Chapter 309: Fleecing the Sheep, My Livelihood
Twenty minutes later, aboard the Forge World of Cypra-Mundi's starport, the Magos who was still overseeing repairs on the Ark Mechanicus looked at the approaching Fabricator-General with an expression of mild surprise.
"My lord, I must admit my astonishment at seeing you still functioning as an individual unit."
"A crypt-key from the Dawnbreakers. Triple-encrypted." Fabricator-General Fabian Vancz raised a mechanical hand crafted from ancient, irreplaceable technology. Its clean, almost sharp casing glinted under the lumen strips. A data-wafer, still flickering with a live stream, hovered at his fingertips and stopped precisely in front of the Magos. "The information is within. Don't tell me you were unaware those pests were still alive."
The Magos's sensors noted the unusually pristine condition of the component. The Fabricator-General's form incorporated many pieces of archeotech, passed down from his predecessors, that could no longer be replicated. This fact had historically made the Fabricators-General of Cypra-Mundi rather sedentary. Yet time had still inevitably left its mark, making them appear ancient, content to spend their days in isolation tanks.
Noting the faint scent of blood still clinging to the key, the impeccably postured Magos shrugged and accepted it without ceremony. The gears in his mechanical arm whirred, and the device vanished into some unseen compartment. This casual acceptance, however, brought a flicker of joy to the Fabricator-General. This was the tenth one. It seemed he still had some support after all. If one discounted the several dozen other Magi he had just eliminated.
"This is indeed surprising," the Magos said, scanning the contents of the key. "The Primarch intends to cement his control over this planet. Our people—"
"Including myself, there are fourteen. I have purged the rest. Tell your people to kill those insects. I only want what is owed to me."
"And the payment?"
"The future."
"You ask for a great deal, considering you squandered centuries of Cypra-Mundi's legacy in a mere six months."
"But without me, you wouldn't even be able to dream of possessing these things."
The Magos inclined his head, acknowledging the Fabricator-General's arrogance. "Should I still address you as Fabricator-General?" he asked.
"Of course."
"Ah. Then we have an accord." Having no intention of drawing out the negotiation, the Magos clapped his hands in satisfaction, the impact of metal on metal striking a few sparks. At least his research could continue; the rest was of little consequence. The Fabricator-General's political acumen and strategic vision were a catastrophe, like a Cogitator with a necrotic logic-engine, but the man was more than capable of managing production. That's why they had all tolerated him in the past.
Under the Fabricator-General's impassive gaze, the heavily augmented Magos silently melted back into the ship's architecture behind him. This is my damn ship, Vancz thought. Who knew how many other secret mechanisms were hidden within its bulkheads. These Magi, steeped in the mechanical arts for centuries, were always inventing insane contraptions and bizarre functions.
The Fabricator-General sighed and turned towards the bridge of the Ark Mechanicus. The tasks the lords had given him were mostly complete. The rest—resource allocation, military deployment, diplomacy—were no longer his concern. He had eliminated his rivals, secured his own survival, and ensured he could continue his research and bask in the grace of the Omnissiah. The Forge World of Cypra-Mundi would no longer exist as a political entity, but would instead become a subordinate agency of the powerful Dawnstar Sector government.
Click-hiss. He reached the bridge. After confirming it was still his, the Fabricator-General took a deep breath, feeling his body remade by the blessings of the Prime Mover, and began to plan the reconstruction of his world. There was no tension, no resentment. Only the joy of having recovered what was lost.
"You didn't have to come see me in person." Romulus didn't look up, the sound of his quill scratching against parchment a constant whisper. A mountain of after-action reports formed a paper fortress on his desk.
"I wanted to," Karna replied, gesturing for him to continue his work. He then picked up a bowl of fruit and began to idly sample the different flavours, his expression vacant. Since signing the 'Cerebral Lease Agreement,' the Great Angel's shirking had become ever more justified in his own mind.
Romulus's office was in a concealed section of the starport. A constant stream of materials was brought up via the space elevator, sorted, and then decisions were made from this office, with the most critical matters being forwarded to the flagship Dawnlight. Meeting here was the correct choice; the Great Angel's presence was a distraction wherever he went. Especially when he had a walking spotlight with him.
Having taken control of Karna's brain, Romulus looked up at Arthur, who had just finished his battlefield wrap-up. The King of Knights had a talent for spotting gifted individuals. Perhaps it was his habit of conducting face-to-face interviews that allowed him to know his men so well, freeing him from the need to micromanage everything. Whatever the reason, this behaviour had certainly drawn a great deal of attention from the senior officer corps. When these two left their command posts and entered the rear echelons after a battle, a quiet reverence, mixed with a dazed awe, would spread through the ranks. From the lowliest menial to the highest-ranking commander, everyone would stop what they were doing and stare.
"The Vigilus front has entered the counter-offensive stage," Arthur said, taking an apple Karna had tossed him. He straddled a bench opposite the desk, took a bite, and continued. "The Black Templars' task force has secured the outer regions of the Nachmund Gauntlet. After some… debate… they have retaken twenty-one previously lost worlds."
"The fleets led by the Dark Mechanicum and Iron Warriors on the periphery of the Cadian defensive line remain in a raiding posture, avoiding direct engagement while attempting to consolidate their resources. The warp tides are severe at present, so we can't pin them down. With a strong commander, these enemies are the greatest threat."
"I have faith that the Imperial military can eventually drive them out, but I doubt they will maintain this posture indefinitely. As it stands, I believe the front will remain in this stalemate for the next decade."
Currently, three main fleets were operating in concert with the Dawnbreakers in the Veiled Region. The first was the Imperial Navy, which had arrived seeking glory. While these nobles were often insufferable, their eagerness for battle and spirit of sacrifice could not be denied. And with the fleets of several sectors combined, their numbers on paper were intimidating. The second was the fleet dispatched by Stygies VIII, Agrippina, and other Forge Worlds. They were busy cleaning up the other, less loyal Forge Worlds, launching a holy war in the name of the "true Omnissiah." Romulus had somewhat underestimated the impact his psycho-materialization abilities would have on the worldview of these oil-lovers. Rumor had it some had even switched sides on the spot, crying, "I too can be loyal! I too can believe in the true Omnissiah!" The last was their old friends, the Black Templars. Hearing there was a fight, they had come running in their Gloriana-class battleship.
The remaining forces—independent Astartes Chapters, Rogue Traders, and the like—were all fighting their own wars. Romulus knew these forces couldn't be integrated into the Dawnbreakers' command structure, so they were largely left to their own devices, responsible for defending their own spheres of influence.
"I need a contingent," Romulus said, getting straight to the point. "Dark Angels. A direct attachment. A thousand should be sufficient." The Dark Angels were a perennial problem, a force the Dawnbreakers had to guard against almost as much as they guarded against Chaos. And only a demigod could handle a demigod.
"No problem," Arthur nodded, not even asking for a reason.
"Azrael?"
"Yes."
"You're really going to fleece that one sheep, aren't you?" Romulus chuckled.
"The sheep can take it," Arthur replied. Azrael might as well have had "I will be the greatest Chapter Master under the Primarchs" tattooed on his forehead. Arthur had judged that Azrael had enough sense not to cause any major trouble, so he supported his ambition. And now that Romulus had a request, it was a simple matter to do him a favor and let Azrael take more of his men along. Consider it a treat for the increasingly proud little cat. Arthur felt the calm satisfaction of a man rewarding an obedient pet.
Romulus accepted without hesitation. With Arthur's approval, the transfer of command would be simple. Their years of playing good cop, bad cop had not been in vain; it had allowed them to filter out a host of officers with no political sense, who harbored animosity towards the other allied Primarchs or Legions. The Regent's heavy hand had rearranged them all, resulting in the high command of all three Legions under the Dawnbreakers' banner being largely free of old prejudices. Though they had initially forced the Legions together through sheer charisma, all four travelers had been keenly aware of the internal issues. In their vision, the forces belonging to the Dawnbreakers had to be an army that followed orders, that was responsible to the people of the Dawnstar Sector government, a modern, professional military that had shed its past superstitions. The situation where a change in commander would render the troops unresponsive was absolutely unacceptable. Otherwise, whose army was it? If other Primarchs joined their cause in the future, would these warriors become their private soldiers? They had all agreed this could not be allowed to happen. If Romulus wanted to get something done, who could stand the Dark Angels and Blood Angels constantly butting heads? One Space Wolves chapter was trouble enough.
"We need to prepare for their command structure," Arthur said, drawing attack vectors and defensive nodes on the star-chart.
"Indeed," Romulus replied, beginning to plan logistics and reserve deployments. The overall campaign in the Veiled Region was currently static. Chaos had deployed massive forces but was avoiding a decisive battle, using their superior warp travel for nomadic raids. This hit-and-run tactic was infuriatingly effective; the damage from each raid was real and substantial. But for the travelers, this outcome was perfectly acceptable.
"Do you know what the real irony is?" Garro, who was part of the entourage, asked Drakus. Ramesses had re-formed the Shattered Legions; the psyker-Primarch desperately needed warriors who had faced their fallen lords and proven themselves incorruptible.
"Of course," Drakus nodded. He had heard Garro's story, of how he had confronted his own fallen father on the battlefields of Terra. Frankly, if he were to face Guilliman alone, Drakus doubted he would be able to raise his blade.
"This fallen rabble could have achieved so much more. Their own strength, the power of their Legions, the gifts of the warp… Khorne has torn many rifts in realspace," Garro said. "Yet, because of their mutual suspicion, their animosity, their conflicting interests and goals, they can only be held together for short periods of time by the promise of plunder."
After speaking, Drakus couldn't help but shake his head. He looked at the two Primarchs in deep discussion and smiled with a sense of relief.
"I will tell you frankly," he said to Garro, the Ultramarine unable to resist sharing the unique friendship between their Primarchs with a colleague from a bygone age. "If someone could truly manage to command these forces, they would have won an unprecedented victory in a matter of days, and we certainly wouldn't be standing here chatting."
"Gifted, yet arrogant," Garro added, noticing the pride creeping onto Drakus's face. "Perhaps the combination of a clear mind and immense power is a miracle that is not meant to be replicated. It was the same during the Siege of Terra."
"The World Eaters and Emperor's Children are no different now than they were then," Garro continued, ignoring the suddenly awkward expression on Drakus's face, perhaps even enjoying it. "As you said, they could have won the war, but they are wild and untamable, acting on whims as unpredictable as a storm. Sometimes their actions benefited Horus, and sometimes, they benefited us."
They looked at each other for a moment.
"Chaos is difficult to control."
"Chaos has always been thus."
While their retainers were discussing the situation and criticizing Chaos, Romulus had formulated a plan. And once he had a plan, it was time for implementation. He was a being who, once he had determined a course of action to be rational, would execute it with meticulous detail. He swiped through the star-chart, observed the changing variables, and finally made his decision.
"We are going to Cadia."
Drakus suddenly felt his job security was in peril.
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