The God Has Abandoned You

"Advisor, should we notify Commander Buck to make arrests?" Alpha Priest asked.

"Arrest people?" Rovi glanced at the priest as though he were an idiot.

"We're only the administrators of a granary. What authority do we have to arrest people in the Hive City?"

"Besides, we have no evidence. Based on a mere scent, the Noble Court would treat us as lunatics, then turn us into Servitors on charges of 'defamation.'"

"What should we do, then?"

"We don't need to arrest anyone. We only need to submit the 'accounts.'"

Rovi left the Interrogation Room and entered the Surveillance Room next door.

He activated his personal Communication Terminal.

The Black Ring Governor Alicia had given him.

He began drafting a report.

He did not describe a Xenos invasion in a sensational, exclamation-filled tone.

As a Scribe, he knew what kind of report would best draw the attention of those in charge.

And best protect himself at the same time.

In a professional, calm, somewhat dry bureaucratic tone, he wrote a report titled:

<Risk Assessment and Traceability Analysis of Unknown Biological Contamination in the Human Resources of Granary Seven>.

In the report.

He understated the terrifying Tyranid vanguard Genestealer as "a biological virus capable of reducing labor efficiency while possessing extremely high concealment."

He did not do this because Governor Alicia was ignorant.

Though she might indeed not understand as much as Rovi did.

It was to avoid risk.

"Genestealer" and "Tyranid" were highly sensitive terms.

If Rovi directly wrote, "Genestealer Cult infiltration discovered," in his report:

That would constitute a Level One Xenos invasion alert.

Under Imperial Law.

Once such news leaked, it could very likely draw the attention of the Ordo or an Astartes Chapter.

Their usual method of handling things was not "arresting the infiltrators," but "Exterminatus":

They might directly bombard the planet into oblivion.

Or purge every potentially infected person, including Rovi himself.

But if he wrote "biological virus" and "human resources contamination."

Then it became an "Internal Administrative Incident," a "Local Sanitation and Epidemic Prevention Issue."

That fell within the Governor's jurisdiction.

The Governor could conduct the purge personally, without reporting it to Terra.

Nor would it draw uncontrollable outside forces.

In the report, Rovi listed the following information in detail:

The physiological characteristics of Fourth Generation Hybrids;

Their pheromone bands;

And the distinctive clue of "Noble Incense."

He did not name anyone, nor did he speculate.

He merely "objectively" pointed out the possible social level at which the source of this contamination existed.

Then he advised the Governor's Mansion to conduct an "Internal Sanitation Cleanup."

Once the report was finished, he clicked send.

The data stream crossed hundreds of kilometers in an instant through an Encrypted Channel, arriving directly at the Governor's Spire that pierced the clouds.

After finishing all that, Rovi let out a long breath.

He returned to the Interrogation Room.

Alpha Priest was fretting.

"Advisor, how should we handle these samples? Burn them? It would be a pity to use them as Fuel, but keeping them around is also a hidden danger."

Rovi swept his gaze over the Hybrids.

In his eyes, these monsters were less enemies than resources.

High-risk resources, certainly, but as long as they were properly controlled, they could still produce value.

"Alpha." Rovi said in a low voice, "Weren't you fascinated by the principles behind the Wall of Gluttony?"

The Priest's electronic eye flickered as he replied:

"Yes. The plague's power of decay and the insect race's power of evolution have formed a terrifying dynamic equilibrium on a microscopic level. It is blasphemous, but also... beautiful."

"Theory needs practice to verify it." Rovi pointed at the hybrids. "There are ready-made 'insect race' specimens here. And outside, there's no shortage of plague viruses."

"You want me to..." The Priest's Mechanical Tentacle trembled.

"I want you to develop a 'neutralizing agent'—or perhaps a weapon. If we can master this balance, perhaps we can create armor capable of resisting both the plague and insect race assimilation."

"Th-this is double heresy!" Though the Priest's voice trembled.

Rovi could tell it was from excitement.

"For the Emperor, for survival!" Rovi smoothly brought out that universal line. "As long as the result is good, the Machine God will forgive us for a little 'flexibility' in the process."

After saying that, Rovi walked over to the Fourth Generation.

The other man could no longer speak, but his eyes were filled with hatred.

Rovi crouched down and said in a tone so gentle it was almost cruel:

"Your god abandoned you. Look at you, suffering here, while that Patriarch lurking in the upper levels hasn't sent anyone to save you."

The Fourth Generation's gaze dimmed.

"But I'll give you a chance." Rovi pointed toward the laboratory beside them, filled with all manner of instruments. "Cooperate with the Priest's research. If you survive, if you can prove that your genes are stronger than the plague..."

Rovi paused, then cast out the final bait:

"Perhaps I'll let you see your wife one last time. Of course, from this side of the glass wall."

It was a lie.

Once he entered the laboratory, that man would never walk out again as a "person."

His final destination—

Could only be a pile of data.

A lump of flesh writhing in a petri dish.

But to a drowning man, even a straw was hope.

The Fourth Generation's gaze wavered.

His previously taut muscles relaxed.

A defeated resignation settled over him.

"Take them away." Rovi rose and clapped his hands, as though dusting them off.

Several heavily armed Servitors stepped forward and dragged the hybrids deeper into the laboratory.

Silence returned to the Interrogation Room.

The exhaust fan hummed, struggling to draw away the unsettling smell of blood in the air.

Rovi glanced at the Black Ring on his hand.

It vibrated.

There was only a single short line, sent through Governor Alicia's private channel:

[Well done. The cleanup has begun. What reward do you need?]

Rovi smiled faintly.

The beautiful governor was truly intelligent.

She had not asked for details or raised doubts.

She had not lingered over that report.

She had acted immediately and offered a reward.

That meant there were likely already suspects within the Governor's Mansion.

Rovi's report had merely given her an excuse and an opening to act.

After thinking for a moment, Rovi typed his reply.

He did not ask for money.

He did not ask for a higher position.

Nor did he ask for those flashy but useless medals.

He replied:

[I need a batch of industrial-grade high-temperature incinerators, preferably models used to dispose of highly toxic chemical waste. And... detailed underground structural plans for Granary Nine.]

The next day, by the time Rovi had finished handling the Granary's tedious official business, night had already fallen.

He returned to the Front District Living Area.

He carried three heavy Military Canvas Bags in his hands.

Old John followed behind him with his back hunched, holding up a dim Windproof Lantern.

"Lord Advisor, they're... still crying inside," Old John said in a lowered voice.

Last night's operation to round up the Xenos had been swift and precise.

But for ordinary people, the visual shock of encountering monsters at close range was enough to shatter their sanity.

Rovi said nothing. He merely reached out and pushed open the door.

With a creak, the rusty hinges groaned.

The room was dark.

Only an emergency light in the corner gave off a ghastly white glow.

The three soldiers' widows huddled in the corner of their camp beds.

They wore only thin nightclothes, their eyes vacant.

Their bodies still trembled faintly from the aftereffects of the electric shock and sheer terror.

When they saw Rovi enter, the youngest widow instinctively shrank back, a stifled whimper slipping from her throat.

Rovi did not offer them warm words like some philanthropist.

Nor did he show any unnecessary sympathy.

He walked to the only table and heavily set down the three canvas bags in his hands.

Bang.

The dull sound involuntarily drew the three women's gazes toward it.

"Crying is the privilege of the weak, but in this world, it has no value."

After speaking, Rovi untied the bags and poured their contents onto the table one item at a time.

Three brand-new dark gray uniforms, folded neatly.

The standard attire of official Logistics Department employees.

The fabric was thick, durable, and warm.

There were also three sets of keys with copper tags attached.

They corresponded to single-person dormitories in the core residential area of Granary Seven.

Each had a private bathroom and twenty-four-hour hot water.

There were also three magnetic cards bearing the Golden Double-headed Eagle emblem.

Tier One Supply Cards personally applied for by Rovi.

They meant the women could go to the Officers' Mess every day and receive two compressed biscuits and unlimited Clean Drinking Water.

On Fertility II, those three things combined—

were worth more than their dead husbands' lifetime savings.

It could even be said that they were tickets to "heaven."

The three women stopped crying and stared blankly at the things on the table.

The instinct to survive temporarily overwhelmed their fear of the Xenos.

"You did well last night. Your task as bait is over."

Rovi pulled over a chair and sat down, folding his hands over his knees.

"Now, I have two jobs for you to choose from."

He raised one finger.

"First, take a severance payment, enough to buy roughly two hundred catties of Corpse Starch. Then leave this place and return to the Refugee Camp."

"You're still young. You can still bear children. You can be assigned another husband, then pray that he lives a little longer than the last one, pray that he doesn't get dragged away by Walking Dead in the middle of the night, pray that he doesn't sell you to a gang for half a piece of bread."

The three women's faces instantly turned deathly pale.

They had only just crawled out of hell. They knew all too well what kind of life that was.

Rovi raised his second finger.

"Second, put on these uniforms, move into the single dormitories, eat biscuits and drink clean water every day. You will belong to the Logistics Department and answer directly to me."

"No one will dare harass you again, and no one will dare treat you as tools for venting their desires."

The older widow raised her head tremblingly and asked with some agitation, "What is the price? My lord, you... wouldn't support us for nothing."

"Smart." Rovi nodded approvingly. "The price is that you become my eyes."