‘I have never heard the full story, sir. Something about a public disagreement.’
‘That’ll have to wait, Rafal. Find out where Lansung’s flagship translated and plot a course. I expect the Lord High Admiral will want us to come calling on him.’ Kulik gave Price a look that, whilst not openly disobeying a command from a superior, reminded that superior that he was captain of this ship, not some messenger ensign to be sent on errands. Price shrugged. ‘No time for bruised sensibilities, Rafal. Sorry, but you’ll just have to put up with me for the next few days until everything with Lansung and Acharya is smoothed out.’
‘Aye, and I’ll say thank you too, I’m sure,’ Kulik muttered as he stood up.
‘What was that, captain?’
Kulik stopped with one hand on the curved gilded handle of the wood-panelled door. He didn’t look back.
‘Aye aye, admiral. I’ll get right on it.’
And for the next two days, that was exactly what Kulik did. Price’s communications requests to the Lord High Admiral’s flagship were repeatedly ignored or refused, leaving the admiral short-tempered and sarcastic; a mood Kulik had no desire to endure. Kulik inspected each gun deck and gun, every lance battery, both flight decks, the ship’s shuttles and even the plasma core chambers in an effort to be wherever Price was not. In his absence Shaffenbeck, ever- patient Shaffenbeck, fielded any and all inquiries, requests and orders from the tetchy admiral, including the hourly demand for the comms officers to establish communication with the
During this time the other ships of the fleet did relatively little. Acharya’s coreward fleet maintained a defensive encirclement in orbit above the eighth planet, where it had been virtually trapped since punching in-system on arrival. The orks tried a few small attacks, perhaps hoping to bait the clustered Imperial vessels into a pursuit that would draw them out, but nobody was willing to break the relative sanctuary of the fleet.
The rimward fleet of Price maintained its own position just a few thousand miles from optimal translation distance, compact enough to defend itself but not so close that it could not disperse within a couple of hours to achieve translation separation. The newly arrived portions of Battlefleet Solar, eighteen more capital ships and twice that number of escorts, gathered on the system edge as they arrived, roughly equidistant between the two Naval flotillas.
They could not wait forever though, as the gigantic attack moon at the heart of the greenskin armada drifted ever closer to the docks at Port Sanctus. The orks were not to be distracted from their purpose by the presence of the humans, and their devastating weapon did not change course to meet the incoming fleets.
Under the guise of worrying about a visit from the Lord High Admiral, Kulik personally supervised gun practice and guard of honour drill. He instigated several new standing orders, including forbidding whistling and singing outside of crew quarters. Kulik individually briefed his officers on what to expect and do should Lansung decide to come aboard — all thirty-two lieutenants, flight lieutenants and ensigns. He was about to start going through the roster of sixty-eight petty and warrant officers, theoretically including the Navigators and tech-priests, when he received word from his first lieutenant that they had received fresh orders from Admiral Lansung.
Price received the ciphered communiqué in the comms chamber, with Kulik and Saul in attendance. However, before the admiral had entered his decipher codes the intercom buzzed with a message from the bridge. Saul took the transmission with the hand-held receiver, nodding and saying ‘Yes’ and ‘Understood, lieutenant’ every few seconds. After about half a minute he hung up and turned to find the captain and admiral staring inquisitively at him.
‘Sensor report, sirs,’ said Shaffenbeck. He cleared his throat. ‘Lieutenant Chambers reports that the
‘Acharya is leaving?’ Price seemed torn between incredulity and delight.
‘It would not be appropriate for me to venture speculation, admiral,’ Shaffenbeck said. ‘Nor did the fourth lieutenant care to offer any such opinion.’
‘Your orders, admiral? Perhaps they make mention of Acharya’s departure,’ said Kulik.
Price returned his gaze to the screen, still slightly euphoric if his distant smile and glazed expression were any indication. He keyed in a cipher code on the rune pad beneath the monitor and the display flared with static. After a few seconds, the fizzing monochrome resolved itself into the equine features of Admiral Sheridan Villiers, His Grace the Void Baron of Cypra Nubrea — Lansung’s senior fleet attaché.
