Ten days passed.
Kian's convoy ran continuously — back and forth between the Hive and rebel territory, feeding raw material into the food processing facility. And while his operation kept turning, the famine arrived properly.
The Hive's existing food stockpiles had bought ti. But even the largest reserves have a bottom, and with the synthetic starch facility still offline, families in the lower levels began missing als.
Panic spread through the Hive in the way that hunger-fear always does — quietly at first, then suddenly everywhere. Riots broke out in several districts. The Magistratum deployed to the streets to maintain order.
The Confessor's parish, for the mont, held. Three-Scrip hollow rations were nobody's idea of a good al, but they kept people alive. A family of three, six bags a day, eighteen Agri-Scrips — the food problem was solved, if not comfortably. With luck, you could queue at a district chapel and get one free al on top of that.
Unpleasant. Survivable. In the 41st Millennium, that was a aningful distinction.
Kian, anwhile, was making serious money.
His insistence on tal coin settlent had paid off faster than expected — ten million coins collected and delivered to the Marshal in short order. In return: ten billion Agri-Scrip notes, transferred cleanly.
His total assets jumped to eleven billion in a single transaction.
Eleven billion. He'd spent his early Underhive days scraping around in the hundreds of thousands. One Baron's title and suddenly inco was asured in the billions.
Status, it turned out, was the most efficient money-making tool in the Imperium.
Having money and hoarding it were two different things. Kian had no patience for the latter.
He thought of a friend from his gaming days — a player sitting on an enormous reserve of in-ga currency, refusing to spend it on equipnt, entering high-tier matches with budget kit while Kian ran premium loadouts and carried the whole team. Currency that existed in a ga. Saved for no reason. Spent on nothing.
Kian had never understood that mindset and didn't intend to develop it now.
Two hundred household soldiers. Two hundred sets of equipnt. He was going to buy the best available — all of it, at once.
He contacted Enginseer Antonius and asked him to serve as guide for a visit to the Forge Temple's armoury.
Antonius, since his personal encounter with high-purity sanctified lubricant, had beco considerably more cooperative. The look he gave Kian these days carried sothing almost approaching warmth. He agreed to the escort imdiately.
The Forge Temple occupied the deepest section of the Underhive, at the absolute centre of the Hive structure. chanicus restricted territory — civilians were not permitted entry. Underhive residents who wandered too close without authorisation were considered to be disturbing the machine-spirits of the Omnissiah, and were dealt with accordingly by ard Servitors. The periter stayed clear.
The Temple itself was what it had always been — a vast factory, capable of processing and producing almost any category of tal component. It also served as the Hive's power plant, generating electricity from the heat of its central furnaces and distributing it throughout the structure.
The facility's industrial capacity was limited by the nature of the world it served — an agri-world, not a forge world. The Temple's purpose was to manufacture basic industrial goods and keep the Hive's essential systems operational. Chira transports and heavier war machines were beyond its scope, imported from neighbouring industrial worlds as needed.
But within its capabilities, the Omnissiah's domain was impressive.
Antonius led Kian through corridors that felt like walking inside a living titan. Workers everywhere. Servitors everywhere. Steel floors, steel ceilings, the rhythmic impact of forge hamrs, and the continuous murmured prayers of enginseers praising the Omnissiah.
Kian watched all of it with the appreciation of soone who'd read about this and was now confirming the source material was accurate.
Through a grille in the floor, he could see a production line below — hundreds of workers arranged along a conveyor, each tightening a component, then calling out a blessing to the Omnissiah, then kneeling to press their forehead to the floor.
Tighten. Pray. Genuflect. Tighten. Pray. Genuflect.
Kian made a noise of complete understanding.
"No wonder it takes a thousand years to build a warship. This production throughput is genuinely remarkable."
Antonius glanced at him without breaking stride.
"The birth of a machine is no different from the birth of a child. Both require blessing and guidance. A child raised without education reaches adulthood without knowing who they are or where their loyalty belongs.
A machine-spirit is the sa. The blessing must be given before the spirit awakens — without it, the spirit runs unchecked, and the damage it causes is beyond calculation.
We have arrived, Baron. I hope you've brought sufficient value to rit what this armoury offers."
They stopped before an enormous iron door — a gear-and-skull design worked into the tal in high relief. Antonius extended a chadendrite, inserted it into the lock chanism, and turned.
The door opened with a sequence of heavy chanical sounds.
They stepped inside.
Kian let out a low whistle.
The armoury was enormous — floor to ceiling displays of equipnt ranging from sidearms to Chira transports, every category represented in a single cavernous space.
His eyes went straight to the powered armour section. He walked over.
Twelve or so suits on display — all in the mortal-scale range, not Astartes. The majority were industrial labour fras. Only three were military grade.
Antonius indicated the most heavily armoured of the three.
"Heavy Reactive Power Armour. Full NBC protection system. High-grade ceramic-steel composite plate — rated to stop large-calibre Lumberer-pattern Heavy Stubber fire. Anti-laser ablative surface coating, rated for dium-power las-weapon impacts. Internal servo-musculature output equivalent to ten adult males. Load capacity four hundred kilograms for extended duration. One strike sufficient to floor an Ork boy.
Large-format Prothium power cell, one month operational endurance, straightforward recharging, with secondary output capable of powering lasrifles directly. Fifty million Agri-Scrips per unit."
He moved to the second suit — proportionally slimr, more balanced lines.
"Standard Reactive Power Armour. Reduced armour thickness, but lighter and significantly more mobile. Minimal training requirent — a soldier can be combat-ready in this suit within hours. Servo output equivalent to five adult males. Covers the majority of combat environnts adequately.
Popular with noble household guards. Twenty-five million per unit."
He indicated the third and final suit — visibly the most compact of the three.
"Infiltration Reactive Power Armour. Armour protection further reduced in exchange for maximum mobility and extended operational range. Integrated high-grade auspex system and advanced vox suite.
The outer surface carries a signature-suppression coating. To the majority of standard detection equipnt, a person wearing this suit simply does not register as present.
Two hundred million per unit."
[End of Chapter 203]
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