Raynor knew that if he followed the typical Imperial bureaucratic practices he had seen elsewhere, he would never be able to keep Brevis alive. The system here was fundamentally broken; it required a new approach.
He reached back into his memories, searching for the wisdom of Ancient Terra from thirty thousand years ago. How did the great leaders of old break through similar stalemates? Before long, Raynor felt he had found his answer.
Carter arrived as promised that afternoon. Still wearing his impeccable grey military uniform, his hair neatly combed and his expression stern, he looked every bit the professional.
"Your Excellency," Carter said, bowing respectfully.
"Sit down," Raynor said, gesturing to the chair opposite him.
Carter took his seat. His gaze swept over the purple "exotic pet" resting on Raynor's shoulder, but he said nothing. As Chief Executive Officer, he understood the boundaries of his role; he managed his affairs and didn't ask questions he shouldn't. Every Governor had his quirks. As long as it didn't interfere with the administration of the Hive, Carter would remain silent.
"Carter," Raynor began, his tone calm and conversational. "I have some questions I'd like to ask you."
"Please, speak," Carter replied, straightening his posture.
Raynor leaned back, his fingers gently stroking the miniature Lacewing on his shoulder. His casual demeanor made Carter feel as though he weren't speaking to a superior, but chatting with an old friend. This atmosphere helped the normally rigid CEO relax, if only slightly.
"Just how bad is the situation on Brevis?" Raynor asked.
Carter answered immediately; he had expected the question. "It is terrible. Far worse than it appears on the surface."
He began to recount the details, many of which mirrored the Butcher's report, but with the added nuance only a Chief Executive could provide. The total military strength of the Brevis PDF was approximately 40 million, but Carter admitted that this number was a fiction. Over 30 million of them were private soldiers owned by the noble houses. Their equipment, training, and supplies were the responsibility of their respective families.
"The Noble Council is not a monolith of 'conservatives,'" Carter explained. "In fact, some nobles advocate for sending troops to the Frost Forbidden Wall. They believe the Greenskins are the enemy of all mankind and that we should unite. But their voices are drowned out."
"By those who use 'maintaining order' as an excuse," Raynor sneered. "They're afraid that the Mid and Lower Hives will riot, storm the Upper Hive, and seize the food production lines."
Carter nodded. "But recently, the situation shifted. Leo Saint Garus, the High King of Saint Garus the Great Bear and the eldest grandson of Caladogon, took action. He led a group of noble sons and their private armies—totaling about three million men—to the Frost Forbidden Wall to join the defense."
Raynor's eyes lit up. Leo Saint Garus. He silently gave the man a thumbs up. In this stagnant environment, such courage and awareness were rare.
"What kind of man is this Leo?" Raynor asked.
Carter thought for a moment. "He is well-known among the younger generation. He believes in the true code of chivalry—upholding justice, punishing evil, and protecting the weak. In a Hive City, such a man is naturally an 'outcast.' He often patrolled the Hive with his personal guard to help the poor, which led to several clashes with other nobles. But because he is Caladogon's only grandson, no one can touch him."
Raynor listened with great interest. "Brevis is lucky to have someone like that," he sighed. "I think I need to have a talk with him when the opportunity arises."
Carter glanced at Raynor, saying nothing, but his opinion of the new Governor rose. People who could appreciate Leo's "outlier" nature were few and far between.
"By the way," Raynor changed the subject, "is it worth cooperating with the Chuck Faction?"
Carter pondered the question. "The Chuck Faction comprises seventeen families. They control roughly fifty food production lines and twelve water purification lines. They can produce 150,000 tons of food and 600 million liters of clean water daily. This is enough to feed two to three hundred million people."
"But they actually support far fewer, I imagine?" Raynor asked.
"Correct. They only feed about a million people—their own kin, servants, and private soldiers," Carter said calmly. "The surplus is stockpiled or traded for other resources. This is standard practice among the nobility."
Raynor nodded; it was exactly what he expected.
"The Chuck Faction is a tool worth utilizing," Carter concluded. "They have a poor relationship with the Twelve Families. However, because of their noble status, they haven't sought refuge with the Industrial Alliance or the Wasteland Walkers. They lack a 'protective umbrella.'"
Carter's expression grew even more serious. "But, My Lord, remember this: the vast majority of these nobles are parasites. They care for their interests, not the survival of Brevis. Use them as tools, but never as friends. They will betray you the moment the wind changes. Even the Chuck Faction... their essence is still that of an insect."
Carter's suggestion was blunt: treat them like "piggy banks" and squeeze them dry when necessary.
Raynor smiled. "The problem is, how do I get them to play the role of the piggy bank willingly?"
"It is simple," Carter replied. "Show them enough strength."
Raynor rubbed his temples. "And that is exactly what I am lacking right now."
Carter looked at him in silence for several seconds before speaking slowly. "Indeed, you are new here. You have no soldiers of your own, no stockpiles—only the title of 'Governor.' But..."
Raynor stopped rubbing his temples and looked at Carter.
"I have quite a bit of wealth," Carter said.
Raynor blinked, allowing a look of appropriate "surprise" to cross his face.
The usually stoic Chief Executive seemed to appreciate the reaction. His posture relaxed further. "As the CEO and Deputy Commander of the PDF, I do have a certain amount of military power directly under my command."