A girl — no, a woman — lies face up on a wide bed, sinking deep into the covers. Dozens of face-down cards, shimmering with otherworldly light, are strewn about, surrounding her in a haphazard halo of psychic power. She, and the back of each card, is further lit by a veritable chandelier of stars, rotating at a pace imperceptible to most people.

But, she is not “most people.”

Every fraction of a second translates to an unimaginable transition through space for every star in this galaxy, and the map reflects this to an impossible degree. The woman’s eyes track the slow spiral of celestial wonder, matching it to what she sees beyond her sanctuary.

The woman frowns as the stars shake, wobbling off-axis by a micrometer. In one smooth motion, she reaches up and snaps her fingers. Lights flick on in a staggered pattern, starting from the outer edges of the room and terminating just beyond the reaches of the stars. A hundred banners — symbols of favor, reward, or conquest — wave languidly in an artificial breeze, produced by hidden fans circulating the air.

A servo-skull floats down from above, carefully avoiding the star map. It seems to have learned its lesson from the last time it made that mistake. The woman opens her hand and the skull deposits a handheld vox-caster into her palm, then turns and enters a holding pattern — a wide orbit — around the bed.

“Lord Captain.”

“A little busy, Navigator Primaris.”

“One-point-two degrees inclination and one-and-a-half right ascension, then forward twenty klicks. Roll negative two arcseconds. Fire macrocannons one and two directly off port at my signal.”

The click of a tongue can be clearly heard through the commlink. Nonetheless the woman can hear the Lord Captain giving the commands, and soon feels a lurch of acceleration. The woman watches, seeing past the dozens of meters of stone and steel, and eyes her target.

A battleship, bathed in the wretched taint of Chaos, lies just beyond Tal Prime’s horizon. It hovers in place, its massive thrusters firing most ungainly to keep it from the grasping hand of gravity.

Inelegant, and idiotic. What fool stands still in battle?

Perhaps one who is not on the frontline.

The stars shake once more and the woman can hear the blaring of alarms through the commlink. Even so, the “suggestions” are followed and two seconds later, she spits out the command: “Fire!”

The projectiles fly. A boarding craft on its way to deliver a payload of renegade Astartes is obliterated, and a light escort a kilometer past is likewise destroyed. Another shell skims the top off an enemy cruiser, decapitating most of its leadership, before ricocheting high. Seven minutes later, the woman smiles as a Chaos sorcerer spills his tea, surprised by the impact on his ship’s void shields.

The Doctrine continues its maneuvers, primarily guided by the bridge crew, but the Lord Captain’s commands are interspersed with “requests” from his Navigator Primaris. High above the planet, the battle continues to rage, but every statement from the Navigator pushes the Imperial forces just a bit closer to victory. The Doctrine ducks and weaves, its immense bulk somehow avoiding far more damage than it should have. Whenever boarding craft get near, the ship rolls, either smashing the craft away with sculptures of skulls and wings, or bringing guns of far-too-large caliber to bear, vaporizing the craft with what some may call a “waste of ammo.”

The woman hates boarders. Filthy hands, tainted with the touch of Chaos. They shan’t touch her ship!

Hours pass and the Doctrine suffers new scars. Stonework is shattered and even sheets of adamantium are rent apart all across the hull. And yet, only a few traitor marines make it aboard, and none survive more than a few minutes before being hacked to pieces by the ship’s defenders. Every time a boarding action succeeds, a complement of the ship’s defending Astartes are there to meet them with an oppressive hail of firepower, each one of their ears ringing with the echoes of the Navigator’s fanatical cursing.

She really hates boarders.

But, the boarders aren’t the only ones punished. Every single enemy ship in the near vicinity is inoperable — either atomized by explosions or currently demising toward the planet below. Even so, the Imperium fleet did not get away without paying a price; a bargain price, but still a toll to bear. While the Doctrine lost only a hundred-odd souls — the rest well protected by the great many void shields and the ship’s indelicate maneuvering — most other ships of the fleet suffered far greater wounds. Iron tombs scatter across the night sky. The Hand holds no more, its smoking carcass drifting downwards to join the Chaos fleet in fiery death. The escorts, Indeterminate and Undying, likewise are gutted, destroyed by two barrages of melta torpedoes. A Dauntless class cruiser and a half-dozen others are also uncontrollably venting atmosphere, their crews perishing in the harsh vacuum of space.

What a way to go.

The woman releases the vox-caster, beckoning for the servo-skull to take it away. With a sigh, she curls up in the bed and closes her eyes. Just another day on the Doctrine. Just another day, alone.

Navigator Primaris, pfeh! How can she be anything but, when she alone guides this ship? She raises her hand high, an imaginary toast for the great Emperor above. Here’s to the void. Here’s to your bleak visage. Let us all succumb to it soon.

Her hand falls back down, bouncing a card up and flipping it about. The God-Emperor stares up at the stars above as the Navigator shuts two of her eyes, the third hidden behind a sheet of metal, yet still remains open to keep an everlasting vigil.

Here’s to a moment of peace in a Galaxy of war.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

≡][≡ ⬦⬦⬦ ≡][≡

That was… interesting. You sit up, cross-legged on the bed with your tail splayed out to help you balance. Around you is a fortress of pillows, built unconsciously by your hand while you dreamed. You blink, and suddenly a tower of cards is stacked upon the puffy crenelations before you. You blink again, and it’s gone.

Was that you? It felt like you, and it sure looked like you, albeit older. A hairless head with two horns. A third eye. A tail, ending with a deadly stinger. Everything was there.

Perhaps she was another of your species? No. You can feel the wrongness of that statement as you think it. She was you.

But, how? How can that be? You are you: a child and a Jedi. She was older, as evidenced by the maturity of her body and her slightly greater height. Perhaps she is you of the future?

Again, a sense of wrongness floods your mind at the thought. That was you, and it can be you. A paradox; both sides just as terrible in concept.

She wore the robe — the cloak — that Master Masbau left for you. She bore the same headband that you now wear. The room and the ship both match what you see now. This was your ship. This was your sanctum.

But, why is it here in your soul? Why are you here in this Galaxy?

That age-old question again — the one that has plagued you for years:

Who are you?

≡][≡ ⬦⬦⬦ ≡][≡

You close your warp-eye, drawing yourself to the present. Master Nu still stands at the desk, now helping another patron. The light is fading, dusk having come while you meditated. Motes of dust dance through the air, lit by gold-orange streaks of evening sun passing through the arched windows.

An answer gained, but at the cost of more questions. You hold them all back for now, except for one. You lift your headband and peer at your arm. It’s back again: a whispering shadow dancing beyond touch; only now, you see it staring back at you. Two eyes shine in its formless mass, and just above is a darkened hole where another one should have sat.

It smiles and you smile back.

You return the headband to its place and stand up to leave. Master Nu is still occupied with the Initiate at her desk so you wave and bow to bid her goodbye, then make your way back to your room — the room within the Temple, that is.

Now lying upon your much smaller bunk bed — a veritable cot in comparison to that luxury — you think back to the other details of the dream, starting from the beginning. Those cards you saw meant something to other-you. Why else would they be so reactive to the warp? You only saw the face of one of the cards, but you can recognize the power vested in each of them.

That card: the God-Emperor… Who is He? A deity and a ruler.

You’ve heard of many peoples out there with similar figures: rulers and gods mixed into one. Cultures and civilizations are spread all across the Galaxy, resulting in an impressive myriad of mythos and religions. Seeing another one isn’t too surprising. However, what’s strange is that other-you followed one.

You haven’t had much experience with religion yourself. Some may argue that the Force itself constitutes a religion — the Order being a theological entity. Jedi, out in the wider Galaxy, are often seen as monks, devoted to a cult. It feels like an insult, for you know with certainty the existence of the Force. Your Masters, however, have made sure to warn you, like all Younglings, about this very problem, trying to instill a sense of patience for such inane speech.

Strict emotional control; a foundation to build upon, but cracks must be left for a sense of compassion to thread its way through. Jedi must listen and understand, yet not be provoked. This is a challenge you will often have to face and you’re not sure you’re ready for it yet.

A sigh escapes your mouth and you roll over to face the wall. What was the God-Emperor to other-you? An icon of worship? A hero to adore? Or perhaps just a symbol of something else entirely?

The image on the card showed a cadaver upon a golden throne, attended to by a gaggle of winged figures. Somehow, you knew what this thing was, but right now, you don’t know what it represents. You need more information. You need more context.

Two other things in that room stood out to you: the ghastly skull and the comm-link. The skull seemed to be some sort of droid, and yet you didn’t feel the same disgust you get when near a normal droid. Of course, there is the disgust you feel now at seeing the bleached bone of a long-dead sentient being perverted for mere courier duty, but other-you seemed to be dismissive of its appearance. There’s not much more to say about it, though. You didn’t see it do much more than what a droid can do. That comm-link; also called a vox-caster. Also, not much to glean from it. It’s just a communication device. What’s truly more interesting is who was on the other end of the link.

The “Lord Captain,” other-you called him. Other-you fed him information and course “suggestions” influenced by what she could see. If other-you has, or had, the sight you do now, then it’s clear why she would be so valuable in a space battle. So valuable, that she could easily break the chain of command with no repercussions.

You have the same potential even now.

Perhaps you should study some tactics? Other-you seemed to be experienced or educated in such things. How else would she have known what to do?

That ship, so impossibly big, was somehow able to avoid an improbable portion of incoming fire thanks to other-you. The capabilities of the ship and its crew were innately known to her, and the Lord Captain of the ship implicitly trusted her to see them out safely. A Navigator who doesn’t just navigate. How odd.

Why was she alone? If there were others like her — like you — out there, then why was she the only one to keep vigil aboard the ship? Sure, sensors and mundane eyes can watch the void to some degree, but from what you can tell, nothing beats your warp-eye. A ship of that size should have more than one Navigator, right? There should at least be some redundancy. How would the ship travel the warp if the only Navigator became indisposed?

Other aspects of the ship filled you with awe. The massive prow was used twice to cut enemy ships in twain. The macrocannons, so disgustingly huge, were used to great effect under your guidance. Laser weaponry scored streaks across hulls, melting away layers of metal after overloading powerful shields. Smaller craft, fighters and bombers, flitted through the space between ships, engaging in proxy battles and delivering deadly payloads of explosives or marines.

There sure was a lot of boarding going on. Any time ships closed in on each other, a barrage of boarding craft were traded. You could see thousands of lives cut short and sent to the Sea of Souls every time this happened. Hundreds shredded by point defense guns, and hundreds more dashed to pieces upon shields and hull. Only a few made it into the opposing ships, but those that did almost always made a mess of the victims within.

That’s all excluding the Doctrine, of course. While all boarders were repelled, no boarding parties were launched. Why so?

Well, not all of that was your decision. You’ll have to ask the Lord Captain about that the next time you see him.

When was the last time you left your sanctum anyways? Maybe you should stretch your legs — pay him a visit? You’ll just have to avoid that… aberration on your ship. That thing had better be kept well away from you, lest the Lord Captain be down his one and only Navigator Primaris. That is, if you decide to go.