was stumped.
This Tollian fellow who I just met correctly called out my name, but for the wrong reasons. I could read clearly in his mind that he had assumed me to be a delinquent daughter of some powerful aristocrat masquerading as the famous soon-to-be living saint for thrills.
Masquerading. Well, in a way he wasn't wrong.
Standing this close, I became aware of how plainly accessible his mind was to my passive telepathy. Unlike the people that usually surrounded me, his thoughts were an open book.
To put it into relatable context, if Thaberus' mind was akin to a stone wall, the average Sororitas felt like hard solid foam, whereas the barrier to this dude's head might as well be a piece of paper. For a short moment I was wondering about his unusually weak mental barrier before realising the obvious reason with a shock.
Tollian was a civilian. A true civilian. A certified contemporary normie living in this civilised world. Not a trained member of the military, not an inquisitorial agent, nor a psyker hardened by life, and certainly not a high ranking individual. He was but one of the countless masses, part of the numberless "ordinary folks" who until now I had yet to encounter in close proximity with any reasonable amount of time.
I could not help but tilt my head and observe him as a glaring question rose in my mind.
Was I… did I look like this to Syrine?
While the answer to that question remained in the air, I soon concluded his willpower was less than stellar as well, judging by how quickly he seemed to fall under the influence of my subtle endearing aura and misleading appearance.
Wait, look who's talking now, I reflected with an internal sigh.
Just as I was thinking about how to proceed, my superhuman senses picked up on approaching footsteps. Echoes of heavy boots with purposeful strides hinted at their identity.
'Incoming, could be the police,' I said while looking in the direction, but saw no one; they were still a distance away.
'Police?' Tollian asked, puzzled with the word.
'Magistratum,' I answered after pulling the local term out of my head.
That jolted Tollian out of his stupor. His mind was immediately flooded with concern about being caught and getting fined or worse for the botched attempt. That aligned with local law that I easily cross-referenced with the library inside my mind. Self-termination, or even an attempt at it, was considered a grave capital offense according to the Nusquamese lex.
'Let's get out of here,' I suggested, not wanting the trouble of getting entangled with any officers. I pulled my hood back up and started moving, with Tollian hurriedly following along.
Navigating with a rough idea of the place and guided by my extraordinary senses, we zigzagged through the alley ways and avoided bumping into anyone, eventually reaching a part of the main street.
By then Tollian was exhausted, so we settled down in a quiet corner. Finally able to take a breather, Tollian panted heavily with hands on his knees and back leaning against a wall. I was slightly puzzled by his pathetic constitution before remembering the limits of a standard human with a sedentary lifestyle. In my past life I was like that too.
After catching his breath, Tollian looked at me and he abruptly froze. For a moment I wondered what went wrong before realising he was seeing me under proper lighting for the first time. Despite having no interest at all, I noted with amusement knowing exactly what was going on inside his head.
While he was gawking at me, I returned the favour by just staring straight back at him. There was a moment of awkward silence before he finally spoke again. 'So, what do I call you?'
'Didn't you already guess my name?' I teased.
Tollian discreetly—but I noticed it—rolled his eyes. That got me thinking, I usually avoided lying as that tends to lead to future problems, but obviously using my real name here was no go. So a moniker would have to do.
What would be fitting?
I thought about it and eventually decided on a rare commodity of this age. 'Call me … Mercy.'
'As you wish, my lady,' Tollian said with all the earnestness he could muster about my obvious fake name, and bowed again before getting on with the main topic.
'Lady Mercy, a thousand thanks for your assistance. Might I beg your boundless compassion once more, and ask that you extend a helping hand to this humble servant of the Emperor?'
'Tell me about your plight, and stop calling me lady.'
'My apologies. How would you prefer to be addressed?' he asked with another swift eyeroll.
'... Miss would be fine.'
'Very well, Miss Mercy…'
Tollian started his tale which turned out to be pretty straight forward. Except for certain details, I might as well have been listening to the ranting of a typical underprivileged young man.
He came from a poor family, his mother left when he was still a child, and later his father died in an accident. Fortunately, Tollian had been assisting his dad from a young age and managed to inherit the scribe's position, an arrangement that seemed customary in this city.
A desk job being hereditary. I guess social mobility was almost non-existent for the ordinary folks in this world, which reminded me of that captain who defected to the Chaos cult.
When the civil war ended, so did Tollian's humble and quiet days. With posts and resources reassigned in the aftermath, his station was swept away. Being a low ranking worker, he was not offered a new position and lost his sole income. Unable to secure another post and too frail for hard labor, his meager savings quickly ran dry. Desperation forced him to predatory lenders, cred-leeches as the locals called them, just to survive.
'It is time to pay up, but I am broke,' Tollian murmured with his head down. It reminded me of my own initial rough start just a few years into my working life.
One day my glasses gave out, and to get a new pair I checked my bank balance. The number flashing on the ATM screen nearly shattered me more than the glasses did.
'What will happen when you can't pay them back?' I asked.
Incomprehension flashed over his face and mind before he quickly reasoned that I was ignorant due to my privileges.
'Since I make for a poor indentured worker, they will probably pawn me for my valuable organs before offering my remains to be a servitor,' Tollian said. To think he might be turned into a servitor, little wonder he had rather jumped into the river than face that fate.
I winced inside before asking the key question. 'So, how much do you owe them?'
Tollian gave a number that to my understanding, amounted to a few months' worth of wages for a low ranking worker. His miserable situation looked extra pitiful when I recalled the rows and rows of data-crystals at the vault now secured under my name. Some of them carried enough significance to leverage Mechanicus Forge Worlds.
The contrast was almost obscene. With the resources now at my fingertips, the sum that ruined Tollian meant less than nothing to me, yet it had been enough to destroy his world.
'I beg for your assistance in this, and will be eternally grateful,' Tollian pleaded sheepishly. To him I was still a bored heiress who got my thrills on unconventional philanthropy.
This whole encounter was beginning to feel like a low level side quest from a classic role playing game, just with a stranger's life on the line. I looked at his miserable existence, thought about my limited time outside and eventually decided to help just for the heck of it.
'I have no thrones on me,' I answered truthfully, "thrones" being the go to term for money here. Tollian stiffened up before my next statement energised him again. 'But I might be able to help. How much do you have now?'
Tollian gave another number that amounted to around a few days worth of meager living expenses. The petty sum was probably enough for my straightforward plan, a plan that I recalled from Ciaphas Cain's adventures. The famous commissar and Hero of the Imperium once mentioned about his exploits involving befriending a savant and utilising the man's unnatural talent in probability calculation to beat gambling dens.
I happened to be a latent super savant without looking like one, so earning what Tollian owed the cred-leeches should be a piece of cake. Alternatively, I could contact the Inquisition for quick cash, but that would also mean a one way ticket straight back to the monastery after I came all the way out here.
Let's just get that easy money.
'Good enough,' I declared, 'where is the closest casino?'
'Casino?' Tollian asked with a questioning look, again unfamiliar with my "archaic" word.
My mind turned, picking up the contemporary local terms from my head. 'Gambling den? Chance-house?'
'Surely you jest? The odds of winning…' responded Tollian.
'Is manageable, trust me,' I interrupted with a mischievous smile.
'Well, if you insist,' Tollian said, 'the closest sanctioned establishment is not too far from here.' I instantly glimpsed it from his mind as he recalled the location. It was quite a distance away by foot, but I guessed he was used to walking around.
As with my usual approach to problems, I liked to be prepared, and immediately dug into the library inside my head to search for books about contemporary gambling. I needed to know the rules first.
A moment later I was stumped for a second time today when the search returned nothing. Zero, nada, zilch. A titanic collection of books that a human would need to spend decades to go through contained not a single entry about gambling.
Then I realised my stupidity: gambling had always been a sinful indulgence, their books naturally had no place inside the grand library of a Sororitas' fortress monastery. It seemed like I would have to learn the rules on the spot instead.
'Alright let's go, please lead the way,' I urged. Tollian nodded, thinking this whole move was just part of my "play" and started walking in the expected direction.
* * *
'... So, that just happened.'
Announced Thaberus as he held back an eyebrow from twitching, a supposedly effortless gesture that was somehow draining all his otherwise indomitable mental fortitude.
Moments ago, just as he was leaving the vault with Kryptorer and Diadinah, Herlindya called to notify about Syrine's latest unauthorised excursion.
Remarkably both the Dominus and Canoness showed little reaction upon hearing the news.
'Situation acknowledged. Where is our lady's current estimated position?' Kryptorer asked.
'We tracked her call back to a passenger train heading towards the city, by now she could be anywhere inside the capital.' Thaberus said as he pinched at the bridge of his nose.
'Have faith, inquisitor, I am sure there are valid reasons behind her actions,' said Diadinah with her arms crossed and a firm conviction. 'It has been proven time and again that Lady Syrine is operating from a higher vantage point that we can scarcely comprehend.'
Thaberus raised an eyebrow but did not refute, instead he declared his plan. 'At any rate we need to locate and ensure her safety. I will begin a discreet city wide search with my resources and have a few teams of operatives standing by. Assistance in this matter is appreciated.'
'Of course. Give me the coordinates,' Diadinah said, 'I will mobilise strike forces and have them patrol around the general area. Best be ready just in case.'
'Very well, Dominus?'
'Rest assured we of the Mechanicus shall do our part to ensure her safe return.' Kryptorer said without elaboration before he immediately voxed Tech-priest Dataliad.
* * *
Tollian was constantly sneaking glances at me. Part of that was to make sure I was still beside him, another part was to quell his constant disbelief that I was beside him. The notion that he believed his actions were subtle was laughable from my perspective, I was simply beyond care to comment about it.
Halfway through our journey, Tollian finally built enough courage to ask the question that had been on his head for a while now.
'Miss Mercy, may I inquire why are you bare footed?'
'I had a wardrobe malfunction.'
'I see. Let's get you a pair of shoes.'
'Don't bother.'
'I mean, it doesn't cost much and I don't think you can enter the premises bare foot.'
'... Very well.'
Thus we made a small detour and went to a nearby night market that was bustling with people, a lot of people. Without knowing beforehand, you would be forgiven for mistaking the horde for eager pilgrims on a sacred day. I took a look at the densely-packed crowd and was immediately discouraged from entering the place.
Tollian correctly guessed my reluctance and came up with a compromise. 'Miss Mercy, I can just go in and grab the shoes for you. Please just wait here?'
I nodded and Tollian hurriedly marched into the market, his life was on the line after all. I looked around and located a tactical corner to sit down. After looking around making sure there were no immediate threats, I closed my eyes and invoked the psykana mantra.
Soon my consciousness detached from my body, and like a ghost I flew around my physical self to double check for danger before rushing towards the casino.
Time to do some reconnaissance.
I wanted to look around first, just in case the place employed psychic defenses. It would be a faux pas of the highest order if the soon-to-be living saint was caught using her powers to cheat in a gambling establishment. If that came to pass, I could practically picture the Sororitas calling blasphemy before levelling the whole place, and the Inquisition scrubbing every trace of its record from existence.
In the blink of an eye I arrived at the and saw the building in Tollian's mind. The chance-house occupied a square-built structure of old stonecrete and plasteel. Its facade was washed in the soft glow of unbroken lumen-strips, giving it a radiant look among the crowded downtown blocks. A huge neon sign advertised its generic name: Fortune's Chamber.
Gingerly, I flew around the building, trying my best to detect any psychic presence inside it. After going a few turns without sensing anything extraordinary, I returned in a flash and snapped back to my body. I opened my eyes just in time to see Tollian hurriedly walking over with his purchase in hand.
'Miss Mercy,' the young man addressed me as he respectfully handed over a pair of cheap looking plastic slippers.
'Thank you,' I said as I received the mass produced foot wear, their underwhelming quality was apparent from touch. To add insult to injury, they came in atrociously-looking vivid pink colour.
We eventually reached the chance-house. A pair of worn cogitator terminals flanked the entrance, supposedly for age-verification and identity logging, though only one hummed with life and its screen was an unreadable blur of static runes. The door guards only spared us a glance to make sure we weren't underaged.
After passing through a corridor paved with worn carpet patterned in patterns of swirls dulled by years of footsteps and spilled drinks, we entered the main gaming hall.
Stepping inside, my first impression was the smell of lho-sticks mixed with sweat and cheap air freshener. The place sounded lively with gamblers swarming various tables. The constant clack of gambling chips could be heard in uneven rhythms, punctuated by occasional bursts of laughter and cries of disappointment.
The whole place was lit by half-dimmed glow globes that cast everyone in a faintly washed-out tone. Dealers in rumpled vests shuffled decks with mechanical movements, their smiles thin and practiced. There was even a mini bar with bartenders serving drinks to patrons at a corner.
I was surveying the scene and thinking about where to start until I noticed the rows of what appeared to be slot machines in another corner.
Maybe I can skip the messy human play.
I started walking towards the machines, which prompted Tollian to follow. He took a look at my headings and exclaimed in surprise. 'Gambling engines? I beg your pardon but my own research has shown these to be the least predictable with probability, and not to mention…'
Tollian stopped himself and started looking around but I read it from his mind—they were probably rigged.
'You are quite correct, Mister Tollian,' I told him, 'but trust me.'
He quietly rolled his eyes again but said no more. We reached the machines and found most of them to be available. The notion that a large portion of veteran gamblers disliking electronic slot machines seemed to hold true even in this era.
I sat down on a stool at a corner to have a proper look at the machine in front of me. The gambling engine was made of a big touch screen, brass panels, and holo-reels, complete with Mechanicus-blessed sigils stencilled across its steel casings.
I touched the machine, closed my eyes and extended a thought to the intelligence that resided in me, trusting it to make sense and crack the game. There was no machine spirit here, only a simple software based logic engine. The living weapon part of me reached out and made a connection.
Immediately, the engine's internal logic unfurled in my mind. Streams of numbers, probabilities, and algorithmic weighting tables cascaded like a digital waterfall. I saw the pattern in the code from which each outcome bloomed. With a single moment of focus, I synchronized my cognition to its pulsing cycle and was able to collapse the calculations into predetermined results.
I opened my eyes and decided it was a go. 'Tollian, we are going for it. Change all your thrones to tokens.'
Tollian complied and went to change. While waiting for him, I went around and to check on each machine and soon found one with a hefty prize in waiting. I did not alter anything. I simply observed what was about to be dropped and took note.
After Tollian returned with the tokens, we ran a few small tests first, which confirmed my calculations to be true. After that was proven I went about laying smoke screens to cover his eventual big win. Tollian was logically being sceptical despite saying nothing, trusting that I would reimburse him should this venture go south.
I directed him through the process. A bit of losses here, a few wins there, some more losses later …and then, boom!
Tollian had a look of total disbelief as a cascade of rising chimes spiraled out and a shimmering holographic banner exploded above the machine. Swirling confetti and animated coins rained through the screen in a triumphant crescendo that turned every head around.
A mini jackpot, the prize money a sum large enough to cover his debt but small enough that the chance-house won't be bothered to scrutinise. It was totally "legit" after all.
Tollian remained slack-jawed as we exited Fortune's Chamber, his financial crisis fixed for now.
* * *
Seated on a flimsy chair, I observed my surroundings while Tollian got busy ordering dishes from various stalls.
We were in an open air food court, surrounded by heavy scents of grilling meats, sizzling starch cakes, and the tang of cooking oils. All around were rows of dented fold-out tables surrounded by the flimsy plastic chairs that sprawled across the cracked concrete tile floor.
Around the food court, a ring of mismatched stalls jostled for attention, each one a riot of noise and light. Makeshift canopies in faded colours flapped lazily in the night breeze, their fabric stained by years of cooking smoke and the ever-present grime of the city's air. Countless glow globes swung from frayed power cables overhead, flickering and casting stuttering halos across the crowd. Vendors shouted over one another, their voices blending with the hiss of woks, the thunk of spatulas and the bubbling deep-fry vats. One centre stall advertised skewered grox-meat grilled over open flame, sizzling fat spitting onto the tiles with each twist and turn.
It was a busy time, almost every chair was occupied by patrons who were dining on steaming bowls of food stuff or unknown sandwiches in greasy paper wrappings. The crowd was a mix of clerks and labourers, all drawn here for the warmth of food.
Off-duty Magistratum officers leaned on the back railings, drinking quietly and keeping an eye on the more raucous tables. A pair of Administratum scribes argued over account tallies between bites of fried fungus rolls over mugs of drinks.
Amid the bustle, I noticed more than a dozen individuals eyeing me for far longer than a casual glance or idle curiosity, all while trying to appear discreet.
Am I being recognised by hostile agents?
Alerted, I tuned up my passive telepathy but sensed no hostility from my surroundings. This was puzzling until a reflection of myself reminded me of the fact that I might be having a pretty girl problem. I pulled up my hood and half covered my face to test the theory, and was instantly proven correct as most of the lingering gazes went away.
I relaxed back and continued to look around. My attention was on a few street kids darting between the chairs when Tollian returned from ordering, and in his hands were a few coloured plastic stands with numbers that were used to track orders. Just as he sat down, a gruff-looking vendor walked over and grunted, 'drinks?'
'Sweet ploin juice, extra ice.' Tollian replied.
'Same.' Having totally no idea on what was available on the menu, I did the sure win strategy by copying the choice of my local guide. The vendor nodded, worked on his data-slate with and grumbled a price. Tollian placed the numbered plastic stands on the table before paying, and the vendor nodded before going around to gather more orders.
Tollian was cheery, fully paying his debt and having a decent amount of thrones had definitely uplifted his mood. I absentmindedly observed the young man who could not hide his smile, and when our eyes met his open mind again leaked out thoughts and emotions like an underserviced truck trailing black smoke from exhaust.
Oh my god, he's slipping into infatuation with me.
Fortunately the awkward silence did not last long, as one by one the food he ordered arrived, and a numbered stand was retrieved for each delivered dish. I had guessed correctly, food outside the Sororitas monastery looked a lot more exciting. The first dish to arrive appeared to be rolled up wheat sheets glistening in a pool of black sauce, served steaming on dented tin trays.
'What is this called?' I asked.
Tollian was surprised by my question, but he quickly reckoned it was due to the fact that I was a spoiled rich girl who had never ventured to lowly eateries with layman dishes.
'Sump rolls,' he said with a smile. 'Never had them before?'
'Nope,' I answered before picking up a cheap and equally flimsy plastic fork that came with the dish to try it out. The steamed wheat sheets were so thin they seemed almost translucent, wrapped tightly around a filling that gave off the savory scent of cooked grox.
I took a bite. The black sauce, which turned out to be just oily soy sauce, clung thick to every sweet and smoky roll. Scattered within the rolls were chopped grox meat mixed with brittle flakes of salty and unknown protein shards, each snapping lightly between my teeth upon biting. Overall it was nice.
When our drinks arrived, the same guy who took our orders dropped off the mugs without even looking at us before hauling his huge tray of finely balanced drinks away to continue distribution. That drinks vendor was hardcore.
The just-delivered ploin juice was cloudy with pulps and was a light rosy pink in colour, served with a generous amount of ice as ordered. I took a sip from my mug, it tasted sweet with a mild floral note. If I recalled the lore correctly this was a common shipboard drink valued for its vitamin-rich contents to ward off space scurvy and being shelf-stable.
More dishes arrived. There were the vru sticks, basically thin strips of charred grox and other unknown meats skewered onto wooden sticks and grilled over open flames. These were brushed with a glaze of spices and oil during the process, which caramelized into a smoky, sticky crust, served with a thick, oily brown sauce made from what I guessed to be grounded nuts laced with spices.
Then there were the grease cakes, the most mundane-looking of the bunch, little more than crude-looking squarish fried cakes. Up close, they actually looked a lot more tempting with flecks of protein dotting their dark and crisp crust.
Copying the observed methods from other patrons in the food court, I picked up a vru stick and dunked it into the accompanying brown sauce. The sauce clung to the food like molten gold and I took a bite. Meaty, smoky and nutty. After finishing the stick I next tried the grease cake, which hit the tongue with the snap of its fried shell, thin and brittle, cracking like charred paper under the teeth. A wash of oil followed, hot and slick, carrying the savory weight of its dense interior.
While tasting all the street food on uneven surfaces with flimsy utensils, I noted with a heightened sense of self-awareness the vast difference between old and current me. Unlike my former, all-too-human self who would surely have stained his shirt with grease by now, the current me navigated through the chaotic meal table with posthuman spatial awareness and precise coordination that kept me spotless.
While the food here was decent enough, I could see myself getting quickly sick of it, and the ingredients didn't exactly scream quality when compared to the ones from the Sororitas monastery.
So, the Battle Sisters are eating the good stuff.
After having tasted everything I stopped eating, my body never needed to eat much in the first place.
Between eating his food Tollian was again sneaking glances at me. While this particular behavior of his was getting annoying, I understood the feeling. A pretty lady suddenly appeared at your lowest point in life, and like a salvation she not only saved your ass but also solved your dire monetary problem. Crucially, she didn't seem to dismiss you outright while all your life you had been invisible to the opposite gender.
Impossible as it was, one would naturally start to envision the possibility of a future together. I was there at his age, chasing pretty faces and the dream of starting a family.
Family, huh?
Strange to think about it but the people closest to me now in this universe were the few Sororitas key figures on this planet. After being out here with Tollian for a while now, I had sampled enough of the civilian side of life, and found it suffocatingly mundane with a touch of extra grimness.
It might be time to head back.
My thoughts were cut short as I heard a wail of sirens coming and turned to look in the direction. Tollian turned to my facing and saw nothing, just as he was puzzled a trio of tactical-looking skimmers appeared, sirens blaring. The skimmers zoomed past the overhead air lane that was normally reserved for the rich and powerful on the other side of the street. They were gone in the blink of an eye, leaving a food court full of bewildered patrons.
Clueless, I asked Tollian, 'what were those?'
Tollian peeled his eyes from where the skimmers had disappeared before shrugging. 'No idea, some newly formed Adminstratrum special task force that seemed neither Magistratum nor Arbites, but fully equipped with speeders.' He then continued with a hushed tone in an attempt to show off his knowledge, 'if you ask me, I think they have something to do with the mysterious Inquisition.'
That reminded me of the measures and resources Thaberus mentioned he had committed to deal with the surge of psykers. I saw in Tollian's mind the Inquisition's semi-open operations on the planet had been the talk of the town, spoken of only in quiet, cautious whispers. I nodded before continuing to sip on my iced ploin juice.
Just then, I sensed new gazes coming this way. Strangely these seemed to be directed at Tollian instead of me. From a distance a few mean-looking guys approached, hostile intent flaring from the leading bloke. He was broad-shouldered yet upright, wore a tailored coat of dark fabric with a pressed vest and fitting trousers.
'Caulven!' the big bloke snarled.
Tollian turned around with a slight shiver. Upon seeing the man the word cred-leech flashed like a neon sign in his mind.
So, the loan shark.
'Mister Draeg, nice to see you here,' Tollian greeted.
'Don't mister me you fool, you lost me thrones!'
'What? I fully paid you back just now.'
He did, it was the first thing I asked Tollian to do and witnessed the electronic payment transfer first hand.
'I know that, I had a side bet that you couldn't,' Draeg growled again as he came into proper view. He had the classic bully's look: sharp jaw, narrow eyes and a neatly trimmed beard. With him were two gym rat-looking underlings.
'I beg your pardon?' Tollian asked, confused.
Draeg wasn't explaining anymore, he simply walked over and in slow motion from my point of view, dragged Tollian up by the collar with his left hand while pulling back his right hand for a haymaker.
I moved as the big man threw his punch, pushing Tollian away just enough for the punch to miss. Hitting air, Draeg almost lost his balance and blinked at the empty space. I pulled Tollian away from his assaulter and put myself before him.
'Stop this before anyone gets hurt,' I said, and Draeg finally noticed my presence and had a proper look at me. First he looked a bit surprised, then his eyes glinted with greed.
The big mean man was still a civilian. His mind, while about twice as strong as Tollian's, was still paper thin. I saw what went through his head: for a moment he was considering if it was worth it to get tangled up with an unknown factor like me, but being the bully who got his way most of the time, he could not get over my looks and quickly decided to test the waters.
'Are you this loser's girlfriend, pretty little lady?' Draeg asked and flicked his head, ordering his goons into an encircling position.
I tilted my head at the audacity of these people. With my stacked statlines and abilities, nothing short of a squad of Astartes could realistically threaten me at this point.
My limited play time would expire soon, before that happened I might as well take out some trash in human form.