Date: 332 Alacrity, local. Agent Black, reporting circumstances for Use of Force Tribunal:

There was a big commotion on deck that day. We had all been on edge for a bit since the engines had died and resisted all attempts to make repairs. Waiting for a rescue boat had become our next best hope, though where that would come from when – to all our knowledge – the radio was still down, we didn’t know. It seemed likely that we might be there for a while longer. Tempers were starting to fray. Anti-Agency sentiment was beginning to foment also. I believe Madame Palastora (53, Huln origin) and Rubric Chase (42, Cthon origin) were the epicenter of this sentiment, which I desired to put an end to.
In accordance with the Agency handbook (pages 900-940, 16th ed.), which specifies minimal contact with “suppressive” or “resistant” elements where not specifically sanctioned, I began by lodging a complaint with the Captain of the vessel (Lucille Wisdom, 67, Interluna Origin), in writing and then in person.

I visited the captain wearing my darks, although the protocol recommends Agency Yellow for all public-facing work where possible. I believed this was acceptable since I had previously identified myself to the passengers and crew as an Agent, and therefore standard street clothing would be understood as the disguise it is. She opened the door in a black off-duty uniform pair of slacks and sweater and said:
“What are you doing here?”
I explained that my duties required cooperation from all members of crew and passengers, and told her in no uncertain terms what was at stake. I believe this got through to her, and she agreed to act as a witness to the official contact between the Chase and Palastora faction and myself, to ensure the revo’s – revolutionaries, that is – didn’t become violent, which as you know is the natural inclination of that type.
We discussed at length the optimal angle of approach for the conversation, and alighted on our plan easily. She’s a true citizen of the Empire, and I don’t believe she should be held in connection with these events. We were to come to Dr Chase’s cabin when that household was unaccompanied and sow seeds of unsteadiness and discord between the good doctor and her new friend. Making up the far larger part of the group than the other, we agreed that Chase and family was the greater danger. This was in error, but a best-case judgement made when not in full posession of the facts, which I apologise for.

“Excuse me, doctor,” said the Captain smoothly, now dressed in her proper uniform as befit an official duty such as this. “May we come in and speak with you for a minute?”
“You’ve brought that Agent with you?” came the reply from the other side of the wood-effect-painted metal door. It was Jann Chase (29, Graftworld origin), I believe. The captain knocked again, but this time I spoke.
“I am here, Doctor Chase and associates,” I said, in accord with the handbook’s strictures. “I hold no ill intent towards you. I am unarmed.”
“Agents are never unarmed. I know all about your mental secrets. I was there when they were invented!”
“Please open the door by your own will, or you will open it by mine,” I said. With no answer forthcoming I projected my mind forth and took stock of the room quickly. Two unarmed, but the husband, Luun Chase (48, Graftworld origin), was holding a stone bust aloft with intent to wound if not permanently disable: consequently when I induced Jann to open the door I avoided his wild swing and used a paralysis pressure technique to disable his arms for the duration of the conversation. I would recommend he be held for intent to commit assault on an Imperial Agent.
“What is it you want?” said Doctor Chase, hanging far back towards the restroom. I mentally checked, and found no escape route that way, so took no action to prevent her movement.
“My investigation is of the highest importance, Doctor. As an Imperial citizen it is your duty to uphold the law, just as it is mine. I have reason to believe you have been involved in the expression of sentiments contrary to this responsibility.”
“Expression of sentiments? Surely that isn’t a crime?” said the husband, who I must report was attempting to wrest control over his arms to strike me at the time.
“It may not be a crime, but it is a predictor of crime,” I said. “And it is my duty to monitor predictors like that wherever they arise. Do you understand?”
That was the moment that Madame Palastora arrived, and I realised that it hadn’t been the restroom that the doctor had been edging closer to at all, but the telecomm lying on the shelf beside the door, which I then saw, paper-thin, in her hand. I would like to make it a matter of record that I disagree with the decision to end minimum weight requirements for communications technology, and I don’t care how superfluous a comment that might be.
The shot thudded past my shoulder and tore a strip out of my sleeve (Assault on Imperial Agent, damage to Agency property) and I spun, responding immediately in accordance with the handbook to protect my own person and assess the situation. Madame Palastora, weapon raised. A Tokida LYV model Force Projector with tracking assist and fire selector factory extras. I took cover behind the door frame and let fly with a mental projection that should have stunned her, but she was wearing a shielding device of the kind that have become popular in the Ouest of late and so she was able to fire again.
“What are you doing?” cried Doctor Chase, striding forward to confront Palastora. An errant shot caught her arm, and I heard a crunch. She had been less lucky than I, and the shot had shattered the bone. I shoved her out of the way of the door and heard her fall with a yell on the injured arm.
Reaching out for something, anything to return fire with against the psych-shielded adversary, I took hold of a glass knickknack standing on a side table. This, it later transpired, was an award for outstanding research awarded to the Doctor earlier this year. It shattered on the deck behind Palastora and sprayed her with shards, though she had dodged the flying object itself on its first pass.
“Ah! You pig!” the terrorist declared and opened fire again while beating a retreat from the field of battle. The desperate force shots thumped uselessly against the walls and floor as I gave chase. Palastora, or as I now suspected, Marsage, was moving with impeccable agility, relative to her aristocratic appearance. The high-heeled shoes she wore in particular seemed impossible to move with such grace while wearing. From this I surmised a holograph disguise that concealed a younger woman in dress more suited to the danger at hand.
She very nearly outpaced me on the deck up above, but realising there was no path out for her there, she quickly slid into a cabinet and found its exits. I sent my mind in after her, nearly losing track of her signature as I rounded the corner and grabbed hold of the minds of the rats in the ducts. “go,” I transmitted to them “quickly” and heard the chittering come forth in droves from the little room. Right now they would be swarming round her ankles, her knees, climbing up with their little climbing claws. Maybe she was trying to go through a vent, in which case they’d be all over her before too long.
I heard the cry which signalled that she had been trying to go out via a vent and broke the door down.
“Lydia Marsage, I presume?” I said. I heard her spit: She was sprawled out on the floor like a petulant teenager: the rats, no longer under my command, were making their escape as good rodents would, happy to have made a friend. They had always wanted this, I could feel. I knelt down before the prone terrorist and felt the necklace chain which I had once heard of, the luminous stone that Vorin now covets. I reached down and almost had it when the ship’s alarm rang as loud as if I were standing under a church bell as it pealed.

Having now set Lydia Marsage in custody of the Law I felt a lot better. I picked her up, threw her over my shoulder, and took her to the brig in cuffs. Hence I captured the notorious public enemy, the thief and terrorist first class Lydia Marsage, with minimal harm to property (and important persons). Dr Rubric Chase died of her wounds. There is no more to tell of this tale.

I Holness Black hereby swear on the Empty Throne that the statement I have just given is true to the last word, may I be struck down otherwise.