Chapter 38: Politics is a Hell of a Training Ground
A little priest can't outmaneuver an Archmagos. There would be no soup from the ruins for him. However, Omega still dispatched his female spy—Rhea—to infiltrate her father's circle and gather intelligence, waiting for an opportunity, for a crack in the Magi's defenses, so he could get a lick.
Since he wasn't needed for the ruins... ahem, the Greenskin problem, he decided to proceed with his original plans. The workers were highly motivated by his "risk your life for a better future" plan. The nascent sense of community in the settlement was quickly erased, and it began to transform into a military camp.
Anyone who was physically fit, regardless of age or gender, began military training. The instructors were workers with prior military experience, including a few former nobles. Omega, curious as to how these nobles had become indentured laborers, made a special inquiry. Although they came from different planets, their stories were largely the same: their Planetary Governor had failed to pay the Imperial Tithe and was executed. They, as his staunch supporters, were packed into the "Blood Tithe" by the new Governor, sold as slaves to Archmagos Veyl, and had only survived this long thanks to the exceptional physical conditioning they'd received in the PDF (Planetary Defense Force).
His curiosity satisfied, Omega saw that these men, who had been filtered by the harsh environment of the Forge World, were no mere dilettantes. He boldly delegated authority to them, letting them handle the training and management themselves. Professional matters should be left to the professionals. He, "Little O," knew his own limitations. He was no good at warfare.
Ever since the settlement had been militarized, Omega's workload had actually decreased. As expected of former military nobles, the few of them had organized the "grand military camp" of several hundred thousand people with impeccable order. He only needed to issue them missions based on the availability of weapons and supplies. This made Omega feel that he had been quite foolish before.
With a lot of free time on his hands, Omega pretended to be deciphering the data-slates, while secretly continuing his "Human Tech Tree Completion Project." When he got tired, he would tinker with his two "big robots," repairing them and fiddling with their brains.
According to the intelligence from his "female spy," a Magos was a Magos. The Greenskins, who had given Omega such a headache, were no match for the Magi with their vast tomb-raiding experience. They simply targeted and sniped the Greenskin leaders, causing the several tribes near the ruins to start fighting amongst themselves. When a new leader emerged, they would snipe him again, and so on.
The Magi: After so many years of digging through ruins, who hasn't encountered a few "mummies"? Which Magos doesn't have the blood of tens of thousands of... ahem, xenos, on their hands?
Omega's former military nobles also had considerable military acumen. They proposed to use the chaos among the Greenskins as a training exercise. Seeing the high morale of the "Worker-Soldiers" (a portmanteau of "worker" and "soldier"), he didn't stop them. He only demanded that they clean up the battlefield thoroughly afterwards, bringing back not just the weapons, but also the Greenskin corpses.
He wanted the Greenskin corpses for two reasons. First, he was afraid the Greenskins would multiply the more they fought. This wasn't an unfounded fear; the more they fought, the more WAAAGH! they became, and the more WAAAGH! they became, the faster their spores split and grew. Second, a team sent out to scavenge and recruit had recently found a small "Bio-Protein Reactor"—a machine for producing Corpse Starch.
Omega had a priest dismantle and bring it back, and it had been sitting in a warehouse ever since. He now planned to put those "carnivorous plants" to good use. The population of the settlement was growing, and they couldn't just sit and eat through their reserves. They weren't short on food now, but that didn't mean they wouldn't be in the future. He had to prepare in advance.
The Temple and the Archmagos were now at each other's throats. The high-energy detector Omega had cobbled together had already sounded four alarms, which meant at least four "big booms" of unknown type had been detonated on the other side of the planet. He called them "big booms" and not "big bombs" because when these cog-heads dug up some unknown technological artifact, as long as they figured out it could explode with great force, they would habitually classify it as a weapon.
Cog-heads: A nuclear power plant and an atomic bomb are based on the same principles. Why can't their functions be the same?
They could fight all they wanted. Omega was busy with his own affairs. He was now waiting to see if the Temple would, could, and dared to blow up the spaceport. If the spaceport was still intact after the Temple's final assault, he would lead the entire settlement, with the other Magi in tow, to the Archmagos and beg for forgiveness. If the spaceport was destroyed, he would continue to wait. He would wait for the Archmagos to counter-attack and the Temple to defend. He would wait for the Archmagos's armed workers to riot. He would wait until both sides were exhausted. Then, it would be his time to take the stage.
The only unpredictable factor was whether a third or fourth party would intervene. Omega wasn't worried about the Imperium or the Adeptus Mechanicus upping the ante. The worst-case scenario was just leaving Teyedan. He was afraid of attracting the forces of Chaos. The actions of those madmen were completely unpredictable. All they wanted was to hunt souls to sacrifice to their Chaos Gods.
Omega's fears were not unfounded. Signs of cult activity had already begun to appear among the refugees they had taken in. He showed no mercy to these Chaos-worshippers. During the quarantine period, he had Paul arrange for their water to be drugged, sending them to meet their gods. The settlement itself was outwardly relaxed but inwardly vigilant, always on the lookout for any cultists who might have slipped through.
The reason there were cultists among the refugees was that the teams Omega sent out used names like the "Lasgun Gang" and the "Wrench Mob"—names that sounded like worker gangs. If they had known it was a large settlement led by a priest, they probably wouldn't have dared to come. But there were very few priest-led settlements like Omega's. Not counting his hidden underground resources, on paper, his was the largest. Otherwise, the Temple and the Archmagos wouldn't have targeted them months ago. The vast majority of the other regions were in a state of chaos, with people resorting to cannibalism. These places were fertile ground for the corruption of Chaos cults. It was not unlikely that they would make a big move at some point in the future. As for why the people in these cannibalistic regions didn't go to the Archmagos for food, it was because not everyone was a fool. There were always those who could see their own situation clearly. And once a person had tasted the feeling of being on top of others, how could they be willing to go back?
The more Omega thought about Chaos, the more afraid he became. His firepower-deficiency-phobia flared up again. But he had already stripped clean the warehouses and factories within a two-to-three-hundred-kilometer radius. He now had several times more weapons than people. He couldn't just give everyone two guns; even he, a layman, knew that wouldn't work. It seemed he had to let the professionals handle it.
"Do you all understand what I mean?" Omega asked the six former military nobles, now the generals of the "Worker-Soldier" legion, who were sitting across from him.
After exchanging glances, a white-haired, powerfully built old man in the center stood up. "Honored Priest Omega, we understand your meaning. In fact, this problem is very easy to solve."
See! This is what you call a professional. "Honored Priest Omega." The way he spoke was different.
Omega's exosuit: "..."
"Hahaha, no need to be so formal, Chief of Staff Douglas. Let's hear it," the Warmaster gestured for his top general to continue. Omega had established a position of Chief of Staff and five staff officers for the "Worker-Soldier" legion. He had appointed himself "Warmaster." All other ranks and officers were left to the "six staff officers" to discuss and promote.
"If we could have aerial support, our overall combat effectiveness would be greatly enhanced."
A fine suggestion. Don't ever mention it again. This industrial district doesn't produce aerial vehicles! Even if we could find one, who would fly it? You? You've truly disappointed me, Chief of Staff Douglas...
Unaware that he had just been "demoted," Chief of Staff Douglas saw the look on Omega's face and knew he had said the wrong thing. The little priest's thoughts were much easier to guess than the Planetary Governor's when he was still alive. He quickly tried to salvage the situation. "Aerial vehicles are just a supplement. The real outcome of the war is decided on the ground."
"Oh?" The clouds on Warmaster Omega's face cleared, and he gestured for Douglas to continue.
"The number of ground vehicles often determines the strength of an army."
Very good, Staff Officer Douglas. If you continue, you won't even have the right to attend the next meeting. I've misjudged you!
Do you think I don't want to give each of you a big tank, so you can just sit inside and run people over? If you're not in charge, you don't know how expensive Promethium is. Where am I supposed to find that much fuel for you?
Seeing Omega's face turn from red to black, Douglas knew he had said the wrong thing again. But such a small scene was nothing to an old political fox like him. He forcefully saved face for Omega. "But the user of any weapon is a person. Therefore, the will of the soldier is the deci—"
"Stop!" Omega covered his face in pain. "I'll go find you fuel. I'll go find you aerial vehicles. Just stop torturing me with this bureaucratic nonsense!"
A flash of embarrassment crossed Chief of Staff Douglas's face, but it was nothing to him. He had experienced far more embarrassing situations.
Omega's thought: Is the Imperial bureaucracy really this good at training people? How do you turn a battle-hardened, iron-willed general into... this? It seems my Adeptus Mechanicus's academic elitism has its shining points after all.
Speechless, he waved his hand, dismissing the staff officers. Just as they were about to leave, Omega suddenly asked, "Can anyone fly an aerial vehicle?"
"All six of us are proficient in piloting the common aerial vehicles of the Imperium," Douglas replied.
Alright, you win...
Omega then summoned his old comrades and began to discuss where to find aerial vehicles and Promethium. Promethium was the general term for any form of fuel in the Imperium. The most common methods of obtaining it were by extracting it from the atmospheres of gas giants, mining it from ancient organic matter deposits, or through a processing of certain rare ices found only on ice worlds.
"Promethium is the lifeblood of the Imperium. It flows through the vast engines of war and commerce, expanding the borders of the Imperium of Man with a regular rhythm, like the beat of a war drum. When it is sprayed, it burns away all that is unclean with the heat of our hatred."
—Confessor Galak, Adeptus Ministorum