The tax collector and the collapse of his worldview
After three years, the ship Tithe appeared again.
Adeptus Arbites Tax Collector Makarov was in an extremely bad mood when his cruiser "Glutton" jumped out from Warp.
The tax collection missions on the first seven colonized planets were like a puddle of fermented synthetic mush.
Planetary Governors either hid their tax grains in a bunker hundreds of meters underground, or took all their belongings and defected to the rebel warlords. The most ridiculous thing is that one of them actually wanted to assassinate himself, the tax collector!
Do they think that if they die, Tithe will be free?
The escaped Makarov directly asked Strike Cruiser to conduct orbital bombing of this Hive City.
Finally, they led people to hang the governor's family on the street lamp of Starport.
In the past three years, Makarov has continued to lose manpower, and its tax situation is worrying.
His superiors were extremely dissatisfied with his collection situation.
When all the above situations are added together, it's crazy how good Makarov's mood can be.
The superiors clearly told him: If he went back empty-handed at the last stop, he would be the next person to be hung from the street lamp.
S-Sey 4 is the last stop.
Makarov has prepared for the worst.
He came here three years ago. At that time, the counter-insurgency war had just ended. The entire planet was bombed and riddled with holes. Starport only had half of the bombed-out port left. The governor couldn't even get a Bison Troop Carrier that could run.
He relented for a moment and casually said he would postpone it for three years.
Now Makarov regrets that the tax collection progress is far behind.
"Sir, the jump is complete, ahead is Si-Sai No. 4." The navigator's voice interrupted Makarov's thoughts.
Makarov rubbed his eyebrows and walked to the porthole.
The planet is still a gray industrial planet, with black smoke from factories floating in the atmosphere. It looks the same as it did three years ago.
But when the cruiser approached Starport, Makarov was stunned.
Starport There are four cruisers parked neatly inside.
The Seizers Lunar-class Cruiser, Oath of Courage Ambition-class Cruiser, "Retribution" Punisher-class Strike Cruiser, and Strike Cruiser of Iron Warriors!
In addition, there are eight Destroyers surrounding them in a warning formation. The muzzles of the Sharp Blade, Heavy Hammer, and Anvil are slightly raised, maintaining a combat posture ready to fire at any time.
On the track farther away, hundreds of small trading ships were lined up waiting to enter the port, which looked very lively.
"Did we jump to the wrong galaxy?" Makarov turned to look at the navigator.
"Sir, the navigation coordinates are absolutely correct, it is Si-Sai No. 4." The navigator said with great certainty.
Makarov became increasingly confused.
Something is wrong.
Something is so wrong.
But he has been a tax collector for a hundred years and has never seen any big storms.
Makarov snorted coldly and grabbed Bolter from his waist, "Take a platoon of Adeptus Arbites soldiers and follow me down to have a look. Others are on standby to help me."
"I want to see what this damn place that couldn't even afford food three years ago can do."
As soon as the shuttle passed through the clouds, two high-speed approaching light spots popped up on the radar.
Two strange-looking fighter planes emerged from the clouds, one on the left and one on the right attached to both sides of the shuttle.
They are slenderer than the Empire's standard Thunderbolt Fighter, their wings are swept back at a sharp angle, and missile pylons are hung under the wings. The smooth lines of the fuselage are not like the Empire's usual rough industrial style.
"Report your identity immediately, otherwise you will be shot down." A cold voice came from the communication channel, and the tone was not a request, but a warning.
Makarov stared at the two fighter planes for a long time.
If it weren't for the eye-catching Imperial Aquila printed on the wings, he almost thought he had encountered an aerial unit of some unconquered Xenomorph civilization.
He verified his identity honestly and found that the two fighter planes did not leave, but escorted the shuttle to land, one on the left and the other on the right.
The landing place was not the Governor's Office tarmac of Upper Hive three years ago, but a newly built military airport.
There are many fighter jets parked here, and a little further away, there are Valkyrie, Stormbird and even Thunderhawk Gunship!
When did this place become so wealthy?
Makarov's doubts are getting deeper and deeper.
The air force here is no longer what a Hive City should have.
You know, in many cases, even Rogue Trader may not own a Thunderhawk Gunship, let alone a flying vehicle like Stormbird that can only be used by the Space Marine legion.
But there are not only them here, but there are a lot of them!
In the distance, Makarov saw rows of anti-aircraft gun positions, with their muzzles pointing straight into the sky.
Soldiers with live ammunition patrolling the runway, holding in their hands is not the Lasgun that comes standard with the empire, but seems to be Hellgun!
Wait, when did this kind of weapon become commonplace? I don't even have many on hand.
Makarov looked at the dark muzzles of the guns through the portholes, and silently swallowed back the thought he had originally prepared to hang the Governor's street lamp.
What came to pick them up was not a troop carrier, but a convoy.
The shape is very ---- simple.
Even people like Makarov, who have no aesthetic taste, think these cars are very good.
Makarov got into the lead car and sank into the soft leather seat.
The automatic air conditioner blew a cool breeze, and transparent bottles of drinking water were placed on the armrests.
The driver, wearing a neatly pressed black uniform and white gloves, said nothing during the entire process.
Makarov felt alarm bells ringing in his heart. None of the Hive Citys he went to received such treatment!
Most of the time, Planetary Governor would just send someone to drive a leaky Bison Troop Carrier to receive him. The seats were made of hard Plastisteel. The car was full of the smell of diesel and sweat. The driver was a strong man or a big-headed soldier covered in oil.
Looking back here, it can only be described as extravagant!
"Have the people here been bewitched by Cultists?" Makarov winked at his subordinates and put his hand on Bolter.
The motorcade drove into Hive City urban area.
The streets are clean and tidy, and there are no garbage or homeless people everywhere.
The street trees are lush and green, and instead of flowers, cabbage and lettuce are planted under the trees!
There are no roses in the flower beds in the central square, but potatoes are planted in neat rows.
Makarov's mouth twitched. "Is this an industrial Hive City or an agricultural planet?"
The traffic on the street is dense, and most of them are pickup trucks made of the same solid leather, with various colors, and all kinds of outrageous graffiti painted on the body: a fire-breathing dragon, a grinning skeleton, an advertisement of "Paradise Island Resort welcomes you", and a signboard that says "Old Jack grilled insect legs, if they are not delicious, no charge".
Several military vehicles passed by, and the Heavy Autogun in the truck body was not dismantled. People around seemed accustomed to this.
If you switch to the doomsday punk style, Makarov will be more accustomed to it.
The orderly order here makes Makarov very uncomfortable.
Neon signs were hung from the street to the end of the street, and vendors pushed carts along the street to sell goods.
On the street, there are synthetic products, locally produced energy bars, various small household appliances, and even a stall selling Precision Manufacturing mechanical prosthetics.
Pedestrians crowded on the street, mostly workers and small businessmen in overalls. Occasionally, you could see a few veterans wearing mechanical prostheses.
Prosperity.
Unprecedented prosperity.
But prosperity is like a joke. Makarov always feels that something is wrong, but can't explain it.
The fleet did not go to Governor's Office, but went directly to the Lower Hive factory.
Makarov waited in the reception room for a full thirty minutes, his face getting increasingly ugly.
He is the official tax collector of the empire Adeptus Arbites. When will it be the governor of a remote planet's turn to make him wait?
Just when he was about to slam the table and leave, the roar of the Valkyrie gunboat came from outside.
The hatch opened, and a tall man of two and a half meters tall filed out.
The gray-black Power Armour and Bolter were hung on the waist, and the ground was shaking slightly.
Makarov's eyes almost popped out of his head.
Adeptus Astartes? Why are they here?
Then he saw Fu Haoran walking in the middle.
The human governor who was less than 1.8 meters tall and looked weak three years ago is now over 2.5 meters tall, half a head taller than Space Marine next to him.
The exposed forearm muscle knots, the Power Armour interface embedded in the shoulder, and the nerve socket in the back of the neck are clearly visible.
"Your Excellency Makarov, I've been waiting for a long time." Fu Haoran stretched out his hand.
Makarov shook his hand subconsciously and felt that his hand was clamped by an iron pliers.
"You----how did you become like this?" he asked in a voice.
"As you can see." Fu Haoran said lightly, "Iron Warriors Legion is recruiting soldiers here, so I volunteered myself and underwent Astartes transformation surgery."
Makarov suddenly realized it, and then sneered in his heart.
It's a good idea. If he becomes Adeptus Astartes, the empire Adeptus Arbites can't touch him casually.
In order to avoid the penalty for tax arrears, he actually dares to take such a big risk. He is really a lunatic.
Makarov was about to take out Adeptus Arbites's rack and give the daring governor a good beating, when Fu Haoran had already turned around and walked towards the warehouse.
"Let's go, Mr. Makarov, let's start the delivery."
Makarov thought he heard wrongly.
Until the door of the warehouse, which was larger than Starport, slowly opened. Ammunition boxes were stacked from the floor to the ceiling. Fuel tanks were arranged in a neat square array as far as the eye could see. Synthetic food, medical supplies, and building materials were covered with tarpaulins, like hills.
Wade handed over Manifest: "Please check, they are all here."
"The extra 20,000 tons of ammunition will be considered as a prepayment of next year's taxes."
Makarov stood in front of the pile of materials and hesitated to speak.
Three years ago, this place was so poor that they could eat dirt. How come they are so rich three years later?
He has been a tax collector for so many years, and this is the first time someone told him, "Anything more is considered a prepayment."
"I----I want to visit Lower Hive." Makarov calmed down and made his request.
He had to figure out where this madman got so many supplies.
Fu Haoran readily agreed, "Please do."
The sight of Lower Hive completely shattered the last bit of Makarov's worldview.
White smoke billows from the factory chimneys, and the roar of machines is deafening.
All workers on the assembly line are bald, without exception.
But they move very quickly.
Wait, why do you have three arms and the mutation is so serious?!
Makarov's hand instantly pressed on Bolter's waist.
There is indeed a problem here!
OK, this governor colluded with Xenomorph and turned Under-hivers into a monster.
Makarov feels that he has figured out the truth.
Just when Makarov was about to take action, he saw this group of people in front of Fu Haoran, and immediately stopped what he was doing, lowered his head piously, and shouted, "For the Emperor! For the Governor!"
Fu Haoran waved to them, and the workers burst into cheers, turned around and worked harder.
A woman Genestealers with three arms walked out of the workshop.
She was wearing a floral skirt, a plastic flower in her hair, and bright red nail polish on all three arms.
She bowed to Fu Haoran first, then turned to look at Makarov, grinned, revealing two rows of sharp teeth, and gave her a wink.
Makarov The hairs all over his body stood up.
"Your Majesty the Governor, I need an explanation." Makarov said through gritted teeth.
"Here I am, they are the best workers in the empire." Fu Haoran said calmly, "They don't need wages, they don't need social security, they won't go on strike, they work sixteen hours a day, and they only need energy bars and water to survive."
"Machine Cult's arsenal is not as efficient as this."
Fu Haoran pointed at the rifle parts on the assembly line, "A standard arsenal worker produces twenty barrels a day, but they each produce a hundred and twenty barrels a day, and the scrap rate is less than one percent."
Makarov looked at the three rapidly moving arms, and then looked at the mountains of industrial products.
He wanted to take out his gun, but he also knew that he needed these products to return to life.
Makarov struggled for a long time and finally let go of the gun handle.
Later, Fu Haoran led the angry Makarov to review the troops handed over as Tithe.
That's right, they are all Genestealers, neatly arranged.
Confused Makarov checked the soldier's genes.
The genes are very pure, with no human genes at all.
Makarov once again had the idea of shooting the governor in front of him, but luckily his reason told him that he would never be able to draw the gun faster than a Space Marine.
Seeing Makarov's anger, confusion and entanglement, Fu Haoran comforted him, "This is also a helpless move. For the sake of the Emperor's great cause, sometimes we can only make compromises."
"I was forced to take this step."
Makarov agreed with this, "Yes, if possible, I propose to shoot your whole family."
Fu Haoran smiled and said, "Sir, your proposal will not be passed."
The visit was over, Makarov got in the car again and returned to Mid-Hive.
The motorcade turned a corner, and Makarov's eyes suddenly opened up.
On the empty plain, a nearly 100-meter-tall Emperor-class Titan stood there quietly.
The church on the back still bears the black marks of the explosion. The muzzle of Volcano Cannon is vertical to the ground, and countless mechanical slaves and workers are busy on it.
Makarov's jaw almost dropped to the ground for the third time.
He stared at the Titan for a full minute, opened his mouth twice without making a sound, and finally choked out. "Where did you get that?"
"Someone gave it to me." Fu Haoran said without blushing or heartbeat.
Makarov opened his mouth and closed it again.
He didn't want to ask anymore, because the more he knew, the faster he would die.
Makarov silently added a line to his tax collection report: This Planetary Governor owns a Emperor-class Titan, and it is recommended that the threat level be raised to the highest level.
In the next three days, Makarov achieved the highest work efficiency in his career. All tax verifications were completed within three days, and the speed was so fast that his followers were stunned.
"That--you don't need to pay the late payment fee." Makarov wiped the sweat from his forehead, "You just need to pay taxes on time in the future. You really don't need to pay it."
"How can that be done?" Fu Haoran said with a serious face, "The rules of the empire cannot be broken, and the due points must not be less."
"Rules are dead, people are alive!" Makarov was anxious, "You can keep those materials to expand the army! I am not in a hurry! The empire is not in a hurry either!"
The attendant reminded in a low voice, "Sir, we still have seventeen forms to fill out, as well as the factory's qualification review----"
Makarov glared. "Fill in whatever you want! Just go back and I'll sign it! There's so much nonsense!"
He just wants to get out of this hellish place as soon as possible.
Before leaving, Fu Haoran warmly invited him to review the army.
Makarov stood on the reviewing stand, looking at the rows of gray and black Power Armor Space Marine walking past in formation, Bolter raised in unison, the steps were uniform, and the ground was shaking.
His legs are a little weak.
When the transport ship left the atmosphere, Makarov looked back at the gray-blue planet that was gradually moving away. "Sir, how do you write a report?" the adjutant asked.
Makarov was silent for a long time. "Just say that the tax situation of Planet S-Ser 4 is good, and the Governor Fu Haoran is loyal and reliable."
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He paused and added, "But it is recommended that the empire pays close attention."
Makarov stood on the bridge, watching the Sri Lankan No. 4 gradually shrinking in the porthole.
For the first time in his life, he hoped that a planet would disappear from sight soon.
Mission accomplished.
He should be happy, but he always feels like something is wrong.
Fu Haoran pays taxes too happily. It seems that he is not paying taxes but clearing inventory.
Makarov suppressed this uneasiness in his heart.
Anyway, the goods are genuine.
The numbers are real.
He Makarov didn't go back empty-handed, that's enough.
At the same time, Genestealer people were praying in the crew cabins of the three transport ships.
The leading archbishop squatted in the cargo hold at the bottom. On the portable communicator in front of him, the holographic image of Fu Haoran had just disappeared.
"After entering Warp, take control of the transport ship, cut off all external communications, and redirect it to Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar."
This is the order just given by Master Intercessor, and it is also the planet Intercessor promised to them.
The Archbishop grinned, revealing two rows of sharp teeth.
"The Holy War is about to begin."
Genestealer people didn't know that a certain shady governor pushed them from one fire pit to another, bigger fire pit.