Chapter 36
Time waits for no man, and that was true even now, for there was always so much to do, and so little time to do it.
A full year had passed since his awakening from his wounds, so much of it spent lying in bed, the cocktail of drugs and injected nanites doing their work to ensure no lasting damage. As Solomon lay there, mostly unable to move, his mind was a flurry of activity, always making sure to jot down ideas on one of his personal DCDs that Syngra kept by his bedside. Granted, much of it had initially required to be spoken aloud or based upon the movement of his eyes, as he couldn't use his arms to sift through preliminary designs, but it was well worth the extra effort. At least, it would be, when he could put those ideas into use.
The nicest thing about Imperium technology was just how well it all fit together, almost like a bunch of Lego bricks. Simple equations were assigned to every piece of gear, and putting them together in different orders, or designs, was as simply as balancing out one set of numbers from the others. Seriously, most were like jigsaw puzzles parts from multiple puzzles that could still fit together, forming unique creations with every "scrambling" of the jumbled mess they were. All Solomon had to do was look into putting what pieces where, as he had no understanding of the technology within those pieces, only what worked, and what wouldn't work. You wouldn't attach a small flamer to a large plasma accelerator unless the flamer could handle spewing that much plasma without shorting out or exploding in your hands.
The same went for pretty much everything else, whether it was a vehicle, a ship, a piece of gear, or even the systems that made up parts of those same constructs. Besides, anything more difficult was relegated to Syngra and her growing team of engineers, gene smiths, tech priests, collectivist data indexers and voidcraft specialists. Where Solomon hadn't the faintest idea, they would take over, and where they ran into a wall, his outside and unique perspective came in handy. They all worked well off one another, with what did and did not work, and what shortcomings could be overcome, or set aside for a later attempt. The sheer multitude of projects being worked on was worthy of any Mechanicus forge world, save for the amount of cooperation and resource sharing Solomon ensured.
Unfortunately, despite all of this jolly cooperation, plans were stymied by lack of progress in some areas, and setbacks in other. The scheduled upcoming invasion of Halfast Primus had been put on hold, which pushed back some of the first battlefield deployments and scheduled testing of new weapons of war. On top of that, many said it was for his sake, as he was more or less leading the charge despite the massed gathering of troops and fleets trickling in to the "safe zone" on this side of the Rift. In addition, several other problems had popped up that were going to need solutions sooner rather than later.
A unifying effect on a large portion of the tribes of Mastuonus Tertius was beginning to cause friction with the rest of the planet's governmental bodies, especially the primary one. In exchange for access to technological improvements in their daily lives, from powerful weapons to combat the world's myriad predators, to items as simple as water purifiers, many of these tribes were offering usage of their lands, and access to the resources upon them, to off world interests. Most of this was simply animal byproducts, such as Dawn Wyrm scales, but there was mineral wealth to be found, and that had many interested. In fact, the offering of such bountiful resources, many of them concentrated only within these vast swaths of land, was beginning to upset the power balance on the planet. Economic warfare was inevitable if something was not done to soothe tensions and find an alternative solution to part and parceling entire subcontinents.
Solomon hoped he wouldn't have to step in again. He'd already crushed one dictatorial unification attempt, he didn't need another at such a crucial junction in his timetable.
As it were, there was also a sudden cold war going on between a lost Mechanicus expeditionary fleet and a large mining guild over the rights to whatever is found within the Whara system. As it were, the shattered remnants of Whara I, apparently not only held evidence of ancient technological marvels (that somehow survived the impact), but also yielded greater-than-expected riches in ores and even unrefined promethium. Again, all had somehow survived the planet-busting impact, and now the negotiating and fighting was continuing, even with such riches more than close enough to fuel a dozen different campaigns and planetary rebuilding efforts.
Finally, there were arguments breaking out between establishing footholds on claimed worlds between whichever space marine chapters or factions had managed to make it through so far. Determining who had what right to be supplied by what world, be it in recruits, war materiel or even just as a home base was beginning to chafe many a planet's originally cooperative demeanor. Such honorable assignments could break apart alliances as easily as treachery and enemy attacks could. It would seem a council of astartes would be needed in the future, to help stymie grudges and bring about a greater sense of necessary pride-culling. When it could cost you a war, there was no place for prideful stupidity.
Once his arms were recovered enough, Solomon's days in his bed were finally at an end. He still could not walk without assistance from his exosuit or several mechandrite attachments, and for the sake of not taxing himself too much, he'd been relegated to a fairly complex sort of wheelchair, with holographic displays, a low-grade self-sufficient generator, data storage capabilities, a small recaf dispenser and, surprisingly, a very comfortable massage feature.
The first thing he'd sought to do was assemble a council of his immediate forces to begin preliminary deployment efforts. The upcoming invasions were the first in a series of many, hopefully successful, campaigns to come, and there was no telling just how hard and fast he would need to strike. Reclaiming territory from xenos, traitors or worse, or simply establishing new fronts in the ever-growing expanse of intermingled sectors; no matter the cause, the goal was clear.
Secure and hold until more help could come their way.
The meeting had gone well enough, even with the setbacks, as that meant the timetables for other projects were pushed forward with greater efficiency. Asteroid belts were being mined by the processing ships, which in turn were able to churn out more of these same ships. Soon, more than just the Mastuonus system would be mining every scrap of floating space rock, and with it would come the baseline elements for countless projects, from civilian to military, as well as the means of ramping up all other forms of production. With this in mind, supplying materials to forge worlds was going to become far easier, and more materials on time meant more products ahead of schedule. War was as much a battle of tanks and soldiers and ships as it was one of bandages, amasec, ammunition and food rations.
As it was, his second order of business was to meet with his research and development teams. Progress had been made in many areas, with only half as many setbacks, and so, wheeling himself along the upper gangplanks, Solomon followed Syngra, the pair shadowed by the towering Titus.
"Legio Janissaria recruits have been procured from a wide region of space, many coming from underhives or feral worlds with few means for extra mouths to feed," Syngra said, motioning below. In the great belly of Solomon's ever-growing fortress, a new series of bunker-like facilities had been carved from the rock. Expansive, as state of the art as was available, and absolutely a flurry of activity.
Below them were the initial areas dedicated to and even labelled as a part of the Janissaria Corps, as they were becoming known as. Someone had decided on a name change, and Solomon wasn't exactly against it, he wasn't going to be fielding legions after all. Tracks for running, areas dedicated to muscle development, armories, target ranges and sleeping quarters, all centered on ring radiating out from a pair of massive mess halls and centers of learning.
From their monitor-laden servoskulls, Solomon watched as a group of children sprinted along the track, a timer assigned to each individual, previous times listed alongside signs of improvement or fitness decay. Others were in the mess hall, eating nutritionally dense rations designed specifically to encourage the highest amount of natural growth within the subject. In one of the sim halls, future pilots were training in simulators designed to be like a game, one the subjects would be interested in playing. A separate group were in one of the learning centers, gazing intently upon a large screen.
"What are those children watching?" Titus asked. "It seems to be some sort of program centered on a commissar riding a… talking purple saurian?"
"Yep, Arnus and Barnus, a new program we've been developing to teach children at an early age about many of the dangers they'll face without causing undue developmental stress," Solomon said. "Arnus is a commissar who leads his men from the frontline while teaching all about good moral lessons. You know, don't talk to strangers, watch out for people with strange tattoos, report suspicious activity to your local arbites, keep yourself clean with soap, and always thank the Manperor for good things in your life."
"And this… Barnus?"
"He does much of the same, but also has a tragic backstory. A former slave to horrible xenos, I think we made them look like flying metal squids, he was freed by Arnus during a planetary invasion and declared him to be his best friend, the commissar earning a "life debt" from him. Barnus teaches children about being kind and loyal to others, never taking anything for granted, and that eventually mankind will get rid of all the bad guys in the galaxy."
"Is he a xenos?"
"No, we've sort of made him a highly intelligent saurian made by mankind in ages past whose species served mankind faithfully all this time. His home planet was devastated by "the bad guys" and his people show up every now and then to help out or teach lessons."
"Are these other "bad guys" mentioned specifically?"
"They're all kept vague, just "bad" or "evil" guys that want to destroy mankind, and most of them are completely made up or based off orks."
"Are there other programs?"
"We're starting with just those designed for children, but soon we'll be expanding into other age ranges. We've got a few for the older kids based off fighter and tank crews, a comedy beginning circulation about a Basilisk artillery crew, soap operas for the old folks centered around retired soldiers still doing their duty in some way, and a few live-action arbite shows with real footage of their cases, albeit heavily censored and slanted in favor of the Imperium."
"Sounds like quite an ensemble for the Janissaria to be watching," Titus mused. "Are they a test bed of sorts for this?"
"Slightly," Syngra said. "Other test groups are currently being utilized by Ecchlesiarchy recruitment centers, as well as whatever planetary broadcast arrays they have been able to subsume under their control. The first step at successful propaganda is getting children to like it when they don't understand it. From there, we can pile it on more and more without needing to be so heavy-handed like with adults."
"Now, to the children themselves. Where on the timetable is our current progress?"
"As it stands, we've just begun the cloning process for the majority of the organs we'll be using during the implantation process further down the road. Most of the synthetic organs won't be built until they've reached their late teens, many of them being implanted in set stages and at set times from one another. This way, we won't be overwhelming their bodies with these new changes, and each sequential organ will help make sure the next one is optimally received."
"What of the Varangia?"
"Development is proceeding slightly behind schedule, if only because it is taking us longer to clone some of their organs than we had previously anticipated. Mostly due to the rejection rate being higher for individuals that adapted to certain environmental chemicals early in life, or those with some form of genetic disability. We are currently working around it, and the first sets should be ready within a few months."
"I see. The war gear?"
"Varangia gear will be far easier to create at this point, as interfacing them with an adult is going to take minimally invasive surgery compared to the amount of augmentations required for the Janissaria. We're still working on some design issues, but testing of the final phase should be near complete by the time Halfast Primus is taken, barring no further delays."
Solomon continued on to the next testing area, his holographic displays cycling through a large amount of data. He would never be able to field entire armies of super soldiers, like some Long Night human and xenos alike civilizations had done, nor create his own space marines, but he'd damn well be able to give any troops he could a better fighting chance than they had already. Hence the next area of his base, as a wide variety of armed forces were going to be working with him, under his control or as allies. It stood to reason that he would need to make sure war gear was readily available between the two, as well as easy to repair or swap out if too damaged. He also needed to make sure that the wrong people did not get ahold of too many of the weapons he was creating.
Creating, not designing. Despite what others might think, Solomon wasn't a genius at making weapons out of nothing. Most of what he was doing had already been done before, was being rediscovered, or was a collective example of tinkering, throwing something at a wall until it stuck, or using something in a manner it had not originally been intended for. Many weapons were merely using the same technology of the time to recreate something as he remembered it from his own, or barring that, filling a need that the weapons currently utilized for that were incredibly complex or just not up to the task. It'd be like needing a flamethrower to deal with orks, but your promethium flamer only has a range measured in single digit meters, which is way too close to be near an ork that isn't certifiably dead.
Plus, he had a lot of tech to work with, smart people to help him, and plenty of genius moments and ideas to bounce off of others. That, and the "alternate timeline peering" Adam showed him certainly helped. Whether it was ideas on how to solve current problems, or ideas for future creations, it worked splendidly. The fact that Adam's restructuring of his mind also meant he could simply peruse his brain for a memory during his meditative trances or during his sleep meant he never really forgot anything anymore, another bonus in his book. It was a bit annoying though to randomly remember stuff he didn't want to, like that memory of him, the Magos and the Cannonness, or more specifically, the Magos part...
As it were, one of the most important things about the invasion of Halfast Primus would be the testing of a large number of the weapons and vehicles that had come about. First and foremost would be his tanks, as well as the support and troop carrier vehicles needed to maintain a front line or push deeper into enemy territory. They had yet to see action, despite several revisions and additions to their arsenals, and the only true way to test a vehicle's effectiveness was out in the field, not on some test platform. He could only hope that any shortcomings wouldn't cost too many lives.
"Solomon."
"Yes, Titus?"
"Syngra has informed me the primary issue for the Manifestatia Corps has finally been resolved, and that they are ready for field testing at any moment."
Huh, another name change. Then again, he didn't have the numbers to support actual Legio "whatever" this far out, so maybe it was for the better. On the flip side, excellent! "I knew we'd been having issues with the sound dampening systems generating excess heat, enough that I was worried we'd have to go back to the drawing board," the Rogue Trader muttered. "How'd we do it, Syngra?"
"Simply increasing the amount of micro-vents dispersing sound by making more, smaller versions, as well as making the channels within in far more zigzagging patterns to increase overall distance between the source of noise and its final exit, without sacrificing strength or durability," she replied with a smug buzzing noise. "However, it did increase material and assembly costs by fifteen percent."
"Eh, you win some, you lose some," Solomon shrugged. "I'll want as many ready for deployment when I head out. How goes the LOAD system?"
"Complete, and ready for field testing upon retaking Halfast Primus."
"Excellent. Have the shipments of tanks reached orbit yet? Caloris Primus manifests put the first batches as completed months ago."
"The crews have finished training, and will likely know their vehicles inside and out by the time you arrive in system," Syngra added.
"You will not be joining in the fight?" Titus asked.
"One of my trainees will be by your side instead," she said with a shrug of her mechandrites. "There is no shortage of work needing to be done, and I can't just up and leave when I have so much to do as it is. Besides, someone has to keep a photoreceptor on all of the good captain's projects while he's away."
"Very few people have earned that trust," Solomon said with a nod. "Syngra is one of them."
She smiled. "Many thanks, captain."
"As it is, however, I have one more thing to do before I finally get these casts off and return to my ship." He turned to Titus. "How is she?"
"Physically, she has recovered far better than you, though that is in part to her substantially less severe injuries," the space marine replied. "However… her psyche has been rattled, to put it mildly, to the point where I would wager she is close to becoming mildly catatonic."
"I expected that, seeing as she didn't talk much the last time we were together." In fact, Solomon would declare their meetings to be entirely one-sided these days, with most of what she said being simple one-word answers. Whether severe depression or something worse, Delvidia Warmak had become rather reclusive in her chambers, almost never going out except if she was needed. She still ate meals with him whenever they got together, and never made any sort of trouble, but it was like a part of her had died back on Mastuonus Primus.
He'd try to talk with her about it again. His ship was scheduled to make a stop there for a large amount of rations for the upcoming campaign as it was, and maybe talking about it some more might bring part of her back.
With Titus following him at a leisurely pace, or as leisurely as a massive superhuman could walk, Solomon wheeled his way back to the private dormitories that had been his lover's current living quarters.
He knocked.
"Delvidia? May I come in?"
The pregnant pause was palpably poignant.
"Yes," came the answer, finally.
Wheeling himself in, today being his last day in this wheelchair, Solomon found the former governess sitting upright in her bed, looking over a data codex of sorts.
Titus, as silent as ever, stood watch.
He took her free hand into his own, gently making small circles in her palm with his thumbs. "Delvidia," he said, softly. "I'll be going soon. I'm needed for the Halfast campaign, and you're going to be staying here."
"Okay."
"Is there anything you'll need?" She hadn't wanted for anything, as a man in his position was often showered with gifts, and while blatant bribery was beneath him, Solomon had no qualms about gifting those goods to others who might want or need them far more than he would. Fine animal pelts, literature, exotic foods, the list went on. Plus, with the thrones he was raking in, he was able to afford the best in his fortress, and as ostentatious as some of his rooms were becoming, he still managed to find ways to make them more respectable than gaudy.
That was likely Syngra's influence. She just had this way with decorating…
"Solomon, I want my home back," Delvidia muttered.
Solomon's shock rose several notches. That was the longest sentence he'd heard her say in months.
"We'll see what we can do about that," he promised.
"What does that mean?"
"Well, you'll be killed if you go back, and any deal I make has to be done in person, something I haven't been able to do since I've been stuck in bed or this wheelchair for nearly a year."
"I want my home back," she repeated, looking him in the eyes for the first time since he'd entered the room. "I want my mansion, my bed, the relics of my family's history, all of the possessions my family had fought and bled to acquire during our centuries of rule. The gardens I played in as a child, the grand hall where I hosted parties, the dining room where we shared our first meal…"
"But the mansion is as good as destroyed, the assault shattered it beyond repair. I was able to recover some things here and there through some of my contacts, but they did a very thorough job of carting off most valuable items, and destroying whatever they didn't want. I can't give you back your home, Delvidia, it's gone."
Delvidia went still at that, he lips forming a thin line. The drawn out silence was becoming more and more common between them, the longer they waited, the longer things went unsaid and actions were not taken.
She sighed. "If you can't give me my home back, then I want them to suffer. Traitors, spies, usurpers and false patriots, I want to see them pay for what they did to me, to you, to… us."
He had been expecting that. A desire for vengeance was a driving force only a few others could match, yet for Solomon, this was not a simple manner of retribution upon those who had wronged his ally and lover. Her family's legacy in tatters, her ancient home ruined beyond repair, the loss of so many and so much she had known, it was enough to make anyone seek bloody retribution.
This was about setting an example of those who would bring about the ruin of mankind for their own selfish interests. For far too long had he seen division grow within ranks and between differing organizations, proxy wars and espionage resulting in sabotage and setbacks in times of crisis where such actions were a greater threat to stability than the enemy themselves. Humanity was balanced on the edge of a knife, and these idiots who only thought in the short term, these politicking, peacocking, prudish sycophants of the highest order, were tearing apart the Imperium as fast as men and women died to defend and strengthen it.
It boggled his mind that such stupidity was still at play in the galaxy when the sheer harshness of this future should have snuffed it out like a small candle in the grasp of a hurricane.
"Delvidia," he muttered. "Do you trust me?"
"What?"
"I said, do you trust me?"
She blinked, perhaps in surprise. "Of course, why would you ask me that?"
"I will deal with those who thought for themselves, and not for us all," he said. "In due time, they will see the error of their ways, before I bring about their ruin. In due time."
"Why?"
"We have more important things to worry about now than mere vengeance."
"Solomon, they almost killed us!" the former governess hissed. "They almost put a stop to what you have been trying to achieve for years and what you'll likely be doing for the rest of your life, all for some short sighted goal that is meaningless in the grand scheme of things! You are only just holding this portion of the Rift-side Imperium together with only the barest of resources and the minutest amount of political acumen, and they almost had you killed just because they coveted my power. How can you be so calm, knowing that these conspirators are reveling in their perceived success, nearly at the cost of your own life?"
"There is an old saying from Terra my dear that any would do well to remember, least of all you. It has no equivalent on worlds without the features, true, but… still waters run deep, Delvidia," Solomon whispered.
Something in his tone made her pause. It was… well, it was an intensity she'd never heard from him before, and as he stared into her eyes, she felt something dawn upon her.
A realization that she had been too self-absorbed in her loathing and anger to notice.
"You aren't going to let this go at all."
His silence was all the answer she needed. Solomon was fully willing to wage total war on those who threatened mankind. Just what would he do to humans who threatened the safety and security of their own species for selfishly shortsighted reasons?
"What are you going to do?" She almost dreaded his answer, not knowing if she'd be elated, concerned, or terrified. She'd seen how creative he could get with weapons designed for waging war against the enemies of man, but for him to put that same drive of his towards exacting revenge…
"First, when I'm officially cleared from this wheelchair, I am going to go meet with some of my troops, who will have a very special assignment ahead of them," he growled. "After that, I am to take my ship to Mastuonus Primus, to fill my cargo vaults with rations destined for the upcoming Halfast campaign. I will also be meeting with the new planetary leadership to discuss several new deals we will be making… that I will be making."
"Then off to war again?"
He nodded. "Then off to war." There was no 'again' needed, for there would be no difference between one war and another, merely the latest in a string of battles of a war started when the Manperor led Terra out of darkness, and brought humanity back into the fight for galactic supremacy.
"Then I will wait for you," she whispered. "Until you return, then… my captain."
The transition from a local member of the planetary nobility to the ruler of the world itself wasn't as glamorous as he had expected. Sure, the additions being built upon his family's already substantial estate were splendid, and the amount of servants he would have was going to increase tenfold, but for the life of him, Saull Barath felt he was a tad in over his head.
He didn't let that bagging feeling hold him down, though. He was becoming planetary governor! A title his family had sought and struggled to reacquire for centuries! There was no telling just how many thrones would practically fall into their coffers now that they ruled the world, or how many advantageous alliances they would now be privy to. The families who had been so snide to them when times were tough, or had pulled the proverbial fine rugs out from under them, humiliating them for entire generations, since the Warmaks had taken their rightful dominance out from under them on nothing more than hero worship and past deeds?
Not anymore. Now, as reports came in and he began delegating as many tasks as he could, these same nobles were coming to him, practically groveling before him with his newfound power, and that of his family. They'd taken too long to anoint a successor to the now-likely defunct Warmak line, as Saull didn't believe the former governess could bear the thought of having lost so much and not just end their own life. Their Inquisitorial friend had made the decision for them instead months after the assault, and selected him to lead the planet into a new age in the Imperium's darkest hours.
One of the Inquisitor's few words of caution laced between praise and a reminder of his duties had not-so-coincidentally centered on the former governor's powerful ally, the Rogue Trader Solomon.
He'd never met the man, as whatever galas the man had attended before had never bothered to invite Saull, but despite never laying eyes on him, Saull already found him a tad pretentious. Only one name? Was he not concerned about founding a house dynasty to continue his bloodline across the generations?
Yet for his lacking of the more genteel aspects that the last member of the Warmak line had so ignorantly overlooked, he was far more the dangerous and powerful for it. He had made an alliance with her, true, but then again, word was he had alliances with more than a few others, including governments on worlds with far more resources and wealth than Mastuonus Primus could ever hope to achieve. He had allies in very high places, apparently including the Mechanicum and now-reforming Ecchlesiarchy, according to the Inquisitor, and rumors had it he'd made acquaintances with space marines. Actual astartes, not-angels of the Manperor!
For someone to have such a power base and make such ill-mannered, never mind unambitious usage of it, made him all the more wary. Either he was far less connected than those same rumors stated, or he was incredibly secretive, the kind that no amount of skullduggery, hacking or bribery could bypass.
No matter. Today, at the crux of his planet's tithe in rations for the upcoming front over Halfast Primus, he'd be meeting with the man himself. A portion of the capital had been evacuated of all nonessential staff and troops for this meeting, although a good number of his formerly-fellow nobility were also in attendance. Partly to be cowed by his newfound power, but also to instill in them the lessons from the Inquisitor; pay mind to the needs of the Imperium and be rewarded handsomely, or attempt to subvert others for your own gain, as they had claimed Governess Warmak had done, and face utter ruin.
The shuttle that descended was the very same in which reports had said the trader was evacuated in. One of the local Hospitallier covenant houses, if rumors were correct.
Saull smoothed out his extremely expensive uniform, the work of countless hands and countless hours of precise needlework, tanning and polishing. He just finished adjusting the fancy new harriva pelt shoulder cape as the shuttle landed, and with a hiss, opened the extending ramp.
No guards exiting? Strange, perhaps the man thought himself safe? Saull saw no reason to try and kill him, but such arrogance or naivety would get him killed faster than a direct hit from a lasgun.
The robed figure was tall, far taller than he had expected most humans could be. Saull knew his parents had told him they were of shorter stock, but strong, and while it did little for his ego as a child, now he paid it no mind. Big or small, all respected power, and he had learned early on how to project it in the best way for the best situation.
Yet, when the robed figure reached him, it gave him pause. There was something… off.
"Captain Solomon, I presume?"
The figure nodded. "Indeed I am, in a sense."
"In a sense?"
The figure removed the hood, and Saull blinked. A… servitor was staring at him, but it was unlike any servitor he'd ever seen.
For starters, the figure was exactly like a man, likely filled with fibrous and metallic sinew shaped just as a human would be, but almost none of it was visible. Every square inch was armored with angular plates in areas where vital organs would be, and smooth, curved pieces at the shoulders and forearms. Powerfully built, too, from the shape, and easily a head taller than the biggest fellow Saull had ever met. No weapons were immediately visible, though portions seemed to have mounting plates for likely such a reason, and despite its great size, every movement was as smooth as if it really were a person.
The most startling thing, other than the lack of blinking lights he'd seen with others, was the lack of a head. Where the shoulders came together was simply a gaping hole, sloping down slightly into what looked like where one would mount something fairly robust.
Had the battle really damaged the trader that much? Reports had said he'd been in one piece…
"Surprised?" the servitor asked, with the barest hint of a metallic whine to the voice.
"Where is Captain Solomon?"
"I'm right here, again, in a sense."
"You've been turned into a headless servitor?"
"Oh, this?" he, no, it asked, gesturing at itself. "Of course not, I am still very much alive, while mostly flesh and blood, no thanks to your petty ambitions. Some grafting onto a few bones here or there, but nothing lost or beyond repair."
With that, there was a whirring, and a cadre of small cables snaked up from the stump, trailing a long a pair of two, far larger ones, all slowly coalescing like strands of metallic hair. The seething mass clicked a few times, and with a slight grating sound, formed into a face. An incredibly lifelike face, complete with cheekbones, a brow, a chin, and even ears, with the eyes being a pair of pinprick yellow lights.
"I was mistaken when I thought the direct communication line was fully engaged," the strange contraption replied. "I take it the error has been corrected, and I now have a face?"
"Where is Captain Solomon?" Saull repeated.
"A yes, then. Present and speaking."
"I was told you would be coming in person."
"I have, so to speak. I am here, after all, to take a large portion of the rations onto my ship, and bring them with me to Halfast Primus, for the coming campaign. You really should have gone over the more specific aspects of the deal when it was made during my hospitalization. Don't you have lawyers?"
"That was done without me, and I am regretting letting that happen now, if you are so eager to exploit loopholes. Why are you not down here, as was the agreement made by our world and your representative?"
"I am altering the agreement, pray that I do not alter it any further," the face said, the "lips" even moving in perfect sync with the audio. It almost seemed to wince after a moment. "Still not as good as the original owner," it whispered.
"What does that mean?" Saull's confusion, while still great, was being overruled by incredulity and anger. The nerve to not be here in person, and play it off as a mere interpretive difference!
"Never you mind, very few in this galaxy would ever understand that reference," faux-Solomon replied. "As it stands, I am here because you wished to speak with me about the first batch of ships that will be dedicated to protecting this world, and by extension, the Mastuonus system?"
"That is correct. Where are you now?"
"Oh, in orbit, aboard my ship," this… puppet replied, forming a gruesome parody of a smile. "Watching you and all your little noble friends through the targeting system of one of my new Marionetta servitors. Pretty neat, aren't they? The wonders of infusing new ideas with established technology, I tell you."
"Targeting-?"
"Yes, but don't worry, I'm not here to kill you all." The pause afterwards sent a chill down the new governor's spine, as if the captain were holding back a "not yet" for longer than needed. "As it is," he continued, "there will be a squadron of voidships assigned per planet, of a design coordinated by myself, those working under me, and those working with me, like the Mechanicus. We're getting along fabulously, you know, and I'm going to be reaching out to some of these stranded space marine chapters at Halfast Primus, to offer services and aid and such. Good to make friends in high places, you know?"
"How will these ships be crewed?"
"Oh, there'll definitely be a need for crew for these ships, but not in the numbers you think. With the sheer amount of extra armor, weapons, backup auxiliary systems and supplies, as well as officers of my own training, I believe we'll only be needing around sixteen thousand troops per squadron."
"Will there only be two ships per squadron, then?" It was better than nothing, at least, though the captains being loyal to Solomon was going to be a problem…
"What? After what happened here, and with my history with this world, do you really think I'd turn around and shortchange the defense of this system over something as petty as attempted regicide and murder?" The barking laugh was an awful parody of the true thing, Marionetta or not. "Of course not. These ships are to defend and patrol the system itself, and once they arrive, unless the circumstances are most dire, they won't be leaving anytime soon. Naming conventions, of course, will be left to the local populace. Hey, why not give them the chance to vote on the names themselves? Would definitely help to spur some civic pride for enlistment and defense of their home system."
From an extended hand, a hologram appeared. To Saull, it was clearly a pair of ships, but ones he'd never seen before. Then again, he'd never paid much attention in void combat studies, but he was pretty sure such a design wasn't like that of those he bothered to remember.
"Why does one look like just the prow of a voidship?" Indeed, the entire shape reminded him of it, but without the trailing main body like others. On the backside were a vast array of engines, many of them angled to assist with maneuvers, and all along the sides, there seemed to be ports. For what?
"This, we call the Watchman destroyer. We determined this prow wedge shape to be the most optimal design for its given role, primarily to seek and destroy enemy voidcraft swarms and corvettes, as well as flank enemy fleets and probe for weaknesses," was the reply. "It is also ideally equipped to repel and attack boarding and landing forces, as well as sweeping areas for hidden enemies or void hazards. Think of them as defense screens, dedicated to staying within an area and keeping it safe, or should they need to, attacking an enemy's defensive screen."
"Sounds like a smaller version of a Cobra-class destroyer."
"Whose schematics, for some reason, nobody in this part of the Imperium has access to, myself included, so we can't just build more of them. I don't know how many times I have to tell you people, I won't be able to just pull fleets out of my ass based on whatever we have at the time." The electronic harrumph was as grating as a rusty buzzsaw. "We have to hold with what we have, and make something new to supplant losses, or recreate an older design with some serious upgrades."
"Then what does it have for armament?"
"The usual, twin-linked anti-ship torpedo launchers on all sides, my own versions of lancer batteries on self-contained turrets, swarm missile launchers, nanite chaff screens, its own complement of Warpath fighter squadrons and Annihilator bomber wings, tactical CLFFF missiles, plus a bunch of other stuff we're still working on. Mining enough osmium is going to be tricky for a while yet."
"Nanite chaff screens?"
"Basically a cloud of nanites released that confused sensors and can block line of sight from enemy ships. It would be inadvisable for an enemy ship to attempt to fly through the screen."
"What is CLFFF?"
"Chlorine trifluoride. It will be loaded into missile pods directed at enemy sensors, engines, bridges, and basically anywhere really important. We could make chlorine pentafluroide, but we'll settle for this for now."
Saull resisted the urge to scratch his head. He'd have to look into this chemical at a later date, if it was clearly dangerous enough to be used on enemy ships. "As for the other ship?"
"The Storm frigate, basically an elongated Watchman. To you, it might be a bigger version of a Cobra destroyer, as a massive portion of its armament is missiles and torpedoes, designed to strike in great salvos or strategic strikes upon enemy flanks. In addition, along each portion of the hull are a mixture of turreted macro-lascannon batteries and point defense plasma launchers, each designed to be nearly entirely self-contained, and linked with other battery firing solutions to best coordinate angles and tracking."
"As I said, the crew requirements for such large ships is going to be higher than this system can supply," Saull huffed. "How do you expect us to defend ourselves when each ship is going to take at least five thousand troops apiece for the smaller Watchman alone?"
"They won't take nearly that many," faux-Solomon replied, as if explaining things to a particularly dimwitted child. "Each Watchman will only need around one thousand troops on board to run the ship itself, with another thousand serving as the pilots for voidcraft, reserve forces, anti-boarding parties, and to relieve weapon crews during long engagements. Each ship could theoretically support three thousand personnel, but then the supplies wouldn't last near as long."
"Why so few?"
"Most of the random open spaces seen in other ships have been filled in with additional armor, weapons systems, power generators, self-sufficient supply storage, and other crucial infrastructure. Really quite simple, when you think about it. Why have all this open space, random tunnels, and pointless segregated quarters when you can fill it with things to make the ship far more durable and efficient? It's not like we have to worry about too much armor on these ships making them sink in space."
"What of the Storm frigates?"
"Eh, around two thousand troops total, with an additional two thousand or so for similar reasons. They might be able to fit ten thousand if pushed to the limit, but like I said, we're going for smaller crews, and more guns. This way, we can field far more ships with far fewer personnel requirements and supplies, meaning we can do more, and make more, with far less. We have the numbers on our side for now, best we make use of arming as many as we can to the teeth, especially where we are most vulnerable."
Saull was surprised by this. If his math was correct, with sixteen thousand troops per squadron, that'd be four Watchman destroyers and two Storm frigates per planet, meaning the Mastuonus system alone, with three inhabited worlds, plus Solomon's moon base, would put their defensive fleet at sixteen Watchman destroyers and eight Storm frigates, with around sixty-four thousand troops. Yet the numbers themselves were pitiful compared to other worlds, and that both scared and intrigued him. Many ships, even those as small as a Cobra destroyer, needed many thousands of crew members, sometimes tens or even hundreds of thousands, to run the ship as well as support the rest of the crew. "I assume many of the weapons will also require fewer troops to operate?" he asked.
"Of course! It's more efficient that way. Auto-loaders and multiple backup means of loading, unloading, and aiming. Why would anyone think moving giant shells with chains and manpower to be a good idea when we have so much more efficient means at our disposal? Cheapskates, the lot of them, I tell ya, not wanting to put in the money to upgrade when they instead use it on more bling. Gold statues don't deflect enemy fire or return it."
The informal speech would have normally been causing Saull anxiety from the sheer audacity of it, but this was not the time to question a man who was likely looking at him through an orbital telescoping sight attached to a very large gun. "When are these ships destined to arrive?"
"I believe they are on track to arrive within five years, so long as local time on Vaeria Primus isn't fluctuating like some worlds are." The holograms disappeared. "That reminds me, you'll also be receiving additional forces to guard you about that time. Other planetary governors will be receiving the same, some sooner than others."
"What for? My own guards are fine," Saull retorted.
"Given that Governess Warmak thought the same of her own, yours clearly will not be up to the task," faux-Solomon replied, the smile growing far beyond the constraints a normal human mouth should stretch. "Now what kind of ally would I be to leave you defenseless both in space and planetside?"
"So these troops… they'll be trained under you?"
"Trained, enhanced, equipped, you name it, I'll have been behind it in some way."
Saull didn't know whether to be terrified or outraged. The new settlers on his world to help repopulate after the xenos attack? The vast array of defense networks rebuilt to stop such an incursion in the future? An upcoming fleet to protect his world from future attacks? Now a vanguard of elite troops to protect him, the planetary governor?
Solomon, Solomon, Solomon! All of it funded by him, built on his orders, trained by him, and ultimately loyal to him! Every facet of his power was going to be at the captain's whim, and his continued rule at the man's mercy!
It'd have been better if the captain had just shot him and declared the planet his own. At least then it would have been like the ways he'd been taught while growing up. Now there was a razor wire noose around his neck and all the other nobles, slowly but surely about to tighten should they ever step out of line. The leeway of the distant rule of Terra was gone, with time and cost prohibiting direct rule from becoming more direct and rules left open for interpretation. Now, one wrong step, one move too far one way, and they'd be cut to shreds.
Now there was a new ruler to contend with. Solomon was beyond the laws of the Imperium, save for a select few, and now, he was more or less in charge of several subsectors. Maybe even more, with how irregular the borders now were. Who was to say such power wouldn't expand?
The worst part was the sheer amount of organizations and players in the game supporting him! His connections were ever growing in number and strength, as were his alliances, and there was no telling just how much power would wind up in his lap. The Mechanicum, planetary governors, Ecchlesiarchial forces, Astartes, the list went on!
Who was to say the very same Inquisitor who put Saull Barath and his family in power wouldn't be the one to throw them under the hover-bus to pacify Solomon for some future goal or favor? Would he and his family now be the ones to be betrayed and brought to ruin?
"Oh, by the way, Saull," Solomon's puppet said, the inhuman smile disappearing, along with the entire synth-head, drawing out the "L's" of his name is a clearly patronizing tone. "I've had some eyes on you for a while now, and while you're not stupid, you're predictable, and I suggest you change things up." With a snap of his fingers, he took a step back, a hum coming from the shuttle. "Pulling so many nobles together to make them grovel, as well as show off your newfound power? Sealing off and evacuating a portion of the city? Getting new additions onto your mansion that I can see from low orbit? Why are all of you nobles so damn easy to read?"
"Am I supposed to be impressed by your level of information?" Saull sneered, his front just barely beginning to crack. It would take more than just implicating that the trader would be watching his every move. There were at least ten different factions in the system that did that already. One more wasn't going to scare him, no matter his power.
"No, what should scare you is what I just found out," the servitor puppet reply, arms spread wide. "Your favorite morning stroll through your family's gardens included you and one of your maids exchanging flowers, a nicety the two of you have done since childhood, or so you reminded her. Rather sweet, come to think of it, I'd have never suspected someone in your line of work being so sentimental."
There must have been Warp shenanigans at foot, for the big beads of sweat that formed on the back of Saull's neck were instantaneous. How did he…?
"You see, on top of the rest of the nobility of this planet, I'll be keeping a very close eye on you personally, Saull. The Imperium is in disarray, especially on this side of the Rift. We've got to stick together, or else we're all dead, or worse. That means," faux-Solomon said, his arms dropping as he redrew his cloak, "no more games. No more politicking or deals under the table for your own benefit. No more short-sighted alliances to seize power by betraying and killing your own. No more life of luxury while the common man starves, and then putting down food riots by firing into crowds of unarmed civilians, all because you wanted more gold plating for your personal guards. You will play by the rules, the rules set down by the Manperor, and enforced by me."
"Why?"
"We are mankind. We are all simultaneously the best and worst of our species has to offer, but we're all in this together, and frankly I'm sick and tired of those in power, no matter how large or small, shitting on those beneath them because it tickles their fancy. Even with the Manperor returning to us once more, we aren't going to get very far if we're not doing the tasks set before us. For the common man, it is slaving away in manufactorums and agriworld fields and dying on distant battlefields; for you and other leaders, it is providing the means of continuing our existence in a galaxy that wants us dead, leading those who fight, and protecting those entrusted to your care."
"Why should I? What gives you the right to dictate what I, a planetary governor of the Imperium of Man, can do? What gives you the right to dictate anything to anyone other than your immediate subordinates?"
"Because if you don't, if you and all those blithering, backstabbing retards ignore this and continue to cause strife where there should be unity…" he said slowly, and all around, bubbles seemed to dissipate into the air, revealing…
Suits. Blackened suits of ceramite, adamantium and starforged steel, sleeker and smaller forms of what Saull recognized as similar to Crimson Mechs, though bearing weapons he had never seen before. Every one, leveled at the governor, and every single one of their forces. Some seemed to appear in thin air right behind the nobility, some of whom began screaming, whether from fright or for mercy, it didn't matter, only to be silenced by faceless glares and brandished weapons. Other machines appeared right before their guards, a simple motion with their guns silencing any notion of a fight. They were not outnumbered, but they were clearly outgunned by this apparitions.
It became apparent that, in the ensuing silence, there was one was standing directly beside him. Saull had never even heard the machine approach, but now, out of the corner of his eye, he could see the machine's strange weapon leveled right at him, the size of the barrel easily the same size as the head it was point at: his own.
"You know, it was really easy slipping an entire company of Manifestatia into your airspace, I'd have thought you all would take the security of your planet a bit more seriously after the last time," faux-Solomon continued, casually brushing off some errant dirt from the end of his cloak. "Rather simple refractory cloaking, internalized sound-dampeners, anti-gravitic pulse generators, micromagnetic coils, lightless rifles… really, the only difficulty is going to be loading them back up into space. First generation to be field tested, and who is to say what they'll become like in the future? Not that I'll tell any of you lot, of course, those will never be seen."
"W-W-What are these ghosts?"
"My silent watchers, cloaked in light and shrouded from those I deem a danger to mankind and the Imperium. They'll be keeping an eye on you, or maybe someone else. Maybe I'll leave with them and you'll never know if they're on world. Or maybe I'll take them off your hands and send them back when you least expect it, which could be any time I want. The point is, you'll never know where they are, or where they can get to, and frankly, you'll never see them coming." Solomon's puppet paused. "Consider it part of the deal. I'll watch out for you, and you watch out for your world. I will attempt no takeover, no usurping or seizing worlds for my own, all in exchange for doing your damn jobs. Make the mistake of trying to replace my voidcraft captains, or arrange "accidents" for my troops, create a coalition to take me down, send assassins after me, and, well…"
He simply turned and walked back into the shuttle, hooded cloak billowing in the breeze as he snapped his mechanical fingers one again. The silent mechs around them said nothing, and with a shudder of the air, they abruptly disappeared.
Saull wasted no time in drawing his ceremonial sword from his belt and swinging it at where the mech had stood by him, blind panic driving his actions more than anything. It sliced into nothing but air. He looked back at the shuttle, the dust blowing everywhere as the engines fired up, and as the boarding ramp closed, he watched in apoplectic fear as Solomon's puppet gave him the finger.
As the shuttle flew off into the distance, joining a stream of transport craft ferrying the rations to the ships in orbit, Saull felt sick to his stomach. Maybe siding with that Inquisitor wasn't such a good idea…
A/N: *insert Syndrome voice* It's finally ready! Took a lot longer than I anticipated, but came out a lot better than I had initially thought. Hopefully this cleared up a bunch of issues for some people, gave you some more insight into some of Solomon's plans, and tied up some loose ends. Onto Halfast Primus, and Solomon's first big "true" war. We'll have to wait and see how that goes.