Chapter Five.
907.M30. Six months after travelling via the Dolan Gate.
'Where are we?' Raphaen demanded.
'Still unknown,' said Gyndon, the aged shipmaster of the strike cruiser. He observed the discontent in the captain's eyes. There was far more than frustration there. The captain had expected to reach their destination unimpeded. He was reacting to the failure with rarely reserved scorn. Gyndon could guess why, he wished he could not. The last battle had taken a toll of the Legion Company, the translation from the warp even moreso. One of the escort ships, the Terra's Justice, had been lost, and with it a full complement of Astartes. Ten Blood Angels and some six thousand well trained ratings. All for the cost of - to their perspective - a quarter year in transit through the warp.
It was made worse only by the point of their arrival.
The Consort of Baal strained, struggling to keep to its course. Rolling gravitational forces battered the Blood Angel flotilla with a volley of asteroids and debris. The vessels had translated on the edge of a system locked in mayhem. The boundary of the system was marked by the remains of a world. In all directions, mayhem folded in on the flotilla.
A labyrinthian construction of remains was what the chief auspex officer - a woman named Serphia - had said. Though such a description almost seemed to provide order to the mayhem. Gyndon had been born amongst the sea-faring naval families of Vartek, a minor world in the Segmentum Solar. This reminded him of the great monsoons that had crashed against his home city during the Months of Endurance, but instead of spindly limbed creatures from the deep thrown against the vast city, asteroids were flunk wildly against the adamantium skin of these great vessels. Each worth more than his home world as he had known it.
Beyond the labyrinth, a lull presented itself. Just within the mid-point of the system, where the gravitational force palled before that of the sun, order seemed to impose itself.
Raphaen was in communication with Lord Casmir, the ships Chief Navigator in his ovoid cell. They were struggling to get a fix on the fleets current position.
'Your displeasure is as evident as ever, Lord Casmir,' Raphaen said.
'Why thank you, my lord Raphaen. I do my utmost to be predictable.' Casmir said over the vox, projecting his delicate accent over a vox-horn of antique make. 'Though I must say, I had not expected our journey to take us to such a… remote place.'
'Indeed?' Raphaen said.
Raphaen pulled a data-slate from a desk, it was military-grade. Or as anyone amongst the Expedition Fleets would call it, reliable. At least that's how Gyndon perceived them as being.
'I want your input on this,' the captain said, putting the slate back on the desk.
'I will tell you what I can, but I would place us in the region of our destination. Perhaps a system between the two, one which has managed to draw us in somehow. I can not be certain, I shall convein with the Astropaths and those others that may provide assistance to discerning our destination.'
The captain looked out of the oculus, examining what he saw, he said. 'Do as you must,' before closing the vox-link.
'Captain,' Raphaen said, turning to Gyndon. 'I want the ship and company officers gathered in the strategium in one hours time, that includes you.'
Gyndon nodded saying, 'Of course, captain.'
Many of the assembled officers were trashuman, Blood Angels whose collective age was far greater than the newfound Imperium's own.
As Raphaen emerged at the head of the strategium, he saw Gyndon talking with the captain of the Grail Host, a woman in her early thirties named Jarla Eshran. She had come recommended from the Jovian's, though she was far different from them in her physique. Raphaen caught the subtle contours of her body, the subtle covering of her athletes body by her uniform.
Draken, the Apothecary, talked with Skaran and the chief tech-priest a wheezing cadaver named Taharen, his cheeks and chest were a map of ribbed brass valves and pistons, connecting to a large back-jar of dirty green fluid.
An unlikely assembly if ever there was one.
Gorn stood apart from the mortal officers, shooting his eyes up at the captain with a dip of his head. For all his stubbornness outside of combat, the Warden respected Raphaen greatly, though he rarely showed it.
Others were present, a sergeant from the Tactical, Assault and Support elements of the Company had been chosen to represent their divisions. It was the best Raphaen could do, his lieutenant-commander had died too soon to find a replacement, even during the journey through the warp.
More figures stood back around the strategies walls, aids and junior officers of varying age and experience. These were the human's that helped run Raphaen's small flotilla.
'Please, let us not tire ourselves by lurking in the shadows,' Raphaen said, gesturing for the mortals to sit around the large wooden table in the rooms centre. It was an antique, used only for gatherings with dignitaries when they would not host the Legion representatives themselves.
'Lord Casmir has informed me of our current location,' Raphaen said, joining the mortals around the table. 'We are in a system designated as being NC. There have been reports of a minor ork presence operating in this area. As such, no real effort had been made to establish our rule over it.'
Sergeant Izharfer, the representative of the Support Squads, tapped his left augmetic hand on the table rhymically. His face was square-jawed, scarred, blunt features and expressionless. 'So we are to face the greenskin's then?' He asked, his words grating.
'If we discover any, then yes, brother. We will be facing the ork's present in the system.' Raahaen said, continuing. 'I have spoken with the choir, Mistress Alleria and Lord Casmir agree that we are in range to contact the nearest compliant system. One named Hadrubael.'
A murmur broke out amongst the junior officers.
'We shall contact them and inform them of our situation,' Raphaen said, ending the discourse. 'From there we shall make as swift a departure as possible. Now then, are there any other matters to be raised here?'
No one spoke.
'Very well then, the flotilla is to adopt a position in the midst of the gravitational lull. From there we shall secure our location as best as possible. If the ork's are present here, then we shall be ready. Dismissed.'
Raphaen looked as his officers departed. All save Fenarix. 'Brother-Captain,' he said, stopping beside the captain. 'This was no mear translation error was it?'
'No, brother. Lord Casmir is et unsure as to what has occurred here. But in time, I believe we shall uncover what brought us here.'
Fenarix nodded, then departed. Leaving Raphaen to himself.
Jam here, well then, seems our friends here have ended up in a predicament of sorts. But whatever could have caused it? I guess we will have to find out another time, till then, I've been Jam.