Gaunt went to the ship’s communication chamber. Spika was in attendance, along with Eadwine. Hololithic generation sockets built into the deck manufactured crackling full-size images of Lord Militant Cybon, Fleetmaster Cragoe, and several senior Navy and Munitorum worthies from the fleet complement.
‘I am gratified to see that you survived the transfer,’ Gaunt said to the image of Cybon.
‘The Emperor protects,’ Cybon replied without enthusiasm.
‘The question is,’ said Cragoe, an immense being whose biological bulk appeared to have been reinforced and supported by massive augmetic armatures and plates, ‘will this mission survive? Is your assignment still viable?’
‘Yes,’ said Eadwine simply.
Cragoe snorted.
‘I believe you should abort and turn around.’
‘Do you?’
‘Your vessel was compromised and attacked from within. The conjunction was tracked and discovered. We took significant losses.’
‘But we won,’ said Gaunt. ‘We drove them off. There is no reason to suspect that the fleeing enemy has any intelligence about our target.’
‘And if they do?’ asked Cragoe. ‘If they have other agents aboard your ship?’
‘Then we ride to our deaths, not you,’ said Gaunt.
‘It would be patently ridiculous to get this far and then turn around without solid evidence of compromise,’ said Spika. ‘We identified the means by which they detected us and tracked our position during shift. We will be alert for it in future.’
‘Is there another issue here?’ asked Eadwine.
‘We must consider the obvious,’ said Cybon. ‘Why did their capital ship spare you when it had you cold?’
‘It had exhausted its present charge on the poor Libertus,’ said Spika.
‘The answer is more obvious than that,’ said Eadwine. ‘I have replayed the data feeds of the fight’s closing moments. Your gunline was eight seconds from range. The Archenemy capital ship had no wish to measure its worth against the Sepiterna and her warp escorts. The daemon ship ran rather than fight you. If it had stayed long enough to murder us, you would have achieved status effective and atomised her.’
‘We would have tried,’ said Cragoe.
‘The Adeptus Astartes is paying the Navy a compliment, Fleetmaster,’ said Cybon. ‘I recommend you take it gracefully.’
Cragoe nodded his mountain peak of a head. The pict feed crackled and jumped slightly.
‘It was no false flattery,’ said Eadwine. ‘I believe it perfectly explains the Archenemy ship’s decision.’
‘Then I approve the continuance of the assigned mission,’ said Cragoe.
‘Did all the specialist equipment survive?’ asked Spika. ‘I trust no part of the requisition order was aboard the Domino or the Libertus?’
‘It is all intact,’ said Cybon. ‘We are transferring it now to your outer bays.’
‘You’ll need to clear a primary bay to take the Adeptus Astartes vehicle,’ Cragoe told Spika. ‘It’s no bigger than a gun cutter, but it is massively armoured, and it will need a station of its own or your inertials and gravitics will suffer.’
‘I’ll redistribute the launch bay load,’ said Spika.
‘How long before you can make shift?’ asked Cybon.
‘We’re running repairs now,’ said Spika. ‘The materiel transfer should take another five hours or so. We’ll be ready then.’
When the hololithic presences blinked and dissolved away, Gaunt turned to Spika.
‘My compliments on your combat command,’ he said.
‘Thank you for not getting in the way,’ said Spika. He looked at the huge Silver Guard warrior.
‘That was just flattery, wasn’t it?’ he asked. ‘That bastard ship should have killed us dead.’
Eadwine shook his head.
‘It was the truth as I saw it. I suppose it is possible that the enemy capital ship detected something or someone aboard this ship that it decided it did not want to kill.’
‘If that’s true, we’ll find whatever they were sparing,’ said Gaunt.
‘Has it occurred to you it could be your prisoner?’ asked Spika.
‘The one they were trying to assassinate, you mean?’ Gaunt replied.
‘Were they?’
Gaunt laughed.
‘What are you saying, shipmaster? This whole business was an elaborate ruse to make the pheguth’s story more credible?’
‘It is possible,’ said Eadwine. He glanced at Gaunt. ‘But I think they were running for their lives.’
The central landing deck had been cleared. Launch Artificer Goodchild, the senior flight deck officer aboard the Armaduke, saw the deck lamps begin to rotate and flash as the inbound craft approached. Pressure trembled as the environmental envelope adjusted. He signalled to his servitor crews to stand ready for landing attendance.
The craft sailed into the primary landing backlit by the local star, which was glowering outside the mouth of the bay. Goodchild had heard other flight artificers describe such vehicles, and he had reviewed the archived data, but he’d never seen one in the flesh before. Robust, like a flying tank, it was finished in the Chapter colours and insignia of the Silver Guard: silver-grey, white, and Imperial yellow.
‘We used to go to war,’ a voice said from beside him, ‘and launch a thousand of these into the void, a hundred thousand, to demolish a fleet.’
Goodchild turned to find the massive Iron Snakes Space Marine standing beside him. He made to bow.
‘Do not bother,’ said Holofurnace.
They watched the Adeptus Astartes warcraft settle in to land on the arrestor clamps.
‘But there are not many left,’ Holofurnace said, uttering what seemed like a heartfelt sigh as he gazed at the craft. ‘Like us, I suppose. I miss those days. The Great Wars. Can you imagine, ten thousand of those launching from a supermassive?’
‘I cannot, sir,’ Goodchild admitted.
‘No,’ agreed Holofurnace. ‘Even the thought is too terrifying.’
‘How old are you?’ asked Goodchild.
‘Old enough to remember,’ replied the Iron Snake, ‘and young enough not to care.’
‘You sent for me?’ asked Felyx.
Gaunt looked up from his desk.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I sent for her.’ He pointed at Maddalena.
‘You can wait outside,’ he added. ‘Shut the door.’
Felyx half-saluted, and backed out of Gaunt’s quarters, closing the door. The lifeward was left alone, standing to attention, staring at Gaunt.
‘And?’ she asked.
Gaunt got up.
‘There’s something about you I can’t–’ he began.
‘What?’ she asked.
‘Nothing. I was thinking aloud and it wasn’t appropriate.’
‘Not appropriate?’
‘No,’ said Gaunt. ‘Do you want a drink?’
‘No,’ said Maddalena.
Gaunt poured himself a small sacra.
‘Do you at least want to stand easy?’
Maddalena relaxed her pose slightly.
‘Why did you want to speak to me?’ she asked.
Gaunt looked thoughtfully at the untouched drink in his hand.
‘He will ruin me,’ he said.
‘What?’
‘The boy will ruin me. I want him gone. Pack your things and escort him off this ship. Transfer to the fleet and passage will be arranged back to Verghast. It will take some time, I’m afraid. The Battlefleet isn’t in the business of passenger shifts.’
‘Not acceptable,’ said Maddalena.