You tap your respirator implant for a moment in thought, "Servitor Recovery sounds like the most valuable. Query: what section of the hulk is the servitor in? Additional: what dangers are in that section of hulk?"

Interrogator MacWater nods, "the Visitor: a Vagabond-class merchant. Atmosphere and gravity are nominal, auspex isn't picking up any life signs, but..."

You bow your head, "Auspex returns likely confused or obstructed by intervening bulk of Hulk. Practical: hostile life forms may be present. Query: expected moral threats?"

Interrogator MacWater shrugs and nods at Cian. He closes his eyes and murmurs something for a few moments, then open his eyes , "I can't sense anything definite, but The Capitalis Congestus has been in and out of the warp for an unknown number of millennia with minimal or non-existent gellar field protection..."

You nod again, "practical: moral threat likely non-imminent, but likely at some point. Please advise should this change."

Cian nods, "you'll be the second to know."

You tap one finger on the map, "in summary: Our objective is located in a relatively safe portion of the Capitalis Congestus. Precise location: unknown. Expected opposition: unknown. Moral threats: unknown but unlikely. Reminds me of survey work on the Gibil debris field. Proposed plan of operation: insert as close as possible to last known location of servitor, track it down, recover data and / or servitor if possible, withdraw to insertion point, extract. Questions?"

Enforcer Havelock stuck his hand up, "rules of engagement?"

"If it's trying to kill you, kill it. Next?"

There were no more questions. Everyone on your team gathered what belongings they thought they would need, stored the remainder, and made peace with the Emperor. You calmly drew your ammunition from you pack and loaded each of your weapons, reciting the litany of accuracy as you did so. Satisfied, you inloaded the map, such as it was, and the servitor's last known location to your dataslate.

Insertion proved to be the simple affair of 'swimming' down a zero-g umbilical to the hulk. You glided down the umbilical effortlessly, while your companions picked their way slowly, in the bumbling half-crawl half-tumble of ground-borns unused to null-grav environs. You take the time to warily study your surroundings while they fumble their way to the hulk.

The small annex you find yourself in has a high ceiling and opens into a broad corridor. Said corridor dead-ends abruptly in a collapsed pile of pipes and what looks to be half of an emergency escape hatch. You sigh and consult your dataslate. The map leads you directly through the tangle of wreckage by the most direct route, and suggests an alternate through one of the side doors. That path looks partially obstructed, but not impassible.