Deathwing (16 page)

Is this woman, he thought, this that I see?

Pure female, her overlapping currents of spirit rivalling even the chaos of the warp. He had never thought to do such a thing before; no one had requested it. His eye was a danger as well as an intrigue; a glance could kill. Shivania, in her blindness, was immune, but she cried that she saw the light of him unveiled, his forehead shedding radiance which she claimed shared the same brightness as the Emperor’s own beacon. Heresy. Maybe.

‘If we only had a sample of the cargo,’ she said, close to his ear. ‘Think, Solonaetz, what ecstasies we could share!’

‘Or what pain,’ he added. A shiver of presentiment summoned a vision of the next warp drop: he, alone, in his pod, with the dark, moving liquid of the lacrymata, in the vaults below, singing its insidious song to the ever-vigilant powers of Chaos.

‘You fear it!’ Shivania laughed. ‘Ice and passion of the wounded navigator!’ She stroked the scars on his chest and belly. ‘I envy you your sight,’ she said.

A
FTERWARDS, SHE CURLED
into his arms, humming a strange little tune, running her fingers over his smooth, white skin, reaching up to wind them in his long, fine hair. ‘Divine mutant!’ she said.

‘Hush, don’t say that!’

‘Well, you are! As I am, in truth. Both of us tolerated for our uses. Blessings upon our Imperial Father that we may find solace with each other.’

‘Sometimes, Shivania, I think you say dangerous things.’

She scorned him gently. ‘Faithful navigator, always quick to obey, to bend his back before the whip of Imperial doctrine.’

‘Shivania!’ He tried to ease himself away from her, suddenly feeling she had become a twining, suffocating thing. ‘What are you saying? Listen to yourself!’

‘I have done that for years!’ she said sharply. ‘Always listened to myself, from the day the blackship came and took me from my home!’

‘You are an astropath. Privileged, honoured! Your very soul is bonded with the Emperor’s!’

She sneered. ‘Hah! A bonding that burned away my eyes! Bonding is another word for slavery, is it not?’

Solonaetz shook his head in confusion. ‘I will not argue with you, but when you say these things, remember what your fate could have been!’

‘And you think this is any better?’ She sat up, brushing back her hair. Her voice possessed the dry quality of some seasoned, jaded assassin; a woman whose flesh was laced with scars. Solonaetz reflected how you never came within a whisker of knowing someone until they’d shared your bed. ‘It is easy for you to be so complacent,’ she said bitterly. ‘A ship here, a ship there, flitting around, cushioned by the influence of your great family. What am I? In comparison, a mere slave, leased out by the Scholastica. I do not choose my commissions, navigator. Your life is your own. Mine?’ She turned her face towards him and the white eyes between their slitted lids looked snake-like. ‘I belong to Fiddeus and his clan. My freedom aboard this ship is an illusion.’

‘No good can come of this talk, Shivania.’

She shrugged. ‘Whatever. I have offended you, shocked you. For that, I am sorry. I like you. Still…’ She sighed, her voice taking on a wistful note. ‘Perhaps it was a mistake to leave ship. I did not want to come back, you know.’

Solonaetz reached to touch her. ‘Forget this. Say nothing else. Come back to me.’

Reluctantly, she curled against his side. ‘Sometimes,’ she said, ‘a great fear comes to me. I feel as if a depthless abyss waits to open at my feet.’

‘Not for now,’ Solonaetz whispered, and held her tight.

G
RAIAN
F
IDDEUS SUPERVISED
the stowing of his cargo, restlessly pacing the cargo vault as members of his crew carefully secured the crates. At Graian’s insistence, Brother Gabreus came puffing down the access ramp, clutching a smoking censer of his recently-purchased, potent Assyrion incense and a handful of newly-etched talismans to drape around the cargo.

‘We cannot be too careful,’ Graian said. ‘This stuff, for all its value, is a seductive substance. I am concerned what may occur should warp-leakage steal its way inside the ship. Gabreus, I want the whole of the
Brava
consecrated again; every corner, every duct, every rune re-blessed and anointed. Is this clear?’

‘As the bloom of a nebula, captain. Never fear, Gabreus’s unparalleled spirit will quell and subdue any effluvia seeking entrance!’

Graian smiled and patted the priest’s bulky shoulder. ‘I know I can trust you, brother. Now, I must hunt down our little communications system and ask her to transmit a message to my father. I intend to ask him to have a banquet ready for my crew courtesy of Clan Fiddeus!’

Gabreus grinned. ‘He could breed whole generations of prime beef by the time we get home!’

I
T HAD NOT
gone unnoticed by Graian that some kind of carnal transaction was taking place between his navigator and his astropath. For some reason, this caused him deep discomfort. Shivania, he decided, had a streak of insolence inside her. Perhaps it was this that made him distrust her. Sometimes, when he issued a command, he sensed a wry malevolence in her expression; something about the mouth. It worried him she might alter the sense of his messages when she sent them, just out of mischief, to cause him embarrassment and inconvenience. Why should this be? Shivania might be a laser in comparison with Bassos’s steady but small candle-flame, but he could not bring himself to have faith in her.

He also feared she might be bad for Solonaetz. After all, who knew what went on in the navigator’s head? It was no secret he’d been horrifically wounded and had suffered a serious breakdown afterwards. Gomery had instructed him to treat Solonaetz with care, look out for him. Graian felt his instincts bridle at the thought of the quick, incomprehensible Shivania having him in her clutches. He intended to speak severely with his father on return. There was no way he would have that girl on board again. The crew of a ship were an enclosed community, mostly removed from time and space itself; the universe rolled inexorably on without them. It was, therefore, intrinsic to the ship’s well-being that the crew resonated harmoniously with each other. One jarring note and the whole delicate structure could fall apart; entirely the kind of occurrence that foul influences from the warp could get a hook into. This possibility alarmed Graian more than that of engine failure or facing a warp storm.
Dea Brava
was his kingdom and he was sensitive to its ambiences.

W
ITH THIS IN
mind, a few days later, when they were approaching the jump zone into warp space which would lead them finally back to Earth, Graian accompanied Solonaetz as he made his way to the blister, covertly assessing him for signs of strain and fatigue. ‘Did you get your neck seen to?’

‘Huh? Oh yes. Foss gave me a working over. It’s fine now.’

Graian pulled at his lip, standing on the access ramp and watching Solonaetz carefully as he shimmied into the confined space of the blister and eased himself into position.

‘Sol, can I speak… plainly with you?’

Solonaetz leaned sideways and peered down the ramp. ‘Is that an order?’

‘Sol!’

‘Sorry, what is it?’

‘Shivania…’

‘Oh.’ Solonaetz began fiddling with the controls to the warp-screen, his face taking on a mulish expression.

Graian fidgeted uncomfortably. ‘I have to speak, Sol, as friend and commanding officer. Be careful.’

Solonaetz looked at him again, his expression guarded. He wanted to say: what gives you the right to call yourself my friend, but vented his annoyance with other words. ‘I am not an invalid, Graian! I wish you’d stop treating me like some half-fuddled, incapacitated veteran! Quite frankly, much more of this and I’ll be forced to resign my position. I am quite over what happened. It has not made me vulnerable. I am an adult and—’

‘All right, all right!’ Graian raised his hands placatingly. ‘I had to speak. Appreciate my position.’

‘She knows you don’t like her,’ Solonaetz said abruptly, once more adjusting his screen. ‘Now, that can’t help the situation, can it?’

Graian made a non-committal sound. ‘At the risk of further tongue-lashing, just how serious is this… business with you and her?’

‘As serious as any relationship for people in our positions can be. We live for the day. I can’t see it’s any of your business, Graian. Have no worry that it will affect my work – or hers. Now, if I could be allowed to get on with the business of warp flight…?’

Graian shrugged, reached up and slapped Solonaetz’s thigh in an assuaging gesture, before making his way back to the camera operati, where he would catch up with a little paperwork, leaving the
Dea Brava
in Solonaetz’s care. The interview had not progressed exactly as he’d planned.

S
OLONAETZ SIGHED, AND
settled back in his chair, blinking up through the blister at the streaming stars. If only Graian could know how he too had reservations about Shivania, reservations however that could not compete with the temptation of her body, her sweet soothing of his own. He knew there was an undeniable shred of repulsiveness about her, as compelling as her attractiveness. This, he told himself, was simply because she came out with unwise heretical statements from time to time. She was young, bitter; with guidance she was sure to overcome her grievances. That her quick flashes of temperament could presage anything worse than dissatisfaction was unthinkable; she had been trained by the Adeptus Astra Telepathica. Their screening processes for removing tainted material was infallible; it had to be. ‘It has to be,’ he said aloud, as he removed his bandana.

T
HE WARP WAS
quiet beyond the gate. Streams of pure immaterium boiled lazily on either side of the ship, but seemed unlikely to form themselves into maelstrom conditions. The warpscreen showed no inconsistency. Solonaetz dared to hope this would be an easy journey A few thoughtforms flitted in and out of materiality ahead, but they were minor emissions. Solonaetz recited a prayer to the Emperor to enforce his self-protection and banish all anxieties. It was important to maintain a serene psyche during warp travel. He kissed his totems and fixed his concentration on the journey. A short jump.
Dea Brava
never ventured that far from Terra.

Solonaetz began to hum a mantra, improvising the tune. It lifted his spirits, and he drifted into sublime communication with the ship, becoming one with her body, faster than light, faster than thought, an exultant silver fish upon the the bosom of this arcane sea. He breathed an essence of salt and spume, euphoric, riding the wave of the astronomican as it pulled him homewards. Salt. Sea. Dunes. Dune-flowers. Flowers. Fruit. Musk. Sandal… Sandal? Solonaetz gulped and was pulled into a momentary reality. He inhaled. What? By the Emperor’s sweet blood, what was this? Lacrymata? Impossible! He consulted the warpscreen, his head dizzy with the insidious perfume. The blister was full of it! A pulse glowed on the screen, signifying warp activity. But where? Solonaetz wondered frantically. Behind us? Before us? Where? So close. So close!

He fixed his eye towards the warp. Nothing definite and yet, a suggestion of imminence. The immaterium was excited! He scanned for Chaos emanations. Perhaps something had clung to the ship. The screen seemed poised, waiting to bloom with information, denying him the knowledge. He strained his senses to penetrate the cause as the perfume flowed over him in delicious, wicked waves, perverting the purity of his concentration. His skin prickled with sweat. The cargo! A focus! He must ignore it, banish it. The scent was an illusion. He must…

‘Solonaetz!’ A husky call.

As a lance of pain pierced the muscles of his neck, the navigator’s head whipped towards the access ramp. The hatch was open and there, creeping towards him, naked and glowing as a hot flame, was Shivania, her mouth open, red tongue licking her lips, hair flowing like a cloud, her fingers idly stroking her breast. The perfume assaulted him in waves. He tried to speak. Shivania laughed and opened her shrivelled lids. Had he thought those dead eyes milky? No, they were more than that! Opal, fiery, shifting with a hundred colours.

‘Solonaetz,’ she said, shaking her head, so that her lustrous hair seethed like a nest of furred vipers. ‘Come to me. The essence is my flesh. It gives me sight! I have anointed my eyes! I see! I see so much! I see you, Solonaetz!’

‘No!’ he said, in a strangled voice. He felt as if the very substance of the
Dea Brava
was melting before his eyes. All that existed was the pale, shining form of the astropath, and the hideous seductions of the warp waiting to take him in the final, everlasting embrace.

‘No, Solonaetz? What is this no? We are in our place, are we not? Mutants, we! I can hear my sisters calling, vapours upon the warp tides! All those that die, Solonaetz! All those that die! You slide this ship upon a torrent of their blood! Open that great eye of yours and really see! Look at me! Touch me! Open the blister and take me home!’

For a few moments Solonaetz wondered whether he was hallucinating his own desires. Is this what I want, what I’ve always wanted? Then, Shivania reached out a hand to touch him, her fingers flexing, curdled eyes blinking and leaking sluggish tears. She hissed and smiled. ‘I spit your seed into Chaos!’ she cried and lunged forward to throw herself into the blister upon him.

Acting reflexively, Solonaetz winced back and then, with an extreme spurt of effort and will, pulled himself from his chair and flicked out his leg to kick the access-way shut. He heard an agonized squeal, and an infinity of violent colours smacked against his warp-sight, bringing peals of agony, pain he could not have imagined in the worst of nightmares. His body writhed and his stomach convulsed. The surface of the blister was aswarm with foul shapes, all grinning, all scratching at the plascryst, telling him with sickening gestures of all they planned to do with his body when they reached it.

Solonaetz tasted salt, knew he was biting his tongue. He slammed his head against the console, screaming, ‘Fiddeus! Gabreus! Anyone!’ but the communications node seemed a million miles away, beyond his reach. Had the ship left its course? His eye was blind to the route, seeing only a tangle of voluptuous shapes that beckoned and tempted, promising eternal pain, eternal ecstasy. He could hear Shivania scratching at the hatch, her voice a hoarse whisper of desire.