The seneschal is a vain, but unambitious man. Though Administratum trained, he is no order-above–all worshiping Adept. Instead he’s a house cat, content to feed the indulgences of his master as long as his own comfort is secure. That said, he carries none of the taint that Mordecai has detected in others whose minds he has invaded.
He calls himself Radulf Omes now, when he calls himself anything at all. But he wasn’t born with that name.
He’s from a world called ‘Clove’, in the Calyxis sector. He was a high-ranking member of the Administratum… but was found guilty of embezzlement. Not a sufficient amount to warrant his execution (given how much his education had cost the Imperium), but enough to strip him of rank and place him in a labour camp for a decade. Even afterwards he’d spend the rest of his days repaying 150% of his debt (plus compound interest, and administration fees).
He fled. He changed his face. Left Imperium-controlled space. Came to the frontier. It would be difficult and certainly impractical to do a thorough background check on him, and he’d give his new employer no reason to suspect him. He should never have stolen from the Imperium – he should have come here all along. The frontier is nowhere near as dangerous as the fools in the Calyxis sector believed it was… As long as Xanatov’s indulgences are fed, he was safe – would be protected even!
Amon Core; the Seneschal’s name had been Amon Core.
As he finishes recounting the Governor’s public schedule the Seneschal waves to some servants and the concubines are led from the room. Maya doesn’t spare a second glance. She slinks away with her chin high, her eyes half-closed and a cat-like smile on her face – it is clear she’s played this role before. The eyes of the guards follow her, which is lucky because ‘Midi-Anna’ is less convincing, being a little too aware of ‘her’ surroundings. Oh well, perhaps they’ll just think she’s less experienced.
Mor: “Thank you for your hospitality. Regretfully, I must return to my master (may his star be ever in ascendancy). I hope your Governor enjoys the humble gifts of House Harrowe.”
Sen: “Of course. Thank your master for the gift. I am certain that in a day or two the Governor will wish to thank him personally.”
Returning the seneschal’s insincere smile, Midian nods and turns to leave.
He calls himself Radulf Omes now, when he calls himself anything at all. But he wasn’t born with that name.
He’s from a world called ‘Clove’, in the Calyxis sector. He was a high-ranking member of the Administratum… but was found guilty of embezzlement. Not a sufficient amount to warrant his execution (given how much his education had cost the Imperium), but enough to strip him of rank and place him in a labour camp for a decade. Even afterwards he’d spend the rest of his days repaying 150% of his debt (plus compound interest, and administration fees).
He fled. He changed his face. Left Imperium-controlled space. Came to the frontier. It would be difficult and certainly impractical to do a thorough background check on him, and he’d give his new employer no reason to suspect him. He should never have stolen from the Imperium – he should have come here all along. The frontier is nowhere near as dangerous as the fools in the Calyxis sector believed it was… As long as Xanatov’s indulgences are fed, he was safe – would be protected even!
Amon Core; the Seneschal’s name had been Amon Core.
As he finishes recounting the Governor’s public schedule the Seneschal waves to some servants and the concubines are led from the room. Maya doesn’t spare a second glance. She slinks away with her chin high, her eyes half-closed and a cat-like smile on her face – it is clear she’s played this role before. The eyes of the guards follow her, which is lucky because ‘Midi-Anna’ is less convincing, being a little too aware of ‘her’ surroundings. Oh well, perhaps they’ll just think she’s less experienced.
Mor: “Thank you for your hospitality. Regretfully, I must return to my master (may his star be ever in ascendancy). I hope your Governor enjoys the humble gifts of House Harrowe.”
Sen: “Of course. Thank your master for the gift. I am certain that in a day or two the Governor will wish to thank him personally.”
Returning the seneschal’s insincere smile, Midian nods and turns to leave.
--x--
He runs to different public teleferica, plunging down into the lower landings and levels of Vinh City. He is slowed by an increasingly worried body of enforcers who, in response to the growing civil unrest, slow street-traffic down with roadblocks, over-zealous crowd dispersal and security check points.
The mood is grim. It becomes increasingly clear to Mordecai that the enforcers no longer fear reprimand – order is decaying but those who are a part of it must continue to serve or else suffer.
The citizenry are no better, there is a sense that there’s almost nothing left to lose. The arrest of Hala Chen – who is already being compared to Saint Akiah - isn’t public yet… The news of Vinh’s saviour being tortured, possibly killed will insense many.
May: “...How capable is your man?”
She speaks in hushed tones, smiling all the while, enjoying Xanatov’s wine. After a cursory (their attire leaves little room to conceal anything) weapons check, they have been led to one of the Governor’s private lounge areas.
Mid: “How do you mean?”
May: “I mean, I specifically asked you before why he was around – ‘what he brought to the table’ – and you said he had ‘warp-based powers’ but were unsure as to their extent. In your rooms you talked about him reading Xanatov’s mind. That you kept this from me is a conversation for another time, but for now just assume I’m angry at you hiding this information - the exact kind of information I’d asked for - and move on.”
Her voice is level. If her anger is more than ‘mildly peeved’ she has quite a talent for emotional compartmentalisation.
Mid: “As you said, I told you I didn’t know their extent-”
May: “You knew he was a psyker. Specifically, you knew he was a damn telepath. I would have done things very differently if I knew he could be reading my mind. But as I said, we must move on.”
Mid: “Ah.
“If he knows what you’re up to with Grigor, he hasn’t shown it.
“Okay, maybe I should have told you the extent of Mordecai’s powers. But I’m not an espionage specialist, I don’t adapt the same way. I see… ‘differently’ than you.”
May: “After the revolution Grigor becomes irrelevant. I could have ‘chosen’ him, installed him, then - after the ritual - killed him and left Mordecai’s milk-maid to fuck up the Governorship. Would this not have appeased your man’s sensibilities?”
Mid: “Possibly. If he thought you were capable of pulling it off. But you didn’t think you could kill the Amael and live, so why would he think you’d succeed against Grigor?”
May: “I’d hope Grigor would let me get close. After all, I’d be the one who gave him the throne. Still risky though. And Mordecai doesn’t trust easily, does he?”
Mid: “No.”
Midian pauses to consider.
Mid: “We don’t know Hala’s dead. There’s every chance we can still bring her in. Afterwards.”
Maya tries to read Midian. The navigator knows Mordecai better than her, so if he isn’t contacting the psyker with this proposal she supposes he must judge it too much of a risk. Either that or the navigator is holding the plan in reserve, unwilling to commit to a dangerous venture unless he has to. Maya adds this to her assessment of the man.
May: “I suppose there isn’t anything we can do about it right now. ‘The die has been cast’ - we must now work with what we have…”
The mood is grim. It becomes increasingly clear to Mordecai that the enforcers no longer fear reprimand – order is decaying but those who are a part of it must continue to serve or else suffer.
The citizenry are no better, there is a sense that there’s almost nothing left to lose. The arrest of Hala Chen – who is already being compared to Saint Akiah - isn’t public yet… The news of Vinh’s saviour being tortured, possibly killed will insense many.
May: “...How capable is your man?”
She speaks in hushed tones, smiling all the while, enjoying Xanatov’s wine. After a cursory (their attire leaves little room to conceal anything) weapons check, they have been led to one of the Governor’s private lounge areas.
Mid: “How do you mean?”
May: “I mean, I specifically asked you before why he was around – ‘what he brought to the table’ – and you said he had ‘warp-based powers’ but were unsure as to their extent. In your rooms you talked about him reading Xanatov’s mind. That you kept this from me is a conversation for another time, but for now just assume I’m angry at you hiding this information - the exact kind of information I’d asked for - and move on.”
Her voice is level. If her anger is more than ‘mildly peeved’ she has quite a talent for emotional compartmentalisation.
Mid: “As you said, I told you I didn’t know their extent-”
May: “You knew he was a psyker. Specifically, you knew he was a damn telepath. I would have done things very differently if I knew he could be reading my mind. But as I said, we must move on.”
Mid: “Ah.
“If he knows what you’re up to with Grigor, he hasn’t shown it.
“Okay, maybe I should have told you the extent of Mordecai’s powers. But I’m not an espionage specialist, I don’t adapt the same way. I see… ‘differently’ than you.”
May: “After the revolution Grigor becomes irrelevant. I could have ‘chosen’ him, installed him, then - after the ritual - killed him and left Mordecai’s milk-maid to fuck up the Governorship. Would this not have appeased your man’s sensibilities?”
Mid: “Possibly. If he thought you were capable of pulling it off. But you didn’t think you could kill the Amael and live, so why would he think you’d succeed against Grigor?”
May: “I’d hope Grigor would let me get close. After all, I’d be the one who gave him the throne. Still risky though. And Mordecai doesn’t trust easily, does he?”
Mid: “No.”
Midian pauses to consider.
Mid: “We don’t know Hala’s dead. There’s every chance we can still bring her in. Afterwards.”
Maya tries to read Midian. The navigator knows Mordecai better than her, so if he isn’t contacting the psyker with this proposal she supposes he must judge it too much of a risk. Either that or the navigator is holding the plan in reserve, unwilling to commit to a dangerous venture unless he has to. Maya adds this to her assessment of the man.
May: “I suppose there isn’t anything we can do about it right now. ‘The die has been cast’ - we must now work with what we have…”
--x--
Eventually Xanatov arrives. He is every bit as repugnant as Midian remembers. He bobs into the room, buoyed by implanted suspensors. The skin over his bloated flesh is flushed and slick with a sheen of sweat. He views both of the girls before him with unconcealed lecherous glee.
While Midian distracts the Governor with the body he’d crafted with such artistry, luring him into a blind-spot, Maya pours drinks, drugging Xanatov’s. He quickly succumbs to the soporific agent.
Almost an hour after leaving the Governor’s Palace, Mordecai arrives at the cramped apartment that he shares with Midian. From the message he received on-route from Maya, he has about an hour to accomplish his own secret agenda.
With few places Midian could have hidden anything, the psyker quickly finds what he is looking for – two locked strong boxes. Adding his telekinetic might to the strength of his flesh, he bursts each lock open in turn.
The first contains the precious stones Midian has been using to obtain currency – Mordecai fills his pockets.
The second contains a suit of finely wrought armour. Mordecai ignores it, vaguely annoyed.
He stands and turns to leave, pausing as he reaches Loki. Curious, he reaches into whatever is left of the servitor’s mind.
The contact is confusing, the images as fuzzy as a poorly-honoured viewer. The whole experience is deeply uncomfortable, but his own defences are strong so suffers no more than a mild headache.
Not finding what he’d hoped, he breaks contact and leaves.
While Midian distracts the Governor with the body he’d crafted with such artistry, luring him into a blind-spot, Maya pours drinks, drugging Xanatov’s. He quickly succumbs to the soporific agent.
Almost an hour after leaving the Governor’s Palace, Mordecai arrives at the cramped apartment that he shares with Midian. From the message he received on-route from Maya, he has about an hour to accomplish his own secret agenda.
With few places Midian could have hidden anything, the psyker quickly finds what he is looking for – two locked strong boxes. Adding his telekinetic might to the strength of his flesh, he bursts each lock open in turn.
The first contains the precious stones Midian has been using to obtain currency – Mordecai fills his pockets.
The second contains a suit of finely wrought armour. Mordecai ignores it, vaguely annoyed.
He stands and turns to leave, pausing as he reaches Loki. Curious, he reaches into whatever is left of the servitor’s mind.
The contact is confusing, the images as fuzzy as a poorly-honoured viewer. The whole experience is deeply uncomfortable, but his own defences are strong so suffers no more than a mild headache.
Not finding what he’d hoped, he breaks contact and leaves.
--x--
With his new-found wealth, Mordecai hires a driver to transport him swiftly about the city.
Stopping for only a few mundane supplies, he heads for the headquarters of the Administratum.
He chooses a gem the size of his palm and places it in a fine gift box with a simple note: ‘The opportunity of a lifetime awaits you at the front desk. You should probably cancel the rest of your meetings for today.’
The box contains no dangerous chemicals, biological matter or technological traps so quickly finds its way to its illustrious addressee – the Amael Lucretia Casmirre.
He is quickly ushered through the inner corridors to the Amael’s office. On three sides, the Amael’s chambers overlook an Adept-filled central courtyard leading to dozens of glass-fronted offices.
Though he is still armed – albeit only with an ornate, gentlemanly mono-sword – the Amael indicates for her personal eight-strong bodyguard to leave. What will occur next need not concern them, nor anyone else. Without any observable action from her, the chamber windows dim slightly.
She raises an inquisitive eyebrow and is about to speak when a heavy, telekinetically-propelled paperweight collides with the back of her skull. Her face collides with her desktop and she slides to the floor.
Mordecai reaches into the concussed administrator’s mind, finding it free of spiritual taint. That only those involved in the revolution seem contaminated begins to worry him. Her recent memories confirm old suspicions – the records in the archive have now been replaced by extremely well-put-together forgeries that exclude any mention of Lum.
On a happier note, none of the security reports the Amael has received indicate that Hala Chen has revealed anything of value yet, and the agents infiltrating the disparate gangs of troublemakers seem to believe that a unified revolutionary event is still a ways off.
He searches for her personal codes but rather than memorable phrases they are alpha-numeric strings and odd symbols.
Mor: “Maya, open a communication channel to the Amael’s office.”
The lounge’s large hololith hums to life and a life-sized hologram flickers to life above it. Mordecai’s grim visage slowly comes into focus, scanning-lines updating the image periodically.
Mordecai explains where he is and tells Maya that if she’ll kill Xanatov now, he’ll do the same with the Amael. Maya is so surprised she almost does so without thinking, but something is wrong – this was never part of the plan. She tells Mordecai she’ll do it, if she sees the Amael die first. She seems to be telling the truth… but Mordecai has no intention of murdering anyone.
He tells her that Midian has manipulated her, is using her but she already understands. She doesn’t trust Midian, but they currently share common goals. He needs a Kingmaker and she needs a Wayfarer, else neither gain the prize that Kith (who she trusted completely) had wagered his fortune and future to acquire.
She presents a counter-proposal. When the ritual is concluded she will murder Grigor, leaving Hala his logical successor.
But here Mordecai reveals his true intentions. It isn’t simply that he’s unwilling to participate in “Lum’s” ritual – dark forces are moving to see it accomplished, so he strongly suspects that it won’t end well for Vinh. Having “Governor Hala Chen” indebted to him would mean nothing if everyone were dead and Vinh were a smoking ruin. No, he actively opposes the ritual.
Eventually, negotiation fails. The two groups would not be reconciled – the risk to their respective agendas is too great – so they review their stalemate. As Maya sees it, even if Mordecai sells them out, she believes she can talk her way out of it (even if it were to mean abandoning Midian). Mordecai, as she sees it, has a bigger problem. He is in a room with a bloodied Amael, her bodyguards outside.
After thinking it over, Mordecai disagrees and cuts the transmission.
Elsewhere, the fighting has already begun.
Stopping for only a few mundane supplies, he heads for the headquarters of the Administratum.
He chooses a gem the size of his palm and places it in a fine gift box with a simple note: ‘The opportunity of a lifetime awaits you at the front desk. You should probably cancel the rest of your meetings for today.’
The box contains no dangerous chemicals, biological matter or technological traps so quickly finds its way to its illustrious addressee – the Amael Lucretia Casmirre.
He is quickly ushered through the inner corridors to the Amael’s office. On three sides, the Amael’s chambers overlook an Adept-filled central courtyard leading to dozens of glass-fronted offices.
Though he is still armed – albeit only with an ornate, gentlemanly mono-sword – the Amael indicates for her personal eight-strong bodyguard to leave. What will occur next need not concern them, nor anyone else. Without any observable action from her, the chamber windows dim slightly.
She raises an inquisitive eyebrow and is about to speak when a heavy, telekinetically-propelled paperweight collides with the back of her skull. Her face collides with her desktop and she slides to the floor.
Mordecai reaches into the concussed administrator’s mind, finding it free of spiritual taint. That only those involved in the revolution seem contaminated begins to worry him. Her recent memories confirm old suspicions – the records in the archive have now been replaced by extremely well-put-together forgeries that exclude any mention of Lum.
On a happier note, none of the security reports the Amael has received indicate that Hala Chen has revealed anything of value yet, and the agents infiltrating the disparate gangs of troublemakers seem to believe that a unified revolutionary event is still a ways off.
He searches for her personal codes but rather than memorable phrases they are alpha-numeric strings and odd symbols.
Mor: “Maya, open a communication channel to the Amael’s office.”
The lounge’s large hololith hums to life and a life-sized hologram flickers to life above it. Mordecai’s grim visage slowly comes into focus, scanning-lines updating the image periodically.
Mordecai explains where he is and tells Maya that if she’ll kill Xanatov now, he’ll do the same with the Amael. Maya is so surprised she almost does so without thinking, but something is wrong – this was never part of the plan. She tells Mordecai she’ll do it, if she sees the Amael die first. She seems to be telling the truth… but Mordecai has no intention of murdering anyone.
He tells her that Midian has manipulated her, is using her but she already understands. She doesn’t trust Midian, but they currently share common goals. He needs a Kingmaker and she needs a Wayfarer, else neither gain the prize that Kith (who she trusted completely) had wagered his fortune and future to acquire.
She presents a counter-proposal. When the ritual is concluded she will murder Grigor, leaving Hala his logical successor.
But here Mordecai reveals his true intentions. It isn’t simply that he’s unwilling to participate in “Lum’s” ritual – dark forces are moving to see it accomplished, so he strongly suspects that it won’t end well for Vinh. Having “Governor Hala Chen” indebted to him would mean nothing if everyone were dead and Vinh were a smoking ruin. No, he actively opposes the ritual.
Eventually, negotiation fails. The two groups would not be reconciled – the risk to their respective agendas is too great – so they review their stalemate. As Maya sees it, even if Mordecai sells them out, she believes she can talk her way out of it (even if it were to mean abandoning Midian). Mordecai, as she sees it, has a bigger problem. He is in a room with a bloodied Amael, her bodyguards outside.
After thinking it over, Mordecai disagrees and cuts the transmission.
Elsewhere, the fighting has already begun.
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