with a zeal to put any Hive ganger to shame, and the Cult sees this recurring unpleasantness as a ploy on part of the Ecclesiarchy to seize control."
  
  He tapped a single page at the far right corner of the desk. "The Adeptus Ministorum claims innocence in this matter, of course, and in turn points fingers at the Cult Mechanicus for a fairly recent development: almost three standard months ago, Adepts stationed at the world began vanishing. Simply gone into thin air, a difficult feat to do in sealed stations with a running census and monitored spaceports. The majority of the disappearances occur on Platform Secundus, incidentally."
  
  "Your task is two-fold. You are to find the reason for these disappearances and end it promptly. Also, for my own edification, I would know if the Ministorum  has  been igniting riots. Man is too weak a creature, divided, to stand against the perils of the galaxy; if they are to blame for our disunity, I should like you to sternly remind them of the principles of the Cult that they teach. I encourage you to accomplish these goals as cleanly and quietly as possible, as there's no reason to cause more bad blood between the two and further disrupt things."
  
  "I know you all to be recent additions to the Inquisition. Many of you I encountered or recruited myself. Listen! You were selected because I fully believe that each of you possess the sparks required to light Man's way in the dark, to protect Him from His own shadow and the cravings of His own heart. However...whether your lights will blaze or gutter remains to be seen. You are expected to handle your tasks with faith, determination, and constant vigilance. Remember: 'There is no innocence, only varying degrees of guilt'. Examine everything, question everyone, appraise every motive, including your own and that of your comrades."
  
  "I have arranged transport to and from ND0/K4. When you complete your objectives, you will return and each make a complete and unflinching report."
  
  "The Emperor Protects. Godspeed." 
  
  That was almost two weeks ago, just hours before the six of you were equipped and bundled onto the transport vessel,  Leap of Faith . The travel was uneventful in every way, Warp jumps went as planned and the  Leap  arrived safely at the spaceport of Platform Primus. The captain of the vessel, a nervous, sweaty little man named Jerrid Swoln has just unceremoniously deposited you on the docks, where paid workers and other travelers mill about in a great crowd of noise and motion. Dreschner promised that your arrival, at least, would be totally anonymous, allowing you to pursue the mission objectives as your cell sees fit.
  
  Where now, Acolytes?
conversations: Vexing:
conversations: human
conversations:  Melior's first thought, as he steps onto the loading platform and sees the majesty of the Orbital, is a familiar awe.    The Omnissiah's Graces are as impressive as ever.  Nothing compared to the Lathes, of course, but certainly still a worthy testament to His glory.  Protecting his servants from the hard, cold vacumn of space, and turning this gas world beneath us into a tool for the betterment of mankind and the Machine Spirit is ample evidence of His power.  
  
  The milling mass of humanity is disconcerting, and his internal Targetting algorithms work like mad to identify any possible targets.  Turning to his fellow acolytes, Melior bows his head, and subvocalizes to the remaining cell members.
  
    "Perhaps we should find our bearings and move from the central loading platforms?  Milling around at this loading platform without purpose will quickly display our foreign nature."  
conversations: Urist:
conversations: human
conversations:  Claus hardly seems to notice the crowds as he crosses the loading platform, smiling a little at the scents of promethium, incense and sweat mingling heavily in the dank air.  The Infernis hiver has taken to wearing heavier clothing when traveling abroad, finding almost every location to be somewhat colder than he prefers.  His Inquisitorial rosette is concealed on the inside of his dark overcoat, next to a Talon autopistol in an underarm holster.
  
  He gives a nod of approval to Melior's suggestion.
  
    "Tactful, but in a place this small, I'm afraid there's no disguising the fact that we don't belong.  Here, at least, they're accustomed to seeing strangers walking around.  But the further we go from the docks, the more out of place we're going to be."  
conversations: Adamant Sunrise:
conversations: human
conversations:  Stepping down the ramp behind his fellow acolytes, Corvus turns his head from side to side, taking in the platform. He says a silent prayer to the Omnisiah, his fingers brushing the dull metal cog he wears around his neck. No matter how many times he beholds the majesty of man's tributes to the Machine-God, he is always humbled.
  
  Stopping dead as he returns his attention to his compatriots, he notices the crowds for the first time, and their position on the docks. He glances about as he listens to Meliorism and Claus.
  
   "I believe our first course should be to seek out this Machinist Archelm." 
conversations: kind_of_a_ROBOT:
conversations: human
conversations:  Leaning on her staff, Piety surveyed the mass of workers. It had been a long time since she'd seen this many people together in one place. It was getting to her a little - that and the few wary glances that she usually drew. The weight of the gun tucked into the folds of her robes didn't help. She'd spent a few days practicing with it, but she still didn't feel too happy about having to carry it.
  
   "Possibly it would be prudent to pay a visit to the Ecclesiarchy holdings here too? Begin inquiries on the both fronts?" 
conversations: Mekboy:
conversations: human
conversations:  Solomon stops for a moment at the top of the ramp leading down from the ship. He takes a deep breath as his eyes rove around the sea of humanity in the docks. In many ways, the platform reminds him of the hives he grew up in: the same constant buzz of mankind; the same vague sense of claustrophobia; and of course, the smell of several thousand humans all crammed into as tight a space as possible. His nose wrinkles slightly as the atmosphere assaults his nostrils.
  
  His eyes fall on his compatriots gathered at the base of the ramp and he struggles not to roll his eyes as he strolls leisurely down the ramp   Standing around chatting about how to blend in after stepping off a spaceship... incredible.   Despite his nonchalant demeanour his mind is practically buzzing. A childhood spent in a hive combined with an assassin's training guarantee that Solomon is always on edge: though his face remains passive for the most part, his eyes are constantly on the move, searching for any signs of trouble.
  
  He smiles wryly at Claus' comment and claps the man on the shoulder,  "He's quite right I'm afraid: we're going to stick out no matter what we do,"  he nods to Hector and Melior,  "Let us be on our way to see the Most August Prefect Archelm then, and don't forget,"  he grins and wags a finger,  "I am merely an overenthusiastic youth with a passion for the manifold blessing of the Omnissiah." 
  
  With that he returns to staring into the crowd, a blank smile fixed upon his face. He reaches up as if to scratch his ear and whispers through his microbead,  "Comm-check. Vathan here. Copy?" 
conversations: Jojomo:
conversations: human
conversations:  Claus gives the noble an opaque look as his shoulder is clapped.  Discreetly acknowledging the comm-check, he turns back to his remaining cell-mates—in particular, to Piety.  His eyes rest on a fold in the psyker's robes.
  
    "We'll need to find you a better weapon,"   he decides.
conversations: Adamant Sunrise:
conversations: human
conversations:  Jastilus walks down the ramp after the others, head held high as he tries to take in everything at once. So absorbed is he in watching the docks that he nearly runs into Solomon. Smiling in embarrassment, he taps his microbead in acknowledgment as he lowers the hood of his plain grey robes.   "I will go to pay respects to the Eccleschiary. Such is only proper for a wandering missionary and his entourage."  
conversations: Ipphli: