Lansung was forced to stand in front of them all, smiling stupidly.
‘Bravo!’ cried Vangorich, standing up. He met Wienand’s gaze for a moment and she allowed a twitch of a smile, acknowledging that that word of praise was directed at her. ‘Victory cannot be far off now.’
Eight
There was a slight increase in pressure as the airlock sealed, cutting off the landing bay from the chamber where Koorland and Laurentis looked back through the window at the departing shuttle. The inner door opened with a hiss, revealing a sharply uniformed Naval officer and two lines of armsmen with shotguns held in salute across their chests, their faces hidden behind silvered anti-dazzle visors.
‘Lieutenant Greydove, at your service.’ The officer clicked his heels and nodded his head. His hair was an unruly mane of blond, and a moustache of the same drooped past his chin. Almost as tall as Koorland but far more slender, the lieutenant moved with easy grace as he stepped back and gestured for the Space Marine and tech-priest to exit the airlock. ‘Welcome aboard the Achilles.’
‘Greydove?’ said Koorland as he stepped into the corridor. Fully armoured, he filled the main passage of the small patrol ship. At a bark from their sergeant the armsmen slapped hands to shotguns and turned to create a column on either side of the arrivals.
‘I’m from Ranesmud II, it’s something of a traditional name there,’ explained the ship’s commander. He noticed Laurentis turning the other way, heading aft. ‘Um, excuse me, magos, but your quarters are this way.’
Laurentis did not stop or turn around, but the remnants of his head swivelled on his neck-bracing to face the lieutenant with a battery of sensor lenses and one unblinking human eye.
‘I wish to make inspections of this vessel’s warp engine systems and plasma reactor. Captain Koorland is an exceptionally valuable asset that cannot be endangered by any oversight of maintenance or execution.’
‘I assure you that my tech-priest, Kahibar, is highly c—’
‘Your ship is too small to qualify for a tech-priest of magos level and attendant support servitors, therefore I am superior in respect of your current enginseer. Do not feel any insult on his account, he will understand the situation.’
‘I insisted,’ Koorland said quietly. This argument seemed to forestall any of the lieutenant’s objections and Greydove visibly wilted.
‘Very well, I hope that all is in order, Captain Koorland.’ Greydove rallied, falling back on an overly stiff and formal tone to bolster his confidence. ‘I shall convey you to your quarters.’
‘The bridge, if you please, lieutenant,’ said Koorland. The Space Marine started walking towards the prow, forcing Greydove to jog to keep up despite the officer’s long legs.
‘I, er, that is, the bridge is for Naval officers only,’ Greydove said. ‘Standing regulations, I’m afraid.’
Koorland stopped and Greydove almost ran into the Space Marine. The armsmen came to a halt around them, bumping into each other in a clatter of carapace-armoured breastplates and vambraces. The Imperial Fist carefully placed a hand on Greydove’s shoulder.
‘I asked out of politeness,’ said Koorland. ‘Do not make me insist.’
Greydove looked into Koorland’s eyes, perhaps seeking some hint of compromise or sympathy. His gaze met two grey points as uncaring and sharp as pieces of flint.
‘I see.’ Greydove glanced at the men around him. Any authority he might have hoped to keep was quickly evaporating like the sweat that now moistened his brow. He swallowed and drew himself up to his full height — impressive against the armsmen but ineffective when compared with Koorland’s bulk. ‘As commanding officer I extend an invitation to you to accompany me to the bridge.’
‘Good. I am happy to accept your invitation.’
Greydove dithered for a moment, shifting from one foot to the other.
‘Honour guard, dismiss!’ he barked, catching the sergeant of the armsmen by surprise.
‘Sir?’
‘You heard the command, sergeant,’ Greydove said evenly. ‘I am sure Captain Koorland does not need a gaggle of armsmen following him around at every turn.’
‘Yessir!’ snapped the sergeant. He called his men to offer honours once more before they turned on their heels and marched back the way they had come.
‘I would appreciate it, captain,’ said Greydove when they were out of earshot, showing genuine anger, ‘if you would at least pretend that I am still in command of my own ship. Once you have been taken to the Sol System and departed I must still maintain discipline. You are undermining my authority. My orders permit me to restrain you if necessary, but that would be inadvisable for both of us, wouldn’t it?’
‘It would,’ said Koorland. He bowed his head to acknowledge the lieutenant’s request. ‘Apologies for any problems my behaviour may have caused.’
Mollified, Greydove once again clicked his heels and nodded in salute. He turned and led Koorland along the main passageway of the ship, two hundred feet to a set of steps that led up to a pair of hydraulically-locked doors. Two armsmen flanked the portal, which wheezed open at a word from one of them.
Koorland followed Greydove inside. He noted two other officers — one manning the communications panel and another standing beside what appeared to be the sensor and weapons controls. A row of small screens flickered at waist height and altogether the bridge felt cramped, in marked contrast to the Chapter vessels on which Koorland had travelled for most of his life. The Space Marine stooped slightly to avoid banging his head on the pipework and girders that criss-crossed the ceiling.
‘Sir, I’ve been getting complaints from…’ The communications ensign fell silent as he noticed the armoured giant now standing in the middle of the command platform. The young officer self-consciously cleared his throat and continued. ‘Enginseer Kahibar is complaining about a surprise inspection, commander. I have no idea what he is talking about.’
‘Sir, we are registering an acceleration in the warp engine conduits,’ said the other officer before Greydove could respond to the first. ‘It looks as though our warp engines are coming on-line.’
‘I gave no such order,’ said Greydove.
‘That would be Magos Laurentis, I believe.’ Koorland’s voice sounded loud and flat in the close confines. He looked at the sensor ensign. ‘What range to the departing Adeptus Mechanicus vessel?’
‘Twenty thousand miles and increasing,’ the ensign replied automatically, responding to the raw authority of the Space Marine captain. The Naval officer glanced at Greydove for reassurance. ‘Um, commander, we received no signal to prepare for warp jump yet.’
‘Lieutenant Greydove, please have your Navigator report to the bridge,’ Koorland said quietly, standing beside the ship’s captain.
‘Why would I do that?’
‘Because you have a change of orders, commander,’ Koorland said.
The shrill whine of a warning siren cut off the lieutenant’s response as red lights flashed across the bridge.
‘Sir! Warp engines engaged!’
‘Thirty seconds to translation,’ barked a servitor just in front of Koorland and Greydove.
‘What upon the Throne is that damned tech-priest doing?’ the ship’s commander demanded, turning on Koorland.
‘A change of plans, commander. I am taking command of your ship.’
‘You can’t do that!’
‘I already have. Magos Laurentis is activating the warp drive and I am currently standing on the bridge giving the orders. Which part of this scenario suggests to you, lieutenant, that I am not in complete control of the situation?’