"Care to explain, Deckard? Well, I suppose that's not your real name, is it." Ortega grumbled. It was hard to tell if it was an accusation.

The broad shouldered arbites stood with my retinue and I just outside of the emergency door of the manufactora. The air still smelt of ozone and wet from the artificial rain that had graced the lower hive an hour previously. Out front, emergency vehicles were parked and lights flashing as crews began to escort workers out as other maintenance crews began to clean up the chemical spills with the appropriate kit of absorbent material to sponge away the acids and bases that cluttered the floor. I had insisted on bringing the body with us to be examined, and to Ortega's credit, he did not protest. Three of the bully boys had to carry different parts of the bleeding mass of flesh out with us, but they somehow managed. 

I opened my jacket and showed him the Aquila that marked my office. His face was unreadable behind his visor, but I could feel his apprehension rise with his realization. Emmaline stood beside me, and she shifted, fidgeting with her hair like always when she was nearly blown up. Wordlessly I slid out of my jacket and draped it around her shoulders, a small moment of intimacy I could afford her now that I had deigned to reveal myself to the arbites. Lazarus's binary bleated into the air as he knelt down before the corpse to analyze it, having already inspected Emmaline for chemical burns of gunshot wounds. 

"I should have known," Ortega said, and he cursed. "You would only be here if it was something important. Who was this man?" 

My eyes narrowed, and I could tell he realized he addressed me with a lack of proper respect. He added a small 'lord inquisitor' to save face. I did not hold myself to any high standard, but I would be referred to as my station demanded or else one might get ideas on halting my investigations or withholding resources or information from me because I allowed smaller, more petty matters to slide. I reached into the jacket currently adorning Emmaline and pulled out a diagnostor I had sequestered on my person, kneeling down with Lazarus to inspect the corpse. 

"This man was a cultist, in all due likelyhood. A cultist from a world half the segmentum away, connected with a plot that involves the murder of various subjects of the emperor, including one on my team." I informed the arbites, not wishing to give specifics yet. 

"The tattoo is a match, and is the pigment and lipids of his skin, matching the locals of Havenos with little variation." Lazarus informed me. My diagonostor whirred and arose with a red signal atop its head, signifying an unknown disease ran rampant through his body, kept together through some unknown means. Immediately I knew it was whatever warped plague had ravaged the tribes on the feral world. I stepped back and Lazarus joined me. 

"Have this body burned, and bring physicians and a biologis if you can acquire one and check the other workers for pathogens, known and unknown. I cannot say for certain but there might be a plague loose on the planet. Even if that is a worry unfounded, it is best to check before something else untoward occurs. Meanwhile, my team and I will retrace our steps in the manufactora." I informed Ortega. He regarded me for many moments, wondering if he could refuse me or not. But inevitably he complied, voxxing in my orders to the overseers of the lower hive. 

"Do you think the hive might be infected?" Emmaline asked softly. 

"I don't know. Even if it isn't, this wouldn't be the only culprit in the city."