You strongly consider taking the long way around, but ultimately decide against it. The sooner the Bishop is off the ship, the better. And if the journey encounters just enough turbulence to shake him up a bit in the process, all the better. It might even begin to dislodge the stick from his asshole.

The first step is to sketch out the route on a real-space map. you call one up and lay out the direct route, for now a direct line from Viking in the Tichel system to Oasis in the Riptide system. Going outside the well-traveled warp routes cuts the expected duration from 15-25 days down to 5-10, dependent on the currents, tides, and winds of the Warp.

You put the real-space map away. Aside from the general departure vector, it's of next to no use once you make Transition. The tools you need for that task are your highly-trained and disciplined mind, and the pineal Third Eye in the middle of your forehead. You hit the switch that closes and secures the Navigator's Vestibule, to protect the crew from walking in and eating stray Warp energy. Bad Things happen when that occurs, from madness to mutation to possession.

Drawing a deep breath, you hold it for a long moment before letting it hiss out slowly, taking your physical distractions and errant thoughts flow with it. You close your eyes, remove your headscarf, and open your mind. Promptly, you are assaulted by the distant cacophony of thoughts, emotions, wills, and desires. You filter it out, diving into your interfaces with the Ignis. Crewmen ascribe emotions and motives to the ships they sail on. They called the Kukri belligerent, the Megatherium slothful. Techpriest Enginseers, the ones that minister to the ship's iron bones and electrical blood, see a touch more clearly. They called the Kukri vengeful, the Megatherium plodding. Navigators link directly with the ship, felling the beating heart of her plasma and warp drives, the energetic crackle of her mind. You called the Kukri a Mountain Warrior, raining fire and lightning down upon her foes, the Megatherium a Beast of Burden, stubborn and stoic.

The Ignis is another beast altogether. Her drives purr with tightly tuned power. Her computers reek of eons gone by. Her very hull and bones are shaped and runed to shed the energies of the warp like water. She is a Grand Old Lady, ancient and wise to the tricks of the void and Warp alike.

Satisfied with your anchor to yourself and your ship, you filter further out, ignoring the glow of lesser minds and the siren call of the wild warp. you raise your eyes and look beyond, seeking the beating pulsar fire of the Astronomicon. You find it, and bask in the glory of the Emperor's will and the souls of his subjects made manifest. To mortals, it is just another institution of the Imperium. To you it is The Lighthouse and The Beacon, The North Star by which you set your course in the warp. With it fixed fully in your mind you ease your filters back a touch, picking out the lesser glows of densely-populated Hive Worlds, Astronomicon Relay Stations, the black oozing scars of Warp Rifts, and the unholy fury of Warp Storms.

With your current position triangulated, Your destination fixed, and your path Illuminated, it is time to actually set about charting your course. Up, down, coreward, rimward, spinward, even time means little or nothing in the Warp, and a Navigator forgets that at her peril. All that does matter are the immaterial currents, winds, and tides of the Warp itself. So you don't even attempt to set anything in stone, as everything will have to be adjusted on the fly once you make Translation into the Warp. Nevertheless, you reach your mind out, searching for the prevailing current in the local area in addition to warp-carried debris and other hazards to navigation. The current around Tichel always pulls towards Kerella, which is in more-or-less the right direction, but you intend to take a swift-flowing cross-current from a little while, just long enough to catch the edges of the inward pull around the Riptide system. You triple-check your work, as much as you are able to, and find yourself satisfied.

You close your Third Eye and open your normal ones, once again rooting yourself in reality. "Navigator to Bridge. Warp-course plotted, ready for Translation at your command."

"Bridge to Navigator. Warp Drive is spooled up and Gellar field is online. Translation in three minutes. Transmit entry vector and stand by to assume the Helm." Faunia's voice is cool and confident.

You settle the liquid nutrient dispenser and catheter a touch more comfortably, settling in for the duration of the warp journey. Once you make Translation to the warp, you won't be leaving your throne until you return to Reality. "Navigator to Bridge. Transmitting vector now." You tap the vector into one of the armrest control panels. "Assuming Helm command at your discretion."

"Navigation, Helm. Vector locked and steady." A smooth baritone. Calm, ready. A fighter-pilot on the launch deck.

"Engines to Bridge. Standing by to answer helm commands on Warp Drive." Mechanical, crisp and eager. Flesh-voice, not synthesized. A rare concession to humanity for a Techpriest.

"Bridge, Bosun. All hands at Warp stations, all blessings issued, Transit Security Detail standing by. Crew is ready for Translation." Tenor. Stern and foreboding. Discipline master and executioner, ready to end any incursion.

"Bridge to all hands. Stand by for Warp Translation."

You feel the familiar tug and twist of the Warp-portal opening. You open your Third Eye and set you mind into the zen half-trance of active ship control in the Warp.

"Translation in thirty seconds. Navigator, the Helm is yours."

"Acknowledged. No course change at this time." Already you can feel the local tides pulling hard. This will be a very fast transit. Deep inside that current, a twinkling laugh echoes, the torment of condemned souls. "Helm, left rudder to bearing two two six. Three degree up-planes. Bridge? Warn the Bosun, something Wicked is on the tides."

"Helm confirms. Left rudder to two two six, three degrees up-planes."

"Bridge copies your warning Navigator. Bosun is advised."

You continue to stream heading and vector changes to the Helm as needed, rolling around one particularly nasty eddy, under a rouge back-current, and over a flare of energy. You can feel that sinister laughter snake its way around a handful of weak-willed minds, jumping sideways into their Dreams. The Bosun responds promptly, the Infested minds quickly stamped out before the Infestation can spread.

A long timeless instant later, you are inbound on the final leg into the Riptide system. "Navigation to Helm and Engines. Real-space Reversion imminent. Begin Reversion protocols on my mark." Their affirmations flow past you as you concentrate on this last step in your journey. Too soon, and you will have a long slow real-space trip in from the Outer Reaches of the Riptide system. Too late and you will find yourself in the hellish cauldron of Riptide's ravaged inner system. "Begin Revision sequence... now."

Your timing of the Revision Sequence is impeccable, dropping the Ignis neatly into the approach vector for Oasis Orbit just above the busy Shipyard Belt at the edge of the Primary Biosphere. With reality re-asserting itself, you can feel the exhaustion beginning to creep in slowly. "Navigator to Bridge, relinquishing Helm Command at this time. Requesting time check."

"Bridge acknowledges Helm Command. Clocks re-calibrating to real-space time... calibration complete. Elapsed real-time: thirty hours seven minutes, a new passage record. Well Done Navigator." XO Ekhi's mellow voice.

"Affirmative Bridge. Navigator standing down." You disengage all of the connections, wincing in discomfort as the catheter comes out, and straighten your robes as best you can. You stink of your own sweat, in desperate need of a bath, and definitely in need of a new robe. You gather up your belongings, secure your headscarf, and exit the Navigator's Vestibule. Curtsying stiffly due to your weary muscles, you exit the bridge.

Almost immediately you are met with an angry Bishop Rynald. "You worthless piece of filth! You cost the lives of sixty good and pious servants of the Ecclesiarchy! What madness did you deliver their souls up to?"

You clench your jaw and stand at tall as you can. "This is your first time off-world and your first Warp transit, is it not Bishop?" Your voice is slightly horse from calling out so many course changes, but you allow your derision to sharpen it to a razor's edge. "And you never bothered to seek instruction as to what precautions to take before a Warp transit, did you? Nor as to what to expect during one? Had anything breached the Gellar Field, we would all be dead at best, probably starting with myself and the Astropath. No, your men died because they lost their Faith and Sanity, and had to be put down before their shattered minds took others with them or called Warp-predators to the Ignis. I suggest you go to the on-board Temple and pray for their souls and your own. Now if you will excuse me, I need a bath, a new robe, and a rest-cycle after being on-station since we entered the Warp." You brush past him and head for your quarters, leaving the Bishop blustering ineffectively having just made a fool of himself in front of at least two armsmen and a crewman. Within the hour, his reputation will be ruined, and it will all have been his own doing.

You enter your quarters after checking the door again, secure the door behind yourself, and head for the head. You set your robe aside for cleaning, select a fresh one from your wardrobe, noting that you only have three good robes left, and settle in for a long bath. You plan on resting up, but have a decision to make once the Ignis has docked at Oasis. Shopping, or Socializing first?