Chapter Fifteen - Adeptus Ancillia

The tech-maids of Mars, or as they called themselves, the Adeptus Ancillia, were members of a religious organisation that sprung up on Mars before the first inter-system war.

Though calling them specifically the tech-maids of Mars was incorrect.

The organisation existed on Earth, and anywhere else where enough people gathered. The split had happened relatively early in the religious order's life. Some claimed that it was similar to the split between Catholicism and Protestantism. Those people had no appreciation of history, or of how stupid and accurate that comparison was.

Because it was accurate in many ways, but being correct didn't stop people from being stupid.

Part of it was the national identity of the members of the different groups. Martian society was exceptionally proud of itself, and that showed in the identity of even the religions that grew upon the red world.

That was, again, simplifying decades of religious growth. All Ivil had to concern herself with at the moment, was whether this tech-maid was going to blow her cover or not.

Ivil followed Missy into the Held Together's hangar and sat herself down to one side. She watched as the Warmime started checking things out, tugging on cargo straps, kicking a few braces that were placed to hold crates in place, and then tsking to herself as she found the workstation at the back full of loose tools. "I swear," she said.

"Is that Twenty-Six's stuff?" Ivil asked.

"It is," Missy said with a sigh. "That girl does not pick up after herself."

"Isn't she the one that needs to fix any holes made by her stuff punching through the walls?" Ivil asked.

"Yes. Yes she is," Missy said. "Trust me, this ship doesn't need any more work added to it."

"Have you tried reprimanding her?"

Missy waved a hand dismissively without looking Ivil's way. "Sure, but she forgets. Look, if she wasn't as good as she is, I'd make a much bigger fuss. If Donny or Hawk left stuff lying around I'd kick their asses for it, but it's Twenty-Six. That girl is... shit, we don't deserve someone as good on this ship."

"Oh?" Ivil asked.

"Yeah," Missy said. "She's the best mechanic you've ever seen."

"I've met some very good mechanics," Ivil said. She was responsible for the ulcers of entire engineering departments, and Mars had the best engineers in the system.

Missy shook her head. "You've never met someone like Twenty-Six. The girl's a natural. She gets shit that no one else gets."

"She doesn't have a core," Ivil said. It was a statement, not a question.

Missy paused and looked back at Ivil. "No. She doesn't. No one on the crew does."

That was a flat lie. Ivil could tell that Missy had at least two, maybe more, cores.

Missy continued while sorting through the tools. "Two-Six was raised where one mechanical failure meant that everyone around her would die, and not in a pretty way. I don't know what kind of fancy school you went to to end up a professor of whatever, but she didn't get that. Her education was day-in-day-out patching things up and keeping herself alive. She's good. Makes fixing things look like an art. I wish she did have a few cores. It'd make people respect her more."

"What did you mean, about respect?" Ivil asked.

Missy shrugged. "Used to be that if you were good, if you were talented, people would respect you for it. Now? It doesn't matter how good you are. It's all about the cores. Not the people under them."

Ivil had the impression that there was a lot more going on there than Twenty-Six just missing some opportunities. "I imagine you've met plenty of both," Ivil said.

Missy turned to stare at Ivil for a moment. "You know what I am, right?" She gestured at her own face. It was pale, especially in the strong artificial light of the cargo hangar. The paleness was especially prevalent on her face, starting along the jawline and circling around. That wasn't makeup, it was a skin-lightening procedure taken to the extreme.

"A Warmime?" Ivil asked. "Or an ex-Warmime, in any case."

"Yeah," Missy said. "I left that world behind a while ago. There's a lot of good people out there that'll never get the chance they deserve. I don't like it. I thought it would be better away from home. It's not. And, no offence, but you look like exactly the sort of person that didn't lack in chances."

Ivil's eyebrows rose. That was close to an insult, but perhaps only because there was a kernel of truth to it. "I suppose so," she admitted. "Though I have fought for a lot of what I have. Still, I... appreciate that you care for Twenty-Six. It's kind of you."

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

"Yeah, sure," Missy said dismissively.

Missy didn't seem impressed, but she glanced off to the side and the ship's entrance before saying anything. Ivil glanced that way too. There was someone coming. Another person with cores, only they had quite a number of them. A solid C-classer, maybe edging into B.

There was a heavy knock on the smaller door inset within the cargo-bay door.

Missy walked over to it, then checked at a small monitor built into the entranceway. Ivil only saw a fuzzy blur on the low-resolution screen, but it was enough to tell that there was only one person on the other side. Missy opened the door with a squeal of metal on metal. "Hey," she said. "You're Sana?"

A woman stepped into the Held Together. She was relatively short, a little shorter than Missy, though it was hard to tell anything else about her physicality.

She wore the formal outfit of a tech-maid of Mars. A white cowl and doublet with a deep hood over a blood-red corset and skirts. Her coat swept down and out, puffing away from her like a frill-edged skirt. Beneath it, it was clear that she was wearing a flexible hardsuit. The coat and her corset only gave the impression of a maid's outfit without any of the actual issues that might come from wearing such a thing in a dangerous environment.

Ivil narrowed her eyes.

She had a history with the tech-maids. Not this one in particular, but she couldn't help but feel like seeing one here was a bad omen of sorts.

The tech-maid paused at the entrance and tilted her head back to scan the room. Her face was covered by a mask. White, with golden filigree along the edges, and dark lenses over the eyes that said nothing. It was carved into the face of a pretty woman.

Ivil felt at the tech-maid and found herself even more cautious at what she felt. This was a B-Classer, but one that was... weakened?

The difference was subtle. This was asking someone to guess if the glass was half-full or half-empty. There was always a correct answer, but it was more often than not contextual. Few people would be able to tell, but Ivil wasn't just anyone. This tech-maid was a B-Classer that had just split her own cores. It was recent. There were still some lingering after-effects of the split.

Ivil jumped off the crate she was sitting on and smiled as she walked over. "Hello," she said. "I'm Evelyn, one of the other passengers."

"Hello," the tech-maid said. She glanced back. Her only luggage was a small bag on wheels trailing after her. It had a few symbols of the Adeptus Ancillia, and some pouches on the side which contained some of the tools of their religion. A small brush, a folding duster, a can of compressed air.

"Missy, let me take her to the mess. You can keep working," Ivil said.

Missy raised an eyebrow at that, then shrugged. "Sure. I'll have Hawke show you your room later. You're lucky, the passenger compartment's all yours unless we get any more last-minutes."

"Thank you," the tech-maid said. Her voice was faintly electronic, a small buzz that made it less-than-natural.

Ivil smiled some more, then gestured the tech-maid after her. She followed, and Ivil led her towards the spine of the ship. "This is the spine. Most of the accommodations are at the front," she explained casually.

"Interesting," the tech-maid said. She didn't sound as if she was feeling all that talkative. That was too bad for her.

"I didn't catch your name, actually," Ivil said.

"Ah, of course, my apologies. I'm Savant Sana Pendergast, Keeper of Pristine Networks, Sister of the Order of the Wet Mop." She bowed her head a little.

Ivil nodded along until the very moment they were passing in front of her room. The door slammed open on its own accord, though without making any noise. In a blink, 'Sana' was ripped off her feet and tossed into her room.

Ivil followed, appearing next to the tech-maid and grabbing her by the scruff faster than most people could process. The door closed a moment before Sana was shoved into it and locked in place by Ivil's will and her forearm across the neck.

The tech-maid struggled faintly for a second, then stopped, her entire body going unnaturally limp.

This wasn't how Ivil was planning on pinning someone to her wall for the first time.

"Hello, B-class Imperial Valkyrie, Sonic Spectre," Ivil said calmly. "What the fuck are you doing?"

***