VI
With the return to realspace, Vwahl Kenek felt like he was finally able to breathe again without constraint. Though he had over time cultivated the ability to speak to entities that existed purely in the warp, it taxed his system in ways that were often not comfortable. During the time he was in the warp, it was a constant sensation of having someone - something - right behind his shoulder, breathing down his neck.
Now there was, as always, the certainty that he was not alone, but it was easier to breathe, easier to move.
Part of Vwahl was a little surprised at how close to their destination they'd been able to jump, but part of him was also astoundingly unsurprised, as every part of this journey had seemed meant to happen.
It was strange, yet familiar, to have the object of his fascination and his dreams for the past decade finally be in front of him on the viewscreen, a real, solid object … or as solid as a stellar anomaly was. Kenek didn't truthfully understand the physics of a black hole - if that's even what The Bloody Eye was. It looked like a spiral-armed tear in the fabric of the universe, an indigo blot against a purplish backdrop, through which one thin spiral of red trickled out, and around, giving it its poetical name.
The name he had given it, he supposed, though the name was gifted to him in dreams, so possibly it had named itself.
Kenek stood on the bridge, his mouth agape, almost but not quite laughing. Then, strangely, he did hear laughter from behind him. Not sinister laughter, but innocent, carefree laughter. Confused, he turned and saw, running toward him, an insubstantial golden mist that mingled enough to form the shape of a child, jogging, arms spread wide, seeming to enjoy a nonexistent breeze on his face.
A face which, Kenek realized, he recognized. He'd seen it every day in the mirror for the past thirty-seven years; of course he recognized it.
Kenek let out a small gasp and knelt down on one knee, examining his ghostly child self closer. The younger version of him seemed not to notice him. Little Vwahl looked up and to his right and said, "It's a beautiful day, isn't it, Tumpkins?"
Tumpkins. His imaginary friend as a child. How could he have forgotten Tumpkins, the living tree with the leonine face? Tumpkins had been his only friend for years, after his father had died. Thinking of Tumpkins now, Vwahl realized that catlike face had quite resembled his father's visage.
As if Vwahl's own thoughts had summoned him, suddenly behind him Vwahl heard his father's gruff voice. "Vwahler the Brawler!" he cried, and Vwahl heard a younger version of himself giggling as his father grabbed him by the midsection and turned him upside-down. But Vwahl wouldn't turn around. Couldn't. Seeing his father again would be too much.
The little Vwahl before him had almost started to dissipate, like gold dust in a strong breeze, but now it came into better focus. "Dad's gone," the younger version explained to the invisible friend beside him, "but days like this are still here, and the Emp'ror protects. Things will be okay."
Empty platitudes given to him by his elders, especially his mother, who had faded away inside herself after his father's senseless death. Ground to a pulp by a threshing machine. A dissatisfied machine spirit, the foreman had claimed. The machine had been set aside for the next visit by a tech-priest. Vwahl wished it had been destroyed.
"His eye … is always on you …" the young Vwahl began singing, and the present-day Vwahl gave a strangled cry and punched the floor with his clenched fist.
"All lies!" he screamed. "They're lying to you!"
But his younger self could not hear him. Part of Vwahl wished he could talk to his younger self, console him, instruct him. He'd never realized it at the time, but he had been so lonely as a child. Few other children around in the small town he'd grown up in on the agri-world, and those that were only interested in farming and gossip. Even as a child, Vwahl had wanted to see the stars.
Most children had imaginary friends, he supposed, but Tumpkins was his only real friend as a child. Perhaps that's why, years later, the voices without form seemed welcome. He never found the existence of creatures beyond his understanding or perception frightening. It just made a simple sort of sense.
He heard someone clear their throat behind him, and he stood himself up and turned around, assuming one of the crew needed something and was wondering why their leader was acting like a maniac on the ground of the bridge. But, instead, he was greeted with another vision. Still in that glistening, golden mist coating, he saw himself again, older, in college - all elbows and spindly legs. Younger Vwahl had cleared his throat to speak to someone. "Pardon me, but I couldn't help overhearing your conversation in Tallak's class-"
Vwahl growled. He didn't need to hear any more. He knew what came next: the giggling, the burning sensation on his cheeks, the frank dismissal. Trying to talk to the beauty of his class, Hallista. She saw him as subhuman, not even worth interacting with. It had always been like that. Chittering bitches and their haughty disinterest.
But he had shown her, had taught her the meaning of loneliness, and had been the last person she could reach out to at the end. And he had reached back down, for he was a forgiving god, unlike the false emperor. He had forgiven her, and stroked her hair as-
Again, as if the thought summoned it, the scene appeared before him - and why not? Why shouldn't his thoughts beget creation? This close to the Eye, was he not equivalent to a god now? Or at least in the early stages of apotheosis?
The tableau laid out before him showed him his younger self, still gangly, lanky hair hanging down before his face, leaning over Hallista, strapped down to the table. Her fear and sadness still made his eyes wet, despite the knowledge that he'd caused those emotions. He saw himself stroking the hairs out of her eyes, whispering kind words to her as he worked the syringe into her femoral artery, an invasion so much more intimate than the other, baser rutting he'd thought he'd wanted with her.
And in her eyes, yes, acceptance. And a kind of thanks.
Kenek laughed and spun around. Was this one of the gifts of The Bloody Eye? A place where time lost its hold on reality, where people's everything happened at once?
"Let's see the future!" he shouted giddily. No one around him even glanced at him, and he realized now that, except for the servitors, eternally focused on their duties, everyone was caught up in their own lives, looks of shock, tears all around.
"Show me what comes of this! What pours through the Eye, and the adulation showered upon me! Show me how I tear down the falsities of the Imperium!" He laughed despite the fresh tears on his face, and twirled a full two rotations before realizing no new visions had appeared.
The future contained only silence.
