Brian pushes Killovie’s message into a data chip then slips the thin chip into the dedicated slot on one of the dataslates I use for dubious communications. These dataslates have no connection to the noosphere. The only storage they have is for the Machine-Spirit inhabiting it, installed on a read only memory chip, a spirit that executes any data plugged into it in a virtual sandbox.

  While no device is 100% secure, even if one were to infiltrate one of these datapads, there’s nothing important on them and they’re not networked. It would take some truly funky sorcery to create any trouble with them, like embedding scrap code that can infiltrate the viewer’s cybernetics via the visual and audio data the dataslate executes.

  Confident I’ve done all I can to prevent casual hacking attempts, I order Brian to hold the dataslate against the armourglass of the Warp Sextant tank and play Kilovie’s message.

  A pict recording triggers showing Kilovie waving at a security camera. She’s wearing Rogue Pattern Power Armour and has four mechadendrites like a Warforged or an elite Herald Acolyte. Her helmet is modified with canister-like protrusions bristiling from her skull. A highspec, armoured dataslate hangs from her hip and four Servo-Skulls hover around her.

  Additional cogitators are wrapped around her forearm. These devices have inbuilt holo-projectors that throw up charts, pict feeds, and Lingua-Technis in front of her as she saunters through large, double doors with an exaggerated sway of her hips. The sign above the door reads: Courtesan’s Cry.

  Like me, I am certain that Killovie could view all of the data on her holoprojectors internally and it would be much faster. That would mean exposing her mind to hostile Machine-Spirits though. She would be practically begging for an infection when one is infiltrating a pleasure house in the Red Schola!

  The pleasure house is rather lavish with woven silk tapestries, marble busts, and soft yellow lighting. Killovie struts through the foyer like she owns the place, completely ignored by the well dressed clientele, barely dressed men and women, and security cameras. Psykers can project an ‘ignore me’ effect. Killovie isn’t a psyker though so either she’s doctored the pict recording or she has an arcanotech device that can mimic such a spell. Annoyingly I can’t actually tell from the pict recording she has sent me.

  Killovie walks up to the receptionist's desk then stands to one side. The recording cuts from the security cameras to a feed from one of her servo-skulls, placing Killovie front and centre.

  “Hello, Magos Issengrund and welcome to my tour of the Courtesan’s Cry, The Tutor’s most luxurious training centre. Here, dull, fleshy dolls are programmed to squeeze every last drop of delicious data from their drugged clients.”

  I facepalm. Please don’t tell me Killovie has made a noosphere mockumentary of a cultist brothel? I direct Brian to increase the speed of the recording so I can at least get this over with.

  The recording flickers slightly and Killovie wags her finger at the camera. “Now, now. No fast forwarding to the good bits.”

  Well, at least that answers the question of if she superimposed herself over another recording or not.

  “I’m sure that the good Magos is no stranger to how naughty people can be when they’re outside His benevolent gaze.”

  Killovie even put subtitles in so I wouldn’t miss the capitalization. She’s not a member of the Iron Foundation, just messing with me.

  The pict recording cuts to another Servo-Skull, then pans around. The hanging tapestries dividing the room are filled with holes and every person has been spiked into position by plasteel rods, their bodies locked in a macabre imitation of sensual poses and stolen whispers. Imperial officers, thugs, courtesans, it matters not. All their faces are stiff and bloated, their pain, shock, and confusion held in place by small staples.

  “Rather sloppy work by the Astral Knives. One wonders what Commodore Astoris’s men and women were doing at such a place. These amateur killers have no style, leaving few traces of their involvement. What point is there in such a display if one does not know who to fear? It is so terribly wasteful and our great Imperium cannot tolerate such inefficiencies.”

  The recording cuts back to Killovie. She gestures to her right as the Servo-Skull hovers backwards showing the whole rear wall of the foyer. Right in the centre, behind the dead receptionist's desk is a sprayed stencil of a cog with a hammer in the centre: my personal symbol.

  “As such, I have adjusted this local art display so that all who visit this poor gallery may know He is watching.”

  Oh, that utter, grox-posting bitch. Killovie knows I hate cruel displays as they feed the values of the Ruinous Powers and discourage truthful communication; people only tell the boss what he wants to hear if the messenger always gets punished. However, she is also doing exactly what she has been trained to do, so failing to capitalize on the opportunity comes under wasting her skills, another inefficiency I cannot abide, especially given the unpleasant training she endured to acquire them.

  It would be tempting to believe that Killiovie is using this opportunity to lash out at her employer, though master is more appropriate considering her conditioning, to challenge my boundaries and make me pay for her poor treatment, knowing that she is far too difficult and valuable to replace.

  There is some truth to this as to make others suffer as she has suffered no doubt brings Killovie a touch of joy, perhaps even misplaced rapture, given her Imperial Cult indoctrination.

  The greater truth, however, is far more simple. Killovie is as petty as her previous master, Inquisitor Lyre Hamiz. During some unscheduled security testing of JK-404’s laboratorium, Killovie ran into my defences rather than JK-404’s because of the importance of the Hyper Intelligence project.

  The two women have an unhealthy rivalry as Killovie is reliant on the drugs JK-404 produces to avoid complications from her many poorly documented modifications and cybernetics. JK-404 cares little for Killovie’s opinion, viewing the Vanus Assassin as little more than a puzzle to solve to improve JK-404’s own modifications.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  JK-404 may not hold Killovie’s drug dependence over the assassin, but that doesn’t stop Killovie’s dislike of the Magos Biologis as it is yet another part of her life that Killovie has no control over. As such, Killovie likes to break into JK-404’s laboratorium, then steal the medicine that Killovie would normally have to go through a check up with JK-404 to acquire.

  Depending on how difficult JK-404 makes it to find the medicine, Killovie will relabel JK-404's files, move her samples about and cause other mischief. JK-404 always hides the medicine behind a different set of puzzles, but doesn’t stop Killovie from breaking in. In return, Killovie does not cause serious trouble, like rewriting containment systems or deleting vital data. The harder the puzzle, the less mischief Killovie causes. Whether that’s a matter of time or a sign of respect, I do not know.

  Unfortunately, during her last attempt, Killovie encountered my garden gnome program. Not only did she have to come to me to get them to stop singing annoying songs through her audio implants, Killovie had to go for a proper check-up with JK-404 to get her drugs replenished and sit through JK-404s poking and prodding. Prodding that no doubt reminds Killovie of the many painful surgeries she underwent to become a Vanus Assassin.

  There’s no way that Killovie won’t do her job properly; she must have found something important or she would never have flagged a report for my personal attention.

  However, that doesn’t stop her from performing tasks that she knows I won’t like, but can’t object to, and making me sit through an unskippable recording so that I don’t miss her ‘important discovery’ while I’m stuck in a tank far from the action with no excuse not to watch it.

  Seeing how much effort she’s put into this while in the middle of an ongoing operation, I can’t decide if I should be impressed by her dedication, or slap her with a punishment for wasting time. I know if I try that though, she’ll have a perfectly good excuse to get out of it, then find some way to escalate. It’s just not worth it.

  I turn my attention back to Killovie as she continues her tour, pointing out the different rooms, their morbid history, and the secrets that were spoken within them. I hate to admit it, but as she walks through the Courtesan's Cry, I get increasingly invested in the story Killovie is telling and irritated by her spraying my symbol on each door.

  “Behind this door is the final room on our tour,” says Killovie. She opens the wooden door and reveals a boudoir filled with curios from around the galaxy, stacked wall to wall on stone shelving on either side of the door.

  A strip of red carpet, held down by brass rods, runs up the centre of the room. On either side of the carpet are taxidermied Humans stuck in classical poses. Some are dressed in loose clothing, holding sculpted, metal flowers. Others swan about on stone plinths or dangle incense burners, holding a palm up as if they are about to bless their congregation.

  “Much like her counterpart, The Provisor, who is the public representative of the Tutors, The Madam is the face of The Tutor’s internal operations. The Tutor’s records are disconnected from the noosphere and their security is excellent. So long as they still have someone left to respond to an intrusion, that is.”

  The centrepiece of the room is a bed, draped in purple and gold silk. The bed is large enough for at least five people. Above the bed hangs two dozen pict viewers on multiple mechadendrites. A lap desk, tipped to the side, lies in the middle of the bed, its papers scattered. A pot of ink and broken auto-quill stain the purple silk and spilled documents.

  Ghosts appear in the video, acting out the struggle of The Madam and her guards. Labels appear above each clue, the indents in the carpet, a spray of blood that would impress Jackson Pollock; drops of sweat litter the room with flecks of skin and lost hair. Stubber rounds that ricocheted off the stone walls.

  “Fun though they are, these struggles matter little.” Killovie waves her hand back and forth as if she is dispersing smoke. The ghosts fade away. “Not once since their founding have The Tutors been so vulnerable and their rivals, Obsidian Emporeal and Kasballica Mansion, too occupied to seize the opportunity. Thus, it falls to this loyal Imperial agent to lift this tear stained veil. There is much correspondence to ravish, though I shall restrict myself to edging my captive audience with the highlights.”

  The hologram in front of Killovie changes, showing a hand written letter, though the Servo-Skull is at the wrong angle to reveal its contents. Killovie clears her throat and puts on a fawning expression.

  “My Love, please purchase more weapons and ammunition from the next trader who requires our wares. The Drusians have been getting uppity again after we raided their creches. They really should have paid more attention to the maintenance announcements before they ran off to mass at the Chapel of the Third Congregants. Still, we must have our dues and it makes no difference if their fresh faced foals get to say goodbye before they enter our stables. There is nothing we cannot train here.”

  Killovie taps one of the cogitators attached to her arms and the letter is replaced by a noosphere audio message.The boudoir is replaced by B-roll from the Red Schola as a woman with a deep, husky voice speaks.

  “My Love, you’ll never guess who crossed my threshold today! Twas one of those brats from that Faceless Lord.” The voice snickers, “My apologies. I can never take him seriously. He tries so hard to be mysterious, yet in many cultures he would be declaring his name is Prideless. It tickles me pink everytime I hear his disappointing moniker.

  “Anyway, do you remember that handsome Imperial officer who sold us the schedule for the tithe fleet for a pair of maids and a little trinket to protect him during Gellar Field flickers? Well, that prideless brat wanted the data. I had to trade it for a pittance as we’re low on muscle after the Drusians rioted. At least we’ll have plentiful stable feed for a few months.

  “Oh, before I forget, that officer let something else slip too during a liaison with one of our fresher foals. Some new Magos is stirring up trouble at the Breaking Yards. Look into it for me will you? New players always rock the boat without proper incentive and we need to know what makes his cogs tick.

  “I’d love to chase down that officer again for some more hands on discourse. Sadly, I don’t think I’ll be seeing him again. The trinket I sold him will protect him from three quarters of Warp entities as promised. I can’t help but think our Prince will take an interest in him though. He was such a snack!”

  The message ends and the recording returns to Killovie. “It never ceases to amaze me what records people love to keep. My dear Magos, you might be thinking that these messages will be enough to purge The Tutors. Alas, it is not so. Footfall is unique in that all are forbidden from disrupting trade. All trade, no matter how distasteful.

  “Those who violate this rule are slain or banished and the Inquisition can’t afford to lose its listening posts and caches on this station were they to concern themselves with every little cultist, nor are they willing to give up the hints of greater troubles these petty machinations often lead to.

  “For example, this mass of correspondence reveals a network of Imperial officers who are selling secrets they should not in exchange for xenos artefacts. They also use these sales to make up for supplies other navy branches have pilfered before they could reach the Koronus Expanse. Without these additional supplies, Battlefleet Koronus would not be as effective as it is. Even more damning is that some Imperial officers are buying secrets and more because their official networks are too slow at disseminating the information they need to do their jobs.

  “Vice-Admiral Thalk is one of these individuals. He uses The Tutors’ network to wrack up more pirate kills than any other officer in Battlefleet Koronus and supplement his income. In turn, captives, and the occasional nosy officer goes missing when he visits. As one of his latest sponsors, you’ll be delighted to know that you are now implicated by association. Don’t worry though. I won’t tell!”

  HERE. Many thanks to Brian for putting this together in their spare time.

  Warhammer 40k Lexicanum, , and . I've also enjoyed opinion pieces such as: , The via Gamespot, and . While not strictly 40k, they are good for inspiration and IRL explanations.