The corner room in the House of Mercy was barely a room at all, a cramped, dim space hastily sealed off from the flow of pilgrims and prayers. The air smelled of burnt oil and something faintly metallic. Farron crouched over a jumble of scavenged cables and a flickering vox terminal, muttering to himself as he patched a last ward into place.
Cassian leaned back against the peeling wall, arms folded, watching with mild amusement. Nearby, Faevelith sat cross legged on a threadbare cot, her violet eyes half-lidded, clearly unimpressed by the setup.
"You know," Cassian said, voice low, "if someone told me a high stakes negotiation with the Mechanicus was going to happen in a glorified rat hole, I'd have refused outright."
Farron didn't look up. "It's not the location. It's the fact that someone actually let us get this far without a dozen of priest breathing down our necks."
Faevelith let out a dry chuckle. "I'm more worried the whole thing's going to get fried by a nun with a prayer book."
Cassian smiled wryly. "And here I thought the Sisters of Battle preferred burning heretics outdoors. Guess this place is a special hell."
Farron straightened, rubbing the back of his neck. "Enough jokes. We need to focus. This call won't be pretty."
Cassian's eyes narrowed. "You've been saying that for days now."
Farron shrugged. "Because it's true. You're not exactly talking to your friendly neighborhood tech priests. The Mechanicus don't do 'friendly.'"
Faevelith lifted her chin, eyebrow raised. "You sound almost nervous."
"No," Farron said quickly, though his fingers betrayed a slight tremble as he adjusted the vox's encryption protocols. "Just... cautious."
Cassian gave him a look. "Cautious is code for anxious."
Farron grunted. "Fine, I'm anxious."
Cassian shook his head. "Whatever. Let's get this over with."
---
Minutes later, the vox terminal hummed, then spat static before flickering to life. A sharp, pinched face appeared on the holo, framed by dark robes stitched with cogwheel sigils. Barnum Doscentis. One of the Mechanicus's more infamous magos cold, efficient, and notoriously arrogant.
"State your identity and business," Doscentis barked without preamble. His eyes scanned the image, immediately suspicious. "You've reached my private channel. I do not recognize your signature. Identify or terminate."
Farron stepped forward, voice calm but firm. "This is Archmagos Farron, authorized by Admiral Spire. I'm accompanied by Biologis adept Cassian Vale."
Doscentis 's tone sharpened, suspicion thick. "Spire? I see it was him who patched you through. Your presence here is unauthorized. State your business quickly."
Cassian took over. "We seek to verify the authenticity of a data fragment a STC."
A long pause filled the comms. Then Doscentis finally responded, his voice dripping with disbelief and derision: "An STC? Are you serious? You think STCs are like scraps of old tech to be bartered or traded like market goods? You must think I am a fool."
Cassian didn't flinch. "It's genuine. A fragment of the Panacea Project from Daot period, Medical nanotech capable of rewriting biological degradation. This is no common relic."
Doscentis barked out a short laugh. "Panacea Project? That's a myth. I've seen hundreds of tech claimers peddling fragments wrapped in lies. You wouldn't be the first trying to scam your way into favors."
Farron stepped forward, voice flat. "We don't make unverified claims. We're sending encrypted data. You'll have your proof."
"And if it turns out to be corrupted scrap code?" Doscentis asked. "If it's a fabrication stitched together to impress some backwater Forge?"
Cassian's voice was steady. "Then you can walk away. But once you see the data, you won't."
Doscentis didn't reply immediately. There was only static for a moment before he exhaled sharply. "Fine. Send the file. You have twelve hours. But if this is a trick—"
"It's not," Farron said.
Cassian added, "And we're not here as petitioners. This is a negotiation."
"Negotiation," Doscentis repeated like the word offended him. "You hold something you claim is priceless, and instead of handing it over to your superiors, you come here to barter?"
Farron's voice was low. "Because we know what it's worth."
"You should have submitted this through Mechanicus high command," Doscentis snapped. "That is protocol. That is loyalty."
"We have loyalty," Cassian said. "But we also have leverage. And we're not handing over an STC for a pat on the head."
Doscentis's tone dropped, icy. "You're pushing boundaries."
Farron replied, calm. "We're well within them."
Cassian added, "We're both Mechanicus, Doscentis. We know the rules."
Doscentis went silent again.
Eventually, his voice returned, slower this time. "Twelve hours. If the data is real, we'll talk terms. You'll be contacted again."
Cassian nodded once. "We'll be waiting."
---
Cassian exhaled slowly, tension draining from his shoulders.
"Cold as a corpse," Farron muttered.
Cassian gave a wry grin. "And just as pleasant."
Faevelith stretched and stood, brushing past them. "So, now we wait to see if they want to play ball."
Farron shook his head. "I'm not holding my breath."
Cassian's gaze drifted to the flickering incense outside the window, thoughts racing.
---
The cogitator hummed quietly in the corner of the room, cooling vents rattling as the data finalized transfer. Farron hunched over it, his gloved fingers dancing across the input keys in a series of practiced motions. The sample was small compressed into raw code, anonymized, partitioned, encrypted. Just enough for a taste.
"It's done," he said without looking up. "Sent through a secondary conduit. They'll get it in fifteen minutes."
Cassian leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. "Now we wait."
They didn't speak much after that. The tension didn't require words. Time passed slow.
Twelve hours later, the call returned.
The image of Barnum Doscentis crackled into focus. This time, his expression was different. The blank arrogance still hung on his face, but underneath it, something else had surfaced. Something tighter. Greed.
"This data is authentic," Doscentis said without preamble. "You possess a verified Standard Template Construct fragment. More than that, it is functionally complete. Its nanotechnology is self replicating. Adaptive. Immuno resistant."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle.
"You are in possession of something that could alter the biological paradigm of the Imperium itself."
Cassian didn't move. "We know what we have."
Doscentis tilted his head. "Then you also know it must be returned to the Mechanicus. Immediately. It is your duty as agents of the Machine God."
Cassian stepped forward. "And we will fulfill that duty. But duty doesn't preclude recompense."
A pause.
Doscentis 's lips barely moved. "Recompense."
"You want the STC," Cassian said plainly. "We want something in return. Mutual exchange."
The air thickened. Doscentis blinked slowly, processing.
Farron remained silent beside him, letting Cassian lead.
"You stand at the gate of revolution," Doscentis said finally. "And your first thought is barter?"
Cassian smiled, calm. "No. My first thought was security. You should be thankful I'm only asking for a price."
Doscentis 's mechanical jaw ticked once. "What do you want?"
Cassian didn't flinch. "A trade warrant."
The silence stretched.
"A rogue trader charter?" Doscentis said, voice cold.
"No," Cassian said. "Not just a charter. A Terran era trade warrant. Signed in the 30th Millennium. One bearing the seal and blood of the Emperor Himself. I want that."
Doscentis didn't speak. His face was unreadable.
Cassian didn't blink. "Don't insult us with forgeries. I know they exist. I know what they're worth. I want one."
Doscentis narrowed his eyes. "That kind of warrant predates your entire line. It was meant for houses that no longer exist."
"Then let it birth a new one," Cassian said. "With me."
"You presume much."
"You want the STC," Cassian said flatly. "You know what it is. You want it so bad you're already calculating which Forge World you'll offer it to first. So let's not pretend I'm overreaching."
Doscentis 's breath hissed through his respirator. "Anything else?"
Cassian nodded. "Yes. A fleet. Frigates. A command vessel. Crewed. Armored. Full functionality."
Doscentis actually froze for a second, and then gave a clipped response. "I do not have the authority to promise such assets."
"Then escalate. During the great crusade, emperor himself gave fleet of ships to those worthy enough. The mechanicus or High lords of Terra could do the same. "
Doscentis tilted his head slightly, almost like he was sniffing out a virus in the code. "You want fleet assets and an ancient warrant of power in exchange for your sacred duty?"
Cassian answered without hesitation. "I want freedom. Reach. Strength. You want salvation in a box. We're both bastards here, so drop the pious act."
Doscentis paused for longer this time. The lines of transmission flickered once as his side muted likely contacting someone above his rank. Someone with power.
The call resumed a moment later. He looked just as cold, but the edge was gone.
"I have escalated your request," Doscentis said tightly. "Further negotiation is pending."
Then he hesitated, mechanical fingers steepled in thought. "Do you have any further... demands?"
Cassian stared at him, then slowly nodded. "One."
Doscentis waited.
"I want to speak with someone. A name."
Doscentis frowned. "Who?"
Cassian's voice was calm, quiet.
"Belisarius Cawl."
Doscentis didn't respond. The feed froze on his expression, halfway between calculation and alarm.
Then the line cut.
---
The screen dimmed to black. Silence returned to the small comm room.
Cassian exhaled and leaned back in the chair, his expression unreadable.
Faevelith, leaning against the wall nearby with arms crossed, broke the quiet. "You don't think that you pushed them too far?"
Cassian turned his head, one eyebrow raised.
"You asked them for a imperial warrant, a fleet, and then dropped Cawl's name, by his reactions he is someone important" she went on. "They could just cut the line. Ignore us. Take the data, trace us, send someone less diplomatic next time."
Cassian smiled faintly. "That's why I have you."
She blinked. "Me?"
He stood up, stretching his back with a faint wince before stepping closer. That same crooked grin on his face. The one she knew meant trouble. "You're my insurance policy. The kind that could disembowel a tank, flip her hair, and still walk away smug."
Faevelith gave him a flat look, but he could see the twitch of a smile at the edge of her mouth. "That your plan? Duck behind me when it gets ugly?"
He leaned in and kissed her. Not rushed. Not soft either. Just enough to be cocky about it.
She raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you even a little ashamed? Hiding behind a woman?"
He didn't miss a beat. "Ashamed? What is that? Can it be cooked?"
She stared, deadpan. "You're an idiot."
He tapped his temple. "Certified. But at least I'm smart enough to stand behind the woman who can break a Custodes's ribs."
Faevelith snorted. "You think compliments will save you?"
Cassian's grin widened. "I think nothing saves me. But you?, Yeah. I'll take my chances behind the terrifying psychic Exarch I happen to sleep with."
She rolled her eyes. "That's not romantic, you know."
"I know," he said, stepping close again, forehead resting lightly against hers. "But I'm not here to be romantic. I'm here because I trust you. More than anyone."
Faevelith's fingers curled lightly into his sleeve, grip firm.
She was quiet for a beat. Then: "I hate that you're right."
He smiled. "You hate that I make sense, or that I'm shameless?"
"Both."
But she didn't pull away.
Cassian's grin faded a little. "But in all seriousness."
He stepped back, arms folding behind him.
"I was an Arbites Captain," he said. "On Desoleum Hive. I know how this works. Leverage, hierarchy, risk. This isn't new to me."
Faevelith stayed quiet. Farron, seated now on the cogitator bench, just listened.
"And I'm not just a nobody. I'm with the Magos Biologis," Cassian continued. "I'm with Illuminati too and they would not just let go of me like that. And Farron here—"
"Archmagos Prime of the Kaloran Detachment," Farron added without looking up. "Technically still in service, though long presumed dead."
Cassian gestured to him. "Exactly. We're not just some rogue scavengers trying to trade junk. We've got weight. Names. Connections. And the Imperium still cares about those things. No matter how chaotic it gets."
Faevelith studied him, her arms still crossed, but the edge had softened.
"You think that'll be enough?" she asked.
Cassian nodded. "I think this is our best chance to milk the Imperium while they need what we have. The STC's already given us everything we can extract on our own. We don't have the infrastructure to build more than scraps from it. Might as well trade the holy grail for a throne."
Farron finally looked up. "They won't give us all three."
"No," Cassian agreed. "But even two is better than nothing. Hell, even one would be more than enough."
He looked back at the blank comm screen.
"They're hungry," he said. "They can smell what we're holding. And greed makes even the Machine God's faithful bend."
Faevelith walked closer, standing beside him now. Her voice dropped low.
"What if they try to take it anyway?"
Cassian glanced at her sideways.
"Then we'll burn the copy in front of them," he said. "I'm not bluffing. If they want it, they play by the rules."
"And if they don't?"
He gave her a half-smile. "That's when you get to disembowel a tank."
She actually laughed at that.
"I'll hold you to that," she murmured.
Farron stood, adjusting his robes with slow precision. "They won't risk open aggression. Not yet. They're too enticed."
Cassian nodded. "Exactly."
He walked back to the console and tapped a key, saving the call record.
"Now we wait for their answer," he said. "And hope the next voice isn't shouting."
—-
Word Count: 2306
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