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26.10.905.M38
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POV of Agent Vector(Ghost)
I felt unclean living the life of this degenerate. Human mutants were one thing—genetically divergent, but still functional within certain limits. Abhumans were something else entirely. Having to share space with them, and to maintain the cover to the point of intimacy, produced a constant sense of revulsion.
But duty was duty. I could not stop.
In the days that followed, I limited myself to acting like the idiot that was Gideon Hale. Gambling irresponsibly, losing more than I won, sustaining the image of incompetence. The irony was not lost on me: in a short time, I had learned to count cards and calculate probabilities with enough precision to win any game the Imperials considered complex. I also mastered a strategy game very similar to chess, popular among the children of wealthy families, where they wagered in a single match what a lower-class worker earned in a year. Even so, I had to lose. Always lose just enough.
Being Gideon Hale was dull. Mediocre. Hendrik made life seem entertaining when he was with the Umojans, eliminating enemies of the Emperor—assassinating leaders and escaping while half of Umoja's armed forces chased him, twice. Here, there was no combat, only routine. Wake up. Intimacy with the abhumans. Eat. Visit the idiot's "friends." Listen to absurd complaints about how hard their lives were. Move through countless entertainment complexes, saturated with sensory stimuli, to the point where it was incomprehensible to me that so many nobles claimed to have nothing to do.
And then return. Always return. Maintain the farce with the abhumans, imitate every gesture, every habit, every expectation with such precision that no deviation could be perceived.
I expected a conversation with Gideon's father that never came. The old man confined himself to managing his affairs, generating revenue, keeping the family machinery running. I was forced to wait an entire month while the ship resupplied. Too much idle time. Enough to sink into decadence, no matter how repugnant it was to me.
It was common to wake up with the longshank far too close, usually with her face beside mine, and on occasion with her tongue in my mouth, kissing me intensely. I did not need to read minds to understand what was happening. Although I avoided any use of psionic abilities due to the possible presence of a high-level psyker, I could read bodies, micro-gestures, involuntary reactions. Pupil dilation. Blushing. Nervous movements of the hands. Averted gazes. Predictable chemical responses: dopamine, oxytocin, serotonin.
This particular abhuman had fallen in love with the idiot.
The others seemed to treat the arrangement as an implicit agreement: luxury, security, a comfortable life in exchange for companionship. But not her. In her case there was genuine attachment. Real emotion. And I did not want to imagine what kind of life she must have lived to end up giving herself that way to someone like Gideon Hale.
She followed me everywhere within the private Hale compounds. In public spaces, she did not—keeping her distance, since Gideon's life and his decadence with abhumans were not meant to be public.
On one of the many days I spent watching a felinid dance, the longshank had me in her arms, using what little chest she had as a pillow. Eventually, I was summoned to speak with Gideon's father.
I did not take long to go to his workplace, where I again found him tired, though more energetic than the last time.
"Gideon, my son… from what I've seen, you've enjoyed my gifts quite a lot, haven't you?" his father said, smiling.
I recognized that look. All too well. He was about to ask something of me.
"Are you not going to answer?" he said, more serious now.
"Yes… thank you… I suppose," I replied, averting my gaze.
He sighed deeply. "You are going to get married, Gideon. I've arranged a marriage for you, and it could not be better," he said firmly.
"Oh… so those gifts weren't just goodwill, were they? They were meant to keep me from being more angry than I already am?" I said sarcastically.
"Blessed Emperor, give me patience… Gideon. That is precisely why I decided you were unfit to replace me as head of our family. You still act like a child, but you have been an adult for some time now, and you do nothing but squander the money I give you," he said, clearly angry.
"I earn my money by working," I replied, folding my arms.
"Oh yes, of course. With the ship I gave you. With the Navigator I acquired and pay for. With the medicines from my factories and the products you obtain through my influence. And on top of that, you spend everything you earn buying those abhumans for your amusement… until you grow bored of them and discard them somewhere," he said, staring at me.
"There you go again, complaining as always," I said, looking up at the ceiling.
"You never change, never change… I don't know why I keep trying. Well, it doesn't matter. You're getting married regardless," he was about to continue, but I interrupted him.
"Graaah," I groaned, leaning my head back against the chair and staring at the ceiling. "Why won't you just let me enjoy life?"
"You've spent twenty-six years enjoying life. From the day you were born, you have never been denied anything, Gideon. Nothing," he said, his hands trembling.
"Yes, sure… as if being stripped of my rightful position as heir were 'nothing,'" I replied, crossing my arms.
"Ahg… look… do you remember the Drexians, from the planet Banna?" the father asked.
"The ones who told you no… what was it… a decade ago?" I replied, looking at him with a faint smile.
"That you remember well, you little idiot. Well, it turns out they've recently fallen from grace. The planetary governor seized their factories, their shops… they were practically expelled from the Segmentum Solar. I don't know the exact reasons for their fall, but they have nothing left—except their merchant fleet. And it's enormous. Apparently, it's the only thing that couldn't be taken from them," he said, smiling broadly as he recounted the dynasty's ruin.
"Desperate, I imagine," I said with a grimace.
"Exactly. They don't dare enter the Segmentum Solar, and they have no one to help them fill the holds of their massive ships, so they're bleeding thrones just to keep the fleet operational. On top of that, without influence, their Navigators have left them. They're finished," he continued.
"So I contacted them again. I offered them a deal similar to the last one. You will marry the patriarch's daughter. He will declare her heir, and in time, your son with her will inherit the Drexian fleet. Hundreds of ships. Far more than ours. That way, you reclaim what you believe is yours… as a potential heir, by marrying his daughter."
"Oh… and what if I don't want to?" I asked, meeting his gaze defiantly.
"Damn it, Gideon… don't ruin this," he snapped. "With this marriage, we nearly quadruple our merchant fleet. Everything is already prepared. I contacted Navigator families who are friends of ours. The warehouses are full, running at maximum output to supply the Drexian ships. This puts us back on the rise." He clenched his jaw. "And maybe—just maybe—we'll be able to rub shoulders with the Rogue Trader again… like when our ancestor held a direct writ from the Emperor himself."
"Right… but what if I don't want to?" I pressed.
I watched Gideon's father display near-infinite patience. He growled, but did not explode. I was simply imitating Gideon's usual behavior in these situations, whenever he was asked to do something he didn't want.
"I'll give you a sum of money to lose gambling… and I'll see if I can get you a couple more abhumans," he said at last. "But remember: this must remain secret. I don't want to lose this marriage. It's far too good to pass up."
"Thanks—finally," I replied, with unmistakably fake enthusiasm.
"Tonight there will be a banquet where you'll meet her. Remember, it's a family tied to the Astra Militarum, so she may be aggressive… or dominant," he said, gesturing toward the exit.
I left the room and returned to my quarters to wait out the day. With so many abhumans in Gideon's chambers, I couldn't meditate on what I truly wanted to do, nor could I focus on my psionic abilities. I couldn't do anything I actually enjoyed.
So I returned to the same routine as before: the giant holding me from behind while I watched the abhumans dance.
Eventually, darkness crept in beyond the windows, and it was time to dress for the banquet.
When I entered, the hall was drenched in every luxury imaginable, befitting one of the richest families on the planet. Servants everywhere. Extremely aged amasec. Ambrosia. Fruits that spoiled if not kept at exact temperatures. One of the finest musical ensembles available. Pastries that looked as if they were made of gemstones.
The sycophants didn't take long to arrive. They immediately began asking me for money to settle their debts. As expected, I used the funds Gideon's father had given me. The idiots left satisfied once their problems were paid off.
The Navigators were present as well. A large group of mutants—though one subgroup barely looked altered: white hair, red eyes, elongated fingers, but otherwise nearly human.
They were the center of the celebration. All eyes were drawn to them. Their movements were not natural, but practiced, and nearly everyone was trying to speak with them.
I stayed with the bootlickers around me, listening to their debt stories as they tried to convince me to pay for them.
Then Gideon's father approached, accompanied by someone else. At his side stood a woman. Both regarded me with severe expressions, assessing me from head to toe, clearly displeased.
They wore a blend of military uniform and noble attire. They even carried swords as part of their dress. Martial culture, without question.
"Gideon, come. This is Tania Drexian," my father said, introducing me to the tall woman with brown hair and green eyes, who looked at me with barely concealed hostility.
She performed the formal greeting. I returned it.
"Why don't you take her to the garden so she can see the beautiful species our gardeners have managed to keep alive here?" Gideon's father said. "That way I can continue speaking with Tulius," he added, turning toward the stern-looking man.
I nodded. Tania offered her arm, and we moved according to noble protocol until we exited the banquet hall. The moment we passed through the doors, she broke protocol and shoved me away.
"You're a pathetic drunk," she said, staring at me.
"And you're a beggar who now has to lick the boots of people your family used to laugh at," I replied as I walked toward the garden.
"This," she growled, "wouldn't be happening if we hadn't been deceived…" Her teeth were clenched.
"But it is happening. Come on—I don't want my father angry. If he doesn't see us in the garden, he'll be furious with me," I replied, uninterested.
I heard Tania's heavy steps behind me until we reached the garden. The place was thick with fragrance, filled with exotic flowers and plants maintained with obsessive care. Without hesitation, I leaned against one of the metal walls, pulled out a canteen of amasec, and began drinking.
"You can't even stop drinking for a minute," she said, watching me.
"I'm thirsty," I replied, staring at the fountain, hypnotized by the steady rhythm of flowing water.
As I took a second sip, I heard the unmistakable sound of two swords being drawn.
"Prove your worth!" Tania shouted.
When I turned my head, a sword was already flying toward me. Tania charged behind it, swinging hers with clear intent.
I caught the sword in midair. Blocked the next strike at the base and deflected it. Then I drove my right foot hard into her left knee, throwing her off balance. With my left arm, I delivered a sharp blow to her face, sending her spinning before she hit the ground face-first.
I let the sword fall.
That was when I realized I had fucked up.
I had acted on instinct.
Shit. What do I do now? If the locals don't kill me, Hendrik will. I screwed this up.
"What was that?" Tania said, staring at me. "I didn't know you practiced fencing." Her cheek was already reddening where my knuckles had struck.
"Uh… well… uh… a little," I said, thinking frantically.
"A little? That level of counterattack doesn't come from 'a little' fencing. That was masterful," she said, smiling.
"Well… maybe a bit more," I replied, calming myself.
"Who is your master?" she asked, grinning widely.
"Let's forget this, alright?" I said. "My father doesn't know I practice fencing, and if he finds out, he'll start demanding I behave the way he expects. I don't want that, heh."
"Well, my father wanted to see how you'd react," Tania said, wiping her mouth with her forearm. "He thought you'd cry for the guards—but it seems he was wrong."
Yes. That would have been the natural reaction.
She kept talking, but I ignored her completely. I was focused on calculating how to salvage the situation—or whether it would be wiser to abort the mission and disappear. Hendrik would not be pleased. On the contrary. I had endangered the Dominion. They would probably erase my memory and close the matter. That wasn't so terrible.
We left the garden and returned to the banquet.
It was clear I had compromised the mission when Gideon's father began asking questions about a supposed fencing master and about how skilled I was with a blade.
For now, everything remained intact. It was still possible to maintain the operation.
As the banquet drew to a close, Tania dropped her handkerchief.
A noble courtship tradition.
I was about to ignore it when Gideon's father elbowed me.
I had no choice. I bent down, picked up the handkerchief, brought it to my lips, and returned it to her.
Tania smiled, even with my knuckle marks still visible on her face. Her father, Tulius, murmured something with clear satisfaction.
As long as I made no further mistakes, everything should be fine.
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If there are spelling mistakes, please let me know.
Leave a comment; support is always appreciated.
I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see.
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