“Here you are, Palatine,” the adjutant declared as she opened the door. “I've taken the liberty of flagging the system to have every sister on TDS report to you.”

“Thank you, sister,” Constance replied as she stepped past the younger Sororitas, and was surprised to find the room occupied. For the most part, the room was empty, a single desk, some miss matched chairs, obviously from Central Supply, a pair of Data-Slates and a lamp for the desk. However, standing at the window looking out over the mountain range the convent was built in was a sister in full battle armor, her hands clasped behind her back.

Adepta Sororitas are already physically imposing; the stringent entrance requirements make them rare specimens of humanity, uniformly tall, their training takes them into the upper percentiles of human ability. Even naked they are tall, strong and dangerous. But a Sister in her armor is an order of magnitude more so. The ceramite covered armor takes the physically imposing women into something all but inhuman. Designed to exaggerate their feminine forms, the armor was both dominating and yet strangely alluring. Most Sisters were over six and a half feet in their armor, which amplified their already great strength and made them able to shrug off damage that would kill a regular human.

The sister in the armor turned from the window, revealing a bald head and eyes heavy with burden and purpose. “Canoness Fiona!” Constance exclaimed, quickly crossing the room to embrace the other woman, armor or not. The armor clad sister of battle gently returned the hug and laid a kiss on Constance's forehead.

“Now, Connie, you know it's only Sister...” the older woman chided her.

“I don't care what the Prioress declared!” Constance declared firmly. “You are a Reverend Mother!”

A bit of steel entered Fiona's voice. “Palatine, you shame me and my instruction of you...”

Constance took a step back and clinched her fists. “I don't care Mother! It was wrong! You were guiltless and they all knew it! And I was even barred from following you into Repentia!”

Fiona smiled grimly. “Well, that was for the best,” she declared. “The Emperor sheltered me, and I am restored.” She ran a hand over her bald head and grimaced. “Mostly, anyway, but I suppose it will grow back. I see now my humbling was all part of the Emperor's plan, so that I would be here, now, when you would need me most.” She came to attention, gave the Sign of the Aquila and bowed. “Palatine Constance, humbly do I present myself for service. Command me and by the light of the Emperor I will obey. If you'll have me.”

“If?!” exclaimed Constance. “Praise be to the Golden Throne that you are here! Yes, Sister Fiona Vander, I accept you into my service and order.” The two women embraced again and Fiona allowed herself to be led to the desk and into the largest of the chairs that was only just up to supporting her and the armor. “Tell me everything,” Constance commanded. “Can I get you something...?”

Fiona waved off her former student's enthusiasm with a soft gesture. “I'm fine, Connie. After the trial I was shorn and divested, thrown in with a group of Sisters Repentia on the Dauntless. We went out close to the Great Rift on some shattered world. I don't know what we were there for, other than to give the sisters and myself an opportunity to die gloriously for the Emperor. I suppose I was lucky, I happened to be in a position to save a diseased little tick of an Inquisitor, Jonas Merle...”

“Oh, the Emperor hates me,” muttered Constance.

“I see you've met him,” Fiona laughed.

“Aye, and threatened to kill him.”

“He does have that effect on women,” she agreed. “Of my sister condemned, only I survived, and only thanks to that little monster. Even though our Mistress of Repentance was also killed, the commission had no choice but to reinstate me. So, Jonas received new orders, and we came here. When I heard you were here as well, I saw the Hand of the Emperor in all of this. So, Connie, what does this little Inquisitor want with you?”

Constance reached out and took her mentors hands in hers. “Oh, Reverend Mother I have never needed your guidance more!” The older woman arched an eyebrow at being referred to by her old rank, then decided she would never break her protege of the habit and decided to let it pass. “Your Inquisitor has tasked me with becoming a Famula of the Planetary Governor of Thuria.”

Fiona frowned. “Famula?” she demanded incredulously. “Constance my daughter, you have many talents, but political advice is not one of them!”

“No, mother, this Prince is under suspicion of heresy. He has gathered all manner of Machine Priests to his world, to found new forges on his moons and mother, look...” Constance opened the pouch Canoness Winter had given her and showed the pistol within. “They have created this.”

“By the golden throne,” Fiona whispered as she looked at the little bolter. “And it works?”

“Canoness Winter states she fired it herself. Out of her armor...!”

The color left Fiona's cheeks so swiftly, even the scar that ran down the right side of her jaw went white. “My daughter, we are in a mine field...”

“Under orbital bombardment,” Constance agreed.

“Who else knows about this?”

“You, me, the Canoness and the Inquisitor to my knowledge.” Fiona considered this for a long moment, then stood and began to pace. “My gut tells me Jonas wants to falsely accuse the Duke of Heresy, but I don't see how that puts this into his control.”

Despite the obvious seriousness, Fiona smiled at her protege. “At least your gut took heed of my lessons! So, the first step in avoiding a trap is knowing its there. You're assembling a team for this new convent?” Constance nodded. “First, you must steel yourself, Connie and you must lead. This is your operation. I will assist you as much I can, but your Sisters cannot see you lean on me.”

“I understand.”

Fiona smiled and came back over to the desk, gesturing at the slates. “So, let's see what we have to work with.”

Gretchen followed the directions off the wall map into what, to her eyes, seemed to be a relatively unused area of the convent. It seemed to be an odd place to be directing people, but she noted she wasn't the only TDS sister here. Finally, she arrived at the appointed room and knocked on the door. “Enter,” drifted through the door and with a final sigh to order her thoughts, she did so.

Inside, she found, as she expected, a somewhat dusty and mostly empty room. There was a desk, a few chairs, and two sisters. One was wearing a supplicant's robe, without mark or adornment to give any clue as to who she was. She sat at the desk, with eyes that were too old to look out of so young a face which declared she was obviously in command. Her hair was midnight black and was exactly at regulation length at her shoulders, which bespoke someone with enough rank to buck traditions. Standing behind her was a sister in power armor. The armor was new issue, and very plain, having no awards or rank additions, but the woman in it was older than Gretchen, or the supplicant which also made no sense. She was also bald, which meant she had undergone a Rite of Repentance and lived, which explained why she was subordinate to the other woman, but also made her easily the most dangerous Sister that Gretchen had ever personally laid eyes on.

Not knowing what else to do, Gretchen stood before the desk, gave the sign of Aquila and bowed. “Sisters, I am Gretchen Wycroff, I was told to report here.”

The beautiful woman at the desk consulted her Data-Slate. “Sister Superior Wycroff,” she greeted. “You've been awarded the Distinguished Service Cross, and three battle stars, but you don't wear them?” The sister's tone was curious as Gretchen was wearing only the day service habit in red with only the crest of her membership in the Order of the Bloody Rose over her heart. It was a simple, humble garment, buttoning up the front with three quarter sleeves out from under a mantle and a lower section that could be worn as a skirt or culottes which was how Gretchen was wearing it.

Gretchen stood up and came to attention as some sixth sense told her this interview was important. “Yes, ma'am. The Emperor knows what I've done, that's sufficient for me.”

The supplicant's right dark eyebrow rose by itself up her forehead. “You don't think you inspire your sisters in your squad?”

A ghost of a smile pulled at Gretchen's lips. “My squad is...high spirited...without any help from me, ma'am.”

“So I read,” the other woman replied. Gretchen stole a glance at the sister in the power armor, who was watching, but staying silent, then back to the supplicant. “Stand at ease. Your Celestian speaks highly of you and feels you have a bright future in the order. Are you up for a challenge?”

Gretchen relaxed, but kept her posture formal enough to be respectful. “I am prepared to answer the call of my emperor,” she replied. “At the risk of sounding brash, ma'am, I am not here for a career, I'm here to make a difference.”

Constance steepled her fingers as she considered the younger woman. “So, you're on a Crusade?”

“No ma'am. Crusades are beyond my pay grade. I'm here to do my service and, I hope to spread the light of the Emperor to those trapped in darkness. To succor the afflicted and afflict the evil, purge the heretic, burn the alien and destroy the traitor.”

For the first time, the sister in the armor chuckled and spoke. “Sounds like a Crusade to me.”

Wycroff stole another glance at her, then back to the supplicant. “Permission to speak freely, ma'am?”

“Speak your mind, sister.”

“Ma'am, I come from the Schola Progenium, not because I was an orphan, my parents are alive; they didn't want me. My Drill Abbess didn't ride me, she ignored me, because she thought I wasn't worth the effort. She thought that because I had parents, I would fail on purpose to go back to them.”

“But you didn't want to?”

Gretchen fought down her disgust. “They didn't want me, why would I ever want to see them again? I wanted to be a sister, to earn my place and be among those that wanted to be with me! I've had to do more my entire life. When I was brought into the Order of the Rose, when I said my vows, I swore to the Emperor that I would never forget the favor he showed me. That I would comfort those in the same way I hadn't been, and that I would smash his enemies in eternal gratitude for the chance I got to take advantage of. If ma'am, you're looking for reliable sisters to have your back at whatever secret mission you've been given, if I can fulfill that oath, then I'm your girl.” Gretchen licked her lips, gave the Sign of the Aquila again and bowed. “Ma'am, humbly do I present myself for service. Command me and by the light of the Emperor I will obey. If you'll have me.”

The supplicant stood from the desk, came around it, and took Gretchen by the arms. “I am Palatine Constance De La Concordia. Yes, Sister Gretchen Wycroff, I accept you into my service and order.”

Gretchen beamed. “Thank you, Palatine. You won't regret it.” Constance returned the smile and rubbed the girl by her arms.

“I'm sure of it. Go get your squad mobilized. We'll muster to depart tomorrow. Until then, make sure your kits are up to scratch and your gear is ready.”

“Yes, Palatine!”

“And Gretchen?” The girl paused caught a bit off guard. “Make sure you all have your formals with you.” The girl blinked like she'd been struck between the eyes.

“Ma'am?” she asked, confused.

“You heard me, Sister Superior. Make certain you and your squad have your dress uniforms.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Dismissed.”

Gretchen left the room, elated, but perhaps more confused than when she entered. Either way there was plenty of time to wonder. For now, it was time to go be an NCO. Constance watched the girl leave and smiled up at her mentor. “Was I ever that young?”

“Younger,” Fiona replied. “But you turned out alright.”

“So, twenty five,” Constance declared after a sigh. “Think it will be enough?”

“The Emperor protects,” the sister assured her. “It'll be enough.”

One of the great joys of being at the convent of the Healing Heart was that it was a teaching convent for the Hospitaller Sisters. As the novices were taught the art of the healer, they were also being taught in the finer points of the Imperial Cult. Worship and benediction was just as important as bone setting and microsurgery. This meant the convent had a gifted choir to sing the evening vespers as the staff and guests of the convent took evening meal.

Constance bowed her head in thanks of the novice who filled her bowl with a simple mash of boiled grains and half loaf of the coarse, whole grained bread that was baked earlier that day. She stared at the simple meal, enthralled by the angelic voices of the choir. Around her, separate from the other sisters of the staff, sat the new members of Constance's little convent, each sister honoring their leader by wearing a simple supplicant's robe, devoid of distinguishing mark or heraldry. She patiently waited until everyone was served and Canoness Winters had blessed the meal before she picked up her loaf and turned to the young women sitting with her.

They were so young, most half or less her age and only Sister Fiona was older. Despite that, she held up the loaf and broke. “Sisters, we come from many different traditions, different orders, with different skills. Like humanity that we protect we are separate and yet we are all human.” She dipped the hunk of her bread into the gruel and took a small bite before presenting it to Fiona. “Now, are one family, one new order, united under our Emperor.”

Fiona took the bread from her and dipped it into her own bowl. “One family,” she declared as she took a bite and turned to pass it to the sister next to her. And so it was passed completely around the table each sister affirming her place in the family until each sister had eaten from the shared loaf.

“I am honored to lead you, in learning or in battle, in peace or war, it is my honor to serve with each of you,” Constance assured them.

“The Emperor Protects,” they replied in chorus.

Constance's smile of contentment was not long for her face, unfortunately. As she turned back to begin eating in earnest, she caught sight of the Inquisitor, Jonas, entering the hall. He was wearing clothing of a more civilian mindset, but at least these seemed to fit him better. A simple shirt and trousers tucked into high boots and a great frock coat over it, the rosette and column of his commission in the Inquisition around his neck and a smile on his face as he helped himself to a bowl and some of the gruel from the fireplace where it was being kept warm before heading straight for Constance and her sisters. “Well, here we are!” he declared, preparing to sit in the empty place opposite Constance and between a pair of sisters. “Ladies, good evening...”

“Move,” ordered Fiona in tone as quiet as it was menacing.

Jonas paused, one leg across the bench, the other still in the isle. “Beg pardon?” he asked, confusion on his face. The oldest sister at the table looked up, her face carved from stone, but she kept her voice low.

“Constance is senior of us, and so across from her is held in honor for the Emperor. You are a guest of this convent, show some respect and learn our ways!”

“But, I have to speak with...”

Fiona's eyes narrowed. “I have asked for your courtesy. Now I am telling you to move. If I stand you will not like what follows.”

The Inquisitor's face fell, but he took up his bowl again and found an empty place further down the table. Constance sighed as she bowed slightly towards the bowl of simple fare. “Sisters, enjoy your meal,” she ordered quietly, then stood, before walking around the table to the side with Jonas and sitting down, close enough for conversation, but far enough to be safe from food and spills. “Normally, we eat in silence,” she declared. “If what you have to say is urgent, our tradition can wink at it. What do you need to speak with me about?”

His eyes shot over to Fiona who was watching him, then back to Constance. “Ho...how do I know what qualifies as urgent?”

“Is the convent on fire?” De La Concordia asked.

“No.”

“Are we under attack?”

“No.”

“Has the Emperor stood from the Golden Throne to call us to his side?”

“No.”

“Is there some medical emergency requiring action?”

“No.”

Constance stood gracefully. “Then what you have to say is not urgent and it can wait until after the meal.” She glided back around the table, noting the Canoness' eyes on her as she did so. As she crossed back to her side, and before she would have to turn her back to the Canoness, Constance gave the Sign of the Aquila and bowed before she returned to her place to finish her meal.

As she ate, Constance felt the Inquisitor's eyes on her, but refused to hurry her meal on his regard. She savored the simple, but hearty porridge until it was gone and she had given her bowl and spoon to the Novices who were working KP duty to stand with the other sisters and bow to the Canoness as she stood from the head table, took up her rod and gave her blessing to the assembled sisters. The women stood, bowing until the Canoness left the Great Hall then Constance joined the small crowd making their way to a coffee service that was being uncovered.

A line was established by seniority, allowing Constance close to the head of it, with the other Palatines of the Convent, where upon she drew a cup and added cream and sugar to her liking and returned to the table she and her sisters had eaten at. “Is it ok now?” Jonas asked, indicating the place across the table from her.

De La Concordia allowed herself a ghost of a smile. “We can allow that the Emperor has joined Canoness Winter for cigars and brandy now,” she declared, with a gesture of welcome.

“Speaking of,” Fiona declared as she returned with her own cup of coffee as well as a small cordial and pair of diamond sniffers. She placed an empty beside Constance's left hand, opened the cordial and poured a sample. “With the compliments of His Imperial Majesty and Reverend Mother Winter.”

“Don't mind if I do,” Constance acquiesced, taking up the sniffer and inhaling the aroma. “His Majesty is generous!”

“To say nothing of the Reverend Mother!” Fiona agreed with an appreciative sniff. The two waited until all of their little clutch returned from the service before Fiona raised her glass. “Ladies, His Imperial Majesty.”

“Long live the Emperor of Mankind!” the sisters retorted vigorously.

The liqueur warmed the Palatine's throat and was pleasantly sweet on her tongue, just a hint of syrup and a fruit she couldn't place, but enjoyed. Her mood warmed as well as her throat, she turned to the Inquisitor and declared, “Now, Inquisitor Merle, we are of a mood to hear your less than urgent needs. What is on your mind?”

“Well, I was curious,” he admitted as he leaned in, a hand reaching to an interior pocket of the frock coat to produce a small metal flask that he unscrewed and took a sip of. “Would these gir...uh, young sisters be the command staff for your legion?”

Constance's right eyebrow ascended her forehead. “Command staff? Legion? Are our wires of communication crossed, Inquisitor?”

“Well, surely we'll need at least hundreds of thousands to retake...?”

De La Concorida was not amused. “Retake? Are you planning a campaign, Inquisitor? I have a mandate to go to Thuria and found a new Convent Famulous and these brave sisters have answered my call. These are the extent of my forces for the foreseeable future. Further, I have no intention of pronouncing a Planatary Governor a heretic solely on your say so. So, tomorrow, this convent shall muster on the parade ground and board an Avarus lighter to be shuttled up to the Vigilant, and taken to Thuria. There, we shall disembark and I shall present His Grace with my warrant to found my convent and he will have a choice. Reveal himself to be a heretic, or swear himself loyal to the Emperor and I shall begin to follow my warrant to guide him and his house.”

The Inquisitor paled. “And...if he announces himself a heretic...?”

“Then he will be purged!” the sisters of Palatine De La Concordia announced in chorus.

Constance permitted herself a wry smile. “Right then, right there.” She mulled her liqueur in the sniffer in lazy circles, then took another sip. “One of the virtues of being a warrior, Inquisitor, is the lack of worry about politics, public opinion or the idle gossip of the various noble houses. What's more, I am a servant of the Master of Mankind, so I have no use of sneaking and skulking in the night. I will enter through the front door of his Grace's manor in my armor with my head held high. I might leave on my back, but that does not matter; my duty will have been done.”

“Sororitas!” the sisters shouted.

“And, if he claims allegiance...?”

“Then begins the game anew, Inquisitor. Cat and mouse until I am satisfied of his loyalty.” She held out the sniffer for Fiona to add a new splash. “Or I am satisfied the time has come to purge him.”

“Just make sure you know who is who!” Jonas declared, causing some of the girls to laugh.

“Where is the fun in that?” Fiona demanded.

Constance's smile was evil as she emptied her glass and returned it to the table. “Sleep well.”

The deck of the Vigilant trembled as it left the Warp and returned to real space. This caused a thrill of sensation up the nervous systems of any sentient that experienced it, announcing the exit from the madness inducing realm of The Warp, back to Euclidean reality. Constance and her sisters were in the donning sanctum of the ship, set aside for the sisters to conduct their rituals and prepare themselves for putting on their armor. The sisters were all nude, softly singing the Call to Arms as they ritually cleaned themselves, being certain of body, mind and soul, should this be the day they meet the Emperor of Mankind.

The thrill of returning to Real Space was the warning, it was time.

As the klaxon ran through the ship as it prepared for a possible hostile greeting from the systems defenses, the sisters stood from their pails of holy water and blessed sponges. Next to each was the carrier for the armor, part safe to keep it from the wrong hands, part packing crate to move it when not being worn. Constance touched the palm plate that read her bio-metrics, checked for any sign of corruption or taint of Chaos, and when satisfied, unfolded itself to present the armor. First, came the link suit, a body glove that regulated her temperature, housed injectors of stimulants, pain killers and other medications as needed in combat, and served as the interface between her and the armor itself.

The massive Adeptus Astartes, the fearsome Space Marines of the Imperium of Man, were surgically implanted with the Black Carapace, linking the brain of the space marine and his armor, but that technology had been lost. In it's place, the Sisters of Battle wore the body glove. It was a very thick garment, composed of bundles of fibers that could contract, just like human muscle. It sensed when the sister flexed her own muscles and thus augmented her efforts, allowing the Sororitas to compete on the battle field. They weren't as strong, or as fast as a Space Marine, but almost was a very high bar indeed. Donning the garment was like pulling on a second skin, one that was slightly too small and took a fair amount of effort. Once it was on and sealed at their throats, only the sisters' head was exposed.

Constance flexed her hands to be sure of the fit as she recited the prayer of spiritual armor. Next she removed the Battle Habit, a simple gown worn over the Link Suit. It was a tight fitted gown on her torso, made of ballistic mesh to give the critical parts of the Link Suit a bit of further protection, but was mostly serving the primary purpose of the armor, to emphasize that she was, in fact, a woman. The three quarter bell sleeves gave it a bit of dramatic flair, as did the fact that the garment ended at her waist, but the fabric trailed down front and back to a loin cloth in front and a butt cape in back that fell to the back of her knees.

Complete, she stood before the carrier and clapped her hands sharply before extending her arms wide. The carrier, with a whir of servo motors reared up like a snake about to strike, the armor pieces spreading out on their armatures, then they came forward being locked onto each other, over the glove and Battle Habit interfacing with it. Within seconds, Constance was encased with the armor once more the functional equivalent of an armored column from the history texts, all by herself.

From the carrier, she selected a pair of Bolter pistols the grips communicating with the armor to be sure an authorized user handled them, then the grabber field activated and when she touched them to her thigh plates where they stayed without need of a holster. The weapon selected, the carrier wrapped a pair of bandoleer belts around her hips, festooned with magazines for the pistols, then, as an almost decorative touch, it wrapped a Rosarius around her waist, laying her Inquisitorial Rosette on her left hip, showing her rank of the Ecclesiarchy of the Imperial Faith as an Adepta Sororitas; the ivory column rather like a capital I with a skull inset, a warning and her license to kill. Finished, she turned her back to the carrier and it attached the final piece of her armor, the back pack and it's micro fusion reactor that powered the armor.

The body glove contracted a millimeter, almost like a full body hug to complete it's diagnostic and, as she was not wearing a helmet, silently letting her know the armor was ready. Constance touched a control on her vambrace and read the holographic display that showed her all was well with her armor. “Hello, old friend,” she whispered with a smile. “Sisters! Let us show this Duke who the Emperor of Man commands!”

“Sororitas!” the little convent shouted back to her.

They turned and followed their Palatine out of the hatch and towards the hanger deck of the cruiser. Constance heard Gretchen's clear voice begin to sing the Hymn to the Fallen, and at once all of the sisters joined in. As they passed the crew of the Vigilant, the crewmen all bowed, some falling to one knee as they passed, their boots ringing on the armored deck of the space craft as they kept time with hymn. At last, as the final note of the hymn faded into the constant drone of sound on a star ship, they arrived at the hanger deck to find the shuttle was waiting on them already in the launch cradle.

Twenty minutes since the Vigilant had returned to real space and not once had the deck trembled, or had there been further klaxons beyond the original call to battle stations. That was a good sign. They weren't being shot at.

Yet.

The Sisters entered the shuttle, each settling into the deployment cradle for the armor. While they could still sit in normal sized furniture, just, it was not particularly comfortable. And if the shuttle was hit, the deployment cradle would launch them from the wreck, hopefully before they were killed. The hatch sealed and Constance sighed. “I am the Hand of the Emperor!” she declared.

“His will shall guide my aim!” the sisters replied.

Continuing the benediction, her voice rang out, “I protect humanity from Evil.”

“By my might is it purged!” her soldiers replied.

“I know only victory and death!”

“Death that walks before me!”

“Neither Taint of Chaos, nor lies of Heresy touch me.”

“I am the Hand of the Emperor!” The shuttle lurched and the floor seemed to fall away from their feet. They were free of the Vigilant and on their way to New Atlanta. As one, the compartment echoed with the clicks of bolts on weapons being charged and safety catches being engaged.

Overhead, the intercom became live and the lights went red. “Ten minutes to touch down, Ladies,” the pilot's voice declared. “Still all quiet and normal.”

“The Emperor protects!” the Sisters replied with one voice. Constance caught sight of Fiona on the other side of the compartment and her mentor smiled. Now it was just waiting to see if the bullets would fly or not.

The floor of the shuttle made itself known under Constance's boots. They were now well and truly in the atmosphere of Thuria and still the shuttle was flying straight and level. In her minds eye, Constance imagined it, an ungainly, boxy looking thing, mostly engine and cargo space with a side by side canopy perched on its bulbous nose, screaming through the air with surprising grace. The glow must be almost gone from the leading edges of the wings by now, and still the ship wasn't maneuvering.

Maybe the Duke is loyal, she allowed herself to hope.

“Thirty seconds!” the pilot warned. “Still normal and calm.”

“Stay sharp,” De La Concordia ordered her convent. “No one will engage before me. If I engage, weapons free. Defend yourselves, but show restraint to those who may be the loyal subjects of our Emperor.”

“Aye, aye.”

The engines howled as their thrust was ducted to both slow and support the shuttle. The red lighting shifted to green and the deployment cradles snapped open. Free again, the Palatine rolled to her right, out the opening hatch and out of the shuttle. The pilot had foregone the space port, setting down in the courtyard of the Governor's Palace. Gun ships were orbiting, but so far, the guards were content to stand at attention. Before her, wearing mess dress ceremonial uniforms, but carrying live weapons, was a company or so of Imperial Guard.

Their leader, a captain, got to conversational distance and saluted, all well within form, but the fear for his life was plain on his face. “What's the meaning of this?” he demanded.

Constance pulled the Inquisitorial Rosette on it's lead, away from her belt to brandish it before the guardsmen. From the eyes of the skull, it projected a hologram of Constance's Identification and Warrant, large enough to be read from a hundred yards. “Gaze upon the Daughters of the Emperor, attuned to their duty before the Golden Throne and all those loyal to the Master of Mankind shall submit themselves before us!”

Satisfyingly quickly, the Guardsmen shouted, “The Emperor Protects!” and fell to one knee.

Her heart racing in her chest, Constance looked around the courtyard, but everywhere her gaze fell she saw only guardsmen on one knee, supplicant and faithful. Turning back to the company before her, she fixed her eyes on the Captain. “I am Constance De La Concordia, Palatine of the Adepta Sororitas, here to judge the loyalty of Duke Cameron Wren.”

The Captain saluted. “Palatine, I am Captain Joseph Tanner, faithful soldier of the Emperor of Man, commanding 'B' Company of the 112th Thuria Lancers. I affirm to the best of my knowledge the Duke is the Emperor's Loyal Subject.”

The raven hair dipped in acknowledgment. “Captain, your fealty is noted. Conduct me to the presence of the Duke.”

The Guardsmen quickly formed up into an honor guard, each man removing the power pack from his lazgun and returning it to the bandoleer on their uniform. The Sisters only relaxed slightly, their weapons still on their armor, but within easy reach to begin killing in a second. “Right away, my lady,” he answered and the group were ushered forward, deeper into the manor.

As they walked, Constance sub-vocalized the command codes to the gun ships, that, so far, all was well. This put a halt to the bombardment from the Vigilant that would have started in two minutes, but everyone was still on a dangerously high alert. De La Concordia was very aware, mentally, of the procedures and kept them to mind so that a war was not started by accident. On her wrist, the green tell tale showed her that her suit was still talking to the Vigilant and that the armor cameras were still transmitting without interference.

Captain Tanner lead her up the stairs on the far side of the residence and through a hallway of marble and baroque splendor with paintings of the previous Planetary Governor's sharing historic portraits of key battles in the history of the Imperium of Man in which subjects from Thuria had played a role.

It was mid-morning in New Atlanta, the hallways were full of functionaries and dignitaries, going about the business of governance, all of whom shrank back as the guardsmen with the twenty seven terrifying armored warrior women. The din of conversation died and only the sounds were of boots on marble and the dull clatter of weapons and armor moving against each other. Finally they arrived at the audience hall and, with a gesture from Constance, Ruth and Mary separated themselves from the convent, trotted forward and seized the doors, flinging them wide open.

Inside, the hall was a massive rotunda, at the back of which, on a dais, was a symbolic throne for the Emperor, who likely had never sat in it. Below that was a smaller chair for the Governor, but it also was empty. On the level of the rest of the room, before the dais was a desk and chair that had a terminal, data-slates, communication devices and a small crowd around a man just rising from behind the desk.

Like the ripples on a pond after a stone is dropped there were desks laid out around the throne which itself were other desks of the various dignitaries and nobles of the planet as well as representatives of the ordinary people, all turning, some what shocked to see what the fuss was. Constance strode boldly into the room and again held up her Inquisitorial Rosette and a subtle gesture keyed on the amplified speakers built into the armor so her voice echoed like a thunderclap throughout the hall. “Gaze upon the Daughters of the Emperor, attuned to their duty before the Golden Throne and all those loyal to the Master of Mankind shall submit themselves before us!”

The hologram of her and her warrant peered down in judgment of all in the rotunda as, slowly, then with gathering speed the various persons fell to one knee. “The Emperor Protects!” was an uneven chorus that rippled through the room as Constance strode forward, her sisters at her back, weapons in hand.

Constance allowed her eyes to sweep the room as she walked, taking in expressions from confusion and curiosity to fear and alarm, then she fixed her gaze on the man stepping from around the desk. “I am Constance De La Concordia, Palatine of the Adepta Sororitas, here to judge the loyalty of Duke Cameron Wren.”

She had not expected him to be so handsome.

The man was dressed in a tunic of dark blue over jodhpurs that were tucked into high boots that were spotlessly polished. He was fit, with a hint of strength under the tunic with dark hair that was going gray at the temples and clear, icy blue eyes. He had a square, honest face, tanned from time spent in the sun and lined with worry, but not old. It was the mature, masculine face of a grown man with the nod to a rakish youth of a thin, pencil mustache over his lip. “I am Cameron Wren,” he declared in a rich, melodic baritone. “Duke of Thuria and loyal vassal of the Emperor of Mankind.”

He sank to one knee and ritually opened his shirt wide, displaying an impressive chest and his neck in the most humble act of supplication. “If I have offered insult to his majesty, it was unintended. I beg, Palatine, whatever my fault, let me face that correction alone so that my people be spared for we are the Emperor's own.”

Constance towered over the man, surprised a bit at her reaction to him, but she kept her face stern as she brandished the Rosette before him. “Cameron Wren, you are accused of heresy, ambition above your station and conspiracy against the Master of Mankind. If you are guilty, renounce your crimes now that you may be absolved and receive his majesty's mercy.”

“Who slanders me, a loyal vassal to his majesty?” he demanded. “I proclaim my innocence of any fault or treachery against the Emperor, the loyalty of myself and my world to the Imperium, and I will testify with my body in open combat against any who has spoken these lies!”

After a moment of looking into the man's face, Constance made a decision. She lowered the Rosette back to her belt, then presented her left gauntlet and the image of the Imperial Seal worked into it as if a ring she wore over the glove. “If you be loyal, then submit yourself to judgment and kiss the seal of the Emperor.”

Slowly, he took his hands from the tunic and reached out, taking her gauntlet clad hand into his. He leaned forward and kissed the seal, then moved up slightly and kissed again the back of her hand. “If I am to die,” he whispered, “I die innocent and could ask for no more lovely of an executioner.”

Unbidden, Constance smirked as the smile she could not contain wormed it's way onto her face. At least the taint of Chaos had been removed as a possible crime to lay at the Duke's feet. Lies and false loyalty could still be lurking for Heresy or Treason, but the Chaos infected could never bring themselves to kiss the seal of the Emperor. That at least was reassuring. Clicking off the amplifier on her voice, she leaned down and whispered, “You are a single misspoken word from death, and you would play the Tomcat to your executioner?”

He looked up with a grin that he had doubtlessly used shamelessly his whole life. Part little boy with his hand in the cookie jar, part experienced raconteur caught with his hand in someone else's cookie jar; it was clear he was a rake of the first order. “Death comes for us all, my lady, why not enjoy the wait?”

“That quick wit of yours is going to get you into trouble,” she warned, drawing him up off his knees as she did so.

“Or out of it,” he replied, then stood up straighter and raised his voice. “I submit to the Judgment of the Daughters of the Emperor and again state my claim to satisfaction upon whoever has slandered me.”

“So noted,” Constance assured him. “You have an office?”

“It's yours,” he offered.

“Lead on.” As she fell in behind him, she keyed the microphone and sub-vocalized, “Vigilant, condition alpha, one in custody.”

Jennifer clutched the grips of the Bolter tight in her gauntlet clad hand as she and Mary guarded the hallway they had been assigned. The young sister swallowed, her eyes fixed down the hallway, wondering when something, anything, would round it, intent on killing her. “What are we doing, Ruth?” she demanded in a terse whisper.

Her squad sister turned, one dark eye towards her as Jennifer was captivated again by the contrast of her dark brown skin under the bowl cut stark white hair on her head. She licked her full lips and whispered, “I don't know about you, but I'm pissing my pants!”

“Steady,” Gretchen's voice commanded from behind them, “We're Sororitas, ladies, we're supposed to be surrounded.”

The Governor's office sat at the junction of three corridors, this one Jennifer, Gretchen and Ruth were guarding, the main hallway they had arrived down that most of the squad was in a position to hold, and the side corridor with its access to the central stairwell the remaining girls were stationed on, some up the stairs, some down, so they hopefully had a means to escape if they needed to maneuver.

Jennifer was very aware that if the sisters were forced to withdraw, she and Ruth were the furthest from the stairs and that fact itched at the back of her mind.

A door opened, revealing some functionary that it was all Jennifer could do to not gun the hapless fool down by reflex. “Go back inside!” she commanded. The Bolter's muzzle swept the man as he looked like he was about to protest. “Go back inside and stay there!” she snarled. The man went pale and shut the door which would not even slow down the rounds from the Bolter should she choose to fire it. “Gretch, if one more pissant opens a door they're gonna get to meet the Emperor!”

“At ease,” Gretchen's ordered softly. “We're not weapons free.” The Sister Superior made a point to get eye contact with all of her squad. “We trained for this. Loyalty tests are just part of the job. The Home Guard outside didn't have anything that could take the polish off our armor, so every body calm down and soldier.”

“Aye, aye,” Jennifer muttered.

“What if they've got stuff that will take the polish off on the way?” Mary muttered.

“The Emperor handles tomorrow, we worry about today,” Gretchen answered her. “Keep in mind, ladies, if this Duke is loyal this is our new home. Let's not start any incidents before we're moved in.”

“I say we purge them all and let the Emperor save his own,” Ruth declared.

“I'm sure he'll have some choice words for you, Ruth,” Mary shot back.

Gretchen sighed at Ruth's somewhat saucy retort and growled just loud enough that her girls knew she was at the edge of her patience. Silence settled on the squad as they kept their hall secure and Gretchen allowed herself a glance over her shoulder at the door into the Duke's office wondering if the Brass had it easier.

“I want to know who has slandered me,” the Duke pressed as he opened his safe, then stepped back to turn his attention to his terminal.

“You'll have your right to satisfaction,” Constance assured him as Debra, the security specialist stepped forward and began to go through the safe. “Assuming you're loyal, of course.”

“I am,” he declared again. “What is this about, my lady Constance?” His codes given to the terminal, he stepped away from his desk, to make room for the sister who busied herself with copying his files and notes. With three armored sisters in it, even the most spacious of offices seemed cramped.

From her haversack on her side, Connie produced the little Bolter pistol and laid it on his desk, it's action locked open. He stared for a moment, then his tanned face flushed with anger. “This?” he demanded, and for a moment, the genteel veneer slipped and a bit of temper showed through. “This is the prototype I sent to the Imperial Arsenal for bidding! We're prepared to begin production for the Emperor at the first sign of a contract! What more notice could I have offered? It's not a secret! I sent it in myself!”

“Jealousy is the first paving stone on the road to Heresy, your grace,” Constance reminded him. “Did you honestly think an achievement of this magnitude would not hang a target on your back?” His expression was one of grim resignation.

“I had hoped that I had sufficiently circumvented this by being so forthright.” He sighed and crossed his arms. “My mistake, obviously.”

Constance smirked. “Well, if it is any condolence, if...when...your loyalty is assured, the Adepta Sororitas will certainly be placing an order. A large one.”

“My shareholders will be thrilled,” he replied drolly. “And, what of you, Palatine Constance? Once all is sealed to the Emperor's liking you're off to the next world, the next people whose loyalty are falsely maligned?”

The eyebrow ascended Constance's forehead by it's self. “So eager to be rid of me, your Grace? Just a few moments ago you were willing to die for a few minutes of my company.”

He sketched a most elegant bow, despite the somewhat confined space. “My lady, moments with you are certainly an easy trade for a life time, but my poor heart can only stand so much melancholy of being loved and left behind.”

Constance crossed her arms over the somewhat ridiculously large cups of the armor had worked into it to simulate her bust. In point of fact, they contained reservoirs of nutrient soup for the suit's wearer whose own bust was considerably flattened by the Link Suit. “Does your mother know what a terrible flirt and Lothario her son has become?”

“My poor mother is yet pining for me to settle down and give her the grand children and security of the blood line she is constantly reminding me is my duty. And I note my lady has side stepped my own question.”

“Oh, I imagine you'll be quite sick of me before too long, your Grace,” she replied as she took a scroll from the keeper on her belt and presented it, the official seal hanging by a ribbon from it. Frowning, he took the scroll and opened it to read. “My congratulations, Scion of the House of Wren, your fealty and service to the Emperor have been noted and your House has been assigned Sisters Famulous of this Mission to guide and nurture your House to the greater glory of the Emperor.”

The Duke's gaze held on her for a moment, then he turned back to the scroll to be sure he had not misheard or misread. “Well,” he declared after a long moment as he rolled up the scroll and returned it. “Certainly I can safely declare this the most memorable method of meeting a beautiful woman in my life! Would my lady do me the honor of dinner, this evening?”

Constance allowed her lips to smirk again as the Tomcat came out to purr once more. “I think, your Grace, shall be accepting our invitation to dinner.”

“Oh, I wouldn't miss it for the world!”