Editing Republican Commando (section)

===(23) The Stains of Time===

<div class="mw-collapsible-content">The Blade has begin the warp trip to the long-neglected Nebraskus. The Black Caste is expected to have entrenched there, with space and ground defenses. With a week and a half of travel time expected, the Commandos return to their private business. While Cyril continues his crafts, and Temur reviews the archival reports of the episodes he missed, Cortain heads down to the Trophy Room. As for their support crew, while Rockfist and Thexus continue to bicker like an old married couple about stupid bullshit, Rose has headed to the Hololithic Chambers, after working with O'Malley on the "Babby's First Diviniation" book.

Erring on the side of suspicion,  Cortain opts to begin research on Commander Outsider's curious armaments. Calling upon all his knowledge as a Forge Lord, he begins to carefully study the weapon.  At first he is unsure where to begin, and dangerously close to tossing it. However, Urist McCyberfamiliar points out the On button, and it all makes sense.

Outsider's weapon is a pair of Tau Ion Rifles, overcharged to suffuse the barrels with ion energy when connected. It is in this way the weapon can be used as a staff. Seemingly best quality, the weapon seems to have been custom-forged.

"Concerning.  These xenos seem to be very well-funded," Cortain sighs, "If only we could grab their suits..."

Popping on down to the firing range, Cortain finds the weapons distasteful and bulky. Nonetheless, it is his duty as Forge Lord to study the enemy's weaponry for any potential weakness. Some practice servo-automata float idly by, and Cortain fires at mid-range. Some of the squats completing their training give him odd stares, but they dare not question a Consul.

"This weapon is the mark of our enemy," Cortain reminds them, "This Is what we will be facing."
"Of course, Consul," a Squad Leader bows, "We meant no disrespect."
"However, this is but a weapon," Cortain states, "And one who can learn a weapon can master it's strengths and weaknesses."
He pauses a moment.
"I can only wonder what this Wiseman might have in store..."
"Aye, m'lord," the Squad leader says, "The lads an' I are content with our lasguns, but if you see anythin' in that Xenos gun, then more power to ye."
Cortain returns to his studies as Cyril, completing his work, joins him in practice.

Brynjol stops by the Hololithic chambers to check up on Rose, and notes the Chamber states Occupancy (2) before sinking back down to Occupancy (1). Brynjol frowns, peeking inside. Within the Hololithic Chamber, it's quite an odd sight. The Chamber has been modeled as a seaside veranda, hovercraft of unknown make floating in the distance. The Buildings are of a distinct non-gothic bent. At Rose's side is a large metal construct, distinctly humanoid in form. It is bringing her a drink. Brynjol shakes his head - the Men of Iron should be forgotten.

"Ah, Commandos," Rose says, standing up as she notices the Wolf Priest, "Is there a problem?"
"Just came to see how you were," he states.
"I'm fine, just taking a breather," she says, "O'Malley is pushing me hard, and I just finished speaking with a fellow named 'Thrax.' He said he was trying to help you all."
"I... see," Brynjol sighs with some displeasure.
Rose laughs. "He said you'd have that reaction. He says he's close, however."
"I'm wary of mysterious people," Brynjol states, directing the conversation to something he's more comfortable with, "Comes from growing up on a planet where everything tries to kill you."
"Well, I don't think I could ever understand THAT," she sighs.
It's the sort of thing you learn to live with," he explains, "You don't consider it a...handicap, as such. You just deal with it."
"We were always taught to be as diplomatic as possible," Rose states, "You would never know what new people you'd meet amongst the stars."
"Ah, how far humanity has come," Brynjol laughs, "We greet every new arrival with the iron fist. The velvet glove lies abandoned."
"That's so sad," Rose replies quietly, "But, I guess from what I've seen it does make prudent sense."
Brynjol shrugs. "It's prudence. We cannot mingle the purity of the human race with the taint of the alien, and we cannot allow our borders to be threatened. Very few are willing simply to turn their backs and leave."
"Well, I guess I'll keep that in mind. For now, though, that Dr. Thrax has requested my help soon, and I offered to assist in any way possible," Rose states, "Although, he did say something I'm still wondering about."
"Aye?" Brynjol asks, intrigued.
"He told me that, one day, a Sightless Seer and a Master of Mechanisms would call me to action," she says, "And I would have to choose to answer the call or not."

The two are silent for a moment.

"I'm not quite sure what he meant, but I'm sure it's important," she nods.
"Peculiar," Brynjol wonders, unsure of what to make of it himself.
"Well, no sense worrying about things," Rose shrugs, "Was there anything you needed of me?"
"Just making sure you recovered from your... trance," Brynjol says, getting serious.
"I haven't felt anything odd since," she says, "But I'll keep you updated if I feel off."

The general alert goes off, as the Blade leaves the Warp. Arriving in System, Cortain takes a moment to compile data about the world of Nebraskus. A slightly frosty world of ravines and moors, with light gravity, the planet nevertheless maintains enough arable land to feed much of the sector. An oligarchy of Farmer families maintain the fields and ensure the tithes are met.  Nebraskus is situated close to the center of the sector, meaning it is a nexus of trade and output. This also makes it more prone than most to space hulks.

He nods, content with what he found. A cloying fog that hangs through the ship is somewhat concerning to him, though, but it is nothing compared to the strange translucent weeds that are beginning to spread across the Blade's halls, like Ivy. He begins to wonder - as the one with the highest insanity score of everyone, is it only he that can see such things?

"So, lads," Rockfist says, breaking him and the others out of their reveries, "The world's most likely been fortified by the Tau, how d'ya wanna approach things?"
The Commandos assemble on the Bridge, alongside Rockfist who is once more wearing his armor.
"'Course, their idea of fortification ain't anything I'd call the term, but it still bears thinkin' about," Rockfist shrugs, "Your orders?"
"I agree on the notion of striking their holds," Cortain begins, "But before that, we need to evade their fleets. Tau battleships are remarkably swift."
"EVASION LEAVES A SORE TASTE ON MY AUSPEX SENSORIA," Thexus blasts, "BUT THE BLADE CAN ATTEMPT SILENT RUNNING IF DESIRED, CONSUL."
"Destroying them might be safer," Cyril disagrees, "It would warn the forces on the surface of our approach, but that is worth the security of denying them orbital support."
"Jus' give the command, lad, an' well make it happen," Rockfist says, "We'll be reaching Nebraskus within the hour."

The Commandos discuss their options. While Cyril advises carpet-bombing the area with a Stormbird, Temur and Cortain feel that mobility would suit them better, and opt for Jump Packs alongside their normal gear, reasoning that a Stormbird bombardment would just force their enemies into cover. Cyril relents, instead readying a Thanatar maniple with Sollex Lascannons upgrade, and a Squat Brotherhood Combat Squad.

"Brothers, this ship is built for the open battle the Legiones excelled at, not the stealthy approach," Cyril states, "We should charge in, not attempt silent running. Agreed?"
The Commandos nod, and steel themselves for the Tau expected in wait. Tau vessels tend towards heavy railgun batteries, ion lances, and swarms of torpedoes. Based on previous experience with Black Caste voidships, the Commandos did not note any major deviation from this doctrine. With a rough plan in mind, the Commandos intone the Plasma Drives to high gear,  as the armored prow points forward. Reaching stable orbit of Nebraskus, they can already see the results of the Black Caste's fortifications. Ahead is a large defense station, its railgun emplacements bristling. Flanking it are a pair of Protector Cruisers, their own weaponry engaging.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rTEyphaFYHQ

The Blade of the Long Watch begins with an arc-charged Accelerator Cannon blast into a Protector Cruiser, incinerating it in the heavy beam. The Blade is now open, however, and the remaining Protector fires its Railguns, Ion Cannons, and Torpedoes, damaging the Blade and lighting the Void Shields on fire. The Orbital Station adds to the firepower with Railgun Battery Support, while the Blade tries to re-align and manage the flames. Throwing caution to the wind, Ramming Speed is engaged, bumping both the Cruiser and the Station, and throwing the Blade slightly askew, which works in the Commandos' favor.

While the Protector tries to realign, the Commandos arc-charge the shields, while circling and pummeling the Orbital Station and the Cruiser. The Blade takes heavy damage as it repositions, firing torpedoes, sunsear batteries, and sunhammer lances at everything hostile, circling the Orbital Station like an angry wolf. The final Protector aligns and gives a port broadside, but the Blade's torpedoes gut the cruiser, causing it to slow down and finally explode. Surviving repeated salvos from banks of Railgun Batteries, a starboard salvo from the Blade impacts the Station. The Commandos hear a listing sound echo through the winds of spess as the station begins to light up, little explosions spreading out, before it disappears in a nova-fueled fireball.

"We are the Emperor's Angels of Death. Tau go home." Cyril broadcasts. "Rockfist, have sensors picked up any signs of the Deep Ones or the Orvanian regiment?"
"Lad, we're seeing a lot of wreckage in orbit," Rockfist shakes his head, "But it's hard ta say if that's the support, or if it's space hulk wreckage."
"No recognizable transponder signatures?" Cyril presses.
"Sorry, lad," Rockfist sighs, "I'll keep lookin'."

The Blade takes defensive position while the Commandos begin deployment, and the Squats and Thexus monitor vox signals.

"CONSULS, WE HAVE DETECTED EXCERTUS LANDERS NEAR ONE OF THE COASTAL PORT SETTLEMENTS," Thexus finally yells, "I AM DETECTING NO EXCERTUS VOX TRAFFIC. BE WATCHFUL, CONSUL."

Deciding to use the Flip Belts just in case, a sour taste upon each Commando's tongue, a Stormbird is readied, and the Commandos  The Stormbird is aimed at the world of Nebraskus, and launched with all due haste. Brynjol readies his axe and crozius, while Cyril hopes his troops are enough. Temur carefully maintains his Grav Cannon, while Cortain bristles with weapons on every bit of him.

"You know Cort, the mortals have a saying for that," Brynjol points out, "You're compensating for something!"
Cortain ignores the statement.

Atmospheric re-entry is surprisingly calm, as light clouds brush against the Stormbird's underbelly. The Commandos fly over endless fields of grains and crops. They can see the occasional Farming Servitor wandering the fields, maintaining plant growth.

"Farming Servitors remain active," Cyril notes, "But no vox traffic whatsoever..."
"Subverting them would be meaningless," Cortain points out.
"Perhaps," Cyril agrees, "But it means that Nebraskus' tithes may not be disrupted overmuch by the Tau's temporary occupation of it."

Eventually, the Commandos can see one of the larger agri-ports ahead, as well as a big open space they use for a landing port.

"Landing port ahead," Cyril points out, "Blade, where is the highest concentration of Tau on the surface?"
"We're detecting...nothing, lads, beyond a few errant auto voxcodes." Rockfist says, "I don't like this. Yer goin' in blind."
"Sounds fun!" Brynjol declares, "Let's just pick a spot and scout."

Eventually, the Commandos pull the Stormbird to a stop, and land. The doors open with a clang, to the silence outside.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=euYHV4syv8s

"I ill like this," Cyril states, "We could scour the world for weeks and find nothing."
"And walk right into their trap," Cortain affirms.
"Bryn, do you smell anything useful?" Cyril asks.

Brynjol drops to one knee, fingers spread in the dirt. Even with the vox turned off, and his helmet turned away, the Commandos can hear the titanic sound of nostrils sucking in huge quantities of air. He can DEFINITELY smell something wrong. The air has a thick scent that gives him quite a headache. He's only ever felt hints of it when other Tau were around. There are numerous theories on how Tau recognize each other, some have more evidence than others.

"It smells familiar. It's like the Tau... but..." Brynjol starts, "I've smelt something like this before. When the Tau mass."

Cortain takes a moment to review archival knowledge. Tau olfactory organs are much more sensitive than normal humans. It is theorized they use Pheremones, but it's a theory that has difficult finding proof outside of WarzoneL Montka. 

"Possibly some sort of pheromonal secretion then, through mass gathering of their kin..." Brynjol offers, "Or the presence of one of their leaders."
Cyril grins and puts on his helm. "It has been a very, very long time since I saw an Ethereal die."
"Indeed. They are amassing," Cortain considers, "Perhaps an Ethereal is not too far off."

The Commandos halt, however, as they see a civilian in simple farm overalls walking along the road. Cortain approaches the civilian. 

"Hail, native," Cortain offers. Getting closer, the native seems to be stuttering along rather stiltedly. Cyril joins Cortain as the farmer stares at them with somewhat empty eyes. 

"Wiseman has taught us all. We are now united. Glory to the Greater Good," his head twitches, "Have you come to join our glorious destiny?"

Cortain bristles. "Silence him. Nonlethally."
The Commandos are beginning to see more people around. They are just as stilted as the guy in front of them.
"NONCOMPLIANT RECIDIVISTS SHOULD BE DESTROYED, CONSUL," Thexus offers over encrypted teamvox.
"Ignore them," Cyril suggests, "Inquisitors can sort them out after we have dealth with the Paragon."
"Avoid gunfire unless need be," Cortain adds, "These are not willing traitors."
"Glory to the Greater Good..." the surrounding people amble about, "Glory to the Tau Empire..."
Cyril grits his teeth and resists the temptation to backhand someone's head off. Brynjol grinds his teeth through his helm, the sound evident to all. Temur says nothing as the Commandos surround him, for any words sent at him would probably send him into an anyeurism of hatred and purging.
"Sickening..." Rockfist spits, "Lads, I salute ya, ye've got far more patience than I would..."
"Rest assured that it does not get easier with time," Cortain admits.

Throughout the agri-port, the Commandos can see the people almost...pantomiming normal existence. If the Commandos had a throne for every time they heard "Glory to the Greater Good" repeated every time they aggressively bumped someone, they'd rival Korst'la.

Cyril puts an ear out through the hordes' ramblings. Much to his shock, he can hear the occasional Astra Militarum Standardized Combat Order echo amongst the crowd. Indeed, he can trace those voices to the occasional Guardsman, wandering as aimlessly as the civilians. Brynjol and Cortain can pick out some of the rarer sayings. 

"Commander Wiseman has shown me truth."
"Honor to Aun'o O'res'nan." 
"From the Water comes Wiseman, from Wiseman comes truth, from truth comes life" 
"My head hurts...ah...Glory to the Greater Good..."

"This is NOT helping..." Temur hisses, "But I'd rather not waste my ammunition on such weaklings."

Luckily for the Commandos, the area seems to have all the amenities of Imperial life. It's got standard shops, adeptus officiums, even a large Port. Cyril suggests checking the port first, to verify first where the harvests have gone, and to investigate the Water. Heading through the city, and stepping on no small number of civilians, the Commandos approach the port. A number of botes are still docked, it seems.

"We have yet to see any sign of the Deep Ones..." Cyril muses, "I am concerned."
"I hope we find something soon," Brynjol sighs, "I'm fairly close to just knocking down buildings until the Fire Caste turn up."
"I doubt they would bother," Cyril shrugs, "These are not their buildings, and it seems the locals no longer have any aversion to their replacement with Tau architecture."

"You are correct, Republican Commandos," a voice suddenly echoes through port Laud hailers, "These gue'la have been enlightened, and are well on the way to the fundamental truths."

"Wiseman, I presume..." Cortain mutters. Cyril does not even hesitate to shoot a Laud Hailer, though there are many that echo across the port.
"Indeed," the Laud Hailers blast, "We've been watching and expecting you. Your actions are within our parameters. Your first action to shoot..."
Cortain shoots accusing glares at Cyril.
"Well, here we are, in quite an impasse," the Laud Hailers echo, "You came to save people, and yet you deny them the truth. Tell me, who saves the weak from the 'men who save the weak?'"
"Spare us your proselytizing, heathen xenos," Cyril demands, "This is your only warning: release the populace from whatever hold you have over their minds and bodies, leave this place, and never return, on pain of death."
Brynjol remains uncharacteristically quiet, listening.
"Truth in this case being exchanged for their free will," Cortain points out.
"Call it what you will - a proselytization, a conviction, a...meme," Wiseman laughs, "You'll be seeing it soon enough. We await you by the Water's edge..."

The Laud Hailers go silent.

"Well...we got their attention," Cortain notes, raising his weapon.

Trudging through the port, every dockworker wordlessly staring as the Commandos pass, they finally come to a great open area where the largest of vessels would make port. The water laps against the docks and botes. Within the center, well, this explains where the missing Militarum personnel went. They all stand at attention, staring blankly into the distance. Brynjol holds everyone back, swearing a hasty Oath to the Wolf King, before allowing Cortain to approach the guardsmen, wondering if they will respond.

Down from an elevated craneatus, leaps a Tau in a thin personal-class battlesuit. He stands upon the head of one Guardsman, extending a hand. Por'o Do'ran'ro, Water Caste Paragon Commander Wiseman.

"Free will is a myth, Gue'ron'sha, we're all controlled by something...Greater. I've shown these people that greater path, that Greater Good, as it was shown to me by Aun'o O'Res'nan. But if you won't join us, then you're all mine!"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ULQgMntenO8

Brynjol delays his lightning attack, waiting to see what Wiseman will do. He notes an odd shimmer about him though as he fails a WP test. Cortain steps up, succeeding at a WP test and raising his Culverin, but sadly shooting wide.

Wiseman points forward, as the subverted Guardsmen raise their lasguns all at once as he stands on top of them. A wide hail of fire goes out, and while Cortain the walking Tank can survive them, Brynjol gets hit a bit. Then Cyril and Cortain note an odd bank of fog roll in. Brynjol and Temur, though, do not.

"Fear the UNSEEN!" he yells, as he leaps up. Out of the fog, Wiseman charges forward with an electrified set of daggers. While Cortain and Cyrils' shields hold, Temur chooses to parry instead, and respond with a counter-attack. 

"You'll MISS!" Wiseman yells, as Temur raises his sword. Sadly, Temur fails a WP test and, much to his concern, Temur sees the Tau's body separate and effortlessly weave around every strike before reforming back.

Cortain merely wonders why Temur attacks the air as Wiseman calmly walks away.

Cyril realizes now is the time, and orders support down. Drop podding down is a Combat Squad of Squats, a Maniple of Thanatar Siege Automata, and Notomok the Yeti. Wiseman merely laughs. The Cyril, the horde of Squats, the Thanatar, and the Yeti begin firing and smashing into the horde of Guardsmen, though their unnatural relentlessness keeps many going beyond the point of death. He finally calls Squad Mode to launch Brynjol at Wiseman, but Wiseman's body contorts at every strike. Cortain alone wonders once more why Brynjol is attacking the air a meter or so from Wiseman. When Temur releases a grav Salvo at the Tau as well, he now knows something's off, and it's tied to the WP tests everyone is forced to make. Even the Squats are beginning to feel off, and it becomes a race against time before Wiseman convinces even them to fire at their allies. He does take heart in one thing, however.

Wiseman's words may affect the Guardsmen, the citizens, the Squats, and even the Commandos, but the Yeti and the Thanatar seem completely unfazed.

The Commandos focus everything they have at Wiseman, but sadly they fail their WP tests and their every shot and hit goes wide. This infuriates Brynjol in particular, who simply wants to smash the Tau into paste. Wiseman laughs the entire way through, taunting the Commandos in their inability to hit him. Only Cortain is unaffected as he fires at the Guardsmen instead, incinerating a number of them with Volkite rays. This allows him the clarity of mind to realize the water behind him is receding.

"FLOWING WATER! The power of the Greater Good!" Wiseman yells, as a monstrous tidal wave comes in behind him, flowing over everything. Brynjol and Temur opt to dodge with jump packs, while Cortain and Cyril trust to their shields, getting thrown about by the water but taking no damage. Further Las-shots go out from the weakened Guardsman horde, but as the water rains down in a thin mist, the worst has shown up.

Five grey and teal Astartes, raising their storm bolters in unison. 

"TRAITORS!" Brynjol howls at the top of his lungs.
"Damn..." Cyril curses in local sector dialect.

Notomok the Yeti takes moderate damage, while Cyril and Brynjol suffer under the storm of bolts. It's hard to follow the battlefield, now a veritable zoo with Wiseman, the Commandos, Battle Automata, Squats, subverted Guardsmen, subverted Mereens, and a Yeti. Cyril gives the final orders to the troops as the Squats begin to feel woozy. More stubborn than most, the Squats manage to hold fast and fire straight at Wiseman. The Tau yells as he is forced back - he has never had to dodge before, relying on the power of his voice and pheremones. 

"Fight on!" Cortain yells, "Resist his heathenous powers!"

Realizing victory is at hand, the Thanatar continue their storm of withering fire. Though the Sollex Lascannons go wide, the Mauler Bolter fire soaks into Wiseman, who tries to dodge. But it is too much fire for one so untrained. Shocked at the unliving Automata's immunity to his delegations, Wiseman falls backward as the Squats and Automata go to town, riddling him with energy blasts and bolts.

"Kill...or be killed..." Wiseman laughs, "Nature...can run its course, but compared to those...things, I was powerless..."
"Notomok, back! Bring the Deep Ones," Cyril commands, "Everyone, get away from that Tau!"
Wiseman coughs. "Ha...ha ha...sure as the sun will rise...we of the Black Caste...will continue our mission..."
Wiseman looks up.
"Now...it's time...for us all to DIE..."

Wiseman's battlesuit explodes. Nothing is left but his twin electrified daggers.

Cyril and Cortain grab an armful of Guardsmen and jet away as the explosion ripples out. Brynjol lands in front of the nearest Squat squad, kneeling to absorb the shockwaves better. His robes catch fire.

"Wind blows...rain falls..." a voice echoes across the rain, "The strong...prey...on the weak...all...is as it should...be..."

Then there is silence.

Cortain heads over to check the Deep Ones. They're dead. As are the Guardsmen Cyril holds. 
"Truly an abominable display..." Cortain sighs.
"Bring... bring them back," Brynjol commands, "All of them."
"Autopsies?" Cyril asks.
"Aye," Brynjol nods.
"CONSUL, THE HELOT-ROCKFIST AND I WERE WATCHING. WE WISH TO CONGRATULATE YOU," Thexus announces, "YOU REMIND ME OF THE LEGIONS MORE EVERY SINGLE DAY..."

Cyril sprays some Kraken bolts into the crater where the Tau was. "Well done, Brotherhood." The Squats rub their heads, but return the sign of the Aquila. The Thanatars stand quietly, uncompromisingly, uncomprehendingly, as Cortain offers them a prayer.

"We should declare Martial Law until support can arrive," Brynjol notes.
"Bryn... do you think there is anyone left living to impose law on?" Cyril wonders.
"I hope so," Brynjol nods, "If the death of a single one of these bastards can wipe clean an entire world, we might be in a spot of trouble."
"First step on the road to disappointment, Consul-Chaplain," Cyril chuckles.
Brynjol lets out a single harsh bark of laughter.
"The Imperium was founded on the hope of mankind, Delegatus," Brynjol points out, "I've taken many steps down that road already, and I regret none of them."
He organizes the fallen Deep Ones in a neat pile.
"Whoever came up with that saying was a miserable bastard who needs a smack."
"They were right, Bryn," Cyril states. "Hope is still worthwhile, but all too often it will burn down around the ears of those who dared to reach for it." 

After a bit, the Urists bring a second Stormbird around as they split up to pilot the first and second. They look rather sullen.

"That..." Cyril grunts as he hauls a Deep One aboard, "is where we come in."
"Bugger that, Cyril. Too much of the Imperium is given over to...human factories," Brynjol disagrees, "Life should not be a commodity, yet necessity forces it to be so. If you can't have the hope of something better, what can you do but despair?"
Brynjol hops on a Stormbird.
"I'd take hope over despair any day."
"On that we are agreed," Cyril says quietly.

"Lads, the Water Caste are master diplomats. If Wiseman was truly a paragon of his kind," Rockfist wonders, "Then that is how he convinced an entire world, with just his words." 

Hopping on the Stormbirds, corpses on board, the Urists begin the trip back. Down below, the Commandos pass over the legions of dead. This world can be considered empty now. There will need to be a repopulation effort, probably. Brynjol orders his Apothecarion readied, and the Medicae Deck is put on full alert. Arriving back at the Blade, the entire support crew stands ready to receive the bodies, the Chapter Serfs taking point.

"There should be only two more left..." Cortain notes. 

Rockfist, Thexus, and the Chapter Serfs stand ready to move the corpses, while Rose and O'Malley stand off to the side. Brynjol and Cyril busy themselves with the bodies. Of note, however, is the veiled Kroot standing by Rose. Dr. Thrax has appeared in the open.

"Kroot, what do you want?" Cortain asks. Temur stands behind him, ready to act if Thrax's words are unsatisfactory.
"Ahh...Commandos, my wahrmest reegards..." it hisses, "We have good neews..."
"News...?" Cortain wonders.
"We have consulteed weeth the speerits..." Thrax nods, "And we have studied your condeetion heavily. Why you feel...fear when the...Hellstar arrives. We have feegured out...a cure."
Cortain pauses instantly.
"I can record this data," Cortain states, "I feel that this will be vital."
"I'm sorry, but..." Rose says, "You really should hear this."
"Yes, Techmareen, pleease do. Eet was all thanks to Miss Rose here, eet was her eenformation that let me peenpoint it," he states, "But to help you...we require two theengs..."
"We are listening. Get to the point!" Cyril yells on the way to the Medicae Deck.
"One was a psyker, to project your minds and confront your feear directly. Miss Rose has offered to do so..." Thrax rasps, "Thee other, much harder...a location, a place soaked in bloodshed, fear, anguish, and betrayal. I know not an ideal place..."
"Betrayal?" Brynjol asks.

Now Thexus stops flat.

"I DO, CONSUL," Thexus's skull and mechadendrites turn to Thrax, "IF THIS ABHORRENT XENOS IS CORRECT IN HIS THOUGHTS..."

The Commandos wait with bated breath.

"YOU MUST GO...TO ISSTVAN."
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