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"Heinrix, I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to stay in this damned corridor until you open the door. What will happen to my reputation when your neighbors are back? Vigdis, what's Master of Ordnance Metela's status? Finished her shift and is heading to her cabin? No, I don't need her. Lord Captain out. Heinrix, your neighbor will be here in seven minutes, what will she think seeing her Lord Captain at your door, with her body glove tattered and her wig missing?"
The door opens and Isabella is pulled inside so quickly that she barely manages to stand on her feet.
Heinrix looks... well, to an outsider he hardly looks very different from his usual self, but Isabella has studied him too well. She saw him indifferent and carried away, she saw him lost in the rage of battle and completely focused on regicide game, she saw him choking with anger or with desire, she saw his joy, she saw his despair, but she never saw him so lost.
She was right to come, even though she had to trick him.
“I’m sorry I lied,” Isabella says, checking her wig. “But that was the only way to get in.”
A new crease appears on Heinrix’s forehead, and Isabella thinks for one very long second that she has miscalculated, and now he will simply put her back into the corridor, but Heinrix just says:
"Please, go away. I need to be alone."
“That's not true,” inspired by her first success, Isabella steps further inside the cabin. "You want to be alone, but you need something else. Namely, you need someone to be with you in the same room, even if this someone would just sit silently in the far corner. Although the latter may be a problem."
Isabella looks around, then turns back to Heinrix:
"Why is your cabin so small?"
"All through Her Ladyship's efforts."
Isabella catches a shadow of a smile on his lips, which immediately disappears as if Heinrix suddenly remembered that he has no right to it now.
“After I rejoined the Lord Captain's retinue on Footfall, she decided that my old cabin needed renovation, and asked her seneschal to find it for me...”
“...a new one, suitable for your status,” Isabella picks up. "But as far as possible from the bridge. Apparently, back then Abelard liked you even less than me."
“I hope this doesn’t change,” Heinrix says. "If Abelard suddenly starts to like me..."
He falls silent, rubs the bridge of his nose and says quietly:
"I see what you are doing. Thank you, but…"
“Heinrix,” only now Isabella allows herself a light touch to his sleeve. "I stay. Here. And you stay here, too. Believe it or not, Abelard even likes you now, but not enough to give you a new cabin behind my back."
“I’m quite happy with this one,” Heinrix says very seriously. "As long as there is enough space to store reports of the von Valanсius dynasty's affairs."
Isabella can barely resist hugging him. His shirt is covered with brown spots, a fresh bruise is manifesting on his cheekbone, and there is some stiffness in his movements, but it's not wounds that stop Isabella. It seems that if she touches Heinrix, he will just turn to stone under her hands. And it also seems that if she stops, if she gets silent for even a second, the room will be filled with the stale air of Phton-VI.
“Yet, think about it,” Isabella says as if the size of his cabin is their biggest problem right now. "Maybe it's time to take advantage of your privileges..."
She stops at the entrance to the tiny sleeping compartment and looks over her shoulder. Her eyes must be more eloquent than any words because Heinrix asks:
"Is something wrong, Lord Captain? Or did you remember your life on the middle decks?"
“On the middle decks,” Isabella sighs dreamily. “On the middle decks, you'd be killed for such a cabin. So much space, and no neighbors!"
She leans against the wall and begins to pull off her boots. Then she takes off the cape she used to hide her body glove, not torn, though, but neatly cut by medicae. She explains, not waiting for his question:
“I’m exhausted and going to lie down. And you'd better do the same."
Heinrix folds his arms across his chest.
"Firstly, you already used this trick, in Commorragh."
“Yes, and?” Isabella shrugs. “It worked perfectly well back then by the way. And secondly?"
“Secondly, the two of us won’t fit here.”
"Oh, I'm going to argue on this one."
She looks Heinrix in the eyes until he finally puts up with her presence and her little victory. After he stretches out on the narrow bed, Isabella miraculously squeezes herself into the tiny space between him and the wall. She has to sacrifice her wig and to squirm a lot, but she manages to get almost comfortable lying on her side, under Heinrix’s arm, and with her leg thrown over his.
"See? Worked out just great,” Isabella declares before yawning. "Wake me up in an hour."
"Are you... just going to sleep?"
“Of course, that’s exactly why I came and banged on your door,” she grins. “I’m really tired, Heinrix. I had to maintain three mental links at once so we won't be left in the dark against them, and... Well, if I remain silent, I will certainly pass out, and you don’t want to talk."
“I don’t,” Heinrix agrees, and then corrects himself. "I can't."
“Then we’ll just lie in silence,” Isabella rests her head on his shoulder and closes her eyes. "It always helps."
"Always? Do you know it from the middle deck?"
"From Scholastia Psykana."
Heinrix's hand, lying on Isabella's shoulder almost limply just a moment ago, suddenly twitches pressing her tighter to him.
“I can’t imagine what it was like growing up there.”
“You, of all people, can, since you know firsthand how everything works there. But it wasn’t that bad, at least before the manifestations..."
Isabella suddenly falls silent and tries to rise and look at Heinrix, but is unsuccessful, so she just asks :
"Why are we even talking about this?"
“Because you don't want to fall asleep,” Heinrix says as if that explains everything. “And because I want to know more about your past. If I asked you another time, you would most likely avoid answering, but now you have no choice because you need to keep me talking."
“Your sincerity, Master Interrogator, is much more horrible than any cunning.”
"I know."
She has absolutely nothing to object to this.
“Imagine…” Isabella flips memories in her head like picts on a data slate but decides that none of them fit. "No, tell me first: what does it take for a latent psyker to manifest their abilities?"
“Some trigger,” Heinrix replies without hesitation. "Strong emotions or pain, or all at once."
“Now imagine that you need to manifest someone who's already been trained in basic techniques. Emotions control. Mental flexibility. Increased pain threshold."
Heinrix is silent, maybe, imagining what she asked, and Isabella continues:
“As far as I got, Astra Telepathica wanted to get psykers... almost ready for use. A controlled manifestation and a pre-trained sorcerer, capable of if not immediately mastering new powers, but at least keeping them under control. Sounds good, right? They only miscalculated how difficult it would be to awaken us."
Her neck is starting to get stiff, but she sets it all herself, and it’s not a problem to endure such a little thing. Heinrix is probably much worse: he left the medicae deck as soon as he could, and it’s unlikely that he had time to heal all of his wounds, and yet... a fleeting touch cools Isabella's skin, and the cramped muscles suddenly relax, and the aching pain goes away.
“Thank you,” Isabella smiles, even though she knows he cannot see. “The Adepts didn’t like us supporting each other. They believed we needed to cope on our own and get used to the idea that psykers are barely tolerated at best."
“And they were right,” Heinrix picks up. "In the Imperial Guard, they... You're right to think Calcazar only sees his agents as tools, but at least he isn't keen on excessive cruelty. He makes sure that we are useful for as long as possible, and when Emelina told me..."
He suddenly interrupts himself, saying:
"In Scholastia Psykana it was like this for me too."
“And like us, you were also making friends behind Adepts' back,” this isn't a question. "Gloria... Adept Mossmore and some others felt sorry for us, and sometimes “forgot” to lock the doors. And if your cell remained open, you knew what to do, and would do it for anyone. Because when in the night after you failed again, someone snuck into your bed, it didn’t really matter who hugged you in the dark, your friend or the one who tomorrow would spit in your porridge."
“Oh,” Heinrix’ voice is full of mocking surprise, but some very different notes are hidden behind it. "Were you fed real porridge?"
“We were special kids, so yes, real porridge. And Imperium loyalty indoctrination, of course, in a ratio of two to one,” Isabella suddenly sighs and doesn’t understand herself, why. "So yes, with or without talking, but lying in an embrace works just fine, I tested it on myself."
Heinrix is silent for a long time, then he asks carefully:
"What happened to those who were never able to manifest?"
“We believed that they were being transferred to another facility. And we believed so diligently that after the sanctioning I even tried to find one of my... friends. That was stupid."
“I’m sorry,” Heinrix’s fingers gently stroke her shoulder. "And you talk about it so calmly..."
Isabella can't stand it and starts laughing. Her shoulders are shaking slightly, she can’t calm herself down, and just barely squeezes out muffed words:
"You... oh... listen to… yourself. You... c-cgh... Commorragh!"
They say opposites attract. But why then, here, in this small cabin, are two people broken in the same spots, clinging to each other so as not to fall from the narrow bed? Isabella doesn't know the answer, and maybe she doesn't need to know.
She is the first to break the silence, and her voice sounds both confident and very soft:
"Let me be there and help you."
“This is not fair,” Heinrx’s indignation is completely fake, Isabella is pressed so tightly against him that she just feels him grinning. "These are my own words."
"They are mine now. Your trick worked great in Commorragh as well."
“You are incredibly difficult to get rid of, Lord Captain,” he remarks. "Good thing, that I don't want to. Even though I know what you’re going to ask about now."
Isabella finds Heinrix's hand, covers it with hers, and says quietly:
"Tell me about Emelina. Not just what she was like, but something... some story, and best of all, a stupid one."
“Emelina is a Sage,” Heinrix falls silent for a few seconds, then, as if forcing himself, says: "Was a Sage, and Sages don’t get into stupid stories."
“A terrible omission,” Isabella feigns a heavy sigh. “So she was the one to save you when you all made fools of yourselves. And don’t even think about saying that this never happens to the agents of the Most Holy Inquisition—thanks to your efforts, I already know that this is not true."
She almost feels waves of indignation coming from Heinrix, but he has nothing to object to it, so he also sighs and begins to tell:
“The Calixis sector, the pleasure world of Kaston Majoris, the annual festival of... I don't remember what,” he pauses for a while as if he’s checking with something. "Aishara, Tanakia, and I were tracking the target but lost it in the crowd. The target didn't know he was followed, so we had time to save the mission. We only needed to find a point with a good view, but the only option suitable was hot air balloon sky rides. For couples.
Heinrix's tone is so graven Isabella involuntarily giggles.
"And who got the short straw?"
"Tanakia."
He doesn't continue, and Isabella quietly asks:
"Do you think this is true? That Calcazar... that she's dead?"
“Emelina had no need to lie, but even her words are just words. I won't believe it until I see evidence."
“Finally, some benefit of your professional deformation,” Isabella lightly squeezes Heinrix’s hand in hers. "So... you, Tanakia, and the hot air balloon. What happened next?"
"The longest thirty minutes of my life. Tanakia later said that the aeronaut was staring at us strangely as if he suspected us not to be a real couple. That's why she had to act."
"And what did she do?"
"She proposed to me."
The sound Isabella makes is completely unbecoming of a Rogue Trader, and Herinrix's further words only make it worse:
“She took me by surprise, and I answered the first thing that came to mind. I said "No.” he takes a breath. “And we had to play along with the situation while still looking for the target at the same time. We didn't do good."
“S-sorry,” Isabella can barely speak from the choking laughter. "This is too much... Why did she do it? It didn't make sense."
"Of course, it didn't. But Tanakia doesn't always act... rationally, and she and Aishara reminded me of this story many times." Heinrix seems annoyed, but something in his voice hints that he is no longer angry at Tanakia. “We failed, but Emelina asked us for every detail and predicted with great accuracy where our target would be that evening, all thanks to behavioral analysis. Is this story enough?"
"No. Tell me more."
And Heinrix tells her more. A story of how Acolyte Xue panicked on her first field mission and led her pursuers to Emelina, who had to use every curse word stored in her incredible memory to maintain their cover. A story of how Brass Whisper suddenly began to build spirals everywhere, and Emelina was the first to guess that the Magos had caught some technomancer virus. A story of how Aishara broke Calcazar's favorite cup, and only Emelina could remember every chip and crack it had in order to forge a good fake.
Stories follow one another; Isabella notices that Heinrix never mentions a name she doesn’t already know—even now he manages to keep his secrets—but isn't going to point to it right now. Emelina isn't present in all of his stories, but sometimes silence can tell more than words, and in Isabella’s head the negative space gradually forms into an image. The woman she would like but will never have a chance to know because she no longer exists.
“Thank you,” Isabella says when Heinrix falls silent. "I think I see her."
She brings her arm with the chrono to her eyes and sighs heavily: time doesn't stop outside the cabin's walls, and soon her presence will be needed on the bridge, or in the navigator’s chambers, or somewhere else — the ship and the protectorate need their Lord Captain.
“I won’t torture you anymore,” she says. “I need to get out of here somehow and sneak back to my cabin. And you need to sleep."
“Please, stay,” Heinrix presses her tighter to himself. "If you can, of course."
“I can not,” Isabella looks at the chrono for several long seconds before lowering her arm. “I have some responsibilities on this ship.”
Heinrix tries to lift his arm, but Isabella only clenches her fingers on his wrist, showing she hasn't finished speaking.
“But I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep.”