When the guard saw that the big man in front of him didn't respond, he slammed his rifle butt forward and jabbed it hard into Dorn's lower back.
He was loud enough to be practically yelling. "Hey, abhuman. I'm talking to you. You deaf?!"
The guard's brutal attitude startled the surrounding pilgrims.
They flinched instinctively, murmuring prayers for the Emperor's protection, then lowered their heads and edged away from Dorn, afraid of getting dragged into it.
They'd been through too many ports. They knew local dock troopers were not to be trifled with. Even if someone beat a voidborn to death on a pilgrim ship, or killed an abhuman outright, no one would care.
The rifle butt against Dorn barely counted as a scratch, but he still felt anger rising.
He wasn't angry because someone had disrespected him. He was angry because of the Imperium's darkness.
He had assumed that under the Savior's rule, the Imperium would improve in some ways, especially on a ship that belonged to the Savior.
But the guard's attitude alone told him how Imperial commoners were treated day to day.
More importantly, this was a pilgrim ship. Everyone aboard were believers of the Emperor, yet the guard was still so rough.
That meant many who held weapons had lost their awe of the Emperor. At the very least, they did not truly revere Him.
That ran counter to the Emperor's original intent in founding the Imperium, and it exposed the Savior's attitude toward the Emperor.
There was no fear of the throne. No reverence.
"Maybe the Savior isn't as merciful as Corax said. Or maybe after gaining power, his ambition swelled out of control.
"Power makes people hideous. Greedy.
"Just like Horus back then. Once he became Warmaster and took command of the Imperium's armies, he stopped fearing Father. He even tried to replace him…"
Dorn's gaze shifted. His opinion of the Savior changed.
Even Horus, one of Father's most trusted sons, had betrayed them. So what about the Savior?
Who could guarantee he would not develop other thoughts, an unchecked ambition that could threaten the Golden Throne?
Now, only Dorn could guarantee Father's safety.
As the Emperor's most loyal son, the Praetorian of Terra had always maintained vigilance toward all others.
"The Savior may be borrowing Father's authority to do as he pleases. I have to stand before the Golden Throne myself and confirm this with Father."
Thinking of the faint plea for help he had sensed from Father's slumber, Dorn made his decision, grateful for his caution.
A thin thread of anger burned in him, but he controlled it well and made no rash move.
That would expose his disguise.
More importantly, he did not want the Savior to learn of his return and take countermeasures.
"There are no high-ranking figures on this ship. They can't see through my disguise. This proscribed relic should at least let me get close to the Imperial Palace…"
That was Dorn's thought.
The proscribed relic on him could fool most detection devices, and even fool the senses of higher beings.
With no tech-priest, psyker, or warrior assisting them, mere mortal guards could not possibly discover him.
The Praetorian of Terra played the role of an abhuman about to be interrogated, putting on an expression of fear and confusion.
No matter what, he had to avoid a conflict. Otherwise, he would have to find another way to reach Terra in secret.
That would waste far too much time.
However, before the guard who had shouted at him could do anything else, the man was rebuked by the squad leader.
"Idiot. What do you think you're doing?!"
The squad leader, wearing power armor, strode over and slapped the rude guard so hard the man nearly toppled.
His brows were knitted tight, his expression severe. "Don't bring the hive-scum habits of the old Imperium here. And you do not discriminate against any pilgrim. That violates regulations."
The squad leader was furious.
Were these morons trying to get him fired and stripped of his post? He never should have given them a chance.
Even if that idiot was his brother-in-law, it didn't matter.
The Redemption-series pilgrim ships belonged to the new Imperium's Ecclesiastical Affairs Department. They were a fleet built to generate revenue and assist pilgrims, running multiple pilgrimage routes.
The Redemption pilgrim ships mainly accepted wealthy merchants and nobles from across the Imperium, charging exorbitant fees, then touring along major holy sites before ultimately heading to Holy Terra for pilgrimage.
Along the way, they also preached and reinforced reverence for the Savior, the Emperor of the Imperium.
These were secure routes. The Redemption Fleet provided escort protection, and from time to time even the Angels of War boarded to check for security risks.
Of course, using merchants and nobles to fund the fleet was only one side of it.
The fleet also accepted poorer pilgrims and honor citizens, essentially using the upper class's money to cover the transport costs of ordinary pilgrims.
A sustainable loop.
In other words, the Redemption-series pilgrim fleet was service-oriented.
It was also one of the new Imperium's public faces, a window into its culture. Not only did it need to protect the ship, it needed strict discipline.
None of the old Imperium's rot was allowed to persist.
Especially the kind of rough shove and abhuman discrimination that had just happened. That was a blatant violation.
So the squad leader rushed over to stop it immediately.
He showed no mercy. He tore the guard's badge off his chest and disarmed him on the spot.
Then he announced the punishment outright.
"Per the Ecclesiastical Affairs Department Guard Code, you are temporarily suspended. You will undergo re-testing before you can return to duty. And. Apologize for your shameful behavior."
"But…" the guard tried to explain, but when he saw the leader's stare, he deflated and lowered his head. "Yes. I violated regulations. I accept the punishment."
He turned, bowed to Dorn in apology, then slunk away.
The squad leader looked at Dorn, full of regret.
"I'm sorry. That guard offended you. It was our failure. We will provide compensation afterward."
He pointed to another passageway.
"But please submit to inspection, then proceed to the abhuman-designated cabins. The rooms there are better suited to your build.
"If you have any complaints or requests regarding the guard detachment, you can tell us. We will work to correct them."
Only then did Dorn realize the guard had been trying to direct him to another passage for inspection.
The attitude had simply been atrocious.
The squad leader's apology improved Dorn's impression considerably. At least the ship's security force had discipline and oversight. They weren't simply trampling the lives of the lower classes at will.
"This ship's armed security is exceptionally well-equipped…"
Dorn turned and headed down the other passage, observing the shipboard troops.
Their equipment was brand new, better than Legion Auxilia kit had been in his day. Quite a few soldiers even wore power armor.
A force like this, on any civilized world, would be considered elite. Even against a small-scale xenos or heretic incursion, they could fight.
He also noticed the guards' attitudes toward pilgrims were generally pleasant, smiling as they worked.
Perhaps the squad leader's display had cowed them.
However, when Dorn reached the next area, he found the guards truly were polite. What he had encountered earlier was simply a low-probability incident.
He was guided patiently through quarantine screening, clearing any risk of corruption or viral contamination.
After that, Dorn passed through the checkpoint smoothly and entered the ship's interior.
Once inside, he was even more astonished.
The air was clean. Greenery had been placed everywhere as decoration. By Imperial standards, it was a luxurious shipboard environment.
And it was free.
Dorn followed the abhuman group into the reception hall to register lodging. That was what the guards told them to do.
It was a novel experience.
This hall, dedicated to receiving abhuman pilgrims, had more than a dozen clerks working at once, with guards posted on duty.
"Good afternoon, pilgrim sir.
"Welcome aboard Redemption Vessel 113."
Behind the counter, the clerk handling registration smiled and made a welcoming gesture. She was clearly satisfied with her properly staffed, officially posted job.
Especially because this pilgrim ship bore a sacred-number designation, and had even been honored by a visit from the Savior himself. The thought filled her with pride.
She tilted her head slightly, looking up at the large man before her.
"Thank you for choosing this vessel as your harbor for the journey. I'm the front desk concierge, Lucila, ID A14578. I'm at your service at any time."
As she spoke, she got busy. Under her direction, a recording servo-skull rotated toward Dorn.
"This is the device used to record you. Please don't worry.
"Since this is your first time aboard, I need to process your identity information. May I ask, your homeworld is…"
Dorn answered her questions, half true, half false. He had been to too many worlds. Fabricating an identity was easy.
Especially when Imperial regions were not fully interoperable.
But once he finished answering, it turned out he was undocumented. He did not exist within the new Imperium's citizen registry.
Fortunately, that was not a major issue.
"I'm sorry. Your homeland is within a pending-reclamation zone and has not yet been formally entered into the new Imperium's citizen registry, so you cannot access network services for now.
"But please don't be discouraged. The Savior's expeditionary fleets have already departed for the major star regions. They will reclaim all Imperial territory.
"Perhaps your home will return to the Imperium's embrace soon, with reconstruction, restored routes, and network access…"
The clerk spoke with sincere regret, then handed him a card and a booklet.
"This is your registration card and the vessel's sightseeing handbook. The answers to your questions are inside.
"If there's anything you don't understand, you can always ask a nearby service automaton or any clerk."
"Thank you."
Dorn accepted the items with a smile. It was his first time being treated with such gentleness.
Her tone and manner made it difficult not to feel goodwill. She was simply a bit too attentive, patiently explaining every step as if worried he would not understand.
"Oh! Is that an Ogryn gentleman? Welcome aboard!"
The clerk's delighted voice rang out. She seemed genuinely happy to see an Ogryn arrive.
Dorn turned.
He saw an Ogryn lumber in, blank-faced, speaking in a rigid, halting way as he said he wanted to register, stammering and slow.
Still, the Ogryn's ability to communicate seemed noticeably better than what Dorn remembered from the past.
The clerk patiently taught the Ogryn how to register step by step, like teaching a child.
Seeing that, Dorn gave a bitter smile. Now he understood where that odd feeling had come from.
The clerk had taken him for an Ogryn-like big lunk.
Afterward, Dorn's keen hearing picked up more.
Once the clerk finished the Ogryn's registration, she explained to her coworkers and to a few curious abhuman pilgrims why she treated Ogryns so well.
"By the Savior above.
"If it weren't for the Ogryn gentlemen… Emperor preserve me, I would have died in that disaster long ago. They saved me. They saved my home!"
She spoke at length, recounting her past.
Those Ogryn Emperor's Angels, those Giant warriors, had defeated every invader and saved her frontier system, returning it to Imperial rule.
"The Ogryn gentlemen of the Giant Chapter are incredible.
"They didn't just drive off all the daemons. They can sing, play instruments, recite poetry, and dance with us at victory banquets. Even the artists on our world couldn't compare.
"They can paint, too…"
As she spoke, she pointed up at a ceiling mural more than twenty meters long, her eyes shining with worship.
"You don't know, do you?
"Look, that sacred painting was done by the Ogryn Giant Chapter Master, the artist, Mr. Gauss. Of course, this is only a replica. The original is kept in the Savior's treasury."
What?
"Ogryn Astartes warriors. Singing, instruments, poetry, painting, artist. How do those words even exist in the same sentence?
"Did I mishear something?"
The more Dorn listened, the more confused he became. Like everyone else, he looked up at the ceiling. The moment he saw the enormous oil painting, his scalp practically detonated.
All around, people cried out praises to the Emperor without end.
"This was painted by an Ogryn? That's got to be Tzeentch's work."
Within the Praetorian's field of view was a religious epic rendered in oil.
In the painting, Ogryns knelt in prayer, reaching toward the heavens with desperate longing, while the Savior hovered above like a holy lord, casting down a tender, loving gaze.
It was powerful. Even someone with no sense for art would recognize the skill on display.
And precisely because it was so skillful and carried such meaning, it had been chosen as the decoration for the abhuman reception hall's ceiling.
As for Gauss, the Ogryn Giant Chapter Master, he had become a minor celebrity artist within the Imperium. Many nobles competed to collect his works.
The unmarked ceiling painting in the reception hall bore a title.
To Our Great, Sublime, and Omnipotent Gene-Father, the Immortal Savior Who Scatters the Darkness.
"How did it come to this? Is this even remotely reasonable?"
The shock of it left Dorn dazed and drifting.
If Ogryns could reach that level, then didn't that make a primarch with no artistic sense look like the real idiot?
Still half-stunned, Dorn found his assigned eight-person cabin. Several abhuman pilgrims had already moved in.
The metal bunks were much larger than those for baseline humans. They had clearly been customized. Even someone as large as Dorn could sleep there, as long as he drew his legs in a bit.
There were soft blankets, too.
That proved the Imperium did not discriminate against abhumans, and that resources were abundant.
"If the Imperium treats abhumans this well, then surely it's even more generous toward humans."
Dorn thought it through.
The Imperium had launched a new crusade, reclaiming vast shadowed losses. Routes had been reconnected, a cross-regional communications network established. Resources looked plentiful.
It was astonishing.
Was this local luxury, limited to certain regions, or a general trend across Imperial territory? Had humanity's suffering truly been redeemed?
Dorn realized he could no longer read the Imperium.
He changed into the cotton robe provided by the pilgrim ship, sat on the edge of the bunk, and fell silent.
On the wall opposite his bed, a portrait of the Savior radiated authority, gazing this way with benevolent eyes, as if looking down upon him. It naturally inspired reverence.
That was the Ecclesiastical Affairs Department's design habit. They wanted to hang the Savior's holy image everywhere, so people could contemplate His visage at all times.
If it weren't inappropriate to hang one in a washroom, bordering on sacrilege, they would have put holy paintings there too.
Several abhumans knelt on the floor, praying toward the portrait, thanking the Savior for His blessings, sincere and devout.
Suddenly the cabin rocked, the lights flickered bright and dim, and the pilgrim ship seemed to slow, then stop.
"W-what's happening?"
A pale, powerfully built Quetrian spoke with worry. "By the Emperor. Did we run into a Chaos attack, or pirates?"
Under normal circumstances, a ship would not stop mid-journey unless it had suffered Warp corruption or had been intercepted by raiders.
For a pilgrim ship, that would be a nightmare.
(End of Chapter)
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