Author's NoteShow
Huzzah, Arioch has blessed us with a new page today! Alex gets punched in the face by a hardtroop!
One might think that after meeting the God-Emperor Himself, nothing ever could possibly overawe him again.
One might be wrong.
The ship’s armsman who had met them at the boarding ramp silently led Alex and the three loroi through the vessel’s corridors.
And at every intersection, Alex’s head snapped back-and-forth to peer down each side-branch. Hoping for a glimpse. Just a glimpse of one of the titans of battle whose vessel this voidship was.
An Angel of Death.
One of the Emperor’s own Astartes.
Yes, the Emperor's beneficent aid to Humanity was ever-present and all-pervasive... but the rather more direct aid of his grandsons was rather more 'spectacular.' At least, that was what the oft-shared stories between Alex's family members had told of; wide-eyed cousins repeating how their friend had an uncle who had once seen with his own eyes a storm of descending drop-pods just when things looked hopeless.
It had not only been the crossing of the boarding ramp several thousand feet high above the hangar floor that had caused Alex’s lightheadedness. The view down from the docking spire had been vertigo-inducing, yes, but it meant that the four of them entered the vast Astartes voidship directly into the command section, near the bridge.
Surely at least one of the fabled, near-mythical warriors would be seen while he was being led to their new accommodations?
But no, only yet more twisting, arching passageways disappearing off into the vast interior of the ancient warship. Occasionally, further armsmen could be seen, silently standing post and watching the four of them walk past.
Quite possibly to keep the rest of the vast crew that must man the voidship from encountering the loroi. The God-Emperor Himself may have declared the blue-skinned abhumans — it would be a calm day in the Warp before Alex would admit that calling humans ‘ab-loroi’ was technically more accurate — to be acceptable in His eyes, but any Imperial, especially a psyker like Alex, knew that there were still limits even to the most Holy authority. That even those who genuinely thought that they yet followed His commands and remained in His light may stray from His intentions.
{That would be most unwise of them.} Fireblade sent, from where she strode at his side. {If these low-rank warriors were to perceive us as hostile.}
{You are so confident in your ability to fight them?} he asked, although by now he knew the red-haired teidar more than well enough to know how justified her self-confidence was.
{I do not think that I would have to.} With a flick of her head, she indicated behind them.
Alex glanced back over his shoulder.
And blinked. {Perhaps you are correct.}
{I usually am.} it was not an idle boast.
And she was right — the towering Custodian walking silently behind Beryl and Tempo would have halted any confrontation well before it began. Either by assuring any suspicious armsmen that the three of them were already under heavy guard, or simply by conveying the absolute impossibility of any of the Emperor’s commands being violated in the direct presence of one of His chosen guards.
Although that last part was what made it so strange. Custodes were the Emperor's guards, and remained on Terra! {He... must have a reason to meet with the commanders of this vessel before we depart.} Alex told himself as much as Fireblade. {Custodes do not leave Holy Terra, have not done so in ten-thousand years!}
He felt the now-familiar impression of warm water trickling down the inside of his skull, flowing in rivulets over the ridges and bumps of his gray matter.
Fireblade rooting through his mind.
A far sight better than the agonizing electric shocks of their early contacts, but still a sensation which would have been deeply unpleasant if not for his mirroring ability to feel exactly what she was searching for.
Pushing the sheer majesty and mystery surrounding even one of the golden-armored giants to the forefront of his thoughts, he silently let his certainty of the improbability of such an off-world deployment reinforce his earlier sending.
{I see.} Fireblade replied, withdrawing. {That seems to be a most inefficient use of such elite warriors.}
{It is said that they have greater duties within the Imperial Palace, a purpose more important than any that could call them away from their immortal Master.} He shrugged. {Although I cannot imagine what such might—}
An electric shock rebounded between both of them, as two minds came to the same realization at once.
{The entrance from the Webway.} Alex sent.
{The ‘Deep Gate’.} Fireblade agreed immediately. {And the daemon which we fought, very near to the Gate that led us into your emperor’s palace.}
Alex’s blood ran cold at the thought of such an abominable creature getting so close to the beating heart of humanity. {Then— yes, of course.} his thoughts stumbled over themselves briefly before he recovered. {Of course the Emperor would have known all along, and kept his most-elite soldiers close to safeguard Holy Terra itself against the Great Enemy’s predations.}
Their group marched through an armored blast door, and then ascended a long flight of stairs. Fireblade was evidently too distracted with her thoughts to comment on it. {Which leads to the question of how long he had known of its presence, and why he had not simply closed the gate.}
{Unless it cannot be closed.} Alex mused. {On Tallarn, the Cursus of Alganar was thought to have activated as soon as it was fully uncovered, but what it if had been ‘open’ the entire time, while the daemons beyond simply waited for the most-opportune moment to strike? And if the God-Emperor Himself has not been able to ‘close’ the Gate that must be somewhere within the Imperial Palace, then it simply cannot be done.}
{But what of Deinar?} Fireblade asked, her earlier concern for her adopted homeworld redoubling at this latest thought. {That Gate has been built into Stone Watcher citadel since long before written records can describe. And yet we have no legends or stories that quite match these daemons, or even any idea that the citadel hid such an entrance.}
He nodded thoughtfully, but felt a slight tingle to her thoughts. Pressed back on her mind, and received a faint echo of a quickly-dismissed notion. {What is a ‘melor’?} he asked.
{A creature of long-past legend.} the loroi replied. {A revenant, a creature kept alive after death.}
{That… there are some effects of Chaos that can lead to such a horror.} he shuddered, memories trailing back to that battle observed from aboard Tempest. Of the Daemon calling out from the Hierarchy warship, and the feeling of its mind reaching out to embrace his.
Fireblade’s shoulder knocked gently against his, in what could have been mistaken for a slight misstep on the stairs by anyone who was not familiar with the teidar’s well-honed balance. {They are but stories, so far-gone in time that none yet believe them to be true.}
{That which is not forgotten may eternally lie in wait within the Immaterium, only to emerge when the time is right.} That was one of the many, many difficulties in having a human wrap their mind around the dangers of the Warp. Just because something was ‘gone’ or ‘dead’ meant little to the foul denizens of that blighted place.
{They are almost forgotten, then. Stories told only by young children to their more-credulous peers, to scare one another for amusement as their creche’s sleeping-hour approaches.}
He snorted, his mind’s eye conjuring up an image of a half-dozen miniature Fireblades with child-like proportions, scurrying to hide under the comforting weight of the blankets set neatly on a row of dormitory beds.
Unexpectedly, Fireblade stiffened at his side. A bolt of grim emotions — fury, fear, sadness, loss — lanced into his mind, and this time he did miss a step.
{My own childhood was… different.} she sent as he recovered.
The group reached another internal airlock at the top of the long stairway, and Alex took advantage of the brief pause while the heavy ceramite doors clanked aside to search Fireblade’s eyes with his own.
Her emerald gaze stayed locked straight-ahead, staring into the distance well beyond the internal sight-lines of the ship.
Ah.
A brief wave of shame lapped at him. When he had first heard of the loroi’s ‘bloody’ twenty-five year war with the Hierarchy, he had scoffed at it. There were individual battles in the Imperium’s past that had lasted longer, and doubtlessly claimed far more lives.
But twenty-five years was still more than long enough to scar whole generations of soldiers. Even more for the loroi than for humans, perhaps, given their shorter childhoods.
And he had seen the distant gazes of enough House armsmen, had known enough cousins who had returned from years of service in the Desert Raiders with their body unharmed but their mind shattered. The suddenly-raised voices without a moment's notice... and the chairs they insisted be kept empty and available at their side during Family gatherings, held ready for comrades who had long ago taken their final seats at the Emperor’s own side.
He knew that look.
{I apologize for bringing up such memories.} he sent immediately, somberly.
A flood of emotions answered him, ones which he chose not to examine too closely. That was as much as he — or Fireblade — could do for the other's privacy, given their mental link.
Then, after the flow had slowed to a trickle, Fireblade sent {You need not apologize. A warrior should hold herself under tighter control.}
He frowned at the pointless self-recrimination in her thoughts. {And even the best ‘warrior’ is still only human.} A pause. {Or loroi, as the case may be.} As they walked down yet another long, empty corridor, he turned to look at her. Emerald eyes finally turned away from looking into infinity, and held his gaze for a few moments.
Which left him wracking his mind for what to say next. For Throne’s sake, he was an emissary and negotiator, not a priest or a psy-medicus! Although... he had overheard some parts of conversations between uniformed uncles or aunts and their children returning from service. How had those battle-hardened elders phrased their advice? {You are not a machine. Harsh memories will affect even the most-disciplined of veterans; do not be ashamed of their impact upon you.}
That was the point after which he had always carefully tuned out the rest of those ultra-private discussions, granting what privacy he could to shell-shocked cousins.
Although perhaps knowing a bit more of what further advice his elders had divulged then would have been useful now. It tore at him to feel Fireblade hurting in this way, for reasons which he was slowly growing to accept.
{That is… interesting advice. Perhaps wise for a people who lack sanzai, but a teidar cannot allow her emotions — however justified — to bleed over that way. The disruptions and damages that such a breach of loss could inflict upon her fellow warriors go well beyond merely a disturbed sleep period.}
Ah.
Right.
The nightmares, the ones that Fireblade sometimes ‘broadcast’ in her sleep. The reason that she had quickly explained all those days ago, when he had awoken in the middle of the night to find his hand carefully clasped in hers.
Back to the present, her counter-points did hold... for the loroi. So what could he do?
When in doubt, be direct. {Can I help?}
{I will be fine.} she shot down his answer.
{Look,} he sent with a small amount of irritation at her insistent mental tone, {what do you loroi usually do for a soldier whose mind needs rest even more than her body? Surely you have healers of the mind, or whatever your equivalent of priests may be.}
{A warrior whose combat fatigue has gotten the best of her is, circumstances and commanding officer permitting, rotated to a rear planetary posting. If possible, along with several other warriors of her group rather than alone. If one warrior has already overwhelmed, after all, it seems likely that others who have faced similar trials may be near the breaking point themselves.}
He nodded. That made sense, although the Imperium rarely had the luxury of easily moving soldiers between postings quite that simply. {You have Tempo and Beryl, yes? And — thank the Emperor — there has been no combat since you arrived on Holy Terra.}
She gave another of those peculiar ‘mind-smiles,’ where he could feel a mental glow from the fond smile which wanted to break out across her face, but the rigid discipline of her mind kept her expression frozen instead. {They are a great boon, yes, but they have been under as much pressure as I have been, these past several days. Combat or no, it has been hardly less stressful to come to grips with this strange new environment of your Imperium. Tempo in particular, given the complex and developing political situation, has been missing out on rest cycles that I know she will sorely miss.}
The teidar shook her head minutely, thick red hair jostling in her wake. {I would not place the burden of a mere temporary lack of discipline on my part upon them.}
{Fine.} His fingers tapped with mild irritation against the toughened leather of his coat. {Then what does your Union do for distressed soldiers who choose not to let their comrades aid them? Who insist against all evidence that they have things under control?} He knew well enough what the Imperial equivalent was. Armsmen who went off the deep end in the field or while the ship was at action stations, who resisted all attempts to calm them down. At best, they were tranquilized and shuffled back to a medical station.
At worst… well, Commissars existed for a reason.
{That… is the duty of the Nedatan.}
‘Philosophers.’ he rolled the thought around in his mind, shrugging. {That seems helpful enough. They provide counseling and guidance? Help you work through harsh memories and thoughts?} Perhaps equivalent to some of the non-martial Sororitas branches, then.
{Among… ‘other’ services, yes.} Fireblade glanced aside, eyes flashing.
He frowned, pressing in upon her mind for context.
And received it.
Ah.
{That’s one way to relax, I guess.} Perhaps among the oldest ones for any species, come to think of it. And any man his age had heard certain bawdy tales told about the Sororitas… although he was mostly sure that those were only stories. {I’m afraid we don’t have any of these ‘Nedatan’ around now, though.}
Interestingly, Fireblade’s face paled at his jibe. {Most fortunate, that. This is no place for a male.}
Alex was about to object that he was a ‘male’ — and proud of it — when he paused. An excellent opportunity to get a bit of lighthearted revenge on Fireblade for some of her irreverent teasing over the last few days had just appeared.
{Then perhaps,} he began, carefully keeping his mental tone as innocent as possible, {I can provide these ‘Nedatan’ services?}
Fireblade’s head whipped around to stare at him.
A laugh almost fought itself free from her lips, charging forwards valiantly only to be halted just as it neared freedom. The only sign of its valiant efforts was the teidar’s chest heaving once.
{You—!} she began, before her thoughts dissolved into mental laughter all the stronger for its lack of any external evidence.
He grinned back at her.
And carefully concealed his satisfaction at having jolted her from her earlier grim thoughts, even for a minute.
He was pretty sure he’d already accomplished the important part of a ‘Nedatan’s work.
///////
The human guide had led them to a berthing compartment, clearly a private one. Even if it were far smaller than the literally palatial apartments on their homeworld below, this new space would be more than sufficient for the four of them.
With a quick explanation — overheard through Alex’s mind — that their hosts were still preparing for departure and would see them in the morning, both the guide and the ever-present Custodian had departed.
Leaving the four of them now with little to do.
Tiredness burned at the corners of her eyes, and if even a loroi was tired then it was a mystery how Alex was still awake. Perhaps the promise of meeting these ‘Adeptus Astartes’ elite warriors of his people tomorrow energized him more than it did Fireblade. His rapid description of them as their small party had walked for over an hour to board the colossal warship had seemed awed enough, after all.
Speaking of the human, Alex was currently walking along the far wall of the compartment, pulling open several drawers in succession before immediately closing them once more.
{?} she sent, stifling a yawn.
Amidst a faint glow of embarrassment, he explained {I... may have forgotten to ask the ship’s armsman there just where exactly this suite’s food stocks may be.} He paused. {If, of course, Astartes voidships even have individual food stores for resting compartments. It is surprise enough to find that they have what are clearly senior guest quarters more fitting of a nobleman than of a monastic warrior, but—}
While he peered into the latest open closet door — which revealed only a torso-sized golden figurine of their emperor that looked nothing like the half-corpse actually on the throne, surrounded by unlit candles — she padded up next to him. One hand dipping to the charge-pack pocket at her right thigh.
And carefully suppressing her intent, of course.
Her reward was that Alex fairly jumped when she tapped his shoulder with the human food-packet that she had taken from the earlier apartment.
{You…?} he asked, confusedly accepting her gift.
This time, she let a thin grin emerge onto her face. Lips parting just enough to reveal teeth. {Don’t eat all of it, ‘Nedatan.’ You may need the rest to share tomorrow evening.}
If the human wished to banter much as a friendly warrior would, then she would gladly trade amicable barbs with him!
…although they did feel ‘different,’ since he was actually a male.
A half-alien male, admittedly, as the odd shade of red which suffused his face reminded her.
It was still funny, though.
{I…} his thoughts paused for a moment. {Do you actually like it? Should I save some, or?}
She let her smile grow slightly, for only a moment before pushing it back off of her face. With a shake of her head, she finished with {Good night, Alex.}
Fireblade left the human behind, stepping back to the two large human-style beds that took up much of the room near the other side of the compartment.
Beryl and Tempo had already taken their own places on one bed, clearly as tired as she was. The mizol held her gaze, briefly glancing back towards Alex before coming back to Fireblade. {You grow closer to Attache Jardin every day.}
Her neutral tone held neither reproach nor approval.
Fireblade shrugged, sitting on the side of the overly-padded human bed and beginning the lengthy process of detaching her armored outer layer. Even if the bioplas segments would likely not have been felt thanks to the soft bedding, the ritual helped calm her mind. {That is the duty which I was assigned by Rozerrei Ironsoul. I am to keep a close watch on Alex, and use that connection to benefit the Union.}
{Fortunate for you, then, that it now seems that ‘benefiting the Union’ may be accomplished by Alex’s willing cooperation rather than compelled action.}
{Most certainly, yes.} Fireblade agreed wholeheartedly. Her inner examination of the thoughts and emotions generated by her subconscious mind prompted her to admit {Although I acknowledge that I would still have established such ties with him even if that had not been my duty. He is my ward, yes, but I believe that he can also be a friend.}
Tempo snorted, wryly noting {A Detair who gets as ‘close’ to one of her wards as you have would be reassigned.} Before Fireblade could retort, she added {I know that you are not compromised in that particular way. But you know that few people would see anything other than a battle-weary teidar growing attached to a single male.}
{He is more than a male.} She said, pulling her upper armor over her head and stacking it neatly on the small table which had been placed near the head of the bed for some reason. {There is a single-minded determination in his mind. One that has been guided and shaped by his cult upbringing, yes, but still a level of drive which is entirely alien to the mindset of a male.}
She raised one leg, fingers pulling at the armored latches to disengage them. A familiar routine... which at least helped somewhat as her thoughts turned darker. {But for all that, I am compromised. Not the way that distant observers would think, no,} it brought her great relief that her own soul-searching had found no trace of such emotional weakness in that regard {but I am mentally connected to Alex in a way that none of us understand. Not I, not he, and it seems not even the current-day Eldar. The Soia’s own descendants have forgotten us, and nobody can say what effects this mental bond may lead to in the future.}
Beryl joined the conversation, from where the petite listel had all-but-disappeared into the pile of thick blankets on the other side of Tempo. {We will find out! What this connection is, I mean, and how it affects you. And how to control the downsides.} Her characteristic determination underlined each thought. {There must be some records on Deinar, artifacts which you and Alex have not examined yet. Perhaps some that have not even been uncovered, yet. And if not there, then on the humans’ Terra, or Alex’s Tallarn. The Soia must have left some explanations of their creations. Their ‘weapons.’} Her thoughts paused, and then stated with mixed dread and awe {Us.}
Assuming that Deinar was still there, of course. A grim thought which Fireblade carefully hid from Tempo and especially Beryl. As much as she appreciated Alex blatantly trying — and mostly succeeding, to be fair — to distract her from her worries over that possibility, it had never truly left her mind. That every cycle spent here, on human worlds and aboard human starships, might see the Union crumble and buckle under the Shells’ bloody onslaught. And that was even if the alien ‘Webway’ path which had taken them here had not also apparently catapulted them a century into the future… somehow.
{I must ask one thing.} Tempo sent, rare threads of dread warring with stony determination in her sanzai. {As this impromptu mission’s ranking mizol, not as ‘Tempo.’}
Fireblade closed her eyes. She knew what the parat would ask.
Tempo continued, her thoughts formal and somber. {If, despite the apparent progress that we are making towards building some rapport with these humans, the safety and security of the Union could only be accomplished by Alex’s death... could you see your duty through?}
Fireblade balled her left hand into a fist, fingers paling under the pressure of clenching muscles. Searched her mind once more, forcing her way through painful comparisons between the way her heart wished the universe worked and the way her mind acknowledged that it actually worked.
Then opened her fist, watching as blood flowed back to the deprived regions. Much as time’s ever-advancing flow healed all wounds, buried sharp memories of white-faced worries under a blanket of hazy memory.
But as any veteran warrior knew, not all wounds healed fully. Some left scars, on skin and flesh… and mind.
Yet her duty was clear. A soul that still bore its many scars from Seren — ones that would never heal, not fully — would not shatter under just one more. {Yes. I would regret it deeply... but yes.}
Tempo nodded slowly, eyes never leaving Fireblade’s. {Then let us all hope that such an act never becomes necessary.}
///////
Alex sat cross-legged on the floor, eyes bleary as he slowly moved his hand back-and-forth over the spread-out deck of cards face-down before him.
No answering tingle, no subconscious link pulled his hand to any individual card.
He huffed. Alex knew that he had never been a strong psyker — not even mid-strength, as these things were measured — but divination had always been the one field where he actually held some talent.
It was supposed to work!
And yet, nothing.
He glanced over to where the loroi had already taken to bed. To find both Tempo and Fireblade looking back at him, eyes unreadable.
It did not take a psyker to tell that they had been discussing him, nor his mental connection to Fireblade that he had chosen to let sit idle for the last few minutes. Abhuman ‘distant cousins’ or not, the loroi were of an effectively ‘foreign’ nation and had their own discussions which they clearly wished to keep private. And so he did not attempt to press upon Fireblade’s mind, to glean some hint as to what she had been thinking.
Besides, he needed all his concentration for working the Tarot, here.
Even if that didn’t seem to actually be working.
{What are you doing?} Fireblade’s thoughts echoed in his mind. Evidently the loroi had finished their private conversation.
{‘Failing,’ mostly.} He gathered the cards up once more, and shuffled them yet again. {I think that Lord Regent Guilliman’s Eldar ally may have been right after all.}
{…?}
{You have no future.} He pressed his eyes closed in frustration as the thought escaped him. Phrasing. That only redoubled her confusion, unsurprisingly. {I mean, I cannot see your future. The cards are silent.}
{That explains even less.}
He fanned the cards in one hand, showing them to Fireblade. The observation of the card-faces by a living creature would normally have undone the entire purpose of him having shuffled them, but he was beginning to think that perhaps the loroi would not have that effect. For all that he knew Fireblade possessed a soul — the burning red-gold inferno whose harsh glow had grown to be more comforting to his own soul than it had any right to be — they evidently ‘interacted’ with the Immaterium in a very strange way.
In terms of the Tarot, they might as well not be there at all.
{The Emperor’s Tarot. Blessed cards, whose interweaving meanings may be carefully used by a trained psyker to divine glimpses of the future farther out than their own native talent may have allowed by itself.} he explained. {I shuffle the cards, focus strongly on my question, and by His Will the skeins of fate are briefly described by those cards which my hands are drawn to, out of the deck.}
{That is a station-trick.} the teidar scoffed... yet an undercurrent of doubt flowed alongside her thought.
{A what?} it was his turn to be confused.
{On the rear-line stations of the Union, where warships are rotated to be repaired and their crews rested, there are always Neridi. Most of them are useful — for civilians — and provide actual services, whether arranging logistical support or managing games of entertainment to distract weary warriors. Even sometimes music, for those whose tastes run that way. But there are always a few who display tricks in return for remuneration: appearing to make a palm-held object disappear in their very hands, or open an impervious lock using only the donated hair-clasp of a gullible warrior observing them.}
The absurdity of it all forced a laugh from his chest. {Street Magicians! They can be found in every city on Tallarn, and every hub of commerce that I have ever heard of.} Although these ‘Neridi’ would be xenos street magicians, for all that they had clearly associated for some time with the loroi. That was… a problem for the future.
{You have them too?} Her disdain came through clearly. {They are a pest, distracting only the youngest and most-foolish warriors out on their first deployment.} Her emerald eyes bored into his. {I am neither. What are you actually doing?}
{No trick, no falsehood. Magicians are not psykers… although many actual wild psykers hide their talents behind an identity as such a street performer.} It struck him then that if Hadrian Jardin had not discovered young Alex as an infant amongst the ruins of a lower-decks battlefield, a life as a street magician was likely to be where he would have found himself. Well, a ‘corridor magician,’ technically, performing tricks aided by only the slightest use of untrained psy-ability at crowded intersections of ill-maintained voidship corridors in return for whatever meager scraps of food and baubles the hard-working voidsmen would part with.
Instead, he was here. In a richly-appointed stateroom aboard a voidship operated by the Emperor’s own Angels of Death, after having met the God-Emperor himself!
...and also now in a room with three beautiful abhuman women, one of whom he had to work carefully to shield that latest thought from.
{The glimpses are limited,} he explained quickly, {but accurate more often than not. Divination psykers, albeit ones far more trained than I, advise generals on where to deploy their troops, governors on what policies to implement, and admirals on where to send their warships.}
{And this works?}
{It keeps the Imperium alive for one more day at a time.} he shrugged. {Many of our enemies have their own lesser imitations of divination talents. But as they are not guided by the Emperor to see the true future, they can only guess at the truly-fated outcomes.}
Not that the Eldar he had met would ever admit that. But they were xenos, so of course the claimed accuracy of their own ‘Seers’ could be safely discounted. The difference was obvious all the same, though — Humanity stood astride the galaxy, while the Eldar clung to life in a bare handful of Craftworlds or lurked like predatory but barbaric beasts deep in the Webway.
One of those was clearly successful and guided by His Foresight, the other a result of xenos arrogance and foolishness.
Although he did have to admit one thing all the same. {But it doesn’t work on you. The cards yield nothing of what future awaits you, or Tempo, or Beryl.} He gathered up the cards, returning them to their container and placing it back within the specially-made interior pocket of his coat. {I have never heard of such a thing… except for with psychic blanks.}
{But you do not believe us to be these ‘blanks.’}
{A ‘blank’ could not converse via the mind as you do. As all loroi do.} He walked over to the closet, removing his coat and outer layers. Then, in only his innermost layer of underclothes, he quickly stepped through the cool air of the stateroom and climbed under the warm blankets of the waiting bed.
And now met Fireblade’s piercing eyes from less than two feet away. {Blanks are people born without a connection to the Immaterium. Without a soul. Many are decent-enough people all the same, but their mere presence is repulsive to normal people. Repugnant, unsettling, unnerving, simply uncomfortable to be around.} He turned away from her gaze. {You are… not that.}
The weariness that he had been holding at bay for so long finally advanced on him, his mind fighting a rearguard action to delay sleep only a few more minutes.
Under the blankets, his right hand and Fireblade’s left unerringly found each other.
A comforting cool grasp for him, to contrast with the pleasant warmth of the blankets. And for Fireblade, he knew how much she — as well as Tempo and Beryl — appreciated how the mental link evidently suppressed her sleep-broadcast nightmares. And once he got used to the idea — whcih admittedly did not take too long — it was surprising just how reassuring it was to relax into the embrace of sleep while feeling the proximity of another mind alongside yours.
Which was yet another thing that would have convinced him of the loroi’s near-human nature, despite their xenos appearance. That in the moments just before sleep, when any person’s mind is as revealed as it can be, Fireblade’s half-conscious thoughts were just as familiar to him as his own. They were not the overpowering single-mindedness of the Eldar who had laughed as they hurled their xenos psyches against his mental defenses, nor the unearthly hunger of a Daemon’s corrupt soul.
Simply the tired musings of a mind whose comfortable familiarity felt just… ‘right’ to him.
With far fewer worries and far greater contentment than any other psyker in the Imperium could claim, Alex descended into sleep.
