Chapter Six

Plans Within Plans

“I remain, your obedient servant, Constance De La Concordia, Palatine, Adepta Sororitas.”

Abigail Winters sat at her desk and contemplated the frozen image of the Palatine she had dispatched against her better judgment, standing ghostly, and transparent in holographic pause before her desk. There had been many fears to cloud her mind that she had ignored in an effort to save the careers of two sisters she felt had been dealt unjust hands at the game of life. She had hoped that assigning Constance's now redeemed mentor to her mission would perhaps head off some of her misgivings.

But never, in her wildest dreams, would she have thought that the Inquisitor would demand something like this.

Yes, it was within his authority, but it had never been considered before. The handful of times the Inquisition had hidden within the Adepta Sororitas they had all already been women. Of course, it went almost without saying most of those exceptions had ended badly for the impostor sisters. Abigail had no doubt whatsoever that Jonas was serious; Constance would never had bothered her if he was even remotely insincere in his demands.

Her heart heavy, she stood from her desk and soft gesture dismissed the hologram of Palatine Constance. She walked around her desk and out of her office, her thoughts in complete disarray. There were so many contradictions to consider. If she gave Constance approval to kill Jonas, the Inquisition would be incensed. War between the two major divisions of the Ecclesiarchy would be disastrous for the Empire of Man. It could even possibly bring about another dark age, but if she allowed him to violate the Order Passive, to allow a man to bear arms in an Ordo Militant, would violate a truce that had headed off the last threat to human civilization.

For a time, she considered ordering Constance coyly to do away with the bothersome Inquisitor. Accidents happened in combat zones all the time, but all of the indications from the operation on Thuria related that combat was unlikely. A death as questionable as Jonas's would be, regardless of Constance's skill in arranging the dead to appear to be victims of their own misfortune would be heavily investigated. No coy work from Constance would stand to such scrutiny.

Outside, under the warm spring air, Abigail walked and considered punting the problem upstairs. She could invoke Prioress Helena the Virtuous, head of the Convent Sanctorum, but Abigail had lived long enough to know that if this blew up, there needed to be a certain distance, a certain plausible deniability from the head of their convent if there was any chance of avoiding an Ecclesiarchy Civil War. If Helena knew, then perhaps the last hope of civilization itself might be gone.

Humanity needed someone to fall on their sword.

Abigail sighed and smiled to herself. She had lived a long life, done remarkable things and saved lives beyond count. If this last service was needed by the Emperor, then she would oblige him. Her decision made, she turned her feet from the garden and into the long care ward. After several minutes, she came to the ICU and looked at her haggard reflection in the glass through which she regarded her victim. “Forgive me, child,” she whispered. “The Emperor has one final need of you.”

“Reverend mother?”

The voice of the ward nurse brought her from the contemplation. She turned and took in the young girls face and smiled warmly. When did her nurses become so young? “Good evening, June, isn't it?”

She blushed at being recognized. “How may I help you, Reverend Mother?”

Abigail made a gesture at the window she stood beside. “What is the status of Sister Rachael's condition?”

The young nurse stood from her desk and came over. “There's no change, Reverend Mother,” she said sadly. “The wound is healed, but the brain damage is too great. We had a Psyker check, just on the off chance, but she was pronounced brain dead. I sent the paperwork for her organs to be harvested and her remains laid to rest to your office this morning.”

“I recall,” Winters replied sadly. “The unit is keeping her body otherwise alive?”

“Yes, Reverend Mother. We can begin harvesting tomorrow...”

“That is countermanded,” she ordered softly. “June, I am swearing you to secrecy for a service to the Emperor that may cost you your life. How say you?”

“I am at the Emperor's service,” she declared reverently. “Whatever he needs of me, I will do.”

Winters nodded and laid a consoling hand on her shoulder. “Pack your things quietly, then collect Rachael's things from storage. Once done, you will return here and prepare her body for transport.”

“Transport where, Reverend Mother?”

“Warp travel,” the Reverend Mother declared. “Where you need not know, so you cannot testify to it later.”

The young face paled. “Reverend Mother, taking a body into the Warp risks possession...”

“Before we depart you will remove Sister Rachael's brain and reverently lay it to rest in the Garden of Fallen Heroines. Without that direct connection, we should not have anything to worry about. Still, to be safe, on board, you and I will both stand watch,” Abigail assured her. “Will you still pledge yourself?”

“I hear and obey the will of the Emperor.”

Abigail leaned down and kissed the girl on the forehead. “Bless you, child. On your way, and not a word to anyone.”

* * *

“You wanted to see me, Connie?”

Constance looked up from her data-slate tiredly, but forced a smile to her mentor and invited her into the small cabin. Fiona was dressed casually in her Day Service Habit, a simple gown that fell to her ankles in black with the three quarter bell sleeves, similar to the Battle Habit with her Rosarius in red beads as a belt. Already, there was a fuzz of gray hair about her scalp, mixed with the honey blonde that been her natural color. “Come in, Fiona,” she invited, waving her at a chair. “I want you to hear this.”

The older Sister noted the Servo-Skull that was hovering on its anti-gravity field, awaiting her command. She dogged the hatch shut and tripped the security field to Classified. It wasn't uncommon for secrets to need to be discussed without fear of a flight recorder logging them, and the ship had been constructed with that in mind, for those of the appropriate station. As Fiona slid into the seat, Constance made a gesture of introduction to the skull. “This is Baldermort, the former librarian of the ship. Baldermort, this is Sister Fiona Vander, my good right hand.”

The skull dipped in the air. “I am deeply honored, Sister.”

Vander cocked her head to one side. “Are you an A.I. Baldermort?”

“I have only the vaguest memories of it now, my lady, but once, long ago, my skull was covered in skin and I possessed a body, rather than these crude cybernetic appendages and I walked in the sunlight in the service of our emperor,” the skull replied. “That my service was so exemplary to justify my current station is the crown of any servant who has done his duty.”

“An actual conscious Servo-Skull on a war ship?” Vander asked her protege in amazement.

Constance smirked. “No longer, I've informed Captain Newberry I am invoking my privilege to transfer Baldermort to our Mission. I've found his help invaluable.”

“I'm certain that did nothing for your stock in the Captain's eyes.”

“Oh, he stooped to crass bribery, but I was firm. Baldermort serves us, now.” Turning to the skull, she commanded, “Show Lady Vander what you showed me.”

The holographic projector built into the skull's left eye lit up and soon a pair of service records were floating beside each other in front of Fiona. “The document on your left is the local copy of the service record of His Grace Cameron Wren, retrieved by automated poll yesterday at Palatine De La Concordia's request. On your right is the Master Record, sent via secure transmission at my request for the Palatine yesterday from the central archives of the Adeptus Administratum on Holy Terra. Comparing the documents finds twenty discrepancies, predominately, the omission of attached letters to the file. However, most troubling is an After Action report of a boarding party, initiated by HMAV Atlanta and led by it's Executive Officer, Lord Lieutenant Cameron Wren is completely missing from the local copy.”

Fiona quickly scanned the report, an eyebrow raised as she turned to Constance. “By this, it would appear his Grace deserves the Medallion Crimson at the very least.”

“Oh, it's much deeper than that,” Constance replied. “I had Baldermort check the medical reports of the Atlanta and I found that the surgeon reported that His Grace's heart stopped for a full minute while being operated on for his injuries in the action. A fact his official record expunges.”

“There's a chance he could be tainted!” Vander protested. “He should have been watched for signs of possession...!”

“And yet he wasn't,” Constance replied. “He kissed the sigil of the Emperor, which no Chaos Tainted has ever been able to do, but...”

“We have to test him,” Fiona persisted. “At once!”

Softly, Constance asked her mentor, “Doesn't that tip our hand, Mother?” Worry of one kind was replaced on her face with another, more sinister version.

Rubbing her chin, Fiona nodded finally. “You make a good point.” After a moment of thoughts, she asked, “What if we...” Fiona couldn't continue as she was interrupted by a knock at the door. Frowning, she rose and undogged the hatch to tower over a young petty officer. “Yes?”

“Excuse me, sister,” the young officer replied, then looked beyond her into the cabin. “Palatine, I have your response.”

“Oh, excellent, thank you,” Constance replied, coming to the hatch as she did so. The Petty Officer handed her a slip of paper.

“It was transmitted in the clear, ma'am, or I would never...”

“Thank you, Petty Officer,” Constance interrupted her, though laying a consoling hand on her arm as she did so. Constance could not be as polite as she might like because of the puzzling slip in her hands and it's terse message. She walked back to her desk as Fiona re-secured the hatch and followed her.

“What's this about?” she asked.

“There is another consideration,” the Palatine told her. “Our Inquisitor has invoked his right to masquerade as a member of any organization to further keep an eye on the Duke.”

“Who does he intend to pretend to...wait, you don't mean...?”

“I do,” Connie assured her. “The little miscreant had the stones to suggest it to my face. I wish now I'd killed him by reflex, but I only slapped him. I had a communique in to Revered Mother Winters for guidance and I was awaiting word back.” She raised her hand. “Here it is.”

“Well, what does it say?”

“On my way, take no action until I arrive,” Constance read. The older woman frowned rubbed her chin. “Surely Reverend Mother Winters can't intend to allow...?”

Fiona shrugged. “I've known Abby for a long time. I make a point of never trying to second guess her. She thinks downright sideways some times. So, I suppose we should inform Captain Newberry we won't be leaving as quickly as we thought?”

“Well, she did say no action.”

“I'll tell him,” Vander replied. “Meanwhile, you and I need to put our heads together and make certain there is no chaos taint in our handsome Duke.”

“We're a new Mission,” Constance mulled softly. “And a new Minor Order. I could request a reliquary...”

Vander's smile and wink was all the confirmation Constance needed.

* * *

Gretchen lay in her bunk and stared up at the ceiling as her mind ran in panicked circles. Having a cabin to herself as a lowly squad leader was a luxury on a ship of the line, even one as large as the Vigilant. The 'cabin' wasn't much, a glorified closet, really, with a bed that folded out from a sofa in a room just long and wide enough for it, then another meter of space that was crammed with lockers for her things, a desktop that folded out of the wall, a screen on an armature and a little sliver of open deck between them. The entire room stripped to the walls would likely be only two meters by three.

While it was all hers and she didn't have to share it, Gretchen found it ironic that she chose to.

Next to her, in the hard little futon passing itself off as a bunk, Jennifer stirred in her sleep. Despite her own preferences, Sister Superior Gretchen Wycroff had not intended to seduce Jennifer. Sure, Jennifer just happened to fit the mold that Gretchen liked her women, but the day previous, she had only intended to comfort a fellow Sister in dealing with the harsh reality of combat in service to the Emperor of Mankind. Holding her crying sister, comforting a member of her squad, a life she was responsible for, Gretchen had been fixed on doing her duty, both as a soldier and as a human being. However, Jennifer had done the last things she'd expected.

Jennifer had kissed her.

Some part of Jennifer, having faced the horrors of Chaos Taint, needed to feel the deep connection with another human being. It was a natural reaction to traumatic stress, the need to feel alive, it just happened that she'd picked the person who should not be having this kind of relationship with her trooper. Gretchen sighed, the previous twenty four hours had been amazing. This was clearly not Jennifer's first dance with another girl. There was no shy hesitation, no holding back at all to be honest. Of course, Jennifer had not been Gretchen's first dance partner either. Their lovemaking had been intense, almost feverish and now, spent Gretchen was more relaxed than if she'd had a week off on R&R.

The problem was, she now had to hurt this woman who, otherwise would be an ideal partner.

She had to find some way of telling Jennifer this was their first and last hours stolen from the night. “You're thinking too loud,” Jennifer mumbled into her shoulder.

“Am I?” Gretchen asked with a chuckle and kissed the top of Jennifer's head.

Her face shifted as she got a bit more comfortable. “Yes. You're probably all bent out of shape thinking about how you just banged one of your troopers and how will that look on your next performance evaluation?” A hand found Gretchen's intimate center, causing her to gasp and mew. “I think you'll like my performance evaluation better...”

With a Herculean effort of will, Gretchen reached down and gently, but firmly, removed Jennifer's hand from the inside of her panties. “I'm not doing this because I want to,” she told the younger girl fervently, and she meant it. “I...I can't get involved with someone who reports to me. It's not right.” The expression on Jennifer's face, a mix of sadness and hope ate at Gretchen's resolve. “If you were in another Mission, yes, so much yes, Jen, but there's only twenty five of us! I...I can't...!”

“Nobody has to know...” Jennifer started, but trailed off immediately seeing the look on her lover's face.

“You're better than that, Jen,” Gretchen gently scolded her.

The blonde sighed and rolled over in prelude to sitting up. “I guess I should go, then,” she declared, looking about to figure out which clothes on the floor were hers. Gretchen sat up and gathered the other girl into her arms. Their skin felt so wonderful against each other that it made it hard to think.

“Please, baby, don't take it like that...”

Jennifer turned, her face millimeters from Gretchen's. “How should I take it, Gretch? I'm sorry, are we on duty, Sister Superior? Because if we're not on duty enough to ignore discipline for me to call you 'Gretch' then why the fuck can't we be together off duty?”

Wycroff opened and closed her mouth, not sure what she was trying to say. Truth be told, there wasn't any mention in the regulations about relationships between sisters. There were regulations concerning relationships with civilians; about how the needs of the Order came before any other. The forbidding of being seen patronizing a brothel or negotiating with gigolos, in or out of uniform, and needing approval from one's Canoness Commander to become pregnant. There was no rule about fraternization, but for some reason, it seemed wrong to Gretchen. Still after a long moment, she looked Jennifer in the eye and asked, “Are you willing to go with me to Palatine De La Concordia and ask her permission?”

Jennifer took Gretchen's face in her hands. “Yes,” she answered firmly. “Right now.”

“Breakfast first?”

The blond pushed her back down on the bunk. “No,” she declared. “Breakfast second.”

* * *

Duke Cameron took a moment as he got out of the hover car to take in the flurry of activity around his estate appreciating the ordered chaos carefully being orchestrated by his Major Domo. There were florists and handymen being led about with ladders, all changing the somewhat staid exterior of the Ducal Estate into something out of a fairy tale.

The fortified manor house was readily lent to such comparisons thanks to the Gothic and Neo Baroque style it was built in, white plaster and marble gleaming in the mid morning sun looking down over gardens that were kept with the precision of a military parade ground. He could see electricians stringing ropes of LED lights in the vines and flowered garlands that, after dark, would likely make the house glow with magic. The water from the fountain and basin the main rotunda of the drive looped around would be made to run in a rainbow of colors that glowed and faded artistically.

A grin settled on his face from ear to ear with the vindication of knowing if you took care of your staff, your staff would always take care of you. He was uncharacteristically enthusiastic as he took the arm of Henry Eddington, the expert manager of his household, and pumped it vigorously. “Henry, you've outdone yourself!” he congratulated as he looked about, everywhere his gaze fell he found people working, stringing banners and garlands with abandon.

“Modesty forbids, sir,” Eddington replied in his cultured, slightly accented baritone. “I daresay the lads have come through in fine fashion, however.”

“Outstanding,” Cameron declared, practically giddy with seeing movement on his plans. “And how goes the search for the convent?”

From behind his back, the Major Domo produced a data-slate that he offered to the Duke as he fell in at his side, walking up the wide, shallow steps to the house proper. “I've taken the liberty of reducing the selection to three on your behalf, sir, keeping in mind your requirements was not an easy task, but I think you'll be pleased.”

He took the slate and quickly glanced through the entries as they swept through the foyer into the grand hall. “Oh, yes, the old Montrose Estate, that's...”

“Just up the road,” Henry finished with a smile. “I rather thought you'd prefer that site.”

Wren paused and took in the long face of his chief of staff. “What kind of condition is it in?”

“The facilities are all functional, power, water and the like,” Henry replied. “I'd imagine the entire estate could use a good cleaning and attention from a Gardner, but there is plenty of space for a cadre of such combative minded women as Sisters of Battle. Likely enough improvements to be made that they shan't worry about being maneuvered into this particular site.”

Wren beamed. “What would I do without you, Henry?”

“I'm sure I don't know, sir.”

“Invitations?”

“All out this morning, by courier, sir. Already I have confirmation from both the supplemental caterer to assist Chef and his staff, as well as the musicians. They should be arriving after lunch.”

“Carry on, Henry, I see you have everything well in hand.”

“Thank you, sir. Have you broken your fast as yet? I can have Chef...”

Cameron waved him off over his shoulder as he headed for the grand staircase and his private apartments. “No, no, I'm fine. Have to try and catch up on things before this evening.”

“Very good, sir.”

* * *

Chapter Seven

Garters and Daggers

Ruth threw her kit bag on the bunk she had vacated just an hour or two ago and growled with repressed anger. “Pack to leave, unpack we're staying, make up your Emperor Damned minds!” she muttered, unfortunately right as Sister Vander was walking by. The older woman paused and laid a hand on Ruth's shoulder.

“At ease, Sister, I'm sure Palatine De La Concordia has every reason to delay our departure.”

Ruth's temper got a hold of her tongue before her mind could. “You'd know, wouldn't you, Sister?” she demanded angrily, snatching her shoulder out of the other woman's grasp. “What is it between you and the Palatine, anyway?”

Fiona's expression changed from concern to disapproval. “What confidences I have, are just that,” she declared softly. “You all volunteered, you knew...”

“No,” Ruth corrected her vehemently, her finger coming up in accusation. “I didn't volunteer. My Squad Leader volunteered the entire squad!” Her arm swept the other members of the squad who now were watching the little drama unfold, much to Fiona's deterioration of mood. “Right in the middle of convalescent leave, in strolls Sister Superior Wycroff who informs us we just got dumped out of the Order we picked, the MOS we trained for and suddenly we're all bound for the hind end of the Empire! And for what? To baby sit some uptight idiot with a silver spoon up his ass?”

Vander's disapproval pulled into a more menacing expression of dislike. “And you could have sought transfer before we deployed.”

“Leave my squad?” Ruth demanded, her anger now in full command of her mouth. “Leave the Sisters I trained with? When we all know what each other are doing without saying a word? Get lumped in with ten strangers and start over? Fat chance!” There were murmurs of agreement just at the edge of Fiona's hearing and she realized this had to be snuffed out and quickly before it festered into something worse.

“Then you did volunteer,” Vander told her tightly, raising her voice to address the entire squad. “So every one of you screw that into your heads. You all volunteered, now put a lid on your belly aching and get your minds in the game. This isn't a simple assignment, and everyone of us needs each other sharp and paying attention!” Turning back to the dark faced source of this little drama, Vander tapped her on the shoulder, right on her rank epaulet. “You want to be in charge, Elohiem Advance? Act like it! Lead your sisters, and get your head out of your ass; shut up and soldier!”

“You want me to soldier, sister?” Ruth snarled. “Let's! For starters, you're right! I am Elohiem Advance Ruth Whitworth and you will address me as such!”

“You really do not want to go down this road, Eloheim,” Vander replied.

“Yes, yes I do,” Ruth replied as she stormed over to the communications panel by the hatch. “I want this sorted right rutting now!” She slapped the panel on and after a moment it was picked up. “Palatine De La Concordia, Elohiem Advance Whitworth. Sorry to trouble you, ma'am, but I wonder if you could sort out an issue on our TOA for us regarding Sister Vander.”

There was a burst of static, and suddenly a hologram of the Palatine appeared by the hatch. “Attention on deck,” she ordered, her face stern. The sisters all braced into attention and the hologram turned to face her mentor. “Sister Vander, front and center.”

“Ma'am,” the Sister replied as she marched to stand beside the hologram, facing the combined sisters of the mission. The girls looked nervously at each other out of the corners of their eyes.

“Ladies, allow me to introduce former Canoness Preceptor Fiona Vander. Canoness Vander has fought in every major campaign of the Convent Sanctorum for the last hundred years. That means multiple combat drops into Espandor, Parmenio, and Lax. She also took part in the boarding action of the Star Fort Galatan! She has fought every Zenos threat and Chaos demon known to Man as well as corruption in our own order as displayed by her success in the Rite of Repentance. I am appointing her as the acting Legatine of our Mission; she answers to me, and to me alone. Is this clear?”

“Yes, Palatine!” the room echoed, both subdued and a bit awed at the revelation.

The hologram turned to Ruth. “Does this settle the TOA to your satisfaction, Elohiem Advance?”

Ruth stood stiffer at attention. “Yes, ma'am.”

“Carry on,” the hologram replied, before it faded away.

Fiona glared at the room for a moment, then shook her head. “Anyone asking me for a war story will be cleaning latrines for a month!” she declared, then satisfied they were cowed, turned back to Ruth. The young woman stood at perfect attention in the way most young Non-Commissioned Officers did when they had fucked up in sight of the brass. Ruth had fucked up in spectacular fashion, but had the sense to realize it and that was plain on her face. Fiona decided to try diplomacy so she walked over to the young sister and in a tone of voice only she could hear, commanded, “Now that we're settled, Elohiem Advance, I want your head out of your ass. So go do whatever you do to relax and get your mind back in the game. Go to the small arms center and put rounds down range, sleep, go get laid, build a ship in an Emperor Damned bottle, whatever it is, you obviously need it. Go do it. That's an order.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Out of my sight,” Fiona declared and Ruth scampered through the hatch as quick as she could. Fiona sighed and turned to face the crowd of women, most still at attention and all staring at her. “As you were,” she ordered and headed back to the somewhat isolated bunk at the back of the compartment that she'd claimed from before.

* * *

Constance sighed as she clicked off the hologram camera and shook her head. “I'm getting old,” she scolded herself. I should have promoted Fiona before we left the Convent of the Healing Heart. She winced as she realized the amount of paperwork she had just assigned herself, and likely an official inquiry of bias in command judgment assuming she survived long enough for the Mission to be established in the first place.

Perhaps sooner, since Canoness Winter was coming.

De La Concordia frowned as she remembered the cryptic message she had received and wondered again why the Canoness would be coming in person, rather than sending a sealed order packet or even a bio-metric locked survo skull. Her thoughts were disturbed by the door tone and she quickly pulled herself together before answering, “Come.”

The hatch opened, revealing Sister Superior Wycroff and another sister who's name escaped Constance. Just what I need, she thought to herself. More personnel problems. Out loud, she asked, “Yes?”

The two sisters came to attention and Gretchen spoke. “Palatine, Sister Hamilton and I were hoping...that is, we'd like your permission...”

The stuttering at least took the edge off this being a serious personnel issue. “If you're bucking for a transfer, Sister Superior, you're out of luck. I'm short handed as it is.”

“Oh, no ma'am,” Gretchen replied, her cheeks blushing. “You see, the regulations are silent on this particular topic and, well, it's personal, and...” Jennifer sighed noisily and rolled her eyes.

“Begging your pardon, ma'am,” she declared forcefully, “the Sister Superior and I would like your permission to have a sexual relationship.”

Connie leaned back in her chair, somewhat taken aback. “I...see...” she drawled. “And you need my permission because...?”

“I am a member of the Sister Superior's squad, and thus I report to her,” Hamilton replied evenly. “Gretchen is concerned that would make our off time 'recreation' an asterisk beside her reviews of my conduct.”

“The Sister Superior has a point,” Connie declared. “Our small size means we depend more than most on being ready for action, being able to depend on each other. Splitting loyalties, or the appearance of favoritism undermines the chain of command.”

“We understand that, ma'am,” Gretchen managed, getting back into the conversation. “I just wanted to be above board and since there was no regulation against it, we thought your permission would be the best course.”

Connie drummed her fingers on her desk for a moment, giving each woman a measuring stare. Finally, she made a decision and made sure her command face was set. “We are a small Mission, ladies and I expect we'll be operating on somewhat detached status for some time. Normally, I would agree with Sister Superior Wycroff and err on the side of caution, but because I need my troopers in top shape, I'm inclined to be somewhat flexible due to our isolated nature. Let me be clear, the first time it comes to my attention what the two of you engage in on your off hours is affecting your performance, that will be the end of this lenience. Understood?”

“Yes, ma'am,” the lovers declared in chorus.

“Wycroff, have Sister Superior Marks double check any paperwork you have to generate concerning Sister Hamilton.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“I'll depend on your discretion, ladies, otherwise, what you do in your off hours isn't my concern. Permission granted. Anything else?”

“No, ma'am.”

Jennifer grinned. “Thank you, ma'am.”

“Don't make me regret this,” De La Concordia cautioned them. “Dismissed.”

* * *

The Ward Room of the Vigilant was becoming something of a second home to Constance as she poured herself a glass of tea from the beverage mess in preparation for taking her lunch. She had long ago learned to ignore the surreptitious glances of the junior officers her Order sometimes had to interact with on their way to and from engagements. At her age, it was a bit flattering if she was honest with herself, thankful for the martial lifestyle and modern medicine that let her turn heads at fifty.

Even if her body did not look thirty yet.

Of course, it wouldn't do to allow those same young officers to know she found their appreciative glances flattering, so she kept her face neutral as she returned to the small table in the corner she had laid claim to on the journey. Setting her tea beside the pot roast and potatoes the galley had made for the Officer's lunch, she bowed her head and let her nose appreciate the aroma of the food. Potatoes were an essential part of the Vigilant's waste management system, like all human space craft, and so were a staple food, practically omnipresent at meal time in some form. The meat had been heavily processed to give it longevity and shelf life, but humanity had been in space for forty millennia at this point, with plenty of experience in turning long shelf life food stores into palatable meals. While her head was bowed, she softly blessed the meal to the strength of her body and the needs of her Emperor, noting that the soft susurrus of conversation in the Ward Room ceased as she did so.

It was good that ship's chaplain was doing such an exemplary job in keeping up the religious zeal of the crew.

The meal blessed, she took up her utensils and began to eat; appearing to not notice conversation in the compartment resume. It was not that Constance and her Mission were the only females on board, the actual ratio of males to females in the crew was probably below sixty forty, but they were new and novelty had a charm that was quite powerful to the human male.

Not just the human male, she admitted to herself as her mind brought up the image of Duke Wren from her memory. Perpetuation of the species was a sacrament, after all, and there was nothing sinful about the act of procreation. A forkful of pot roast paused halfway to her mouth. How long had it been since she'd enjoyed the attentions of a man? A year? Before her last mission, surely, but that would make her estimate plural, wouldn't it? Fortunately, before her thoughts could become more depressing the ship's bracelet on her wrist vibrated.

The bracelet concealed a small computer and up link device that was tied into the power broadcast of the ship. It was specific to her, so her whereabouts were tracked in case she was needed and allowed for an interface to the ship's communications system. A quick sip of tea got her mouth clear and she pressed the acknowledgment button on the bracelet. Just off her tray, in the center of the table, the head and shoulders of the petty officer from communications appeared and her voice, coming from a small speaker microphone in the ear ring Constance was wearing, spoke. “Sorry to disturb your meal, Palatine, I have a call coming in from the planet for you. Duke Wren.”

Constance couldn't keep a look of surprise from her face, but was glad only she would be able to hear what the Duke had to say. “Put him through, thank you.”

A burst of static replaced the young woman's head with the Duke, looking dashing in billowed sleeve shirt that left a scandalous amount of his chest exposed. “My lady, no hologram could ever do your beauty justice.”

“While only I can hear you, your grace, I should warn you I'm at lunch in the Ward Room of the Vigilant, so be mindful. What can I do for you?”

He sketched an elegant bow. “I come with glad tidings, I hope,” he informed her. “My Seneschal has been able to find suitable lodgings for your convent.”

“We're hardly worthy of the personal attention of your grace,” she replied. “But please extend my gratitude to your Seneschal.”

The grin on his face widened. “You can tell him yourself, if you like. The actual reason I called was to invite you to a ball this evening. If you'll permit me the honor of escorting you, I should like to introduce you to the upper crust of society, or what passes for it in our little corner of the Empire.”

“A ball?” she replied, her mind rapidly considering the possibilities such an event would offer. As a method of practical intelligence on the current situation of the world, it was priceless. And it had the added bonus of spending additional time in the Duke's company. Time she found she was coming to enjoy.

“Indeed. And you needn't concern Captain Newberry with your transportation needs, I have a shuttle already on its way up for your convenience.” He read the uncertainty on her face and turned the charm up a notch. “You should know, I simply won't accept 'no' for an answer. I've only been apart a handful of hours and already I must see you again.”

Constance smirked. “Oh, really?”

“Your disbelief wounds me, my lady!” he protested with a great drama. “Why, my food has no savor denied the light of your presence! And please, do not hesitate if you would like to bring your entire mission in escort. My humble abode shall surely shine the brighter for their brilliance.”

De La Concordia leaned forward and placed her chin in her hand. She doubted there was anything humble about the Ducal residence, though that also would be a window into the kind of man he was. Still, it wouldn't do to appear eager, so she drawled, “Your grace flirts with desperation with such excess.”

“Did I over sell it?” he asked with a laugh. “It did feel like I over sold it. Ah, well, the proverbial cat is out of the bag, the invitation is extended and cannot be withdrawn.”

She smiled and shook her head. “Not to worry, your grace, your faux pas is safe with me. And we'll be delighted to accept so over sold an invitation.”

“Be still, my beating heart!” he exclaimed. “I will count the minutes until your arrival.”

“Be sure to breathe,” she cautioned him. “Blue isn't your color.” He bowed again and with a rakish smile disappeared from the table. However, this only proved she was in great demand as the wrist bracelet was already vibrating again. Not bothering to wipe the smile from her face, the Palatine made an adjustment and moments later a hologram of Fiona graced her table. “Ah, Fiona, I was just about to call you.”

“Palatine?” she asked.

“Did you remember to pack your dancing shoes, Legatine?” The look of confusion on her mentor's face was priceless. “Turn out the mission in Mess Dress, Fiona,” she ordered around her mirth. “Evidently, we have a date, this evening.”

“I can't wait to hear the explanation for this one,” Fiona chuckled.

“Me too,” De La Concordia shot back. Then paused when the hologram of her newly promoted Executive Officer didn't leave the table. “Something else, Legatine?”

“Yes, ma'am. I have notification from the CIC, there is a destroyer coming along side us; the HMAV Saint Arabella.”

Constance's eyebrow rose as she finished chewing her current mouthful and swallowed it. “Reverend Mother Winters? Here, already?”

“Evidently she put our troublesome Inquisitor at the top of her to do list.” Vander replied as her protege wolfed down a last morsel. “Eat quickly, I'll meet her and bring her to your office.” Constance's eyes did her thanking for her as Fiona's hologram snapped off and gave her just enough time to get enough food so her stomach would not growl at an embarrassing time. That accomplished, she handed her plate and glass over to the Steward of the Wardroom and directed her feet quickly to her office.

* * *

De La Concordia was able to beat Fiona and the Reverend Mother to her office, but not by much. Still she was able to get the coffee pot going so she could offer refreshment to her superior and catch her breath in sufficient time to collect her thoughts. She was just pouring out the cups where there came the door tone. “Come,” she commanded and the door opened on the Reverend Mother and Legatine Vander. Constance placed the cup on her desk to formally drop a curtsy. “Reverend Mother, we are honored by your presence. Will you rest yourself and join me for refreshment?”

“No time for formality, Constance,” Abaigail told her as she and Fiona entered the little bulkhead and paused for Vander to close and dog the hatch shut. “Though I will have some of that coffee,” she said to soften her arrival and swept over to hug Constance and kiss her forehead. “The Emperor guide and protect you, my daughter.”

“Your insight makes me wise, Reverend Mother,” she replied. “Please, sit. Cream and Sugar I believe?” Abigail nodded, adding the condiments to her coffee and stirring it to her liking. “I take it my message reached you, what is your will?”

The warmth left Abigail's face as she stirred her coffee. “Constance, what is your opinion of this fool Jonas? How serious is he about what he desires?” A shadow as equally grave fell across Constance's face as she handed a cup to Fiona before pouring her own.

“Serious enough to suggest it to my face, in striking distance.” De La Concordia sighed and shook her head as she returned to her desk and sat. “I wish I'd killed him by reflex. To answer you, Reverend Mother, I believe he means to have the ship's surgeon carve on him until he thinks he'll be able to pass as a Sister. Then to don our raiments and dishonor us. If I allow it, I risk dishonoring our entire order and if I refuse I risk civil war in the Ecclesiarchy.”

The Reverend Mother turned to her other Sister. “Fiona? What is your opinion?”

The Legatine sat up a bit straighter in her chair and ran a hand over her shaved scalp that was trying to regrow from her Rite. “Reverend Mother, it is not my place to...”

“Don't hide behind rules with me, Fi, we've known each other too long,” Abigail scolded her.

“Alright, Abby,” Vander replied. “Yes, I agree with Constance. He's just the sort of little snake that would turn this into a major schism. He'll push until he gets his way or is flat refused and then he'll call a Crusade. He thinks his office protects him from our third alternative, so he has either some level of courage, or is a fool. I have no doubt he would follow through with this surgical blasphemy.”

Winters sighed again and let her gaze wander between her old friend and her protege. “There is, ladies a fourth option. One I dearly hoped would not be necessary, but I don't see any alternative. Yet, you both agree he will not back down, therefor we must indulge his loathsome request, but on our terms.”

Constance frowned. “What terms could we offer that would allow him to impersonate a Sister while not allowing a man under arms in our ranks?”

Suddenly all of Abigail Winter's age settled on her and she looked every bit her two hundred plus years. From her coffee, she looked and fixed her sternest gaze on Constance. “With me, I have brought the still living, but mortal remains of Sister Rachel...Winter.”

“Rachel died?” Fiona demanded, horrified.

“A training accident,” Abigail replied, her voice flat and devoid of emotion. “She fell off a Rhino tank and her head struck the side armor on the way down. We tried everything, even a Psyker, but...” The Reverend Mother was remarkably stoic. “My daughter is with the Emperor, but her body is here and, I am informed, there is a qualified surgeon on this ship who can maintain survo-skulls...”

Constance's face went white. “Reverend Mother...?”

At the same moment, Fiona leapt to her feet. “Abby, you can't be serious...!”

Reverend Mother Winter slapped the desk she sat before with the palm of her hand so sharply it sounded like a thunderclap. “Do not make this harder for me!” she declared with a quiet force that did what it needed without volume. “Our choices are war or dishonor or...sacrifice! I choose Sacrifice, as befits our Order and our Master!” She turned to her old friend, her gaze steel and her eyes on fire. “Fiona, my sister, go and collect up this little monster and bring him here so he can choose.”

Vander stood slowly, and though there were tears in her eyes, she kept them there. “If he refuses, I will strike him dead.”

“No,” Winter declared somberly. “I will. On your way.”

Fiona bowed with great dignity. “Yes, Reverend Mother.” She headed to the hatch, already talking to her ship bracelet. “Security alert, locate Jonas Merle.”

* * *

Vander's long legs ate distance, even with a ship the size of the Vigilant. Even though her face was stern, stern enough that the ships' personnel hastily stepped out of her way, her thoughts were a chaotic mess. She had wondered why Abigail had been so distant when she had arrived on Banudan, now many things made much more sense. A part of her wept at the loss of her friend's daughter, and more so at the defilement of her remains all for the pleasure of a self serving little nobody.

Who, it figured, had not even bothered to rise yet.

With in short order, she had arrived back at the visiting officer's quarters on the ship where Constance herself had a cabin, as well as the rest of the mission. As she made her way down the corridors, a door opened, revealing of all people, Eloheim Advance Ruth Whitworth who was emerging from a cabin Fiona knew was not hers. She was also in a rather disheveled condition that could best be described as 'rode hard and put away wet.' “Whitworth,” Fiona snapped, and the smile melted off the face of the young NCO at her approach.

She gave a little jerk as if trying to come to attention and restore her uniform to a presentable condition at the same time. “Legatine!”

“At ease,” Vander ordered as she passed. “Your head out of your ass, girl?”

“Yes, Legatine. I mean, I appreciate...”

Over her shoulder, Fiona snapped, “Don't mention it. With me, now.” Ruth trotted to catch up to the older woman while getting her Day Habit in a more presentable condition. “Back me up, take no action before me.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Ruth replied, unconsciously falling in step with her superior and getting her game face on in remarkable speed. She noted the older woman's wink at her and allowed herself a smile of the cat that got the cream variety. “I hope I haven't pissed in my own beer too badly, Legatine.”

Fiona found that funny and chuckled darkly. “You're young, learn from your mistakes and don't repeat them and you'll do fine.”

“Thank you, Sister.”

“Twenty seven fifty one,” Vander said to herself. “Here we are.” She paused and disdained the door sensor to beat on the door with a closed fist. “Jonas Merle! Open in the name of the Emperor of Mankind!”

Two doors, the next down the hall, and the one on the other side of the hall opened, their occupants saw a pair of Battle Sisters in the hallway and promptly decided it was none of their business. Those doors closed as Twenty Seven Fifty One opened. “What's the meaning of this?” the Inquisitor demanded.

“Jonas Merle, you are summoned to the presence of Canoness-Preceptor Abigail Winters,” she declared with the voice of a thunderstorm. “You can come on your feet, or in chains, how do you answer?” The eyes of the weasel like man opened bit as he began to comprehend his situation.

“On...on my feet,” he stammered.

“Wise choice,” Vander retorted as she reached in getting a handful of the jacket Jonas was wearing to pull him from his cabin and roughly searched him for weapons. Finding none, the Battle Sister propeled him down the hall towards the Palatine's office. Once or twice he thought to either protest his treatment, or attempt to ferret out information to what he was facing, but Fiona Vander was stone faced and in no mood to entertain his cowardice, and each attempt was met with silence and a shove to encourage a faster pace.

When they arrived at the office, Ruth stepped around her superior's hostage and pressed the call button by the door, then posted herself there, making it clear they would not be disturbed while she lived. Fiona gave the younger woman a nod of respect and when Constance opened the door, Vander took the inquisitor by the shoulder and frog marched him into the cabin.

The door closed with awful finality behind her.

* * *