Never did I think I would be grateful to the Inquisition for something; but Achilleas Scalander gave me a semi-official warning that a Drukhari raid was threatening Vheabos VI, which is apparently another planet I own and a penal one to boot, and that gave me an excellent reason to leave Dargonus for a while. Not that I didn't like facepalming each time I learnt something about Theodora's management (or lack thereof, rather — the woman had really fucked off to attend her personal pet projects for the last twenty years of her rule and seemed to consider that as long a planet didn't blow up everything was fine), but the palace was a stifling place. Olever af Putnam was on my back day and night about my Magnae Accessio, and while I liked him sometimes I felt ready to ditch formality and just get myself sworn in in a closet. The logistics alone were a nightmare, with a gaggle of important guests to ferry across the Expanse and host with every honour. But formality is good for morale. People need to see their leaders. My residing on Dargonus for over an uninterrupted month had been something of a new record in living memory.

But now that I could jump back to the Emperor's Mercy and hightail away from Dargonus good society for a while? My shuttle finished lifting off before Scalander left the palace grounds. I felt on holiday, albeit one that would include firing at blood-thirsty xenos at some point. Walking along the bridge to my command throne, saluting officers abruptly taken from their shore leave, taking in familiar sights and smells… it felt good. There were differences, though: Argenta had prudently decided that I wasn't an impending menace waiting for a bolt-round to the head, and now stood by the helm in a simple tabard instead of her silver armour. Jae had somehow acquired a pet lacerax named Sirocco and, when I walked by, was busy trying to convince a very much unconvinced High Factotum Danrok that the beast was tame. Sirocco growled at me, because she wanted scratches under the chin and I ignored her, so I doubled back, delivered the scratches, and was rewarded with a purr. Idira was nearly sober. Cassia's excitement to go was unchanged, though; she could barely stop talking about how she had studied maps from other Navigator dynasties in the Dargonus central library. The attempt on her life had left her quite unfazed, which once again got me to wonder about the sort of childhood she had. Yrliet was her usual aloof self. She had left the palace several times, wandering away in places known only to herself, but always came back; I hadn't forgotten my promise to help her find her kin, but no news had come to me. Hell, I had even prodded Scalander on the subject — if anyone would know anything about a destroyed craftworld, it would be the Ordo Xenos — but had been met with a wall. Abelard, too, was much the same, striding around the bridge with the confidence born of decades of naval service. Pasqal spent his days and nights communing with the machine spirits, trying to fix the source of all those weird issues the ship had of late. As for Heinrix… On Dargonus, he had been, by need, distant, cold; we had seldom been able to meet in private. Now, he already looked a bit more like the man I had become fond of: still formal, still withdrawn, but he moved with a little more ease and his gestures were a little less guarded. I had missed him. I had missed all that I had built aboard the Emperor's Mercy.

When we broke orbit, accompanied by a destroyer from my own fleet, we all cheered. We were leaving home to defend our people and our lands, and to home we would come back.

Cassia once tried to explain to me how she charts courses through unknown Warp currents and I didn't completely understand, but she worked her magic again. We translated in the Immaterium twelve days after leaving Dargonus; she thought than we would reach the Mortus Acies system, where Vheabos VI and therefore the Drukhari were, in about twelve days more.

The mood on the ship had shifted somewhat. A tension, maybe — conversations shut down when I passed by, whispers in the shadows — but Abelard swore to me nothing was going on. I worried that I didn't feel the pulse of the crew's mood anymore. Dinners in the mess hall were much the same, my orderlies were as efficient as usual… I suggested some training exercises, in case people were anxious at confronting a Drukhari force, but they didn't change a thing. Three days after we had been at Warp, I got the answer to my questions.

I had awakened much as usual, had breakfast exactly as usual, and dressed as usual in a clean uniform prepared by Peri. To my surprise, she had laid a dress uniform, which I normally only bother to wear for dinner. During the day, I keep to my simple, normal tunic — much more comfortable for ambling around the deck. But who was I to go against my orderly's recommendations? Besides, I was running late and was scheduled to take the conn five minutes later; I didn't have enough time to fish for something more suitable in a walk-in closet with a logic-defying filing system. To think that the whole of my worldly possessions once fit in a trunk.

After getting a folder full of material I planned to study on the command throne — last shift reports, mostly — while nursing a jug of recaf, I hurried to leave my quarters. I had at last replaced Theodora's portrait in the antechamber with my own. I wasn't fully happy with it: the artist had taken inspiration from my Commissariat days and pictured me walking resolutely, chainsword and flamer (two weapons I have barely touched in my life) at the ready, over a burning battlefield. My face was all wrong; I hoped I had never looked like that. Heinrix said the scowl was fairly accurate, though.

As soon as I stepped out of my private lift, it was obvious that something was off. Bridge officers stood in two lines of honour guard while the most senior personnel tried, and failed, to look natural as at the sound of the bosun's whistle they gathered in a rush around the hololith display. Abelard stood by the lift; it was obvious he had been waiting for me, and his parade gear was resplendent. Not a single grey hair was out of place. His expression radiated quiet pride.

'Lord-captain,' he said, 'on behalf of the crew of the Emperor's Mercy, I wish you a very happy anniversary. Today marks the day, one Terran year ago ship-time, where you assumed command of your flagship in tragic circumstances. By your valour, you then saved many lives from a fiery doom and, more importantly, many souls from the eternal death of corruption — a feat you have since repeated time and time again, for evil can only flee when the Rogue Trader goes to war. You were unprepared, unlearned, and rushed. Your quality, therefore, shone all the more in the skilful way you taught yourself and grew. In the span of a year, you have reopened Warp lines where storms had erased all paths, bringing the protectorate back together. You have restored goodness and light where sin had grown. Lord-captain, serving at your side is an honour we are all unworthy of.'

Before I could muster an answer, as my throat had strangely closed and my eyes gotten wet, Abelard turned to his audience and shouted: 'For lady Katov Leifnir von Valancius, hip hip! Hurrah!'

Three times they all bellowed the cry: two short ones, and then a sustained hurrah during which a choir of voidsmen-at-arms began to belt out a shanty. I pulled Abelard in for a hug, which he tried to resist.

'How dare you spring this on me before Terce when I'm low on recaf,' I whispered, tapping his shoulder.

'Lord-captain,' he replied, 'I thought you could read a calendar.'

I laughed. My seneschal is a treasure.

The shanty was soon over and it was obviously time for me to say a few words. Which I did as I had, after all, extensive training in the art of pulling something out of my hat to motivate the troops. After a few customary platitudes — but that I fully meant — I dove right into the subject matter. About how proud I was to see this crew, nearly destroyed a year ago — so many dead, so many promoted, like me, to positions they shouldn't have filled before decades — how they had learned to work together and to grow together.

'There are some aspects of Imperial dogma that put me ill at ease,' I said, 'and are at odds with its own goals. Here, beyond the bounds of the Imperium, we are the flame that lights darkness. We are on our own, and even more so after Warp storms cut off the Maw. We need to adapt — the old ways have shown they are insufficient. Therefore, we need to take care of one another; where xenos strike, we need to stand. Where the Ruinous Powers corrupt, we must fight them with hope and resolve. And a heavy melta, yes, that wouldn't hurt either. Or a bolter, if that's your jam.' There were a few laughs. 'Too often have I seen good men and women fall prey to internecine strife — mistaking honour for pride and duty for blindness. Our honour lays in the truth of our hearts. Our duty lays to the idea of a united humanity, the very idea that once pulled the Great Crusade over the stars at the Emperor's behest. I cannot tell you how glad, and proud, I am to see that we strive together to those ideals. Ours is the duty to protect the small and the weak, that we may be one. Ours is the honour to bleed and sometimes to die for people so different from us — different languages, different customs, different food, different clothes — but fundamentally human and therefore our siblings in the God-Emperor's eyes. We shall uncover forgotten worlds and bring them back in the fold of Humanity, to become stronger by our side. Let no one be slighted where the Emperor's Mercy sails! Only with you, your dedication and your work, can the ideals of House von Valancius be upheld. For our common goal! Hip hip, hurrah!'

I shook every offered hand and saluted back to every Aquila. It was a long half-hour of smiling and chatting before we could get back to business. I had avoided the prickly subject of Theodora's legacy; it seemed that everyone tip-toed around it these days. It is highly probable that, during our month-long stopover, people talked among themselves. My personal pilot wasn't a stupid woman; she had heard a lot while ferrying me and my retinue to and fro Kiava Gamma. My orderlies, too, were clever. During downtime, people speak and, which is more, they speak to new people, recounting stories and making sense of them.

Anyway. The day went on; I gave back the conn to Commander Farrell before lunch, that I took in my study while reading about the Drukhari — know thine enemy and all. Some graphic descriptions of their habits nearly put me out of my appetite. They feed on others' pain, of all things, to replenish their souls that are themselves eaten away by Chaos; in this light, their targeting a penal colony made sense. Hive worlds full of misery, Death worlds where existence is a perpetual struggle… The way we humans live must provide them with a free-for-all buffet whenever they land on one of our planets.

I was just considering calling for tea and what was, on Dargonus, called sandy cakes (a sort of shortbread that is highly addictive) when the vox on my desk buzzed.

'Yes?'

'Master Interrogator van Calox humbly asks for an audience, lord-captain.' The orderly's voice was a bit distorted. Pasqal still hadn't solved all the issues regarding the central cogitator. If anything, I found that in these last few days they had gotten worse. Vox-boxes often had a sort of echo, as if the signal was delayed and repeated — without any sign of external tampering.

'Show him in, please,' I said. 'Bring us tea, too, and sandy cakes.'

Walking in, Heinrix greeted me with a curt nod. 'Still studying xenos?'

'It's a vast subject.'

The sandy cakes arrived; once my orderly was gone, I walked to Heinrix and kissed his lips in welcome. His hand lingered on my hips, and I sat back at my desk, waving him to a nearby chair.

'Yrliet is strange,' I said, 'and it tracks with the material you gave me regarding the aeldari, but really they're just people. Weird, conceited people, and I know you disagree with the notion, but being an arrogant asshole doesn't strip personhood from someone. But Emperor, the Drukhari… they're something else all right.'

'Indeed. I have something for you.'

He gave me a small, dark box with an utilitarian look. Inside, on a bed of precious silk, was a small implant, only a little bigger than my thumbnail. It looked platinum-plated. I raised my eyes in interrogation.

'An elucidator,' explained Heinrix. 'It will translate most common xeno languages, and allow you to speak them too. You may find it useful, since you unfortunately have to deal with those…' His lip twitched. 'Creatures.'

'Thank you. That's very thoughtful of you.' Truth was, we just… didn't do gifts. Or hadn't, so far. Well, I had given him my sabre, but it had been different, it had been a spur of the moment decision. He must have gotten this for me on Dargonus and held onto it until today. 'I'll ask the enginseers to install it as soon as possible.'

Heinrix hesitated. 'I would rather that no one knows you possess this. If you would allow it, I could add it myself to your memory implant.'

'Why?'

'This is not the kind of technology that is meant to exist. The Mechanicus… frowns upon it. It is, however, completely safe; I myself carry one, as do many agents of the Ordo Xenos.'

Heretek? The little implant shone so innocently! I had seen Heinrix tinker with cogitators, lastly on Kiava Gamma of course, and I knew he had been initiated to the lower rites of the Mechanicus. Well, I gave him my assent. He took a small toolkit from an inner pocket and bade me lie down on the couch on my side. I lifted my hair — my memory implant had been fitted behind my ear, in what the chirurgeon called the mastoid process; I had insisted that it be easily accessible. The lamp from the regicide table provided a light that half-blinded me while Heinrix carefully unscrewed the implant cover. Suddenly, I felt very vulnerable. I only had his word for what the implant did; what if it was some sort of Inquisition spying device? What if it messed with my brain, or my free will? Perhaps I could ask Pasqal to check it later.

'Katov, are you all right? You seem… tense. Does it hurt?'

His voice, the concern in it… Just as suddenly, I trusted him again. 'I'm fine,' I said. 'It just feels weird having you poking around my implants.'

For an instant, he stopped working and ran his fingers through my hair, caressing my exposed neck. His lips grazed my temple and stayed there for a few heartbeats. 'Better?' he asked.

'Still weird. But go on.'

Faint vibrations transmitted from the implant to my bone; I could hear him work, scraping, pushing tiny components to make room for the new one. A click, something pushed into something else. All in all, it was quick: five minutes, no more. When he gave me the green light, I rose prudently, sitting upright with slow care. The room didn't spin. He was kneeling by the sofa, looking up at me. He opened his lips and asked: 'Can you understand me?'

I am fluent both in Gothic and High Gothic, although I seldom have the occasion to use the latter, so I know how switching from one language to another feels: the subtle shift in the way one thinks, the change of readiness in one's throat. I understood him, and I understood that he spoke in a language that had, so far, been a mystery.

'Yes,' I replied, and I had to think about how to make the sounds I wanted to say.

He chuckled. 'Your accent is terrible.'

'Fuck you,' I said, and managed a perfect kae-morag. Yrliet said it often enough, that one I had a grip on. 'And thank you. This will be handy. That's a lovely gift.'

Calling a xeno translator made of pure, undiluted heretek built by the Inquisition, which made it worse, a lovely gift was perhaps a stretch, but I just wasn't used to getting presents and fell back to the manners my parents taught me before the age of four. Before they died and I became schola fodder, that is. The cover of my implant felt smooth beneath my fingers when I checked it.

'You're very welcome.'

Heinrix rose and we went back to my desk, where the tea was cooling. I took a sip from my cup and sat again, half-expecting him to leave, but he sat, too, and took a sandy cake.

'That was an inspiring speech you gave his morning,' he said.

'Please, it wasn't bad, but it wasn't my best either. If someone had warned me even ten minutes before, I would have done better.' I shot him a pointed look over my cup. I was sure he had been in the know.

'First Officer Werserian was quite insistent on secrecy,' he apologised. 'I didn't want to antagonise him on such a trivial matter.'

'Well, I don't like being surprised, not that way, not when I need time to collect my thoughts to say something that both makes sense, has an appropriate tone, and pushes a few points. Can you say both when there's three things? There, you see I need to prepare for public speaking.'

'Candour is more endearing,' he said.

'Don't call me endearing,' I replied. 'I couldn't be endearing if I got up at dawn and trained for it every day for six months. I don't do endearing.'

Heinrix drank some cold tea, letting silence show his disagreement. He finished his cup before speaking again.

'My point was, Katov, that while this was quite the energising speech, and while the notions you developed there are mostly within the scope of what your Warrant allows, you may wish to tone it down in public. Bluntly said, I will need to report them. The Lord-Inquisitor isn't very fond of people who challenge the established order.'

'And what do I care about the Lord-Inquisitor? My ideas will further the borders of the imperial sphere of influence, which is the whole point of Rogue Traders in the first place. It's easier to tithe new colonies if the tithe actually does them some good instead of stealing it away at gunpoint.'

'You should care about him very much. He is, perhaps, the single most powerful person in the Koronus Expanse. He has his own network, his own small fleet; besides which the Navy will take his orders without discussion. Incendia Chorda would kill to be in his favour and, to my knowledge, she has, so a powerful Rogue Trader House could turn on you. He also brought a contingent of the Adeptus Astartes. He can turn the Drusians against you, and what would you do should Hieronymus Doloroso name you an apostate? Do not underestimate Xavier Calcazar.'

Now, my temper was rising. It felt like being bullied into compliance. 'Is that a threat?'

'Throne, no,' he groaned. 'I know better than to intimidate you. But you need to know what you're up against. Believe it or not, that was the second favour I was doing you today.'

'Well, thank you then,' I snapped. 'And you can put in your report that I suggest the Lord-Inquisitor from now on keeps to the xenos, leaving the Rogue Traders in peace.'

'Your death wish is not mine to grant,' mildly remarked Heinrix, getting up and putting his gloves back on. 'I wish you a good afternoon, Rogue Trader.'

What an insufferable man. I just bloody hate the Inquisition.

By the time we got to Vheabos VI, of course, I had forgiven Heinrix. It was the way things between us were in those days: he made me angry about something, usually Inquisition-related, or I vexed him, usually by criticising the Inquisition, and we both pouted for two or three days, miserable and lonely, until one of us timidly suggested a regicide party in the observatorium. We spent a whole night playing, usually until the small hours of the morning, and we were best friends again. The next day he or I would steal a kiss in private, and we were lovers again. It was strange; I never had such a relationship before. It wasn't just physical, although the thought of him naked made me go feral. I loved the way his mind worked, but I hated the shackles that twisted his thought. I would have done some quite serious things to make him happy, but I also knew it wasn't worth betraying my ideals. As for the way he looked at me whenever he realised I could live a full life without him in it, and probably would if he pushed too hard on some things… There was self-loathing in his expression, disgust, and yearning all mixed together. And I didn't know if it made him more attractive or rather less. I have too strong a personality to be happy with someone who rolls over at the first sign of strife, but he was quite my match in that regard. Had he left then — not that he could physically leave the Emperor's Mercy, but he could have chosen not to reconcile — I would have cried a lot. I would have gotten over it, ultimately, probably swearing off men for the next thirty years or so. But every time we drifted apart, we made up, somehow. Issues ran deep. But we overlooked them. Without Commorragh, I do think we wouldn't have made it; it forced us to confront our deeper natures and to make choices. Without Commorragh, I probably would have ended by mooring him on the worst hive world I could find and calling it a day.

Vheabos VI was where I first met the Kabal of the Reaving Tempest. We fought off some of their ships and landed on a penal colony made into a planet-wide gladiator arena. By the time we got there, the number of prisoners had already dwindled: many tortured, so their pain could fill the empty souls of the Drukhari, and many used as prized fighters, forced to do their new masters' bidding. They took little convincing before they turned back on the Drukhari: if one has to die, better do it in rebellion against the enemies of Humanity and gain eternal salvation — so I told them. I'm not a very religious woman; my faith is private and, let's be honest, quite inconstant. The Emperor has more important things to do than watch over my person, if He cares about His subjects at all. But, when you've been tortured and stripped of your humanity, you'd do anything for the person who notices you are still human after all. And if the beliefs instilled into you since childhood say that, in doing so, you will gain eternal bliss… you don't walk. You run when they order you to. And you kill Drukhari in the process.

The Reaving Tempest was led, at the time, by a nasty woman called Yremeryss. She bailed from Vheabos VI as soon as things got heated for her and her favourites, leaving her minions to die in our hands. Had I better understood the Drukhari psyche, I might have been clued to what was really going on — but even Heinrix missed the warnings, and he had studied xenos for forty years or so. Perhaps she fed on their pain of being abandoned to be slaughtered by lowly mon-keigh, not to mention Yrliet, who appeared to have a personal grudge against them. That's what I thought at the time. But really, when Yremeryss fled, she was just saving her skin. Killing her then would have saved me a lot of suffering down the line. Same as killing Marazhai when I first met him — but such wasn't our fates, as the tarot readers say. It was written that I would deal a blow to the Reaving Tempest on Vheabos VI, but be denied the occasion to slay Yremeryss, its archon, just as with Marazhai later.

Still, with the Drukhari gone, I got Vheabos VI back. Perhaps I should have freed all those who survived the Drukhari raid — instead, I just took those who had fought by my side back to the Emperor's Mercy. A penal colony is useful, just like a penal regiment. Even more so, as a penal regiment is merely people fighting for borrowed time. I wasn't so fully against imperial customs then that I denied the obvious advantages a penal colony brought — cheap workforce and the possibility to exploit a hostile planet at little cost, although I did try to improve on their everyday lives. Later, it made me ashamed: a great evil was holed up in the soil of Vheabos VI, and many were lost to my failure to recognise its severity. Today, of course, I wouldn't dream of setting up a penal colony where the only hope of salvation is for those children born from the prisoners. But we all have our own path to enlightenment; it is my great shame that mine didn't spare me from sacrificing so many lives. There was once, they say (Cassia told me), a Terran ruler who wrote that, while a single death was a tragedy, a hundred thousand deaths was but a statistics. He (or she, I don't know) would have loved the Imperium of Man.