Chapter 122: The Equine Reach
The following cycle, Kian Voss drove Sister Theresa back to the Cathedral. Before she hopped out of the Survey Crawler, he handed her a heavy iron master-key, a roll of a thousand scrips, and a sealed lead-lined bag of Sanctified Rations.
"This key opens the Mid-Hive distillery and your private hab-cell there," Kian explained. "By the time your next day of reflection comes around, your parents will be officially registered as residents. Those wafers are from your mother. If your belly is empty, eat one. Only one."
Theresa knew her mother didn't have the resources to manufacture high-grade energy wafers, but she accepted them with a look of profound gratitude.
"Thank you, Patron Voss. I shall return to my catechisms now."
She bowed and turned to go, but Kian's hand clamped onto her shoulder. His expression was dead-serious.
"Listen well. Your mother worked her fingers to the bone to secure the materials for those rations. She was very clear: these are for you and you alone. Do not share them with your classmates. Do not offer them to your teachers. If a crumb touches another soul's lips, your mother will be heartbroken. Do you understand?"
Kian was being cryptic for a reason. If a high-ranking priest or a psychic-sensitive inquisitor saw Theresa's soul suddenly ignite with divine purity after eating a "cookie," they'd trace the source back to the Sump in hours. To protect the secret of the Imperial Shrine, Theresa had to be a "Stealth-Saint."
Theresa blinked, her eyes reflecting the artificial sun. "I understand, Patron. I will keep them in a locked iron box beneath my bunk. No one but I shall taste them."
Kian watched her walk into the Cathedral. If the kid stays this cautious, Kian thought, she might actually survive the Spire's games.
Kian returned to the sub-levels. He entered his Sanctum and voxed Major Rudolphson on the encrypted channel. He requested two "Legacy Re-entries"—Mid-Hive IDs for Joel's parents. Rudolphson, riding the high of his recent promotion, confirmed it would be handled within three cycles.
Kian then gathered Big Joel and Sansa. He told them about Theresa's status and their impending move to the Mid-Hive to manage the legal front of the distillery.
Sansa nearly fainted with joy, but then her expression turned hesitant. "Master Voss... could Little Joel come with us? Could our family be whole again?"
Big Joel immediately nudged his wife, cutting her off. "Forgive her, Lord! She is just a mother speaking with a soft heart. Please, disregard her greed!"
The father was terrified. Kian had saved their lives and bought them citizenship—asking for more was "stepping on a mine." Besides, he knew that Little Joel was essentially a hostage. As long as the son was training Kian's militia in the Sump, the parents wouldn't dare mismanage the Spire's gold.
Kian offered a reassuring smirk. "Little Joel stays for now. His tactical mind is too valuable for my recruitment drive. Once the first two hundred 'Voss Guards' are battle-ready, I'll consider the transfer. Until then, you work the vats in the light, and he holds the trigger in the dark."
The arrangement was final. Kian turned to his own preparations. It was time to fulfill the Canon-Preceptor's quest: The Rot in the Roots.
He prepped a specific loadout for the surface. No long-rifles or heavy armor—this was a recon mission, and looking like a PDF regular was a magnet for the wrong kind of attention. He donned a set of rugged grey worker's fatigues. He concealed a Las-pistol and six charge-packs inside his belt-line and strapped on an Industrial Demolition Vest—a rig where the krak-detonators were sewn into the fabric. He could use them one by one or pull the master-cord for a "Force-Reset."
He packed a satchel of Sanctified Rations, a bottle of Holy Spirits, and several high-tier med-kits. He accelerated up the ventilator, tore across the No-Man's Land, and reached Parson's warren by nightfall.
The rebel camp was thriving. After the "Purge of Winchester," the survivors of the northern cells had flocked to Parson. The camp now looked like a small, fortified town, ringed by a double-layer of trenches and dirt bunkers.
Parson met Kian at the gate, leading him to a private shack filled with the scent of fresh fruit and roasted meat.
"Parson," Kian said, accepting a bowl of stew. "You've lived in these woods your whole life. I'm looking for a specific kind of 'stink.' Any villages where the faith has turned sour? Any places where the livestock are sick, but won't die?"
Kian expected to spend days searching, but Parson's face immediately turned grim. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
"The Equine Reach," Parson whispered. "There is an anomaly there."
Kian lowered his spoon. "Explain."
"It's a settlement to the north. Roughly two thousand souls. Before the war, it was a primary breeding ground for the cyber-steeds. They provided the mounts for the PDF and our cavalry.
"A month ago, back when Silas was still alive, he sent a trade caravan there to exchange grain for fresh horses. The caravan never returned. Silas took a squad of veterans to investigate. When he came back... he was different. He wouldn't talk about what he saw. He just told us that the Equine Reach had 'fallen into the shadow' and ordered us to never go near that sector again. He said we had to learn to breed our own mounts from now on."
"Fallen into the shadow?" Kian pressed. "What did Silas's men say?"
Parson looked toward the door, ensuring no one was eavesdropping. "One of the survivors was a close friend of mine. He told me the village... it didn't look like a village anymore. He said the smell of rot was so thick you could see it in the air. He said the people there... they weren't humans anymore. They were changing into something wet and bloated.
The whole village is surrounded by rot and stench; it no longer belongs to the world of men, and not even the Emperor's light can shine upon it!"
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