After that, things proceeded swiftly.
The agreement to become a Serf World in service to the Uhnashret Dynasty was immediately ratified. It was just a skeletal agreement, something that would have to be fleshed out when they understood what the aliens wanted more. But no matter what they demanded, it could not be worse than the drukhari. Still, they DID need to know that, quite urgently, so Manric requested a meeting from the helpful scarab that had accompanied him from the underground world.
Manric and Reinhart went alone, into another meeting in the subterranean tomb. Manric was pleased to see Reinhart's eyes widen as he took in what he could, with his failing eyesight.
"Incredible. How did we miss this? How did the STC miss this?" That… was an excellent question, actually. Hm.
"I don't think we ever built any sensors that might have detected it, and the STC can only use the sensors we have." True, they'd cannibalized some things from the starship, but still. Reinhart nodded thoughtfully as they were met by a mechanical escort. These necrons were much simpler in design than most Manric had met so far, and from something about them, he suspected they were automatons. There seemed to be not even the slightest whiff of personality.
They met with Phaeron Rahkaak and her advisors in the same audience room Manric had seen before. This time, he spared a bit more attention examining it. The wall was decorated with script that he assumed was the Necron language, and statues stood in state, depicting what he assumed were prominent members of their species. It was rather intimidating, or it might have been if Manric hadn't once been breathed on by a thing with five eyes and six arms, trying to pull out his innards.
Pushing away that absolutely godawful memory – it was a miracle he'd survived – Manric focused as they came to a halt. There were two chairs in front of them, and a table with two glasses of water. Nothing like that was there for the necrons, but presumably they didn't need them. In the silence of the tomb, Manric heard Reinhart swallow and felt a sudden stab of worry. Hopefully he could handle this? He wasn't a combat veteran but Manric had always thought of him as a strong man.
And he proved it now, as he moved to formally greet Phaeron Rahkaak with a deep, respectful bow.
"Greetings, my liege. I am King Reinhart," he said, equally respectful in his words. Rahkaak cocked her head to one side, an almost birdlike motion and Manric noticed Nuhkes hunching his shoulders a bit, the green lights on his body flashing out of time. Distress?
"Really? That is very strange. I was informed your society was patrilineal and Manric was next in line for the throne. Also, how was your previous King so abruptly removed?" Ah, he saw what was going on now. Manric had already developed the impression that Nuhkes was in charge of examining them and understanding their society, so he had made a mistake.
"The confusion is understandable. This is a very unusual arrangement, for human society," Manric said gravely, attempting to rescue Nuhkes a bit. He already thought he rather liked the metal being. "The title of King is normally exactly as you stated, but roughly two thousand years or so ago, we had a very rough patch."
"That's putting it tamely. Two extremely incompetent Kings, along with the drukhari having extreme levels of fun almost led to a planetary population collapse." Reinhart said, wanting to be part of the conversation. Manric nodded. "After that, we decided that King would be a largely administrative position and would be given to the most powerful Noble in the Council."
"And the Lord General, myself in this case, would have the authority to decide if the King is unfit," Manric said sadly, still feeling deep regret. His father wouldn't forgive him, would carry his grudge until he died, but that was the way of things. Then he shook it away. There was no need to dwell on it. "But many documents will speak of the King as if it is still hereditary… for an observer, it would be confusing." Nuhkes' posture became a bit straighter, closer to his natural hunch, and the lights on his body were steadying. Rahkaak seemed thoughtful while Simokh was completely inscrutable. Manric had no handle on his personality at all.
"I see… well, that is interesting but not currently important," Rahkaak dismissed it and Manric knew Reinhart would completely agree. This was the kind of trivia that frustrated him, not the best trait for a King. But Reinhart knew his impatience was a personal flaw and had it well under control. "We need to understand what assets you have, what can be built and deployed."
"Forgive me, but what are you getting out of this?" Reinhart asked bluntly and Manric winced. He opened his mouth – "Shut up Manric." And closed it again. "From Manric's descriptions of your technology, you should be able to kill these vermin yourselves. Why do you need us?"
"I think perhaps we should not ask," Manric muttered, because he was fairly sure he knew the answer, in rough outline at least. Reinhart gave him a severe look and he gave up. Duke Reinhart was now the King and would not be ruled by his General.
"We need you because there are a bit over six thousand of us left functional," Simokh intoned and Manric hoped him speaking was not a bad sign. He couldn't tell what Rahkaak was thinking. But then she stirred, and spoke with a tone that he interpreted as full of wrath.
"The debased drukhari scum found a way to break into our tombs where we slept, waiting for our wakening, as decreed by the Silent King. They smashed everything, like ill tempered children, and scrawled on our walls with filth. They had fun." She spat out the word. "We were able to repair many things, but except for those of us sequestered in my personal tomb, my subjects have tasted true death. There were a billion of us here. A billion."
"…That many?" Reinhart was almost at a loss for words, reaching up to adjust his glasses. "That is… that is impressive dedication, even from the drukhari. It must have taken them years!" Years… wait.
"That explains the gap in the records," Manric said and everyone looked at him. "Roughly a thousand years ago, the drukhari didn't raid us for almost fifty years. That must be when they found the way to your tomb."
"Fifty years… lunatics. Didn't they have anything better to do?" Reinhart muttered, not meaning to be heard, most likely. But Nuhkes answered.
"Well, no. We've always been enemies of the aeldari, although not usually this personally. Utterly destroying a crownworld… it was well worth their time." A brief silence fell and Manric had no idea what to say. But then Reinhart stirred.
"Well, that answers my question. I regret your loss, but I appreciate the honesty." He adjusted his glasses again before giving a tight smile. "A good bargain should have value on both sides. We will gladly provide our warriors to this cause."
"Good. Now, what are your resources?" That led to a discussion of the brass tacks of their army and industry. Hope's population was only ten million, a rather pathetic number, but their army was almost a million which was shockingly large. Manric felt a sad pride at that. Only the smallest villages were lacking a defending garrison. They had hoards of the swift mobile combat vehicles that they had named Pride tanks, and were armed to the teeth with bolters and lasguns.
"Knight armor is our best bet for pumping up our combat capacity," Reinhart mused, eyes narrowing behind his glasses as he considered the logistics. "Right now, we only produce a single Knight armor a year."
"Inefficient," Simokh intoned and Manric couldn't help but smile as the Rahkaak and Nuhkes both looked at him. He thought the inscrutable necron had just been shushed. Reinhart brushed away the criticism.
"Inefficient by design. The artisans have more productive things to do… or rather, they did. If we pull them off their other projects, hmm… what do you estimate, Manric?" Hmmm.
"Probably six months, at first, until they pick up efficiency. Also, we can start automating the process." Manric said, completely unaware that what he was saying would have been rankest heresy among the rest of humanity. "The STC has all the plans we need, we just never used them before." There was no point in automating the production line for such a niche unit. "We would need to consult it to figure out the best production rate that can be expected, with all resources thrown in. We can also consult the STC for more patterns." Things that required more adamantium, or rarer resources, things the necrons possessed but the colony never had.
Then they moved on to the strategic situation, and Manric took the lead.
"We know that in total, the drukhari possess twenty warships, a total crew of roughly ten thousand, as well as countless minions," Manric said, resolutely refusing to think of what those minions were crafted from. "The minions take the form of everything from small, poisonous things roughly the size of your scarabs, all the way to the gigantic Skallags. Those are what we required Knight armor for." They were incredibly rare but when the drukhari brought one, nothing but Knight armor would do.
"How do you know this?" Rahkaak asked, which was a very good question. Not a fraction of those forces had ever come to Hope.
"We have taken a few drukhari prisoners, in the course of our war. Most are highly resistant to torture, and seem to… enjoy it." The thought made him shiver a bit in disgust. Manric had never seen it himself, but records indicated that even hardened psychopaths, killers with extensive experience in the arts of torture, found torturing the dark eldar disturbing. For normal men, it could cause madness. "However, we had the fortune to take alive one female drukhari who had been crucified and left behind by her fellows. She was more than a little upset at them, and more forthcoming than most. Our information comes from her." Also, more than a little insane, from the STC records of the questioning. "Also, it probably does not matter, but she claimed her… coven follows Cegorach, the Laughing God. Although he would likely not lift his mask to spit upon them." That was a quote from the recordings that had stuck with Manric. Very vivid.
"Excellent," Rahkaak proclaimed with full authority and they all looked at her, startled. "With that small a force of enemies, I am confident we can avenge all the insults against our people." Hrm… Manric decided not to point out that a single drukhari was a small army. They had all kinds of hideous, vile tricks up their sleeves and he didn't doubt they'd be ready for Necrons, if they'd already seen and destroyed so many. In fact, did they KNOW they hadn't been able to open Rahkaak's tomb?
"We shall bring you victory," he said instead, just as he would have to his father. It was not the place of Kings and Queens to figure out HOW things should be done, generally… that was up to people like him.
And Manric was very, very good at getting things done.