Development Bottleneck

Peter and Anthony wore Power Armour and strode from the landing pad toward the heavy industrial zone, their steps heavy but swift. Sunlight glinted silver off their armour.

Since supplies had become plentiful, all the battle-brothers had taken excellent care of their weapons and armour. After all, they had once been Iron Warriors, and their skills in forging and maintenance surpassed those of most Legions. The veterans were now passing on their experience to the Neophytes, though the recruits varied widely in aptitude.

As soon as he stepped off the Storm Eagle, Peter removed his helmet. A nearly bald factory manager and a low-ranking Dark Tech-Priest came to greet him. They saluted the two of them and introduced themselves. "Honoured Forged Steel Angels, welcome to the factory. I'm in charge here." The manager nervously briefed Peter and Filon on the factory's basic operations.

The group then inspected the production line. A massive press roared as it stamped sheets of steel into car bodies. Servitors used laser welding torches mounted on their arms to join metal components amid showers of sparks. Every step was carried out with precision.

The factory used a combination of human workers and Servitors on its production lines, allowing it to manufacture cars, trucks, and motorcycles around the clock. Another line produced small and medium-sized atmospheric jet aircraft.

The sweat-soaked factory manager said, "The workers fully understand how important these vehicles are. We've been running two shifts and working overtime."

At an inopportune moment, the vox-speaker on the throat of the Tech-Priest beside him, who wore a red-embroidered robe, crackled to life.

"Incorrect. The factory's current production efficiency is 73.37% of the projected figure. It can be improved further."

Peter said nothing. He simply walked over to one of the production lines. A female worker was wearing a mask and concentrating on spray-painting a truck door. When she noticed the Space Marine beside her, she jumped.

Peter paid her no mind and examined the steel door. He pressed his index finger against it, leaving a deep dent.

These were, after all, merely civilian vehicles. Even small arms could punch right through them. They were fine for transporting people and cargo around the planet; only a truly impoverished rebel force would mount a machine gun on one and use it as an armoured vehicle.

Peter sighed softly, making the manager flinch. The Dark Tech-Priest beside him, however, stood motionless, betraying no emotion.

The manager mustered his courage and asked, "Forged Steel Angel, why did you sigh? Did we do something wrong?"

Peter looked at him and said, "No. You've done well. I salute the workers for their hard work, Manager."

The manager hurriedly thanked him. "It's our honour to serve the Angels."

Peter asked again, "How are the workers' meals?"

"They eat well," the manager replied. "Mostly Corpse Starch and synthetic food, along with canned kelp and other algae, supplemented by fish Protein Blocks. Sometimes they even get wheat bread and alcohol."

By Imperial standards, that was actually quite good. In fact, the Corpse Starch produced just from refining Promethium on Limnos III was enough to feed the entire planet. Almost no one there went hungry. That was one of the benefits of being backed by a Forge World, though the planet couldn't remain at a population of just over ten million forever.

The Dark Mechanicus had prioritized developing sea transport and the automotive industry. With these vehicles, the planet could transport goods and raw materials. Next, they would need to build a power grid and Promethium pipelines, and expand the textile and chemical industries on a large scale. Once the economy grew further, they would build railways and high-speed trains, so people and cargo could travel from one end of the continent to the other in less time.

Development on the ground was proceeding in an orderly fashion, but things in space were another matter. Ever since the last handover with the Tech-Adept, there had been little progress on the Starport's construction. A group of Servitors and a few Tech-Priests simply kept up the appearance of working on it.

Most of the Dark Mechanicus personnel had gone to Limnos IV. There, they had begun construction in earnest, working overtime to build several mines on the planet's surface. A Starport was also under construction in orbit. When Peter heard about this, he finally realized that the Dark Mechanicus's fifty-year deadline had a great deal of slack built into it.

Peter asked the manager, "Are there any difficulties with production?"

"None, my lord. Of course not," the manager hurriedly replied.

Peter furrowed his brow slightly. "I want the truth, Manager. If you're having difficulties, I'll help you resolve them. If you aren't, that may change once the production quotas come down."

The manager glanced at the silent Dark Mechanicus Tech-Priest beside him. He knew the Tech-Priest had powerful connections. He had none.

"My lord, there are, in fact. Most of this planet's natives don't understand High Gothic, which makes communication very difficult."

"They lack basic knowledge, so they can't handle many jobs. We can barely maintain current production, let alone expand it. We lack production lines, and we're even more short of skilled workers, mechanical engineers, and Tech-Priests."

Peter nodded. "I'll take care of it as soon as I can."

The group continued inspecting the aircraft production line. As they reached one section, an accident suddenly occurred. A scream rang out from the neighbouring line. When Peter and the others rushed over, they found a young worker's hand caught in a machine.

"AAAAAAAH...!"

The young man screamed in agony. Several of his coworkers tried to help him, attempting to pull his hand free. It was futile. The machine's safety mechanism had locked it in place, and a Tech-Priest would have to come and reset it. Indeed, the Mechanicus had designed the safety mechanism to protect the machine, not the worker.

The Tech-Priest's vox-speaker crackled. "The machine is locked. There is no structural damage. It must be disassembled to remove the foreign object. Based on the external injuries, the arm has retained approximately 86.4% of its physiological function, and that figure will decline over time. Considering the losses from halting production, amputating the arm to remove the foreign object is the optimal solution."

As he finished speaking, the Dark Mechanicus Tech-Priest turned to Peter. He was the one with the greatest authority to decide what happened.

Anthony, who served as Peter's bodyguard, had already reached for his Combat Knife, but Peter stopped him.

Peter walked over and knelt on one knee. He gripped the two mechanical components trapping the worker's hand and silently forced them apart. The young man's arm came free without difficulty.

Peter tore a strip of cloth from the man's clothes and tied it above the wound to prevent blood loss. At the same time, he instructed the manager beside him, "Take him to the hospital and let a doctor assess him. If necessary, he can be fitted with a mechanical prosthesis. We'll provide one free of charge."

The manager wasted no time. He quickly led the worker away.

After the workers had left, the Dark Mechanicus Tech-Priest's vox-speaker crackled again. "The machine requires repairs. The expected downtime is 36 hours. A mechanical prosthesis will also require resources. He is not a senior technician; replacing him with another worker would cost less."

Peter nodded to the Tech-Priest. "I know, but the mortals on our Homeworld need to know that we care about them, even if we're only putting on a show. It'll make them more compliant. I'll make sure this incident gets plenty of publicity."

The Dark Mechanicus Tech-Priest ran through a series of calculations but still couldn't understand the Astartes' conclusion. Following protocol for communicating with an Astartes, he could only reply, "Understood."