Editing Bleeding Out: A Custodian's Story (Warhammer High) (section)

=== The Subjects ===

Skuratova neatly rapped her knuckles on the door, and a second later a muffled female voice called out, “Enter!”

The instant, ingrained responses innate to a Custodian took over the moment the door swung open. A new space before him, he must evaluate it for targets, threats, anything essential.

The room was as luxurious as the entrance hall behind them. The same thick shag of carpet, and a similar chandelier of diamond and crystal hanging from the ceiling that caught the light and split it into a thousand fragments that almost completely banished any shadows. A massive hololithic vid-screen dominated one wall, with several smaller, standard hardshell vid-screens hanging from the ceiling above it. While it might have looked like an entertainment centre, Quadriga could tell it was a multi-purpose instrument worked equally well as a command and control screen for Palace defence.

Clustered around the vidscreens was a rough semi-circle made up of couches, armchairs and other large, luxurious seats.
Past the couches and towards the far-left corner was a solid wooden table. A thick, imposing structure, too big and grand to be a mere place of eating.

Seated in the armchairs and around the table were the Subjects. The Daughters of the Primarchs. The Secular Angels of the new era, and to use the rather vulgar language of the Imperial Army, a right pain in Quadriga's arse.

The first thought to enter Quadriga’s mind was in how the Subjects were arranged around the room. There were three distinctive subgroups, each clearly dominated by a single Subject. Just as the Primarchs could be divided into the true leaders like Horus and Guilliman and the followers like Angron, Vulkan, Peturabo and Mortarion, so too was that system of command and obedience that bound the Primarchs together was replicated in their gene-children.

Not one of the Subjects was sitting on her own. None felt like enduring this pain on her own. All united with their closest relations in mutual grief. 
No stab of empathy or shot of sympathy entered Quadriga’s cold, mechanical mind. What mattered to Quadriga was how he could use these cold, hard facts. He had to convince the Subjects that their Custodian additions to their security would not be an issue for the lives they wished to live, and that the Treasury could still be trusted to look after them. If those three could be won over and swayed to accept the new guardians, it would make the others fall into line more easily.

Evaluate the subjects. Gauge their moods. Who was hurting more than the others, the general tone of the whole group, and how best to address it.

As a Custodian, Quadriga had been taught the most advanced methods of identifying faces, gauging micro expressions and reading a person almost as well as a Telepathic Psyker could. Skills that were vital for a guardian of their capability. And in an instant, he could have the entire mood of the room Subject by Subject.

First his gaze alighted upon the left-hand group, the clutch of subjects seated around the great table. Seated at their heart like a mother hen was the heir of Ultramar. Subject XIII. Roberta Guilliman. She did not attempt hide the measured look of concern unforced upon her face or the hints of red around her eyes that spoke of the aftereffects of emotional shock. While controlling and channelling her feelings, she was not letting them dominate her. The overall result looked far more natural than many of the masks he saw the other subjects wearing to conceal their own turmoil of emotions. She was showing herself to be open enough to give the others a small measure of inspiration. Subject XIII truly had inherited a portion of her father’s legendary skills at acting as a figurehead and a leader of his fellow Primarchs.

Closest to her was Subject VII. Her face was puffy, and her eyes ringed with red. Her emotion was showing far more freely, perhaps thanks to the influence of having XIII beside her. She felt safe enough to let lose the raw emotion, unafraid of who saw it. Quadriga could not help but feel the fleeting stab of admiration at Subject XIII for being that way. Few could exhibit such leadership as softly and firmly.

Facing them were Subjects V, VI and XIX. All had similar mixtures of shock and numbness painted across their features, though none were as distraught as Subject VII nor composed as Subject XIII. Subject VI was clearly holding her emotions deep inside her, Her entire pose rigid and entirely unnatural to her normal lupine poise.

Paired up and speaking animatedly with one another were Subject X and Subject XVIII, the two giving some distance to the others. The precise gestures being made by both suggested a conversation on a mechanical matter linked to their mutual love of forging and engineering.

Catalogued, sorted, processed. His gaze shifted across to the central congregation of Subjects. A gaggle of young woman, the most unusual of the three groups. 

These were the ‘outcasts’ among the Subjects. The young women who in this time of struggling with authority did not gravitate to one of the two recognised leader figures among their number, and in their rejection of the shackles of authority loosely affiliated themselves with Subject III. They were recognisably the more troubled and troublemaking members of the Subjects.

That Subject III tended to act as their leader was something that Quadriga could still scarcely believe. The lord of Chemos was not noted to be a great leader of men like his close brothers Ferrus and Horus, and his daughter was considerably less capable than him. And yet somehow she had the support, though maybe not exactly the loyalty, of a small band of her fellow Subjects. Those who seemingly accepted her notional authority as long as she left it notional.
 
The red hue in Subject III’s artistically sculpted face seemed more like a blush than a reaction to shock, her grey eyes tinted with the softest hints of violet were bright, not faintly dulled like Subject XIII. And yet the minute twitches in her eyes, the uncontrollable soft drumming of one finger on the leather seat and the rigid, static way she was holding her body that mirrored that of Subject VI told Quadriga the truth. She was suffering every but as much as any of them, and was expending a lot of energy putting on the bravest face she could.

Subject IV and the XX Twins were clustered tightly around her, closer than any of the women were in Subject XIII’s group. They were apparently sharing in some form of distracting gossip, the lifeblood of the cutthroat social world of women at that age. None of them really seemed to have their heart in it though. 

Quadriga’s eyes paused for a nanosecond one of the more important of the Subjects, the belligerent Subject XII. She was always an issue, one of the ones who Quadriga had to keep a special eye on. Her combination of high aggression, short temper and split-second action made her dangerous and unpredictable. Two things Quadriga was not pleased about. Even her slouch lacked the usual aggressive poise it had, and for the first time it seemed the fire inside her had truly been dampened to mere embers. She sat on the very edge of the group, just close enough to listen while keeping out of the conversation. Unwilling to open up to any of the others. Unable to let her own hurt out.

Complete. Next group. Quadriga’s vision was filled by the final knot of Subjects, spread out across the right-side armchairs. It was instant that Quadriga could tell who they all looked up to. The placement was subtle, but not enough for Quadriga to not read it immediately.

Subject XVI sat like a queen on her throne, her poise immaculate. She was giving off what felt like an aura of controlled energy. A queen trying to bear the grief of her subjects, to take the burdens upon herself. Her grief wasn’t as masked as Subject III, but nor was it as clearly apparent and perfectly channelled as Subject XIII.

The Emperor had once spoken of a great monarch of Albia many thousands of years past. What he had said of her skilled rule and powerful charisma despite the burdens placed upon her as a female ruler was a good fit for Subject XVI. She was a true inheritor of her father’s incredible skill.

Seated together on the right side of Subject XVI were the two principal psykers among their number, Subjects IX and XV. They were of particular concern to Quadriga. Limited empathic ability was a common trait among Psykers, and the emotional overload from the other Subjects would leak into them, leaving each bearing not only their own feelings, but also echoes of those felt by the others. They were uniquely vulnerable, and they both knew it.

And they were both definitely under a considerable amount of strain. Their faces, one an angel’s death mask, the other that of a marble statue in a Prosperine Pyramid, were neutrally plastered upon their heads like clay over an armature.  The overall effect was to leave them like bloodless statues bereft of life. As though they had been frozen at the exact moment they’d heard the news and were mere automatons now.

Quadriga felt the tiniest stabbing of a feeling that might be called pity. Pity for the two young women cursed with the power of the mind, trapped by their own unnatural potential into being subjected to a torrent of negative emotion that threatened to wash them away.

Subject I and Subject XVII were also there with them, each in a separate armchair off to the left. Though each was seated on her own from the group, both were half-listening in, their eyes wandering over towards XVI at the centre. Both were outcasts in their own way, but respected and trusted Subject XVI enough to come to her in a time like this.

All of this storm of information was taken in by Quadriga within a fraction of a second. Over the next fraction it was processed and assimilated. Exactly as he had expected, a mood of dull pain and deep gloom. All were affected deeply, all had been bruised by the fateful news.

And now he was dropping yet another complication onto their already upended lives. He could not call himself happy to be the bearer of such news.
The picture was broken the moment the hollow echo of Quadriga’s heavy bootstep filled the room. 

Nineteen separate heads turned – in such a way that almost came off as comical – towards the two newcomers striding into the room. Microexpressions quickly flashed across faces, alarm, fear at the potential news that was likely being brought to them by the new arrival. From a couple of the Subjects came flickers of hope that it was good news being brought with them. Quadriga could almost pity them.

Quadriga stopped dead as the doors slid shut, standing in the doorway like a statue in an alcove. This was not his territory. He was happy to let Skuratova take the lead here. It was what she was best at.

Subjects XIII and XVI were on their feet almost immediately, closely followed by a number of the others from both groups. They then left their respective groups behind and came over to Skuratova, who stopped and deferentially waited for them.

Subject XIII wordlessly asked Skuratova if it was good news coming with her, a desire for something to take away some of the uncertainty they had been plunged into. Subject XVI seemed to be resigned to more bad news in the way her head hung, hoping that it wouldn’t be too heavy a blow.

Skuratova’s mask that she had been carefully wearing gave the subtlest of cracks as before them she threw the crispest salute Quadriga had ever seen her give. Next second her emotion was once more firmly under control as she locked eyes with them, no deference given to their station.

“My ladies,” Skuratova addressed them all. Her voice was flat and even, betraying no hint of emotion. A mask of authority. “I am glad to see you all safe and well.”

“Director-General, welcome.” Said Subject XVI. Her voice was as hard and carefully measured as Skuratova’s own. “What news do you bring?”

“Good news I hope, Lady Lupercal,” Skuratova replied crisply. “I’m here to answer what questions I can and debrief you all on what comes next.” Her voice echoed throughout the whole room. “I know the next few days and weeks will be hard ones for all of you, and I need to make sure I can do everything I can to help.”

“Any help you can offer will be welcomed,” Subject XIII added, straightening her glasses to try and hide the brief look of relief. “All we have are hints and suppositions from the networks and the vid.”

Skuratova had already won Subject XIII over, and from the faint ghost of a smile Skuratova knew it.

“All of you know that the networks and the holo-news peddle lies and half-truths as facts if it will make more people look at them.” Skuratova said aloud. “Only trust that news you receive from us, from the Lord Primarchs and from the Lord Emperor Himself.”

With a brief gesture of her head, Skuratova moved past the Subjects and took up position in front of the vidscreens. Quadriga stayed put, standing silently like a statue by the entranceway. 

The Subjects returned to their seats, all eyes now fixed on Skuratova.

“My ladies, I am here to clear up any confusion that might exist.” Skuratova began. “So here are the facts as we know them:”

She gestured at the screen and a picture of the café appeared upon it.

“This morning, a sniper took a single shot at the Ladies Kiara and Morticia while they were at this establishment,” the café appeared on the screens. “one that I know was a favoured place amongst many of you.”

The identical sad smiles across several faces betrayed those who had most frequented the café. Some would never ever go back. Others might return, but it would never be the same again.

“Lady Morticia was hit, and both were evacuated immediately. As per emergency measures, all of you were swiftly collected and brought here, in case this was part of a co-ordinated effort against all of you.”

“Was it?” Subject IV asked, her voice somewhat unsteady. “Are there…more out there after us?”

“Lady Petra, we have found nothing to suggest that.” Skuratova replied. “All evidence points to this being a lone wolf attack.”

“But who?” Subject III cut in, her tone clearly demanding answers from Skuratova. Subject III had been known to try and use her authority in the past to override Skuratova if she felt pressured, which had demanded occasional meetings with Lord Fulgrim to smooth the issues.

“We have the subject in custody, but until the interrogations are over we won’t know for certain.” Words carefully chosen to minimise the question and avoid answering it directly. She and Quadriga already had a name but they would not put a name to their fear.

“What of Morticia? Any news of her?” Subject XVI smoothly slid her question in. Quadriga was struck by how Subject XVI was deliberately giving Skuratova a way to avoid any more questions on the shooter. Quadriga couldn’t help but respect that.

Skuratova gave a small smile, one with as much optimism in it as she could muster. “Now I can answer that. Morticia is currently still critical but stable. The last news I had before I arrived here was that she was out of immediate danger.”

Relief passed like a soothing wave across the young faces. A real nugget of good news. Good, this would help them calm down, and more importantly leave them open to accepting the bitter pill Quadriga was about to make them swallow.

Speaking of which, it was his turn now. With the tip of his Paragon Spear, Quadriga drew several swift motions, a nonverbal sign to Skuratova. With the merest twitch of an eyebrow she acknowledged him, and then cleared her throat.

“My Ladies, there is also another matter that I sadly must address. And that is the topic of your security in the days and weeks ahead.”

The looks of woe on several subjects – especially Subject XII – was fully expected. They were always the ones who hated their gilded chains most.

“I am not blameless in all this.” Skuratova admitted. “We in the Treasury were tasked with protecting your lives. And we failed.” A hint of her inner turmoil, what Quadriga had seen in that brief second when she had first heard the terrible news filtered through her words, showed the Subjects her own feelings, her own hurt by this tragedy. “We cannot fail again. This means we need your help. We need your co-operation, and we need your consideration. Can you give me that?” She finished softly.

All the subjects nodded in near unison. Even Subject XII, though hers was more reluctant.