Ironing My Cape While the Galaxy Burns

Ironing My Cape in the Grimdark Future

There’s a lot they don’t tell you when you sign up to be a Rogue Trader. For example, nobody warns you about the endless cape maintenance. You’d think the Imperium would have a servitor dedicated to the task, but no. It’s all me, standing in my quarters, flattening out creases while my so-called allies discuss important matters like whether or not breakfast rations should include recaf.

This week’s primary mission: acquiring a new Navigator. Because, apparently, operating a massive voidship without one is considered “ill-advised.” Bureaucratic nonsense if you ask me, but off we went to some distant station orbiting Eurac V. But before we could enjoy the soothing ambiance of an orbital paperwork hellscape, the lower decks of our own ship had erupted into a small domestic crisis.

The Great Heating & Beating Debate

Depot 4 on the lower decks had a problem. Two, actually. First, the heating was being turned off at night. Second, the locals were being enthusiastically beaten by the higher ups. Being a gracious and benevolent leader (or just too annoyed to ignore it), I deigned to visit this festering pit of proletarian grievances.

Shockingly, they wanted to be treated like humans. Equally shockingly, they also wanted guns. I, in my infinite wisdom, granted them one of these requests. They got their heating back. As for the guns, I politely declined, using my most diplomatic tone of voice: “No.” And, miracle of miracles, nobody had to get stabbed, shot, or hurled out of an airlock. A rare day indeed.

Eurac Bureaucracy and the Art of Not Caring

With that minor crisis averted, we arrived at the station orbiting Eurac V. A fine establishment, if you enjoy being lied to, deceived, and force-fed regulations that seem to exist solely to make your life miserable. After a series of tedious conversations filled with false pleasantries and veiled threats, we eventually acquired our new Navigator, Cassie.

Cassie, in turn, immediately decided to take a break to read a book. I had no idea Navigators even could read, let alone indulge in leisure literature. But, apparently, she felt the need for some “me time.” I filed this under “Entitlement Issues to Address Later” and turned my attention back to the planet below.

The Celebration of Explosions

The esteemed governor, Medineh, of Rykad Minorus, had the brilliant idea to throw me a grand celebration for assuming my Rogue Trader mantle. And by “brilliant,” I mean “insufferable.” I was to ride a massive tank through a ceremonial procession while everyone cheered. I endured this humiliation because I assumed there would be some manner of luxury refreshment at the end.

Then the Final Dawn showed up and shredded the planet’s sun.

It all went downhill from there. The tank I was riding was, predictably, blown up. There was running. There was screaming. There was shooting. More importantly, my cape was absolutely ruined in the ensuing chaos. Have you ever tried to get burn marks out of finely woven adamantine-threaded fabric? You can’t. It’s impossible.

Nonetheless, we prevailed. The Final Dawn was repelled, the governor was saved (more or less), and we limped back to the voidship, victorious but begrimed.

Lessons Learned

1. Cape maintenance is a full-time job.

2. The lower decks are full of people who want things, which is deeply inconvenient.

3. Never trust a bureaucrat, a celebration, or a tank parade.

4. Navigators are apparently entitled to breaks.

5. Exploding tanks are not a good time.

And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to iron another cape. Again.