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The droning litany of the Astropathic Choir pressed in around Rina von Valancius as she swept into the chapel, retinue in tow. In her belly, her heart, her head, she felt the vibrato of the gothic organ and its dark, rich sound. It took all of her concentration not to be swept away into the chorus of the warp.
Zacchary Weisz spoke as soon as she approached. ‘You shroud your mind well, Your Ladyship, and yet I can guess why you have come. With all due respect, I am asking you to reconsider.’
She had not shrouded her mind at all. In fact, it was all she could do to block out the Choir.
‘Get out of my thoughts, Weisz,’ she said. ‘This is your first and last warning.’
It was unlike Rina to chastise her crew like this, but as a telepath herself, she despised the ease at which some crawled inside the minds of others. It was polite to ask first.
Besides, her mission was no secret: she wished to scan every mind on the ship for signs of betrayal, disloyalty and heresy. She would not allow the seeds of chaos to bloom upon her vessel, even if she was still getting used to the idea of it being hers.
Weisz explained that he had attempted this ritual before, that his beloved apprentice and crew had died for Theodora’s paranoia. He was unable to perform it once more without a powerful telepath to sheild him.
‘That is the harsh truth, Your Ladyship. It must not be done.’
Under the melody of the Choir, the ship groaned. A faint light scattered through its reinforced stained glass, and the Emperor’s golden hand danced upon the steel floor of the church. The Mercy of the Stars supported the lives of thousands.
‘I will assist with the ritual,’ Rina announced.
Weisz shook his head.
Abelard’s voice was grave. ‘Lord Captain, I do not for a moment doubt your powers, but I insist that you refrain from taking this unnecessary risk.’
Heinrix’s curiosity was writ plain across his face. She still wasn’t sure what he knew about her past—about her present, really. Provided Inquisitor Octavius had not named her missing in action, Rina was still an agent of the Throne.
He looked her dead in the eye. ‘Considering the combat experience we’ve had together, Rina, I’m sure that if anyone is up to a challenge like that it’s you. On the other hand, is it really worth it to tempt the Archenemy when you don’t have to?’
It was no temptation. It was a condemnation. Her mind was strong.
Rina had little faith in her leadership skills, in her personality, in her ability to run this dynasty that had been thrust upon her, but she had faith in the Emperor. And in her own power.
A new sensation cut through the dark rumble of the choir. It was the clean and calm light of Heinrix’s thought-speech.
+I won’t command you in front of your crew.+
+But you will in my own head?+
To talk with him like this was almost automatic. It was how she had communicated with Octavius and the rest of his band.
Cassia raised an eyebrow. It had been rather awkward when Rina learned that telepathic communication left a wave of intermingled brushstrokes between their warp auras. The houses of the Navis Nobilite thought psychic communication at the dinner table was rather rude.
In her best Rogue Trader voice, Rina said, ‘Lord Interrogator, I require the Inquisition’s opinion on this matter. With me.’
She led him out of the chapel and into a corridor. The voices of the choir were fainter here, and though the plasteel walls pressed upon them, the psychic weight was lifted considerably.
Rina could finally breathe. Think.
‘You’re really going to pull rank?’ she asked Heinrix.
He leaned against the wall, arms folded, expression pensive. His square jaw was set, and his dark eyes shone with the reflected light of the votive candles that littered the chapel’s doorway. Rina’s heart skipped a beat.
‘It is your ship Lord Captain, I don’t presume to tell you what to do. I simply…’
She smiled at his formality. ‘Have become used to me taking your advice at every turn?’
It was hard not to. The hierarchy of their shared faction was ingrained in her mode of operation. All too often, Abelard had to remind her that The Mercy of the Stars belonged to the Rogue Trader dynasty, and not The Holy Orders of the Emperor's Inquisition.
Heinrix returned the smile and turned towards Rina. ‘I appreciate that my council is valued. So I will repeat my request. Please, do not do this.’
‘Don’t you wish to root out the rot that has infected this ship?’ she asked. ‘I will not harbour heresy! I won’t have that on my hands.’
‘Then get someone else to do it.’
‘What?’
‘There are many within the ranks of the Inquisition that believe it is best to fight fire with fire. Perhaps, in this case, it is worth tempting the horrors of the warp to root out those who threaten you.’
She had thought of Heinrix as a puritan, by the way his smile curdled when the dynasty’s primary trade in xenotech was mentioned, but perhaps there was something radical in him, after all.
‘I can’t ask someone else to do this. To risk their life for something that isn’t theirs.’
‘It would be their duty.’
‘The duty is mine.’
The matter was settled. She turned to leave, but was stopped when Heinrix grabbed the sleeve of her robe.
‘Please, Rina. You could get hurt. Or worse.’
She hadn’t expected this. He was usually so reserved, so acquiescent, even when his advice was something more like an Inquisitional command.
His voice was a whisper, a confession at the altar of the God-Emperor. ‘I don’t want to lose you.’
By the Throne, he felt the same way she did. She had hoped, but never truly entertained the idea, had figured that their friendship was nothing but a common background, a familiar face against the tapestry of mutants, heretics and xenos that roamed the fringes of Imperial space. She had never been happier to have been wrong.
‘Heinrix…’
The prospect of immanent death bolstered her faltering courage and, before she could change her mind, she grabbed the lapels of his jacket and planted her lips on his.
For a moment he was stock still, frozen, then the hand that had so mercilessly gripped her arm slid gently, hesitantly, around her waist. He kissed her back. She feared it was a kiss of death.
Rina stepped back. Red gloss coated Henrix’s lips. This was hardly something she’d planned.
Before he could say anything, she turned and marched back into the chapel. Her cheeks burned hotter than the fires that powered the ship’s journey through the immaterium.
‘I will be helping you,’ she announced to the Choirmaster. ‘Commence the preparations.’
Weisz wore a smile of placid resignation. ‘So be it, Your Ladyship.’
The ritual was an abject failure. No new information was gathered on the traitors who lurked in the shadows of her craft, and, worse still, something had reached through the void. Not chaos, nor humanity. Something alien. Something xenos. Something Rina was entirely unprepared to face.
Thankfully, she had a member of the Holy Ordo Xenos onboard. It was somewhat unfortunate that at this moment she was unable to look at him without dying of shame.
‘You have a little something on your face there, van Calox,’ said Abelard.
Rina wondered what colours Cassia saw when she looked between her and Heinrix.