Chapter 36: Citizen of the Spire
After the three signal shots, Kian Voss sat on the steps of the Monitoring Station, waiting patiently. He reached into his mouth, pried the suicide pill from his molar, and tucked it back into its vial.
Minutes later, the rhythmic thunder of multi-fuel engines filled the air. Lieutenant Rudolphson and his company arrived in force. They were wound tight—the Chimera's autocannon turret was twitching, scanning every shadow, and the infantry were leveled their lasguns at every rustle in the grass. They were terrified that a Warp-witch would spring from the dark and turn them into inside-out puppets.
Kian stood up and waved them down. "Relax, Rudy. The witch is gone. He won't be coming back. This station is yours—conquered by the heroic efforts of Lieutenant Rudolphson and his elite strike force."
Kian led the Lieutenant into the frosted treeline, pointing at the piles of rebel corpses.
"Behold: the heretics you 'liquidated.' Every one of them is a notch on your tally."
The bodies were already beginning to bloat, and any experienced sergeant would see the wounds weren't from standard PDF fire. But it didn't matter. The PDF on Secundus-496b was a mess of graft and laziness. No one was going to perform a forensic audit on a pile of traitors.
Besides, the ground was littered with hundreds of rebel-pattern autoguns. In the Departmento Munitorum's ledger, a captured rifle was often more convincing than a severed head. The rebels' industry was low, and their weapons were more precious than the men carrying them.
Rudolphson scanned the carnage, then signaled his men. The PDF regulars immediately opened fire on the corpses, raking the forest with las-bolts and autocannon shells to create the necessary "battlefield noise."
Once enough smoke had been generated, the soldiers moved in, collecting the rebel rifles as trophies of "victory." The bodies were piled high and doused in promethium. As the pyre lit up the night, Rudolphson's false glory was sealed in ash.
The Lieutenant walked over to Kian and offered him a Lho-stick. "I owe you another one, Voss. I won't forget this. If there's anything you need—within reason—it's yours."
[DING! REPUTATION RANKED UP: Rudolphson (PDF Logistics) Rank 1
→\to→ Rank 2]
[UNLOCKED TIER-2 REQUISITION]
Frag Grenades: 300 Scrips.
Stun/Flash-bangs: 200 Scrips.
8.9mm AP Rounds: 50 Scrips/round.
Remote Detonators: 2,000 Scrips.
Tactical Optics (2x - 7x Variable): 5,000 Scrips.
Light Carapace Armor (Grade 4 - Limited Stock 1/1): 10,000 Scrips.
Plasteel Combat Helmet (Grade 4 - Limited Stock 1/1): 5,000 Scrips.
Active-Noise Cancelling Headset: 1,000 Scrips.
[NEW PERK: LOGISTICAL TRANSPORT]
You may now request a ride on any PDF vehicle belonging to Rudolphson's company. This allows for rapid extraction or transit across the Northern Sector.
Kian let out a low whistle. The gear was top-tier, and the "Taxi Service" was a game-changer.
As the soldiers set up heavy stubber nests and sandbagged the station, Rudolphson prepped a military truck to head back to HQ and file his report.
On the drive back, Kian leaned closer. "Rudy, about that Mid-Hive ID. How does it work? Any 'bugs' in the system I should know about?"
Kian was sitting on nearly 100k scrips now. He was ready to buy his way into the light.
Rudolphson shrugged. "My cousin works in the Gene-Archives. For 100,000 scrips, he can 'reclaim' an inactive profile from a deceased citizen and splice your biometric data into the registry. You'll be a legal resident. You can walk through the gates, use the lifts, and pay your air-taxes like a good little cog."
"No risk of being found out?"
Rudolphson laughed. "The Spire-Lords want more taxpayers, Voss. If you have a hundred thousand to spend on a bribe, it proves you're productive. As long as you keep paying your dues and don't get caught murdering anyone important, the Arbitrators won't even look at you."
Kian nodded, puffing on his Lho-stick. Typical Imperium. Corruption was the grease that kept the engine turning.
Rudolphson looked at Kian, his expression turning hesitant. "Listen... I've got an alternative. You keep your hundred thousand scrips. I'll get you the ID for free."
Kian's eyes sharpened. "What's the catch? Who do I have to kill?"
"It's not a hit," Rudolphson sighed. "It's about Little Joel."
"The kid with the broken spine?"
"Yes. The 'Emperor's Mercy' pension he got won't even pay for a month of stimms. Without his salary, his family can't afford the Mid-Hive air-tax. They're being evicted. They'll be sent to the Sump within the week."
Rudolphson looked Kian in the eye. "I want you to be their shadow. Protect them in the Underhive. Little Joel, his parents, his brother. Ensure they aren't 'reclaimed' by the gangs."
Kian's brow furrowed. "You want me to be a nursemaid for a bunch of civilians? Do you know how many mouths that is to feed? In the Sump, a cripple and a family of 'Spire-soft' workers are just meat for the vats."
Kian was a loner. His Sanctum was his temple. He didn't want roommates, especially not ones that couldn't hold a rifle.
"I can't do it," Rudolphson said, his voice cracking. "I'm a Lieutenant. I have to stay on the line. But I won't have my men's families turned into corpse-starch because of a medical debt."
Silence fell between them for five minutes. Kian thought about the kid, Joel. He thought about the "Space King" joke. He thought about the fact that he needed a "Rat-Pack" to help him scavenge materials.
"Alright," Kian said finally. "I'll take them in. But understand this: I'm a scavenger, not a Saint. If they get in my way, or if they die through their own stupidity, I'm not losing sleep over it. I'll give them a roof and a gun. The rest is up to them."
Rudolphson exhaled a breath he'd been holding for a lifetime. "Thank you. If you can keep them alive, I'll consider the debt for the ID paid in full."
The next day, Kian was woken up in the PDF camp. Rudolphson handed him a digital slate and a blood-stained vial.
"It's done. Your biometric signature is officially registered to a 'Kian Voss, Independent Contractor.' You're a citizen now. But we have a crisis. Get to the station."
"What's wrong?"
"Joel's family. They owed credits to the Order of the Twin Serpents—that medical guild. The Enforcers took them yesterday for 'debt-servitude.' They're being shipped on the first lift to the Sump this morning. If you don't intercept them at the disembarkation zone, the gangs will have them before they even hit the floor!"
Kian didn't waste time. He grabbed a standard PDF autogun from the driver's rack and two spare mags.
"Hey! That's mine!" the driver complained.
Rudolphson silenced him with a look. He pulled his own Semi-Auto Sidearm from his holster and shoved it into Kian's belt. "Take it. Bring them back. Joel took a bullet for his brothers; don't let his family pay the price."
Kian checked the weapons. "I'm Kian Voss. I keep my contracts. The family is mine now."
They roared into the Hive Transit Hub. Thanks to Kian's new ID, he walked through the Gene-Gate without so much as a beep. The Enforcers barely looked at him.
Kian and Rudolphson sprinted toward the Grand Sump-Lift. They arrived just as the massive blast doors were opening. A crowd of over a thousand prisoners—the "Dispossessed"—were being herd toward the platform.
Rudolphson's eyes scanned the crowd with military precision. He pointed a bionic finger toward the center of the wailing mass.
"There! Joel! The one in the hover-cot!"
Kian saw them. A young man strapped into a mechanical stretcher, surrounded by a terrified mother, a hollow-eyed father, and a small boy.
"Go!" Rudolphson urged. "I've given you the ID, Kian. Their lives are in your hands now!"
☆☆☆
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