The fatigue was real, very real. Kael’ion was sure her injury had something to do with it, but everything had suddenly become harder. The adrenaline from the ‘temple’ had worn off and now the march through the Pipeworks was a drudgery. Navigation was frustrating and even keeping her normally steadfast footing required focus. They had had to divert from a large pipe, which had become flooded when the acid washed through this area. Now the path was less clear, the resolution of the Servoskull’s data exload not as refined even a dozen yards from where it had scanned.

They stopped. They needed to stop, tiredness becoming as much an enemy as any dreg with a stub pistol. A small access gantry provided a place to rest. Arn took watch, the soldier being used to action and long marches; Jaq snoozed quickly, his Cameleoline cloak pulled up around him; Kael’ion couldn’t countenance sleep. She felt as though her value as a scion of the Omnissiah depended on her making sense of the map on the dataslate. She struggled. The dataslate struggled too, its cogitator not meant for such rich data. The frustration and paranoia built. Why had she been chosen for this ‘mission’? She was blessed, but was she worthy.

Arn was used to the tiredness. Long marches, boring watches, reassembling weapons, eating rations… he’d done it all while half asleep at some stage. This was no different. They had to get out of the Pipeworks, out of the Bowels, and back to the safe house.

He knew they’d had at least once close call in the Pipeworks… a group of those cultists dragging a prisoner and carrying another, a child he thought, had passed right by them as they’d rested on the gantry. With them all so tired, he wasn’t sure how they’d manage if things ‘got hot’. 

He was tired, but he pushed through and did his duty. Get to the hauler safely. That was the next part of the mission. One foot in front of the other, eyes peeled for danger. But no danger came and they made it to the hauler. Kael’ion did something at the front and back of the vehicle, maybe scratching away identifying markings. Once she was done, they all mounted up. The hauler represented relatively safety. The engine had only just roared to life when Arn closed his eyes. He was asleep in seconds. Rest when you can, because tiredness kills.

“So, what’ya doin’ down here?”, the Cutter asked, his crude augmetic hand stroking his chin.

“Nuan…”, Jaq replied with a cheeky grin. 

“Huh?”

“You heard me, ‘Nuan’!”

“What’d’ya mean, ‘Noon’?”

“None-of-your-business!”, Jaq finished, the grin now accompanied with a wink. It wasn’t landing as he’d hoped.

The Cutter scowled and the others were showing a keener interest in the exchange.

“This is my last time to ask… what are you doin’ down here?”

Jaq wasn’t giving anything up. Arn stepped closer, sensing things were about to get hot.

Silence wasn’t what the Cutter wanted and he made to raise his hand to whistle, but Arn smacked it away before the summoning sound came.

Suddenly everyone had a gun raised…

  • The party decided returning to the Thaler Hostelry was the prudent course of action. Rest was much needed.
  • This meant taking a different route to the vertical conveyance.
  • It also meant abandoning the hauler. The Vylathi Knives might want to know what happened to it and their man.
  • They nearly had a run in with the Cutters.
  • They were only back at the safe house a couple of hours when a Cherub delivered a message from their patron. There was an apparent miracle that warranted investigating… he wants results in three days/rotations. 

Until next time,

Owen