Chapter: 1.1
Chapter: The Gauntlet
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Part: 1
Departmento Munitorum: Imperial Transport 'Gauntlet'
En Route to Accazius II
Sallur System
Sinaxria Sector
Segmentum Tempestus
The icy void, parallel to the hell known as the warp, has existed since the birth of the universe, long before the very gods of this hell hole of a universe drew their first breath, long before the birth of those abominable creatures that lay hidden in the darkest pits of reality. The void simply... existed.
And in that void, between countless galaxies, between countless stars and moons, between countless worlds, there was a ship floating along quietly, wary of those that sought to render its passengers' souls from their bodies and condemn them to the eternal damnation of the void.
The ship was not grand or luxurious, nor did it have the aura of an ancient bastion, nor the cold exterior made from some rare elements that warded off the demonic warp... well a meter-thick armor made of adamantium and the 'Gellar Field Device,' were necessary to make sure it's crew were not turned into mince meat or bubbling cauldrons of disease.
Anyway, it is the 'Gauntlet,' one of the tens of thousands of the Imperium's transport ships or rather, the 'Imperial Transports.' Merchantmen, freighters, and support vessels carry the trade that is the very lifeblood of the Imperium.
From dozens to thousands, these humble transports have been as vital to the Imperium's victories as the mighty Battleships that these transporters feed.
These ships are slow, ungainly, and armed with piss-poor weaponry, but they are called upon to defend the Imperium in the most unlikeliest of hours. These are easily hijacked, destroyed, vaporized, or straight-up taken over by wrap abominations.
Yet, here it was, with its clumsy gait and flimsy armor, armed with 52 Heavy Point Defence Cannons, 68 Sanctified Light Defense Canons, and 42 Emperor-blessed Missile Tubes. Rather mildly armed for an Imperial Transport.
Under the high gothic spire, a giant glass mural depicting the holy form of the Lord of Mankind overshadowed the Bridge of the ship. An aged man stood there, gazing upon the mural with bright, shining eyes that would distract most people from the slit on his forehead, a third eye. He was flanked on both sides by a pair of Guardsmen, armed and ready to strike him down the moment he showed any sign of weakness to the wrap.
The automatic gate at the far corner of the hall opened with a hiss and the muffled crack of boots upon the metal floor of the ship reverberated in the silence of the Bridge. Soon, the distant echoes turned into the crisp and clear clatter of studded combat boots clicking against the metal lining.
A man appeared at the entrance of the bridge, not a screeching demon of Khorne the Chaos god of blood, nor the abomination of Nurgle, the mighty Lord of Decay, and neither the deathly seductive form of a demon of Slaanesh, Chaos god of obsession, the Master of Excess.
They couldn't count out him being the pawn of Tzeentch, the Chaos God of Change, Evolution, Intrigue, and Sorcery. For if he was one, they couldn't discern him till his hands had turned them on each other's throat.
The man walked past the crew if he was unhappy with their gazes, he didn't voice it out. He was wearing a silver breastplate, beneath a large number of ornaments and medals, his rank and standing appeared to be quite high. There was a metal abomination of a weapon hung on his belt, a Garm Pattern Service Bolt Pistol, a .75-caliber weapon favored by the Commissars of the Imperium, it fires... miniature... tank rounds.
Another reason why this man's presence eased the Guardsmen, who were doing quite a good job of looking unbothered by the presence of the three-eyed old man.
"Navigator Judge."
The man greeted the old man with a narrow glance before looking at the two Guardsmen,
"Guardsmen, you both are dismissed, make yourself present for the routine inspection."
The two men hurriedly saluted the man before rushing out of the Bridge.
"Judge, Psyker Sulivan tells me that you are clean."
Said the grizzled man as he turned to look at the three-eyes Navigator.
"As I said I would be."
Chuckled the old man as he glanced at the murals one last time before staring ahead into the darkness of the space. The grizzled man, having gotten the assurance of the navigator's purity, seemed to relax a bit more.
The Bridge of the ship fell into an unnatural silence save for the distant hum of the warp engine. The old man, or rather, the Navigator Judge, continued to stare up ahead into the darkness, the light of the bridge reflecting off of his third eye. His lips parted as verse after verse of prayer ensued in his trance.
The grizzled man stood across from the Navigator, watching him with a thoughtful expression.
"Where's the Captain?"
The navigator opened his left eye in an exasperated manner,
"She's with the Inquisitor, trying to give her the Situation Report."
The grizzled man chuckled,
"The new Inquisitor is still throwing a tantrum?"
The Navigator scoffed,
"Indeed, she's been refusing to speak with the Captain ever since we began our journey. Well, what did she expect? The new Sector Command doesn't have the freedom to supply her with the same resources as other Inquisitors, or even an elite retinue dedicated to protecting her."
The grizzled man chuckled grimly,
"At least she got a couple of Regiments for her next mission. But the Inquisition isn't exactly known to be kind or patient, and the position's just been forced on her as well."
The Navigator shook his head,
"That's not the problem, Calenharn, I thought she'd understand the difficulties of the Sector Command, but she seemed too busy feeling slighted by the Imperium to try and understand their difficulty."
Calenharn shook his head, not wanting to dive too deep into such topics,
"She's a hot-tempered young woman that's all."
The Navigator closed his left eye again and muttered,
"Perhaps. If that's your way of calling her a pompous b**ch, it's an apt description."
Calenharn laughed,
"I'm afraid that's not a good impression to make on the Captain."
The Navigator groaned,
"You should really try to talk some sense into the two of them, after all, your goal aligns with both of them."
Calenharn scoffed,
"As if, one of them is an Imperial Transporter Captain and the other's an Inquisitor. The former dumps my men in boiling oil and the latter stirs the pot. We only work together; we never work 'with' each other."
"Still, it's better to try and get along rather than standing there doing nothing. That Inquisitor is obviously holding a grudge, and if they are at each other's throats this early in the mission, it won't be long before either the Captain gets shot in the head or the Inquisitor gets thrown into outer space."
Calenharn sighed,
"I'll talk to the Inquisitor, but only if you talk to the Captain."
The Navigator smirked,
"Now, now, Calenharn, we've known each other for over a year. Why all of a sudden do you have any faith in me being able to deal with a woman? What a strange feeling that is..."
Calenharn scoffed, but he also chuckled.
"Let's be realistic here, both the Captain and the Inquisitor are stubborn, and neither will budge on their stances. But hey, no harm in trying."
The Navigator grimaced,
"Very well. I'll go and talk to the Captain, though I doubt she'll be as pleasant to talk to as your Inquisitor."
Calenharn shrugged,
"I don't imagine she will be either, but at this point, we need a resolution to prevent this mission from becoming even more of a mess."
Silence fell between the two 'friends' as their extremely limited inventory of topics was exhausted. Perhaps it was the inevitable fate of his kind, or perhaps it was the cold, hard look in his 'Handler's' eyes, but there never really was much that Judge could talk about with Calenharn.
The silence was broken by the same hissing of the automated door and the stomp of heels on the cold, metal floor of the Bridge. The duo turned to look at the new arrival and spotted her, Sophia Hox, Captain of the 'Gauntlet,' and she was... drenched?
Sophia Hox was a rather gaunt woman with dark, matted hair and black, hollow eyes. Wearing the red, white, and golden uniform of the 'Navis Imperialis' beneath a red cloak drenched in a brown liquid that smelled suspiciously like Amasec.
"Captain."
Nodded Calenharn in a rather cautious tone,
The Navigator opened his eyes and followed his gaze, his eyebrows curved upward when he noticed the Captain's drenched clothes. Her uniform was stained with an uneven brown color, and he could have sworn that the liquid was dripping down her legs.
His eyebrow curved down even more as the fragrance of Amasec filled the Bridge, and the Captain's dark eyes met his, her expression was empty as if she was staring at everything and nothing at the same time.
"Calenharn,"
she finally spoke, in a quiet, lifeless tone, her voice devoid of any emotion.
"Navigator."
She turned to stare at the murals,
"Tell me, can I kill that Inquisitor without being branded Heretic?"
Calenharn stared back at the Captain and then sighed. He could see the bloodthirst in her eyes even from where he stood.
"Technically, no. If you kill the Inquisitor, you will be accused of treason against the Imperium, and your deeds will be branded as heresy. But that said, the Navy's relationship with the Inquisition is quite complicated, and they generally keep their distance. So your chances of getting away with murder are high."
The Navigator tilted his head slightly to the side in thought, his eyes narrowing as he tried to gauge her mood and motivations.
"It depends. What has the Inquisitor done now?"
The Captain was silent for a moment, her eyes flicking towards the Navigator and then back to Calenharn. She stared at both men for an uncomfortably long time before speaking again.
"What has the Inquisitor done now?"
She repeated the Navigator's question while her fist clenching and unclenching rapidly,
"Other than wasting a perfect bottle of Amasec over my head? Nothing."
The captain's voice returned to its monotone tone, her eyes locked back onto the murals,
"I want her dead."
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