Editing Commissar Techpriestess love story (section)

=== Chapter 10 ===
Octavia froze, unsure of how to react. Her fleshbrain cried out for her hug back, to wrap her mechadendrites around his neck and chest once more. Her cognitor said to go, she had work to be done, her efficiency had already been impacted upon enough for the morning. She hadn’t eaten, her cognitor pointed out, and she required sustenance. Her stomach grumbled, and Rogal pulled back,
“You’re hungry?”
Octavia nodded, “I may have moved my standard sleeping pattern forward a couple of hours, due to, other commitments,” she said, fidgeting with the hems of her sleeves, “And in my hurry to bring you your gloves, I may have neglected to eat.”
Her cognitor chided her for letting her fleshbrain have such liberties. Her cognitor pointed to all the dips in her work, and the correlation to Rogal’s actions or her fleshbrain’s activities. Her fleshbrain grabbed her cognitor, and pointed to the commissar, explaining quickly the finer points of human nature and male anatomy and its effect it could have. Her cognitor tittered sheepishly, before ceding control once more to Octavia’s fleshbrain. She breathed in deeply, the smell of soap, sawdust and clean linen filling her head. Rogal released her from the hug,
“In that case, it’s very rude of me to keep you. If you give me a moment,” he said, tugging at his blanket, “I will dress and escort you to the mess? If you would like, that is?”
Nodding happily, the petite priestess of the Mechanicum took a seat, watching the Commissar. Rogal looked around the tent nervously, “I’ll just go change then,” he said, collecting his uniform from the bed and disappearing into the bathroom. Octavia’s cognitor clipped her fleshbrain over the back of the head, “Really?” It asked, “You really thought he would act like a gelt romance character and change in front of you? You really should be tied to the post and lashed,”

As that thought left her metaphorical lips, Octavia’s cognitor realised its mistake. Her fleshbrain giggled, filling Octavia’s mind with images of her shackled to the post, her hands high above her head. Her cyber mantle prevented flogging in the traditional sense, but there were other parts of her that were still sensitive to punishment. Her fleshbrain weaved a scene, Rogal standing, shirtless, a disciplinary lash in his hands. Her Cognitor struggled to suppress a moan, valiantly trying to distract Octavia with the new plan for networking the hydra’s targeting cores into an overlapping defensive pattern that would maximise shot effectiveness. Her fleshbrain thrashed, as the imaginary Rogal tore her skirt away from her, before standing back. Her mechadendrites gripped to the chair and around her arms, as her cognitor tried desperately to sever the links her fleshbrain was making. It could hear Rogal pulling on his boots, he wouldn’t be long. If they were seen like this, her cognitor wailed, it would be the end of all they were working for. It promised to help her fleshbrain if she would just stop her imaginings right now. Her fleshbrain ignored her, the imaginary Rogal stood at his full towering height, and snapped the lash across his gloved palm. Her cognitor heard the click of the door being opened and begged her body to open its eyes. The imaginary Rogal raised the lash, the shadow cast across bare flesh. The Real Rogal walked towards his guest, buttoning his jacket. Octavia’s sat smiling, her eyes shut, her head on her hand, leaning on the table. 
“Octavia?” Rogal called softly
“Octavia,” The words from the imaginary Rogal were firm, the lash started its downward arc.
Rogal reached out, gently tapping his guest on the shoulder. The lash snapped down across pale flesh, leaving a bright pink mark. Octavia’s eyes snapped open, as her mechadendrites crushed into the wood of the chair.

Rogal looked at her, puzzled, “Are you alright, priestess?” He asked, slowly pulling his hand back from her shoulder. Octavia smiled, trying to ignore the heat in her cheeks and stomach. Her cognitor forced her to her feet, her mechadendrites releasing the chair from their vice like grips. Rogal looked at the chair, his brow furrowing further, as Octavia replied, “Sorry, I am still undergoing my morning power on self testing. It was delayed by my journey here.” She lied, smiling as sweetly as she could.
Rogal reached past her and picked up his hat, putting it under his arm. “You realise I have no idea what that means?” He said, as he put his hand to the small of his guests back, gently guiding her towards the tent flap. Octavia nodded, her mechadendrite going to push the tent flap open, but Rogal’s huge hand beat it, pushing the heavy fabric from their path. The sun shone down, bright and warm in the morning sky. Setting his cap at its favored jaunty angle, Rogal pushed the petite priestess forward once more. The base was still wet from the storm the night before, but the grass and trees that were present had taken on a freshly watered lustre. If there had been any doubts about there being something between the burly commissar and the dainty priestess, their walk to the mess destroyed them as completely as an exterminatus. Guardsmen and Mechanicum alike watched the pair walking together, Octavia taking two or three steps to each of Rogal’s long strides, as they smiled and talked about nothing in particular. As the pair entered the mess, the chatter became a whisper, as hearts broke, bets were won and lost, and then a cry went out. A mug shattered, and Rogal’s head whipped around. Grinning sheepishly, Tiberius shook a recaf covered hand, blowing to try and cool the burning sensation. Rogal rolled his eyes, tucking his hat back under his arm.

Octavia looked up at her companion, and he looked down, “Save me a spot, I’ll be right back,” He said quietly, pushing her towards the serving line. Rogal strode across the mess to his friend, his smile quickly growing as he approached. He saw the patches hiding at Tiberius’s neck, as the vox officer wiped his hand with a napkin. 
“A good night then, Sir?” Tiberius asked, as he scrunched the napkin and tossed it into the bin beside the recaf table. Rogal clapped a hand down on his friends shoulder, savoring the jolt of pain he knew he had inflicted. Tiberius’s hands clenched as tightly as his jaw, his breath escaping from between his teeth with a hiss. 
“An excellent night indeed. Yours?”
Tiberius winced as Rogal’s hand lifted, blood surging back to fill the new bruise. With a tired grin, he replied, “Yeah, wasn’t too bad at all sir. I have some new reports coming in from the fleet you might be interested in, so I’ll see to it you get the slates.”
Rogal nodded, “Much obliged as always. Any new whispers on the vox I should be aware of?”
He asked, tipping his head to other officers as they passed. Tiberius shook his head, “Nothing really, just how you and the priestess with the blessings were seen leaving your tent together.”
With a sigh, Rogal poured himself a mug of recaf, drinking down the warm beverage in a long draught, before pouring himself another. 
“Right, well, do what you can to quash that, I’ll be around later to look at those slates.”
“As you wish, Commissar,” Tiberius said, tapping his forehead in mess hall salute. Rogal strode back to the serving line, taking his spot beside Octavia once more.

A mechadendrite offered the Commissar a tray, as they shuffled forward in the line. 
“People are watching us,” Octavia whispered, her other mechadendrites swaying warily behind her,
“We’re somewhat of an item, apparently,” He whispered back, feeling the colour return to his cheeks. Rogal just wanted things to be simple. They shuffled down the line, the cooks serving the breakfast all smiling at him, giving him nods of respect, as he grinned awkwardly. Years of good relationships and firm but fair justice had enamoured him to the battalion, his willingness to only be a commissar when he needed to be, and to act more like an NCO cementing his good standing. Their plates loaded high with food, the pair made their way to an empty table at the back of the mess. Rogal placed his tray on the table, before pulling chairs out for his red robed companion. Taking her seat, Octavia set her own tray down, mechadendrites reaching out to stabilize her mug of recaf and grab a napkin, as she twirled her fork between her fingers. Rogal set his cap down as he took his seat, inhaling the delicious smell of the fresh cooked meal.
“Where’s your friend this morning?” Rogal asked, before taking another mouthful of cereal, the crisp grain flakes crunching as he chewed, 
“My friend? Priestess Caelistis?”
Rogal nodded, shovelling more food into his mouth. Octavia shook her head,
“I have no idea, it is strange that she should be late. She was in our quarters when I left this morning, but I have not seen or heard from her since. Why do you ask?”
Rogal swallowed, clearing his throat before he spoke, “You two seem close, I’ve seen you together quite often. Seems odd she isn’t here, is all,”
Octavia pondered her friends absence, her mechadendrites buttering her a slice of toast, which she took in a metal hand before nibbling.

“Caelistis often works strange hours,” Octavia explained, “So it is possible she is on a different diurnal cycle than standard.” Her cognitor ran over all her interactions between her and Caelistis in the past few days. Rogal watched as her nose twitched, a mechadendrite drawing in the air absentmindedly as she pondered, “However, she has been working different shifts than usual. She has assigned herself to chimera maintenance twice, both during the middle of the day, and across the second and third night shifts. Chimera’s don’t need that much maintenance,” She said, thinking out loud, Rogal nodding as he ate. Tiberius walked past the table, “Oh, just so you know sir, I will be out of the vox tent from eleven hundred to around fourteen hundred, Cleo will be taking care of things,” He said as he took a seat, sitting across from the commissar and the Techpriestess. “Are you two busy today?”
Rogal nodded, “We’re working on another barracks today, should have the frame up by nightfall, and enough beds to fill the first.” 
Octavia placed her fork down on her now empty tray, taking her mug of recaf from the mechadendrite offering it, “The hydra defence grid is being overhauled. After the incident on trealsday,” Octavia stumbled over the strange name, “We found the gap they exploited, so we are reconfiguring the targeting cores to form a tighter scanweave over the base.” Octavia’s eyes brightened as she continued, her cognitor relishing the chance to do what it was good at, “By tightening the scanweave, and then synchronising the firing algorithms via a low band noospheric connection, we not only increase protection, but lower the amount of wear on the hydra batteries, as each tank will fire fewer shots individually, but as they fire in concert, the same volume of fire is reached.”
Tiberius’s face was blank, he had stopped listening after hearing about the defence grid being overhauled.

Rogal had been lost at the idea of low band noospheric connections, but he understood most of it,
“So each hydra only fires once?”
Octavia nodded, “A four round burst, but that’s only one flak shell per barrel. The hard part is getting everything synchronised properly, but that’s why we’re using low band noospherics, as opposed to high or very high vox.”
A concerned look crossed Tiberius’s face, “Does that mean you’re going to be around the Vehicle pits today, priestess?” He asked, as nonchalantly as he could,
Nodding happily, “Of course, where else would I be? Aside from the command centre, for when we set up the overarching targeting hierarchy, or the noospheric server system, for calibrating the low band synchronisation,” Her cognitor paused, before continuing, “So I suppose I could be around the vehicle pits, but I could be many other places.”
Her fleshbrain sighed, shaking its head at her cognitor’s obsession with details. 
“Why do you ask, vox officer?” Octavia’s cognitor pushed for information, watching with curiosity as subtle facial tics spread across Tiberius’s face.
“Oh, no reason, priestess, just curiosity.”
Rogal’s ears pricked up, Tiberius was never just curious.
“Just curiosity?” The commissar echoed, his grey eyes piercing with commissarial strength. Tiberius looked away nervously, before tapping at his ear,
“What’s that Jenkins? Right? Yes? Yes. I’ll be right there, Out.” The vox officer said, before standing, pushing his seat in with his leg, “That was private Jenkins, something about some new codes not being accepted by the voxnet, I’ll see you two lovebirds around,” He said, winking before he ran off, praying to the Emprah to not feel a lasbolt at his back. Rogal and Octavia sat dumbfounded, watching the cheeky Vox officer dodge his way through the mess and out the door.