Chapter 17: Blood of Crassus and a Partnership
Standard Terran Date: 674.M31
At the Mandeville Point of the Lemnos System, three warships tore their way out of the raging energies of the Immaterium.
It was Petros and his contingent, returning after a voyage of nearly two years. They were finally home.
As the three ships moved toward their homeworld, Petros noted that the Dark Mechanicum flotilla in orbit had grown by several more vessels. A large, skeletal framework of iron now hung in the void.
Countless servitors and Tech-Priests in void-suits moved across the structure, methodically welding the frame of a new starport.
This was clearly the "small starport" the Mechanicum had promised. With it, they could establish high-speed communications between the planet and the orbital assets, as well as planetary-scale augur scans and ground-surveillance. It would serve as a vital hub for cargo, fuel, and docking, streamlining the movement of men and materiel.
Petros looked at the massive undertaking and felt a rare sense of approval at the Dark Mechanicum's efficiency. In less than two years, the station was already this large.
In truth, Petros misunderstood. The difficult part of starport construction was never the basic frame. Welding together a mature, well-understood design was grunt work. In the analogy of building a house, this wasn't even the foundation being laid—it was merely the hole for it being dug.
The moment Petros's flotilla settled into orbit, a request for a meeting came from Magos Morlock.
In the reception chamber of The Ironclad, Petros and Antonius waited. Once again, the massive, prostrate form of Magos Biologis Morlock crawled in, this time accompanied by another Tech-Priest in the same rust-red robes.
Petros got straight to the point. "Magos Morlock. You requested this meeting with some urgency. Why?"
Morlock's head-cluster twitched, his optics clicking. His emotion-simulation subroutines whirred to life.
[Lord of the Forged. Greetings. I wish to propose... a transaction.]
[In our time here, our survey teams have scanned Lemnos III, IV, and V. All bear significant mineral or promethium deposits. Lemnos V, the gas giant, has... astonishing... reserves of promethium.]
[With your permission, we will begin extraction operations. All equipment, personnel, and technology will be provided by Daedalos. The resources will be split, fifty-fifty. For every ten tonnes of ore, five are yours. For every ten liters of promethium, five are yours. We will stockpile your share. You may claim it at any time, or use it as credit for future trade.]
Petros was slightly stunned. Not by the resources—he had chosen the Maelstrom for this very reason—but by the generosity of the offer. A fifty-fifty split, with no investment of men or materiel on his part? It was, in effect, a free handout.
He stroked his chin, pondering this. "Magos, your proposal is... acceptable. And I have a... gift... to add to this."
"I have reviewed the data on Lemnos IV. Aside from its lack of atmosphere and surface water, it is a sound terrestrial body. I am gifting this planet, and all its contents, to Forge World Daedalos, as a symbol of our friendship."
Magos Morlock's mechadendrites all froze for a second. Then, the grinding, squealing sound returned from within his chassis, louder than ever.
[Your... generosity... is noted. There is one other matter.]
The Magos's mechadendrite reached toward his own chassis and retrieved a large battle axe. It was massive, as tall as a man, forged entirely from adamantium. The blade was etched with complex, flowing runes, and the haft was wrapped in the leather of some unknown beast.
"A master-crafted power axe," the Magos stated. "Powered by the plasma-cell in its pommel, or via direct link to your power pack. It was forged by the hand of Fabricator-General Dorothy Frayk herself, as a gift for you. Designation 35931-C02. A token of her esteem."
Petros couldn't suppress a grim smile. He was amused by the Magos's blatant, clumsy lie. Whether the Magos's "emotion" subroutines were faulty or his logic was just flawed, the lie was obvious.
Petros was no Techmarine, but he was an Iron Warrior. Every Iron Warrior knew something of the forge. And the flaw in the story was glaring. Designation 35931-C02. A 'C-class' project from 359.M31? That was... decades before they had ever made contact. Forged for him? He didn't know if the Magos thought him an idiot, or if the gear-heads were just incredibly stupid in some areas.
But Petros didn't call him on it. He took the axe, testing its perfect balance.
"My thanks. I will name it... Blood of Crassus. Please, convey my gratitude to the Fabricator-General."
The Magos's mechadendrites waved again, the grinding noise continuing. He shifted his bulk, revealing the other Tech-Priest.
[Final matter. I am returning to our Forge World. This is Priestess Yamila Burke. She has extensive construction experience. In my absence, she will serve as the representative of Daedalos and will be your liaison.]
With that, Morlock disengaged his emotion-simulators, turned, and crawled out. As he left, the grinding sound from his chassis seemed to grow even louder.
Petros ignored the departing Magos and turned his attention to the Priestess. She was... remarkably human. Two arms, two legs, a head, and a face that was still mostly flesh, though several mechadendrites sprouted from her back. Petros may not have understood complex machinery, but he understood politics.
A representative, from the Mechanicum or the Dark Mechanicum, was one of two things. They were either high-ranking and powerful, like Morlock, or... they were this. A permanent attaché, left behind to handle the day-to-day, low-importance diplomacy.
It meant she was expendable. It meant no one important wanted her, that she'd made a mistake, or that her superior had. This was, in effect, exile. She would likely never see her Forge World again.
Petros extended his gauntlet. "Priestess Yamila. Welcome. I look forward to working with you."
Yamila Burke extended one of her mechadendrites, which briefly grasped his hand. "Yes, my Lord," she buzzed, then stated she had work to attend to and left.
After the door sealed, Antonius spoke, his voice heavy with confusion.
"Captain, you just... gave them a world? And this deal... they 'hold' our resources? How do we know what's ours and what's theirs?"
Petros patiently explained. "Resources in the ground are not resources, Antonius. They are worthless until they are extracted. Our own industry couldn't tap this system's wealth in a thousand years. Better to let them do the work."
"Now they 'own' a world. They will build... extraction points, then refineries, then orbital docks. They will be forced to build an entire industrial base for us, right here. You see the loss of a barren rock. I see the acquisition of an allied forge world, right in our own system. In the future, we will gain far more than we have 'lost.'"
He hefted his new axe. "And as for our share? Our bolters will be right next to their heads. They wouldn'Drt dare withhold it."