by Neil
‘Are you sure you don’t want to go with him?’ Shivania asked, clearly aware of what Graian was looking for. ‘I don’t mind. I’ll be quite happy sitting here alone. Really.’
‘No!’ Solonaetz insisted, firmly tucking the girl’s hand through his elbow. ‘Come along. This looks an interesting place. Glazed fowl hanging everywhere! Take a sniff!’
Shivania laughed delightedly and they went inside.
‘I WISH I could see you,’ Shivania said wistfully as they sat drinking a dessert beverage after the meal. ‘I mean, really see you. Your aura is handsome, navigator, and yet…’ She shrugged. ‘Silly of me. It must be the effect of this little lady here!’ She touched the bloom in her robes. ‘I suppose I must be ugly to you, blind as a cave bat as I am!’
‘Shivania, stop that,’ Solonaetz said. ‘You are a very pretty girl, as you well know, and I am a rather haggard spectre of a man. Drink your dessert!’
‘You haven’t seen me without this,’ she said mournfully, indicating her mask.
‘So show me then!’
‘You won’t scream?’
Solonaetz laughed. She was joking, of course. ‘Only behind my hand. I’m not squeamish, Shivania, really.’
Impulsively, she reached up and untied the strings of her mask, lowering it swiftly, with an air of challenge. Her eyelids drooped over blind milky orbs sunk deep into her skull, as if shrunken. Thin, almost pencil-drawn, brows shadowed the sockets. It was not gruesome, however, which Solonaetz knew the girl must be aware of. A test then? Was she inviting a physical response from him?
‘Disgusting,’ he said, with a laugh. ‘Dress yourself at once!’
She smiled and replaced the mask. ‘I could ask you to remove yours, navigator, but there’d be little point. Doesn’t it itch having to keep the eye under a band all the time?’
‘Not at all.’
‘Would you be able to see into the warp now, from here, if you removed it and opened the eye?’
‘What I would see is the otherworld of our reality. In a place like this, it might be educational, but rather upsetting, I feel.’
‘Strange. I wouldn’t have thought you’d be so squeamish.’
‘I’m not, just careful. So, tell me, what was your interest in coming down here? You intended to accompany Fiddeus to his client all along, of course.’
‘Your warp sight lends you a sharp perception, navigator,’ Shivania replied. She was enjoying herself immensely, he could see. She sipped her drink daintily. ‘Lacrymata is a legend. I was curious. Also, if the fables surrounding it are true, it possesses innumerable properties which haven’t even been guessed at yet.’
‘Really. And which of these legends concerns you?’
Shivania laughed. ‘You sound like an inquisitor, navigator. Aren’t I allowed a girlish curiosity?’
‘Allowed it, certainly, but I doubt that is your motivation.’
She shrugged. ‘The interest was casual, really. It was only a rumour. I heard the lacrymata stimulates psychic sight – far beyond what a humble astropath can imagine,’ She shrugged again, jerkily. ‘However, I’ve smelled the stuff now, and my inner sight has not improved significantly.’
‘I should hope not!’ Solonaetz exclaimed. ‘Whatever properties the perfume has, it is also very dangerous, and possibly attractive to hostile forces.’
‘And that, dear navigator, is probably just as much a fable as any other connected with the lacrymata. Palama has to sell the stuff, doesn’t he? It was all just talk.’
Solonaetz remembered the effect the lacrymata flowers had had on him and suppressed a shudder. He did not share Shivania’s apparent scepticism.
‘Anyway, I’m bored with the subject,’ she said. ‘I’m more interested in you. How old are your injuries?’
‘What?!’
Shivania smiled slyly. ‘Oh come now, navigator, you should know I see more than others, lacrymata or not. Your aura has scars. How did you get them, and where?’
Solonaetz was impressed. ‘It happened what seems a long time ago, and my name is Solonaetz – remember?’
She shrugged. ‘Well?’
By the time he’d finished pouring out his life history to the girl, they had scant minutes to return to the rendezvous point with the others from the Brava. Solonaetz felt as giddy as an excited boy as they hurried through the streets; purged and renewed.
He’d been waiting for someone with whom he could exorcise the past to come into his life, someone free from the drippings of cloying pity. Whoever would have thought this young, quirky girl would be the one? So much for the pleasure-vaults of Assyrion. Solonaetz had no doubt that what he’d experienced by simply talking in the dim-lit cafe far superseded any delights of the flesh Graian and the others had experienced.
OF COURSE, SHE came tapping on his cabin door while he lay restless in his sleep cell, weary to the bone, yet unable to rest. Of course, she came with words of reassurance. ‘Rest easy, Solonaetz. I ask no more than this of you.’ Of course, it was a lie. And she, lithe avatar of release, cast a shawl of tawny hair across his breast and stroked his brow, saying, ‘Look upon me, navigator, with the eye that sees my soul!’ She removed his bandana and kissed the closed lid, bringing a fragrant memory of the lacrymata to his throat. She was so beautiful and skilled with such dark voluptuousness that, in the midst of their love-making, he did open his eye.
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.
AFTERWARDS, 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, f
litting 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.
GRAIAN FIDDEUS 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!’
IT 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.
WITH 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.
SOLONAETZ 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.
THE 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 co
nsulted 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!’