The Sisk Indicent The Kestrel of Luggnum was like any other ship: a centuries-old merchantman pressed into ferrying His Majesty’s forces through Sector and Segmentum, hallways and corridors packed with crewmen and navy ratings, cargobays full of hastily set up beds and flimsy partitions filled with Guard regiments and their assorted hangers-on. Rayvius and his team were packed in with the miscellaneous passengers, disguised as a mercenary team called in by the Governor of Sisk to help enforce genetic compliance. Their cabin was shared with a half-dozen Administratum drones, clearly accustomed to warp travel, most likely were tithe counters who had been making the rounds through the subsector for months now, mostly trying to assess the state of any potential fighting men for the Guard. If he remembered correctly, Sisk was a world that had evaded the Regimental Tithe due to an unnatural amount of mutation among the population. Ray wondered if that was why he was being brought in, to oversee a mass purge of the mutant population by the Guard. He doubted it, since Inquisitor Case's call seemed much more urgent than that. The trip was largely uneventful, warp dreams, stale air and perpetual noise from the ship and the Guard regiments generally made things uncomfortable, but such journeys usually were. Ray spent his time fiddling with code on his cogitator, smoking up a storm and working through contingency plans with his team for if things went bad, which all mostly boiled down to “hope the ship is in realspace and find the nearest life pod,” the locations of which he learned from his occasional discreet tap into the ship's systems. The announcement of 'imminent realspace translation' came about three weeks into the journey. Ray was out wandering through the guard and their camp followers trying to procure more lho; he had nearly run out twice on the trip so far. He figured he could buy some before heading back to his cabin. He was halfway through negotiations when the mildly disturbing ripple of nausea from warp translation washed over everyone. The crew and ratings were running everywhere, alarms blared and warning lights flashed, but that was normal for a translation. Ray finished his business, clutching his portable cogitator in his augmentic hand and began heading back to his cabin before noting the alarms hadn't stopped as they should have. His growing fears were confirmed when the vox speakers blurted “brace for impact” moments before the ship quaked violently. Chaos erupted soon after that: the Guard were running back to their cabins and grabbing their equipment, camp followers milled about in fear, ratings tried to push through the mobs and get to their battle stations. Ray tried to push through the crowds to his cabin, but he changed directions once a vox blurt ordered a general evacuation. “All hands, abandon ship. Proceed to your assigned life pod in an orderly fashion,” it droned emotionlessly. It was anything but an orderly procession to the life pods. Ray had managed to pull to the front of the pack thanks to his knowledge of the nearest pods. He had no idea where his team was, but he was sure they were boarding their life pods elsewhere. They all knew what they were doing, so they could get along without their Interrogator for a while. He strapped himself in and watched the pod fill up, clutching his cogitator, waiting for launch.