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Some hours after her conversation with Abelard, Pandora was sitting against Theodora’s desk. She had done as he had suggested, and now the Rogue Trader's rooms were only slightly lit, making the tall ceilings disappear into comforting darkness rather everything remaining too bright and exposed. None of the servants were there, leaving her in a silence that was as relaxing as it was new. As a psyker, she had been taught how dangerous it was to be alone with her thoughts, but after the violent and chaotic day she'd had... it felt very needed.
She was doing nothing important, just staring at the tips of her fingers. They were still pruney from the bath she’d taken earlier, and she couldn’t help but admire how every nail no longer had any dirt under it. Her robes had been cleaned, too, and between that and the fact she’d eaten an entire meal, the entire situation almost felt like a dream.
The moment the thought entered her head, Pandora paused, her eyes narrowing. Was it one? A working of the Warp? Being snatched from Commissar Vanke’s command and made an heir to a Rogue Trader’s dynasty. Yes, that was like a dream. Everything else… not at all.
Pandora found herself turning to stare at the seat behind the desk. It wasn’t the same one Theodora had died in; that had been too drenched in blood to use again. Still, Pandora hadn’t been able to bring herself to sit on the new one.
She glanced away, drumming her fingers against the thick wood of the desk. The rhythm was one she’d learned as a child, and she concentrated on the pattern, bringing it in time with her own heartbeat. It was one of the many techniques for focusing she’d been taught on Holy Terra—a way to force her mind and body to work towards a single, harmless purpose. A distraction from other, more dangerous, thoughts.
Her fingers tapped in time to her heart, and the world remained as real as it had ever been. Pandora let out a small sigh, trying to get rid of her worry. After all, the Warp had always tempted her with things she knew, things she wanted. She had not even known who Theodora was until a few days ago. (And she had wanted her position even less.)
She was nodding to herself when she heard the uncomfortably loud sound of the elevator descending, bringing with it a bioelectrical signature she had just recently come to know.
Pandora let out another sigh, mentally preparing for a conversation that she hadn’t thought anything of until Abelard had gotten all worried. Now, she was very anxious about doing something that would disappoint her new Seneschal. It seemed impossible to avoid, really. She had almost no practice talking to important people; there was no way she wouldn’t mess this up somehow.
Then, Heinrix arrived and the conversation went fine. Actually though, it did. The Interrogator did most of the talking. He didn’t have questions, just a gift from the Lord Inquisitor. One that Pandora didn’t want or need, but she knew enough to just thank him. After all, she was sure Theodora probably would have liked it.
He was polite and well spoken. (Maybe too well spoken. What in the Emperor’s name was an infelicity? She’d have to ask someone later.) But there was really nothing to complain about, and Pandora could already see an easy end to the conversation coming. Then she caught a look from him that seemed full of interest—curiosity, she thought. He also apologized for not knowing how to talk to someone as high-ranking as her, though he used so many fancy words to say it that it took her several seconds to even figure out what in the Warp he was talking about.
“...Don’t worry about it. I, uh, don’t stand on ceremony,” she told him. It’s okay, Heinrix. I also don’t want to be here! She decided to keep that to herself and instead thought over the look he’d given her. It only took her a second to realize what it must be about.
She said, “I haven’t met someone like you for a long time. It’s the same for you, isn’t it?”
Heinrix wasn’t one for having expressions, really. At least from what she’d seen. Still, he managed to become even more blank-faced than usual at that. “Pardon?” he asked.
Pandora was now much less sure, but she continued on anyway. “Meeting another biomancer…? You’re the first I’ve met since leaving Holy Terra. You just seemed curious when you were looking at me earlier. I-Isn’t that why?”
“Ah, it has been some time since I met a fellow practitioner, yes.”
“I thought so! And you know the Santic discipline, right? I’d never chanted the Word of the Emperor with another psyker before in battle. It was really…” She almost said ‘nice’ or ‘fun,’ but either one would sound insane, wouldn’t it? Even to another psyker. Instead, she went with, “...enjoyable.”
Wait, no. That one was also bad. What was wrong with her? Beyond the obvious, of course. Maybe it was just that she wasn’t used to speaking to other witches. Outside the rare astropath, Idira and him had been the first she’d been allowed to talk to since leaving Holy Terra.
Heinrix’s eyebrows raised just the slightest bit. Probably the equivalent of making a face for him, Pandora decided.
“How so?” he asked.
“I, well… It’s, it’s sorcery that carries His blessing. I’ve always…” She trailed off, too ashamed to admit that she’d ever been happy or proud to use her power, even if it was only because some of it carried the Emperor’s will. “Nevermind.”
“As you wish, Lord Captain. However, speaking of our shared sorcery, I would ask you a question, if I may?”
Ah, void take it. Now the Interrogator was living up to his job title. “Uhm… alright. What is it?”
“You seem unwell. What ails you? I am unfamiliar with anything that might so debilitate a biomancer. At least one of your ability.”
Pandora tilted her head in confusion, and not just at his vocabulary. “Why ask when you can just see for yourself?”
Heinrix’s eyes narrowed, probably in annoyance or anger, but he wasn’t frowning any more than usual, so maybe not? “I would not presume to inspect your person without your permission.”
That seemed like exactly something an Interrogator of the Inquisition should be doing, actually. But maybe it wasn’t a good idea to do that to a Rogue Trader (or someone who would instantly notice what he was up to.)
He continued, “I would think that is the same reason you did not use any of your biomancy on me.”
“Oh, well, I don’t really care if you look. And… honestly, I just thought you wouldn’t want my help? I mean, I’m just from the Guard, and I’m sure you have your own ways of…” Pandora waved a hand vaguely. “...making yourself better at killing people.”
Heinrix let out a soft snort. “Quite. Still, until we arrive at Footfall, I am at your disposal. You do not need to abstain from using your abilities on me, regardless of your prior position. I was also once part of the Astra Militarum. It is not as if the institution breeds incompetence.”
Well, no, of course not. But there was a difference between the Astra Militarum and any one guardsmen. Especially a psyker. She had always been so replaceable that it was a surprise when someone bothered to know her name. Even after her so-called triumph, it’d been her old Commissar, Stelk, who had taken most of the glory (a relief, really, since it saved her from having to speak to strangers. And for the best, seeing as everything had eventually fallen apart because of her.)
“I wouldn’t have thought. Congratulations on the promotion,” she told him.
For a second, she could have sworn that his mouth twitched up in a smile. Then, he said, “Given the circumstances, I believe I should be saying that to you.”
Pandora laughed before she could stop herself, and a cough soon followed. It was a little one, however, and she recovered quickly. “Excuse me, sorry. You have a point, though. Still, I think we’ve gotten off track.”
She walked over to Heinrix. He straightened as she did, squaring his shoulders, and she couldn’t help but notice how large he was. Not just tall, but broad as well. Impressive—and unfair, really. Clearly biomancy couldn’t make up for genetics; she had to be nearly a foot shorter than him.
Pandora didn’t let her get to her, though, as she pulled back one of her sleeves and offered her wrist to him. “Like I said, I don’t mind if you look. It’s faster than me explaining, anyway.”
Heinrix’s eyes narrowed again in that hard to read way. (But then, what about him wasn’t hard to read?) Still, he didn’t really hesitate before reaching down and pressing two gloved fingers against her pulse.
The Rogue Trader’s chambers were dimly lit—for what purpose Heinrix could not discern. However, there was a disconcertingly comfortable quality about it. At least, it had been hard to think otherwise with the Rogue Trader, Pandora, looking so unbothered to be there in the gentle gloom.
It was also the first time he had seen her with her hood lowered. Pale hair shorn close to the skull did little to obscure the implants that snaked around the sides of her head. He had found it curious, as there was nothing unusual about them. He could not determine what she might have wished to conceal, at least given that the hood did nothing at all to obfuscate her adverse condition.
And, even if it had, she seemingly had no issue at all in sharing those details with him, having walked right up to him and offered her arm. Her eyes met his squarely for a moment; her irises glowed just slightly green, a brightness one could mistake for coloring instead of light outside of such dimly lit circumstances as they were now in. It was an affliction endemic to those cursed by the Warp’s influence. There was nothing to note except that they were a counterintuitive spark of life in a face otherwise shadowed by illness.
Her gaze soon flicked away, lowering to the floor, but she didn’t lower her arm. Heinrix pressed a few fingers against the pulse of her wrist, using his power to reach through the interweaving web of her veins and flesh so he might gain a sense of what ailed her. And, in so doing, he soon saw…
Anemia, hypoglycemia, myriad vitamin deficiencies, and sarcopenia—all doubtless caused by extreme malnutrition given her dangerously low amount of body fat. Scars she likely could have healed marked her in a number of places. But perhaps she had not the energy to devote to such vanity, when she had a number of other, half healed injuries lurking beneath her skin. A fracture on her right ulna was still partially filled with granulated tissue rather than an ossified callus, the sagittal band of her left index finger was ruptured, and a piece of metal shrapnel was encased in a granuloma in the gastrocnemius muscle of one of her calves. She also was suffering from several strained muscles, unsurprising with her poor condition and the strenuous activity of the past day.
She was like a hive city with rotted foundations, and the only thing that was preventing a catastrophic collapse was her biomancy. It filled her every cell, standing in for a plethora of life’s building blocks so she could still function. The deficit was far too great to overcome completely, and almost her entire body bore the evidence of that. The only organ that did not was her brain. Its wellbeing had clearly been prioritized, which was only logical. Had she not kept herself clear minded, she would have been killed by her sorcery long before any mundane ailment could have. Even so, one or more was well on the way to doing so.
Still, she stood before him—obviously ill, yes, but just as obviously without effort. Earlier, her displays of sorcery within the monastery had been perfectly competent, but now Heinrix could not help but wonder what her true capabilities were, divorced from having to devote so much of her power to her own survival. Her self-deprecation about being from the Imperial Guard rang even more hollow now than it had originally. Except… Another biomancer … the first I’ve met since leaving Holy Terra. Was she truly just ignorant? If so, was it accidental or engendered, and if the latter, for what purpose?
The observations and questions ran swiftly through his head, but they were soon overtaken by a far more important point. Someone had caused her to become like this, and an enervating suspicion rose in him at once as he reassessed her recent rise to power.
He withdrew his hand, keeping his tone mild as he said, “It is helpful to know this is something from which you can recover with some time. Which, Emperor permitting, you will receive in abundance once our sojourn here is over.”
The Rogue Trader’s eyes returned to him, as did the slight, confused tilt of her head. But after a few moments, she nodded. “Yeah, it’s no big deal, really. I’m… going to get better.” She truly seemed to think her state was of no great consequence. Odd. Almost as odd as the ghost of a smile she wore as she looked at him, for all it soon faded away.
Her gaze dropped once more, a furrow appearing on her brow, her mouth downturned. The appearance of discomfort was writ large, though he was unsure what precisely motivated such a reaction. Did she perhaps question the cost of this opportunity? But why would a possible usurper wallow in guilt at her own success?
“If you might permit me an unrelated question, Rogue Trader. How long ago did Theodora take you aboard as one of her heirs?” he asked, the question far less veiled than he had meant it, fueled by a frustration he could not name.
If the Rogue Trader saw the connection despite his frankly amateur attempt at hiding it, she gave no sign. Instead, her eyes narrowed in obvious thought before she gave a shrug. “You know, I’m not really sure…” Unsurprising, as such deprivation could only have come from an extended period of time, and she likely would have needed to be sealed away in some manner— “Most of a week, maybe…? They’d picked me up from where I was deployed a bit before the voidship entered the Warp and… everything happening,” she finished, grimacing as she said the last few words.
A statement whose veracity was easy to determine. One that positioned Theodora as a savior rather than a perpetrator. Though biting the hand that feeds—literally, in this case—was far from unheard of, the motivation for betrayal Heinrix had thought he had uncovered had now vanished. Instead, it had been replaced by a much more banal reality. A psyker’s health being neglected by the Guard? It was so typical as to be standard procedure. The only thing of note was that Pandora’s deterioration was rather more substantial than any he had witnessed. Though, that was likely only because her sorcery permitted it to be so. That being the case…
“I see. Then, might I offer you some assistance with your recovery? If you would allow it, of course.” Heinrix had thought the offer inoffensive, but he questioned that assumption as the Rogue Trader stiffened. Her expression tightened, but while she was staring at him rather intently, there was no edge to her gaze.
The truth of her feelings soon revealed itself, however, as she pressed a finger to her cheek and let out a, “Huh…” of obvious surprise. “I guess you can, can’t you? It’s been s— Nevermind. Yes. I’d really appreciate it, actually.” Her lips bent in another faint smile.
This time it lasted long enough that Heinrix saw the muscles in her cheeks tremble as if with effort. Odd. The expression reached her eyes and seemed as sincere as any of the other obvious ones she’d made throughout their conversation. But he had little time to ruminate, as Pandora once more held out her arm to him.
Heinrix pressed his fingers to it once more and went to work. It did not take long, as he had already taken thorough stock of her condition. While generating vital amino acids or excising the shrapnel was beyond him, healing her other injuries was not. Soon enough, the fracture on her ulna fully ossified and the rupture on her index finger was repaired. Soothing her strained muscles took even less effort, as did healing her scars. However, he found his efforts stymied when they reached a scar that cut across one side of her face. There was nothing unusual about its makeup; Pandora simply rebuffed his efforts with her own sorcery and pulled her arm away.
“Thank you,” she said as she massaged her finger. Her gaze flicked away to the floor as she continued, “And, uhm, sorry. I…” She appeared to flounder. Heinrix had the thought to smooth past it, but a purely professional curiosity prevented him. “...don’t want to lose that one.”
Obvious, vague, suspicious. The last could never be benign. However, it was not so alarming that he felt the need to investigate at that moment. He filed it away for later, instead.
“As you say, Rogue Trader. My apologies for trying to rid you of it,” he replied.
She just shook her head, seeming to dismiss the apology. “It’s fine. Thank you, again. I feel much better now. It’s been… Well, I’d forgotten what it felt like to be healed by someone else. It’s a nice relief.”
‘Nice’ and ‘relief’ were not the words Heinrix was used to eliciting with the use of his powers. Even those he did heal were rarely so… appreciative. “You are quite welcome, Rogue Trader. But, think nothing of it. As I said, I am at your disposal.”
“If you say so, but if there’s some way I can thank you, just let me know. I... finally have something to offer people, so I wouldn’t mind the chance.” She gestured vaguely around the room, and Heinrix looked as well, taking in the wealth that appointed the walls, obvious even in the dimness.
An itch crawled over his hands, making his fingers twitch. This insinuation of bribery was the first sign of subtlety the Rogue Trader had displayed. But, if she thought she could so blatantly try to ingratiate herself, then— Heinrix’s now-sharpened gaze swept back to her, only to see she was not looking at him. Her attention was instead caught by the empty chair behind the Rogue Trader’s desk. A shadow had been cast across her expression. Sorrow, grief, or shame, Heinrix wasn’t sure. However, he knew very well the look of someone reliving memories.
She did not remain caught up in them for too much longer. But when she turned back to him, she remained somber. “It’s only right, isn’t it?”
The question appeared perfectly genuine. As had everything else Pandora had said. Heinrix was used to passing judgment, and yet in this moment he hesitated. Meanwhile, the itch in his hands traveled upward, settling on his clavicle. He resisted the urge to pull at his collar. Instead, a silence stretched between them for some handful of moments before Heinrix realized he had yet to answer her.
That spurred him to action. But, as he opened his mouth to speak, he was forestalled by the sound of a vox crackling to life from the Rogue Trader’s desk, and he was suddenly aware of just how long he had spent in conversation with Pandora.
“My apologies,” he said, and for once the words were not mere politeness. “I had not meant to keep you for so long when you have many matters and obligations that will not permit delay. I shall leave you to your duties. Thank you for your time, Pandora.”
Her gaze had briefly been pulled to the vox, but she looked back at him as he spoke. Shaking her head, she said, “Don’t worry about it. I’m, uh, pretty sure I should thank you ahead of time for your help instead? With everything else that’s happened, I’m glad the Emperor keeps bringing me capable people like you. I’ll see you later, Heinrix.”
Her lips flicked upwards in one last, faint smile, looking as if she actually awaited their next meeting, and Heinrix gave a bow before making a swift exit. He passed the elevator ride in silence, reflecting on the conversation.
Heinrix had spent decades reading people. To be able to pull information from others was, after all, his main purpose. He was familiar with facades, and her behavior might very well be one. A newly minted Rogue Trader, naive to the proper behavior of someone of their rank. And yet, each time he had thought he had caught her slipping up, she had quickly disabused him of that belief. She was too easy to read for it to be otherwise. That in itself could be suspicious, and Heinrix knew that, ultimately, that which was most revealing about a person was not their words or body language, but their actions.
In regard to that, he already had some knowledge. Pandora had, by all accounts, wasted no time in coming to the aid of Rykad Minoris and seeking him out. She had helped him without complaint within the monastery, and she had also done everything in her power to preserve the life of a mere Tech-Priest. When he had asked to meet with her privately, she had agreed immediately, and at no point during his observations had she used her rank to exert any particular degree of authority.
The truth of the matter was that, on rare occasion, people were simply what they appeared to be. And it was not outside the bounds of possibility that an unprepared heir suddenly entrusted with the mantle Rogue Trader could act as she did. Though, of course, it was too soon to tell. And, anyway, such reasoning did not explain the totality of her behavior toward him.
Was it the Warrant or her sorcery that had caused her to treat him as she had? Speaking of his abilities with understanding and interest instead of fear. Not hesitating to approach him, nor adverse to him using his powers on her. Speaking with only some reticence or uncertainty, seemingly born of mere nervousness rather than terror. Her expressions and words unveiled, her motives obvious. She had smiled, laughed. One could almost delude themselves into thinking she had found his company pleasant.
As that thought came to him, some of what she said suddenly echoed in his head. I haven’t met someone like you for a long time… It was… enjoyable… I’m glad the Emperor keeps bringing me capable people like you… Heinrix.
The itch about his collar had never truly faded, and it found new life suddenly as it rose once again to the back of his neck. Heinrix reached up and pressed his hand against it, feeling a heat through the leather of his glove as if the area was inflamed. He could feel the blood rushing through his capillaries even as he refused to understand the reason for it. One could not have an allergic reaction to words. Yet, the prickling sensation persisted, strengthening as he thought back to his recent conversation.
With time, however, he dismissed it. Instead, he focused on his duty, as always.
It was only some weeks later when he received new orders on Footfall that he had any further realization. He was to remain with Pandora, and when that knowledge made him feel as if a weight had been lifted, well… It was not the first time someone had drawn his eye. It was rare that his duty allowed him the respite of… agreeable company… but he knew very well how to contain such feelings.
Ultimately, he knew this fleeting interest must be of no consequence.