After a long session of tactical bartering, Kian still hadn't managed to secure the heavy artillery.
Major Rudolphson refused to budge on the 150mm pieces. Those "Big Girls" were on the Munitorum's permanent registry; an inspector descended from the Spire once a month to verify the serial numbers. If Rudolphson sold a cannon to a scavenger, no amount of bribes would save him from an execution squad.
So, they waited. They waited for the "Discipline Auditor" to finish his rounds and for the High Command briefing to begin.
Kian and Rudolphson retreated to a patch of shade behind a supply truck to share a smoke. Kian leaned back, watching the frantic activity of the camp. "Rudy, what the hell is the PDF actually doing? High Purgation status? Grade-1 Readiness? Is the Governor finally growing a pair and attacking the rebels?"
Rudolphson exhaled a thick cloud of blue smoke and shook his head. "I'm in the dark as much as you, Voss. The order ca down from the Spire an hour ago. Total mobilization. They haven't told us the 'Why,' only the 'How.' I'm still waiting for the logic-circuits to provide a reason."
At that mont, a PDF ssenger-bike roared into the courtyard. The rider didn't even dismount; he skidded to a halt and shouted:
"Major Rudolphson! Direct orders from the Colonel! Mobilize the 2nd Battalion imdiately! You are to enter Hive Tenebris and secure Mid-Hive Sectors D-113 through D-116. Establish hard-points at every transit junction. Martial Law is in effect. No civilian transit authorized!"
The ssenger shoved a data-slate into Rudolphson's hand and roared away before the Major could ask a single question. Rudolphson looked at the screen, his face turning a grim shade of grey.
"Throne... I thought we were heading for the surface. Why are they sending a combat battalion into the residential tiers?"
Kian peered at the slate. It bore the heavy digital seals of the Administratum and the Regintal Command. It was a sanctioned occupation order.
"Small matters involve big etings," Kian whispered. "Big matters happen in total silence. If they're sending a thousand soldiers to block the streets without telling the officers why, sothing truly catastrophic is happening inside the Hive."
Rudolphson didn't hesitate. He pulled the whistle from his collar and let out a sharp, piercing blast.
"LOAD UP! ALL COMPANIES TO THE TRANSPORTS! WE'RE ENTERING THE HIVE!"
The 109th Regint exploded into motion. Over a thousand n scrambled into trucks. Engines roared to life. Chiras, heavy haulers, and scout jeeps ford a long, steel serpent that began the slow, grinding trek toward the primary Hive-gates.
Kian could have slipped away then, but his "Gar-Intuition" was screaming. This was a World Event. Sothing was changing in the narrative. He donned his Sergeant's gear, grabbed his Lasgun, and hopped into the command car with Rudolphson.
As they entered the Hive, Kian saw other regints—the 81st, the 22nd—all mobilizing toward different sectors. Rudolphson tried to vox a fellow officer from another battalion to get intel, but the man was just as bewildered.
"Orders are orders, Major! Just keep the civilians off the streets and your triggers hot!"
Rudolphson's battalion soon reached Mid-Hive Sectors D-113 to D-116. They seized the intersections, deployed sandbags, and parked Chiras across the mag-rail tracks. Within an hour, they had established a total blockade.
Kian spent a few minutes with Rudolphson before heading to find his own command.
After his recent dal ceremony, Colonel Leo had gifted Kian an Augnted Combat Squad—twenty n under his direct leadership. Kian hadn't t them yet, but as a Sergeant of the line, he was now their legal master.
He navigated the grey, silent streets. The residential blocks were eerily quiet. Citizens had been driven into their hab-units at gunpoint. Anyone who showed their face at a window was greeted by the blunt end of a PDF rifle-butt.
Kian reached the intersection his squad was holding. Twenty PDF regulars had established a periter of sandbags and scrap-tal shields. When they saw the Sergeant's stripes and the Silver Laurel on Kian's chest, they snapped to attention.
Kian scanned the group. They were standard regulars: Grade-3 Flak armor, autoguns, and a few frag-grenades. The squad had four Squad-Stubs (Light Machine Guns), giving them decent suppressive capability for a street brawl.
A Corporal stepped forward and saluted. "Sergeant! Squad-Lead reports the junction is secure! Awaiting your tactical directives!"
Kian gave a casual wave. "Directive one: Stop being so stiff. Break into shifts. Keep two n on the scope, and the rest of you relax. As long as the street stays empty, I don't care what you do."
The twenty soldiers collectively exhaled. They hadn't known what to expect from a "decorated hero." They'd feared a hard-line disciplinarian. Instead, they'd found a "Slacker-King."
Kian found a comfortable spot against a stack of sandbags, kicked his boots up, and lit a Lho-stick. He noticed a rack of suppression gear nearby—heavy rubber batons reinforced with steel cores. He picked one up and gave it a practice swing. Good weight. Perfect for manual audits.
The soldiers, seeing Kian's relaxed deanor, began to settle in. So started a card ga; others pulled out flasks of cheap swill. Two Corporals—the squad's sub-leaders—approached Kian.
"I'm Egghead," the first one said, pointing to his perfectly bald, shining scalp. "And this is Ash."
Ash was a short, stocky man with skin like weathered coal. They offered Kian a seat at their card ga. Kian, bored by the standing-around, agreed.
He spent the next few hours cleaning out their pockets. With a ntal Clarity of 30, Kian could track every card in the deck as if he were a cogitator. For an added "cheat," he extended a thin, invisible Psionic Probe behind their shoulders to peek at their hands.
The two Corporals didn't stand a chance. Within twenty rounds, their monthly salaries were sitting in a pile in front of Kian. They looked at him with a mix of awe and despair.
Kian laughed and, seeing he'd won their respect, "accidentally" lost the next three hands, letting them win their money back. The bonding was complete. They viewed Kian not just as a commander, but as one of their own.
Kian was about to deliver a "Voss-Pattern" motivational speech when a sentry at the sandbags shouted:
"Sergeant! Movent! Soone is coming!"
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