I have, in my admittedly-brief 78 years of life, dwelled on the role of love in the Imperium. For being an emotion, it seems paradoxically logical. Without love, the Imperium would not exist. It is by His love that there is light in the galaxy at all, and it is our love for Him that carries us to our duties. On a less theological scale, without love, there would not be men and women to serve in the Imperium—unless you wanted to pursue the depravity of Vostroya’s vile heresy, that is. And yet love is repressed far and wide throughout every regimental institution of the Astra Militarum, Inquisition included.

This repression, as I have understood it, is unsuccessful. I have heard of love within the Inquisition itself on multiple occasions. I have heard of love even within the Mechanicus, insofar as they allow themselves the capacity for emotion. And I had loved the 8th. I assume love must have its limits. It must, as if not tempered it could turn to lust, and that beckons a path with emergent, deadly, heretical outcomes. And through such reasoning, I assume love of another cannot exceed one’s devotion to the Throne. That, I reckon, must be the limit, that anything within such bounds is within reason, and to feel anything beyond is to consort with heresy.

The great tragedy of the Arch-Traitor is that his Father still loved him, even in the end. An end, brought to bear by the Father. For it is He that is the limit, and the Arch-Traitor succumbed to the curious temptations beyond.

***

There was darkness. And the darkness presented a first for me in a long while: an unending quietude. I was at peace, without the torment of the Warp in my head. If I was alive it must have still been there, just merely at bay. I liked it.

This quiet darkness lasted for an eternity.

And then I heard a voice.

I could not make out whose it was, or what they were saying. The sound was muffled to complete obfuscation. But it was a voice, and it was saying something—the cadence of the sound was unmistakably communicative. Whoever they were, they carried on for a time. And then they stopped. I did not need to hear the words themselves to understand what was said last, as I had heard them often enough to recognize them by tempo alone. “Goodnight, Cal.” Even understanding the message, I could not recognize the sender. The quiet darkness returned.

It lasted for far more than a single night should have. If I had heard a member of my crew wish me goodnight, they would have slept, awoken, and gone about a day, and I was none the wiser. I was again in damaged isolation. But even that ended, and when it did, I heard the voices, plural, again. The voices in my head. The Warp was there, but it was not speaking to me. Instead, people were speaking through it, unknowingly, and I was receiving. I was feeling their thoughts. I felt Silas. He was anxious, uncomfortable, feeling powerless. I had been in his state before, to have been a man of great capability and then placed in a position in which you cannot do anything to help. I was in that state at the time. I felt Penitent. She was wracked with guilt, and praying to the Throne for forgiveness, but there was a glimmer of hope in her—the hope that I would yet live and she could atone for having, as she believed, failed me. I felt Okustin. He was angry, enraged, and had nowhere to direct his fury. So it fell inward upon himself. He knew it, and he knew to temper his wrath to hone it into something useful. But he felt despair, because, like Silas, he could not see a use for wrath in his current situation.

I felt Zha. She was mortified and despaired. I understood. As different as we were, she and I had endured similar fates in having lost everyone we once cared about, she on Thantalus. She had not reconciled with that loss. And now she thought she was losing me. I felt Castecael. She, too, felt powerless. There was nothing more for her to do but wait and pray. But a medicae—a good one—always wanted to do more. There was no more. I felt Czevia. She felt claustrophobic and torn. I got the sense we were no longer in Abseradon, as she felt uncomfortable about her environment. Horrid scent aside, the Hive City would have reminded her of home. And now she was without that reminder, taken from it due to my injuries. I felt Xavier. He was meditative. There was an anger in him, but it was controlled. He, like me, had been trained to handle his emotions. But I felt his desire to be angrier than he was, and the shame that he was not.

I could not feel Luther Vaigg.

I could feel, however, Mirena. In more ways than one. As numbness slowly ebbed from my body and physicality returned, I had managed to garner an understanding of my state of being. That involved a difficulty breathing, and in my thought-scans, I understood why: Mirena was laying atop me, clinging to me like a child would its mother. And I heard her twice; I heard her thoughts, and her voice, and they were identical, if slightly desynchronized, as she was speaking to me. “—sparred with Hans today. Again. He and I don’t really get along, so I enjoy fighting him. I landed a few good ones on him today, which was satisfying. But I think he appreciates the opportunity to let some of his anger out too. It’s probably good for both of us. Silas doesn’t approve, but he doesn’t try to stop us either. He’s…I’ve never known him to be so weak. Not that I think he is weak, because I don’t, in fact I think he’s a man of incredible character. But without you, he seems a little lost. I think we all are.”

“Mirena,” I called to her.

“Let’s see, Penitent has been doing her own thing, on her knees, head down. You know, you’ve seen it. She hasn’t spoken much beyond her prayers. Zha has been trying to keep busy. I think she’s working on a star chart…no, that isn’t right. She’s looking at the sky. Maybe tracking the coming and going of starships? I don’t know. I don’t want to disturb her. Cast has been…fine. You know her, she always wants to help, and we all need it. I’ve been trying to keep her settled, grounded. She tries not to look worried, because she doesn’t want to worry everyone else. But she is. And we are.”

“Mirena,” I called again, louder this time. With more focus and intent. I could see the entire spectrum of her thoughts, but I had not penetrated into her head to an extent in which I could insert my own.

“Cal?” she asked softly, startled. Or maybe I had managed to reach her. She looked over the motionless man she was resting upon, and found that I had not moved. “Cal?” she asked again, louder, still searching me over for the slightest hint of life. “Castecael!” Mirena shouted, and sat up on my gut, placing her hands on my shoulders, then off my body entirely.

Another’s thought-words entered the room, and I again heard them in parallel with her speaking. “Mirena? What is it? Is he alright?” Castecael asked, immediately taking to assessing my condition. I could feel her cradling my head in her hands. Eventually, she opened my eyes and shone a light in them. For the first time in eons, there was light, and it was blinding. It was beautiful. By then, a great many thoughts began to crowd around me. “He’s conscious, but only barely responsive,” Castecael told everyone.

“Gradshi,” Silas half-barked half-requested with as much eager politeness as he could muster. “Can you communicate with him?”

“I can try better than that, sir. If you’re in there, Mr. Blackgar, I am going to take your hand,” Xavier told me. If he did so, I did not feel it. “You are a welcome guest in my mind. But I will need to enter yours first, establish a connection, provide you with my strength. You understand. I will let you speak through me, if you will it.” A moment later, my universe exploded with electric warmth. I felt my body stretch and shake as Xavier’s tremendous power flooded into me, he giving himself unto me, for me. I could feel as he felt. He carried my mind along the conduit of his spirit, and revealed to me the heart of his being. It is an indescribable thing, thinking within another’s mind. It is yet more unknowable to be there with control. I had heard there was an Inquisitor in Scarus that could do this to his Agents over great distances; I could not fathom that sort of power.

Xavier made a low droning noise for a few moments as he showed me the means with which to speak again. Then, the droning was given form, and that form grew to grammar and attenuation. “Hhhhoooowwww,” Xavier spoke, but it was really me doing the talking.

“It’s been a few weeks, sir, don’t think about it,” Silas replied, putting a hand on my shoulder and squeezing at it intensely. I felt as though he was going to rip it off, but to be within the safety of his hands was welcome.

“Nooo,” I replied, starting to better grasp Xavier’s form. “How…is…Luther?”

That seemed to break the crowd around me. Mirena cupped her hands over her mouth, laughing and crying. Silas and Okustin did their best to repress their own tears, and failed. “Luther is alive, Cal,” Castecael replied, short on breath. I believe I released a tear of my own, then. “He’s…he is in a coma. But he is alive, and expected to recover. He…should I tell him?”

“No,” Silas shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Yes,” I demanded, which made Mirena laugh a bit more, still crying.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“He landed on the Bird, sir, after asking for its assistance. The fall was shorter for it, which probably saved his life,” Castecael explained. “But the impact…has paralyzed him. Waist down. I can fix that paralysis, treat it over time. He may not be the soldier he was, but I can put him on his feet again. The procedure would be invasive, though, and I wasn’t sure if I should wait for him to awaken just to put him under for an operation or to do it now without his consent.”

“Wait…for…him,” I ordered.

“I will, sir,” Castecael nodded.

“Where…are…we?”

“Immediate vicinity? We’re on the Bird, sir,” Okustin confirmed. “But we’re no longer in Abseradon. Still on Hestia Majoris, but we fled the city. One continent and all, the city is still in view and we’re all a bit uncomfortable still seeing it. But this seemed like the most secure location—an old temple to Holy Terra, many millennia of age, abandoned. Collapsed ceiling, if we need to leave. Pretty mossy here, frankly—Hestia Majoris being as bio-rich as it is. I’ll give you the tour soon, sir,” Okustin assured me, smiling.

“Ms.…Trantos,” I called.

“Present, Mr. Blackgar, and overjoyed,” she replied.

“Where…Penitent…found…me. The…structure. Demolished?” I asked her.

“Yes, Mr. Blackgar,” she confirmed.

“How…long…would…it…take…a…crew…to…get…a…body…count?” I asked.

“By my estimates, Mr. Blackgar, accounting for observed Abseradon bureaucracy and the extent of the radial, collateral damage, approximately sixty-six days,” she answered.

“You…all…have…until…then…before…they…know…I’m…alive,” I told the group. “They…will…be…angry, but…they…are…smart. They…will…not…make…another…mistake,” I warned them.

“Who are they, sir?” Silas asked, a flame on his voice.

“No.”

“No?”

I paused, and took a moment to gather my strength for my response. I felt I was getting a better handle on communicating in this manner. “You cannot look for them. Prying eyes are targets. They will see you. Abseradon is theirs. Governor Merek is theirs. But we are not without allies. Their reach is landlocked, for now. Ours reaches to the sky. Establish contact with Battlefleet Ixaniad. They have ships stationed above Hestia Majoris. I will want their services when I am more able. Everyone, I am sorry for leaving as I did. But I have seen the enemy. And I will visit our wrath upon them. They are not as fortunate as I am; they do not have you. They will not survive us. There is one thing you all can do.”

Okustin nodded. “Name it.”

“Look upon what is plainly visible. Do not dig, but see the surface of the city. There is a rogue trader that eluded my earlier search. He is Vostroyan. If you find him, you find them. I believe he is their logistics operative. He is central to their plans. But I caution you, again, do not pry. Do not search. See only what is shown,” I explained.

“Understood, sir. We’ll keep our heads down,” Silas assured me.

“Xavier, thank you for your help. Let me rest. I want a word with Mirena. In private,” I told the group. “I’ll manage with the strength I have for that.”

“Of course, sir,” Okustin replied as Xavier let me slip back into my body. I thanked him again as I left. Many hands came and went from me, then, but soon enough the many thought-voices left, all feeling more positive than they had expected for themselves.

+Mirena,+ I called to her, she still sitting on my gut. Even having been a bit empowered by Xavier, my ability to send thoughts into people’s minds remained limited. Mirena’s word choice, spoken in her mind as a thought about my psyker-voice, was ‘quiet.’

“Going to reprimand me for sitting and sleeping on you these past few days?” she asked, laughing. “I don’t care.” I could not move, but I did smile. My mind did, rather. She was a fun, eccentric woman. Was from the day I met her. “Cal?” she asked, and I realized I had not replied. I was thinking about her, and not thinking to her.

+I love you too,+ I told her then, replying to what was likely a prayer said to me many days—or even weeks—ago.

Her thoughts scrambled. I do not believe she was expecting that response, and certainly not the ‘too’ part of it. She paused for a moment, trying to figure out how to respond herself, and ultimately chose to collapse back upon me, embracing me in another breath-impairing hug. She nestled her head between my own and my right shoulder, and I believe she kissed the lower part of my cheek, though it was soft enough and I was numb enough that I could only barely tell. Confusion ran rampant in her mind, uncertainty about how to reply. Thoughts about Castecael kept surfacing in her head, too.

+I know,+ I messaged her.

“You know what?” she laughed. “It should have been my turn to respond.”

+You were taking too long,+ I teased her. +I know you love Castecael too.+

“She…yes. She knows I have feelings for you. She doesn’t mind me spending my nights with you, like this. Which I have been, by the way. She was a little worried it’d slow or impair your recovery, but there weren’t any apparent effects. She…I love her more than you, Cal. She knows that, trusts it. But I do love you. You’re invaluable to me, as she is,” Mirena explained.

+Then we are in the same ship,+ I told her, and meant to explain, but she cracked the obvious joke.

“She’s mine, Cal, hands off,” she replied, referring to Castecael, and laughed to herself.

+I didn’t mean her,+ I clarified, which I think she knew. +I’m in love with Penitent.+ Much easier to admit something in your thoughts than to speak it aloud.

Mirena was surprised by that, somehow. I do not know who she thought I may have loved if not Penitent. (Or Castecael) Perhaps Zha or Okustin, for their inquisitiveness? Or Silas, for our comradery? “Oh,” Mirena managed to reply, slightly taken aback, but did not release me from her lung-crushing grasp.

+It is a doomed feeling. She owes herself to her oaths and I will not distract her from them, nor come between them. But yes, I am infatuated with her devotion, her valor, her compassion, and her serenity. And she is the first person I’ve ever seen to rival your beauty,+ I explained to her. +Which is what I wanted to discuss.+

“Oh I’m happy to talk about how gorgeous I am, Cal, lay it on me,” she laughed.

+I lied to you.+

“OK, not where I thought this was going,” she admitted. “When? About what?”

+When we met. You were exercising, and barely clothed. You were a stunning sight, and you knew it. You knew the implications of it. And I lied and said I only cared about your fighting ability, but I have wanted you from the moment I laid eyes on you. And I have hated myself for it. You are impossibly beautiful, Mirena Law, and I have grown to love you as my closest friend. Closer, even, than Thaddeus. But our relationship, your service to me, it was founded on an intentional lie, one that abused and betrayed your victimhood. And having been so close to death, I cannot keep that from you any longer,+ I explained to her.

Her response, then, was the last thing I had anticipated. She pulled herself in front of me and planted her lips to mine, holding my head in her hands for what felt like an eternity. When she did lift herself off me, she smiled and laughed, admitting, “You know, you’re kind of a bad kisser when you’re just a thinking corpse.”

+Frig off, Mirena,+ I replied.

“I’ll want another one when you’re up and about. Gotta know, right?” she smiled. “Callant Blackgar,” she started, and it hit me that that was the first time in my life that she had said my full name. I had always been Cal to her. “You are not the man I tried to kill. You are not those men. You could not be further from them. You think Castecael looks at me and doesn’t think about what she’s getting? You think I look at her and don’t think she’s a star? You think I look at you and…don’t curse the multitude of years we’ve been together, but apart? Clean that voidshit out of your head, Cal. It’s making you uncharacteristically dumb,” she suggested. “You saw me in that cell and saw the frigging beauty that I am,” she giggled. “I saw you outside my cell and saw some asshole who thought they were better than everyone else.”

+A stiff,+ I corrected her.

“Yeah, that,” she laughed. “If anyone should be apologizing, Cal, it’s me, for being so frigging wrong about my initial assumption about you, when you only made observations about me. That’s what they train you for, right? Observe, assess, but not to assume. That’s why you’re you and I’m…the ex-inmate with a great ass and the best pilot in all the galaxy.”

+That’s a step up from the Cadia thing,+ I noted.

“You’ve given me some opportunities for me to stroke the ego,” she replied. “Cal, you and I,” she started, and then released a single breath of a laugh. “We work. We work really well, I think. There have been some nights—many, actually—where I have wondered…about you. About you and me. Whether I’m with you as a colleague, or a partner, or anything else, I will love you for the rest of my life. And I imagine I will continue to long for you, too. Maybe…maybe maybe maybe.”

+Maybe you and I could be a pair,+ I understood.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Maybe. But we aren’t. We’re just…what we are.”

+Yeah,+ I agreed. +How long are you going to be sleeping on me for, by the way?+

“I don’t know, I might start taking up residence up here, if you take too long,” she giggled. “In the beginning, when I first did so, I told myself I’d hug you until you hugged me back. Doesn’t seem so far now. And I wouldn’t feel right, knowing you’re in there, alone, and leaving you all by yourself. So I think you might be stuck with me, until you can get rid of me.”

+Well at least you’re not as sweaty as you were in your cell,+ I replied.

“That can change,” she smiled. “Hey, um, I really don’t want to kill the mood—`cause I am enjoying this heart-to-heart—but, Cal, can you see me? In your head?”

+Yes.+ I could, in vivid detail. Unlike in her cell over Abraxis-7, she was fully clothed in a pitch-black bodyglove—her usual flight attire, suitable for responding to emergencies mid-operation—save for her neck and face, which were still as glistening bronze as ever. And her silver eyes remained piercingly confident. Her hair had been buzzed down, relative to her Abraxian cell, though that was not a requirement I imposed upon her. She disliked having long hair.

“Can you see you?”

+I haven’t tried.+

“OK, before you try, um, shit. Should’ve brought this up while Castecael was here, but there’s something you need to know, Cal,” she started, stress mounting inside her.

“I lost my left arm,” I replied. She was surprised, but only for a moment, and her stress proceeded to simmer down. She nodded solemnly. +I figured that would happen. I saw the wound. I certainly felt the wound. I don’t feel it anymore.+

“It was horribly infected. Castecael didn’t have a choice; she had to remove it before the infection spread through your body. You do have a replacement arm, though—Castecael affixed an augmetic for you. Do you feel that?”

+Not yet. I trust I will, in time. Thank her for me when next you see her,+ I told her.

“Of course. Your replacement, according to her, is not the best—she recommended you get something more state-of-the-art when we’re done with Abseradon. But it won’t septic, and it should be capable of everything your first arm was,” Mirena explained.

+Well if nothing else, maybe those AdMechs will be a little more receptive to me in the future,+ I suggested.

“Right,” she laughed.

+You’re tired, Mirena. You should sleep.+

“I kinda don’t want to. Would rather keep talking to you,” she replied, and then leaned in and kissed my cheek again. “You are warmer than you have been. I suppose that makes sense.”

+It’s up to you. But I really think you should rest. I’m not going anywhere.+

“Damn right you’re not,” she said. “I won’t let you.”