Chapter 134: The Logic of the Enlightened Warlord
Kian Voss circled the heavy machine gun, his eyes narrowed as he studied the data flickering on his Cogitator. A weapon with a soul was a double-edged sword.
In the 41st Millennium, a Furious Machine Spirit was a tactical asset of the highest order—but also a liability. A gun that refused to stop firing until its hunger for slaughter was satiated was perfect for a "Map-Clearing" event against a horde of mutants. But in a confined Underhive corridor, it was a liability that could just as easily shred his own men or melt its own receiver.
"Risk and reward," Kian muttered. "I just need to fix the 'Hardware' to match the 'Spirit'."
He summoned a team of mules to haul the eighty-kilogram beast to Nephal's shop. He didn't just want it cleaned; he wanted it modded.
Nephal was a "Hedge-Mechanic"—the Underhive equivalent of a back-alley bike tuner—but he had the industrial arc-welders Kian needed.
Under Kian's direction, they began a "retro-tech" modification. If the Machine Spirit intended to fire until the vats went dry, the barrel would turn into a molten puddle in minutes. Kian's solution was ancient: a Maxim-pattern Water-Cooling Sleeve.
They welded a thick, hollow plasteel jacket around the heavy barrel. Kian then installed a high-pressure electric pump connected to a separate coolant tank. As long as the pump was humming, the water would circulate, keeping the steel cool even while the Machine Spirit screamed for more blood.
Next, he addressed the "Display-Case" problem. A gun this loud would attract every sniper in the sector. He had Nephal forge a series of heavy Ceramite Blast-Shields and a rounded, rotating turret housing, reminiscent of a Leman Russ's cupola.
Kian wasn't going to have his men carry this on a tripod. He planned to mount it directly onto the Voss Logistics Train, turning his cargo-trolley into a Sump-Pattern Armored Rail-Destroyer.
While the welding torches hissed, Albus approached with a data-slate in his hand. He looked nervous but formal.
"Lord Voss, I have finalized the monthly payroll as you commanded. Do you wish to perform an audit?"
Kian took the slate. The numbers were laid out with clinical precision:
Total Revenue (Spire Subsidy): 800,000 Agri-Scrips.
Workforce (3,000 Souls): 200 scrips/month base wage = 600,000.
The Voss Guard (200 Soldiers): 400 scrips/month (Double-pay) = 80,000.
Logistics & Maintenance: 20,000.
Operational Surplus: 100,000 Scrips.
Kian looked at the 100k "Emergency Fund" and tapped the screen.
"The surplus is too high. Reduce the emergency fund to 50,000. Take the other 50,000 and split it."
Albus blinked. "Split it how, Lord?"
"Twenty-five thousand goes toward the children—Stray Dog's orphans and the families' young. I want them fed real protein once a week. And find someone who can read; start a 'Sanctified Literacy' program. If they're going to work my vats, I want them to be able to read a pressure gauge.
"The other twenty-five thousand? Distribution as 'Management Bonuses' for you, Nephal, and Sampson. If the machine runs well, the overseers should eat well."
Albus stared at the slate, then back at Kian. He looked like he was seeing a Saint. Under Boss Iron-Eye, the "wage" was zero. You worked for the right to breathe. Kian was offering a future.
"Master... the laborers... they will march into the Warp for a man who pays in more than just lashes."
Kian grunted. "Loyalty is the only asset that doesn't depreciate, Albus. Now get back to the vats."
The impact of Kian's "Enlightened Warlord" protocol was immediate. The training yard for the two hundred Voss Guards turned from a place of fear into a place of fanatical zeal. They didn't just drill; they pushed themselves until they collapsed, their eyes filled with the "Light of the Voss." They weren't just soldiers; they were the guardians of their families' new life.
Kian maintained this fervor by shipping in fresh produce from Parson's rebels. Real fruit and Grox-fowls arrived at the brewery weekly. To a Hive-worker, a real apple was a relic.
A few cycles later, Kian was in his Sanctum, attempting to "roll" a rare affix on a newly manufactured autogun.
Knock-knock-knock.
Shiv burst in, his face tight with concern. "Boss, we've got movement. The Alchem-Hounds are making a play."
Kian put down his tools. "Are they marching on our bulkheads?"
"No," Shiv said, leaning over a tactical map. "They've moved a battalion-strength force into the G-9 Sector Reactor—the one you hit them at before. My scouts report they've brought in a team of 'Dark-Adept' technicians. They're repairing the facility. It looks like they want to restart the chemical lines to restore their monopoly on 'Sludge'."
Kian leaned back, a predatory smile slowly spreading across his face.
The G-9 Reactor was the "Peach" he had been waiting for. If he took it now, he'd have to fix it himself. But if he waited for the Hounds to spend their resources and technical skill to restore it...
"Let them work," Kian chuckled. "Tell the scouts to stay in the shadows. We'll let the Hounds polish the gears and appease the Machine Spirits."
"Once the reactors are hot and the vats are full," Kian whispered, "we'll go over and 'reclaim' the asset. Why build a factory when your enemies can do the labor for you?"
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