Development Bottleneck

Peter and Anthony, clad in power armour, strode with heavy but swift steps from the landing pad toward the heavy industrial zone. Their armour gleamed with a silver sheen under the sunlight.

In truth, ever since supplies became abundant, all battle-brothers had kept their weapons and armour in excellent condition. After all, they were Iron Warriors by origin, and their craftsmanship in forging and maintenance surpassed that of most Legions. Now the Veterans were passing this experience on to the Neophytes, though the latter's aptitude varied widely.

As soon as he stepped off the Storm Eagle, Peter removed his helmet. A nearly bald factory manager and a low-ranking Dark Mechanicus Tech-Priest approached. They saluted the two and introduced themselves: "Honoured Forged Steel Angels, welcome to the factory. I am the manager here." The manager, trembling with deference, briefed Peter and Filon on the factory's basic situation.

The group then inspected the production line. Massive stamping presses roared as they shaped steel plates into car bodies. Servitors used laser welders on their arms to fuse metal components together in a shower of sparks, every step executed with precision.

The factory employed a workforce combining manual labour and Servitors, enabling round-the-clock production of cars, trucks, and motorcycles. Another line produced small-to-medium-sized atmospheric jet aircraft.

Sweating profusely, the factory manager said, "The workers fully understand the importance of these vehicles. We've been running two shifts, working overtime to keep up."

But at that moment, the Tech-Priest beside him, clad in a rust-red robe, spoke through the grille on his throat: "Error. Current factory efficiency is 73.37% of projections. Further improvement is possible."

Peter said nothing. He simply walked over to a section of the line. A female worker, wearing a mask and gripping a spray gun, was focused on painting a truck door. She startled when she noticed the Space Marine beside her.

Peter paid her no mind. He examined the steel-formed door, then extended his index finger and jabbed it hard. A deep dent remained.

After all, these were merely civilian vehicles. Even automatic weapons could punch right through them. Such vehicles were fine for transporting people and goods within a planet, but only the poorest rebels would mount machine guns on them and call them armoured cars.

Peter let out a soft sigh, making the manager flinch. The Dark Mechanicus Tech-Priest beside him stood motionless, showing neither joy nor sorrow.

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

Peter looked at the manager and said, "No. You've done well. I salute the workers' hard efforts, Factory Manager."

The manager quickly thanked him: "It is our honour to serve the Angels."

Peter asked again, "How is the workers' food?"

The manager replied, "They eat well. Mostly Corpse Starch and synthetic food, along with canned seaweed and other algae, supplemented by fish protein blocks. Occasionally, there's wheat bread and alcohol."

By Imperial standards, this was actually decent fare. In fact, the Corpse Starch produced from refining Promethium on Limnos III alone could feed the entire planet's population. Almost no one on the planet went hungry. This was one advantage of being backed by a Forge World, though the planet's population could not remain at just over ten million forever.

The Dark Mechanicus had prioritized developing maritime shipping and the automotive industry. With these vehicles, the planet could transport goods and raw materials. Next, they would build the power grid, Promethium pipelines, and scale up textiles, chemicals, and other industries. As development expanded further, railways and high-speed maglev trains would follow, allowing people and cargo to cross the continent in far less time.

Groundside development proceeded methodically, but in space, things were different. Since the last handover with the Exchange Magos, the starport's construction had made little progress. Only a few Servitors and a handful of Tech-Priests went through the motions of building.

Most of the Dark Mechanicus personnel had gone to Limnos IV. There, they worked overtime, establishing several mines on the planet's surface and building a starport in orbit. When Peter learned this, he realized the Dark Mechanicus's fifty-year deadline had massive built-in redundancy.

Peter asked the manager, "Any difficulties in production?"

The manager quickly replied, "No, my lord. Of course not."

Peter frowned slightly and said, "I want the truth, Factory Manager. If you have difficulties, I'll help you solve them. If not, it'll be a different story when production targets come down."

The manager glanced at the silent Dark Mechanicus Tech-Priest. He knew the priest had backing, but he did not: "My lord, there are indeed problems. Most of this planet's natives don't understand High Gothic. Communicating with them is very difficult."

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

Peter nodded and replied, "I'll resolve it soon."

The group continued inspecting the aircraft line. As they observed one section, an accident suddenly occurred. A scream came from the adjacent line. When Peter's group arrived, they found a young worker's hand caught in a machine.

"Aaaah...!"

The young male worker screamed in agony. Several coworkers tried to help him, attempting to free his hand. It was futile. The machine had triggered its safety lock, requiring a Tech-Priest to reset it. Yes, the Mechanicus-designed safety mechanism protected the machine, not the worker.

Seeing this, the nearby Tech-Priest spoke through his grille: "The machine is locked. No structural damage. The foreign object must be removed by disassembling the machine. Based on trauma assessment, the arm's biological function retention is approximately 86.4%, decreasing over time. Considering downtime losses, severing the arm and removing the object is the optimal solution."

With that, the Dark Mechanicus Tech-Priest turned to Peter. He was the one with the authority to decide here.

Anthony, acting as bodyguard, had already drawn his combat knife. But Peter directly stopped Anthony's motion.

Peter walked over, knelt on one knee, and grabbed the two machine parts trapping the worker's hand. He silently exerted force, prying the gap wider. The young man's arm came out smoothly.

Peter tore a strip of cloth from the worker's clothes and tied it above the wound to stop the bleeding. He instructed the manager beside him, "Take him to the hospital. Let the doctor decide. If necessary, he can get a mechanical prosthetic. We'll provide it free of charge."

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

After the workers left, the Dark Mechanicus Tech-Priest spoke through his grille:

"The machinery requires repairs, with an estimated downtime of 36 hours. The same goes for the mechanical prosthetics—he is not a senior technician, and replacing the worker would be more cost-effective."

Peter nodded to the Tech-Priest:

"I know, but we need to let the mortals on the Homeworld know that we care about them, even if it's just for show. This will make the mortals more compliant, and I'll heavily publicize this matter afterward."

The Dark Mechanicus Tech-Priest ran a series of calculations but still could not comprehend the Astartes' conclusion. Bound by protocol for communicating with Astartes, he could only reply:

"Understood."