Chapter 197: The Food Lifeline
Kian glanced over the mission details. No time limit listed — but he knew exactly what the timer was. It was the heartbeat of a three-hundred-year-old man lying in a bed somewhere above him.
A bedridden three-century-old could go any day. The moment he did, Lady Nightingale's succession crisis would detonate.
Kian asked: "Practical question — where do I actually source powered armour? Weapons and kit in general — where's the procurement point?"
Lady Nightingale answered: "The Mechanicus Forge Temple. It's the only functioning factory on this world — their sole installation. Everything from weapons to powered armour flows through there.
As a Baron, your levy right covers two hundred soldiers. You can make one legal purchase of up to two hundred equipment sets. After that, the Mechanicus won't sell you more unless you submit weapon wreckage or other verified proof of losses in the field.
Of course, my great general — I'm confident a minor obstacle like that won't slow you down."
Mechanicus prices. Kian didn't even want to think about what a full set of powered armour cost coming off a Forge Temple production line.
Eight hundred soldiers. Eight hundred sets of powered armour. Recruited from where, exactly?
The problems were considerable. Kian decided to approach them one step at a time. Nightingale's father wasn't dying tomorrow.
Over the following days, Kian worked out the new wine packaging. Birchwood cases engraved edge to edge with Holy Scripture, sealed with a pressed Purity Seal stamp in wax.
The first thousand bottles went out with Lady Nightingale's people. She handed him a credit chip worth a hundred million Agri-Scrips and told him to go build something with it.
First wine run. One hundred million. Just like that.
He needed more grapes. More casks. More volume. One batch per month, moving continuously — the operation had to become a proper cycle.
He also had outstanding business in rebel-held territory. The Confessor had flagged an incoming food shortage in the Hive, and Kian needed to assess whether he could establish a reliable bulk supply line through rebel channels.
He made his way back down to the Sump, had Shiv's people load fertiliser into three military cargo haulers — he'd acquired several up on the Spire during the unrest, and the Underhive access tunnels were wide enough to run trucks through.
The convoy drove to the surface and pushed out toward rebel-controlled territory.
When the vehicles rolled into the rebel camp, the reception was warm. Rebel leader Parson came out personally and opened the door himself.
"My lord! It's been too long — did something happen?"
Kian smiled. "A great deal happened. Come inside."
Parson led the way. Kian turned to the rebel soldiers he'd brought along.
"You lot — go see your families. You've been away long enough. Three days' leave."
The soldiers cheered, grabbed parcels of supplies and tinned rations from the haulers, and scattered toward their homes.
The other rebels watched them go with visible envy. More than a few were doing the mental arithmetic — going to the Hive with Lord Voss was starting to look like a reasonable life choice.
Exactly the impression I wanted to make. Rebel soldiers were civilians who'd picked up weapons — solid recruiting stock. Kian wanted to bring more of them in and dilute the harder edge of his current Underhive personnel.
Inside, Kian gave Parson the full account of what had happened in the Hive. Parson listened with growing shock.
"That many dead in the upper levels? A Chaos plague — by the Throne, the sheer scale of it—"
Once the astonishment had settled, Kian moved to business.
"The Chaos contamination event destroyed the Hive's synthetic starch facility. The population is facing a food shortage. Acting under the authority of the Planetary Confessor, and in the service of delivering the God-Emperor's people from starvation, I've come to discuss a grain supply arrangement."
Parson looked uncomfortable.
"My lord, I can certainly provide what I have — but this settlement barely sustains a thousand people. My surplus is limited."
"I understand. That's not why I'm here directly. I need you to make an introduction — I want to speak with your Marshal."
The Marshal was the rebel movement's regional power — a warlord who held one of the major surface cities, with the surrounding rebel settlements nominally under his authority.
Through the Marshal, Kian could access grain at genuine scale.
The last time they'd had dealings — the Equine Reach contamination incident — the Marshal's representatives had been inflexible, and no agreement had been reached. That situation had ultimately been resolved when the Confessor applied a fortress cannon to the problem.
This time, Kian intended to try a different approach.
Parson nodded. "I'll send riders to the city immediately, my lord. It'll take some time."
"No rush. I can wait."
Parson dispatched a rider on horseback and then led Kian out to the vineyard.
The land around Parson's settlement had been transformed. A substantial vineyard now spread across the fields — all of it established in service of Kian's operation.
Parson reported with evident satisfaction: "My lord — we've brought ten acres of grape cultivation into full production. With adequate fertiliser supply, yields run between two-and-a-half and three thousand kilograms per acre.
From fruit set to full ripeness, the cycle is approximately three months. By staggering the pollination hormone application across three separate plots, we can achieve a monthly harvest rotation."
The pollination hormone was standard agricultural practice on worlds without native insect life. The Imperium had colonised enough barren planets that artificial pollination compounds were as common as promethium.
Ten acres divided into three staggered plots, each on a different hormone schedule — one harvest per month, approximately ten tonnes per cycle.
Kian looked out over the vineyard and saw it for what it was: a steady income stream that would keep the distillery turning indefinitely. Running water stays clean. Standing water stagnates.
He was still walking the rows when a rebel soldier jogged up.
"My lord — the Marshal's representative has arrived."
[End of Chapter 197]
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