Chapter 308: I Want to Live. What Use Do I Have for Pride?
The enemy brought battering rams. They swung the siege engines gifted to them by the Four with brutal strength, smashing through the starforts' defenses and the sealed void shields of the planet below.
The Forge World of Cypra-Mundi had just suffered the most devastating blow in its history.
Of the eight Ramilies-class Starforts that once guarded the primary, only one remained. Three had been captured by the enemy; the other four, along with the wreckage of the Space Hulks that had struck them, had plunged to the planet's surface. The entire southern hemisphere had been transformed into an inferno. Violent seismic activity had reawakened countless volcanoes, and priceless archeotech and fallen orbital debris alike were now sinking into the boiling mantle. Three orbital forge-docks were utterly destroyed. Only five percent of the surface manufactorums were still operational. It was certain that the planet would lose all industrial output for at least the next five standard years.
In the surviving port loading zones, soldiers were lining up to receive supplies. Tech-priests knelt beside the transport causeways, performing sacred rites of maintenance. Serfs, lasrifles slung over their shoulders, were being inspected by officers of the Dawnbreaker Fleet Provost. Since the Chaos invasion began, every able body had to become a combat unit.
Karna sat in the observation chamber. After the battle, the Blood Angels had actively thrown themselves into the relief effort for the surviving personnel of Cypra-Mundi. In humanitarian aid operations, Astartes could demonstrate the same transcendent competence they did on the battlefield. Their superhuman senses allowed them to perceive critical details with precision, their immense psychic resilience allowed them to make the correct decisions without faltering, and their sheer physical power allowed them to execute those decisions. This galaxy was a perilous place; to offer kindness to others, one first had to be strong enough.
Mortals were inefficient, prone to panic, and easily swayed. They lacked awareness and agency, but this was not some inherent flaw. Asymmetrical and distorted information, combined with the insidious corruption of dark powers, left them marginalized and ignored. It was precisely for this reason that mortals needed the protection of the Astartes. After all, these supermen were born from among them.
Karna glanced back into the office. Fabricator-General Fabian Vancz of Cypra-Mundi stood there. The lumen-globes above his head trembled, chiming softly. They were using a vestibule of a machine-shrine in the starport as a makeshift conference room.
Romulus studied the Fabricator-General before him. Compared to the arrogance he had displayed when first sending his envoys, the tech-lord was now a model of restraint.
"How long until your Forge World can resume production?" Romulus asked, his tone direct. His quill moved in a smooth, fluid line across a sheet of parchment.
"Sixty years," the Fabricator-General answered honestly. "With our current surviving population." He paused, and the thought of his own culpability in the ruin of his world made his vocalizer tremble. "And we have already requested—"
"Assistance from your so-called allies?" Romulus interjected, showing no interest in hearing the rest. The quill continued its silent scratching. With a simple glance, Drakus understood and presented an audio-file. Vancz hesitated for a moment before plugging it into his data-port.
Three seconds later, his posture radiated palpable anger. But then, the memory of the few bargaining chips he had left washed over him like a bucket of ice water, and the anger dissipated instantly.
"Your 'allies' are planning to eliminate you and seize what remains of your legacy," Romulus stated, his voice terrifyingly calm as he watched the Fabricator-General's emotional state shift from fury to despair. "Two detailed articles of impeachment against you have been broadcast in the last hour. I did not respond. This system is under a comms blackout. But I have cleared the heavy lifter landing pads all the same."
The long, teakwood table in the vestibule was covered with maps and bundled documents, a crude imitation of a feast prepared for off-world dignitaries. The Fabricator-General's gaze passed over these "offerings," fixing on Romulus with the hope of a drowning man.
"You are not suited for politics," the Lord Regent said bluntly. He had already analyzed the Fabricator-General's complete file. The man's personal operational skills were exceptional, and his academic prowess was top-tier among the Mechanicum's Magi. This was why he had been able to drive his Forge World's development at such a rapid, rational pace. That immense and efficient productivity had won him the support of many Imperial factions. It was also the source of his arrogance. And so, he had fallen.
This universe was full of multi-talented individuals. As a Fabricator-General, one was expected not only to conduct their primary research, but also to act as a statesman dealing with the Imperium's myriad factions, a merchant selling their products, and a ruler planning the operations of an entire world. The fact that all these duties fell on one person was only possible for the cybernetically-enhanced followers of the Mechanicum, but even for talents as exceptional as these, their limitations were exposed. When one mortal is responsible for too many things, mistakes are inevitable. Even Romulus himself had delegated a mountain of tasks. In that, he was no god.
"I understand." The Fabricator-General nodded, his expression downcast. He knew the price he would have to pay to live.
"You will participate in the coming reconstruction of Cypra-Mundi," Romulus said, offering him a data-slate. It contained the list of participants. Among them were the more unconventional Mechanicum factions like Stygies VIII and Agrippina, with the technocrats of the Dawnstar Sector forming the core of the project. Those who could be united should be, just as Arthur had dealt with the veteran Dark Angels. Some transformations required patience. And besides, the Dawnbreakers' blade was sharp enough to prune any branch that grew thorns.
At the same time, at the other end of the table, a Magos in a grey-black robe, who had been standing silently, made his move.
"Six years…" the representative from Stygies VIII said. This was the timeframe.
"With a production license for heavy armored vehicles, issued by the Dawnstar Sector," Romulus added. "According to my projections, it should take no more than five. But as I cannot expect everyone to operate like a machine, I have adjusted my expectations."
"Perhaps we could continue our research during this process?" the Stygian asked.
"Permitted."
"We will require a garrison to ensure the security of our assets."
"I anticipated this need. I have already dispatched personnel to begin constructing the necessary infrastructure. The Argent Consuls and representatives of the Dawnbreakers will be responsible for planetary security," Romulus stated.
"Next, the arrangement of the reconstruction workforce."
"I have not yet addressed this matter, my lord," the Stygian began, "but I do not believe we can draw from combat personnel—"
"Civilian labor," Romulus said without turning his head. "The technicians and laborers from the Spire Guilds. The loaders and dockworkers. There were two million non-combatants trapped in the starport districts. A fact you seem to have forgotten."
You came from the warp, didn't you? the Fabricator-General thought to himself.
"Understood," the representative from Stygies VIII said, bowing his head at once.
These were the terms. Watching the exchange, the Fabricator-General knew what rules he now had to follow. He could forget about controlling Cypra-Mundi's production in the future. His subordinate Magi would likely be subjected to another round of vetting, and non-compliance would probably mean elimination. But his own research could continue, and he would be involved in the planet's reconstruction, taking on a series of subsequent production orders.
"Fabricator-General Fabian Vancz," the Lord Regent said. The title sounded so warm to his audio-receptors now. Romulus tapped the data-slate. "This is what is required of you. Can I entrust this responsibility to you once more? And do you have any objections to this decision?"
"As you command." He wouldn't dare have any objections. The Fabricator-General nodded repeatedly. The Primarch's terms were actually quite generous. If their roles were reversed, after such a blatant show of disrespect, he would have probably had the man launched into the local star by now, not offered a seat at the table.
He glanced at the chair beside him. Of course, he hadn't sat down.
He wanted to live. What use did he have for pride?
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