Warhammer: Empire Reboot

She bowed deeply, then straightened up, turned and walked out the door.

Cassius was waiting for her outside the door.

The portly governor gave her a questioning look, and Adela shook her head slightly.

The sound of their footsteps faded away down the corridor.

The door closed.

Lawson picked up the badge on the table and flipped it between his fingers.

The silver surface reflected the cold light of the command post.

Lawson's lips curved into a tiny smile.

This badge is a key. The rebel governor has taken over the agricultural world, but he cannot kill all the native nobles. Who will manage the serfs who farm the land for him?

If Count Havilland were still alive, he would most likely have retained some degree of power under the new order.

By finding him with this token, Lawson's landing forces would have a ready-made local collaborator.

Adela was betting that Lawson would win; she and Cassius were on the right side from the very beginning.

A token, costing zero.

But once the promise is fulfilled, the reward will be her and her husband's permanent seats in the new order.

Lawson stored the token in the armory space.

This couple is very interesting.

The second nest, the Ministry of Justice's dock, early the next morning.

Six law enforcement-class patrol vessels are moored at their berths.

The top of the dock is a transparent alloy dome, through which a layer of deathly white light shines through the perpetually gray artificial sky above the Nest City.

The patrol vessel's hull is painted with the Ministry of Justice's standard black base with gold accents.

Two years of shipping disruptions and shortages of supplies made these ships look like they had been dragged out of a junkyard.

The hull was covered with makeshift welded patches, and some of the armor plates had been removed and repurposed.

Only these six ships are capable of maintaining a flightable state.

Lawson stood on the observation platform in the dock.

Standing beside him were Thorne and four battle nuns.

On the assembly area below the observation platform, 2,412 crew members from the Ministry of Justice stood in neat square formations.

Each person wore a Ministry of Justice enforcement badge on their chest, with a signed piece of paper underneath.

Lawson knew what was written on that piece of paper.

The conscription order was drafted at his instruction by Thorne.

"This mission requires a qualified crew to perform interstellar accelerated travel. The acceleration phase will last forty-seven standard hours, with a peak overload of twelve standard Gs. Humans cannot survive under these conditions. You will die before the engines shut down. Your body will be disposed of by the angelic warriors on board. You will not have a funeral, no tombstone, and no one will know what you did. But the ship you pilot will reach its destination and complete the subsequent mission. The Emperor is watching. Volunteer signature."

Two thousand four hundred and twelve people signed.

On the assembly ground, the wind blew in through the shipyard's ventilation openings, causing the hems of the clothes of a few people at the edge of the formation to flutter slightly.

Lawson spoke up: "I'll remember you."

There were some minor changes in the formation; a few people's shoulders tensed up unnaturally.

Several people looked away from directly in front of them, lowered their gazes, and then raised them again.

A young sailor standing in the back row had tears in his eyes. Two seconds later, he blinked hard to wipe away the moisture.

For the legal department crew members at the bottom of the Nest City, their entire lives are just a series of numbers.

Within the Ministry of Justice's system, "TF-2-3341" is more meaningful than "Vasco de Olavi." The serial number allows you to find your shift, salary level, and disciplinary records, but your name provides nothing.

No one ever cared about their names.

The medical examination order was subsequently issued.

The medical examination standards were generated from the swarm intelligence medical database and were carried out by eight non-combatant suicide soldiers with basic medical knowledge.

The standard is simple: instead of selecting the "healthiest person", it is to select the "person who can endure the longest under a 12G overload".

Because the critical operating window for the engine is between the 30th and 45th minutes.

The final locking of course corrections and overload parameters must be done manually.

Those who die before that point cannot contribute any value.

The physical examination will be completed within four hours.

Twenty-nine people were eliminated.

Most of those who were eliminated remained silent.

Some people even showed expressions of relief. Although they had signed the papers, when they were actually told "you don't have to die," the instinct for survival still overwhelmed everything else.

There was only one exception.

He stood at the exit of the medical examination area, not heading back to his unit. He turned around, facing the non-combatant soldiers in charge of the medical examinations, and stood ramrod straight.

His file shows: Herman Frederickson. Age 57. Department of Justice, Second Nest Division, Senior Engine Maintenance Technician. 34 years of service.

His hair was gray, and the wrinkles on his face looked as if they had been carved in with a knife.

He has a congenital mitral valve prolapse.

The swarm intelligence's assessment is that under a continuous overload of 12G, his heart will stop beating between the seventh and eighth minute due to complete loss of valve function.

“Sir,” he said, “I request to stay.”

The assassin in charge of the physical examination glanced at him, and Lawson received the image of the face remotely through swarm intelligence.

"Your heart valves are defective."

The assassin said, "You will die in the eighth minute. The engine's critical operation window is from the thirtieth to the forty-fifth minute. Your death will not yield any value."

Frederickson did not back down.

“Sir, I’ve worked in the Ministry of Justice for thirty-four years. In those thirty-four years, I’ve repaired enough engines to fill this entire dock. No one has ever remembered my name because an engine I repaired flew for an extra day. I want to do something that will be remembered.”

Lawson finished reading Frederickson's complete file.

Thirty-four years of service, like a gray straight line, without commendations, without punishments, without any ripples. A cog in the imperial machine that operated for thirty-four years.

The assassin spoke up: "Report to the repair dock. I need someone on land to maintain the rest of the ships."

It took Frederickson a few seconds to understand what that meant: he hadn't been "eliminated." He had been assigned.

A job that won't kill you, but you'll still be on the chain of tasks.

He stood at attention and saluted.

"Yes, sir."

He turned and walked toward the repair dock.

Two thousand three hundred and eighty-three qualified volunteers were assigned to six ships.

Each boat carries approximately 380 people.

Each ship carries three to four White Tiger Armor assassins at the same time.

High orbit on the far side of Obolos-III.

The six patrol vessels completed their formation.

On the far side of the planet, the grayish-white sphere of the Nest World stands between them and Planet One. The mass and magnetic field of the planet itself can effectively block the plasma light and thermal radiation characteristics when the engine ignites.

According to swarm intelligence calculations, if the ignition were to occur at this location, there would be a 99.7% probability that the remote monitoring station on Planet One would fail to detect the abnormal signal.

On the bridge of each ship, White Tiger Armored Death Soldier sat in the commander's seat.

Below, at the control panel, the crew members were completing their final checks at their respective posts.

The navigator locked onto the course, with the target coordinates being the near-Earth orbit of the Oboloos-II agricultural world.

The engine operator pushed the plasma engine's power preset to the redline position of 320%.

Jia Jiu issued a final notice via the ship's internal broadcast system.

"All compartments sealed. Acceleration seat locking confirmed. Engine ignition in fifteen seconds."

Inside the engine compartment, a young engine operator pressed the final confirmation button on the control panel.

The countdown has reached zero.

All six plasma engines ignite simultaneously.

The acceleration climbs to two Gs within the first second.

The feeling of being pushed back in your seat pressed everyone into the cushions of the acceleration seat.

This phase was relatively mild; the Ministry of Justice crew members experienced similar accelerations during their routine patrols.

Ten minutes in, six gigabytes.

Some crew members experienced gray vision, with their field of vision fading from the edges, as if someone were turning down the brightness of a holographic projector.

"Navigation team of ship number three, course fine-tuning confirmed. Engine room of ship number four, coolant circulation pressure normal."

In the fifth hour, 12 Gbps, peak speed.

The first crew member died.

The 24th hour.

Fewer than eighty crew members remained conscious, scattered throughout the six ships.

At the engine control console of the third ship, a senior engine engineer still had his eyes open.

Vasco de Olavi.

He was the last crew member on the six ships to remain fully conscious.

Swarm intelligence cannot explain why he is still alive.

Blood was seeping from the corner of his mouth.