Even the blunts who trusted you, as much as anyone could trust anyone, got touchy during warp travel. During the dreaded transition into the Empyrean, after crews raced to seal windows and viewports with wax and iron, after the passengers had attended the traditional pre-jump mass, everyone just tried to brace themselves in the most secure place they could to pray the Geller Field held. Whenever they did, you noticed that all eyes, or at least all knowing eyes, invariably settled on you. If something went wrong, presumably, it'd go wrong for you first.
Personally, you preferred it that way. Better you didn't see it coming.
You made this transition to the warp in the guest quarters of
Pilgrim's Wake, whose normal esteemed visitors were low-ranking representatives from the ship's distant owners or missionary priests on an impoverished pilgrimage. They were unloved places, converted to storage for lack of use and converted back in a hurry, tinged with the ernest desperation of generational spacers who didn't understand the wants and needs of those who scurried around planets.
You, Cass, Dremel, and Rhonda had met together in your room for a prayer circle during the transition, but when delays had struck this had become an impromptu card game, using the large deck Dremel carried; they still looked comically tiny in his massive fingers. As you waited and played, they worked their way through drinks, two bottles of amasec for the humans and barrel-like canteen of something that smelled like paint stripper for Dremel while you nursed your glass in measured sips and collected most of the beads you were play-gambling with.
"I realised in retrospect that playing cards against a psyker was a mistake," Rhonda mumbled, as you swept another handful of silver cubes to your side of the table. Once they'd been on a string that had long turned to dust; Cass had found them in her room on the last transport, forgotten in a drawer from centuries past, and she'd kept them out of her magpie-like habit of taking anything that would fit in her pouches. It felt safer to trade little icons of saints around during a warp transition than to tempt fate by gambling for real.
"I'm not," you protested. "Dremel's face is an easy read, Cass barely knows how to play, and I just assume you're bluffing if you talk."
Her mouth drew into a small, tight smile.
"You're very difficult to read," she admitted. You shrugged.
"I have a lot of practice with self-control."
"I'm just havin' fun," Dremel said, delicately drawing another card as you began the next round. His giant face lit up, just for a moment, before he remembered he was supposed to be serious. "Ah, well."
There was a metallic clatter somewhere in the hall, distant, loud, echoing, and the game stopped. The lights flickered, and then, a klaxon sounded out, joined by the distant clanging of ship's bells.
"That's it then," Cass said grimly. Dremel stood up and walked to the door; you knew it wouldn't make a difference if something went wrong, but you knew it wouldn't stop him from holding the hatch closed even if the forces of the Hells were trying to tear it open, because he'd not let anything get to you.
Everyone else's eyes, as they always did, settled on you. You finished the last of your glass, closed your eyes, and prayed.
The world fell away, and the unheard voices became louder.
---
The first few hours of any journey were always tense, but that tension could not last for long. Eventually people eased up, tasks needed doing, hunger and third and boredom replaced the terror. You got back to your game, but Rhonda excused herself not long after to meet with the bridge crew, and with her gone there was no challenge left to the game, so it simply became conversation.
Cass and Dremel got along famously; the stormtrooper's crude humour and directness delighted him, and she in turn was equally surprised by his simple insights. You were content to just listen as they traded war stories and complained about past officers, talked at length about obscure equipment, and compared injuries. You had another glass of amasec and relaxed, examining the saint-beads and trying to see how many figures you recognized.
"So where we goin' again?" Dremel asked eventually. "I know Rhonda said it, but I'll be honest kinda only half-listen to her, y'know?"
"Yeah, I do. It's some rock called Gathis, never heard of it, but I think there's Astartes there, right?" she asked. Dremel's face lit up.
"Space Marines! Which ones?" he exclaimed. "Ultramarines? We're dead close to…
no, that's Ultramar, innit. Tryin' to remember whose out east… uh, Subjugamatators, I think, they were part of the Damocles Crusade so they must be around here somewhere, right?"
"... Alright, I'm impressed." Cass admitted. She'd only be peripherally exposed to Dremel's obsession since joining the expedition. "How do you know all this?"
"When I'm guarding the Inquisitor at the library, she gets the servitors to read books about Space Marines for me so I don't get bored," he said brightly. "Love Space Marines. You know I'm kinda like one, right?"
"I mean, you're big, yeah," Cass admitted.
"No, I mean… Miss Magos-Ann told me! Everyone says ogryns are big and strong because we used to be little humans that got left on big planets and we evolved, but she says that don't make any sense. Not enough time, and we woulda gotten stumpy and little like the Squats anyway, right?"
"I suppose," Cass said.
"We wouldn'ta gotten dumber neither, no reason to. Brain's the best tool a human's got, she says. Nah, she says sometime a long time ago we musta been proper warriors, waaaaay back before Space Marines; some old warlord made us big and strong and a bit shit at thinking for ourselves much, which…" He paused. "That part ain't great, but Miss Magos-Ann says they don't call it a Dark Age for nothin'. Sides…" He tapped the side of his head, where his implant lay under the reinforced steel of his skull; "Big difference between ogryn and you lot; when we're stupid, we can fix it. When
you're stupid, you're outta luck, ain't that right?"
"Got me there," Cass admitted. "So, you know what marine's we're going to run into, Dahl?"
"Doom Eagles," you said. "I've not heard of them, but-"
"DOOM EAGLES?" Dremel bellowed, and you both twitched from the immense sound. He immediately brought his voice down to a whisper. "Sorry, but- Doom Eagles?! I don't know much about them, but I seen drawings. They wear
silver, all over. Kinda like the Silver Skull, sometimes I mix 'em up, but Silver Skulls have black inside their shoulder-thingy and the Doom Eagles are just silver all the way. Don't know much else about them though."
"Nor do I. If they're anything like the Gate Wardens or Void Stalkers, though, they'll be helpful, and potential allies," you continued.
"Love them," Dremel continued, still beaming ear to ear (an expansive space indeed). "You never met 'em, damn shame. They're helping the Inquisitor, y'know."
"I do," Cass said, yawning and glancing at her chrono. "Shit, it's late. What's the plan for tomorrow?"
---
You've got some time before the ship finishes its journey. What are you going to do to pass it?
[ ] You discovered in your last journey that the ship has an officer's library, ill-used and half-forgotten. As small and shabby as it is, it must be ancient indeed. What could you find in there?
[ ] You thought you might go down belowdecks and check on the crew and passengers, see how the ship is run and how life is lived on the venerable vessel. You hadn't in your last journey as you'd been mildly ill during warp travel, but Praxis always made a point to.
[ ] You hadn't wanted to test the patience of your hosts last journey, but this time curiosity was compelling you. The engine room of this ship must be quite the place, and you wondered how it was kept running. Who was the Magos who ruled this primordial domain?
