Camilla gave one last look at Yvraine, volumes spoken in a split moment, before she cocked her pistol. To Alcander she looked like a painting, even in a moment of indecision. He could read people like books, but under the oscillating lights and the baroque yet ostentatious scenery, he wouldn't have guessed she would turn to him in that moment. She bounced past him with a dancer's grace, and then spun to regard him. 

"What do we do?" She asked him in her clipped accent. The probator was about to ask her why she would look for his opinion, but he was hit with the realization. It was her decision to call him in the service of the Rogue Trader, she had been the one to follow his career for some time. He had tried hard to bury his past, but he [i]was[/i] a veteran in her eyes, and in many others. She was making the best tactical decision she could, which was to seek the aid of someone experienced in conflict. He cleared his throat. 

"Es there a centrel lokeshun tae monitor th' area? Ye need'tae coordinate if ye want tae help yer forces.[1]" He advised her. 

She nodded, obviously seeing the logic in it. She was free, but there was still a schism occuring across her ship. Without Yvraine's traitorous forces knowing she was dead, they could hold out for weeks. Even if they learn of her demise, they wouldn't go down without a fight, correctly thinking they would be executed for their treasonous act. Camilla needed to crush to insurrection now. The only thing Yvraine's death succeeded in doing was to keep her from relaying more orders, and potentially ensure the myriad squads of her forces from not acting in tangent with each other.

"Yvraine would have had the bridge comms locked down tight. It might take days to get through it," Jocasta lamented, reloading her weapon. 

"True, but there's another way to get in contact with everyone." Camilla responded, her mind moving quick. "There is a small comms hub used in emergencies, in case we were boarded and the like. I know the passcode, and Yvraine did not know I knew it. It was probably where she was hoping to hold up in case her plans went ker-splat." 

"Presumably she'd be aleev in thet contingency," Alcander said in good, albeit dark humor. He gave Camilla a smile, hefting his pistol with one hand, thumbing the hammer. "Ahm with ye.[2]" 

Camilla's return smile dazzled Alcander, and she waved for them to follow. The princess danced down the central stairs with speed, though she nearly tripped and broke her head on one, before collecting herself lightning quick. If Alcander hadn't had such good eye for detail, he might have missed it. They left the grand hall and turned left down a hall, and though Alcander half expected to hear shouting or gunfire, all they could hear was the rumbling of the ship's multitude of systems. It was down the long hallway that Camilla abruptly stopped beside a bust of an ancient ancestor, and pressed her thumb into the left eye socket. The stone orb pushed back, and the mouth opened. The beautiful woman then spouted a quick catechism, and a red light flared before a section of the wall slid open into a smaller utility corridor. Each segment of the hall seemed about as wide as a large door frame, it made sense there would be one or two secret passageways. 

Camilla stepped inside, Alcander and Jocasta following quickly behind her before the door slid shut. The lumens were dim and unpropitious, the halls just wide enough to accommodating a man with a weapon or a utility servitor. It would be claustrophobic had Alcander not been running in hives a number of times in his early career. He kept his eyes at 6 and 12, while Jo kept her hellgun trained behind them just in case. Camilla seemed to know where she was going, however. Every dozen meters, the corridor would break into a cross section with two different passageways, but Camilla ignored them, continuing forward. After a handful of minutes, Alcander had almost gotten lulled into the monotony of it, before Camilla stepped past, what Alcander saw in the split second that he looked down, a indent that marked a sensor, a light at its center suddenly flaring to life. 

Later Jocasta would begrudgingly admit that what transpired was rather impressive. In a heartbeat, as if he were a cogitator wired to perform the task instantaneously, Alcander shot the sensor with his right, and wrapped his left arm around Camilla's slim waist, yanking her back. The elegant woman squawked like a bird, her body flung back just in time as a section of the corridor dropped a 10 ton plasteel section of the ceiling. Alcander felt the floor slammed into him from his leap, Camilla landing ontop of him. Despite the pain, it wasn't an unpleasant experience, but Camilla broke the moment by having a delayed panic reaction. Her knee slammed into his groin, and Alcander would have barked a cry of pain if his breath hadn't left his body. Camilla popped up off of him, but she knew what she had inadvertently done as soon as she had done it. The woman kept saying apologies in a tongue Alcander did not understand, but appreciated the spirit of. Both her and Jocasta helped him to his feet after a full minute of trying to collect himself, and the trap Yvraine had set as a contingency had the good manners to lift back up, likely so Yvraine could move past freely once the target had been flattened. 

Alcander winced with every step, but with Camilla taking them another few dozen meters, she turned left and opened up a heavily reinforced door. The portal swung open after another catechism, Alcander guessing it was as heavy as an anvil if one tried to pry it open by hand. Inside was a small chamber, a multitude of displays of various firefights across the breadth of the ship. There was a large monitor on the right at head height that cycled through the various systems of the ship and their statuses. Camilla stepped lightly to the center of them, and she raised her hands as if she were about to orchestrate a musical before she began, pressing a button before the comm, adjusting the frequency. 

"This is Camilla Seraphina Lucretzia Fiamenta Belladona de Trantio, The Lady Captain and Rogue Trader, Architect of the Trade, and the Emperor's Chosen servant, guardian of these systems and this ship..." 

[hr] 

[i]Three Terran days later...[/i] 

Just minutes ago, Alcander had woken from his first real sleep in 96 standard hours. He felt an old, familiar feeling that had not clung to him like this since his days in the service. The probator had been too tired to shower, falling atop the covers of the vast bed in the guest suite the illustrious lady had granted him to recuperate. It had been ten hours of uninterrupted sleep, and though he felt he could use another ten, he knew he needed to get up. Al pulled the gun he placed under the pillow out and scratched his head with the hilt, rising off mattress. Bleary eyed, he passed a standing mirror, surprised to find he had taken his shirt off before he collapsed. Other than some grime and a few spots of blood, his own and that of traitors, he didn't look as horrible as he felt. 

"Shite, ahm still bollocks'd[3]," he breathed, rubbing his eyes with his forearm. He could do for some recaf. Perhaps Camilla would grant him that before she took him back to Castobel. He had done everything she required, and a grand bit more. Flashes of the fighting from the past two days filtered through his head. He and Jocasta had gathered up the isolated squads of Camilla's forces under the Princess's banner, and had subsequently conducted lightning raids and assault actions on Yvraine's remnant forces. Alcander had not killed that many men, directly and indirectly, in a long time. Even as he was on the ground, he couldn't figure why he did it. Even at the height of his career, he would have thought this last mission was a rough one. What's more, it wasn't what had been commanded of him. 

He went without question. 

Maybe he still had some of that old loyalty in his veins. Maybe he felt like the investigation meant fuck-all if Camilla could not retake her ship. Maybe he felt like she might be a good Captain, and if these systems were under her control, maybe some wrongs could be righted. Maybe he all of them. He didn't know.

He took that shower. It was like a waterfall, set up above him in a torrent that cleaned every pore. He almost forgot he was still himself by the end of it, enjoying the heat and water for a good twenty minutes before stepping out, clean as a saint's conscience. As he dried his hair with the smaller towel, wrapping his bottom half (which thankfully felt a lot better now, after Camilla's knee) in the larger towel, he heard a knock at the door. 

"A'right! A'right!" he called as the incessant knocking continued. Alcander stepped to the door of his suite reluctantly and opened it up, hoping it wad food. He blinked from the light pouring in from the corridor. Once he could see properly, he blinked a second time in surprise. In front of him was a cadre of women, ranging from eighteen to seventy eight, wearing aprons and holding bundles of clothes. The front woman was matronly, her blouse and blue dress well pressed and conservative. 

"Good morning, Probator Mires." She greeted with no warmth, her voice elegant but professional. "I trust your rest was satisfactory. The Lady of the ship invites you to join her for dinner in an hour, along with her remaining captains. We are tasked with seeing that you do not embarrass yourself." 

As she spoke, the women led a sortee into his room, turning on lights and changing the bed covers as they laid out various outfits on the long table. "Hey!" He called, the towel on his head suddenly yanked off. One woman in her thirties pulled out a tape measure as two other women tore his hands off of his lower towel to stretch them wide like wings. The leader stepped inside as the women swarmed him, Alcander yelping in abject shock as another pair of hands removed his lower towel. During the onslaught, the matronly woman curled her lip at his fallen shirt, snapping her fingers so one of her underlings would put it in the "to burn" pile. 

"YER OFF YER 'EAD![4]" Alcander cried, eyes widening in horror as more tape measures were drawn, clothes flying as they began to flit through outfits prospective outfits. 

[hider=Translations]
1. "Is there a cental location to monitor the area? You need to coordinate if you want to help your forces." 
2. "Presumably she would be alive in that contingency." "I'm with you."
3. "Shit, I'm still really tired."
4. "You're off your head/Out of your mind!"
[/hider]