Kian asked a question that was bleak even by the standards of the 41st Millennium:
"What if we ran maize stalks, potato vines — or just handfuls of whatever grows on the surface — through the machinery and ground it into sothing people could eat? Is that viable?"
The facility manager looked montarily startled, then began running through the practicalities.
"Technically possible. Nutritional value would be extrely low, caloric content negligible. It would affect the texture and palatability of the final product considerably. However — significant dietary fibre output."
Kian nodded slowly.
He was thinking of sothing he'd read once — the siege of Stalingrad, defenders reduced to baking bread cut with sawdust. That had been primitive desperation. Imperial food processing technology was considerably more sophisticated. With the right equipnt, even wood pulp could be rendered into sothing the human digestive system could process.
He needed to stretch one month of food supply to cover three months for two million people. That was going to require so creative thinking.
He turned to the Confessor.
"My lord — I think I have a way to extend the food supply. I need to make a trip outside the Hive."
The Confessor said gently: "Go, warrior. In circumstances like these, no one could do more than you already are."
Kian said his farewells and drove back out to Whitepaper City to see the Marshal again.
"Marshal — I'd like to add a clause to our arrangent."
"Speak, Baron."
"The grain shipnts — can you include the agricultural waste? Maize stalks, potato vines, wheat straw. All of it, alongside the grain itself."
The Marshal raised an eyebrow. "What do you want that for?"
On his farms, that material went back into the soil as compost, or was burned for fuel, or fed to livestock.
Kian explained.
"It's fibre. So vitamins. Ground fine enough, it can be added to human food."
The Marshal drew a slow breath through his teeth.
Feeding people what livestock eat. The implication was not lost on him. The food situation inside the Hive was more desperate than he'd appreciated — desperate enough that they were considering this.
The image of a million hungry PDF soldiers flooding out of the Hive flashed through his mind. He suppressed a shudder.
"Agreed. I'll have my people bundle the stalks and vines with the harvest rather than discarding them."
Kian pressed further.
"Your civilian population still has food stores of their own — would you permit my people to purchase from them directly? And beyond that — could you mobilise your citizens to harvest from the surface? Wild grasses, young tree branches, bark. Anything edible."
The Marshal inhaled sharply.
They're going to eat grass.
"That's possible. But I can't ask my people to do that for nothing."
"What do you need?"
The Marshal reached into his coat and produced a small coin. He held it up between two fingers.
"This. The most common thing in the Hive."
The Hive's currency system ran on Agri-Scrip — paper notes and tal coins in various denominations. The coins were small-denomination pieces, mostly one and five-tenth Scrip values.
Kian frowned. "What do you want those for?"
The Marshal's expression carried a kind of tired pragmatism.
"This world has almost no industrial manufacturing. My forces hold the surface, but we produce almost nothing. When rebel settlents trade with each other, we're mostly reduced to barter — inefficient and impractical.
We tried printing our own currency. Our printing technology is poor. The notes ca out crude. And each Marshal commands his own territory independently — our self-issued currency has no more credibility than Agri-Scrip paper, which is already worthless to us."
He turned the coin in his fingers.
"But this is different. It's iron — pure, no impurities. Our blacksmiths can lt it down and forge agricultural tools or iron goods. It's precisely manufactured, impossible to counterfeit in the field, and it has genuine material utility.
As a result, the coin has beco our primary exchange dium. One ten-Scrip coin is worth approximately a hundred Agri-Scrips in rebel territory."
Kian stared at him.
A standard ten-Scrip coin is worth a hundred out here. He hadn't anticipated that. That's not a footnote — that's an arbitrage opportunity.
"So if I pay your people in coins, they'll work for willingly?"
The Marshal nodded.
"Correct. Enough coins and you can trade freely throughout my markets. And if your coin supply is substantial enough — I currently hold ten billion Agri-Scrips in paper notes. Bring ten million coins and those ten billion are yours."
*Ding.* New Mission Detected.
The rebel territories suffer from currency shortage. Marshal Dillar proposes an exchange: ten billion Agri-Scrip paper notes for ten million tal coins. Complete this mission to earn Marshal Dillar's lasting goodwill.
Kian hadn't seen that coming. His expression brightened considerably.
"Done. Start counting your ten billion. I'll source the coins."
Shiv's convoy had arrived in Whitepaper City to begin loading grain, so Kian hitched a ride back with them.
His available transport fleet stood at roughly fifty vehicles — half acquired during the Spire operation, the remainder borrowed from the Confessor's Ecclesiarchy pool or purchased from local operators. All heavy-load capacity: thirty tonnes and up per vehicle. A full convoy run delivered around fifteen hundred tonnes. Running day and night shifts with rotating drivers, the fleet could complete two runs per day.
Three thousand tonnes daily. Moving forty thousand tonnes total would take just over a week.
He used the operation to develop his private soldiers as drivers — experienced operators training the newer recruits on the Chira transports. The Chira's controls weren't significantly more complex than a heavy cargo hauler. If you could drive one, you could manage the other.
Shiv's convoy parked directly at Whitepaper City's warehouse district, where the rebel governnt was collecting grain from surrounding farms in bulk. The convoy loaded on-site.
Per Kian's instructions, the new collection included the full plant — stalks, vines, and root material bundled alongside the grain rather than discarded in the fields.
Once loaded, the convoy drove straight through the PDF staging zones and into the Mid-Hive food processing facility.
Kian was a Baron now. He had the Confessor's endorsent. He was openly trading with rebel forces and nobody with any sense was going to say a word about it.
Besides — the food shortage was already visible in the Hive. The fear of hunger was beginning to circulate through the lower levels like a low current.
In that atmosphere, Kian's convoy rolling through the streets with load after load of food had a stabilising effect on public morale that no announcent from the high command could replicate.
Who exactly was going to give him trouble for that?
[End of Chapter 201]
☆☆☆
-> 20 Advanced chapters Now Available on Patreon!!
-> spat-reon.co-m/c/Inkshaper
(Just remove the hyphen (-) to access patreon normally)
If you like this novel please consider leaving a review that's help the story a lot Thank you
User Comments
0 comments from readers