Editing End Times (Warhammer 40,000) (section)

==Part 8==
Oneius Prayd was not having a good day. As Captain of the Aquiline, one of the proudest ships in the Red Corsair fleet, it was his responsibility to keep his ship in good order, ready to strike out at targets of opportunity when they presented themselves. But today he had learned that the coolant system for the engines was almost totally scrap-metal after the attack on a convoy a few days earlier. It seems the Imperials were catching on to his strategy, and had started attaching fighter squadrons to their more versatile freighters, and he had been caught off guard. The fighters hadn't made a difference in the outcome of the battle, but they certainly had caused him a massive headache. The repair work left them nearly blind and quite vulnerable – the only comfort being the remoteness of the system and the reinforcements en route.

“What's the status on the coolant system?” asked Prayd.

“Repairs are approximately seventy-two percent complete. Estimated time to completion is twelve hours,” said one of the many servitors that monitored ship status on the command deck.

Prayd nodded and sat back. Nothing to do but wait, it seemed.

A few minutes later a fellow Space Marine spoke up. “Captain I've got... no, that's odd... it disappeared,” he said.

“Elaborate.”

“I picked up what appeared to be a single fighter on the sensors. It vanished almost immediately, sir.”

“Hmm... could it be an echo from our last engagement? Or maybe our brothers in arms have arrived early?”

“I'd say a false echo is most likely sir. We'd have been hailed by the strike cruiser before we sensed it in our current state.”

“Very well. Keep an eye out nevertheless,” said Prayd. He drummed his armored fingers on the armrest of his command chair. Something about the situation didn't sit well with him, but he couldn't figure out what it was.

More waiting. Eventually Prayd realized what had been bothering him. “What class did that fighter appear to be?” he asked.

“The sensor ghost? Checking now,” said the Space Marine, pressing a series of buttons on his station. “While the reading didn't last long enough to be sure, I'd say it was a Fury-class fighter.”

A cold chill ran down Oneius Prayd's spine. “But we only fought Faustus-class ships,” he said slowly. His mind reeled, suddenly calculating a hundred different possibilities, none of them at all pleasant. “All sensors to max sensitivity. I don't care how many false positives we get –”

“Sir, I've got proximity warnings. Something out there is closing fast,” said another Marine before Prayd had even finished. “It looks like Shark Assault Boats!”

“All hands to battle stations. Sound the alarm and prepare to repel boarders. I want that coolant leak stopped now – engines be damned, we need to see!”