Inside the banquet hall of the Governor's Palace on Rhea IV, it was magnificent, with cups and glasses clinking.
A banquet lasting several hours was a highlight of life for Governor Blackwood, but for Phoros and Joker, it was a tedious and anxiety-inducing wait.
Joker's gaze swept over the face of every noble who came to toast like a radar. The names in the system interface were all reassuringly green or unthreatening yellow.
No red names, no skull icons, not even a single deformed face that looked webbed or hybrid-like.
Apart from a bit of debauched fluff and nauseating adulation, these nobles looked like a textbook group of Imperial parasites.
Phoros also found nothing. As an Astartes, his senses were extremely sharp, but he didn't smell that signature, foul pheromone scent belonging to Tyranid organisms, nor did he feel the oppressive weight of being blanketed by the Hive Mind.
After the banquet, the two met on the terrace, both looking a bit strange.
"No abnormalities whatsoever," Phoros said in a low voice, his brow furrowed. "Could we really have made a mistake? Maybe the deterrence of the Astral Claws is so powerful that it actually made them mend their ways?"
"There's another possibility," Joker muttered, rubbing his chin. "If the infection is still in an extremely early stage of infiltration, or rather, if these cult members truly believe from the bottom of their hearts that they devoutly worship the Emperor—except this Emperor happens to have four arms—then they wouldn't harbor any hostility toward us."
"To be safe, we must verify this one more time." Phoros nodded.
So, in the dead of night, the two avoided the crowds and privately knocked on the door of the Governor's study.
When Governor Blackwood heard the words "Genestealer," the glass of Amasec in his hand nearly crashed to the floor.
"That... That's impossible!" The fat governor turned deathly pale, then quickly flushed red, as if insulted. "My Lords, although Rhea IV is no holy land, it is absolutely loyal to the Emperor! I know my planet. Whether it's the Hive Upper or the Hive Lower, there are absolutely none of those disgusting bugs! Not a single sign!"
"Whether there are signs or not isn't decided by words alone," Joker calmly interrupted him. "Since the upper nobility seems fine, we will go look at the Mid-Hive and Under-Hive. Genestealers love to infiltrate those labor-intensive areas. If no abnormalities are found in the factories and residential zones either, we will naturally clear your name."
"Fine! Then go look!" In order to prove that his domain was trouble-free, Blackwood made the decision on the spot.
He immediately pressed the comm chime on his desk and summoned his personal adjutant.
"Listen," the Governor pointed at the adjutant's nose, ordering sharply, "These two Lords are going to inspect the Mid-Hive's factory district immediately. Notify them down there right now and have them prepare.
Remember, don't play any tricks! Don't do any of that superficial cleaning and cover-up for a vanity project! The Lords want to see the most realistic situation! Just expose the Mid-Hive and Under-Hive exactly as they usually are! Do you understand?"
The adjutant nodded submissively, "Yes, my Lord, I will arrange it right away. I guarantee it will be completely authentic."
Blackwood nodded with satisfaction, turning to Phoros and Joker with an apologetic smile. "Lords, please. I can guarantee that down there, apart from being a bit dirty and messy, there are absolutely no xenos."
Half an hour later, the group rode the exclusive hive elevator, passing through the thick bulkhead layers to arrive at a major industrial zone in the Mid-Hive.
As the heavy blast doors slowly slid open to both sides, Phoros's hand was already resting on his boltgun, and Joker was also prepared for combat. They anticipated seeing filthy streets, foul air, and perhaps even talons hidden in the shadows.
However, the moment the doors fully opened, both of them froze.
Even a Space Marine as experienced and knowledgeable as Phoros felt a wave of inexplicable speechlessness.
Presented before them was a spotless street.
Literally spotless. The metal plating on the ground was polished to a shine, even reflecting silhouettes; the pipes on both sides of the street were uniform, without a single trace of rust or leaking steam.
The workers, though wearing worn but washed-out clean uniforms, were lined up in orderly formations, operating machinery quietly and efficiently on the assembly lines. There was no foul odor in the air, and there was even a faint scent of disinfectant.
Where was this a Mid-Hive? This was cleaner than the commercial streets of some Paradise Worlds!
Looking at this utterly incongruous scene, the corner of Joker's mouth twitched.
Governor Blackwood's face instantly turned green.
An uncontrollable rage rushed to his head. He felt he had been played, and played by his own subordinate in front of two heavyweight VIPs! This made him look like a clown who only knew how to paper over the cracks!
"You son a of groxfucked mother!"
The Governor roared, grabbing the adjutant next to him by the collar, lifting him completely off the ground, spraying spit all over his face. "Didn't I tell you not to play any tricks?! Didn't I tell you to leave it exactly as it was?! Did you treat my words as hot air?!"
The adjutant was scared out of his wits, his legs kicking wildly, his face full of grievance and bewilderment. "M-My Lord! I've been wronged! We really didn't play any tricks!"
"You dare quibble?!" Blackwood pointed at the floor, which was shiny enough to be a mirror, his hands shaking with anger. "You call this not playing tricks? Do you think I'm blind or stupid? Is this the fucking Mid-Hive?!"
The adjutant was on the verge of tears. In the past, he often received orders to "not play any tricks." According to official bureaucracy customs, that always meant "make sure the window-dressing is thoroughly done."
Who knew you were being serious this time!
"My Lord, really!" The adjutant yelled, gritting his teeth, his voice carrying a crying tone. "I swear, when I passed down the notice, I specifically told them not to make any preparations! The Mid-Hive... the Mid-Hive has actually been like this for the past few months!"
"What the hell are you talking about?" Blackwood laughed out of anger. He let go of his grip and looked at his adjutant in disbelief. "Do I not know what virtues the Mid-Hive has? Though I don't come often, I know it should be full of sewage, beggars, and gang members everywhere! Now you're telling me it was originally like this? Do you think I'm crazy?"
While the Governor was still roaring, Joker and Phoros exchanged a glance.
Joker stopped the Governor, who was trying to give the adjutant a beating, and asked, "Does the Emperor have three arms or four arms?"
Suddenly asked this question, the adjutant blanked out. He subconsciously replied, "Doesn't... doesn't the Emperor have two arms?"
Phoros stepped forward, pricking the adjutant's skin with a blood-sampling needle. After waiting for a moment and looking at the results on the analysis device, he said, "He has no issues."
"So there really are no Genestealers?" Joker sighed. "Then why did you guys suddenly start paying your taxes honestly? Tell the truth!"
Blackwood smiled somewhat awkwardly, "Before this, a commander of the Martyrs brought a few hundred men over and dealt with the invading Dark Eldar. I was a bit frightened..."
"Just because of that..." Joker facepalmed.
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Suffered through a heatstroke today, stay hydrated folks - Ainz