Chapter Ten

Fading Dreams

The entire vehicle shook as bolter rounds slammed into it's back quarter pushing it sideways. The Rhino, a squat, rhomboid shaped box on a pair tracks skidded in the mud, pushed sideways off what was passing as a road and into the ditch beside it. In the driver's compartment alarms began to blare and the worst light on the warning panel lit up: Track Failure. Rachael swore her choicest invectives as one hand slapped the rapid release of her harness and the other was reaching for her helmet. “Out! Out!” she shouted, the armor was holding, but probably not for much longer. “Starboard side!” The starboard hatch fell open and ten Battle Sisters flowed out like a river of black armored death.

Helmet in hand, Rachael grabbed the remote, swinging the storm bolter on its pintle mount on the roof of the disabled armored transport in the direction of fire her Rhino was taking. The Thermal Imager showed a traitor Marine in damaged power armor who had picked up an emplacement bolter and was using it as a personal weapon. His helmet was off and the Marine's eyes were wide and wild with Chaos madness. That gave her an opening that might save them all. “I've got something for you, traitor!” she growled. Rachael saw her target and held down the remote's trigger. The bolter on the roof roared, hammering the traitor Space Marine with explosive rounds that knocked him off balance, as they were unable to penetrate his armor. He threw up an arm to protect his defenseless head, which meant he had to stop shooting. Grinning, Rachael yanked the remote until she worked the stream down into a case of mortar rounds she'd seen.

The explosion blanked out the screen for several seconds and when the smoke and fire finally abated, most of the traitor's armor was still standing, but the traitor's head was missing. The gun fell out of his dead hands onto the sandbags of the position that the armor had shielded from the blast.

Problem solved.

The squad she'd been carrying had formed a ring around the stricken Rhino as Rachael clamored out, coming around to the far corner to assess the damage. The track had been severed, but only about two sections had been damaged. Fortunately, she had a spare bit of five track sections on the roof, but the drive sprocket was a mangled mess. This wasn't going to be repaired in the field. “Emperor's teeth!” she snarled. She pulled her helmet on and got the Vox thrower set to the right frequency. “Telestial, Telestial, this is Lucky Forward, I'm on foot and need a retrieval, how copy, over?”

“Lucky Forward, roger, we have your locator, retrieval priority is seven, what is the status of your passengers?”

Rachael carefully kept her language clean for the broadcast. “Squad and I are signal one, standing by.”

“Lucky Forward, negative stand by, proceed on mission to way point sigma. Discharged to squad Sister, how copy, over?”

“Orders received and understood,” she growled. “Lucky Forward clear.” With a sigh at her lack of luck, despite her Rhino's name, she tromped through muck of the battlefield to the Sister Superior of the squad she'd been hauling. “Joan, I'm on foot, they're going to wait until this sector is more pacified to do vehicle retrieval, so I've been attached to you. We're to proceed on your mission.”

The white faced visor of Joan's Sabbat Pattern helmet swung up, revealing her grinning face. “Glad to have you, Driver! Nice shooting with that remote.”

“Thanks,” she laughed. “If any of your girls have a storm, there's rounds left over in the box.”

Joan nodded and called over her shoulder. “Tamura! Clean out that ammo box on the Rhino! We're walking from here, ladies.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Tamura replied as she dropped the heavy bolter she was carrying on its sling to free her hands so she could scramble up the Rhino and pull out the bolter ammo on its belt. “Should I disable this gun, 'Supe?” she called and Rachael shook her head.

“Don't break my gun!” she yelled, but the Sister Superior put a hand on Rachael's shoulder.

“I can't leave operational ordinance behind us,” she apologized. Turning up to her trooper, she ordered, “Pull the firing pins and give them to the Driver.” Rachael nodded her understanding and got her bolter and magazine belt from the lock box on the side of the Rhino.

The boxy, snub nosed battle rifle hanging from it's sling around her neck, she set about getting the belt comfortable as she fell in with the squad returning to the muddy road. The optics in her helmet told her Way Point Sigma was the better part of a kilometer down this mud track, through the ruins of a little hamlet that would likely have looked quaint and charming on a post card before this last week.

Last week the 78^th Manzipor Cannoniers, having reduced the capital of Goshen IV to twenty square kilometers of rubble and blasted buildings, where now spreading their attention out into the country side. A twenty minute bombardment had turned an idyllic, rural landscape to a mud and crater hell of blasted trees, burned grass and irregularly shaped piles of stone and burned rubble that had once been homes, businesses and places of life.

Which underscored exactly how tough Space Marines, even traitor Space Marines were and Rachael desperately prayed the one responsible for putting them on foot was the sole survivor.

It was a long, grueling slog through the muck and bits of dead farm animals, every head on a swivel, every heart beating, wondering when the next enemy would make himself known by trying to kill them. The sister in front of Rachael raised her fist, dropping silently to one knee, which Rachael aped, passing the halt order down the line. Rachael got her bolter in her hands, made sure it was charged and swept her eyes over the side of the road that was her section to watch.

“Heads up,” whispered Joan's voice in the speaker in her helmet, “multiple heat sources in the town ahead.”

Rachael kicked herself for not already having her helmet's lenses set to thermal and did so, just in time to see five man shaped thermal images in the process of charging another emplacement bolter on a wheeled carriage. “Contact right!” she screamed. “Heavy weapon!” She was able to throw herself onto her stomach just as the bolter opened up and the one in five tracers began to zip over head, snapping and whistling as they broke the sound barrier. Rachael got her own bolter up and burped it three times, raking her fire over the gun, watching the thermal images fly apart, in clouds of cooling blood as her rounds found their marks.

The Gates of Hell swung wide and opened onto the little road as the bright red beams of lasrifles flashed over head and the staccato snaps of bolter rounds trying to find flesh flew by. The sound filters on the helmet kept the din from deafening the women as they frantically worked to defend themselves, while the local vox kept each in contact with the others. “You need to change your armor, Driver?” laughed Tamura as she stood in the hail of death, bathed in laser fire that was washing off the ceremite of her armor, as she got the storm bolter pointed in the right direction and it's motor up to speed.

“Die, Heretics!” she snarled as the bolter opened up, hosing the weapon left and right into the ruins in front of them. The other girls in the squad laughed with her until Tamura's rounds found something volatile and a massive explosion flashed up, flattening the remains of the building.

* * *

Jonas snapped awake, startled by the vividness of the dream and panting into the mask as her heart thundered in her chest. Her eyes stung for a moment as the recovery gel bathed them as until her eyes became used to something physically against them again. Outside the tank, through the glass, she could vaguely see the room, distorted by both the gel and the glass. She saw June stand and walk over to the tank where she could see her better. “Bad dream?” June asked and Jonas heard her through the vox built into the straps of the mask on his face.

“Out!” she shouted, her voice muffled by the mask. “I want out!”

The Sister Hospitalier's voice became stern. “You can't come out yet, so stop thrashing! If you pull that mask off your face you'll drown before I can get the tank drained, so calm down!” Jonas shook all over and grabbed herself, trying to fight the overwhelming sense of panic.

That made her aware she had breasts. “I...I can't...! I can't breathe! Let me out!”

June turned back to the desk and her lips moved, but no sound came from the speaker, the microphone must be off. Jonas felt a little jolt, like a small electric shock, then a second one and her entire body spasmed in the most incredible orgasm of her life. It raced up and down her nervous system while her stomach and thighs trembled and spasmed. Unable to keep silent, she moaned into the mask and her hands banged into the glass of the tank as she tried to open herself completely to these incredible sensations. “If you couldn't breathe,” June's voice whispered in her ear. “You couldn't complain about not being able to breathe.”

“What...what was that?” she stammered in a fog, trying to force her jaw to work through the magnificent afterglow. Her body had been dipped in liquid pleasure and her mouth was trying desperately to lick her fingers.

The Sister's face was smug. “Just a little jolt directly to the pleasure center of your brain. I thought that would help you calm down.”

“It...was...amazing...” she whispered. “Can...can I...again...?”

“No,” the Hospitalier declared. “Want to feel it again? Find a lover, not a doctor. Now, I need you to stay in there for another twenty minutes. Can you do that?” Jonas sighed and nodded. “Good. What did you dream?”

“I...I was driving a truck, or something. I think maybe it was a Rhino. And it was disabled and I had to go with my passengers and we were ambushed.” She laughed a hallow laugh. “It was quite a fantasy, I even killed a traitor Space Marine.”

Something whispered in June's memory. “Where was this?” she asked quietly.

“Goshen IV,” Jonas replied. “Just a dream, why?” She watched the sister walk back over to the desk and begin to work the Cogitator.

June's voice was determined as she worked. “Have you ever been to Goshen IV?”

The pause in Rachael's voice was just long enough to notice. “Yes...I was...part of the Inquisition Team there, beyond that I can't say.” June rolled her eyes.

“I don't care about your secrets, did you see combat?”

“Of course not!” she growled. “I was...well, I was in the rear area, and then mostly back on the Emperor's Fist.” The Hospitalier worked a control and an image appeared in the glass. It was a bit hard to make out through the gel, but it was a picture of the dead traitor Marine and Jonas could see a lovely young woman in Sororitas power armor standing before the headless corpse. She was grinning, looking through the flexed bicep of her right arm in the universal symbol of powerful women. She had dimples and heart shaped face under a mop of milk white hair that was mused from wearing the helmet and shining blue eyes.

There was something familiar about the face, but Jonas couldn't place it.

“That's the traitor Marine from my dream!” she exclaimed. “I shot him with the bolter on the Rhino and set off...”

“A box of mortars,” June finished as she walked back over. “That Sister in the picture is you. That is Sister whose body you are wearing. I heard this story from Sister Superior Joan Lang, who was there and took this picture.” June's eyes became steely. “I heard her tell the story at the wake of Rachael Winter.”

An icy cold stab of dread pierced Jonas' heart and any trace of that wonderful feeling from before was now long gone. “Winter?” she whispered. “Am...I...?”

“Yes,” June told her coldly. “She is your mother. And if you're learning this for the first time from me, you should be ashamed of yourself!”

“What happened?!” she demanded, once more in the clutch of the panic from before. “How? Why?”

“I told you,” the Sister replied flatly. “You fell off your Rhino and hit your head on the way down. And the day the Reverend Mother was to say good bye to her daughter, to see her buried with honor in the Garden of the Fallen, she came to me and had me remove her brain and bury it in secret, then pack her body up and bring her here, so this could be done. For you.” There was no invective in the sister's voice, no accusation or demand of guilt, for she had no need of any. The truth of the words themselves did all the accusation for her.

The fear left Jonas, pushed out by a much stronger emotion. Because June Campanelli was right, Jonas Merle was ashamed of herself.

* * *

The balcony of Dachaigh held a magnificent view of the valley and over head, the stars shone in the moon light. Constance wasn't cold, despite the chill in the air, but the Duke had insisted on removing his jacket and draping it over her shoulders. The mugs of coffee he provided were delicious and warming against the slightly cool air as she followed his arm to the building he was pointing at. “Just there, at the top of the hill, you can see it. That's the Montrose Estate and most of the land around the hill to the river over there belong to it.”

“Your grace is very generous,” Constance assured him. “Hard to see in this light, but it looks like it will be ideal.”

He smiled at her, pausing his mug as he was about to take a sip. “My lady, we are alone and there is no one listening to scandalize. Please, feel free to call me Cameron.” The Sister of Battle arched an eyebrow at him and took a sip of her own coffee to give her time to decide how she would respond.

“Don't think I don't see what you're doing, Cameron,” she decided.

A grin hung itself on his face. “What, my lady Constance, am I doing?”

She smirked and turned back to the view of what would be her new home, noting not the least of which that it doubtlessly lay in view of the Duke's bedroom. “You are playing with fire,” she replied. “I was born at night, your grace, but it was not last night. I can see your lust as plain as when you kissed the back of my armored hand. What kind of a man flirts with his potential executioner?”

He leaned against the stone railing to better admire her side long. “An innocent one, who has nothing to fear from a fellow loyal survant of our Emperor. If my advances are unwelcome, please, accept my unconditional and abject apology for them. Command me, and I will cease, even though I am a mere man, overwhelmed by the beauty before me to forget myself.”

“Oh, you are good,” she complimented.

He dipped his head in what he actually managed to make appear humble. “I am inspired by an angelic muse of singular perfection.” He took a sip and his smile returned. “And, despite my reputation, I am capable of controlling myself and you have my word; no matter what does, or does not pass between us, I will not allow anything to jepardize the relationship of the Duke of Thuria and his Sister Famula.”

She sighed, and reached out to pat his cheek. “I'll have you know, that were I a lowly Celestian, and you some Home Guard captain I would throw you on whatever bed or couch was handy and command you to your duty to the Emperor.”

His grin spread from ear to ear as he reached up to take her hand and kiss it. “Were I some humble Home Guard captain, your slightest wish would be my instant command.”

“But we are not those people,” she said sadly. “I am a mission commander, charged with sheparding this house to the greater glory of the Emperor.”

“That's not a command for me to cease persuing you, Constance De La Concorida,” he observed. She gently freed her hand from his grip and wagged a finger at him in rebuke.

“You are maddening, Cameron Wren!” she told him. “What good does it do you to persue me? Am I the final trophy notch on your bedpost? The ultimate conquest? Do have any idea how many different ways I could kill you with just my bare hands?”

“More than I care to contemplate,” he said softly, “I'm sure.” Deciding to change tactics, he sat down his mug to the side, then laid both of his hands on the stone rail behind him and half sat on it. “Though I note my lady is capable of being remarkably direct, she chooses not to be. Do not misunderstand my persuit, you are not a prize for my collection, which even I have the humility to be embarrassed over. I was young, not that I offer that as an excuse or indulgence for my lotharios. It is simple explination. Young men are foolish, and do foolish things.”

“Play stupid games, win stupid prizes,” she warned him.

To her slight surprise, he nodded in agreement. “You are exactly right. Now how can I, with my reputation, plead a lovesuit to a lady of quality and decernment? A heroine of our empire, a pious warrior of the church, a creature of singular wit and awe inspiring beauty.” Constance's smirk returned.

“You're over selling it again.”

“A woman of your quality deserves to be over sold,” he replied. “Not that I am up to the challenge, though I will try with gleeful abandon.”

“What are you telling me?” she demanded, looking at him askance. “That you desire what? Some kind of lenghty formal arrangement? You think to make me your mistress and have me preform my duties while being snickered at behind my back?”

“Any man who so much as looks ascance at my wife will find his life short, his death long and creative in its execution.”

Despite herself, Constance was so taken aback by his words she faultered a step backwards. “Are you proposing marriage to me?” she demanded. “A woman you met scarcely a week previous who, I remind your grace, was pointing a gun at you!”

Now it was his turn to smirk. “As I recall, your pistol was on your thigh and your hands empty, save for your rosette.” Constance had taken all she could and, unable to contain herself, reached out and slapped him sharply across the mouth.

“What do you take me for, Cameron Wren?” she shouted at him. “Some moon struck little whore who will swoon at empty promises of marriage? Do you think I don't know exactly what you're after?” His head snapped to the side from the force of her slap, but he didn't loose his balance and stood up off the rail to sternly return her gaze, then sank to one knee before her.

“Forgive me, my lady. On reflection, I realize how my sincerity could be misconstrued. I deserved far worse than that, and I am grateful for your mercy.” Constance found herself panting in her anger, before mastering her temper and reaching down to urge him to his feet.

“No, your grace, it is I who should apologize, that was an inexcusable breech of protocol.”

He took her hand as he stood, and kissed it again. “I deserved worse, even were I a lowly Home Guard Captain,” he told her with his wolfish smile only slightly diminished by the fading red mark on his cheek.

“Oh, you!” she declared, exasperated.

“Hear me, and understand,” he declared in a tone of command that was actually quite stirring. “I never, ever, meant to imply that I could be that much of a cad. And any man who calls you a whore in my hearing will be dead before the sun sets that day.”

She squared herself looked him dead in the eyes. “I have fought and served my Emperor for forty of my fifty years, I have sworn oaths and taken vows that cannot be cast aside, that place the needs of my order above my own life! Never mind my wishes, hopes, ambitions or idle fancy! I cannot even have a child without the say so of my Cannoness!”

“Constance,” he chided her, “listen...”

“No!” she snapped, in her passion flinging her mug to the stone pavement where it shattered. “You listen, and understand! If you are being honest with what you claim, know the entirety of what you seek! I will never cease to be a Sister of Battle. I will never be released from my order, nor would I even seek to try! And though you were my loyal husband and patiently waited through deployments, and campaigns and crusades knowing I may not return, though you were the loving father of my children, if commanded I will put a gun to your head and shoot! Understand that, Cameron Wren! I will never choose you over my order or my Emperor! NEVER! And if you fall to Chaos, I will kill you and I will not hesitate! Is that who you want for your wife?”

He reached up and took her hand in both of his. “I cannot begin to understand the depth of commitment like that,” he admitted softly. “I know that my ancestor came to this world with practically nothing but the grit and determination to tame it and make a home. All my life I have tried to live up to the blood in my veins. No, Constance, I don't understand it, but I can admire it. I can tell you unreservedly that if I fell to Chaos I would want you do just that. If I am lying, may the Emperor strike me dead! And if you will protect your children, by his grace, our children with that devotion then I tell you I couldn't ask for a better woman for my wife.”

She reached up and took his hands in her last free one. “That kind of commitment demands proof, Cameron. It's not to be had for a few sweet words under the stars. Show me!” She sighed and gently pulled her hands free. “Or return to being his grace, Cameron Wren, Duke of Thuria, my charge and mission.” He reached out and took her by the shoulders, his eyes on fire as he did.

“Challenge accepted!” he declared, pulling her to him. His kiss was as fierce and passionate as the promise of it had been.

* * *

From the shadows of the room that looked out onto the balcony, Henry Eddington lowered the hand he had raised to stay the ducal guards, drawn by the sound of angry shouts and broken pottery. He allowed himself a small smile seeing his master's passionate embrace of the Sister of Battle in both her own uniform and his coat, who was slowly returning his passion and taking a hold of him as well. Allowing himself to hope his young charge was finally growing up, he carefully schooled his expression to a neutral one before he turned to the guardsmen behind him and soothed small wrinkles and imagined lint from his tuxedo.

“I think it's alright, lads,” he assured them. “Nothing to see here.” He paused, then added, “Nothing to have seen.”

“Yes, sir,” they replied softly and returned to their stations. Henry allowed himself a final glance, then withdrew himself, he had a party to over see for his master.

* * *

In the gardens below the balcony, a pair of faces watched the Sister of Battle and the Duke of Thuria locked in their passionate embrace, and turned to smile at each other. “Look at that!” whispered Jennifer, her eyes sparkling in the moonlight, her face enraptured and betrayed her as a hopeless romantic. “Good for the Palatine!” she declared as Gretchen took her hand up again and they continued their discrete dance away from the eyes of the ball room.

“I'm happy where I'm at,” Gretchen told her as they turned slowly to music that was drifting on the evening air. She stole a glance back up at the balcony, then flashed a grin at her lover. “To each their own, I guess!”

Jennifer arched an eyebrow. “You're saying you'd rather be with me than a rich, powerful Duke?” Gretchen laughed as she twirled her dance partner and decided to be bold and dipped her.

“Not my cup of tea,” Wycroff assured her. “Besides, I have a thing for blondes.”

“Lucky me,” Jennifer giggled. “I have a thing for powerful women.” She laid her head on Gretchen's shoulder and for a timeless place they just danced and held each other in a beautiful garden, on a lovely planet and for a time, Hamilton imagined spending the rest of her life here. Imagined only shooting her weapon on the range every six months to renew her qualification with it, only having to fight boredom at parties or guard details, watching over a nobleman her commanding officer was banging.

Imagined never being in combat again.

“Gretch,” she whispered. “I can't thank you enough for being there for me.”

“I'll always be here for you, baby,” Wycroft breathed softly into her ear. “I'll protect you, and you'll protect me.”

Jennifer felt her eyes tearing up and tried to fight it so she wouldn't cry on her lover's uniform. “I don't get it,” she complained bitterly. “I trained so hard for it, I drilled and practiced, so I'd be perfect! You saw me! You even said how proud you were about how much I was working on my movement drills! I shouldn't have...but, the smell, I could smell it and I don't know why!”

“Hush, dear heart,” Gretchen soothed her. “You can train for years, baby and think you have it completely down and when you see the elephant, it all goes out the window.” Jennifer flinched as her mind tortured her with the image of the bright orange flame leaping out of the Combo Gun she'd taken off the Palatine's armor while the Hospitalier worked to save her life. Remembered the unholy scream of the thing that had possessed a meek looking little accountant, in the tattered remnants of a suit, his glasses melting off his burning face.

“Why here?” she demanded. “Why? This place is nothing like Goshen IV!”

Wycroft gently kissed Jennifer's fore head. “Because you know it can happen here, don't you?” She hated doing it, but Jennifer nodded into Gretchen's shoulder and squeezed her tightly. “And if it comes,” Wycroft told her. “We'll be here, to protect them. To stop it.”

The accountant screamed as the demon abandoned the body it had possessed and was banished back to the warp. Jennifer squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to remember watching that poor man she'd just murdered thrash about on fire until the Hospitalier shot his head off with her bolter and the lifeless corpse collapsed at her feet to cook. “We couldn't stop Goshen IV.”

Gretchen stopped and gently raised her lover's face to look into her eyes. “No,” she admitted. “We weren't there, we couldn't prevent it. But we stopped it from spreading. And we're here, aren't we? We can stop it here.”

“I...I don't want to have to kill again, Gretch, I'm sorry, I just...!” Hamilton's voice trailed off, hearing the vicious cursing of the Sister Hospitalier in her mind. Once more she felt the sting of her slap and her harsh tones of command.

Emperor damn you! the Sister Hospitalier had shouted. I can't save her life and protect us! Do what you came here to do! Buck up, you sniveling little novice! Buck up and kill them!

“I don't want to either, Jen,” she agreed. “We didn't take these vows because we want to kill, did we? We took them because we knew we might have to.” She hugged her lover and kissed her gently. “You'll be ok, Jen. If it comes, I'll be right beside you.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

* * *

Chapter Eleven

To Sleep, Perchance To Dream

Finally free of the recovery gel, June and a new Sister, a dark complected woman who identified herself as Eloheim Advance Ruth Whitworth, had allowed Jonas to stagger into a washroom connected to the ICU unit and take a shower. The gel was particularly stubborn in her hair and had to be washed three times to get it all out. For Jonas, this was something of a novelty. He wore his own hair extremely short on the 'advice,' which was actually more of a command, of his instructors. “The body is a distraction,” they'd repeated over and over like a litany. “A doorway to allow impurity access to your mind. Conquer your body and rule your mind!”

The Adepta Sororitas, on the other hand, seemed practically adamant they wear hair and a fair amount of it. What had likely started as yet another visual cue they were women, not men under arms, had become a practice, then a sacrament over the press of centuries. Indeed, the Sisters used being shaven headed as a brand of shame, enforcing it ruthlessly on their disgraced Sisters under going the Rite of Repentance. Rachael, Jonas discovered, had liked her hair full, all one length, and to her jawbone; which made getting the gel out of it something of a chore.

That accomplished, it was time to take stock of this body he had effectively stolen. The shower gave him a gauge of height and told him she had been taller than he had been, probably about a hundred and eighty nine centimeters to his one seventy. She was somewhere around sixty kilos, but very little of it was fat, and all of that seemed to be concentrated on her chest. Rachael was busty and the weight tugging on her chest felt odd, but then everything about her body felt odd. Her hips were too wide which forced his gait to change into an odd rhythm that his body seemed to like but felt utterly alien to him.

This was heightened by the seemingly constant reminder of the void between his legs.

It was remarkable that something he had spent his life ignoring, first at the demand of the Drill Abbess and Abbot at the Scholas Progenium he had grown up in, then his instructors in the Inquisition, was now so prominent in his mind. It had been something he'd spent his entire life suppressing. Like so many children of the Imperium of man, Jonas Merle was an orphan and had grown up under the stern eyes of the Ecclesiarchy. Once he had been caught playing with himself and this had so enraged the abbot that he had deliberately broken Jonas' pinkie finger to punish him. From then on, he had done his best to ignore his genitals. Now their being missing brought an ironic constant awareness of the lack of something he'd spent his life ignoring.

The irony was made worse in that he was forced to actually handle her...opening...to be sure it was clean of the gel, then a careless finger had found a bright star of sensation. Jonas bit her lip, remembering the incredible pleasure June had calmed him with, assured himself that it was strictly for personal hygiene and began to explore. Other than a few particularly vague classes in Scholas , Jonas, being a virgin, had no first hand experience with the anatomy of the human female. Her explorations were clumsy and it took her a while to find the right mix of pressure, speed and rhythm, but when she did she got another taste of the white hot pleasure she had been sedated with. Her stomach and thighs spasmed gently and she felt a desperate need for the void to be filled with something, anything, that spoiled things slightly.

Still, panting after her breath, she came down from the high, euphoric and, oddly, content. As though the feelings had helped her internalize that this was now her body. There was a wash of guilt and she looked around to be sure no one had seen her, and that dealt with, she finished her shower and realized she had a great deal to consider.

Clean, she went to a sink and wiped the steam off the glass to get a look at her new face. Rachael Winter's heart shaped face looked back at him, wet hair hanging about her head in a wild pattern from the shower. Her blue eyes were remarkably bright and her eyebrows were chestnut, which was likely her natural hair color. The white locks had a good five centimeters of dark hair the same color before they turned white and the hair hung below her jaw about the same about. Probably the length of growth from her accident to now. “This is my face,” Jonas told herself in Rachael's voice, taking in every little detail.

It was nothing like the pinched, ugly face of Jonas' real body. It was an open face, with cheeks that were rounded from smiling as that seemed to be her natural state. The face of a woman who was happy to be friends with anyone and couldn't be bothered to give a shit if someone didn't like her. He reached up raising the wet hair and saw a trace of a scar that disappeared into her hair line. She stared in awe at the line, realizing at last what had happened to her.

She shuddered, fighting down the revulsion, and tried to lose herself in simple maintenance. Jonas brushed her teeth, finally able to get the horrible taste out of her mouth and then wrapped the towel around herself, as she had no clothes, to go back out into the room she had woken up in with the now empty tank and gurney where Ruth and June were waiting on her. “I need some clothes,” she started, but Ruth shook her head.

“You won't don a single stitch of our clothing until you take the novice oath.”

Jonas rolled her eyes. “Fine, what is it?” Ruth said nothing, but almost casually reached out and slapped her. The blow staggered her, but Rachael was stronger than Jonas had been and kept her feet. “What was that for?” she shouted, but then the sister had her by the throat. For a split second, Jonas considered resisting, but wisely remembered he was facing a combat proven Sister of Battle and realized she was no match for Ruth Whitworth. “I'm...I'm sorry!”

Ruth's dark eyes flashed out of her dusky skin, but she got her temper under control quickly. “Do not ever take that tone with me again,” she declared firmly. “Or even think to disparage our traditions.”

“I'm sorry,” she repeated, meaning it a good bit more this time. For a long moment, Ruth said nothing, then reached down and snatched the towel away from her. Being nude, in the large room, made her somewhat afraid and very uncomfortable. “Please, I...”

“Be silent,” Ruth commanded, then, finally, took her hand off Jonas' neck. “You enter our Order as you entered life, naked and helpless. On your knees.”

Jonas almost asked for something to cushion her knees with, but realized in time that would be a mistake, and was able to remain silent. She looked over at June, but it was obvious the Sister Hospitalier had no interest in helping her, so she sank down on to the cold, hard deck plate and looked up at Ruth. The Sister who was removing a small book from a pocket under the Day Habit she was wearing and held it up. “This, is the Way of Tears, it is the fundamental work of the Adepta Sororitas . You will go no where outside your private chambers without it. This is the map of the road of your life from this point forward until your death. You may be sent to other Orders, you may be transferred to other Adepta, but you will never stop being a Sister of Battle. Do you under stand this?”

“I do,” she whispered.

“Do you accept this burden freely, without reservation or evasion, that the Emperor himself hold you to account?”

For a long moment, Jonas considered what she was about to say, then finally understood why the sisters were so particular in their ways. She felt the shame of the body she wore, and what had been given up for her. Looking up into Ruth's face, she determined she would honor the promise she had made to Reverend Mother Winter. She swore to be the best Sister of Battle she could be. “I do.”

Ruth noted the long pause before her answer and her tone changed a bit. “Do you swear to offer yourself as a living sacrifice, offered to the Emperor as he shall will, that you be used in his service?”

“I do.” For a long moment, Ruth said nothing, then, finally opened the book to its first page and presented it to her.

“Swear the oath, novice.”

With a trembling hand, Jonas reached up and took the book from her. She looked down at the passage, framed around the page in art of particular reverence. Carefully, she read the oath, giving it the attention it doubtlessly deserved and, once sure she would not stumble over it, licked her lips and began. “Pain is the sister who fights at my side. Pain recalls to me my wrongs that I might strive in pursuit of penance. Pain insists that I stand my ground, steady my aim and fight on; though my life blood falls like rain to the thirsting soil. Pain is an ally. Pain is a friend. Pain is truth. I will walk all my life in this truth, with pain at my side, in service of the Emperor of Mankind. As the Emperor's Own Woman, So Help Me.”

Ruth drew back her left hand and slapped her sharply across the face with the back of her hand. “That is your oath,” she declared solumnly. “So you shall remember that which you have sworn, with pain you enter the Adepta Sororitas. Rise, novice, and seek your place amongst your sisters.” Jonas rose shakily to her feet and resisted the urge to rub her cheek where Ruth had slapped her. Ruth's gaze was stern. “Normally, ten years would pass from this moment to you being presented to a mission as a Sister. I do not have ten years, I do not have ten hours until your squad mates return from the planet, so it falls upon you to be the most dilligent student in the history of mankind. Read, learn and comprehend quickly! Your 'illness' will cover only so much for so long.”

“Yes, sister, I will.” Ruth glared at her for a moment, then continued.

“What is your name?”

“Rachael Winter.”

“Who is Jonas Merle?”

“I don't know anyone named Jonas Merle.” Ruth's gaze was fierce as she studied Rachael's face, then finally nodded slowly in satisfaction. She made a gesture to a neatly folded stack of clothing on the bed.

“This is a Day Service Habit. If you are not in your armor, and another uniform has not been mandated, this is what you will wear. It matches the one I am wearing.” She pointed to the patch on the sleeve of the red gown of a white maltese cross with a red heart embossed over it. “This is the symbol of the Order of the Valorous Heart. It is worn on my right shoulder because I saw combat with that Order. Yours is like wise as you were a member of the Order of the Valorous Heart. Your left shoulder is bare because we are a new unit and have yet to recieve our healdry. The Way of Tears , will explain these symbols to you. I expect you to have them memorized and understand the symbology of this uniform the next time I see you.”

“Yes, Sister.”

Ruth raised her hand, but didn't strike as Rachael flinched and cowed before her. She flexed her rigid hand to point at her. “My rank is Eloheim Advance. You have not earned the right to address me as sister.”

“Yes, Eloheim Advance. I'm sorry, I am trying!” Ruth sighed and her scowl softened just a bit.

“I... can ...respect you're willing to go to this extreme for your duty, Rachael. I detest the manner you have choosen to do so, but this dedication you possess will help you through what will be the shortest, and most rapid indoctrination in this order that I am aware of.” She sighed and stepped back. “Get dressed. We have some time before lights out that I will instruct you with.” Rachael nodded, and stepped over to the table on the far side of the ICU room where June was sitting, watching. As the young non-commissioned officer walked over, she took the carafe of coffee off the warmer and poured her a cup.

“Thanks,” Ruth declared as she sat down on the bench opposite the healer and took a welcome sip. They watched the novice woman self consciously try to begin to dress under their gaze for a moment. It was quickly appearant she had no idea what she was doing.

Finally June turned to ask softly so her voice wouldn't carry, “She seems to be genuinely trying.” Ruth shrugged her indifference.

“I don't care,” she growled. “She knew this would be hard, and she chose to be short with me, if she keeps showing me attitude, she'll find out how hard I can ride somebody.”

June's eyebrow arched. “Sister Winter, come here,” she commanded. The new woman came over, the bra she was fighting with in her hands, but her groin was covered.

“Yes, ma'am?” she asked, hesitantly.

“Did you know what would happen to you?” the Hospitalier asked. “That you would be...using...the body of Reverend Mother Winter's daughter?”

Rachael became distraught, trying and failing to hide her emotions. “NO!” she protested. “I thought they were just going to, I don't know, implant breasts or, something! I never thought...” June stood and took the bra from her hands and wrapped it around her torso with the clasp in the front.

“Do it this way, then spin it around, until you get used to it,” she told her, giving Ruth a significant glance.

“Thank you, sister June.”

“You're a fool,” the Hospitalier replied. “Did you think even castrated and emasculated we'd let you in our order?”

“I have to do my duty to the Emperor!” she declared, vehemently, while getting the straps around her shoulders and her breasts into the cups. “I know you don't believe me, no one does, but that doesn't matter.”

“Cut her some slack,” June ordered the Eloheim, then turned back to Rachael. “And you, don't you dare slack off for a second. Come, I'll show you how to put the habit on.”

“Thank you, sister.”

* * *

It was well past midnight when Constance and her troopers bid farewell with the Duke to the last of his guests. That accomplished he smiled and bowed to the assembled mission. Before anyone could speak, he announced, “Ladies, if you will permit me the honor, my staff has prepared rooms for your to take your rest, and I will be delighted to have you remain as my guests until the morning.”

“Your Grace?” De La Concordia, started, but he just smiled and held up his hand to gently interrupt her concern.

“Fear not, my dear Palatine. You'll find everything you need, including a fresh change of clothing for the trip back to the Vigilant in the morning. Please, allow me this small token of welcome to our new neighbors.” The dark haired Palatine looked at him askance for a moment, then finally nodded her acquiescence.

“Alright, your grace,” she replied. “My mission and I would be honored to accept your hospitality.”

His grin went from ear to ear. “Excellent! Right this way, ladies.”

Wendy leaned in close to Mary and whispered, “Now I regret saying goodnight to our dance partners!” Mary looked at the Sister Superior sidelong.

“Then you should listen a bit and not talk so much, 'Supe!” She declared with a grin on her face. “Doug told me twenty five rooms had been done up special, on the Duke's say so, so I had the heads up this was coming.”

Wendy scowled at her. “Is this how you repay my generosity, Cotton? Rubbing my nose in your good fortune?” Mary, however, never stopped smiling.

“Why, 'Supe, would I do that to you? If you think so, be sure to ask Bob how he knew where your room was when you see him again.”

“I take it all back, Mary, you are a true friend in need!”

“You're welcome.” The rooms were as magnificent as the rest of the Duke's residence had been, and the women entered the rooms with delight at their various decor, until at last only Cameron and Constance were standing out side the room he was indicating for her. She led the way inside and held the door for him in invitation.

“I don't think anyone will scandalized if you care to come in for a moment or two,” she said with a sardonic smile. “I have yet to compliment you on this marvelous accommodation.”

He inclined his head in gratitude. “I did try to save the best for last,” he assured her, stepping in. Once the lights were up a bit he crossed the room to the far wall and drew back the curtains revealing a balcony. “The view is quite spectacular in the morning. I usually take my coffee here. If perhaps you'd join me in the morning, I'd welcome the company.”

“Your rooms share this balcony?” she asked, coming over to stand next to him.

“Mine are next door,” he told her with a wink. “Through that door, to be precise. This apartment is normally given to the Gentleman of the Bedchamber, as a sign of faith and trust.”

She glared at him side long. “Isn't that a wonderful coincidence?” she asked, eyebrow arched. He held his hands up in surrender.

“Come now, Constance, I have been rather plain, haven't I? And amusing innuendo aside, I meant what I said about things not changing between us, regardless.” She smiled and reached up to pat his cheek.

“You have been, my dear Duke, as was I earlier.” She sighed and shook her head. “I must confess, your pursuit caught me off guard. Oh, I've enjoyed the attentions of loyal gentlemen in my time, but truth be told, I've never really been in a relationship. I always considered myself married to my Order. If I thought to fulfill my duty to the Empire and bring a new subject into the world, I always assumed I would take a sedate posting for a decade or two. Then I'd find some willing Emperor's man and with the blessing of my Canoness-Preceptor have my child or children. I honestly hadn't even considered it important that they have the same father.”

He smiled and crossed his arms. “You and I are of a kind, I think, Constance. Or perhaps two sides of the same coin.”

She laughed and nodded. “I think you may be onto something, Cameron. And as we are alone, my closest friends call me Connie.”

His heels clicked together and he bowed. “I am deeply honored, Connie,” he declared, savoring her name in his mouth like a delicacy. As he had with each sister of her mission, pointed out the bell on the wall. “If you need anything, my servants will attend you, just press the call there. And I hope you like the clothing, as I depended on my staff for the fashion. I'm just glad your order does allow the possession of civilian clothing.”

“Do I want to know how you acquired all of our sizes?” she asked archly. “And I'm sure they're lovely.”

He smiled a sly smile. “It's good to be the Duke,” he told her with levity. “As I said, my rooms are just through there and if you need anything, don't hesitate to come to me, and I look forward to our morning coffee.”

She stepped forward and reached up, placing a hand on his chest. “Would I terribly confuse you if I asked you to stay?”

He blinked several times in obvious surprise. “I would certainly admit to confusion,” he admitted. “No disappointment, but certainly confusion.”

She smiled thinly. “Perhaps I am being selfish, but, it has been a long time, for me. I was, in fact, rather severely injured on Goshen IV and I spent two months on Banudan at the Convent of the Healing Heart to recover.” She sighed and looked him in the eye. “If I am taking advantage of you, say so,” she commanded, then the look of the commander faded and a somewhat melancholy woman stood before him. “I meant what I said earlier. Both in that you were rather exactly how I like my men, and that commitment like mine must be earned. I just...would very much like to feel another human being right now and remember why I took these vows.” She looked up and he found he didn't really know what beauty was until that moment. “I want to remember who I protect and why.”

“Dear lady,” he told her, taking her into his arms and gently pulling her against him. “I know of no greater honor that can be bestowed on a man. I am at your service, for whatever you need.”

She smiled and reached up to take his face in her hands and drew him into a kiss. As their lips parted, she whispered, “I was hoping you'd say that.”

* * *

Whatever had been stored in the town, there had been plenty of it. The explosion reduced ruined buildings to fiery muddy hole and the blast wave actually knocked Tamura on her back, much to the surprised amusement of the squad. There were a chorus of startled exclaimations over the vox thrower between them, until they regained their wits and firmly praised the Emperor for his generosity. “The Emperor Protects!” the squad declared, then helped each other to their feet. Rachael had several hands clap her on her shoulders and buttocks, welcoming her into their circle.

They had shed blood together as sisters.

“Winter,” Sister Superior Lang commanded, the visor on her helm swinging up to reveal her grinning face. “Nice work, girl. You can shoot with us anytime.” Rachael sheepishly accepted their accolades, despite herself feeling more than a little elated at the accomplishment. “Tamura, next time save some for the rest of us, eh?”

“Sorry, 'Supe! Got carried away!”

“Alright, ladies, lets get back to it. We still have a mission to do!” The squad fell back into their road march order as Rachael swapped the magazine in her bolter for a fresh one and dug into the pouch of loose rounds hanging off her belt to replenish the spent one as she walked. The mud on the road made the going tortureous, sometimes slick like oil and slippery, others like half dry cement, sticky and unwilling to give up their boots. It made the march anything except pleasant as they made their way across the battlefield.

There was a ruddy glow of fire on the horizon as what was left of the Capitol and the Chaos spawn within it were put to the torch. There was the distant echo of guns and explosions, but nothing close enough to worry about. For most of an hour it was just fight your way through the mud, keep an eye out for danger, and try to get to the way point hovering in front of you in the optics of the helmet.

Finally, they got to just below the crown of the ridge that would overlook the way point. The squad silently changed from the column to a line of battle, and crept up the ridge as quiet as Death itself, power armor or no. “Well,” whispered Joan's voice over their private line. “Won't this be fun?”

Rachael looked down the ridge through the optics of her helmet and felt her heart fall into her stomach. A make shift landing site had been set up that was being defended by what looked like an understrength company of Chaos possessed, but that was not the worst of it. There were several cargo containers set up like a supply dump containing who knew what and walking around behind the soldiers were three traitor Space Marines. Their armor were covered with blasphemous symbols, so they were not newly fallen, and crazed.

These had embraced their treason and heresy and were likely in complete control of themselves.

What was worse, all three were wearing their helmets which meant just setting off the supply dump wouldn't kill them. Unless there was something capable of exploding so powerful it would kill the sisters as well. Joan eased back down from the ridge as the sisters looked to her as they held their silent conversation over the vox thrower. “Lewis, Hunter, you two have the Meltas, it's on you two to crack those marines. The rest of us have to get you girls close enough to do it.”

“Or the marines close enough to us,” Tamura, replied. “We've got a pretty good position here, 'Supe. I can rake that line and probably take out most of the light infantry.”

“No good,” Hunter countered. “You blow Chaos possessed to pieces, you're just multiplying our problems. We've got to get down there and get them burning.”

“We try to rush that line and those Marines will chew us up and spit us out,” Rachael opined, then took out a hand brain. “Can anybody see the code numbers on those containers?”

“Why?” demanded Joan.

“If we know what's in them, maybe they go 'boom!'” Winter told her with a grin.

“I've got eyes on 'em,” Lewis chimed in. “Hazmat code 1138.”

Rachael punched the numbers into the hand brain and began to giggle. “Ladies, the Emperor loves us! Listen to this! Ethyldichlorosilane, causes serious bodily harm, corrosive in liquid or gas form, highly flamable and explosive under most ambient tempratures. Explosively reacts with water and releases hydrogen chloride and phosgene gases when burning! Vapors heavier than air, so all the nasty should stay down there.”

“Emperor's eyes, what are they using this stuff for?!” demanded someone.

“Who cares,” Joan snapped. “Visors down and locked, ladies, we don't want to breathe any of that! Tamura, give me a nice long burst so those heretics know where we are. Hunter, you and Lewis be ready!” The heavy bolter Sister made sure of her weapon, then nodded at Joan. “Throw it!

“The Emperor Protects!” the squad shouted with one voice as Tamura ran up to the crest of the hill and leveled the belt fed heavy bolter. It roared, spitting lines of tracers so fast it seemed to be a continuious beam of light. The container buckled under the blows of an unseen fist, the burst in a bright red orange fire ball that climbed up into the sky like a small mushroom cloud. The entire camp was engulfed in the fireball and dozens of sympathetic detentations went off like the largest Empire Day Celebration this world had ever seen. A few of the militiamen who were furthest from the initial blast staggered from the flames, completely engulfed in fire themselves and fortunately far enough away that their screams did not reach them.

None of that mattered, because striding out of the blast, like unstoppable levithans came the Traitor Marines. They were walking, as if contemptious of the Sisters of Battle. Tamura brought the stream of bolters down to rake one, covering him in explosions. Then one of the bolter rounds found a weak point in his armor and blew his right arm off. Immediately, the remaining Marines decided to take the threat seriously, taking up their own bolter rifles and firing.

Two rounds found Tamura's heavy bolter, destroying it, while a third clipped her armored shoulder pad and knocked her backwards. “Now!” Joan shouted and the rest of the squad opened fire. Most concentrated on the wounded Marine, but Lewis's Meta blast caught him as well. The squirt of super high temperature plasma pierced the weakened armor effortlessly, plowing a fifteen centimeter hole through the chest of the armor, and then the reactor backpack behind it. The little fusion plant imploded as it critically failed and the Marine was reduced about a fifth of his mass in the resultant explosion.

The destroyed armor fell over, its occupant very, very dead.

Hunter's blast was low, blowing the leg off of her target, but, that didn't take him out of the fight. Far from it. The remaining traitor began to run at the ridge, a bolter in one hand, a chain sword in the other. Rachael's bolter locked open and she frantically swapped the magazine as Lewis, next to her, was chanting, “Come on, come on,” over and over at her Melta Gun, waiting for the coil to recharge for another shot.

Back in the fight, Rachael concentrated her fire on the wounded Marine, who was still coming, who she hoped she could remove from the fight. “Got it! Eat this, Traitor!” Lewis shouted, as she stood, but at the last second, the charging Marine revealed he had a jump pack on his armor and shot up into the sky. Lewis' shot missed, while Hunter's blast entered the lame Marine's helmet and exited his groin.

“Shit!” Lewis shouted right as the Marine came down on her, chainsword first. The Ceremite dented, then gave way as the Marine, his armor and entire weight came down with it, shoving the weapon into Lewis' stomach. The Marine needlessly reved the motor, spraying blood and vicera everywhere, but Lewis was long dead at that point. Rachael spun, trying to bring her rifle up, but the Marine back handed her with his own bolter knocking her ten meters sideways and the breath from her body.

Seeing Tamara struggling to rise, the bolter came back around and roared, the explosive rounds hammering into the heavy gunner until her armor failed and one exploded within her. Tamura's body fell in two, uneven pieces with a cloud of cooling blood where she had died. The Marine tossed the bolter aside and pulled his sword out of Lewis' corpse. “Ready to die, corpse whores?” he shouted.

Gasping after her breath, Rachael realized she had landed not far from where the impact of the Marine had flung Lewis' Melta Gun. She scrambled over to it, right as the coil finished charging. Rachael got her hands on it and frantically aimed it. The flash of the discharge was bright and over came the filters on her helmet for what seemed like a life time.

* * *