Editing Bleeding Out (Warhammer High) (section)

===A Bitter Pill to Swallow===

The Emperor set the dataslate that Hane had placed before him down, seething.  “They’re a CULT?” he snapped.

“No, my Liege, he’s no cultist, not at all, but his fixation does explain his reaction to the news that he had shot your granddaughter and not some random stranger.”  The counselor fidgeted a bit under his master’s angry stare.  “I can’t admit complete surprise.  He seemed to be more than just distraught when he learned the truth.  He was devastated.  Appalled.”

“And this…Honors Union,” the Emperor said, glancing back down to the dataslate, “they’re responsible for indoctrinating him?”

“Apparently not, Sire.  The organization distributes mutancy testing kits in the underhives, they’re not a doctrinal group.”  Hane sighed, wondering about the best phrasing.  “The problem lies in the fact that Keiter is convinced, absolutely convinced, that the rich and the mutants are more than just problematic for humanity, they’re actively holding it back from your ideal.”

“My ‘ideal’ involves leaving matters of corruption and disease to the police and doctors,” the Emperor said with a frigid wrath, which he then immediately blunted.  “I apologize.  Do not interpret this as a slight against you, Arthur.  But this…this can not stand.”

Hane nodded.  “I agree, my Liege.  However…the fact that he worships you is not something I can charge him for.”

“I have purged WORLDS for that crime, Hane,” the Emperor said sharply.  “I think, if you look hard enough, you can find a statute that applies.”

The lawyer felt the blood drain from his knuckles.  “I will…search, my Liege.”

“Yes.  Find me something.  Let me know what you uncover,” the Emperor said, dismissing his counselor with a wave of his hand.


Jake looked up from the magazine he was reading at the end of the isolation hall as he heard the Royal Daughters returning.  With one, final, acid glare at the beehives that had prevented him from staying with them when they went to see Morticia – and a warning glance at the other well-wishers that had accompanied him – he dropped the magazine and stood up.  “Hey.  How is she feeling?” he asked as soon as Venus was in earshot.

“She’s awake, and she’s going to be OK,” Venus said, offering him a quick hug.  The other boyfriends and non-Royal visitors stood too, and the hallway filled with the sounds of the Daughters delivering their reports.

“Any idea when she’ll be out?” James asked the crowd.

“Nope.  She has a long way to go,” Farah said ruefully.  “She liked the cozy, at least.”

James chuckled.  “Good.  Did Kelly like her pendant?”

“I gave it to her, but it was right at the end,” Hana put in.  “I’m sure she will, though.”

“Good.”  Farah looked around at the crowd of people at the end of the hall.  “Maybe we should get going.  This is pretty crowded for a hospital.”

“I agree,” Isis said.  “I’m heading back to the Palace.  I want to go tell Grandfather the news.  Who else is in?”

“I’ll tag along,” Remilia said, and a few others in the group nodded or murmured their assent.

Hana followed her security detail’s leader out of the hospital’s vehicle annex to the waiting motorcade, shielding her eyes against the blinding light reflecting off the windows of the office building across the street.  The Treasury agent ahead of her opened the door to the aircar in which she had arrived, glancing over the sea of reporters for any potential troublemakers.  She climbed in and tapped the glass at the front of the cabin.  “Driver, head for the Palace instead of home, please.  Dock Forty.”

“Yes, madam,” the driver said, changing his autopilot’s route.  The cars lifted, some peeling off to return to the noble district, most heading to the Palace.  Hana settled back in the seat, watching the screen in the side of the compartment.  It looked like yet another biography in brief of Morticia.

“Can you believe this shit?” Andrew muttered, staring at the news reports on the holoscreen as well.  “It’s a farce.”

“What is?  The fact that so much of it is wrong, or that fact that it exists at all?” Hana asked.

“Yes.”

The new channel was blathering on about the shooter, and simultaneously claiming not to be relaying speculation while wildly speculating on his motives.  Andrew watched in silence for a few minutes before cutting the Head off.  “Load a’ crap.”

“I wonder if Morticia will give an interview,” Hana mused.

“Maybe.  She’s not ready, I don’t think,” Andrew said, “from what you told me.”

The Emperor stood in front of the array of holoscreens in his public office, watching the same news feeds as his granddaughter.  The talking heads were going into a biopic about Morticia again, and displaying interviews with people in the hives, asking what their reactions were.

The Emperor sighed and rubbed his hands together.  The feedback from the people was disappointingly banal.  He had the feeling that negative reactions and ignorant responses had been pruned from the footage.  “The Lady remains stable, and the spokesman for Startseite Hospital has refused all comment.”

“As well he bloody well should,” the Emperor muttered, turning back to his desk.

“As has the Royal Family,” the Head concluded.  The Emperor paused, looking back to the screen with his eyebrows raised.  He hadn’t been contacted for comment yet, save in the immediate aftermath of the arrest of the sniper.  Had Mortarion and Konrad refused comment as well?  That was unlike them.

“So far, the Arbites and the Administratum have refused to release any notice of the shooter’s motive-”

The Emperor cut the feed with a gesture, clasping his hands behind his back and thinking the news over.  After a moment’s contemplation, he reached for his vox panel, and was moments from dialing Curze’s number when it beeped.

“Answer,” he said, sitting back down at the desk.

“Hello, Grandpa,” Isis’s voice said from the speaker.

“Hello, Isis.  What can I do for you?” the Emperor asked.

“Well, we’re coming back from seeing Morticia; I thought you might want to hear the good news in person.”

“I appreciate that, Isis, but I’m afraid I must decline,” her grandfather replied.  “I have a meeting in fifteen minutes that I can’t postpone.”

“Oh.”  Isis paused for a moment, then forced a laugh.  “I…probably should have called ahead.  Well.  Anyway, she’s awake, and she’s feeling a lot better.”

“That’s a relief,” the Emperor, who had been so informed by the hospital staff over an hour before, replied.

“I think, if you don’t mind, we’ll come back to the Palace anyway and just…be here, for a while, anyway,” Isis said.  “We haven’t had the chance to see each other much since…you know.”

“You never need my permission to come over, Isis, make yourself at home,” the Emperor replied, looking over the surface radar feed and noting the approach of the motorcade.  “I’ll try to come by and greet you if I can get away.”

“Thanks, Grandpa.  Bye,” Isis said, hanging up.

“No joy on the burn?” Julius offered, glancing up at Isis from his seat.  Alone amongst the ‘consorts,’ he might – might – have been able to get into the Palace on his own, since he was the son of the greatest living mortal warrior in the galaxy.  That the public knew about, anyway.

“No, he’ll be busy.”  Isis slipped the vox back into her pocket, leaning back on the leather seat.  “Still, we can hang out at the Palace for a while.  It’s been too long since we got to just…be together, without a cluster of Treasury agents hanging over us.”

“They already caught the fucker, why are they keeping security in place?” Julius asked.

Isis shrugged, shifting her blond hair over her shoulders.  “They don’t know he was acting alone.”

“I guess.”  Julius was quiet for a second, and watched the lights of the hives below vanish into the white and gold of the Palace.  “That kind of uncertainty…it’s a long way from fun.”

“No kidding.”  Isis reached over and grabbed a drink from the refrigerated compartment in the console, flipping the cap into the trash with a practiced flick.  “Well, once we get there, I think we should ask Dad if we can lower the Treasury screens a bit, he should be there.”

“Will he do it?” Julius asked, waving off his own bottle.

“Nope, but I can ask.”  The sky darkened a bit as the aircars descended into the shadows of a tower at the edge of the continent-spanning Palace.

The cars landed in the cavernous space of a VIP bay, and several ranks of Treasury and Arbites personnel – and a brace of Custodes – assembled in rank before the vehicles.  As the passengers climbed out, Jake stared at the golden-armored Custodes with undisguised fear, but Isis simply walked straight up to them.

What a sight she made.  The casually-dressed teenager, complete with shoulder-length blond hair and calf boots, needed nod and salute once to dismiss a rank of soldiers and bodyguards, one of whom was easily two thousand years old.  The other girls and passengers walked up behind her, with her cousins looking like nothing of significance had happened and their companions looking awestruck.

“I’ve never been in this part of the Palace,” Jake said with wide-eyed amazement.

“I’ve only been here once or twice myself,” Venus said.  “Isis used to live here, though.  More or less.  Rarely left.”

Isis must have overheard them, because she fell back from the front of the little troupe and slowed next to Jake.  “If you want to know something about the Palace, Jake, I’d be happy to answer,” she said, smiling reassuringly.

“It’s pretty overwhelming,” Jake admitted, looking around the hangar as the procession entered a corridor.  “You used to live here?”

“Not literally.  Father did, for a period of about three years.  I came over every day,” Isis said.  “I was in the VIP wing most of the time, of course, there’s only room in the Residence for the Emperor himself.”

“I’ve only ever been to one of the rooftop gardens and the museum,” Jake said.

“The gardens are nice.  Uncle Rogal designed them himself,” Isis said.  “What did you think of the museum?”

“Incredible.  It had more room in the bathroom than my entire apartment does,” Jake said.  Isis was quiet for a moment.

“Right.  Hiver.  I forgot.”  Jake quirked an eyebrow, but he knew she hadn’t meant it to be insulting.  “Anyway.  I think you’ll like the place we’re going.”

“What is it?” Jake asked.  The décor of the rooms around them was growing steadily more grandiose, he noted.

“The closest thing the Palace has to a modest room,” Isis said dryly.  Angela, now in the lead, turned from the main hall into a side corridor, and immediately turned again to enter a nearly-hidden door.  Jake followed her through, curious, and his jaw dropped.
The room beyond was so far from ‘modest’ that it was honestly a little ostentatious to his taste.  The room looked out over the hivescape beyond, and was filled with luxurious leather chairs, glass tables, and, on the far side, what sure looked like a bar.  A servitor slot next to the glassy table hung open, with nothing inside.

“Is this a…nightclub?” Jake asked.

“Hah!  It may as well be.  It’s a lounge for visiting Overlords,” Isis said, walking up the bar and looking expectant.

“Yet it’s empty,” Jake observed, sitting down next to her.

“Well, there’s several,” Isis said, glancing side to side.

Remilia ignored the exchange, sinking down into a couch by the end of the spacious room.  The other girls dispersed around the room, but she disregarded them completely.  The zipper of her loose-fitting jacket snagged on the edge of a cushion, and she tugged it free, glaring at the carpet.  Freya noticed and wandered over.  “Hey.  You OK?”

“Just a little upset that we can be here while Morticia and Kelly are off in the hospital,” Remilia said evasively.

“Kelly?” Freya asked.

“Didn’t you hear?” Remilia asked, consciously avoiding her cousin’s gaze.  “She checked in for psychological counseling yesterday.”

Freya was quiet for a long minute.  “Kelly’s just trying to get her problem solved.”  She crossed her arms and stared down at Remilia, who finally met Freya’s gaze.  “What about you?”

“What about me?” Remilia grumbled.  Freya sighed faintly.  She sat down next to Remilia and searched her face with her inhuman eyes.

“You’re hurting too, Remilia,” she said softly.

“Damn it, furball, I don’t need a mother right now,” Remilia hissed under her breath.

Freya’s eyes narrowed.  Remilia felt remorse tug her heart, and sighed again, grinding her hand over her eyes.  “Sorry…I didn’t mean…”

“Yes you did.”  Freya’s statement wasn’t a question.

Remilia’s shoulders slumped.  “I’m sorry, Freya.”  Freya’s stare drifted pointedly down Remilia’s arms, and she flinched in sudden self-consciousness.  “…Can’t keep anything from you.”

Anger and confusion leaked into Freya’s voice.  “Why do you do it?” she asked.

“Once.  I did it once,” Remilia said, anger starting to color her voice too.  “And it’s none of your damn business.”  Freya looked away for a moment, then looked back, sadness etched onto her face.  “…And don’t give me the puppy eyes.”

“Remilia…fine.  If you don’t want to tell me, fine.”  Freya reached over and squeezed her cousin’s shoulder.  “But it hurts to see you do that.”  Her fingers tightened their grip.  “So knock it off.”

“How…” Remilia seethed.  “How can you even say…fine.  Whatever.  I’ll stop,” she said, completely done with the discussion.

Freya nodded, apparently willing to drop it too.  She wrapped her arm around her cousin’s shoulders and hugged her tight.  “Thanks.”

“Yeah,” Remilia grumbled.