Granary Four

"But now, this artery is on the verge of drying up."

Rovi jabbed his pointer sharply.

Pointing to two pitch-black areas on the map.

"Granary Four, once the planet's energy reserve center, held the largest collection of liquid promethium storage tanks on the entire planet."

"Granary Nine, the seed and fertilizer base, was also the primary processing center for corpse starch."

The markers for both areas had gone dark, signifying their total loss.

"According to the last intercepted communications from the Kais Server..." Rovi pointed to the brain jar on the table. "Granary Four and Granary Nine fell a day ago. They're our next destination."

"Esteemed Advisor, what are we going there for?" Old John asked tremulously. "It'll be crawling with monsters."

"That's exactly why it's the richest place around," Rovi calmly countered.

"Plague daemons don't drink promethium fuel, and walking dead don't need drought-resistant seeds."

"Those supplies are up for grabs now, lying there untouched and waiting for someone brave enough to take them."

Buck understood.

The light in his single eye sharpened. "You mean... fight to sustain ourselves?"

"The Adeptus Mechanicus took our supplies. So we'll take them from the dead."

Rovi braced both hands on the table and leaned forward, his presence oppressive.

"We only have enough fuel to last twelve hours. After that, if we don't act, all we can do is wait to become fertilizer."

"Alpha, calculate the odds."

The red light in the Tech-Priest's eyes flickered.

Several Mechanical Tentacles danced swiftly across the console.

"Running logical projections... Target: Granary Four.

"Distance: one hundred and forty kilometers."

"Road conditions: extremely poor, with swamps and ruins throughout."

"Threat level: high."

"Projected returns: enough promethium fuel to keep Granary Seven running for half a year."

"Half a year." Rovi weighed the words. "Worth risking our lives for."

He looked at Buck and asked, "Can you use those two Heavy Boltguns?"

"Anyone with hands can use one." Buck grinned, showing a row of yellow teeth. "But I'll need a vehicle. An ordinary truck can't handle that kind of recoil."

"Alpha." Rovi turned to the Priest. "Take apart a section of the Wall of Gluttony."

The Priest's mechanical eye contracted sharply in confusion.

"I want you to graft it onto the front of our Chimera Personnel Carriers and turn it into reactive armor. I want our convoy to be able to smash straight through those bloated Ogres."

Alpha was silent for two seconds before replying:

"Understood, Advisor. This will take time. At least four hours."

"I'll give you three." Rovi held up three fingers. "Old John, go recruit people from among the refugees. The brave ones, the ones who aren't afraid to die."

"Tell them that when we get back from this operation, everyone will get double rations of Synth-Starch Blocks, plus real canned meat. The few crates hidden under the Drop Pods."

Old John swallowed and nodded firmly.

"No problem. For canned meat, they'd bite a daemon in the ass."

The meeting ended within ten minutes.

No pointless chatter, no rousing speeches.

Everyone moved like a cog in a precision machine, quickly engaging and turning.

That was the pace Rovi wanted.

For Granary Seven as it stood, efficiency was life.

Two hours later, in the Repair Workshop.

The Metal Wall, which had once wreaked havoc on the battlefield and devoured a Plague Ogre.

Now lay cut into several thick armor plates.

Even detached from the main body, the plates retained a bizarre vitality.

Purple-red tendrils writhed along the cut edges, as if they were still breathing.

Priest Alpha directed several servitors as they welded the Living Armor onto the fronts and sides of two Chimera Personnel Carriers.

Whenever the welding torch's heat touched the armor, it oozed a layer of viscous grease with a sizzling sound.

It sounded like a scream, or perhaps a cry of excitement.

Buck was directing his men as they secured the two Heavy Boltguns to the turret rings on the vehicle roofs.

"Keep it steady! The recoil on this thing could shatter your shoulder!" Buck bellowed. "Wipe down the Belt Feed! Don't let even a grain of sand jam it!"

Rovi stood in the elevated corridor, looking down over it all.

His fingers absently rubbed the Black Ring.

"Kais," he murmured into the air.

A burst of static crackled in his earpiece, followed by a synthesized, emotionless electronic voice.

"I'm here, Advisor. The Logistics Data Link is connected."

"What did the environmental scan around Granary Four find?"

"Reassembling data fragments..." The Kais Server paused.

"Warning, Advisor. In the central ruins of Granary Four, in addition to signals characteristic of plague organisms, an unknown, concealed High-Frequency Signal Fluctuation has been detected."

Rovi frowned slightly. "Is it Chaos as well?"

"Negative. The waveform does not match Warp thermal reactions. It is colder, more precise."

Kais's brain searched desperately through his memories from before his death.

"It somewhat resembles deep-scan waves from a mining zone, or perhaps a Genestealer Bio-Beacon. There is insufficient data to be certain."

Rovi's heart sank.

If they were dealing with nothing but mindless walking dead of Nurgle, he was eighty percent certain they could charge in with heavy firepower and Living Armor, grab what they needed, and get out.

But if there was a third faction...

Genestealers.

Or some unknown Xenos cult.

At a chaotic juncture like this, any unexpected complication could prove fatal.

"Mark that signal and send it to Buck," Rovi ordered. "Tell him that once we're inside, if he can't identify a target, he should shoot first and ask questions later."

"Understood."

Three hours later.

The rain had eased a little.

But the sky remained overcast.

The north gate of Granary Seven slowly opened, its rusty gears grinding.

An odd convoy drove out through the defenses.

At the head were two heavily modified Chimera Personnel Carriers.

Their fronts were covered in Bio-Armor, still throbbing faintly.

The grotesque face of the devoured Ogre was still faintly recognizable on it.

The Heavy Boltguns stood tall on the roofs, their dark muzzles aimed into the distance.

Behind them came five transport trucks converted from civilian models.

Giant empty fuel tanks had been welded into their beds, surrounded by sandbags. Dozens of fully armed "recruits" crouched on top.

They wore ill-fitting carapace armor.

They clutched their brand-new Lasguns tightly.

Their movements were still a little stiff.

Fear of the unknown flickered in their eyes.

But at least they were no longer helpless refugees waiting to be slaughtered.

Rovi sat in the command seat of the first Chimera.

Through the narrow observation slit, he surveyed the desolate wasteland outside.

The fields of golden wheat that should have been there had turned into stretches of gray-black swamp.

The withered crops reached toward the sky like ghostly hands.

Every so often, he spotted a few mutated crows pecking at corpses by the roadside.

"This is the Imperium's lifeblood," Rovi murmured.

Long dead.

Oozing pus.

And still it had to be drained of every last drop of value.

"All units, attention."

Rovi pressed the communicator. His voice was calm and steady as it traveled through the static to every vehicle.

"Keep your distance. Speed, forty. We're not going there to die. We're going to pick up supplies."

"Buck, keep your finger under control. Don't waste all your ammunition before you even see an enemy."

"Copy that, Advisor." Buck's voice sounded muffled, probably because he was wearing a Respirator Mask. "I think I see something big up ahead!"

Rovi narrowed his eyes.

About five hundred meters ahead, a massive shadow flickered in and out of the fog.

It was a toppled Harvester, as tall as a three-story building.

But now, some kind of fleshy Fungal Carpet had completely covered it.

Countless flies circled around it, forming a black whirlwind.

Beneath that whirlwind, something seemed to be watching them.

Rovi touched his chest.

The Amulet Fragment of Nurgle beneath the lead plate had begun to grow faintly warm.

But he didn't order the convoy to stop.

"That's a road sign," Rovi said coldly. "Drive through it."

The engines roared, and the tracks churned up mud.

The Chimera, armored with the Wall of Gluttony,

charged into the fog, bellowing like a crazed steel beast.