With their supply dumps destroyed, Garu’s forces taking back the government buildings and Vormav no longer a hostage, Searlait’s general amnesty seems to do the trick, the junta forces which is about sixty percent of the Gelron Defence force, begin turning up at the designated area and laying down their arms. The rank and file have no real concept of what has happened here, they have just been following the orders mindlessly, as they have been trained to do, senior NCOs and officers have been aware of the situation but mostly gone along with it ‘under protest’, there is a very tiny minority who have thought they were doing the right thing but even they have been doing so ‘for the Emperor.’

The surrender carries on over several weeks and Vormav has to organise the reception here however, he is assisted by troops of the Northern Alliance, technically these are also rebbles who defied the Planetary Governor and broke away, there is a lot to unpick here.

Meanwhile Jak is able to devise a temporary solution to the disk and dispatches on final plate to join it. On arrival, after about four days, it links to the edge of the massive construction but, orientates is self vertically so it blocks just a minimum of sunlight, the new instruction is relayed to adjoining plates which also rotate into a vertical position, then those beside them follow suit. From the ground it seems that the great, black disk that has so ominously dominated the sky for so long, just dissolves away in a line that starts on one edge and sweeps across the whole thing.

The Governor and military leaders are returned to their proper places, the leaders of the Junta disappear and try to hide under new identities but most are quickly caught by Garu’s team. The body of Brigadier Clune is discovered in woodland near the NA capital some two days later, he had blown his own brains out and left a short not, ‘I did what I thought best for Gelron, may the Emperor have mercy on my soul.’

Feel free to post any wrapping up you’d like to do.
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This message had punctuation tweaked by the GM at 18:31, Fri 15 Dec 2023.

 Having done his part to rationalise shipments and supplies to the Manufactorum, as well as moderate the drain upon Gelron's resources, Jak managed to avoid a great deal of the excitement on the ground, the gunfire and the explosions - but when it is revealed that the design (which he is perfectly prepared to kick himself over missing this detail of, as he had concentrated upon the individual plates, not their unified interaction) can be made to operate like a closable shield, he fully enters hog heaven...

 ...because not only does he now have to do it all again, he gets to do so as part and parcel of a vast effort to re-engineer what amounts to an entire planetary economy as previously dead areas of farmland re-open, delivery routes and logistical networks need to be rebuilt, populations need to relocate...

 It's several weeks of high-intensity, gloriously intricate, vitally necessary work involving miles of parchment, terabits of data, tends of thousands of functionaries, millions of lives and while he is only a medium-sized cog in the machine (much of the burden must, of course lie upon the local administratum) his augmented mind and direct connection with the operating minds (current and inheritor) of the Manufactorum permit him to extend the 'long term operation' plan into one which includes Gelron as part of the area in need of preventative maintenance.

 For the immediate, foreseeable future, a great deal of what goes up is going to be coming back down in new, useful and intensely productive form.

The Scions of the Nomadic House Shiraishi throughout the climactic events of the reclaiming of Gelron did much as they always did and had been bidden to do by the Lady Captain. They watched the worming, whiling ways of the Immaterium from the bridge and their sanctum for any sign of vessels translating between the dimensions... and for any sign of phenomenon that might indicate more dire circumstances given the history of the world. It was by the greatest blessings of the Beneficent One upon Holy Terra, the principle voice of the  thousands strong light that was the Astronomicon, that no such occurrence had come to pass.

Such uneventfulness, however, was not allowed to become an excuse for inactivity under Cennet's ever tired yet never still hand. Their minds when not occupied by their entrusted watch were turned to matters of astral cartography. A thousand comparisons of past mappings playing out to ensure they had an iron clad understanding of the new arrangement of heavenly bodies and the broader impact upon the ever permutating warp lanes that surrounded them within the Endless Sea. It was as holy work as any undertaking of the Ecclesiarchy as with out such... There would be no Imperium of Man, no great bastion against the darkness and the perils of realspace.

That these only compounded upon the already exquisitely rendered map of their course, the hazards, and eddies that had carried them here was a small and delightful bonus within the Navigatrix Primaris' mind. Her only lament remained that it had been a far too circuitous route but this left the challenge, nay the duty, to improve upon it and cut the transit time in whatever ways deemed best by fate and well informed judgement. Which was truly a task for latter as it was unlikely that there would be preparations of translation soon in the measures of... less long lived individuals than navigators.

Once was all deemed done and ready... The task of composing it all into the requisite ciphers to ensure the security of both the charts and to ensure the ease of transmission by the astropathic contingent that accompanied them.

This was not the only thing, however, to occupy the Warp Guide's formidable mind as was evidence by a runner being dispatched along side a small escort of her house guard to ensure a sound and timely delivery to one Magos Jak Tesla. The missive, with due regard for the time and efficiencies of the Servants of the Omnissiah, was encoded on a data-slate for rapid consumption of the data therein. It expressed a simple invitation to discuss a matter of services and a desire to combat the inherent weaknesses of the flesh as they've already expressed. The only question, truly, was as to where and when such a meeting might be arranged so as to meet the particulars of both parties.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:38, Sun 17 Dec 2023.

POST JUNTA COLLAPSE

The amnesty Searlait had offered was indeed an honest call, the rank and file were assigned to temporary barracks, watched over by Northern Alliance and House Saoirse troops while they were  processed to ensure that the were indeed just rank and file troops following orders and not actively rebellious. Those who were aware of the coup were segregated into separate camps depending on the severity of their heresy.

The weapons she has inventory of weaponry discarded by the junta and stored in secure holdings to deny their use to any further rebels that decided to keep up the fight. She has Vormav and Asgard look into speciality weapons that could be useful to their combat troops that they can take as spoils, a battle tank or 6 could be helpful, but she would ensure that an even disbursement was made between the remaining factions of the Northern Alliance and Gelron Primary.

She would insist on a dual state with alternating governorship between the two powers and any disagreements would be broken by a representative of the Dynasty that will stay in a compound to be constructed and sovereign territory of the Saoirse dynasty in honour of their ceasing of hostilities and solving the problem of the disk blocking the sun. The plan is for the compound to sprawl into a proper city of its own, another jewel in the crown.

She has the body of Brigadier Clune placed in stasis and brought to the capital where it is displayed under guard with a sign stating such is the fate of traitors and is kept there for at least a month before his body is taken to the open ocean, removed from stasis and dumped. All assests he had are taken from his family if he had any given to those who displayed more loyalty to the Imperium; all knowledge of his note are scrubbed to ensure future compliance.

She has her team run interviews with the former crew of the Emperor's Glory and attempts to discover the vessel is likely to be hiding out following the battle. Those who were deemed useful are offered entry level positions based on their skills and absorbed into the crew, as well as open positions to any suitable applicants to replace crew losses.

 Jak has parcelled out his hours with predictable precision, from the time spent aboard the Manufactorum ensuring that Draccius is brought up to speed to replace the current Magos to the hours spent data-shuffling with his uncanny intellect. Even his meals are delivered almost entirely as he works, and sleep is measured to the minute.

 There is a single day and night when he is not to be found - shortly before the departure of the Inquisitor - but other than that, he is the very platonic ideal of the workaholic.

 Save for three times a week, when he takes himself to a workshop for some few hours to practice the arts of his technocratic kind. Out of that workshop came the coiling, brass-alloy mechandrite he now sports over one shoulder... And it's to that (undeniably expansive, and most definitely sanctified) workshop that the Navigatrix is invited (with her retinue promised honourable and comfortable accommodations while they speak) to converse with him as he indulges himself like the meanest tech-wright, clearing his mind in the clash of hammer and the sear of cutting tool.

 "It is my understanding that you wish to cleave closer to the perfection of metal." he comments as the meeting begins, while painstakingly shaping a curving, adamantine-alloy breastplate of some sort with a massive power hammer, itself stamped with complex runes of protection and defence.

From where their paths split on the battlefield before the amnesty Harmonia doesn't seem to have any desire to accompany Jak back to the space station, or to engage in any of his special kind of machine interaction. Instead she finds an available form of transport and inserts herself into the task before Garu's team, collecting the last of the holdouts.  While not quite as good at their specific task of tracking and killing people she does prove at least competent at that, and absolutely unrelenting at drawing as much information from anyone captured as possible before allowing them to fulfill their final sacrifice in the Emperor's name.

Overall it doesn't seem like the task goes any faster, but there is a sense of completeness, inevitability even, to it that helps keep the individual soldiers focused on not only doing the grisly work but understanding why it matters and taking pride in how well the task is done, and done it is, down to the last possible embers of any future rebellion.

The arrival of a Navigator and their retinue was typically a more grand affair but given the vessel, the complex emotions around the issue, and a desire simply for privacy... It was a modest affair, a few armsmen, her ever present attendant and nothing more. It also had the undertones of a due gesture of trust given as she stepped with that same deliberate, agonizing into the Magos' workshop. The strikes of the power hammer drowning out the clack of each step upon the deck platting and the thump of the staff.

Her aide, Master Van Der Hildr, remained close at hand as the Lady Navigator came to a stop at a polite distance and considered the question with a soft laugh tinged by a certain black humor and self awareness. The sound again largely lost beneath the roars of the blessed tools of the Omnissiah.

"Or at the least to petition the Omnissiah's blessings to curb the worst of the perfidy of the Flesh." Cennet replied as she leaned on her staff and steadied herself against the protests of treacherous musculature and the greater burden placed on so many other factors of biological locomotion.

"Apologies, speaking of it is something like picking at an old wound. My hope is you might be able, in your wisdom, to help me address this wretched withering I've been victim to since my abilities first expressed." the Navis Primaris concluded, taking care to ensure she was projecting her voice properly in the din of their shared environment.

 The heavily augmented guards that secure the holiest places of the Machinarium - including the Explorators personal machine-shop - are seemingly inanimate statues of metal and flesh, but the attendants which bustle about the visiting dignitaries (and dignitaries they are) are as attentive as one might wish - if somewhat limited in their social skills - and ensure that the armsmen are given positions alongside the Tech-guard to continue their watch, while the attendant and aide are actually permitted into the work-space (albeit with a slightly unfashionable set of ear defenders pressed upon them) and given stools to sit upon near the door, where they retain line-of-sight at all times.

 Tesla turns from the power hammer and a flicker of red lights illuminate the curve of the metal he's been working, measuring it to within literally inhuman tolerances before he sets it upon a mounting where further tiny runes can be micro-etched upon it - his new mechandrite, a curving thing of segmented and almost cephalopodan metal that trifurcates multiple times along its length to branch and reform into tools - taking the burden without visible difficulty.

 "My views upon the virtues of steel are largely orthodox, but I am not of the stringent opinion that flesh is without merit in all circumstances." he states from under his hood, the Aquila-like visage of his faceplate lighting as he speaks "It is however known that the necessity of preserving the Navigator gene has led to certain compromises in maintaining the purity of the human form."

 But he does at least have enough of his own human form left to add "That this should be a matter both personal and socially restricted is entirely logical and please understand that no judgement is levied thereby." as he shuts down the power hammer and dials back the nearby plasma furnace to a merely disruptive volume - incidentally throwing off enough energy in the process to hopelessly fry unshielded listening devices.

 "Your personal difficulties may, however be subject to adjustment or even rectification." he goes on, moving around the room to a newly-delivered, freshly-installed, bright-with-new-purity-seals set of medical and surgical equipment, "Possibilities include, but are not limited to limited component and cybernetic organ replacement, partial cybernetic conversion and cloning and gene-cleansing individual organs in batches to permit the selection of the healthiest for reimplantation. If you wish to be scanned for assessment, I will be willing to undertake the process."

Vormav largely continued the work that had been interrupted by the attack. The books on the planet were a mess due to the various rebellions and fighting along with the massive loss of resources in constructing the orbital shield. He worked with the governor's staff the best he could to get their production targets aligned with Saoirse dynasty trade accounts and factor any of their potential needs back into their existing business ventures.

All the while he was on the lookout for useful bits that could conveniently "go missing" form the planetary stocks and make their way back up to the lament.

Gregory thought that his days would be more relaxed now that the whole civil war thing was cleared up, but there is no rest for the wicked, as the archaeo-Terran saying goes, and right after returning to the Lament for a shower and a groxburger, the Lord-Captain immediately proceeds to send him back down to Gelron for that most dreaded of duties: "police action". Since they are not nominally at war with the junta forces any more, he actually has to plan rules of engagement for his men now. While the occasional trooper is a little unhappy about giving up his personal arms, the enforcers and armsmen he brings with him are up to the task of keeping them in line, especially since the Damocles sword of the Lament is still hovering in orbit above them ready to blast their cities into dust if they fail to comply. All in all, there is surprisingly little violence and the biggest challenge is inventorying all the materiel they have seized, a task which requires the First Officer and a staff of administrative scribes to make planetfall as well.

A few pieces of hardware catch Gregory's eye, but he merely mentions them in his addendum to the seized materials report.


As a neutral party, he is also tasked with helping Garu and Vormav with assisting in cleanup operations. During this time his shooting skills are tested like never before as he is compelled to disable interlopers without necessarily killing them (or rather, after the first chewing-out he received from "pacifying" stubborn troops with a hail of stubber fire, he gradually learned how to take them down more effectively with less-lethal munitions. It reminds him of the old days when his squad were hired mercs, when you didn't necessarily want to kill the people paying you protection money, but he shakes his head. He's with the dynasty now, for better or worse, and they're better off now than they were then.

Speaking of which, Slab and Katyusha seem to be very happy down on Gelron, to the point where he might be willing to let them remain as part of the Saoirse family's guard detail if they wanted. Judging by how excited they are about the world, it might be better to let them. Jan and Kyria seem to be content to settle down too, so... He decides to schedule some time to have a serious discussion about the future with them.

Of particular note is a small cache of heavy personal arms captured when raiding a seaside hideout. Their vehicle is too small to carry all the ammo back with them, and simply blowing it up with fyceline seems like a waste, so the squad spends an afternoon shooting off somewhere in the region of 20'000 rounds of ammunition and by the time they're through, Gregory feels like he could handle just about any support weapon used by Mankind.


Apart from his work, Gregory's leisure time is spent in... more work, arguably. The attack on this auspex fin made him realize how woefully inadequate he was at maneuvering inside a voidship or in a large enclosed area. To remedy that, Gregory turned his eyes to the twenty jump packs stored in the vehicle pool's lockers. With some time on his hands, he decides to properly teach himself how to fly.

Naturally, he starts with voidsuit positional control nozzles; a task conducted inside a depressurized zero-G compartment of the Lament. He ends up looking like the victim of a gang beating, but at least he's familiar with how to move and control himself in space.

Next comes the harder part; throwing himself out of a perfectly good aircraft in the atmosphere. Gregory isn't alone when he does this; after finding the gravchute operation manual and an airborne infantry course outline, he and the First Officer draft up a training regimen for the assault company, ensuring that if need be, the Dynasty can deploy their entire complement of assaulters out the back of their shuttlecraft (assuming, of course, that they have enough grav-chutes for it). While each man technically only has to jump five times (including one at night) to qualify, Gregory is jumpmaster for all of them and by the time they're through, he is a hoary veteran.

Learning how to use a jump pack after that is even more advanced and reserved for the most suicidalbest-performing assaulters and Gregory. Armed with this knowledge, Gregory is confident of handling all future endeavors, though he is rarely seen without a bandage or poultice covering his bruises during this time.

The Navigatrix tipped her head slightly towards the point. As with every other gesture, it was taken with the exaggerated care of one who must truly consider every motion and the cost behind it. A trait that was no doubt of immense and demonstrable benefit when one considered the tailored purpose of her rare genetic template. Her focus doggedly upon the Magos' every word as her will battled back that continuing, insidious headache born of the crass betrayal of her body against the mind that it housed. The silence of the hammer a thankful occurrence as it's rhythmic impacts served only as a force multiplier one might say.

"Thank you for your understanding. Precious few are allowed to engage with my kin and I in such a capacity out of abundant caution." Cennet offered politely in a softer tone now, the flicker and magnetic interference of the quieted plasma furnace not lost on her but not commented upon either. There were many programs of various constructions to maintain the purity of the line... Some less savory than others. Her own, at least, had tried to maintain the generational differences so as to avoid the worst of the mutations but even with such precautions there remained extensive instability from the habitual exposures of their profession over centuries of practices and refinements.

There was a deliberate silence as she processed the offered choices. She'd heard some of them before and been subjected to exhaustive studies by both kin and the Magos she had petitioned in her time with the Explorator fleets.

"There are tolerances that must be considered when it comes to any cybernetic systems. As clean as a partial conversion might be, the hardware itself would have to be somewhat exotic in it's make up to ensure there wouldn't be any failures when exposed to the ambient radiations and, well, reality shifts that can occur in the Navigator's Sanctum during transit. There's also the concern that any sufficiently corrected gene sequence might re-express from another vector as priorly there was great, great effort invested into my, ah, birth to ensure a genetic stability." the Navigatrix mused conversationally as she spared a glance to the medical equipment with a slight movement of her eyes. The exquisite mask hiding any semblance of an expression but her tone betraying, at some sub level, a complex tangle of emotions regarding such efforts.

As if such purity and stability had once been a point of great pride.

"That said, I would happily submit to the requisite scans so that we can better... chart the course of possible solutions. If it becomes necessary to remove my exterior casing... I accept this as well."

 Jak's hand - a metallic gauntlet or augmetic crowned by a thorny ring of manipulator-tools - makes a small, negation gesture with a low-level seal of binding encompassed within it, rank superstition or arcane gesture (and is there any difference) as he dismisses the acceptance with a simple "I am Explorator to the Pious Lament, who rests within the palms of your hands and whose fate is encompassed by your Eye each time we enter the Immaterium. There is no logical motive to provide you other than the upmost support, if it is within my power to do so."

 Her fate is, after all the ship's fate - and a ship such as the Pious Lament is well worth the life, even the soul of a lowly tech-priest, or a thousand of his brethren.

 "It is understandable that careful construction will be necessary in any implant that you receive. My initial thought is that any augmentation should be nano-inscribed with signs of purity and stability, but in truth I am only modestly familiar with such technotheology - matters of the Immaterium and Navigator gene-structure are closely guarded." he remarks, turning to the scanner and considering it for a long moment as though processing the possibilities at hand, then coming to a series of decisions which he then frames and offers up with the efficiency of his profession "If you are prepared to make limited access to Navigator biological and genetic data, as well as data regarding the interaction of the Immaterium with your gift available and I am able to discern non-heretechal options to do so, I will be willing to proceed with this project." he states, dispassionately - knowing that these matters tread upon the grey borders of heresy and the forbidden, although also knowing that the lines that Must Not be crossed within them are difficult to transgress against without full knowledge of what you're doing "I am prepared to pledge that any such data so shared will not go further without your express approval. In the interim, I am prepared to - at your discretion - station test servitors in the Navigators Sanctum so that the effect of the interactions can be studied. It may well be the case that there are existing patterns which will serve your purpose without a need for me to access the requested data."

The Navigatrix tilted her head with delicate care in concession to the point of the Magos' flawless logic. There was no true suspicion of anything escaping but duty bound her to utmost care and discretion regarding any matter of her body and genetic heritage. For any of it to become public or fall into the hands of a rival house was enough to weaken the position of her clan as a whole... and bring grave consequences down upon herself in turn. The final nail in the coffin, as it were, of her familial perceptions of her as a failed experiment and a disappointment despite the prodigious talents she so readily demonstrated.

As the Magos turned, Cennet followed the line of his gaze to the scanner with another deliberate and careful motion of her head. The gentle clicks of artfully interlocking ceramic plates audible just beneath the continued murmur of the plasma furnace. That sound masking the more worrisome pops and groans of the tortured and overburdened structural elements of her body.

"Of course, we can provide a sanitized but comprehensive gene catalogue of my particular branch of the familial tree as well as medical assessments over the past decade to also provide something of a pathology. I will note the muscle degeneration I've experience has thus far restrained itself to merely the groups responsible in, ah, maintaining structure and locomotive ability but there have been some impacts to cardio-vascular health though to a far far lesser extent." Cennet replied in regards to the particulars of the data potentially required. The continuation of his thought regarding the positioning of test servitors would have earned a thoughtful frown were her true, wretchedly withered countenance not hidden behind the exquisite mask. There was an unfortunate suspicion that any such equipment might become prey to the unfettered stare of her blessed eye especially given the particulars of her own... evolution for lack of a better term.

"This can be arranged but there is a particular care that will need to be taken with their placement as my gaze will be unfettered whilst we are at warp. Deprived of higher thought as they are, the organic components of a servitor would still be quite vulnerable to the energies involved."

 "These are not, in and of themselves beyond correction." Jak states as he circles the medical equipment which is still in the process of being installed, his mechandrite and hands alike moving smoothly here, there to adjust a control or more securely fasten a purity seal, "Vat-grown muscle and bone can supplement or replace damaged or malformed tissue and the technotheology to do so is well understood. Theoretically, adjusting the gene-sequence of multiple samples and growing each to test for health is merely a matter of repurposing part of a servitor production facility for some span of time, the same methodology applies to hearts."

 "Similarly, augmetic muscle - assisting your existing body - and the lacing of bone with synthetic materials, as well as wholesale replacement of your heart would provide an alternative route to success." he goes on, anchoring himself as his robes spread slightly and long, curving brass-taloned feet brace so that he can shift the surgical scanner back against the wall and socket it into place with his mechandrite.

 "It shall not be necessary for the servitors in question to be cognizant, or even aware of their location, merely that data can be gathered demonstrating how their augmentations respond to exposure to the Navigation Chamber. This data shall of course be turned over to you in its entirety should the procedure be successful." swiftly - save for the pauses to offer short binary incantations and anointing with blessed oils - he finishes connecting the pod and then leaves it running test-canticles, a series of small green-on-black animations appearing on a display screen of an adorable little cherub with a thermometer in its mouth, the thermometer slowly rising in temperature as a progress report "That said, you imply that implantation in your body will result in different exposure profiles. Are you further willing to provide details of these changes, or permit monitoring of them?"

"I'll defer to your judgement and expertise on the matter after the requisite data has been assembled. At present, given past choices, I do have a preference for augmetic solutions but there is advantage to synthetical derived biological alternatives for the fact that if they're built off sanitized samples of my DNA, they'll likely also demonstrate the necessary... acclimations to the typical rigors of my working environments." the Navigatrix conceded as she took a step closer to the scanner as the Magos continued his rituals and works. She knew it was not ready at a glance but it was better to begin positioning herself as required then delay with the unfortunately cumbersome nature of her personal locomotion.

"Depending on the number, I can give suggestions as to where they may be placed around the Navigator's throne to avoid the adverse affects of my or my peer's unfettered stare. As for the fruits of any data, this would be much appreciated. It will do much to expand the thinking and reasoning of your peers in service to House Shiraishi." Cennet offered amicably as she continued to observe with small, careful motions that came naturally to those who had not full crossed the Crux Mechanicus. "I'm willing to provide such data. It's a consideration to... the volatility of Navigator evolution from a natural, metaphysical, and professional stand point. Our... progress for lack of a better term is rather intimately linked to the expression of both new abilities and detrimental mutation. Most of which, at least observed in my family line, can be corrected surgically." Cennet concluded in that same soft spoken, educated tone. There was a guardedness to it though as if the topic was something to be approached delicately and carefully as it tread a little too close to secrets held near and dear.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:02, Thu 21 Dec 2023.

 "An interim solution at best, one which must be refreshed in each new generation. But given the importance of your bloodline, not an unreasonable one." Jak agrees, the cherub-sigil behind him progressing through the test cycles "In any case, I am no Magos Biologis. I am certainly capable of parsing genetic runes and any competent adept can work with servitor-grade implants, which are all that we shall risk in the initial tests. If no changes are detected upon such simplistic augmetics, then we shall have little cause to fear for others implanted in you."

 "In any event, the political considerations of this request make it necessary for overall control of the data to remain in your hands, since I would not wish to attract unwanted attention for trespassing outside the permissible. As such, would you care" - a 'ding' from the surgical system - "To set a code-lock of some sort upon the records I am about to compile upon your anatomy and metabolism and then divest yourself of anything you do not wish to be scanned? Assistance can be provided, if your existing augmentation is necessary for you to complete the task."

"I agree but as you say there is rarely an expense spared when it comes to the Houses of the Navis Nobilite. Though should a more... perennial solution present self that does not stray concerning from the orthodoxy, I'd be happy to entertain it and even offer myself once more for tests and screenings." the Navigatrix agreed with both assessments of what was to come. Her mind, all the while, through the many scenarios, considerations, and other factors that she knew might arise from an understanding of how... temperamental her body could be since the expressions of the withering and more recently... unusual arrangements of joints and flexibility. Whilst utterly normal to her family and herself... There was always a disquiet that hung in her mind when she considered such rapid changes to her body. Each feeling like a strange betrayal or a new unpleasant secret revealed by someone intimately close to herself. A thought she pushed aside as the Magos continued on and she was obliged to give her full attention to him.

"How sophisticated a lock are we speaking of?" Cennet replied with a small hesitation regarding the matter of disrobement. Her pride and vanity both sending jagged shards of ice down her spine despite herself. She drew a breath then and glanced back towards her attendant with a slight bow of head and gesture of her right hand upon her staff. The man approached dutifully and set to the task of shedding the layers of finery she draped herself in until all that was really left was the near masterfully route shell she had cocooned herself in. Each plate carefully etched with the same delicate blue and gold vining patterns and practically a work of art but more impressive was the arrangement itself as it covered near everything of her thin frame. Where plate could not be placed, some dense and durable weave rested in it's place. It's make up arcane and black as the void.

"The plating can be unanchored should it interfere with the scan but it takes... some time and a careful hand." the Navigatrix concluded in a softer than normal tone that betrayed a certain strained dignity even though it was routine. As she had said, it was like picking at an old wound when it came to the matters of treacherous flesh.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:14, Fri 22 Dec 2023.

 "That is an area which would require that I have access to knowledge of more than your gene-line and so I am not yet qualified to speak upon it. Trespassing as it does upon matters restricted, I would prefer to begin simply, moving within both my competence and orthodoxy." Jak remarks, reframing his earlier observations once more to emphasise that they're just that, observations rather than proposals.

 As for the security system, he indicates the massive surgical device with his mechandrite while explaining "There are grades of such things. None of which I could not bypass with time, access and effort but doing so would be both indecent and impious. I would recommend a simple code-lock, but options include going so far as to undock the actual memory module from the machine and keeping it upon your person, should you wish. I fully cede that the data is, ultimately yours since I am only working upon such personal projects for the senior staff as a personal leisure activity.", because of course a Tech-priest would absolutely spend their leisure time fabricating intricate and powerful devices and augmentations.

 "I am of course proficient with augmetic technology, or would you rather we passed some of your personal staff through sanctification to assist you?" the enginseer asks, in what might be mistaken for solicitousness if it weren't coming from someone who appears to have recently sawn their own legs off to replace them with metal ones.

The Lady Navigator tilted her head forward with the same painful deliberateness in acceptance of the counter point. It was a finnicky topic, after all, as to what one was and was not permitted to know. There was a slow creeping anxiety to it given her duty to ensure no such secrets escaped the grasp of sanctified and certified individuals. She let none of this express, however, through the finely honed aegis that was her will. The fatigue of prolonged standing, all the while, clawing across the length of her form.

"If some actor wished to take such a data core from me... I suspect there would be better guardians if my track record is any indication. For now, we can satisfy ourselves with the sacred rituals of data ciphering and I'll provide a code in compliance with the Sacraments of Inviolability." Cennet concluded after some deliberation upon the matter. It was enough, for now, to give her peace of mind and if evidence of malevolent actors became apparent... Then she would take additional steps from there.

"Whilst I'd trust, by necessity and simple logic, my attendants with my life... The enlightened mind of a Magos provides a certain surety to what we aim to do here even if it might be regarded as a simple project at the end of the path." the Navigatrix concluded with a sincere note to her otherwise soft and educated voice. Most of her extended staff fell into the categories of technomats, sanctified chirurgeons and other similarly respected titles but she also wished to keep the matter private as she may... and away from the ears and eyes of her kin. Not that her... over corrections for her physical short comings were not already a known quantity but to do so retained some measure of her dignity at it's core.

 It seems to be an honest effort upon the part of the Explorator to frame matters in a fashion that both emphasises orthodoxy and a respect for the secrets of the Navigatrix and her lineage - whether it is an honest effort, only time will tell but the motivation he expressed - assisting one of the handful of people on the whole vessel upon whom her fate quite literally lies, moment to moment - would definitely be one any adept of the Martian faith would respect.

 So, it all comes down to trust then.

 Although it certainly doesn't hurt that the decisions he is leaving largely in her hands as he presents them in completion, letting her choose where to take their work in the broadest sense, once necessary information is gathered "Very well, although should at any point you wish a family retainer to examine our efforts, they shall of course be welcome to do so once passed through consecration." he states before indicating the surgical suite once more, "Please. Prepare yourself and enter the pod."

The astropathic choir has been busy for the past few weeks receiving, decoding and sending messages from all and sundry. As the workload begins to wind down, Faith finally has time to take a break from the endless work and she decides to spend part of this brief reprieve in the temple-shrine.

Safely anonymous in her hooded robe she takes a seat in the corner of the front-row pew, next to the Ogryn and the tiny soldier that she recognizes from Archmilitant Asgard's command squad. They seem to be seeking guidance about something, but she decides not to bother them about it. They might not appreciate a witch's words, after all.

More and more people coem in, until the massive capacity of the temple-shrine is full. However, one person is missing; Miss Wells herself. Apparently, the Ships' Confessor is busy with something else and today's service is being led by what Faith can only describe as "an intern". She looks mousy and timid, even fumbling the magnavox every now and then. Definitely not the most inspirational of figures.

All that lasts until she bids everyone rise for the worship segment of the service.

If Thou seest a flaw in me - smite me,
If Thou knowest a fall of mine - burn me
With flames of fury and righteousness.
But if Thou seest a light in me - grace me,
If Thou hearest this plea of mine - bless me
With wrath of fury and righteousness.

For I breathe by the will of Thine,
For I live by the law of Thine,
I carry thy word, O Emperor!
I bring solace to servants of Thine,
And ruin to foes of Thine,
A fate of terror and righteousness!

The mousy little priestess seems to be a conduit for someone - or something - greater than herself as her voice filled the cavernous chapel, but it is not the magic of the magnavox - or any other kind of magic; as an astropath, Faith would instantly pick up on that - that blows away the clouds in everyone's souls and lays them bare to the gospel of the Emperor. The previously rowdy congregation listens with rapt attention, and as they file out after the service, the offertory boxes seem particularly full.

The Ogryn and his little pal are nowhere to be seen, but Faith doesn't pay them much attention; today's sermon has kindled a fire in her, and she decides to volunteer for some extra duty in order to vent the holy diligence burning in her soul!

Said work consists of extra shifts helping the exterminator purge the inter-deck spaces and other cramped environments of various forms of vermin. Faith ends up learning quite a bit about flamers (the preferred tools of purgation) during this time, and she actually meets the priestess from before helping out with the cull. Apparently some of the lay brethren believe in performing community service...
This message was undeleted by the player at 12:18, Fri 29 Dec 2023.

The Navigatrix bowed her head and with some care and assistance stepped into the pod. A claustrophobic environment was nothing new given what she had done to herself already and experiences besides that. Left unchecked it might even become the perpetual state of her existence to exist in such a fashion but she pushed that distracting though, much like the constant protests of her physical form, with a contemptuous act of will. Nearly any step, so long as it remained with in the bounds of reason and orthodoxy, was a step towards ensuring the continued fulfillment of her duty to the dynasty and humanity as a whole.

Once as comfortably situated as she might she gestured, carefully and precisely, for the Magos to begin.

 "Please remove any augmetics or protective equipment which may interfere with the scanner." Explorator Tesla states from the other side of the thick, brocade-woven privacy screen which slides into place, painstakingly wire-embroidered with both runic glyphs from Saint Faraday's Pattern and non-conductive miniatures of healing scenes and devices, powering up the scanner in the process to commence a thorough health check.

 Notable points to observe include the extremely comfortable nature of the warmed, shape-altering cushioned seating which is provided for the patient, the patently pre-chilled heads on all diagnostic sensors which require skin contact (especially on the chest) and the gentle background rhythm of medically-necessary hymns and prayers which owe a great deal to the waiting-room muzac of millennia past.

 Time, needless to say, passes.

Already free of the robes and other entrapments of her station and office, the only thing left was the exterior plating that hid the wretched nature of her mutations from the world... and her mask. The latter was easy to remove but it took some time to remove each of the fitted plates but she was blessed with both a sharp mind and the technical acumen to do so. With that done, she relaxed back into the pod and let the examination begin. Her mind retreating into the various calculations and mantras that consumed so much of her professional time as a means of focusing and ignoring the many failures of the flesh.


OOC: Seems a good enough note to close on lol

 It's a matter of no more than half an hour or so to complete the process of scanning an approximately human form down, followed by Cennet being asked to redress herself and join Jak at the terminal to be shown her own deficiencies in exquisite, three(!) coloured hololithic detail.

 He indicates the weakened ligatures that limit her speed of movement and her damaged, but functional heart before proposing a scheme of improvements that require only artistic assistance (he is a capable fabricator, but is all too aware of the needs of the upper nobility to present as well as practice) and the results from the servitors to apply.

 By the time of their next jump through the Immaterium, data is being gathered. By the time they emerge, components for testing are ready. By the time they make planetfall, only the master of final shaping remains.

 The next step is of course, implantation.