I next accessed Governor Dolos’ file, but found little of use. However, from there I did locate some records concerning Vintner’s Blight, also known as blackpox. It was classified a fungal infection not uncommon amongst the workers, but usually a minor ailment requiring intermittent treatment. There was a recent addendum, suggesting that incidents and severity had seen an upward spike and advising this should be reported to the Officio Medicae. I could not tell whether this action had been taken.

I closed the file, taking a deep breath.

The hard part. The aeldari.

There was nothing suspect about inputting the word itself. As a trusted servant of the Imperium, I was entitled to know our enemies. The files described the aeldari as an elder race, their bodies superficially similar to humans but tainted by their xenos origins. They were known for their devotion to witchcraft and deception. I cycled through images of their soldiers and weapons, as well as data-extracts of questionable quality suggesting means of spotting their malefic influence. The picts had clearly been spliced, but I had no time to review exactly what had been changed.

I tried cross-referencing aeldari activities with Subsector Yossarian, but my limited access uncovered only heavily censored reports of raids by aeldari pirates. There was little meat to these tales, though their prevalence was notable, historic records indicating a dozen incidents within the Hedon Cluster. But none had taken place within the last century.

I could have ended it there. But I needed to know more. There was a link between it all, disparate pieces of data that held a greater truth, some key that could tie it together.

I pulled the image of the governor’s paintings from Kikazar’s data-file. I regretted I could not access those from the distillery, which had been recorded by Iwazar, but those mounted within the château had similar symbols. I plucked the most prominent, tracing it into the data-veil and seeking additional occurrences. But I knew not what it meant, and therein lay the danger. Perhaps it represented a philosophical concept, or religious tenet of trivial importance. But if it were deemed a sanctioned glyph, merely searching for it could have severe consequences.

Then again, what were the chances of me surviving the next ork attack? I could at least die knowing the truth.

I sat back in my chair, uncorking my bottle of the governor’s wine as I awaited the results of my search. I had no idea how long it would take, but it seemed the perfect time to overindulge. There was a good chance I’d be dead long before I had to endure the inevitable hangover.

What would happen if I overstepped my mark? Sought knowledge that was deemed forbidden? It seemed improbable I would receive a warning, a flashing red light or wailing klaxon. Most likely I’d be left staring at the screen, awaiting the search outcome even as assassins closed in on my position.