ushernet Chapter 91: Cypra Mundi One Hundred Megatonnes
Chapter 91: Cypra Mundi One Hundred Megatonnes
POV: Fabricator Locum, Archmagos Rhydan Korr
Korr was done. The past three hours had been nothing but circular arguments, and the number of individuals that had been subdued by security in the upper decks had passed into the triple digits.
One Magos had removed the leg of another with their Omnissian axe in a heated argument when he had made the mistake of letting one of the Middle Council members speak for a few minutes. Security teams were motivating individuals to remain calm or disperse.
He glanced over at Aptimos; the Fabricator General’s mind wasn’t even present, his gaze distant as he focused on internal calculations. Packets of data were being dispersed through the noosphere at a frantic rate. His focus was somewhere else in the city, already implementing a trial of the various upgrades from the STC in one of the manufactoria under his direct purview.
The rest of the High Council, their guests, and the other high-ranking individuals were all done with this discussion. A majority of the more insightful Forge World representatives were already preparing their offers and pitches for copies of the STC’s data.
Vessal Croft and Doll had already arranged a meeting to discuss the life-support STC he had mentioned. Korr found himself quietly irritated that he had not moved first. It was an oversight he would not repeat.
He scheduled a meeting with his peer under the respectable pretense of discussing his commission. Yet beneath that veneer lay a more calculated intent. Doll was not a man to reveal the full extent of his holdings at once – of that Korr was certain. Men who dealt in relics and fragments of lost knowledge rarely showed their entire hand unless forced. Korr intended to apply a gentler pressure.
If handled correctly, the conversation might coax loose hints of what other artifacts, omissions, and curiosities that Doll had chosen not to disclose. Korr meant to secure the first right of refusal before word could spread further.
He was not without leverage. His own vaults were deep, his coffers deeper still, and there were few in their circle who could match the breadth of resources he could bring to bear in a discreet exchange. All he needed was a suitable opening – just enough time to turn their simple meeting into an opportunity.
Here was, at least, some good news. Autokratoris Dravane reported a favorable outcome with Princeps Cavalerio. The finer details still required negotiation, but the girl had proven strict yet amicable – measured, even – and given the circumstances, Korr could hardly fault her for it.
He made a point of reminding Dravane, politely but with unmistakable intent, to secure the original document of purchase once the Engine walked free in a standard week’s time. Such a relic was not to be misplaced or quietly filed away. The document would be enshrined within the central forge-palace – preserved as a historical artifact, a testament to the transaction that had reunited a long lost Princeps with their Engine, a monument to the fact that Cypra Mundi always pays its debts.
Korr stood slowly and approached the lectern. “As the matter of the second Yggdrasil seed’s placement remains undecided, we will table the matter. Remember, it is up to – the owners – of said seed where it is ultimately sown,” he reminded the Forum. “None of the other matters on the docket are marked as requiring our immediate attention. This has already been an extremely eventful day for everyone, as such it is time we conclude this session of the Forum. I would like to thank Archmagos Doll for his generous donations to Cypra Mundi and the Mechanicus as a whole. We are adjourned. Ave Deus Mechanicus!”
—--------------------------------------------------------
POV: Archmagos Akellonon Doll
Doll felt a quiet sense of relief when the Fabricator Locum finally brought the Forum to a close. The lower ranks had grown increasingly fervent as discussion of the seed drug dragged on – voices sharpening, tempers fraying, and speculation giving way to outright conviction.
The senior Magi, at least, had remained civil throughout. Their discourse had been measured, deliberate – more concerned with procedure than passion. Most had chosen to reserve judgment on Nicole until the conclusion of the arranged testing period, preferring data over conjecture. One had even gone so far as to suggest Terra herself as the recipient of the second seed – a gesture as audacious as it was calculated, cloaked in the language of duty and service. But one Nicole had already ruled out.
Those few with access to the more restricted portions of her profile had been quieter still. They did not argue, nor speculate. They simply abstained, keeping their distance in a way that suggested not uncertainty, but caution born of deeper understanding.
It was striking, in its own way, how certain the ignorant could be – how fiercely they clung to opinions formed in the absence of knowledge, especially when it came to his disciple.
The massive form of the Fabricator General departed first, rising with ponderous finality. He left without a word, without so much as a backward glance, as though the matter no longer warranted even that small acknowledgment.
Doll stood and looked over at Arken, the man was looking quite pleased with himself despite not getting to flex his negotiating prowess, while Captain Bolaar was staring a hole into the back of his friend's head.
“Arken, my friend,” Doll began, his tone low but steady. “I will remain planetside for a time. There are still matters to settle regarding the remaining STCs – I intend to speak with Archmagos Croft, and perhaps other members of the High Council.” He paused briefly to check the Noosphere before continuing. “As for Nicole, she is currently visiting a Forge Temple under the control of Legio Orbitalis. I would not be surprised if she reaches out to either of us for guidance on what acquisitions she should prioritize for her Legio.”
Arken let out a quiet, wry chuckle. “Then I will leave the politics to you. I intend to make for orbit as soon as possible – Reliquary-09 is my destination. I want to see what they still have languishing in mothball.” He tapped the dataslate at his side. “Word of my little windfall will spread soon enough, and I would prefer to avoid the attentions of the nobility for as long as I can.” His expression tightened slightly, into a more practical scowl. “I have a copy of the agreement here, but I will need several physical copies properly notarized. The Administratum is nothing if not... particular.”
Doll inclined his head in understanding as they walked, their footsteps echoing faintly as they made for the exit. “I doubt I need to tell you to prioritize rare or high-value hulls,” he said. “But if you can secure a favorable arrangement for a bulk acquisition of smaller craft, you should take it.” A faint note of amusement crept into his voice. “I suspect you will not be the only one looking to expand a fleet in the coming days.”
Arken nodded, his eyes shining with anticipation “The Furious-class will plug a major hole in the fleet quite well. I think another carrier may be prudent if they have a Battlecruiser available. It will depend on what they have stored away and forgotten. The Navy has phased out quite a number of hulls and designs over the years, but not every ship gets decommissioned fully,” Arken said while shaking his head with a wry smile.
“Good luck, my friend,” Doll whispered softly. “I will see you back aboard the ArgentDrake. It would be wise not to linger planetside, given the warnings.” None of them were willing to take chances – not with Genestealers already confirmed in the system. From this point on, every individual entering their docking bay would be subjected to a full scan, every time. No exceptions. No lapses. Everyone had agreed: a single oversight could doom them all.
Doll split off, leaving Arken to take the luxury transport back toward the shuttles while he diverted to a different vehicle.
The transport’s interior had been reconfigured into a narrow, dimly lit sanctum of humming machinery. Archmagos Croft was already within, her form was spindly and clearly designed for low-gravity environments. She was tall even while seated – her limbs were long, and thin, like articulated spars of polished metal sheathed in strips of pale synth-flesh. Beneath her layered crimson robes her torso retained a distinctly feminine shape. A narrow waist gave way to a rigid, reinforced spine assembly from which several fine mechadendrites extended – thinner than most, twitching with precise, insectile movements. What remained of her face was elegant but stern: high cheekbones of living flesh contrasted against the smooth plating that framed her jaw and temples. Her eyes, replaced with softly glowing azure lenses were cool, appraising, and faintly distant. A curtain of cable-fine augmetic filaments fell from the back of her skull like dark, metallic hair.
“Voidwright Superius, Archmagos Croft,” Doll said, offering a polite bow as he greeted her.
“Archmagos Doll, that was quite the performance. I was wondering perhaps if you might be willing to give me a glimpse at the remaining STCs? You mentioned one being a voidship life-support system, I believe? If it is not known to Cypra Mundi, we can discuss a beneficial exchange on the way to your next destination,” she spoke as she stood imperiously. Behind her, a veritable swarm of high-grade servo skulls loitered around her hooded form.
Doll did not begrudge the Archmagos for her haste or forward request. In fact, it served his needs well. “That sounds excellent as I have a number of stops I need to make before I must return to orbit. I would be happy to enlighten you on the nature of the remaining holy STC fragments.”
Doll, accompanied by his personal Skitarii, boarded the vehicle to join Archmagos Croft. He waited until they were airborne, then made a careful sweep for any monitoring equipment. Satisfied he had not found any, he forwarded her a basic data packet – stripped of all production details – regarding the STCs.
She tilted her head and hummed as she reviewed the files over a few seconds. “I am familiar with this life sustainer design, but it pains me to admit it is indeed not one Cypra Mundi has access to. We possess the STCs and designs for the Vitae, Clemency, M-1.r, and even the Euphoric patterns. The few planets with the means to produce them have hoarded them jealously. The pattern is not quite as potent as some other Archeotech patterns, such as the lost Ancient-pattern, but its relatively small space requirement, ease of production, and above-average air quality, all in exchange for a slight increase in power requirements, make it ideal for certain hulls. It’s roughly the same requirements as the Vitae or the dreadful Euphoric patterns, while being far more palatable and scaling better within larger hulls. I’ve spotted an interesting synergy for vessels possessing an arboretum as well.” She tapped a golden finger against the armrest of her seat.
Doll nodded but remained silent as she shared her thoughts on the two designs with him as she looked them over.
“I am less familiar with Powered Armours; my focus is on the Basilikon Astra. This design looks vaguely familiar, but... I cannot place it. Even if the production parameters are incomplete, I am certain it will be of interest to a good number of the High Council members. I am sure one of them will have a more accurate representation of its worth.” Her finger halted, and her blue cybernetic eyes regarded him with respectful caution. “I would like a copy of the full life sustainer STC. It was very clear that the Drakios fleet plans to expand, while allied with them, you have come into possession of a large relic ship of your own, one without a proper Mechanicus escort, while your apprentice has her own substantial Titan transport for her Legio – yes, I checked – but at least she has also acquired a rare and potent destroyer. Even if she really should procure additional frigates.” She looked a trite smug that she managed to pierce the layer of obfuscation and identify that the Titmat was under Nicole’s direction.
Doll was unsurprised, given her position; voidcraft were the resource in which she had the most control. “To be clear, Archmagos Corft. You are offering me Mechanicus hulls, not voidcraft from Cypra Mundi’s mothball?” He asked as he leaned back in his seat and glanced out the window for a long moment, watching smokestacks and spires whip by as he considered the possibilities.
“That is correct. We’re only interested in a copy of the STC for use, not distribution rights.” She inclined her head politely.
Doll considered his options, “A Mechanicus Cruiser, to guard the Emergency Repairs III – you can decide the class and loadout. I also want preferential parts exchanges for myself, Lord Drakios, and Lady Cavalerio. We’re willing to pay for rarer quality parts and have quite a few we salvaged on our own, but I do want access to them if possible.” Doll thought the offer was quite fair.
She leaned back, studying him. “That request is amicable, suspiciously so, Archmagos. A single cruiser and letting me pick the class? Curious. Nevertheless, your request, preferential parts allocations for the duration of your stay, is easily done” She glanced to the side as she pulled up a list in the Noosphere. “I have a Gothic-class recently returned to us with the return of Lord High Admiral Spire. I also have a damaged Lunar-class currently undergoing repairs that will be fully repaired within the month.”
“Excellent. Would it be all right if I inform you of my selection after some time to consider the matter? I would prefer to wait and see what Lord Drakios procures before making my final decision,” Doll explained his reasoning. He also doubted that this would be the only vessel he or Nicole procured in the upcoming exchanges.
“A wise decision. You may contact me at any time once you’ve made your selection – simply include a complete copy of the STC when you do.” She had no objection to the delay.
The car slowed to a full stop, and after Doll confirmed his positioning via the Noosphere he moved to exit the vehicle. “This was a fruitful exchange, Voidwright Superius. I look forward to cooperating with you further in the near future.”
“As do I, Archmagos Doll, as do I,” she replied before the door hissed closed behind him and the vehicle sped off.
Doll and his retinue had been deposited outside a massive Forge Palace, Fabricator Locum Korr’s primary residence.
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POV: Rogue Trader, Lord Arken Drakios
As soon as he parted ways with Doll, he dispatched a full team of adepts to go to the planet’s primary Administratum spire on his behalf, while he headed back into orbit.
“Charter a course back to the Argent Drake and then arrange for one to Reliquary-09, we’re going to the Hollow Moon as soon as possible,” he informed his pilots.
Arken took a deep breath and sighed, leaning back into his seat. The Forum had been interesting to say the least. The Fabricator General was far more intimidating in person than the picts suggested. He had gotten all he wanted and more; he had not wanted to bite off more than he could chew, and now he needed to ensure he didn’t choke.
The sound of approaching power armour caused him to look up. The massive blue form of Captain Bolaar moved with uncanny grace despite the size of his Saturnine Terminator plate into the seat opposite him. “Lord Drakios. We need to talk.”
“Captain, would you care for a drink?” Arken asked, giving the hulking man a nod of acknowledgement even as he poured himself a vibrant red glass of Ur-Haven wine.
“No, thank you. You failed to inform us of your intention to negotiate on our behalf. You discussed sharing the fortress, but... A Battle Barge? Do not think I missed the two extra orbital defense stations either.” The Astartes reached up to take off his helmet so he could stare incredulously at Arken, his glowing electoo scars pulsing.
Arken shrugged, “Well... To be fair...” He picked up the glass and swirled the wine as the engines outside began to spool up, “I thought they might negotiate me down to a Strike Cruiser. That... was beyond expectations. Your Chapter has been nothing but amicable in its dealings with my Dynasty, and you personally, these past few eventful months aboard the Argent Drake, your aid has been invaluable. It is... a gift,” he said, looking Bolaar in the eyes.
Bolaar raised an eyebrow. “A gift.” He barked out a laugh. “Arken, at our current strength the Star Dragons Chapter only possesses two Battle Barges. A third if we include our Brothers in the Blood Swords.”
“A toast then, to your fourth,” Arken replied humorously, taking a sip of his wine. He really had to give Lord Cornelius Aarark credit, the man had fantastic taste in wine and an excellent winery.
Bolaar hummed, his sharp eyes studying Arken like a predator before he smiled toothily, “I see... since it’s such a generous gift... You won’t mind if we name it after you. Or if I formally petition to station a full Company with your fleet after we return home and replenish our forces.”
Arken did not spit out his wine, but it was a near thing. He swallowed sharply and coughed, “What!?”
“We are Dragons, Arken, we can see the way the winds are blowing. We prayed for salvation, and the Emperor delivered us to you. At every turn, we have been tested and rewarded for our faith and efforts. Outside of replenishing our losses, my company has never been stronger or better equipped. So yes, you shall not be rid of us so easily. Not even with your charter.” Bolaar smiled with his teeth; a fire burned behind his eyes, that gave Arken pause.
Arken downed the last of his glass and set it back down just as the ship lifted off. “You are forever welcome at my table, Bolaar Silvershield.” He held out his armored hand to clasp with Bolaar’s much larger gauntlet.
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Bolaar gripped gently but firmly as they shook. “Arken Drakios. My scales and fangs shall guard your clutch.”
Arken felt something pass between them briefly before he let go. “At least I got to do something absurd for once. Nicole is merely going to retrieve a God Engine,” he said in jest.
Bolaar winced. “Actually, I’ve been told she’s on her way with Venerable Baldos to attend our upcoming exchanges with our fellow Astartes. The Venerable informed me her Engine is undergoing repairs and will walk in seven days and that her dealings with Cypra Mundi and the local Legios are ongoing. She... insisted.”
Arken sighed and shook his head. “You have fun with that. I have a moon to peruse and hulls to procure.”
Bolaar looked regretful and nodded. “I would join you if I could. I will assign a squad to your protective detail. I am sure you can find something suitable within the moon.”
Arken nodded as the shuttle made for the Argent Drake. He got word that the documentation had been expedited, and his visit to the Hollow Moon was approved, and he could meet an Imperial Naval representative in just a few hours.
—-----
Arken had dropped off Bolaar and made a spur-of-the-moment decision to change his attire while he had the time. It wasn’t the full blue uniform, but enough of it had remained that he’d had it tailored into a suitable ensemble. He reached up, adjusting the polished pips on his collar and the medals.
Arken’s protective detail had expanded, not just with the promised squad of Star Dragons, but with more of his personal House Guard, and two of Doll’s Skitarii. Major Milo would accept nothing less after news of his deal with the Fabricator General spread amongst his high-ranking officers.
Arken arranged for the delivery of the massive battlecruiser plasma-drive and weapons to be sent to one of the larger orbital shipyards in the Crown of Anchorage. The removal of the drive would free up considerable cargo space amongst the fleet. He shook his head at the thought, considering he’d soon have twice the number of vessels to deal with.Certain upgrades would be required to lessen the logistical strain, regardless of what he chose. He only hoped that the hulls could meet or be made to meet his admittedly high standards.
Boarding his shuttle once more, he headed for the moon, its current position around Cypra Mundi placed it startlingly close to the Segmentum Fortress. Reliquary-09, also known as the Hollow Moon, was a vast vault-moon made to house the Segmentum Reserve Fleet, maintained in mothball status by servitor armadas alongside a mix of
Imperial Navy and Mechanicus personnel.
From a distance, Reliquary-09 resembled a darkened, wounded moon. Its surface was a patchwork of dull grey stone and exposed bedrock, overlaid in vast swathes of adamantine plating and ancient macro-batteries. Much of the original crust still showed through, but beneath that thin skin, the upper layers had been carved away and replaced with segmental plates the size of continents – each one engraved with binharic liturgies and the faded sigils of the Adeptus Mechanicus.
Gigantic void-dock apertures punctured the surface: caverns kilometers wide, sealed behind layered void shields and colossal blast doors. When dormant, they looked like black wounds in the moon’s flesh. When active, they bled light – faint glows of dock beacons and reactor embers burning deep within the hollow body. Swarms of service craft streamed constantly in and out of whichever aperture was open, a ceaseless tide of motion against the dead stillness of the moon. At irregular intervals, a great hull would vanish into the depths, or emerge again under the careful guidance of tug craft, like some leviathan being coaxed from a cave.
Their shuttle slipped into that current of traffic, falling in behind a massive cargo barge hauling slabs of plating the size of hab-blocks. It passed through the shimmering veil of void shielding in its wake before breaking away toward a well-lit landing platform carved into the interior dock.
Waiting for him when he landed was a pair of individuals, one a Mechanicus Tech Priest in dark red robes with their hood pulled low and a massive dataslate cradled in their arms. The other was a gruff, heavyset sailor with a permanent scowl across his gray, bearded and heavily scarred face. He sported a rather simple cybernetic arm and a pneumatic peg-leg that was almost certainly some kind of cannon.
He looked Arken over the moment the shuttle ramp dropped – sharp, suspicious, weighing him in a glance. His gaze lingered on the naval pips. “Ye must be the fancy man we’re s’posed ta meet. Where’d ye get those bars?” He asked in a tone laced with suspicion.
Arken felt the ghost of a smile tug at his mouth. It had been a long time since anyone had spoken to him like that. “Earned them,” he said evenly. “The hard way.”
The man considered that comment, and his eyes drifted past Arken to his protection detail, spotting the Star Dragons and his personal guard in power armour. “Well, blow me down, no disrespect intended, Lord Admiral. I be Master Chief Petty Officer Gibbs.” He jerked his fleshy thumb at the Tech Priest. “That be Logis-621. We keep things all tidy like and ship-shape in this blasted moon.” He griped as he extended his good hand.
“No, offense taken, Master Chief Gibbs,” Arken extended a hand to the man and shook, giving a squeeze hard enough for Gibbs' grin to widen into a full smile. “You look like a man who knows his hulls.” Arken gestured and his seneschal passed Gibbs a physical copy of the agreement for him to read.
“I do. Now says here you’re buying by the megatonne? A hundred!? Who signed off on that?” He looked at the seal and made a face. “The Spider? Frak.” Gibbs looked like a man reconsidering his life choices as he read the limitations and the signatures. “Rogue Trader? Emperor, damn it, nobody told me the guest was important and former brass!” He hissed at one of the local guards, who shrugged helplessly at him.
“All relevant data was provided,” Logis-621 spoke with a dry robotic tone.
“I’d like to take a look at what’s available in mothball, everything within the limitations set by the Fabricator General. My fleet’s restrictions are more flexible than the Imperial Navy’s,” Arken replied with a calm, roguish smile. “Perhaps we could start with any hulls you’ve had for a while, that neither the Navy nor the Mechanicus will touch?”
Gibbs spat off to the side and scratched at his scruffy beard, “We do got a few dust-collectors like that. 621 can pull up the listings, and we can check my ledgers.” He slapped the heavy tome at his hip. We got a maglev if ye want to see a specific hull in the flesh.”
Arken nodded and, with the help of Logis-621, perused the list of hulls. Even with the fleets worth of ships reactivated to replace the losses incurred in the latest Black Crusade, the number of vessels stored in mothball was extensive and borderline obscene.
“Master Gibbs, before we begin. Do you and Logis-621 have the authority to negotiate?” Arken asked as he continued scrolling.
Gibbs looked to the Logis, who nodded and beeped, “Affirmative. Provisional authorization for negotiation has been granted.”
Arken clapped his hands together and grinned. “Excellent. Now I see you have listed a trio of Shrike-class escorts, those wouldn’t happen to be Meritech Shrike-class Raiders, would they?” he asked almost innocently.
“Aye, they are. They’ve been cleansed by the Cog boys. Long skinny things take up too much space if ye ask me. Nobody wants to touch em. We only have em because some backwater system paid their tithe with the things, pains in my arse,” Gibbs admitted, and Arken smiled like a shark scenting blood.
At first, Gibbs and Logis-621 treated it like any other negotiation. Gibbs countered with polished reassurances and rehearsed talking points about the vessel's ability to be made ready within a reasonable timeframe, the status of their internals, and crew allocations, while Logis-621 projected cascading columns of pricing data for refits, maintenance forecasts, and blessed efficiency metrics into the air between them. But Arken picked apart every claim with unnerving precision, there was a reason he had picked a hull the Navy wouldn't touch after all.
As minutes stretched into an hour, Gibbs realized that what Arken was doing was less bargaining and more strategic dissection. Every concession he offered had already been anticipated, every counterargument preempted. Logis-621’s binaric murmurs grew increasingly agitated as their predictive models struggled to keep pace with the shifting terms, and there was a hidden Mechanicus order only the Logis could see, buried within the purchase order from the Fabricator General himself to give Arken more 'generous' terms. By the time Arken began discussing fleet acquisition rates in nearby sectors and the potential reputational impact of overpricing a ‘valued strategic partner,’ both negotiators understood they were being outmaneuvered.
When Arken finally leaned back and summarized the terms – three Shrike-class hulls at a price point that would have made a junior quartermaster faint – Gibbs forced a diplomatic smile.
“Then we are agreed! Ten megatonnes for the trio,” Arken said, somehow managing to do so without sounding smug.
“Agreed. Excuse me a moment, Sir,” Gibbs grunted politely.
He stepped aside, activated his comms-bead and turned slightly away from the group. His voice dropped to a tight whisper as he requested the presence of a higher-ranking procurement officer. Negotiations had clearly moved beyond his authority and expertise. Lord Drakios was going to walk away with these three warships at a steep discount, and if that trend continued with larger and more valuable hulls, his ass would be on the line.
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POV: Lord High Admiral Spire
News from the Forum spread rapidly across Cypra Mundi. One of his personal aides slid a debrief across his desk a few hours after the event had concluded. The Drakios Dynasty had made a splash selling an STC, and Archmagos Doll had given away two more for free, and introduced his protege, a ten-thousand year old Princeps who was listed as... a strategic asset? He was going to need to inquire about the concerning number of classified flags on her profile.
His eyes lit up when he read the section regarding the Void Abaci. The logistical nightmare that was Imperium Nihilus needed the navigational aides in bulk badly. Figures weren’t outright mentioned, but the STC Drakios handed over had earned him a ransom that would make even the most wealthy Sector Governors’ treasuries seem modest by comparison. In truth, it was the sort of wealth that could scarcely be expressed in simple currency. A Furious-class and a hundred megatonnes from the mothball was no paltry sum, not when paired with the Ramilies-class Star Fort and various orbital defenses. Even he himself had trouble ordering a Ramillies with all the red tape and documentation required to do so. Moving them was an even bigger headache at the moment.
The Great Houses and neighboring Dynasties, provincial vultures that they were, would soon be circling, no doubt. He pulled up the profile of Rogue Trader Arken Drakios, and the more he read, the more impressed he became. The man was ex-Navy and had worked his way up the ranks to briefly serve as Lord Admiral before returning to his Dynasty.
“He served aboard a Furious?” Spire scrolled down, examining his record. “He saw quite a bit of combat against all sorts of foes. It must have left a positive impression if he was willing to procure one as part of his reward.” He glanced up at his Strategic Intelligence Officer and his Adjutant. “Where is the good Lord Drakios currently?”
“He’s on his way to Reliquary-09, Lord High Admiral. His flight plan and visit were approved hours ago,” his Adjutant replied promptly.
“Not one to waste time either.” Spire frowned as he pulled up the individuals handling the negotiations with the Rogue Trader. “No offense to Master Chief Petty Officer Gibbs and Logis-621, but I fear they may be out of their depth. Is there anyone who... No.” He stood up with a gleam in his eyes, “I’ll go myself,” he said firmly.
His staff all paused to look up at him at that declaration.
His head bodyguard merely nodded, and his Adjutant sighed. “I’ll make the arrangements, Sir.”
Spire was already en route when Gibbs put out his call for a high-ranking officer. He smiled and told the pilots. “Inform the Master Chief that a replacement negotiator of sufficient rank will be on station within the hour. No need to mention me by name.”
—----
It was a good thing he arrived when he did. The Rogue Trader was standing outside the dock of one of the very few Mars-class Battlecruisers they had in mothball with a predatory expression.
Master Chief Petty Officer Gibbs’s eyes bulged out of his skull as he saw Spire approaching, and the man, along with the other navy armsmen escorting them, snapped to attention. “At ease,” Spire spoke, giving them a small nod. “Lord Admiral Drakios,” he gave the Rogue Trader a slightly deeper nod.
“Lord High Admiral Spire, we were not expecting you.” Drakios looked surprised but unshaken by his arrival, and he gracefully bowed in return. Spire noticed the very faint twitch in the man’s shoulder as Drakios resisted the old instinct to salute.
“I happened to be nearby and thought I would take the opportunity to congratulate you,” Spire said, smoothly extending his hand to shake, which Drakios returned firmly. “And keep you from running off with most of my navy,” he added in jest, glancing up at the nearby docked Battlecruiser.
“Thank you, Lord High Admiral. I have been rather fortunate lately,” Darkios said with a hint of pride.
“Call me Lord Spire, Lord Drakios. Now... I see you were eyeing the Mars-class here. Unfortunately, I must bear the unfortunate news and tell you that she is slated for reactivation.”
Arken looked a little disappointed but nodded, “I see, that is unfortunate. Perhaps a different vessel?”
Spire held back a wince, they had very few Battlecruisers in mothball, and he was reactivating nearly all of them. “Am I to understand you are looking at heavier hulls, with a preference for one that can serve as a carrier?”
Arken nodded, clearly curious where he was going with this line of questioning.
“Then, if you are willing to forgo a Battlecruiser, I may have an alternative, one I am willing to be far more generous with when negotiating.” Spire held out a hand for a dataslate as he scrolled down to the vessel he had in mind and then presented the screen to Drakios.
“A Hecate-class?” Arken leaned forward, his interest piqued.
“Indeed, the Blades of Glory, she is an old, well-rounded hull, but one the current Navy has stopped fielding due to both superstition and redundancy. She was not decommissioned like the majority of her sister ships. She was built by Cypra Mundi and has been here for five millennia,” Spire explained as they moved to the nearby maglev car to go and see the hull in person.
Drakios frowned. “It's primarily a traitor hull. It's got a similar, if not worse, stigma than the Repulsive. There are known flaws in the design, in particular, the Gellar Field. It will make a refit costly.”
Spire nodded sagely, “That is true, but you strike me as a man who cares little for stigma, given your fleet’s flagship. Blades of Glory was kept because a number of her systems were enhanced above her peers; she's a heavy hull, but I’d be willing to offer a similar discount on her tonnage in this case like the one you received on the Shrikes. I’ll be candid, I need as many battlecruisers as I can get my hands on, but a heavy cruiser, even one like her, who is superior in most aspects, is a hard sell to even the most devout and loyal officers.”
Arken was quiet as he let that knowledge sink in. When they emerged from the tunnel and stopped in front of the ship in question, Arken’s eyes drank in the sight of the ship. “Count her as... twenty-eight?” He offered.
“Thirty even, that’s a ten-percent discount, and I will ensure the remaining hulls you purchase at cost are the best in their class,” Spire shot back as he clasped his hands behind his back.
Arken turned back to the Blades of Glory and chewed the offer over. “Deal, bargained, and well done.”
Spire smiled and nodded as Logis-621 noted it down, “You have sixty megatonnes remaining.” They announced flatly.
“Lord Drakios, do you happen to have a rough idea of the timeline in which we can expect to see the proliferation of the Void Abaci?” Spire changed the subject.
“Mass production should start within a year if Archmagos Doll’s expectations of the Fabricator General and Fabricator Locum are correct, though they can start producing a few by hand within a month if a skilled Archmagos volunteers their time and effort,” Arken admitted while rubbing his chin.
“Good to know. I’ll keep that in mind,” Spire said, looking pleased with that timetable.
Arken narrowed his eyes, having his next pick already decided, “What is your best Dictator-class?”
Spire shot back, “Balanced or full carrier?”
“What would you recommend?” Arken asked curiously.
“For your fleet? If you plan to send it off alone, balanced for certain. The Sovereign Huntress or the Sentence Unending are the two hulls that stand out. Though... the Sentence has a rather poor reputation with her previous crews. The Huntress, in contrast, has a very positive reputation,” Spire admitted as he skimmed both files. “Given that you can refit her using the mobile yardship... Setting them up as a full carrier for a major engagement has its perks.”
Drakios examined them and frowned. “They claim she’s haunted? No, thank you. I’ve had haunted hulls before. They never end well. I’ll take the Huntress. That feels like a suitable upgrade for one of my fleet Captains.”
“She’ll need some work to meet your standards; most of her internals are Navy standard, but she’s as solid as they come,” Spire praised “At twenty-nine megatonnes, that leaves you with thirty-one. Another cruiser or perhaps more escorts?”
Arken actually looked up, eyes narrowed and confused, “What do you mean, a cruiser? The only hulls I know at that tonnage are the Overlord Battlecruiser. The Conquest Star Galleon or a Dominator would be close at thirty megatonnes, but you don’t have either, I checked. A Dictator is twenty-nine and is the heaviest active Imperial cruiser.”
Spire held up a finger. “Active Imperial cruiser. We have another older hull that I think may be of interest to you.” Spire pulled up the information, “This is the Tithe of Blood.”
“A Murder-class?” Arken blinked and frowned. “I... I suppose they are thirty-one megatonnes,” he muttered as he considered the vessel. “What’s her loadout?”
“Full Mars-pattern plasma batteries on either side. Prow lance battery. Though the lances are a little underpowered due to a modification to put them in turrets and allow for greater traversability. She packs a punch, and there is a reason the class was the main workhorse of Battlefleet Obscurus for millennia.” Spire was a little disappointed that the last Captain he had attempted to coax into using the ship had turned her down. “She’s got an advanced targeting system. Archeotech. She’s also faster and better armed than average. She was lost for a time, but we found her and pulled her out of a space hulk back in M37, so she needs some internal work. With a bit of investment and fine-tuning, she could be a real monster.”
Arken studied Spire for a moment before he nodded, “I’ll trust your expertise, Lord High Admiral, I’ll take her.”
“Excellent,” Spire said, clapping his hands together. “Shall we head back towards the docks?”
Arken smiled sharply, “While that covers my allocation of one hundred megatonnes. You do have hulls for sale, do you not? I’m looking for something small, fast, for a scout. Frigate, Corvette, Destroyer, or Raider. I’ve got a Cypra-pattern stealth-drive I’d like to put to use.”
Spire frowned. They had many such hulls that might suffice, but if he wanted to ensure he gave the best recommendation, he’d need time to do some digging. “Perhaps we could get together for dinner in a few days to discuss the matter? It would give my team time to look into a suitable hull. It would also serve to introduce you to the rest of my current command staff and some of the more tolerable nobles.”
Arken relaxed and nodded, “I would be honored. There is some information I would like to share with you once I confer with my source,” Arken said vaguely, which piqued Spire’s interest. “I also need to look into upgrades and refits for my recent acquisitions. After all, the Fabricator General has graciously agreed to pay for them as well in the contract he had me sign.”
Spire chuckled. “You say that now. We’ll see if you still feel that way after. I’ll have my adjutant make the necessary arrangements. It was a pleasure, Lord Drakios, however I must return to my duties,” Spire said with a hint of regret. “Though perhaps if time permits, I could get a tour of your flagship or either of those new acquisitions? Like the Tiamat?”
Arken stiffened and frowned, “I will have to confer with the owner of the ship, but that may be amenable. The Tiamat’s Machine Spirit is unusually potent and particular. A tour of the Argent Drake can easily be arranged," he promised easily enough.
Spire smiled, “You make it sound as if you’ve met the spirit in person!” he laughed, but Arken met his gaze calmly.
“I have seen her manifestation. It was explained to me that some Spirits grow in power over time, and she has had an immense amount of time to grow,” Arken whispered.
Spire did a double-take and hesitated, “Lord Drakios, just how old is that destroyer?”
“Pre-Imperial,” Arken admitted with a knowing smile.
“By the Throne.” Spire’s eyes widened. Now he really wanted a tour.