When we left that fortress—so oppressive it could give you claustrophobia—we rode a different kind of oversized aircraft, shaped like a flying toolbox. But this time, the experience was worlds apart from the way we'd arrived.
No more freezing steel deck under my back. Instead, there were seats upholstered in some kind of soft fabric. The cabin lighting was bright, and the air carried the faint scent of incense.
The spacious compartment held several other people in different uniforms, apparently members of the Inquisitor's retinue. She herself sat opposite me.
"This is a Rogue Trader's shuttle," she said—an explanation dropped without context—then didn't bother to check whether I understood. She didn't look at me again. She simply closed her eyes and rested against the seatback. Long lashes cast a pale shadow over her lids, making her look less razor-sharp and more like a silent sculpture.
The shuttle climbed smoothly, with almost no vibration at all. Compared to the brutal military aircraft I'd ridden—no, been thrown around on—before, this was practically luxurious. The ride was so gentle I could even lean toward the porthole and look outside out of pure curiosity.
And then my mouth never closed again.
We were ascending at an utterly absurd angle, almost straight up. The enormous city below shrank rapidly, becoming an irregular geometric patchwork of countless points of light. Soon, even the outline of the city blurred, and I could see vast mountain ranges and winding rivers like models laid out on a sandbox table.
That wasn't the end of it. We climbed higher and higher, until the sky's color shifted from blue, to deep indigo, and then to pure black without a hint of haze. The horizon beyond the porthole was no longer a straight line, but a clearly visible arc.
Then I saw the stars.
Countless stars, blazing in the blackness, bright beyond belief.
What the hell? We… left the atmosphere?
I'm an engineering type. What I was seeing hit me like a sledgehammer. How ridiculous was the thrust-to-weight ratio on this thing? Taking off from the ground, pushing through gravity and atmospheric drag, and in under ten minutes it had punched out of the atmosphere and into low orbit? What kind of insane black tech was this? This was way more outrageous than any daemon sorcery.
Thinking back later, I realized I'd subconsciously ignored an even scarier piece of black tech: I wasn't wearing a seatbelt, and I still hadn't floated off my chair.
While I was plastered to the window like some country bumpkin seeing the void for the first time, the shuttle shuddered lightly and began to decelerate.
"Inquisitor, we have approached the 'Black Mirror' docking zone," a respectful voice reported from the cockpit.
I turned and looked out the other side of the porthole.
A "mountain"—a black mountain range of steel, gun turrets, and Gothic spires—hung silently in the starfield.
It was a spaceship.
A spaceship so vast it lay completely outside my frame of reference. Its silhouette resembled a gigantic dagger bristling with spikes and batteries. The prow was a brutal ramming beak shaped like a cathedral's buttressed front. Tiny points of light crawled across its dark, ominous hull. Next to that monster, our shuttle felt like a seagull perched on a whale's back.
"Th-That's… your ship?" I asked, stammering.
"Just a frigate. A Rogue Trader's voidship," the Inquisitor said, opening her ice-blue eyes as if she were commenting on a shared bicycle. "In the Imperial Navy's order of battle, ships like this are among the smallest combat-capable units. But it's fast, especially this one. Now. We board. The Rogue Trader is waiting."
Smallest?
How big were the largest?
All at once, I felt the world I'd been dumped into was even more insane than I'd imagined.
When we boarded the ship, the same dark, oppressive, magnificent Gothic style hit me all over again. It matched the fortress—skulls and double-headed eagles everywhere, darkness and weight pressing down on every surface. But here everything was more grand, more immense, and more… saturated with the heaviness of history.
We crossed a corridor wide enough for two tanks to drive side by side. The vaulted ceiling was so high I couldn't see its top—only rows of dim hanging lamps, like corpse-lights floating over an abyss.
Huge tapestries depicting void warfare hung along the walls, faded to the point their details were nearly unreadable. The air carried a strange blend of old dust, machine oil, and some kind of spice. It was hard to believe this was the interior of a sealed warship.
Thinking of the cramped naval compartments I'd seen back home—the kind where they'd stack bodies if they could—I couldn't help feeling a surge of awe. Black tech really did mean you could be as unreasonable as you wanted.
I walked with the Inquisitor's attendants—my nominal coworkers—a group of men and women in assorted uniforms, all stern-faced, all silent, following behind her. Not one of them tried to talk to me.
Their eyes held curiosity and scrutiny, but also coldness, even mockery. The atmosphere crawled under my skin. I kept my head down, stayed behind the Inquisitor, and did my best to look harmless.
At last, we stopped before a massive set of double doors forged from brass and steel. The surface was carved with intricate star charts and scenes of war. Two burly guards in thick, reddish bronze armor—each holding a large shotgun—snapped to attention the moment they saw us, raised their weapons in salute with a loud clang, and then heaved the heavy doors open together.
Beyond lay the ship's bridge.
It was nothing like the sci-fi bridge I'd imagined—no holograms, no sleek touchscreens. This place was more like a dark cathedral built between the stars and the void.
The space was enormous. The ceiling was painted with complex religious murals. At the front was a vast arched viewport, assembled from countless smaller armor plates like a cathedral's stained glass, displaying the brilliant starfield outside.
Beneath it stood rows of consoles made from wood and brass, steeped in an antique feel. Countless crew in blue-and-white uniforms worked at their stations, yet the bridge was unnervingly quiet—only the low hum and ticking of instruments, and occasional hushed reports delivered like prayers.
On the central command dais stood an elderly woman in an elaborate, luxurious deep-blue gown. Her hair was white, but perfectly arranged, pinned with ornate jeweled hairpieces. She leaned on an ivory-white cane. Her face was lined with wrinkles, yet her eyes were sharp as a hawk's. She looked less like a captain and more like a Queen Victoria stepped out of a classical oil painting.
"Inquisitor Ireya, my old friend, you do have a talent for finding me trouble," the old woman said, offering a helpless smile when she saw us. "To wait for you, I've had to linger here a full day longer. The red-robed ones have pressed me eight times already."
"My apologies, Lord-Captain Nemiah," the Inquisitor replied flatly. "Dealing with some 'garbage' took time."
Then she shifted slightly and pushed me forward.
"This is the 'cargo' I mentioned."
This "Lord-Captain Nemiah" inspected me from head to toe with her hawk-eyed gaze.
"This little thing? He looks like a stiff breeze could knock him over. You're telling me he's worth delaying my contract with the Astra Militarum?"
"His value exceeds your imagination," the Inquisitor said, leaving no room for debate. "I must take him to Holy Terra as quickly as possible, and your Black Mirror is the fastest ship I can find in this sector."
"Well then, for old friendship's sake." The old woman tapped her cane, pausing. "But I'll warn you, transporting the Inquisition's 'special assets' on my ship is not cheap."
"Price is not a concern."
I listened to their conversation like a puppet, but I understood enough.
This wasn't a Navy warship. It was a privately owned, heavily modified fast-runner. That queenly old woman wasn't an official officer—she was a Rogue Trader, whatever that title truly meant. Some kind of sanctioned voidfaring merchant-lord, I guessed.
And the Inquisitor, to haul me—the "big treasure"—to the Imperial capital, had pulled strings with an old acquaintance who owned the fastest ride available.
So, I was about to experience the legendary FTL—faster-than-light—interstellar travel?
Would it be like Star Trek's warp drive? Or like Star Wars hyperspace jumps?
As a tech nerd and a lifelong sci-fi fan, anticipation surged through me in an instant. Coming to this damned world had cost me plenty, but maybe—finally—it wouldn't be a wasted trip.
(End of Chapter)
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