<strong>-- Explorator Thraxius --</strong>(http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=103946.msg4515299#msg4515299)<br/><hr/><br/>His encounter with the Genetor had not shaken Thraxius' iron-clad faith, but it<em>had</em>shaken his nerves.  Speaking of old memories was always an unpleasant matter.  He much preferred the stability of the present and the fluidity of the future to the past, unchangeable and bittersweet as it was.  Moreover, Anthium's very existence was anathema, a blight on everything the Adeptus Mechanicus had sought to instill in him and a painful reminder of old wounds.  There seemed very little to distinguish the Genetor from the very mutants they had purged not several weeks ago, save that it insisted that it was on their side.<br/><br/>It unnerved him to realize that such a<em>thing</em>not only enjoyed a position of respect and power within the Mechanicus and aboard the Aquairre, but that its hands had free reign to probe the guts of any traumatically injured crew member.  How could such an obscenity be trusted to lay a single putrid tentacle on another's flesh?  The Genetor had no competition in the arts of surgery, and could not be second-guessed.  There were no checks in place to ensure that its warped ideology might not seek to influence the very genetics of the crew, fostering mutation and indecency.  By the Omnissiah, he would not allow such a thing to stand!<br/><br/>Fighting Anthium directly was foolish and suicidal.  It was far older than he was, had the advantage of experience on its side.  No, a more subtle game would need to be played here.  The only advantage that he could possibly leverage was that the Genetor Sect was already at the very fringes of heretical thought within the Imperium.  The priests aboard the Acquairre were painfully conventional and orthodox in their beliefs.  All it would take would be a few rumors here, a well-constructed argument there, and all he would need to do is nudge them in the right direction.  A proper<em>witch hunt</em>would be brewing soon enough if he had his way.<br/><br/>If there was anything that life in the underbelly of Imperial society had taught him, it was that information was the lifeblood of any plot, plan, or scheme.  Thraxius had grown rusty in the intervening years, but if he could scrape even the slightest kernel of suspicion from the vox or lips of the crew concerning the Genetor, then it would be worth the effort.  Even the slightest detail could prove important.<br/><br/><strong>[Inquiry Check] 6/11 (http://elliquiy.com/forums/dicebot.php?r=26555)</strong><br/><br/><hr/><br/>When not prowling around the bowels of the ship for scandalous intelligence, Thraxius put his body and soul into his newest project.  He'd managed to clear out one of the older rooms aboard the Acquairre, a former Mess Hall that had fallen into disuse following a tragic incident with an Automatic Toasting Unit and three thousand kilograms of Imperial Spam.  Its central location was easily accessible from nearly every area of the ship, the ventilation was adequate, and there was plenty of space to work with.  The Omnissiah had granted him fertile soil indeed  Once seeded with his ideas and infused with his will, something truly beautiful would grow.<br/><br/>His mechadendrite-assisted hands seemed to move of their own volition, guided by some higher power instead of his own imperfect mind.  Rusted panels were stripped away to reveal the underlying circuitry and machinery, their spirits crying for attention after years of neglect.  Divine censers cast the room in an eerie purple glow, and the ghastly shadows of clawed hands violently tearing the guts from some old wreckage wavered against the barren walls.  His vox droned nigh-constantly, equal parts esoteric Techna-lingua and monotonous binary static.  He hauled in piece after piece of pilfered technology, consoles and winches, pistons and pumps, holo-screens and sensors.  They were as much religious icons as they were machines, vast idols forged of steel and ceramite that he prostrated himself before, paying obeisance to their holy spirits for allowing his unworthy hands upon them.<br/><br/>It was as much a feat of theological will as it was skillful engineering, the greatest work that the devout man had ever accomplished by his own hands.  When he was done a gleaming off-white Medicae Bay stretched out before him, every tool and operating table in is proper place and just waiting to be filled with aching bodies in need of the God Emperor's grace.  The censers remained in the corners of the room, sculpted into the hands of artistic interpretations of penitent priests.  Wave after wave of gentle fog flowed from their depths, fueled by fires fed with sweet-smelling herbs for calming nervous minds.  Lovingly crafted moldings depicting cherubs, servo-skulls, and servitors paying deference to icons of the Machine God adorned every wall, transforming the space from a mere laboratory into a temple.<br/><br/>Outside the gleaming golden gates of the room, a sign was lit to proclaim to all that<strong>Medicae Mechanica</strong>was officially online.<br/><strong><br/>[Tech Use] 1/74 (http://elliquiy.com/forums/dicebot.php?r=26560)</strong><br/>