"No idea — give me back my glasses, please?" Wanda handed Marsha back her glasses. "How do you see anything with those things? I couldn't see my hand in front of my face!"
"Now you know how well I see without them. By the Emperor, is that what I think it is?"
"A Michael in civilian clothes? Yes, I think it is. I don't think I've ever seen the like."
"No — he's been very dutiful about being a perfect exemplar of respect to his uniform."
"I imagine being able to shoot someone for showing disrespect to his cap means he doesn't want to shoot himself for it."
"I dunno about that, but I guess it means if he runs into another commissar, they might do something about a commissar out of uniform. Wait — what's that in his shirt pocket?"
"Paper?"
"Medical discharge — like Carmine was wearing when she was in soft clothes?"
"He's ill?"
"Maybe just down-checked. If his trigger finger gets trigger-happy, no one in the unit is going to be equally happy."
"Aye that. Let's go say hi."
"Sar-Major, Private — I'd salute, but I'm out of uniform."
"Who's the commissar in your absence?"
"Carmine."
"Sublieutenant Noh reporting." The medical attendant was being extra-formal.
"Susan, what is it?"
"I need some of your blood, sir — for analysis. We need to make sure you're completely well."
"Ah, yes. Sure. Gotta love short sleeves." He extended his arm. Marsha covered her eyes.
"Same old Marsh. Can't stand the sight of blood after all these years."
"No, sir. I'd much rather not see the blood of my friends."
"You did good on Pachelbel, though?"
"That was the enemy's. And thankfully, we didn't need our bayonets." She lowered her hand. "So, sir — we can tease you now?"
"Err, no. Not without my doctor's permission, anyway."
"Susan?"
"No — I'm just filling in for Tandy while she catches some Z's. Which means you won't get permission until she wakes up."
"Aww, but teasing a commissar is such a rare privilege."
"I don't recommend it." Susan's eyes were bright. "Besides, there are medical implications. Teasing your commanding officers..."
"What, teasing Sophia?"
"You don't aim low, Marsh, do you?"
"I'm acting senior NCO of the division. Not teasing Brass is already aiming low — it'd be easier if he was on-planet."
"Oh, him. Don't units usually acquire more specific honours than that?"
"Normally, yes — divisions and higher formations get monikers from important operations."
"The 22nd participated at the Siege of Terra. M31."
"Oh, feth — that one?"
"Kind of a big deal. They were the container for local surviving regiments at the time."
"So that's why we're amalgamated with them? Because we're all Terrans?"
"I don't think the regs prohibit non-Terrans, but they wouldn't do it lightly. And Terra has nineteen thousand divisions — it can afford a few."
"Two thousand from Nor-am?"
"Give or take."
"Attention — officer on deck!"
Marsha saluted reflexively, then caught herself whispering in Michael's ear. "You said that like a sailor, Michael."
"I'm not used to announcing incoming officers, so sue me."
Commissar-Colonel Carmine Petit — Royal Canadic Van Doos, acting divisional commissar in Michael's stead — cut an imposing figure. Red hair, black carapace, the red-banded peaked cap topped with a skull: it almost disguised the fact that she was shorter than Marsha, who was well within the five shortest members of the Fusiliers. She reached Michael's chin if you counted the cap, which Wanda was still saluting. Carmine had not released her own salute either. Marsha clocked the one-upmanship immediately.
"Commissar-Colonel." Michael managed to sound calm about it. "Wanda, I think we all know you respect each other's rank now." That got a smile from both and the salutes broke.
"Peace-brokering? That ridiculous shirt gives you superpowers, Michael."
Marsha stiffened. She'd always been sensitive to how people said each other's names — her late mother had insisted you paid attention to it, that it revealed more than they intended. Carmine said Michael the way Marsha did. Like a caress. And Marsha had been involved with Michael, once. She hadn't known Carmine had started back in scholam — even before she'd told him about Rajiv, even after she'd stopped having a reason to. Some things don't end just because they should.
"I wish." Michael turned toward the doorway. "Oh — mail call."
Esteves Rog was humping his ridiculously heavy bag up the corridor.
"I have something for acting commissar, 22nd div? Commissar Michael — do you know who that is?"
"That'd be me." Carmine's tone made clear what she thought of the question. Michael wasn't frocked — couldn't anyone see the paper sticking out of his shirt pocket? Or the shirt itself, which belonged on a holiday resort?
"I'll need your voiceprint, thumbprint or signature, ma'am."
Carmine provided both voice and signature. "Colonel-Commissar Carmine Petit, Royal Canadic Van Doos, acting divisional commissar."
"Rajiv's not here?" Michael asked.
"No — he got himself shipped back to Terra. I can handle this mob."
"How much higher will you climb?"
"What? This is just temporary."
"He was senior divisional commissar in-theatre. You're reporting to General-Commissar Thanh?"
"I've had the privilege, yes. I'm a Colonel-Commissar now anyway — as a Lord-Commissar, he didn't outrank me. More of a side-grade."
"Feth me and bury me in the Golden Throne."
"Congratulations," Marsha piled on.
"Thanks, Sar-Mage."
Col-Com. Sar-Mage. The Van Doos and Fusiliers came from the same East-NorAm hives, and their shorthand ran deep.
Carmine turned to Wanda, frowning slightly. She'd already seen her giving orders — the rank couldn't be right. "Where have I seen you before... Private?"
"Acting First-Lieutenant in command of Storm Heavies squad, ma'am."
"Acting?" Her voice went frosty.
"It's a bit complicated, sir. Commissar Goldenrod's idea."
"How come you never changed it?" She was visibly trying not to choke.
"What?" Michael asked, genuinely lost.
"Your last name! You've got a — well." She collected herself. "It's a perfectly good flower. People's minds going where they go is their problem."
"People having dirty minds is their problem." The three women were all grinning. "What? You three are enjoying this far too much."
"All right, you got me." Carmine cleared her throat. "What — you two?" She glanced between Marsha and Wanda.
"Scholam boyfriend," Marsha said.
"Scholam boyfriend the year after," Wanda added.
"Am I the only one who didn't?" Carmine asked.
"You said no — according to the rumor mill," Michael said. "Rajiv?"
"Oh. That far back?"
"He was a perfectly cromulent teenager, even then."
"Even handsome. Those bright blue eyes."
"Ahem — ladies."
"What? You're right there."
"Ahem, no — we're making Esteves wait. If you want to talk about me without calling me names, I'm willing to wait until you're done to interrupt." His grin belonged on a three-year-old.
The smaller man — the shortest, scrawniest civilian in all of Second Front HQ — had deflated considerably while the women made their displays. "Ahh — ehh."
"Out with it."
"This package is for you, Sar-Mage."
"Thank you." Marsha glanced at it, then passed it along. "Oh — this is for the Col-Com." She'd peeled back one layer of packaging to reveal the original shipping label: Carmine Petit, Royal Canadic Van Doos.
"What's in here?" Carmine's service knife — more or less exclusively a mail-opener these days, but very good at it — went to work. "Him-on-his-Golden-Throne. It's my medal."
"Golden skull?"
"No — my actual Royal Canadic Order of Victory. Doesn't look like much, does it?" She held it out.
"It has a certain classic tone."
"Three hundred and ninety-nine centuries of steel. That's why."
"What? That's second millennium?" Marsha's mental arithmetic was quick.
"Older than both our regiments by only a decade or so."
"That close?"
"Some of the cog boys claim they share an inciting incident, but I can't make heads or tails of the explanation. Nor can I read most of what's on here — except: pro valore."
"Well. Now that you have it, you should wear it," Michael said.
"Help me with the ribbon?" Carmine's dimpled smirk set Wanda and Marsha's teeth on edge. Michael's hands reached down considerably before he got past her hair to her shoulders, adjusting the red fabric against her black dress uniform. From where Marsha stood, she watched Carmine register — briefly, with some satisfaction — that they were both watching. Then the smaller woman seemed to think better of it.
"Put your hands back where they belong, Mister Handsy."
"I'm innocent. I was noticing how those shoulder-boards feel."
"Heavy. I already outlived a whole regiment."
"So did I. It never gets easier."
"What? I never knew that."
"I was with the 8744th Fusiliers for about a year before they were wiped out."
"What happened?"
"Bad intelligence. No one told us the Necrons were on Valtry." That was a lie, Michael, a General-Commissar(retired) and a passelful of Tempestus scions had accounted for the traitors.
"How did you survive?"
"Cut my platoon's losses and arranged evac using my cap-badge. Six of us made it out."
A beat.
"I never thanked you. For saving what was left of the Van Doos."
"You'd have done the same for me." He looked around the group. "In fact, I believe I owe all three of you drinks. Anyone going off duty soon?" Esteves had already shuffled off, dragging his monstrous bag behind him.
"I'm off duty," Wanda said.
"I'll put my parcels in order and join you. Where are we going?"
"The Black Hole?"
"That hole in the ground?" Carmine's opinion was not ambiguous.
"The Tangent?"
"They won't let me in." Three sets of eyes. "I haven't had a fight in a month. They just have long memories."
"The Ouranberg Veteran, then. They won't turn away bemedalled servicepeople."
"I'm not bemedalled." A pause. "Oh — you two are." Marsha opened her mouth before she could stop herself. "Which one of us is your date?" Carmine was dimpling at him again, damn her.
Wanda was Cynthia's old roommate — back when Carmine was Sophia's. Marsha spent a brief moment not thinking about that.
"None of their business," Michael said.
"How's your sister, by the way?"
"Same old. Made Captain recently."
"Captain?"
"Like Tempestor Prime but artillery, not shock troops," Michael confirmed. "And yes to your question, Carmine."
"Congratulate her for me. I doubt I'll run into her."
"I'd bet on next week, actually. Staff conference."
"If you're not back on your feet by then—"
"You can stay as my guest. Having a division observer can hardly hurt."
"Oh, aren't you clever — hoping I'll share what I know from above."
"We are supposed to be working together. And we both answer to General-Commissar Thanh. You could be her eyes."
"And what would you be doing?"
"Going crazy trying to keep this mob pointed in the right direction. As usual."
"You'd better rest up, then."
"I am. Having a drink with you three is good for my mental health."
"Why is that?" Carmine's tone was musing.
"You're considerably prettier than most of the men in the regiment."
"Who's prettiest?"
"You want my job that badly? I answer that and I sign my own death warrant."
"Silly Michael, I doubt—"
"Neither Marsh nor I are anywhere near the top anyway," Wanda cut in, rolling her eyes. "From what I hear, Capella, Boutella, Noh, Ifrit, and Bersaglieri have that top five tightly wrapped up — and are defending their positions viciously, usually by buying new dresses. Which keeps Michael's sister out of it. Her fashion sense runs to fatigues." Marsha drifted toward her office, collecting her parcels from the desk.
"I dunno — last band night, Cyn looked stunning. Dancing with Niels," Michael called after her.
"Hmm—"
"Poor Michael, broke your brain?"
"Just not comfortable thinking of my sister as, you know. Dating."
"Cyn and Niels were together in scholam. She's been wearing his shirts for fifteen years. You'd think you'd have adjusted by now."
"And Da Capo," Wanda added, innocent.
"Let's go with that horrible, horrible rumor that they're both her boytoys."
"If I wanted a pair of boytoys, the Colonel's brothers would do fine."
"And you don't?"
"I guess not. Never really figured out what I want in life — that'd be putting the cart before the horse." Wanda shrugged.
Michael glanced down at himself. "What? Did I put it on backwards? Why are you two looking at me like that?"
"You're just... less intimidating in that shirt, Michael. Less scary." Wanda — who outweighed him by a few pounds and had an inch on him — said it gently enough.
"I wish I were as tall and solid as you. I'd tuck you under my shoulder for easy carrying."
"He is a mite heavy for that," Carmine said.
"He doesn't look it."
"No, the shirt makes it look attemptable. But I've tried."
"No good?"
"Heavier than he looks."
"Hey, I'm following my diet."
"I've noticed." Wanda let the register drop, just a little.
"Maybe I'd better head on ahead and let you two catch up on the flirting."
"Flirting with the commissar? He doesn't need the extra excuse to shoot me. Pour encourager les autres, as they say."
Carmine tilted her head. "Poor Michael. Not that I should encourage dating within the regiment — but you probably don't need the vicious rivalries."
"We've already got them. From what I can tell."
"What, for the prettiest?"
"Or for who got to Brador first. Or who gets along better with Sophia. Honestly, you ladies are actively fussing each other up."
"Well — with Sophia being a self-declared fussbudget, are you surprised?"
"Maybe I was, once. Now I just wish it'd slow down."
"If you had to define male-female relations, Michael — what would you say?"
"I'm hardly an expert. But I'd quote Saniel Daint: 'Kiss her as if you want to write poetry on her soul.'"
"Did he pass, ladies?"
"He's not dead yet, is he?" Marsha's tone would have etched glass.
I kept running into her, it was distracting...
She was so tall, and dignified and stuff, a tall lady.
11 November, 41832, Springfield Noram Schola Progena, Villemaray Hab Block, East Noram Hive, Terra.
I walked into the place, as if I'd never left, it'd been a decade since I'd been here last, and over ninety years since I first set foot in those hallowed halls. My commissar's sash was proper, and I wore my peaked cap, but I'd asked the various guards, staff and other hangers on to let me return to the place without so much fanfare, as a favor to me.
I passed the frightened groundskeeper, who saluted, pale as if he'd seen a ghost, which, given the triple-skulls so prevalent on this gaudy uniform, he wasn't entirely wrong for assuming were the reason for my visit. To him, I must have been some sort of reaper, come to gather what had been sown.
"Commandant! But how come? We've heard nothing! Such a surprise, come, we need to take you to the boss."
"Mike, is that you?"
"Yeah, it's me, senior lecturer."
"Pish-posh, you know my first name, use it, Mike."
"Tandy, it wouldn't be appropriate."
"Mike, you saved my bacon three times, if I catch any of these louse using my name, I can crucify them, but not you..."
"It's better if I consign them to punishment detail or penal battalion, less chance of you chipping a nail..."
"I know you wouldn't, you're not that cruel."
"Hush, don't harsh my mystique, silly girl."
"What was it you told Marsh? I lost my privilege to be called girl when I became a grandmother, Mike. The grey hairs kinda remind me every day."
"That's not what that's about... Once you're a grandmother, you're not supposed to act like a silly little girl is how that saying goes..."
"Dear old Mike, always instructing."
"Thanks, Prun, she coming?"
"Who?"
"The boss?"
"No, she threw out her hip, so I gotta take you to her... And to my love, who's tending her today."
"Oh, Tandytending is trending again?"
"Oh, you... How'd you manage not to mangle that phrase, I'll never know."
"Commandant superpowers, not that I'll admit that to anyone else."
"Mike with superpowers, that's the scariest thing you've said all day."
"What? You think I can't get those?"
"I think it'd break the concept of reality of most of the fusiliers to even imagine you as not being purely, relentlessly normal and making do with just your impressive willpower and ceaseless hope."
I woke up that morning, dressed as usual, my long white cloth robes immaculate. My trusty staff-bolter ready, twelve rounds loaded, the blade sharpened to a keen edge. Keen, that's how they all called me.
My cornflower blue eyes stared back at me in the mirror, my goldenrod-yellow hair a hint to anyone how my ancestors got the name, even though I didn't give it out, not anymore.
"Commandant!"
"Drill-Abbess."
"You don't have to pretend, not with me you don't."
"What don't I have to pretend?"
"That we're not related, those with me know, I just don't want the riff-raff to get in my business."
"Oh, they know do they? Did anyone mention anything?"
"About?"
"How awkward this must be for you?"
"Some, my staff aren't servants, they're..."
"True servants of the imperium?"
"Mostly, yes, you haven't stopped being preachy..."
"Bit hard, at this late date... And a bit ironic that I'm getting upbraided by a Drill-Abbess, who's fully as preachy, I'm sure, when I'm not looking."
"I wouldn't..."
"You wouldn't what?"
"I wouldn't be preachy to you, gran Michael... I still remember those stories by the fire..."
"Hey gran."
"Hiya sprout, you look even more disgustingly cheerful than usual, what gives?"
"Aw, shucks gran, that'll be my secret." The middle-aged woman smirked impishly.
"Aw, is he here?"
"He who? Your sweet baboo?"
"I oughta wash your mouth out with soap, I haven't had one of those since before you were born..."
"Hey Cyn." A sad, gravelly voice startled her.
"Mike!" There were tears in the still tall, still ramrod-straight woman's eyes as she hugged her brother, the both of them in their nineties now.
"I shouldn't be doing this, colonel."
"If anyone complains, with a retired colonel, the drill-abbess of this academy and you here, just who do you write a complaint to, exactly?"
"I'm just a humble servant of the Imperium."
"Will you please cut the bullshit? I meet the Lord Militant of the Imperium once a year, maybe, you have regularly scheduled meetings!"
"Well, I don't think being invited to meetings of the Senatorum Imperialis is good for your health, not with the number of prior members who are no longer with us."
"Treasonous talk!"
"Is it? All that I said is that it's a dangerous occupation, which, since I know you have some level of access, you know for a fact."
"I'm just worried for my brother, who has just as much reason as I to know that talking about deaths in the Senatorum Imperialis can only lead to grief."
"Will you two back up a bit, I knew the Commandant was important, but you're in the Senatorium?" She felt awe at the revelation.
"He is, I'm only a colonel, bro made good. It outranks a General-Commissar."
"How many of those do you know Nan?"
"A few, remember Simone?"
"Auntie Simone? Who disappeared three years ago?"
"Yes, that auntie Simone..."
"Of course I remember her, she babysat my Andrew, you said she was trustworthy..."
"She was General-Commissar in charge of the Sabbat Crusade Second Front, before retirement."
"Well she was, but she actually retired Commandant, she's the one who nominated me for this post..."
"Oh, you name your successor?"
"Not name, exactly, but you can suggest one candidate for consideration."
"Which, knowing the Imperium, is almost always approved."
"Mostly, yes. They presume you know your underlings better than they do, most times."
"Apologies, worthies, I have come from holy Mars to confer with the worthy drill-abbott of this place."
"We shall see ourselves out then."
"Apologies, you mentioned being a member of the senatorum imperialis,earlier?"
"It is my duty to serve."
"I would speak with you as time permits, I would petition for your assistance, if it is permitted."
"In what way do you expect me to be of assistance?"
"I represent a faction of the Mechanicum interested in sharing knowledge, and we feel your initiative of a collegia is both timely and aligning with our interest."
"I am Orchid Mantis, I am an agent of the Imperium. I was raised in the Springfield East Noram Scholam Progenia, now a Collegium Progena. I learned many skills, I spent years in the Imperium, learning how to serve it. Learning to serve its hydra of a political machinations system. I am here on Urdim, I have come, I am to meet this Spider Lily, this is exciting and new."
"What is the password?" The man on the other side of the small viewport asked.
"Burn holes in my neck with the venom of your tongue."
"Oh, a clever one, it seems. Hold on, I'm opening, you're here to see the Lily?"
"If she's available, I've been told it was possible, today."
"It'll cost you, but yes, how much is it worth to you?"
"An imperial regal?" I was prepared to offer ten times that much, but the lout might have friends I'd need to pay for, later.
"Twice that, and you're in."
Michael was humming.
It wasn't usually so bad, but that song was so annoying! Urgh! She wanted to deck him.
"Oh, hi, nice of you to come see me, I take it you have something for me?"
"Oh, yeah Michael, here." She handed off a docket of papers, bound together.
"Criminal investigation report? Since when do we have that in our regiment?"
"I don't know Michael, I just deliver them, and no, Esteves is not cleared for whatever that is, he's just Chartreuse, and this is Fulminate Orange-level."
"Well, I guess today's story is the story of one of my days back at the Schola Progenium, as a Progena."
"Oh, those are spicy, I hear some of your classmates kissed with tongue!"
"Oh hush child."
"What, grandpa, I mean, great-grand-mother..."
"Your great-grandmother was only one of the women I dated back then..."
"Just how many of my ancestors did you go to scholam with?"
"Out of your eight great-grandparents? Five, counting me."
"Five?"
"Iguwolé, Marsha, Sophia, Frantz plus me."
"Marsha? Who said my name?" The elderly lady 's cane was thumping down the apartment of her ex-husband's from the guest bedroom, apparently.
"Hey Marsh, missed you."
"I hope you didn't mind that I set myself up in the guest room after I landed from my trip to visit the Ecclesiarchy, my Lord Commandant."
"Of course not, I gave you a key, I expect you to use it, Lady Cogitating-Logistician."
"Thank you, now who are these young folk, my eyes aren't what they're used to be, although your uniform is unmistakable, Mike."
"Our great-grand-daughter, Emerentiana, and this is rememberancer Iulivit."
"Pleased to meet you, would cogitating logistician be a title of the Administratum?"
"No, well, I am part of both the Administratum and the Munitorum, it's complicated."
"Great-grandmother, how come you never spoke of this?"
"Because it's complicated, I'm a Questor and an assistant-director in the departmento munitorum, for all of Noram, from my position in the Administratum. And I've recently been given liaison duties, to both the Munitorum, and the Adeptus Ministorum."
"Didn't you say in your letter you were getting liaison with the adeptus mechanicus?"
"Well, I should, but they need to validate my credentials, and they haven't done that yet. When they do, I'm expected to go on a little trip, to Mars..."
"Oh? How long?"
"Between a week and a month, I'll miss you and Wanda so much..."
"Whuzzat?" The tall, somewhat lanky elderly woman, dwarfing Marsha, walked in.
"Hey luv!"
"Wandakins."
"Stop it you two, I told you, no lovey-dovey stuff before I've had my caf."
"Hi great-aunt Wanda."
"Hey sprout!"
"I'm rememberancer Iulivit..."
"I take a dim view of people asking impertient questions, young one, and I still train with Tempestus! Do you understand me?"
"Quite. You still train with them?"
"Yes, unfortunately, I'm a bit too ripe... to be active duty."
"Are you sure? I think you're just as terrifying as they are..."
"We heard that."
"What you have tempestus here?"
"They're assigned to Marsh."
"And the commandant?"
"Honour guard, mixed Tempestus, Sororitas and Commissars."
"Is this one bothering you Ma'am?" The hulking sororitas bodyguard who'd snuck up on Iulivit from the back door and grabbed him by the collar asked Wanda.
"No, not... yet... I just put him on Notice, Teresa-Avila."
"Oh. Apologies, citizen." And she gently laid him back down on his chair.
"You got interesting meetings today Mike?"
"The inquisitorial representative wants a word, I want to be on Mars right now..."
"She can't be that bad Mike..."
"She's the inquisitor the other inquisitors voted in to show how scary they can be... Of course she's that scary!"
"You get to meet other inquisitors though, there's that Grayfax lady?"
"Yeah, she's most impressive, I am glad I get to hob nob."
"Granpa, you meet INQUISITORS?"
"At times, goes with the Senatorium Imperialis membership... Especially the Ordo Custodes."
"I don't think my worldview can handle that, you don't even live at the palace!"
"No, that's by design, and besides, only the voting members can live in the palace, and not even all of those do. Marsh's newest buddies the Ecclesiarch and the Fabricator-General don't."
"Sir?"
"Yes, Finurbim?"
"There's some chatter on the tactnet, someone wants a word."
"Someone?"
"Trying to get clarification sir, all I got is classification Incarnadine."
"That's not a classification, that's a Shibboleth, let them in..."
"A Shibboleth, sir?"
"A way to check if uninformed persons are blocking or misrouting a check. Please tell our friends on ingress to look for an Inquisitor's big I sigil, I suspect one will be forthwith." His heart was pitter-pattering, Carmine was coming in for a visit, he'd missed her red curls.
"Hey, Michael, can we talk?"
Marsha asked me that, with her big eyes, Wanda was with her, 'uh oh', I thought, but I said "Sure."
"What dfd you two want to talk about?"
"Are we friends, Michael?"
"Yeah, I'd like to think we're friends."
"Are we more? Are we, 'with benefits'?"
"Why do you ask me that? Are you two breaking up with me?" I sounded pretty pathetic and miserable, even to myself.
"What? No, well not me, not now."
"Not me either..." Wanda was biting her lip, something was making her nervous...
"So, what did you two have in mind?"
"Hmm, you remember how we had to get a divorce, to advance our careers?"
"I bleed from that decision."
"Ha, a pretty good line, that."
"Nice shoulders, Sir."
"Thank you, but you know that's a lie, it's been two decades since my shoulders haven't sagged... And yours are still better than mine."
"She's coming back?" She straightened at the compliment, he had nice shoulders, still, though...
"She let me know she's visiting us this month..."
"The whole month?"
"Even she doesn't know, she says 'as long as she can'. Will you tell me?"
"Tell you that, Sir?"
"What caused that rift between you two..."
"She promoted me out of her detail..."
"It was a promotion... To tempestor prime... You couldn't be a Tempestor Prime and stay with the inquisitorial representative's detail, I checked the regs..."
"Oh, well no one told me that, or I'd have refused the promotion..."
"So silly..."
"What?"
"Wanda, that's so silly of you... It's such a dangerous job, why'd you want to keep it?"
"Uhhh, ok, you got me there, you think she was trying to keep me safe?"
"There aren't many of us left, besides, that was almost forty years ago, maybe give her a break? It's not like you can get the job back at eighty..."
"I could if I got as much juvenat as she does..."
"You need to get them regularly, not all at once, silly billy... Why do you think I don't have them? I certainly can afford it now, but you have to start in your late thirties, at the latest, for it to have any effect."
"Oh, when did she start?"
"When she was selected as an interrogator, she was assigned for it. No questions asked."
"She was what, thirty-six?"
"Thirty-five, she's a year younger. Come on, that wasn't enough to get you two this angry, you've roomed in the scholam together, if sharing a laundry basket didn't make you enemies, what could?"
"I am Cardinal-Terran Capella,, and I wish to speak to the Commandant of the Schola Progenenium,"
"Hey, Hair!"
"Who DARES?"
"I do, Hair. Remember me?" Wanda was flexing her muscles, which at 80, was quite the sight, not many octogenarians retained enough muscle mass to have a noticeable flex, but she did. The tempestus scions assigned to Michael let the retired Tempestor Prime act like the honorary head of the detail, when the Tempestus or Sororitas weren't around, at least. Some Sororitas were here, but on the Cardinal's side.
Michael came out from within. "Oh, hi Planetary-Deacon Capella, hi Seraphim Geraldine-Rosalie." Michael was used to those visits, and how Francesca tried to bullfrog herself larger than she was, although, as one of planeatary-deacon of Urdesh, she was a powerful force in the Ecclesiarchy.
"Michael, iconoclastic, as usual." Her Juvenat treatments were conspiciously visible in contrast to Michael's ancient figure.
"I'm too hold for trivial nonsense, Fran, or even most folderol."
"You're the only member of the Senate who has too little patience for the niceties, Michael."
"I can't believe your new doll!"
"What?"
"That Simone woman?"
"She was ten years older than I am, when I met her..."
"Warp-spawned timelines! You're making my head hurt great-grandpa, she looks thirty-five?"
"I can't speak to that, but she was sixty-five when I met her, ten years away from retirement, she said so herself..."
"She looks younger than your Inquisitor-friend."
"Who's my own age, well, a year younger, she was in grade school with my sister..."
"Ugh, gramps, you're making my head hurt again..."
"He's not making it up though, Sophia was my roommate, Carmine was Cyn's."
"Granna Wanda, I think it makes it worse. Do you all know each other?"
"The regiment was founded by basically everyone who hadn't flunked or been pulled into incompatible specialties... And those who'd graduated in compatible specialties were called back, like I was..." She rubbed her shoulder straps.
"Specialties?"
"If Carmine had been an Inquisitor back then, she'd not have made her way back... Capella as an ecclesiarch..."
"No, she could have been Chaplain's assistant... But yeah, and we were lucky to get anyone back from Tempestus. Another place that doesn't let them back out is Sororitas..."
"What about Commissars?"
"We only needed one of those, and your great-grandpa was selected..."
"No assassins in your group?"
"No one elite enough..."
"What, assassins are more elite than Inqs?"
"Physically, they are. Most assassins do everything solo, Inquisitors are allowed backup, even if they must guard against betrayal more than most." The tall lady in the armor always made Emerentiana feel out of place, the way she looked at you as if your thoughts were plain to her.
"Hey Emerentiana."
"Inquisitor...
"Granna, please. He's not the only one here who's your ancestor. Hey, you're that remembrancer, Iulivit?"
"Yes, thank you, Logistical Rubricator Narvik."
"You've done your research, but I'm no longer holding that title, since, by the grace of the god-emperor, am now Logistician-Quartermaster of the Am Guard-tithe for the Indomitus Crusade."
"How big is that again, dear?" Michael interjected.
"East Noram is tithed a million, West Noram eight-hundred thou, and Sotam two millions."
"That's a sizeable force, who's the commander?"
"No assigned commander, you're slipping, you know those new foundings, they get a colonel-commissar, each fifty thousand or so. You must have seen it, whenever that many regiments get shuffled around, there's always a promotion for new commissar cadets."
"Well, of course, I may actually need to recruit some commissar-cadets myself at this point, I'm running out of cadres..."
"Silly Michael, if you want to recruit cadets, the best way is to get some sororitas novitiates doing a tattoo at the nearest Schola Progena."
"A tattoo?"
"It's a military competition, the Sororitas doing it in power armor is quite impressive..."
"And they just dance around in skirts!"
"Granna!"
"Don't look at me, I tried to convince people to reconsider... But that's why all them boys wanna look, and the next thing they think, they think they want to be the commissars that write everyone up for looking!"
The crowd giggled, Mike's self deprecating humor was certainly a crowd pleaser.
"So how do you feel about being the shorter person in the relationship?" She asked, artlessly, she couldn't manufacture guile, not if it bit her first.... But it got me thinking...
"I'm not the shortest person in the relationship, you still are... I'm just in a relationship with one woman's who's taller than me, two that are between our heights, and you..."
"Oh, that's a really clever answer... I hadn't seen it like that. Oh, is anyone bringing wine tonight, you think?"
"I don't think anyone mentioned it... Why?"
"I've been eyeing a bottle of vine from The Emperor's new castle, it's really expensive, but I can afford a bottle or two, and I have a promotion to celebrate."
"We usually celebrate your promotions one on one, what are you plotting?" Michael looked at Marsha, whom he'd been in a romantic relationship the better part of 75 years, noticed the glimmer in her eyes, and gulped. "You're plotting something, and it'll be good?"
She blushed, and looked shyly at him: "Am I that obvious? That transparent?"
"My lady, you just blushed, and licked your own lip... Whatever your thinking has you quite... exercised..."
"You have no idea... I'm struggling with the temptation to pull my vest off..."
"How's the family, Tandy?"
"You already asked me that Sir, they're fine..."
"Have I? Asked about little Jirisha's medical admission?"
"You remembered that? My wife had to be reminded!"
"So you can drop the pretense that I'm not paying attention, or that I'm getting senile, please?"
"Sorry Sir, I won't underestimate you like that anymore..."
"And Mioko?"
"She's in her last year... Sir, you have been pretending to be befuddled for how long?"
"Six months..."
"I've told you about her last year, and didn't mention my family for almost half a year... Are you sure you're not missing time?"
"Missing time?"
"I'm going to have to ask you to come in for an examination, Sir, you almost fooled me, and clearly, you're not senile, but you are of an age where damage can be most terrible, and we can't take risks with you, at your lofty position..."
