Warhammer: Empire Reboot

Moen was probably unaware of the inertia he was carrying.

"The Imperial administrative machine relies on tithes to function. If a sector stops collecting tithes, even for just a year, a gap will appear in the supply chain. When it needs to be restarted, the cost of making up for it is three to five times that of normal collection."

"So the stuff you collected has just been piling up in the reserve world?"

"Yes," Moen replied crisply.

Lawson waited a while, thinking he would say something like that, and then allocate the resources to planets that needed them.

But Moen did not add anything.

"Just pile them up?"

"The duties of the Sixth Collection Brigade are collection and transportation."

Moen turned a page of the document. "The authority to allocate and distribute supplies after they arrive at the distribution center rests directly under the Military Affairs Department of the Imperial Ministry of the Interior. Before the Great Rift, Terra Headquarters would issue allocation orders based on the war needs of each star sector, and the distribution center would execute the release. After the Great Rift..."

"The transfer order from Terra can't get through."

Lawson looked at him, frowned, and asked, "So all the tithes you collected are piled up in the distribution center..."

“Wait for Terra’s instructions,” Moen said.

Kyle Varus stood to the side, recalling his own experience when he first arrived at Walhem-IX. The planet's ammunition depots were running low, the Astragalus' tank shells were dwindling, and the infantry were conserving their laser energy packs, firing at the lowest possible power, just to hold out for a few more days.

Without Agrippina's supply lines, this planet would have fallen long ago.

While they were desperately trying to conserve ammunition, the military affairs department's warehouses were piled high with ammunition, refined gold, ceramic steel, promethium, and grain, all locked up in the distribution center.

Waiting for a transfer order that will never come.

Do you know how many planets on the Dark Side are currently at war?

Kyle roared, "How many Astronautical Army units have run out of ammunition and food? How many hive worlds are starving to death? Your distribution centers are piled high enough to arm tens of billions of people..."

“Kyle,” Lawson called out to him.

Moen wasn't the one making the decisions; he was merely the hand that carried out the collection mission.

Where is the distribution center?

Moen tapped his finger on the star map.

The planet's name was marked in small print on the Imperial star map: "Val-Synn Level 4 Agricultural Waste Disposal World".

"Level 4 Agricultural Waste Treatment World, Manure Balls?"

"It's just a label on the star map."

Moen explained, “It’s not actually a waste disposal world. Before the Great Rift, the Director of the Sixth District of the Ministry of the Interior changed the classification of this planet in the Imperial Star Map Database from ‘Reserve Fortress’ to ‘Level 4 Agricultural Waste Disposal World’. After the star map information was changed, all forces that rely on the Imperial Star Map for navigation, including the Chaos Raider Fleet, will automatically skip this planet when planning their routes.”

"No raider would waste fuel plundering a planet that looks like nothing but dung and fermentation pits. Even if some Chaos Commander were to make a foolish mistake and actually go there, he wouldn't be facing a waste disposal facility..."

Moen opened the detailed page of the star chart.

A cross-sectional view of the planet Val-Synn planet unfolds.

The surface is covered by a camouflaged waste processing plant shell, but beneath it lies a complete Imperial standard fortress defense system: multi-layered void shield generators, heavy macro-gun arrays, underground anti-ship missile silos, and deeply buried command fortresses. Orbital defense platforms and an automated fire control satellite network are deployed around the planet's perimeter.

“This planet’s defense level is comparable to that of a standard Imperial fortress world,” Moen said. “The twelve layers below the surface are all military storage facilities, each independently sealed according to Imperial military storage standards and equipped with automatic fire suppression, radiation protection, and reverse osmosis systems.”

Lawson stared at the cross-section of the planet.

Imperial bureaucrats are sometimes even more adept at deception than Eldar holographic fields.

How far is the nearest distribution center from here?

Moen measured on the star map: "Val-Synn is about forty-seven light-years away from Walheim-IX."

"lead the way."

When the fleet returned to the edge of the Val-Sion system and began to deploy, the first thing Lawson saw was not the fortress world disguised as a ball of dung.

There were three Imperial transport ships, and they were sailing out from the direction of Val-Synn.

"your people?"

Moen followed his gaze and his mechanical eye automatically focused and identified the transport ship's number.

"Yes. The transport fleet of the Sixth Collection Brigade. But those ships weren't under my command; they should be from the Third Collection Squad."

"Signal them to stop."

Moen's communications officer immediately sent the Ministry of the Military's standard stop signal to the three transport ships.

The propulsion exhaust of the three transport ships diminished, their speed decreased, and their course began to veer, drawing closer to Lawson's fleet.

The communication channel is connected.

"Third collection squad, squad leader Adeleyn Cole, received the stop signal from the Sixth Squadron. Please confirm your identity and instructions."

Moen connected to the channel: "Moen, Tax Enforcer of Squadron 06, Cole, your ship is fully loaded? Where did you get it from?"

"The acquisition has just been completed from Gratian-III and Elcus Mining World."

630,000 tons of ammunition.

Lawson listened from the side.

Moen continued, "Is your destination Val-Synn?"

"Just came from Val-Syne."

Moen's brow twitched slightly: "Come out? Weren't you going to put it in storage?"

"Can't get in."

Cole's voice sounded weary: "Val-Synn's warehouse management department refused to accept it."

Moen’s mechanical prosthetic eye spun around.

"Refuse to accept? The standard procedure for receiving goods under the tithe tax is..."

"The warehouse is full."

Moen opened his mouth slightly, then closed it again.

Lawson looked at him.

Moen's expression underwent a subtle change, revealing a bureaucratic helplessness that said, "I know this is absurd, but I can't do anything about it."

“Cole,” Moen lowered his voice, “the warehouse is full. What are you going to do with the requisitioned supplies?”

"Val-Synn's warehouse manager signed an overstock disposal order."

"My instructions were to move the tithe goods that could not be stored out of the distribution center and destroy them at the designated coordinates."

Moen's lips twitched.

Lawson asked indifferently, "Say it again."

Cole was clearly unaware that there was another person on the channel.

She thought she was talking to Moen and maintained the formality of the Ministry of Military Affairs.

"Terra's allocation order can't get through. The distribution center only has storage authority, not allocation authority. The warehouse is full, and newly requisitioned materials cannot be stored. According to Article 1107 of the Imperial Military Regulations, when the storage capacity of the distribution center reaches 100% and there is no allocation order from the superior, the overflow materials should be transported by the requisitioning team to the designated destruction coordinates within 72 hours to carry out the standardized material disposal procedure."

She seemed to be checking if she had remembered the article number correctly.

"630,000 tons of ammunition, 4,200 units of promethium, and 170 tanks have all been included in the scrap list and are expected to arrive at the destruction coordinates in 48 hours."

Only the low-frequency hum of the transport ship's engines could be heard on the communication channel.

On the dark side of the Empire, dozens of planets are at war. Astronaut soldiers crouch in trenches counting bullets, while planetary governors kneel in churches begging the Emperor to send them ammunition.

Unbeknownst to them, the Empire's own transport ships were carrying 630,000 tons of ammunition to be destroyed, because the ammunition depots were full, and no one had the authority to issue the order to release the ammunition.

The collection department has the right to collect.

The warehousing department has the right to store [goods/items].

The allocable department is on the other side of the galaxy, separated by a massive subspace rift that tears reality apart, forever out of reach.

The power to collect remains, the power to store remains, but the power to use it has been lost.

This is the empire.

Lawson stood at the observation window, watching the three transport ships that were preparing to carry out the "standardized material disposal procedure".

Moen kept his head down; this was probably not the first time he had heard about this.

But knowing and seeing the Master of the Seal staring at you are two completely different experiences.

"Cole."

The female squad leader on the other end of the communication line clearly did not recognize the voice.

"You are……"

"Losen, the Dark Side Master of the Empire".

“Your Excellency, the Seal Bearer.” Cole’s tone changed from businesslike to cautious.

“Turn those three ships around. Transport all the ammunition, promethium, and tanks back to Warheim-IX.”

"Yes."

Lawson turned off the communication and looked at Moen: "Come on, take me inside to see your distribution center."

"I want to see just how much of the empire's wealth is hidden inside that dung ball."

Chapter 227 Abundant Resources, 300 Warehouse Worlds Acquired

As Moen's transport ship passed through the Val-Synn orbital defense network, Lawson saw the planet's true face hidden beneath its camouflage through the observation window.

From its outer orbit, Val-Tyne appears to be nothing more than a low-value planet covered by a grayish-yellow waste processing plant.

The exhaust pipe releases chemically formulated odor into the atmosphere at fixed intervals. The composition is stable and the readings are standard. Any nearby detector will identify it as a Class IV agricultural waste disposal world.

But once the transport ship passed through the camouflage layer and entered low altitude, the surface scenery immediately changed.

The number of orbital defense platforms has exceeded the world standard for ordinary fortresses.

Lawson glanced at it briefly and saw at least forty-two automatic fire control satellites and six heavy macro gun platforms.

Beneath the shells of those scrap metal factories are neatly arranged landing pads, armed checkpoints, and large cargo elevator shafts leading underground.