Martha brought herself to her feet as Carrell hurriedly dropped the hospital garb and changed into something more fitting for a meeting with the Inquisitor.
Surprisingly, she allowed him to change, lazily watching him as he dressed himself.
Carrell shot her a quick glare as he went to pull his combat fatigues up around his waist.
“Don’t be in such a bother about me being here” she smirked at him. “not like there’s much to look at anyway, ain’t that right hive-rat?”
Carrell’s response came as nought more than a grunt as he fastened his pants with a grox-leather belt. A simple iron buckle locking into place as he moved to pull his shirt over his head. It was a rough, black fabric, made only rougher by the thin plates of armour interwoven inside of the shirt. Finally, he donned his greatcoat, woven from miniscule thermoplas rings that offered similar protection to that of a flak vest. It was a simple black item, a dark green trim running along the collar and hems of the coat. Albeit one of Carrell’s more prized possessions, this coat showed it’s wear and history. The coat was scarred with wounds, hastily repaired in the little downtime he’d have between his next struggle. Yet, it was this wear, this history that made the item even more valuable to the guardsman. This thing, this piece of fabric had saved his life on far too many occasions to count.
So, he thought, his annoyance was quite understandable when Martha finally chortled back “It’s almost like you want people to know that you’re a poor boy from a hive.”
“What of it?"
“What do you mean?”
“Would there be something wrong with me if my heritage was something I wanted to advertise?”
“You could advertise it in a different way, rather than just looking ratty.”
Carrell let out another grunt, though his tone lightened as he spoke again “You could be right. Which would be a rare exception.” The man sat on the hospital bed, slipping his feet into a pair of metal-toed combat boots before standing back to look at Martha “Suppose it’s time to meet Hargrave?”
“Suppose it is…”
Much to his relief, Martha remained silent as they left the medical bay, feet striking on the metal floor under them as they made their way up through the ship to one of the many debriefing rooms in the higher floors. Martha took the lead, keep herself ahead of Carrell as he followed, both of them silent. Still, she kept her pace, not straying too far from the acolyte, even when he was in such a state that his movements had slowed to a point where even her drudging pace out-strode him.
By the time there hour long, cross-level trek to the debriefing room was complete, Carrell’s breath had turned raspy and weak, fighting the urge to clutch at his chest as his heart rose into a swift, heavy beat.
As Martha idly sidled up to one of the plain metal doors that lined the corridors, Carrell allowed himself to slow his pace even further. Taking another burning breath as his eyes narrowed on the simple door and the four numbers painted on it’s face ‘0977’ below this, a small engraving stood out amongst the mute grey, brass reflecting the dim, silvered light that flickered throughout the corridor. ‘Briefing Room: 03C’
“Ready?” Martha shot a quick glance to Carrell as he took another heavy breath before straightening up into a more refined posture.
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“I always am”
The woman shot a stare at his chest with a smirk “Yeah, you really show it.” With that, she struck a small button embedded into an alcove in the steel wall, the doors quickly whirring open to reveal a room as unremarkable and simple as the corridor it branched from. The walls were a simple steel-grey, flat panels fitted and bolted together uniformly. The floor at their feet was simple too, no different from the walls in fact, the ceiling above them gave off a dim, yellow light that cast itself across the room from a dozen humming bulbs fitted into the ceiling, but around these bulbs were the same, factory-fitted panels.
An unremarkable table took up the centre of the room, round, large enough to fit twenty people in the steel chairs that surrounded it.
Other than themselves, there was one other spot of colour in the room, sat in one of the chairs directly across from the pair was a thin man, draped from head-to-toe in heavy, porcelain white robes, a scraggly beard of the same colour fell from beneath the shadow around his hooded face. He pulled his slumped figure backwards, looking at Carrell, then to Martha, the gaze of his soft-green eyes settling finally at a spot of air between the two of them. The man’s voice came gruffly, a deep, unwavering tone. “Acolytes, sit.”
Without question or pause, the two of them each pulled a chair from beneath the table and took a seat across from him. His eye’s cast along the two of them before settling on Martha, his hand rose from beneath the table, draped in just as much cloth as the rest of his body. The steel digits that peeked from beneath his robes bent and curled into place as he pointed to an ornate talisman that Martha wore around her neck. “Your Rosette, give it to me.”
“Yes Inquisitor” She hurriedly pulled the talisman up and over her head as she went to hand it to him. Placing it carefully in his metal palm.
Carrell had once looked upon the Rosette in awe, and some jealously, under the belief that he should be the one to bear such an item, rather than the brash, violent ape that was his comrade. The Rosette was the mark of The Inquisition, the item merely being in your possession granted its holder authority over soldiers, armies, cities, even planets at times. Of course, to bear such an item without the proper permission would surely result in a horrible fate if you were to be discovered. A reason that Carrell had never dared to take the symbol from her, even if he believed he would make better use of it.
The inquisitor clasped the thing in the palm of his hand, tightening ever-so-slightly around the object as his eyes narrowed on Martha, they softened again as he brought the Rosette to his chest and stowed it somewhere within his robes. “I believed that your time in service had ensured that you would be responsible in bearing it. Though after this mission, I have confirmed you are unready. You were to utilise the power of our order if needed, not to use it the second you are given it.”
Martha’s head dropped, her hands sat on her lap, fidgeting as she looked back up to Hargrave “Yes Inquisitor.”
“Mhmm” Hargrave’s eyes turned to Carrell now, neck slowly craning to face him. “According to Martha’s reports and what I have gathered myself, your performance today was...” The man exhaled. “Disappointing.”