Editing Commissar Techpriestess love story (section)

=== Chapter 18 ===
“Tiberius,” Rogal began, tapping a gloved finger on the table as he spoke, “Have you ever thought about what you would do if you were on a garrison planet?”
The vox officer shook his head, “Never thought I’d live long enough. Why do you ask?”
The commissar rubbed at a mark on the table top, “Just curious.”
Tiberius just shrugged and sipped his drink. With a buzz, his dataslate chimed, a new datacast waiting for him. He poked his slate with a finger, smiling as he read the message,
“Caelistis says she will join us soon, she’s just finishing up on whatever an ECCMS unit is. She also says that she will bring Octavia with her.”
Rogal nodded, as his own slate hummed. He pressed a few runes, pulling up Octavia’s message, which he quickly read. Tiberius signalled at a barmaid, and she sided up to the table,
“What can I get you, sirs?” she asked, and Tiberius grinned at her, “Another amasec triple over ploins and an amasec combination seven, neat,”
“On ice, if you please,” Rogal added, gently swirling what remained of the cubes in his glass.
“Oh, and some more crispseeds, that spicy flavour, if you have them, otherwise plain will do,” Tiberius continued,
“As you wish, sirs,” The barmaid said with a small bow. Tiberius watched her saunter from the table, and Rogal shook his head.
“Should you be doing that?” The commissar asked, before draining what was left in his glass,
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I should. Mistress thinks it would be fun if I had a friend.”
Rogal snorted, clamping his hand over his mouth. With an effort, he swallowed, coughing to clear his throat. “What?”
“You heard me. Mistress thinks I have been good enough to deserve a friend, so she told me to keep an eye out. She also told me to make sure this friend was female, with dark hair and eyes, and of a similar figure to mistress.”
Rogal let out a sigh, rolling the cool glass against his forehead, “Forget I asked. Please?”

Tiberius let out a bark of laughter, “Don’t you want to hear how mistress will tie us both up?”
“No.”
“How she’ll lash us for being impure?”
“No.”
“How she cleanses our souls with-“
“No, and if you continue, I will make sure you’re sent home with a gallantry discharge and be forced to live out your days a hero.” Rogal said, placing his glass down with deliberate slowness. Tiberius’s eyes went wide, “You wouldn’t…”
“I would. By the saints, I’d even put you in for a medallion estanza.”
The pair stared at each other, before Tiberius grinned, “You’re a nasty piece of work, Commissar.”
Rogal laughed, “Just how I was raised. But really, can you keep the mistress talk to yourself.”
“As you wish,” The vox officer said, a devilish grin on his face, “Master,”
“Dorn’s beard man, enough already.”
Tiberius laughed, and finished his drink, picking the slice of ploin out of the glass with the toothpick, and popping it into his mouth. Rogal shook his head, Hjarl was right, Tiberius was kinky. His mind however, wandered slightly, an image of a bound Octavia, dressed in an ordos famulous uniform, curled on his bed creating itself. He shook his head to clear the image, and it left, but promised it would be back. The Barmaid returned, placing a drink in front of the commissar, “An amasec combination seven, neat, on ice, for the Commissar,” She said, running her eyes appreciatively over Rogal’s massive frame, before placing the other drink down beside Tiberius’s first. 
“A triple amasec on ploins, and a bowl of spicy crispseeds for the lieutenant,” She purred, as Tiberius grinned back, leaning a stubbled chin onto his hand,
“Are you working all tonight?” The vox officer asked, returning the look the waitress was giving him, as she nodded, hugging the tray to her chest, which boosted her already ample cleavage,
“I am, Sir,” she said, and Rogal let out a quiet sigh at their behavior.

“In that case, can I ask you a huge favour?” Tiberius continued, his lean and stubbly charms working their magic on the barmaid. She nodded again, “Anything, sir,”
“My commissarial friend and I are having some guests for dinner, and I was hoping you could maybe, look after us tonight,”
“We don’t have a reputation for the best service this side of Sol for nothing.” The barmaid said, pushing her hair over her ear with a finger, “I’d be happy to serve you.”
Tiberius grinned, “Thank you my dear?” The questioning inflection compounded by his arched eyebrow. The barmaid smiled back,
“Elsa, sir,”
“Thank you, Elsa,” Tiberius said, “I’ll call you when we need menu’s”
The barmaid nodded happily, “As you wish, sir,” before she turned on her heel, and sauntered away once more. Tiberius grinned at his commissarial companion, who just took his drink and shook his head.
“Your incorrigible, you know that right?”
Taking a crispseed, the vox officer threw it into his mouth, “I don’t even know what that means, but thank you.”
Rogal sipped his drink, his mind wandering again. He saw Octavia, bound, gagged and blindfolded, the bodysuit and bustle of the ordos famulous replaced this time with a guardswoman’s uniform, the front torn open, exposing pale flesh and gleaming metal, and decided he liked that idea a lot more than the Ordos famulous. Her mechadendrites flailed, trying ineffectually to undo her bonds, as he lifted her, bending her over the-
“Hey, look, they’re here,” Tiberius said, backhanding the commissar’s arm and pointing. Rogal followed his friend’s gesture, a grin spreading across his face, as he laid eyes on his petite lover. Emerald green eyes glittered back at him, a pink lips smiling, as a mechadendrite flicked her hood back. Rogal stood, his huge frame moving the table, as Octavia near leaped into his arms, her feet dangling in the air as she was hugged by the huge commissar.

Caelistis shook her head as she hugged Tiberius, nibbling his neck gently, a mechadendrite wrapping itself possessively around his wrist. “Good to see you’re not a warpcharred corpse, meatbag,” She whispered in his ear.
“I made you a promise, remember.”
She squeezed him affectionately, before disengaging from their embrace, to find a shocked Octavia looking at them from her seat in Rogal’s spacious lap.
“Yes. Vox officer Tiberius and I have been seeing each other for a while now. You know how I keep things to myself,”
Octavia nodded, disbelief still apparent on her face, “But, he’s…”
“Weak flesh? Hardly,” She said with a smile, as the pair sat, one of Caelistis’s mechadendrites snaking over her lovers shoulder. Octavia shrugged and snuggled close to Rogal again, looking up at him with her bright green eyes,
“How was the rest of your afternoon?” She asked, a mechadendrite lazily collecting a crispseed from the bowl,
“Aside from having my consciousness groped by Hjarl, very pleasant,” he said softly, “and yours?”
The petite priestess beamed up at the commissar, as she began telling him about how they had done a test run on the hydra targeting cores. Tiberius leaned in close to Caelistis and nuzzled her ear, before he spoke, “So, about that friend for me you were thinking about?”
The mechadendrite at the vox officers shoulder moved to stroke his neck, as its owner smiled,
“Yes, my little fleshling? Have you found someone for your mistress?”
Tiberius nodded, “She meets your specifications, and is already well accustomed to taking orders,”
Caelistis’s smile turned wolfish, the mechadendrite around Tiberius’s arm tightening with excitement, “You will have to show her to me,” She whispered back, her mind racing with the potentials.

“So tomorrow,” Octavia concluded, “We’ll do a live fire test. It’s so exciting.”
Rogal smiled happily, he loved the passion the petite priestess had for her work, he felt the same when he was working with the men, making chairs and tables.
“Right, well if you two lovebirds are finished catching up, I’m starving, can we get some food?” Caelistis said, “And drink, I need a drink.”
Tiberius grinned, “As you wish, mistress. Elsa?” he called, and the barmaid appeared, smiling as she came to the table, menu’s hugged to her chest. A sultry smile crossed Caelistis’s face, and Rogal shook his head. 
“Sir’s, m’ladies, your menus. Can I get you any drinks?”
“I’ll grab another Triple amasec on ploins,” Tiberius said, smiling in his charming manner, “If you please,”
“And I’ll have the same,” Caelistis added, leaning forward, a mechadendrite flicking an errant cable behind her neck, “I love that bracelet, can I ask where you got it?” she asked, reaching out to take Elsa’s hand. The barmaid smiled shyly, but didn’t pull back, as Caelistis traced a hand over her wrist, eliciting a small gasp as metallic fingers met smooth flesh.
“I got it from this little shop a bit further in the complex, it has some really good stuff,” The barmaid said rotating her slender wrist and showing off the chain that was shaped like little tank treads. The real reason Caelistis had wanted to make contact with the slender barmaid was to fire off a quick biometric scan. Elsa felt her hand tingle at the touch of the Techpriestess, and she smiled.
“Really? You will have to give me the address,” Caelistis said, looping a finger through the bracelet and studying it a little closer, as the biometric scan fed back to her. Data scrolled past her vision, as she ran the bracelet between her fingers “Look at me, taking up all your attention, you better take the Commissar’s order, or he might punish you”.

The biometric scan showed a burst of chemicals, and Caelistis grinned, releasing the bracelet and sitting back. The barmaid would do nicely, but they would need see her outside of her job. Rogal shook his head as he sat up, “I won’t punish you, but I will have some water, could you bring us a jug? Octavia?”
The petite priestess thought for a moment, a mechadendrite tapping on the table, “I’d like an Emperors mercy, please?”
Elsa typed the orders into her dataslate, before dropping it into her apron pouch and bowing, “As you wish, I’ll be back in a moment,”
The slender barmaid walked off, her hips swinging, both Tiberius and Caelistis watching. Octavia sighed, gently tapping Rogal on the leg to get his attention.
“I should have warned you about Caelistis,” she whispered, as the commissar leaned down to listen to her. “She is very much a libertine,”
Rogal chuckled quietly, putting his arm around his red robed sweetheart, “I know, I read some of her file while I waited for the rosette agent to reply. What’s a sequential magno pulse launcher?”
Octavia laughed, “Oh, you read about that?”
The commissar nodded, “How the in warp did she do it?”
The petite priestess’s eyes glowed brighter as she began to explain, “A sequential magnetic pulse launcher is a type of slug thrower. Designed to take any magnetic item, in this case, Caelistis’s hand, it hurls it forward using a number of magnetic pulses, that fire in sequence, down the barrel of the launcher. We don’t use it because there’s a lot of issues with managing the sequencing, as well as power bleeds and a few other things. Caelistis only fired it once, which was that time, and they made her disassemble it as punishment.”
Rogal nodded, he sort of understood how the gun worked, but the idea that it could do what it did still baffled him. 
“She’s very creative, and very kind.” Octavia continued, “She looked after me at the collegia”.

Rogal smiled as Octavia told stories of how Caelistis had stood up for her, helping her to market her amazing skills, the petite priestess repaying her friend with her expertise in fabrication and programming. Caelistis had always been the face of their team, and Octavia the intellectual brawn.
“And that’s why she shot him with her hand, because he was the one who had epoxied my mechadendrites together, and she had said she would slap him harder than anyone had thought possible. So she did.”
Rogal laughed heartily, “Seems fair to me. He had it coming, little barrel stuffer,” he said, taking a sip from his drink. Elsa had returned halfway through Octavia’s story, delivering drinks and asking for entrée orders. Caelistis and Tiberius had ordered the toasted local flatbread and selection of dips, the commissar and Octavia opting to share a salad. The vox officer and his slender mistress had been whispering to each other conspiratorially, their eyes following the slim barmaid as she went about her business, waiting tables and taking orders. 
“I am glad she is happy with Tiberius,” Octavia said, taking her tall and ornate drink in both hands, suckling on the straw, “He seems a good man,”
Rogal nodded, “He’s as good as they come. I’ve seen him do some crazy things, but those crazy things have saved more lives that he will ever admit.”
“Really?” 
“You wouldn’t think it to look at him, and he is a vox officer, so they’re not supposed even see combat, but Tiberius has an honorifica to his name.”
Octavia’s eyes went wide, “Tiberius, an honorifica holder?”
“He never accepted the award, he’s far too humble. But yes, he saved half the battalion at great personal risk.”
“How do you know?”
Rogal grinned, his smile particularly lopsided, “I was there. But that is a story for another time. I think our entrée is here,” he said, as Elsa approached the table, their orders in her hands.