Shipping concerns
The more she thinks about this assignment, the more confused and irritated Weiss gets. It simply makes no sense to her, at all - there are people vastly more suited to inspecting and assessing new starships, and she herself has numerous duties planetside. The SDC does not run itself, after all. Still, it isn't as if she could (or would, honestly) refuse a request from the Primarch's office. She is sure that there is a very good reason behind Perturabo's decision. She just needs to puzzle it out - and that is probably just one of the reasons why he selected her. It's not like he made a secret about grooming her (and, to be honest, several more people) for high positions in the labyrinthine Imperial hierarchy. She is very much aware that the nascent fiefdom of the Primarch needs capable administrators, and while Astartes are supposed to excel in everything, the Fourth Legion is not yet suited to these civilian tasks. Soon, though; in a few years, in all likelihood, a decade or two on the outside. She figures that is one reason Perturabo sent her to Ultramar.
She frowns, glaring at her reflection in the Thunderhawk's window. She cannot afford to let pride and vanity blind her to the importance and severity of the task at hand - she is treading on unfamiliar ground, and she is well aware that the Primarch knows she has only very rudimentary knowledge, all theoretical, on how exactly starships function (sure, she travels extensively, but that's not in the same league as building or piloting one; even if she can pilot a Thunderhawk, if needed). No matter. The glare morphs into a fond smile, her eyes flickering towards the passenger compartment. After all, she does have her team with her, and they, especially Ruby, definitely will assist her in completing the task to the Primarch's satisfaction.
At Weiss' request, the pilot makes a slow tour over the hull of the huge starship, and the Huntress tries to evaluate armor strength, number and type of weapon emplacements, size of engines - no matter how implausible or impractical-seeming, she wants to absorb as much data, as many impressions as possible. She knows that Ruby will call her attention to any truly outstanding features - and of course she herself is quickly becoming aware that at least this is not a warship she has to evaluate. Well, in that case, it makes more sense to send someone like her, she muses. After dealing with the SDC and her ambassadorial duties for so long, she does have some ideas about how large-scale interstellar trade works within the Imperium. Thus, a facet of the puzzle is solved, and she flashes a satisfied smile.
The ship is massive, sleek, the design philosophy and external aesthetics tug at her memories but she cannot place where she had seen similar ships. The name of the vessel offers no help at all - and neither does Ruby, whom Weiss can hear suppressing a snicker when the ship's name is revealed to them. The white-haired huntress frowns at that, but try as she might, she has no idea why Regina Glacies would make Ruby react like that. After all, Weiss is well aware that Ruby's knowledge and expertise of Imperial Gothic (particularly High Gothic) is second only to her own. No matter, she decides - it's not like she can't make her team leader talk later, in a more private setting.
The Thunderhawk docks within the vast hangar deck of the freighter, and the disembarking Huntresses are met with an honor guard of Navy personnel. Their livery and accents deviate just a bit from the Imperial standards, indicative of their homeworld, and Weiss frowns again, that nagging feeling of familiarity raising its head again. She should know this accent. She should know these minor changes in uniforms. Her memory is as close to perfect as possible for a human - yet even so, recalling something this small and specific from the vast depths of those memories is a nontrivial task. And it's not like this particular information would be a matter of life and death.
The four Huntresses share a look, communicating like only long-time comrades can do, and then Weiss directs their entourage towards the enginarium. During the long trek, she pays close attention to the state of both encountered personnel and the corridors themselves, and she is satisfied with both. And no, not just because the color scheme is predominantly blue and white, with the occasional grey thrown in. Ruby's snicker when Weiss points out how it reminds her of home is fully unwarranted, and the white-haired Huntress makes a mental note to avenge the slight later.
Still, the important thing is that the enginarium is impressive enough to earn even Ruby's approval - even if the efficiency and performance is half of what the Magos claimed, it still is abundantly clear that the sublight and warp engines are on par with those of a grand cruiser. Weiss considers that very good - after all, if the constructors managed this feat, the rest of the ship systems have to be at least up to this standard. Another point in the crew's favor is the machinelike precision and speed with which they perform their tasks, without the need for resorting to electrowhip-wielding gang masters. Sure, some people needed just that, but even the sometimes overly result-oriented Weiss finds that approach rather counterproductive in the long run. Not to mention grossly inefficient.
The tour takes them hours, but it is a necessary task, and honestly, Weiss can tell that in their own way, all four of them enjoy it. Sure, Blake mostly walks with a distant, cold expression on her face, but she knows the faunus, and can spot the minuscule tells in her behavior. Blake definitely approves of the layout of the ship's interior, the attitude towards the simple crewmen - and Weiss knows well enough that the other would notice if it was a performance just for their benefit. Yang visibly brightens when they inspect the recreational facilities; which, for some strange reason, seem to have been built with aura-users (or dare Weiss think it, Astartes) in mind. Curious.
And Ruby is distractingly enjoying herself - something Weiss has not expected, since they are not on a warship, there is comparatively little that would send her team leader into this giddy state. Sure, her reaction to the enginarium is not a surprise, but the silver-eyed Huntress can barely stop herself from bouncing and grinning (smirking smugly, really) all over the place as the foursome travels the vast, labyrinthine interior of the immense freighter along with their escort. Weiss does make a number of mental notes about Ruby's reactions to certain pieces of tech - it will be useful later on, when it comes to presents and anniversaries.
They finally arrive to the bridge, and when the four Huntresses step through the blast door, Weiss' mind kicks into overdrive, her gaze sweeping across the vista before her, taking in all details. For a normal human, or even for most Hunters, there is barely anything that would help in distinguishing Astartes clad in power armor. Weiss is not like most Hunters in that regard. Especially since she is familiar with the Legion these warriors belong to. She knows them, and things start making a disturbing amount of sense for her.
Slowly, menacingly, she turns her head from the Astartes standing at attention, and glares at her team leader and closest friend. Ruby is wise enough to smother any grin she would normally sport, but Weiss can see the sparks of merriment in those silver eyes. She suppresses the urge to kill the other woman - if for no other reason than the fact that Yang would not let her.
Her distraction is minuscule, barely a few heartbeats - yet it is enough. She spots the armored behemoth too late, her eyes widen in recognition, before an armored hand reaches down, and ruffles her hair, the voice of Legionary Pullo (Sergeant Pullo, a distant part of her brain corrects) barks a vox-distorted laughter at her indignant shriek, before the Astartes takes off his helmet. She decides with great difficulty that she will not stab him. That would make things between the two Legions awkward. And sadly, her glare's effects are much diminished thanks to the blush on her cheeks and the snickering of her teammates.
Before she could regain her bearings and give the Ultramarine a proper tongue-lashing for the inappropriate behavior, a giant shape looms from the shadowed recesses of the bridge, and Weiss' face pales even further as the grinning Perturabo steps forward. Mortified, her words stumble in her throat, yet she knows, feels that the amusement that permeates the bridge of the starship is filled with fondness. Still, her cheeks burn all that brighter, before her whole being goes rigid and pale, as a hololithic apparition manifests.
She knows that man. In fairness, so do countless people of the Imperium, but not like Weiss does. After all, she did spend numerous occasions in the man's company, talking and listening, and ignoring Ruby's snickering as Weiss swallows and takes in the noble, patrician features of the Thirteenth Primarch, scarcely able to distinguish the words of the recording, nevermind understanding what Guilliman's cultured, precise baritone says. The cadence of the speech lulls her senses, and she knows that she'll have to rewatch the whole message at a later point to be able to fully process it, but it seems she has to do something first, going by the fact that a trio of Ultramarines stand before her, with Pullo in the lead, and uncle Perturabo at his side, and he's holding something in his hand that her mind can't recognize for an instant - then her eyes go wide, and Weiss sways, only staying on her feet thanks to Ruby's support.
The artifact in the Primarch's hand is such a simple, archaic thing - just a parchment with a few dozen written lines and two seals at the bottom. Yet Weiss is more knowledgeable than the average Imperial citizen, especially when it comes to trade-related issues. And that little parchment in Perturabo's hands, covered in very familiar, precise writing, is about the highest honor and achievement someone in Imperial trade can aspire to. She knows full well just what those two little blood-red seals contain, and a distant part of her mind can even recognize the sigils of the two Primarchs involved. What she has trouble accepting is that her name features prominently on the parchment. It's for her. Not her father. Not Winter. Not Whitley. For her. It's something she never dreamed of when she talked occasionally with both of them about her plans for the necessary expansion of the SDC.
She somehow manages to muster the energy necessary to accept the enormous gift and responsibility, the immense trust and goodwill emplaced on her by the two Primarchs she had the fortune to meet and work with. She will live up to their trust, repay them and the Imperium for their faith in her - and so will her descendants. She will make sure of that, as she builds up Schnee Transstellar into an organization that will make both her uncle and Primarch Guilliman (Roboute, a traitorous part of her mind whispers) proud.
As usual, it's Ruby who manages to bring her back to her senses.
"So Weiss, should I be jealous?"
The freshly-invested Rogue Trader's face burns. Weiss will not care for the other's family connections. She will not care who is present. She will not care about any feelings whatsoever. She is going to murder Ruby.
