After Peter and the others had left the reception room, the Trade Representative took a disposable silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped the fine sweat from his forehead.
"Oh, my God-Emperor! Those walking disasters have finally left."
Apate Howard laughed heartily.
"There's no need to be so scared. It's not your first time doing business with Space Marines. Look, the money and goods changed hands cleanly, without any fuss. Wasn't this deal a success?"
The Trade Representative didn't see it that way.
"My lord, never before have we let those heretical Astartes aboard our ship to do business! Couldn't they have sent a representative or contacted us remotely?"
"They came aboard in their armour, weapons in hand, and met with you face-to-face. What if they'd harmed you?"
The Trade Representative looked utterly loyal, though it was hard to tell whether he meant it.
"Don't worry. I know what I'm doing."
The Rogue Trader paid no mind to his subordinate's concern.
The Trade Representative, a plump little ball of a man, clutched his handkerchief and fretted again.
"There's another important piece of information I've only just learned. The two merchant ships carrying our delivery have gone missing. The patrol fleet found them parked in the asteroid belt in this system. It's obvious these Space Marines hid them there. They've stolen the cargo meant for us."
Apate had known about it earlier than he had.
"I know, but provoking them wouldn't be a good idea. Besides, we never received the goods, so we don't have to pay for them. We'll only lose a little of the deposit. They didn't steal from us, after all."
The Trade Representative still voiced his worries.
"My lord, merchant ships working for us were robbed in our territory. We found out, and did nothing. If word gets out, it'll leave the trading house with a bad reputation."
Apate Howard laughed.
"Then talk to those Chaos Space Marines and ask them to return the ships and cargo. Or I could lend you a few warships, and you could take them out and steal it back."
At that, the Trade Representative shook his head like a bobblehead.
The Rogue Trader was amused. His still-green subordinate's bobbing head reminded him of a nodding doll.
"Exactly. Since it's already happened, offending one side is better than offending both. At worst, we can give them more business in the future to make up for it."
His subordinate was nowhere near as capable as his father had been at that age. He still needed a lot more experience.
"By the way, Trade Representative, do more business with these 'Forged Steel Brethren' from now on. Give them a reasonable discount, as long as we don't take a loss. There's no harm in building a good relationship with them."
The Trade Representative took out another silk handkerchief and wiped his sweat.
"Yes, my lord."
This time, he didn't ask why. His lord had probably already thought it through.
Apate Howard stretched, not particularly gracefully, and yawned as he spoke offhandedly.
"All right, that's about enough work for today. I'm going back to rest."
With that, he left the reception room and headed for his quarters.
Many people imagined that a Rogue Trader would have a bedroom spanning thousands of square metres, filled with the finest food and wine and attended by beautiful companions.
In reality, that wasn't the case. At least, it wasn't for Apate. His room was only a little over two hundred square metres. It contained a bedroom, an office that doubled as a study, a washroom with a bath and sauna, and, of course, a small private Weapon Depot. That was everything in his quarters.
Of course, he could eat the finest food and drink the best wine. But more often than not, to save time, he simply downed a nutrient supplement prepared by a professional nutritionist to meet his needs for the day.
The only people who entered his quarters, besides his bodyguards, were a few senior officials of his dynasty. Only they were allowed to enter without notice in an emergency. Otherwise, the Autocannon turrets would riddle any unauthorized intruder with bullets.
He rested only eight hours a day and never took a day off. He did all this not for his own pleasure, but for the interests of the Imperium. Yes, even when helping heretics or trading with xenos, he was doing it for the Imperium's interests.
Apate took off his impractical, ostentatious coat and hung it on the rack in the entryway. He also removed his priceless rare-beast hide boots and changed into a more comfortable, cooler pair of slippers.
As he was undoing his belt, the Rogue Trader suddenly stopped. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Some instinct told him something was wrong. Whether it was a warrior's intuition or the exorbitantly expensive implants the Adeptus Mechanicus had installed in him, he sensed someone else in the room.
He took the Bolter Pistol and Power Sword from his belt, holding the sword in his left hand and the pistol in his right. Then he slipped off his slippers, letting his sock-clad feet touch the floor.
He hadn't taken a magazine. There couldn't be many enemies, and if fifteen bolts in one magazine weren't enough to deal with them, more wouldn't help.
He moved inward with the swift, graceful steps of a cat, making less sound than a falling leaf. There wasn't enough time to contact his bodyguards, and doing so might alert the intruder.
Silently but quickly, he checked the rooms, starting with the nearby washroom and bathroom, then moving on to the Weapon Depot.
At last, as he turned his head to peer into his half-open office while exposing as little of himself as possible, he spotted the intruder.
A tall figure sat in his office chair, hands clasped together, facing him.
The lights inside the office were off, leaving the figure shrouded in shadow, while the Rogue Trader stood illuminated by the light outside.
Seeing this, the Rogue Trader lowered his gun and sword. He inclined his head slightly toward the tall figure in the shadows.
"My lord, I wasn't expecting you."
A deep, rasping voice spoke in High Gothic from the shadows.
"Apate, you sold him the Gene-seed."
The Rogue Trader straightened and replied,
"Yes, Lord Belcher."
"At that price?"
"That's right."
"Don't you think you took a loss?"
"I did, but wasn't that your order, my lord?"
The figure in the shadows gave a low, sinister chuckle.
"I'm not saying you did anything wrong. Now, did you put the Gene-seed I gave you inside?"
"I did."
The tall figure stepped out of the shadows and into the cabin light. He was a towering, bald Astartes in peacock-blue Power Armour, his armour covered in dense decorations like Venomous Snake Scales.
The Astartes nodded in approval.
"Your mission is complete, agent. But I'll be retiring this identity. Belcher won't contact you again."
The Rogue Trader looked a little surprised.
"My lord, what will the next person contacting me call himself?"
The Son of Hydra put on his helmet, and his dangerous, serpentine voice came through the vox grille.
"Alpharius."
The Rogue Trader nodded discreetly and didn't ask any further questions.
"Yes, my lord."
After a moment of silence, the Son of Hydra quietly spoke their battle cry.
"For the Emperor!"
Seeing this, the Rogue Trader crossed his hands over his chest and gave the Aquila Salute.
"By His will alone."
Before you continue