Octavia listened intently to the speech the Arbitrator was barking out. It sounded pre-written but it did not much matter to the newly-minted penal legionnaire. Speeches reminded her of the time spent in the Steel Legion. Not exactly happier times, but times looked fondly back on nonetheless. Time had a funny way of making even the worst experiences rose-coloured. 

Eighth Squad, First Redemption Penal Legion. She chewed the idea around in her mind. A fairly bland name, most likely fresh off the Administratum data-slate. Most regiments had nicknames, even if they were just amongst the troops. Only Kriegers went solely by their given numbers. Octavia was sure a nickname would come with time. She looked around furtively at the troopers to her left and right. Some of them looked like they couldn't find the backside of a chimera. Others looked like they'd rather kill humans and be done with it. 

The telltale whine of transports became ever more clear and invaded the Trooper's thoughts until the order was give to embark and years of muscle memory kicked in. Octavia marched (if it could be called that) up the ramp and through hard-won experience snatched a seat close to the cockpit. The seats further in the towards the aft of the transport got the worst of the flying experience (not to mention you had to dodge any lunches that decided to escape) so front seats were a premium. Octavia cradled her lascarbine as the engines rumbled and Eighth squad left their temporary homeworld for the Crusade. 

Many of the other troopers seemed unnerved by the dimly lit and vaguely foreboding corridors of the Dauntless-class light cruiser [i]Wandering Iron[/i]. Octavia guessed it was their first or second time on a voidship because they were all like this. On the upper decks they were mostly well lit but in the lower decks where most Guardsmen were confined to they were like sewers of ancient technology and long forgotten chambers. Finally they arrived in the gigantic empty bunking area. Eighth squad was assigned to an empty corner of the disused room and already legionnaires were taking lockers and bunks. Octavia picked one between two troopers she vaguely recognised and smacked the mattress with the stock of her lascarbine to make sure there was nothing horrible hiding in it. Once it was confirmed safe she set her pack and flak vest on the locker and leaned the carbine against the two before taking off her helmet and flopping semi-gracefully on the bed.

It had been a long 24 (give or take some) hours.