A Question of Data
Since he was unable to walk and couldn't rely on his psionic abilities, Talassar pulled himself through the vent in their makeshift camp and crawled towards the dot Stick was projecting on the plastic visor. Frigid air penetrated his already tattered clothing, and he shivered. He didn't have enough Essence reserves for anything except healing and a few slivers of energy set aside for combat weaves.
Simple ones.
Therefore, wasting it on keeping warm was an unaffordable luxury.
[I think I've been weaker than even my childhood for the last few weeks.]
"Your temperature's dropping." Stick whispered over the earpiece Talassar wore. He sounded dull, the words coming out slurred. A clear sign the few weaves Talassar placed on the boy were working. Talassar couldn't trust Stick but needed to conserve his abilities, so the judicious use of weaves to influence the boy's perception was the best compromise. While it wasn't perfect, unless Talassar did something that went against Stick's strongest beliefs, the boy would follow his orders. He would also keep away from the HLA as much as possible. Tweaking his apathy for the rebel outfit was surprisingly simple. There was no love lost between Stick and his employers. It was obvious there were darker motives hidden in the boy's cooperation with the HLA.
"What did you expect would happen?" Talassar grunted and yanked off the grating at his destination before sliding down. "These ducts are responsible for controlling the ambient temperature in the ship. I think."
"Alright." A disinterested whisper came back. "You should see a Batra-XD-54 console somewhere in the room."
Talassar muttered under his breath at the obtuse directions and looked around the room. "I see two consoles here. Which one do you mean?" He propped himself on a table and activated the camera on the visor.
"The one on the right." Stick said. "Turn it on and input your access key. They haven't removed you from the system and you're listed as an acting mission commander. Actually, your privileges were revoked about two weeks back and then reinstated four days ago."
"Does it say who gave the order for reinstatement?"
"No. It's locked behind some really powerful encryption."
"Then forget it." He said, but the problem gnawed at him. There was no reason for anyone to grant him the privileges he once held. Especially when he was either officially under trial or executed. The time-line was a blur for him at the moment.
"Tell me why the acting mission commander can't access the medical system?" Talassar asked while tapping keys on the console.
"Umm... Wait a bit. The permissions are kind of strange. It lists the mission commander as a non technical officer so while they can give orders which the system will prioritise, they're not able to query the main servers for details not explicitly allowed."
Talassar frowned and requested some data from the medical system. "I can see all the personnel records and prescriptions." [Huh… I didn't know Mavis was taking this much cetraphen. Those 'night terrors' were almost clinical psychoses.]
"Right. It's explicitly allowed. But you can't see the chief surgeon's personal notes or inventory records."
"Sounds absurd."
"Well the system should be smarter..."
"Cursed synthetics." Talassar spat and plugged the visor into the console. "Machines cannot be allowed intelligence."
"Whatever. You people take that stuff way too seriously… hang on, the systems throwing up all sorts of security flags. What in Sark's name are you looking for?"
"Can you get through?" Talassar ignored the boy's question and gaped at the lines of code running on the console.
Stick replied after a brief pause. The words stretched out as if he was afraid Talassar would explode. "It will take a few hours."
"Not good. Let us try something else. Can you get into either Arch-Favoured Niobys' maintenance logs or the chief surgeon's duty log and search for any references to EP-77 synthtech? If that doesn't work expand the search to the assault shuttle's supply statistics."
Stick got to work and Talassar laid a small detection weave to cover the only corridor leading into this pharmacy. The fighting on Invincible had tapered off over the last few hours as the Guard and HLA retreated to their respective areas to recuperate and plan further assaults. It gave Talassar a brief window to attempt his scheme and recover the gifts Niobys stashed on Invincible. Of the three, the strange otherworldly chemical known as EP-77 was the most difficult to obtain. Not the material itself, for there were bottles of it on the shelves in this room which served as one of the Acolyte's pharmacies, but Niobys' research on its production. Without it, his stock would deplete rapidly once he was outside of the Theocracy. The chemical was uniquely useful to human Psions, and only those who served the Guardians could access the potent enhancer. With a few bottles, Talassar could lay down a weave that persisted for centuries in the right circumstances.
Talassar drew the pistol he managed to salvage from the wreckage in the room Stick worked from and turned down the intensity of the beam. A few shots into the lock gave him access, and he stored several bottles of the iridescent powder for future use. The powder brought a sad smile to his lips and memories of Niobys' death. They used a dozen bottles to hold Niobys together once his Essence field shattered under the pressure of the Black Sun's purge, but it wasn't enough to save him. Once the old man knew he wouldn't make it, he spent the last few hours of his life detailing every secret of in his centuries long career even as his body disintegrated and the key materialised from its ashes. Talassar had accompanied him in silence, barely registering the words of his mentor, not expecting to survive long enough to make use of the information when the Black Sun's executors descended. Now, with key in hand and almost free rein on Invincible, the gifts would assist him in evading or even fighting back against the Guardians and keep him safe from their hunt.
"I've got it!" Stick cheered and Talassar woke from his reverie, pocketing the bottle and shuffling back to the console, snatching up a crutch on the way. "There's a lot of records of movement of EP-77. It was consumed rapidly in 'The Cradle' until three months ago but slowed to a trickle after that."
"I know." Talassar interrupted impatiently. [I was the one using it to sustain Fornar's emergence.]
"Relax Favoured. This Arch-Favoured Niobys kept meticulous records and there're several logs regarding repair of a 'synthesiser'."
"Did it say where?" Talassar breathed, wishing Niobys had been more forthcoming on the details. [I might as well wish he was alive. That would be… ideal.]
"Workshop E-5, 17th deck behind the Wraith Legion's barracks." A burst of static hissed in Talassar's ears as Stick raised his voice in excitement. "There's even a class 4 self contained pseudo-sentient processor attached to the synthesiser. We have to get it!"
"Stop. Pseudo-sentient?"
"Old Ezani tech. Powerful computers with limited AI's"
[What were you fiddling with Niobys? To so openly go against the Concord. Even Sark wasn't foolish enough to mess with Ezani tech, and he was far more desperate.]
Talassar took a deep breath and shook his head to clear the instant revulsion at mention of the Ezani. Of the Favoured still alive in this generation, Talassar had spent the longest on the front with the exception of Luzek. But the Mad Lion's hatred of the Ezani consumed him to the point even the talented healer Arch-Favoured Trize gave up and let him run amok within the battlefield. Which was why Talassar understood the sinister nature of the Ezani better than Niobys did.
"Put up the location." He commanded and snapped the device back onto his head. "This isn't very far from here. See if you can find a nearby pallet or grav sled with the…"
"Incoming!" Stick hissed, lighting up Talassar's visor with red points and a video capture of a nearby hallway. A half squad of Guardsmen were trudging through the ship, eyes darting around constantly, wary of rebel ambushes.
["Why do we have to head this far into the ship?"] One of them complained, his broken voice picked up by Stick through the local network and played through the visor.
["You wanna go against the Acolyte?"] Another replied and several Guardsmen raised their hands in warding gestures at the comment.
["Will you never shut up, Lena? Your bewitched tongue brings nothing but trouble."]
["But Sarge…"] The young woman whined, but the bulky sergeant spun on his heel and brought a fist down on her helmet.
["Lena if you open your mouth to say anything but yes sir, I swear on all the Most Holy I will put this repeater against your skull and pull the trigger. I will have you following my orders or I'll have you dead."] The sergeant waved his repeater below her nose a few times to emphasise his point and the young woman nodded, helmet bobbing up and down rapidly.
["Sarge!"] A soldier interrupted the reprimand. ["Acolyte Venteks orders a retreat. There's heavy fighting near the Wraith Legion's barracks. The rebels are making a push for engineering again."]
["Guardian's preserve us from this madness."] The sergeant snapped orders, and they broke into a jog, retracing their steps to join up with the rest of their soldiers.
"So there are still a few Psions alive." Stick breathed, cutting the video and updating a map on potential routes to get to the synthesiser.
"But only one Acolyte." Talassar murmured, considering his options now that the area he needed to get to was in the middle of a battle.
"You can tell?!" The breathless awe in Stick's voice was palpable even across the comm and Talassar snorted. [Venteks was the weakest Acolyte assigned to Invincible and barely passed his novitiate. If any other Acolyte was alive Venteks would be under their heel and silent. A rare timid psion.]
He didn't explain, and just discussed viable approaches for extracting the synthesiser. If he waited there was a chance the synthesiser would be damaged or destroyed, and he had neither the time nor capacity to rebuild it. On the other hand, with his current condition an all out fight would lead to a quick death.
Or a capture equivalent to death. Neither the Theocracy nor HLA would let him keep his life after his actions.
"What about breaking through the nearby armoury?" Stick offered.
"And fall prey to whoever controls it? Both sides will be after the weapons there."
"I thought you could just wave your hands and… well you know make them all fall down."
[If I was healthy, I wouldn't need your ideas.] "My abilities are bound to healing currently." Talassar bluffed, scratching the broken binding and scowling.
"Then forget it. I thought the plasma lances would be useful in breaking through the Guardsmen and the blast resistant doors could hold off the enemy long enough to activate them. The workshop's only a few metres from the other door of the armoury as well."
Talassar blinked at the surprising information. "There are plasma lances there? How many?"
"Huh? Oh… six. And fourteen aperture cyclers for them."
The armoury doors would be blast resistant but not Essence resistant. Which gave him unique options. There were plenty of weaves which could turn plasma lances into massive explosions with little effort. It was the reason they were recalled by the Hall of War and were found rarely amongst the farthest frontiers of the Theocracies colonisation efforts. With a rough plan in mind, Stick plotted a course and Talassar leaned on his new crutch, hobbling out of the pharmacy and laying a feeble detection weave along his path.