Chapter 41 : Six Months
Lord-General Haster Vance wore his skepticism the way other officers wore their medals — prominently, and with decades of earned authority behind it.
The war council occupied the new command center — built from ruins-derived blueprints, twice the size of the original bunker, with a hololithic tactical display that Sigma-9 had fabricated from salvaged components and Golden Age design principles. The display projected a three-dimensional map of the Valdoria system, bio-ship signatures pulsing red at the extreme edge of detection range.
Vance stood at the display's head. Fifty-eight years old, gray-haired, built like someone who'd spent a career carrying the weight of command without breaking. His Imperial Guard uniform bore campaign ribbons from four major engagements and the subtle marks of field repair that distinguished combat veterans from parade officers. He'd arrived three days ago with a staff of twenty and the Segmentum's orders to assess Valdoria's defensive viability.
[LORD-GENERAL HASTER VANCE — IMPERIAL GUARD, VALDORIA SECTOR COMMAND]
[LOYALTY: 25 — NEUTRAL/EVALUATING]
[KEY STATS: LEADERSHIP 65, STRATEGY 55, WILLPOWER 60]
[POTENTIAL: A (SUPERIOR)]
[NOTE: ORTHODOX BUT PRAGMATIC. RESPECTS RESULTS. WILL FOLLOW COMPETENT LEADERSHIP REGARDLESS OF ORIGIN.]
"Administrator Garrett." Vance's voice carried the gravel of a career spent shouting over artillery. "Your defense reports are either fiction or miracle. I'm here to determine which."
"Lord-General. Welcome to Valdoria Refuge." Nash stood at the display's side — ceding the head position to Vance's rank while maintaining the authority of the person who knew the terrain. "I'll present our defensive assessment and preparation timeline."
Nash activated the hololithic. The system fed him data — Stage 1 cognition processing it at speed, translating classified system analysis into a briefing format that looked like the product of a competent staff rather than an alien AI.
"Tyranid splinter fleet. Hive Fleet Leviathan methodology. Bio-ship signatures detected at extreme augur range by Captain Mordant's scout vessels. Estimated arrival: six standard months. Composition—" he tapped the display, and bio-ship silhouettes populated the tactical map "—consistent with a planetary consumption force. Hive ships, kraken, drone clusters. Enough to strip a world."
Vance studied the display. His eyes moved with the practiced analysis of someone who'd read a thousand tactical projections and learned to distinguish the useful from the optimistic.
"Orbital defenses?"
"Captain Mordant's fleet provides void capability — three vessels, cruiser-class flagship. Lord-Captain Victus has committed his relief fleet to system defense. Combined void force is insufficient against a full Tyranid assault but adequate for delaying actions and bio-ship interdiction."
"Ground preparation?"
"Fortifications using recovered archeotech construction methods — wall integrity exceeding standard Imperial specification by forty percent. Garrison: two hundred and forty trained soldiers plus Imperial Guard reinforcements when available. Manufacturing: operational, producing ammunition and basic equipment at frontier-standard rates."
Vance turned from the display. "Your construction efficiency exceeds standard metrics by a significant margin, Administrator. My engineers tell me the fortification methodology doesn't match anything in their training manuals."
"Because it comes from fifteen-thousand-year-old blueprints downloaded from a Golden Age cogitator by an alien AI grafted to my brain. But that explanation won't make the briefing."
"Recovered STC fragments from the ruins beneath the settlement. Magos Sigma-9 has adapted them for current application."
"Convenient."
"Functional."
Vance's mouth twitched. Not a smile — an acknowledgment. The kind a senior officer gave a junior when the junior's competence exceeded expectations but hadn't yet earned trust.
A new figure entered the command center. Nash's system tagged her before the door finished opening.
[TECH-PRIESTESS KIRA-7 — ADEPTUS MECHANICUS, MARS EVALUATION DELEGATION]
[LOYALTY: 20 — ANALYTICAL]
[KEY STATS: INTELLIGENCE 70, TECHNICAL 75, PERCEPTION 55]
[SKILLS: TECH-USE 80, RESEARCH 65, ANALYSIS 60]
[POTENTIAL: A (SUPERIOR)]
[NOTE: RADICAL MECHANICUS FACTION. BELIEVES INNOVATION SERVES THE OMNISSIAH. SENT BY MARS TO EVALUATE STC CLAIMS — DANGEROUS IF SHE FINDS THE SOURCE.]
Kira-7 was different from Sigma-9 and Korvak. Where Sigma-9 moved with explorator curiosity and Korvak with orthodox rigidity, Kira-7 moved like someone who'd been building things her entire life and judged everything by whether it worked. Her augmetics were minimal — a single ocular enhancement replacing her left eye, mechadendrites folded at her back like dormant limbs, and hands that were still mostly organic, scarred from workshop burns.
She was also, Nash's meta-knowledge supplied, one of the Mechanicus's most gifted analysts. Mars had sent her specifically because the STC reports from Valdoria warranted their best evaluator.
"Tech-Priestess." Nash inclined his head.
"Administrator Garrett." Kira-7's voice was warm — warmer than any Mechanicus Nash had encountered, the organic undertone dominant over the mechanical overlay. "Your STC-derived construction data has generated significant interest on Mars. I'm here to verify the source material and evaluate integration potential."
"Magos Sigma-9 can provide access to the ruins and all documentation."
"I've already spoken with the Magos. Her analysis is thorough." Kira-7's enhanced eye whirred. "But I'd prefer to review your personal methodology as well. The construction plans bear your signature, and the optimization patterns suggest a coherence that exceeds standard adaptation methodology."
"Another analyst. Another pair of eyes. Another threat to the secret. Sigma-9 watches from the explorator's perspective. Kira-7 watches from the engineer's perspective. Between them, they have the analytical capability to decode what I am."
"But Kira-7 is radical Mechanicus. She believes innovation serves the Machine God. If she discovers the truth — or part of it — she might protect it rather than condemn it."
"Might. The operative word that keeps me alive."
The command center door opened again. This time, Nash's system didn't need to tag the arrival. The man's presence announced itself before the system could process him.
Lord-Governor Vitus Crane swept into the room with the practiced authority of someone who believed authority was genetic rather than earned. Tall, patrician, his void-silk suit carrying the subtle sheen of wealth that had survived planetary catastrophe through the simple expedient of being off-planet when it happened. His face was handsome in the Imperial aristocratic tradition — sharp features, confident bearing, eyes that appraised everything for ownership potential.
"Administrator Garrett." Crane's voice dripped civility over condescension. "I appreciate you keeping my planet warm while I was... unavoidably detained."
"'Unavoidably detained.' He evacuated during the first week of the Ork invasion. Took a personal shuttle to the system's outer reaches and waited for the Navy to arrive. His 'detention' was a luxury yacht with full amenities while four hundred million people died."
"Lord-Governor." Nash's voice stayed level. "Welcome back to Valdoria Prime."
"Home at last." Crane surveyed the command center — the hololithic display, the tactical maps, the organizational charts, the settlement visible through the observation window. His eyes calculated in the same way Helena's calculated, except where Helena assessed value, Crane assessed possession. "I see you've done remarkable work with my planet's resources."
"The Imperium's resources, Lord-Governor. Allocated by Imperial charter."
"A charter granted in my absence. I'll be petitioning the sector council for review, naturally." Crane's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Protocol must be observed."
Vance watched the exchange with the expression of a military officer who'd encountered political interference before and had learned to wait it out.
Nash met Crane's smile with the flat, data-driven composure that had faced down Orks, Genestealers, Commissars, and Inquisitors.
"Naturally. The sector council is welcome to review every decision I've made. Assessor Grimm has full documentation."
Crane's smile thinned. He'd expected deference. He'd found a wall.
"I look forward to the review, Administrator." He turned to Vance. "Lord-General. I trust the military assessment is proceeding well. As planetary governor, I'll require a full briefing—"
"Lord-Governor." Vance's voice carried thirty years of command authority. "The military assessment is my jurisdiction. I'll brief you when I have conclusions, not before."
Crane's cheek muscle twitched. Two rejections in ninety seconds. He nodded — the smooth, polished nod of someone who was already planning his response — and left.
"Lord-Governor Vitus Crane. The man who ran while his planet burned, returning to claim what someone else built. In the tabletop game, political enemies were abstract — morale penalties, resource drains. In reality, he's a man with connections, wealth, and the legal argument that planetary governance belongs to the governor, not the administrator who kept the population alive."
"Six months until the Tyranids. A Warboss rebuilding in the north. An Inquisitor watching from the shadows. And now a political rival who outranks me on paper and has the sector council's ear."
Kira-7 caught Nash's eye as the room settled.
"I'd like that private meeting, Administrator. At your convenience."
"Tomorrow. 2000. My office."
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