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The noise of the voidship’s bridge echoed throughout the large chamber holding it, reaching lower into the decks and making the ship tremble with life. Two figures stood on one of the more secluded corners of the bridge, standing next to a cogitator hooked up to two data-dreaming servitors. A man in the black-and-red robes of the Adeptus Mechanicus, and another still dressed in the robes of the Adeptus Ministorum. The former watched intently at the vid-screen of the cogitator while the latter watched with their own curiosity, their servo-skull quietly whirring with unseen calculations by its analytics engine. The two sporadically exchange words in binharic, disconnected and far from a proper conversation.
« I was unaware that the Rogue Trader was versed in Lingua-Technis. » A third set of binharic tones spoke up over the idle computations of the cogitator.
The two turned around to face the intruder in their conversation. The familiar red robes and hunched frame of the Enginseer Prime approached, with a loud impact of heavy augments making contact with the metal platform of the bridge. His mechandendrites swiveled quizzically as he looked between them both.
« One must be to properly manage the Ministorum’s logistical affairs on a forge world. I had to work closely with the Mechanicus to keep all matters working smoothly. » Confessor spoke calmly to Pasqal, greeting his approach with a reverent bow of the head. Underneath his respirator augment, one could swear Abel was smiling.
« A relocated gear completes its purpose. The purpose has been altered… but its shape stays the same. » Abel chimed. Confessor’s vox rang with a staticky sound of surprise while Pasqal’s curiosity grew.
« Requesting elaboration. »
« A cog once removed from the forge retains signs of its forging. Every interaction with its neighbors rings of its origins. »
Pasqal turned towards Confessor, who looked as if they had been caught in some act. « This unit recognizes that unit Confessor von Valancius uses binharic dialects of multiple forge worlds. It hypothesizes that unit Abel is suggesting they are familiar with the language, as well as other secrets of the Mechanicus, for reasons outside of those stated. Possible source: origin on such a world. »
Confessor glanced around their corner of the bridge. While surrounded by members of the crew, no other tech-priest was in sight. With no one around that could understand the binharic conversation, they felt comfortable continuing. « Yes… I was born on Astraea Majoris, a forge world in Calixis. Few aside from my mentor are aware, but I was selected to be trained as a tech-priest in my childhood. Only a few years into that training, the Explorator ship I was traveling on suffered from a xenos attack. I was the only survivor. »
« I detect an error. Within the last two centuries, no vessels of the Cognisance Fleet have suffered from xenos attacks that match your description. »
« Of course not. If the Ministorum were to discover a ship with a single young adept and decide to take him under their wing, why would they report it to the Mechanicus? » Confessor’s vox let out a burst of static resembling a sigh. Quiet whirring of augments was obfuscated by the hustle and bustle of the bridge around them. The lumen of their memorance implant flickered. « The path was rough, but now I serve the God-Emperor as a bridge between the Ministorum and the Mechanicus. »
With a satisfied hiss of their vox, they turned to look back towards their enginseer companion. Pasqal listened quietly, committing the new data to his cogitator's memory.
« This explanation is acceptable. The time has long since passed to bring a complaint to the Adeptus Ministorum about the abduction of a Mechanicus adept. »
« I'm glad you understand. »
A gentle silence passed between the three of them, attention drawn back to Abel’s focus on the oneiromantic calculations only broken by sideways glances.
“What were the two of you previously discussing?” Pasqal broke the silence, switching from Lingua-Technis to Low Gothic. Abel did not turn his head from the cogitation screen, simply giving the two another sideways look.
“I wass obsserving Abel in his statisstical augury, moresso than disscusssing it. He sharess pointss of hiss findingss asss he feelss comfortable.” Confessor’s vox, normally staticky with age, let forth a hiss as they switched to Low Gothic.
“Requesting permission for a new query.”
“Permisssion granted.” Their response was hesitant and suspicious at the tone of Pasqal’s voice.
“Your voice modulator implant. This unit has taken notice that its audio integrity has diminished with time.” Confessor stiffened at the mention of their vox. “It would request permission to perform minor maintenance to resolve these inadequacies. Particularly the static and audio hiss.”
As if to mock them, the static of the vox grew more prominent as they relented. “You would find there iss little wrong with it bessidess age. The audio hisss is ssimply a quirk of the vox.”
“I shall be the judge of that.”
“It would be besst to do this elssewhere. Will my chamberss be ssuitable?”
“Suggestion approved; that would be an ideal location.”
“Well then, Abel. Thank you for your time today. I hope we can speak again later.” Confessor turned back to Abel, giving a friendly nod in farewell.
He returned the gesture, not meeting their gaze as he did so. “Thank you… It was good to see you.”
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Pulling up another chair for the tech-priest as the two entered the Rogue Trader’s chambers, Confessor took a seat at his desk, still littered with old papers of Theodora's. He removed his hood and cloak to better reveal the speaker of his vox, giving his companion the first real look at his memorance augmentations, respirator, and throat augmentation. The utility mechadendrite hovering near their heads, usually enough to unsettle a man with its sharp tools, was comfortable and familiar to the both of them.
“Observations show that you have yet to acclimate these chambers to your personal usage,” Pasqal commented, glancing at the dust collecting on the desk, at the documents still strewn about, and at the portrait of their predecessor that had yet to be taken down.
“It hass been ssuch a short time ssince I took up the possition. I’ve yet to ssort through which documentss are important for me to keep and which can be disscarded… But that will come with time. We should prossceed with bussinesss.”
“Of course. In order to better perform maintenance, I'll need to temporarily detach your respirator mask so the cables do not hinder the process. The air quality of the chambers should not be an issue in the interim.” Pasqal reached forward to detach the mask upon their face.
“Magoss, wait–!”
Before they could stop him, he had the mask fully removed. Though quick to cover their now-exposed mouth with a hand, it wasn't quite quick enough. At least, not for a member of the Mechanicus with augmentations that allowed for much quicker analysis of visual data. The flattened lips, the inhuman mouth open for just a second in an expression of surprise. Clear mutations held under lock and key of augments and equipment.
“Eager to uncover all my ssecretss are we, Magoss Haneumann?” The voice continued to come from the vox-caster embedded in their chest, though a complementary hiss escaped from underneath their hand.
“I had no idea you might be concealing such a thing—”
“That meanss that the resspirator mask wass doing itss job, Magoss.”
“I suppose it was.”
A tense silence lingered, the two looking eye to eye, before Confessor broke it with a hiss. “I would appreciate it if you would not share what you learned today.”
“Request denied. You display a deviance from the baseline genome of humanity. Such deviances are not recorded in the Administratum’s genome record and bear no reason for study, and as such would be disposed of.”
The tension continued to grow, the two locked in a battle of wills. Pasqal had taken hold of Confessor’s forearm, who gripped the tech-priest's flesh wrist with their free hand. Neither would budge. Once again, Confessor was the one to break the silence.
“I am no threat to the Imperium. I have sserved my possition in the Minisstorum in this state for over a sscentury, and shall do sso asss Rogue Trader. What you will find iss that, as my enginsseer, you need me to continue your ssearch for your mentor. If his teachingss were asss heretical as you claim, how can you be sscertain that you and Abel will find another ship willing to asssisst your ssearch.”
“This unit is registering blackmail!”
“If that iss what it takess to keep this ssecret, then sso be it.” Determination shone in Confessor’s non-augmented eye, alongside a flash of regret.
After another long beat of silence, it was now Pasqal’s turn to relent. “Temporarily disregarding abnormalities to your genome, I request permission to continue with the maintenance.”
“Permisssion granted.”
The two untangled themselves from each other as the mechadendrite’s tools drew close to Confessor’s chest. One wrong move, accidental or no, could be enough to put an end to everything. But to what end? To end the life of a mutant and lose the opportunity to continue the search for Amarnat? The screws holding the voice modulator in place came free with little effort, great care had been put into their upkeep.
Confessor grunted quietly as the grill was removed to reveal its inner wires and speaker, coming out more of a guttural hiss. Had Pasqal looked away from the implant in front of him, he might have noticed that they finally removed their hand to fully reveal their face. One mechadendrite gently braced Confessor’s body, gripping their shoulder. With a careful tug, the speaker within was removed and unplugged, leaving them speechless in the literal sense. They watched Pasqal’s face intently as he removed the speaker and several other wires with it, left hanging against their chest.
Pasqal carefully examined the pieces of the vox’s speaker, checking for signs of age or wear. With a quiet rasp of a laugh, he looks up to make eye contact with Confessor. “You were correct. This vox is in a well-maintained state. I will begin reassembly.”
He spared no further glance at the mutations as he got back to work, at the serpentine mouth and eye that watched him so closely. That trusted him carefully with their secret and with their voice. Wires were untangled and sorted and reconnected to their proper places, quiet hissing from Confessor being the only sign that they were presently feeling anything of the process. With a satisfying snap and click, the speaker was fully reconnected. First there was silence as it was situated into place, then the quiet and familiar static hum returned as the grill was screwed back on.
“Let us see if the disassembly and reassembly has caused any errors,” Pasqal said simply, mechadendrite still holding onto Confessor.
“The speaker pickss up vibrationss from how my vocal chordss ussed to function, sso I’m ssure the hisss hass not changed.” They said flatly, gently feeling at the grill embedded on their chest. The static had diminished slightly, but the hiss itself remained. It was just as they had said.
“It appears so.” Pasqal's mechandendrite finally released Confessor from its iron grip as he began to stand. “How many other members of the crew are aware?”
He did not need to elaborate for either to know what he spoke of. The daemon in the room.
“You are the firsst to learn.”
“Very well then… It would be a wise calculation to leave it this way. May your labors be fruitful, Confessor.” Pasqal watched them intently for a final moment before taking his leave. There was no movement or word from the Rogue Trader, save to re-equip their respirator mask. Their protection against their secret being discovered by another. The pair’s cooperation, tense as the drawn string of their mutual blackmail, was assured.