Show not what has been done, but what can be. How beautiful the world would be if there were a procedure for moving through labyrinths.

- Umberto Eco

*



It is a wretched thing to see the death of a magician.

When a priest of the Adeptus Mechanicus is alive, she might be anything. The imagination alights at the possibilities concealed within those crimson robes and the lights dancing within. Might she be a beautiful young maiden, soft and curved, body patterned with the hexagonal grafts of silica and nanofiber? Might she be a demon, body twisted and malformed, blinking lights the eerie gaze of wicked flies rather than electronics? Perhaps that limp concealed four legs, or three, perhaps there were two hands or eight, perhaps she had always been smiling like the Saints, or maybe the skin and fat of her face had been peeled back to a skull made of steel.

So many of these questions will never be answered. The mass-reactive bolt entered her face just below the left eye, penetrated, and then detonated. The skull ruptured, the interlaced mesh of brain matter and neural interface shattered, and that masterpiece of cybernetic design splashed across the altar of the Omnissiah before dripping down to pool on the wiry blue carpet. It was an incredible shot.

In death, all the tricks she had up her sleeves spilled out. Hidden pistols and digital weapons fired blindly, still performing their functions even as their body staggered and slumped. Scorch marks, bullet holes and tiny silver bladed discs scatter wildly around the shattered doorway the assailant had entered through. A displacement field belatedly fired, teleporting the headless and still-shooting body of the Archmagos five meters west, whereupon two additional bolt rounds to the armoured center mass and sent what was now just the incomplete and unremarkable body of a sedentary middle-age lady sprawled across the floor. Archmagos Toros, master of the Isohedron Factory-Cathedral, was now nothing more than a mess of broken metal and carbon.

Then the assassin had begun their work. They had approached the inwards-facing circle of archaic white cogitators the Magos had been working on. Some had been pushed aside, some had been smashed, and some had been taken, their absence marked only by lonely cables that drifted like an octopus carved by a blind itamae.

The room - archaic, with framed circuit boards and eerie gadgets upon white-painted walls. A singularly bland blue carpet. A small personal shrine to the Omnissiah upon the north wall, flanked to either side by huge arched windows with a spectacular view of the Hive rising like a mountain's nightmare. The west window's glass is shattered entirely, large enough for a giant to fit through, and the stink from the endlessly churning petrochemical smokestacks creeps into this ivory tower like a burglar.

You have initial assessment from the Skitarii marshal. The chain of events as far as she can determine goes like this:
- Assailant arrived at tower door, guarded by two Skitarii
- Assailant incapacitates both Skitarii with a Webber. This non-lethal takedown prevents their heartrate monitors from triggering an alarm.
- Assailant places a grenade on a timer by the two Skitarii. It soon detonates, killing both of them, but only after the danger of them alerting the Archmagos has passed.
- Assailant bypasses the security door.
- Assailant proceeds to the Archmagos' office.
- Assailant kicks open the reinforced metal door to the Archmagos' office
- Assailant kills the Archmagos with a single Bolt round to the head.
- Archmagos' Displacer Field activates, teleporting her five meters to the west.
- Archmagos' automated defense systems begin to fire blindly even as the corpse collapses
- Assailant responds with a burst of automatic gunfire. Some of these shots miss and shatter the glass window behind the Archmagos' new position.
- Archmagos ceases fire.
- Assailant proceeds to the cogitator station. Rips out multiple electronic devices and stores them in a heavy backpack.
- Assailant departs through the open window.

The Skitarii Marshal has drawn the conclusion that this was a smash and grab and is treating it like a robbery. She has left the Isohedron in order to start drawing a perimeter and co-ordinate with the Arbites about starting a dragnet search.

... but you cannot shake the feeling that does not feel right.

That is how they might have done it on Fenris. Maybe even on Caliban. But atop this cyclopean cathedral to the human intellect, surrounded by all of these relics of golden ages past, you cannot truly believe that anyone would send a man with a gun through the front door to make off with a computer. Something about that chain of events does not add up.

The clicking footfalls of well-worn boots echoed through the somber halls of the Archmagos' inner sanctum, moving with a measured pace in contrast to the frantic scramble that was overtaking Isohedron-CBX. Ramona of Sarringrad was many things, but hasty wasn't one of them. In her line of work, acting with too much haste often lead to a brief moment of stinging regret and a quick shepherding to the Emperor's loving embrace.

As she entered the Archmagos' office proper, Ramona lifted one gloved hand to gently nudge the surveillance servo-skull that had rushed to take note of her presence out of her path, her single flesh-and-blood eye squinting against the harsh glare of its flashing optics as it briefly intruded into her personal space-- the other was the dull green of a bionic implant, the flesh around it puckered by decades-old scars. As her hand returned to loosely rest in the pocket of her weathered topcoat, she slowly circled the scene before her, taking in everything she could.

Ramona was no stranger to corpses; she had made plenty herself, disposed of even more, and had puzzled through her fair share of scenes similar to this one. And every one had stories to tell...

The gravity of the situation was not lost on Vigrid Brand, as he passed the threshold into the ivory tower. The Space Marine scoured the data slate handed to him by the Skitarii marshall on the perimeter. The preliminary findings detailed in the report were sparse, bordering on slap-shod to his eye, given what had just happened. His green eyes traced the report line by line, even as he carefully moved through what was left of the bodies of the Skitarii guard at the base of the tower. A burglary. In the highest order in Isohedron-CBX, among the casualties the Archamagos Toros. His brow creased at the unnerving feeling that something was off.

By the time he reached the Archmagos' office, he had to re-read the line reporting the assailant kicking open the reinforced metal door. The door itself looked a massive, heavy set, and the amount of force to break through caused the Astartes to pause. Then he noticed movement from within the Archmagos' office. His ears pricked as he proceeded within.

As the eight-foot Astartes entered the magos' rooms, he was met with the back of a slender woman in a long weathered topcoat. The way she walked belayed practiced purpose as she came to the end of a circling arc around the still-warm body of the Archmagos herself. As her head turned he noted the implant which occupied the space of her left eye.

For now he would remain silent, quietly blocking the door. His eyes, taking in the scene of the Archmagos on the ground and the devastation her final moments wrought upon the interior, traced also the presence of this woman. It appeared she had just arrived and was taking her own account. The Astartes lowered the data slate in his hand to track the absence of the cogitators. Curious indeed.

Ramona's eye flicked to the hulking form of the marine as he stood vigil in the doorway, nodding her head in acknowledgement as she focused on her task. She had noted his presence in the fabrication halls, as she met with the artisans concerning the procurement of certain components that the factory-cathedral produced that would be of use to her Lord. Even amidst the endless bustle of the tech-priests, it was difficult to miss an Astartes standing head and shoulders above them all.

That scratched off at least one person that would need such a monstrous hole to escape through. That just left every heavy servitor and ogryn on Sarringrad.

"Tell me, sir Astartes." Ramona's voice had a harsh rasp to it, speaking to a lifetime breathing scorched and poisoned air. As she turned, a flash of color was visible on the breast of her topcoat-- a coat of arms, gunmetal grey on deep teal. "An Archmagos is ambushed, her guards killed, and she herself is put down before Throne knows whatever she's stuffed in herself so much as have a chance to fire off. How does that sound to you?"

She squatted near the fallen body of Toros, taking care to avoid the spreading pool of blood, hands resting on her knees as she looked up at the marine. Her tone was blunt, frank, and far from the awed genuflecting the teeming masses would show one of the Emperor's angels. She had too much work to do.

"Because to me it sounds like a heap of grox shite." A humorless huff of air came from her as she looked back to the corpse, eye flicking from where it was to where it had been when the first shot was allegedly fired. Trying to piece together a clear picture of what had happened.

Ramona!

[Forensic Pathology] Good Evening, Madame Ramonia. It is delicious to have you here as my guest again this evening. Tonight we do not deal with the subtle flavours of poison, garrote or blade: prepare yourself for the heady, industrial flavours of a military murder.

One shot to the head killed the Archmagos. The detonation happened in her cerebral cortex and blew out the back of her skull. She passed away instantly, and without pain, Omnissiah be praised. If you do not mind I would like to collect all the fragments from the remains of her skull, though this may take some time [Spend: 1 Point to reconstruct the killing bolt round].

The torso, though, has two entry wounds. One exit wound.

No internal detonations.

A bolter is not a solid-slug weapon. It is more like a rapid-fire miniature rocket launcher; when a bolt shell penetrates its mass-reactive core detonates, creating a small internal explosion that causes crippling injuries. Two rounds have impacted on the Archmagos' armoured torso, the protean neometals of her cybernetic form, and deflected without exploding. The third one is missing...

But then there is the exit wound.

Bolters don't leave exit wounds, my darling. It is one of their signature traits. And yet there it is, clear as day, emerging from the Archmagos' rear left lung. A penetrating shot, not a detonation, as though shot with a bullet and not a bolt round. But bullets, I am given to understand, reliably leave entry wounds, of which there is no corresponding example. This is a mystery far outside my skillset, I am afraid.

[Notice] Look. In the broken glass. The light is wrong. That's a metal shard, not a glass fragment. That bolt round that exited through the Archmagos' back, it went on to strike the stained glass window behind her. It detonated, and shattered the glass, blowing it outwards. [Spend: 1 point] But it doesn't matter. What really matters is the door. Where it was kicked in, paint flecks. Green paint, centered around the impact site. Whoever kicked in that door was wearing green-painted armour. I will sample for you the exact shade and hue.

Virgid!

[Data Recovery]
10> LAMENT. LAMENT TO THE OMNISSIAH, FATHER AND MASTER OF ALL MACHINES
20> THE SACRED RITES OF DEACTIVATION WERE NOT PERFORMED.
30> INFORMATION STORED IN THE COGITATOR'S FORTUITUS MEMORY WAS LOST
40> TO MOURN THE LOSS OF SACRED KNOWLEDGE GOTO 10
50> NO ADEPT OF THE MECHANICUS WOULD HAVE ENGAGED IN SUCH BARBARIC REMOVAL OF SACRED MACHINES
60> [load: death-to-the-brute.hmn]

[Forensic Pathology] Good evening, Master Virgid. I have quite the meal for you this fine night.

You should eat her brain.

Not Ramona's. Ha ha ha, no. Not yet. You do recall that one of your implants is called the Omophagea? That is, the Marine's ability to learn the memories of the recently deceased by eating their brain matter. The brain in this instance is somewhat... scrambled, which may make the process complicated, but the Martians will understand. This is simply the organic version of Data Recovery, after all. Ms. Ramona may, however, be... more squeamish.

[Spend: 1 point of Forensic Pathology to get access to some of the Archmagos' memories]

Ramona's flesh eye roamed the room as she put the scene together in her head, matching it against what the Skitarii claimed happened. Cause of death was obvious, though there was still more that could be found there. Ramona reached into the pack concealed beneath her topcoat, retrieving a battered but still very much functional servo-skull, half the teeth still in its upper jaw plated with gaudy silver and gold, from within. With a soft grunt, she twisted it's activation switch, and with a droning hum it lifted from her hand, dangling manipulator tendrils twitching to life. With a terse command, Ramona set it to work gathering the fragments of the rounds that had ended the Archmagos' life.

That left the rest of the shots. One round deflected-- there it was, half-embedded in the Machine Cult shrine on the north wall. The other had lodged in Toros' armor, however briefly, before skating off and losing its momentum to tumble to the floor, whatever was left of its propellant singeing part of the blue carpet a charred black before sputtering out. The third... there shouldn't have been a third. It had left her corpse, but never entered. An interesting trick. A fascinating mystery.

Damned maddening, is what it was.

As Ramona's attention turned to the door, her interest piqued. Here was something that might lead them to answers, and as she pushed herself to her feet to investigate closer she was already running through possibilities. With a flick of her wrist, a thin, narrow blade was suddenly glinting in her hand, which she used to lift one of the flecks of paint from the door.

"Someone's boots're in a sorry state." If one didn't know better, they'd think Ramona was admonishing their unknown killer on a job ill-done.

The hulk turned his attentions on the woman when she addressed him. He'd seen her in the factory-cathedral before; the bionic eye and the bearing she wore were familiar to him as he gone about his business as a newly minted techmarine. Her eye implied perhaps some kind of battle, but her bearing was not one of a warrior. She had a methodical approach as she moved across the crime scene, making audible deductions most likely to Vigrid's benefit. It seemed she saw him as an ally in the pursuit of discovering the truth of this matter. Maybe she even felt the same disquiet at the Skitarii's pronouncement of burglary as the cause for the Archmagos' death.

In fact, she voiced the same concern now, aloud. She stood up the facts in flimsy fashion, to knock them down as 'grox shite.' At that the Space Wolf's brows rose, betraying his mirth at the base deduction. Vigrid noted the coat of arms on the woman's coat. The seal was familiar to him as belonging to one of the Rogue Traders in this sector. 'One of' being that of the two, her master was not yet embroiled in the political theater taking place around them. He met her eyes as he replied, "The facts do not add up, yes. Every counter measure the Archmagos possessed misfired too late." The Astartes left the doorway and approached the pooling corpse of Toros.

After a moment studying the wounds of the victim, Vigrid noticed the woman deploying a servo-skull to further investigate the space. Toros' skull splayed out a gaping rupture wherein the Archamgos' brain matter and circuits lay exposed to the air. The Space Marine experienced a glint of inspiration, turning to his would-be companion, "Steel yourself for what I am about to do may give you pause."

And with that, the Astartes touched the corpse of the Archmagos Toros with the intention to eat her brain and unlock the mysteries within.

Archmagos Toros!

run shoot run shoot run run run shoot run
bliss
flow
perfect battle
eternal war
all the daemons of hell arrayed against her
run shoot run run shoot run run shoot
frictionless
fluid
perfect
run run run
like a war in dreams

The emotion flows and flows and flows, an endless cascade. Hours, days, months spent locked in this state of enchanted battle. Everyone knew the Archmagos to be an academic locked away in her tower, but all of her memories are of violence and war.

Motion.
Motion without motion
Secrets of perspective
Standing still and crossing distances
Here, there, everwhere
A dojo, clean and sparse
Flickering like a switch left right left right left right left
The Displacer Field. It was capable of so much more than anyone understood.
It was -

[Military Science] Listen up, soldier. There are only two ways this all fits together and neither of them are good.

Door comes in. Archmagos gets shot. Displacer field activates. Now - stay with me here - what if she teleported to a place where there was already a bolt-round? Not enough time and mass for the bolt-round to arm and so it finished penetrating and continued on to hit the window. So this means the assassin executed the Archmagos with a single shot to the head, and then fired a three round burst into her new location before she had even finished teleporting.

The Wolves of the Rout have made good shots before, but this is - well, you don't think you could do this. You're not sure your instructors could have done this. Frankly speaking it's some of the best marksmanship you've ever seen, bordering on the impossible. That's option one.

Option two is that the killer somehow knew exactly where the Archmagos was going to teleport to before she did, and was already firing at her destination before the killing round had hit her. And that downgrades the marksmanship to... merely very, very good. Don't love either of those, frankly.

As the brain matter was forced down with a swallow, Vigrid began to pick up scattered thoughts and images. Memories filled with violence and war. In stark contrast to the preconceived notion of a mage, this cavalcade of emotion swarmed around combat, and honing the art of war.

Then the mental calculus began to churn.

Vigrid's gaze traced the location of the Archmagos' initial impact with the teleport position triggered by the displacer field. Making a gun of his hand, the Astartes pointed first at the final resting location of the mage, then at the site of the first impact. With a grim expression, he shook his head. It had to be the second option offered by his military experience. This attacker must have known exactly where the Archmagos' displacer field would teleport Toros before they fired the first three shots.

That would mean the killer had someway to either intercept the data, or, and this was more likely seeing as the displacer field triggered after the first shot, they were able to scramble the field to get their first shot in. Time and space were a funny thing, as the 'first shot' was also the 'fourth shot.' The Space Wolf huffed stale air from his maw. The acrid atmosphere penetrating the ivory tower through the broken window tasted like sulfuric pennies.

The Astartes' eyes met his companion's. (OOC: Well, Kim, I ate the brains.) "The nature of the Archmagos' death is troubling," he began distilling his vision, "The first shot was not the one which opened her skull," he turned first to the splatter of the mage's brain matter on the equipment behind her; the first impact. "The first shot was in the grouping which the victim teleported into when the displacer field activated." He raised a gloved fist to wipe the remnants of the Archmagos' brain from his bristling, brown beard and mustache. "Somehow the assailant knew exactly where the field would teleport Archmagos' Toros, or controlled where and when it would activate."

His mind raced to conceive of any such technology that would be capable of scrambling the Archmagos' displacer field, forcing it to teleport into another location.

Next on the Space Wolf's list was to take a closer look at the cogitators that remained. If this was no simple burglary, perhaps the nature of what was stolen would point to the feint it could be.

"Huh." Ramona watched her massive ally-by-circumstance consume the grey matter of the Archmagos, eye narrowing as he seemed to actually glean something from it. There were always tall tales about all the bizarre things Space Marines could do with their Emperor-blessed bodies... seemed there was at least some truth to all of that. Useful knowledge for later. "Once knew a man who insisted he could see the future in fresh rat guts. Brains're a new one."

From her position crouched in front of the door, Ramona surveyed the situation with this fresh knowledge. Well, that solved the mystery of the third shot, at least, not that it gave them many answers just yet. Still, one mystery among a score knocked down. With a grunt, she pushed herself back to her feet, striding to check on the servo-skull's progress before she moved to examine the bolter-round that lay among the shards of the shattered window. She didn't have the knowledge to make much out of an unexploded bolt round-- but an Astartes might.

"Could be there was someone, or something, else in here with her. Gunner comes in, aims to take out both, and the Archmagos just happens to end up between the bolts and their target." Ramona grimaced at her own theory. It was a flimsy one, and didn't have much backing. Pure conjecture, and that wouldn't do. Better to find the real truths among the chaff. "But don't put much weight in coincidences, myself."

Virgid!

[Occult Studies] You are not permitted to know of anything that may interact with the operations of a Displacer Field. In fact, you seem to have a suspiciously large number questions about the operations of Displacer Fields. I have my eye on you.

[Data Recovery]
SEQUENCE 02
10> ELECTRICAL THOUGHT MUST BE CAGED, IN IRON AND PLASTEEL AND SHACKLES
20> THESE CAGES HAVE MASS.
30> THIS MUCH ELECTRICAL THOUGHT MUST BE CAGED IN QUITE A LOT OF MASS
40> WELL OVER A HUNDRED KILOGRAMS. MAYBE TWICE THAT.
50> THAT IS A HEAVY BURDEN EVEN FOR AN ASTARTES.

[Outdoor Survival]
Yeah nah mate, no way you're carrying that much weight and climbing down that tower. You'd slip and break yer neck. A glider wouldn't cut it either, you'd need a jetpack or a grav-chute to shift that kind of weight around. You can get stealthy versions of them but they're not easy to find, and someone would have seen that...

[Data Recovery]
60> GOTO SEQUENCE 01-01
70> I HAVE BEGUN TO THINK THE UNTHINKABLE
80> IT IS POSSIBLE THAT THE DEVICES MAY HAVE BEEN DESTROYED RATHER THAN STOLEN
[Spend a point to precisely locate the remains of the Cogitators]

"Hrmph," the Space Marine expelled air incredulously at the claim to be able to deign the future in the entrails of a recently deceased rodent. Eyes were faulty. Eyes could not see anything like the Omophagea could suss out of the thoughts and feelings of the deceased. Though, admittedly, Vigrid had not attempted to consume any rodent to his knowledge. Ramona had implanted a curious, but obviously erroneous idea. No way eating rat-guts could tell the future. Even the consideration of a thought like that was heresy. Probably.

Vigrid considered what the woman posited. "Such a coincidence irks me. It is possible that there were more than one assailant, though I see no evidence of it yet." The broken glass was probably an egress, right? That 'probably' again. A second shooter could explain the inhuman speed of catching the Archmagos while teleporting... "Perhaps the broken window may not have been the escape route after all..." Vigrid mused, though he didn't put much thought into the sentiment.

When he considered the displacer field, Vigrid came up empty. In the lurch, he ventured a question to his cohort-by-proximity. "Do you know anything about Displacer Fields?" He didn't wait for her response, before moving to the cogitators for a closer look. Something felt off about them.

The brute moved to the cogitators, investigating the broken window in passing when he considered how heavy these machines were. A heavy burden, indeed. And all the way down the Ivory Tower. But what if... What if the machines never left this chamber? [Spend 1 point in Data Recovery]

"That window--" Ramona gestured to the shattered glass around her with her blade, before it slipped away into her sleeve again. "Is either the sloppiest excuse for an escape I've seen in some time, or bait. Entry was blunt but methodical, who takes time to webber guards and rig a timed grenade, then leaps out the window? Doesn't sit right."

She gingerly reached down to pick up the unexploded bolt-round amidst the debris with her left hand, carefully handling it so as to not lose yet more parts. Standing, she moved to the fallen body of the Archmagos, where her servo-skull was still hard at work piecing together the recovered fragments of the bolt round that had ended her life.

"I know one took the Archmagos from there to here." Ramona vaguely gestured at where the body had began, and where it had ended up, with a slight shrug. "Beyond that, nothing. Might be able to reach out to folks who would."

She surveyed the scene again, taking what she had determined, distilling it, and trying to see if it gave her any other insight into what she might have missed the first time around. The marine's musing sparked something in her mind; if not out the window, then how did their killer and thief escape without notice? The Cult of Mars-- Or Draupnir, depending on your preference-- loved their secrets. Maybe there was another, more hidden exit.

Data Recovery!

SEQUENCE 03
10> GOTO SEQUENCE 01-60
20> THE TRASH CHUTE
30> THE MANIACS. BLASPHEMERS. BARBARIANS. PHILISTINES. MONSTERS. BRUTES.
40> THEY THREW THE COGITATORS INTO THE TRASH CHUTE

Tradecraft!

Oh~h? One must respect the discipline.

Those cogitators, the private possession of an Archmagos? You could buy an army with those. And yet, every one of them was ripped out and thrown down into the garbage. I almost do not know what to say. Whoever did this was either very, very smart or very, very stupid. Perhaps both. View everything through those lens.

There are several possibilities. Perhaps this was an act of fanaticism. If the Archmagos was corrupted by the xenos, or the Ruinous Powers, then destroying their cogitators may have been a way to excise their taint. Or perhaps this was an act of profound self preservation - the assassin threw away the cogitators in order to ensure the Skitarii response would run to the perimeter, leaving the interior uninvestigated. If that was the case, that means that they could have left exactly the way they came - dropped the grenade as they left, not as they entered - and still be in the cathedral right now.

Architecture!

All of this tower is a single tooth. Tusk, rather. The ivory is not fake, it's grown - biotech, ascending up like a tree. Its roots run deep underground. Pray that they do not have a teeth's nerves.

That is to say, there is no way to hide doors or rooms here. There are also no imperfections that would make good hand-holds, so climbing the exterior would be extremely perilous. Though - it is a small thing, but the Archmagos teleported exactly five meters to the west. I am under the vague impression that displacer field teleportation is random in direction and distance, but if she teleported five more meters to the west then she would have gone outside the tower and fallen to her death. If the assassin had been a bit slower on the draw, and if the device had time to reset - perhaps that would have been a more reliable way to kill an armoured Archmagos than landing a one in a million shot to the head?

Notice!

The killing bolt shell was painted blue. Same type of paint as the door, different colour. That's weird. You don't normally paint your bullets.

The woman espoused her gut feeling. It seemed that she relied on such things heavily. Her eyes were calculating trajectories, spotting flecks of paint, and ordering events keenly. Both eyes, not just the metal one. Vigrid watched her glistening gears turn with ease as he might watch a foe to predict their next move.

She was right, it didn't sit well. 'It' being the Skitarii's grasp of what happened here. It was a snake of a thread writhing its head at them, begging them to pull it a little farther. He unfocused his eyes for a moment, considering a wider picture. Maybe, just maybe, even the report he'd been handed as he ascended the tower was itself a play to obfuscate what really happened here. Everything must go. Even the events as they had been relayed to him. Fresh eyes.

When she said she could reach out to others who knew more, he nodded.

The trash chute. It was plain to the Astartes that the cogitators had been abandoned (or preserved?) by casting them into the trash chute. These glorious machines had been uprooted and cast into the refuse. Two thoughts ran through Vigrid's mind:

1. The assassin could have jettisoned the cogitators as a gambit to walk freely through the same door they entered. This sat well with the Space Marine. This whole mess never felt like a burglary.
2. The cogitators have been placed in a safe place to be collected later: the trash chute. Wherever this chute led, it's possible that the assassin had the intention of recovering them from a safer, and less guarded, location--rather than walk out the door or repel down the tower's exterior.

The latter possibility caused Vigrid to grind his teeth. It was a loose end that would need to be accounted for. As he turned back to the room, his organs cried out. This whole scene was replete with myriad loose ends and writhing false leads.

He relayed his discovery. "The holy cogitators have been ripped from the Archmagos' console and discarded into this trash chute." The Marine held up a remnant piece as proof of his pronouncement.

"I fear," his voice resembled gravel, "the cogitators may have been 'placed' in the garbage to be retrieved from the bowels of the tower. But I am not convinced this isn't a vapor cloud to muddy the trail."