Golden wheat fields stretched to the ends of the earth. This endless golden sea covered the entire planet. From space, it looked like an incredibly beautiful painting.
Gold, green, and deep red blended across the land. These colors weren't toxic wastewater spewed out by the factories of a Forge World, but the life force of nature itself—a land that nourished the people of the entire system.
This was an Agri-World, an immensely important world in the Imperium of Man. Why? Simple. People got hungry if they didn't eat, and if they stayed hungry long enough, they died. Right? Exactly. That was the reason.
Every Agri-World was a granary for the billions of people in its system. The Imperium's food supplies all came from Agri-Worlds, and usually each system had only one, or at most three. The survival of every Agri-World was tied to the survival of its entire system.
If an Agri-World fell, the Imperial planets across the system—with their unthinkably vast populations—would descend into civil war, chaos, and riots as people starved. Forget facing the great enemy on the horizon; they'd slaughter one another in civil war over what little food remained.
To feed these hungry Imperial worlds and prevent their enormous populations from erupting into rebellion, the Imperium's Agri-Worlds did one thing, simply put: they used the entire planet for farming and nothing else.
Mountains were leveled, oceans filled in, and the planet's entire surface was covered in crops: wheat, fruit trees, and every other agricultural product improved by the Adeptus Mechanicus' biological artisans. Crops stretched to the ends of the earth. The entire population harvested and gathered the abundant food, kept enough for themselves, and sent the rest to the system's Governor's Palace.
Year after year, for countless generations, unending streams of transport ships came and went, carrying the food grown here to Imperial worlds throughout the system. The planet's orbit was crowded, and both the Starport and the surface airports were incredibly busy.
Even so, the silver shuttle found a free spot. The long, system-bound craft slowly descended from the sky, flames belching from the vector thrusters at its rear. It whipped up a vast cloud of dust from the surface, filling the hangar with billowing haze.
The old landing-pad supervisor stepped out of his office, cursing as he waved away the dust in front of him. He watched the shuttle settle smoothly onto the pad. Its thrusters gradually cooled, and the hatch swung open.
A man stepped down from the deck. He wore a black jacket and a red scarf, and the Bolter and ammunition hanging from his waist swayed as he walked. He looked like a mercenary.
"What can I do for you?" the old supervisor asked. The man smiled and tossed him a silver Imperial card. "Keep an eye on my ship. It needs refueling, and there's money on the card."
As he passed the old man, he gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. "Anything left over is yours, so don't let the local punks steal anything, got it?"
The old man smiled and tucked the silver card into his clothes. "Got it. Your name? If you don't mind telling me. By order of the governor, every ship that lands has to be registered."
"Of course, I can do that too."
"No, there's no need. I'm Vito, Vito Constantine, Rogue Trader." Vito smiled. His smile was radiant and friendly, and the old man smiled and nodded. "Of course, of course. A Rogue Trader."
Vito smiled with satisfaction, then walked out of the hangar. Bright sunlight poured down from above, and he had to raise a hand to shield his eyes before he could look at the sky.
He had to admit, the weather on this Agri-World was excellent. Clear skies stretched for miles, and there was no red dust from excessive pesticide use. The whole world seemed natural and harmonious. The worlds near Ultramar really are quite nice.
Vito lowered his head and surveyed the busy street. Most of the people here were local farmers. Agricultural vehicles drove back and forth, while plainly dressed farmers came and went, walking between the roadside stalls and shops to buy the good things that had appeared at the market that day.
As Vito walked down the street, his Bolter swung against his thigh. He looked over everything around him. He had to admit, the place surprised him.
Public order in the Victoria System was unusually good. Unlike most Imperial worlds, where the Adeptus Arbites could find enough to keep them furious for days, things here seemed remarkably peaceful. There were no Imperial enforcers patrolling the streets or mercenaries carrying guns. If anything, he was the odd one out.
But Vito soon realized he'd been too quick to judge. As he walked along the street, he happened to spot three young street punks gathered around a stall, shouting something in rough Low Gothic. And that accent! Vito was sure that if Inquisitor Amberly Vail were here, she'd have a few scathing remarks about their awful pronunciation.
Speaking of which, what was that girl up to these days? The last time he'd seen her was on Riemunda, wasn't it? He remembered helping Amberly take out the local Genestealer Cult patriarch with the Deathwatch boys.
Oh, Vito also remembered Ragnar howling like a lunatic while firing wildly and hacking through Purestrain Genestealers with his Chainsword.
He thought Amberly had mentioned someone to him back then—someone she found interesting, or rather, someone she was interested in. A Commissar named Cain.
But it had been years since he'd seen the lovely Miss Vail. Well, maybe it's better if I don't see her. That crazy woman is just as good at causing trouble as I am.
I'm always the one causing trouble for other people. Nobody causes trouble for me!
Anyway, those punks looked like they might be interesting. Vito went closer and immediately heard their awful language clearly.
"Hey, you old bastard! I told you, you have to pay the Harvester Gang! This is our turf!" shouted a bald young man, shaking his fist. The old man gave a disdainful snort. "I already paid you once. I gave it to Locke." "Bullshit! Locke's dead! He died months ago!" "What's that got to do with me? I already paid."
The old man stood his ground. "Go ask him for it. I don't know if that bastard gave you the money, but I don't care. Now get lost."
"You're gonna pay us again! Or we'll break your useless legs, old man!" shouted the stylishly coiffed young punk, pulling out a metal baton that looked just like one the enforcers carried.
"I don't have any money! You could kill me and I still wouldn't have any! I'm sick of you bastards! Everyone comes around asking for money! I swear, I'll go straight to Antonio and tell him what you idiots are doing!"
The name Antonio clearly angered—or perhaps frightened—them. But after a brief hesitation, one of the punks raised his baton and swung it at the old man.
The old man startled and nearly fell over, but he soon realized he didn't need to run. A hand had caught the baton. The old man and the three punks all turned to look at the newcomer in the black jacket.
"Who the hell are you? Get lost, outsider!" the bald punk shouted furiously. Vito looked at them with amusement, glancing at the money pouch on the bald man's belt.
"Old man, I'm guessing the local gang already collected their tax, right?" Vito asked. The old man nodded blankly. "Yeah, they collected it, but they—"
"A bunch of idiots who think they're clever, trying to collect a second time behind their boss's back," Vito said with a smile. The bald punk flew into a rage, pulled out a knife, and roared, "Who do you think you are? The taxman?!"
The bald punk stabbed at Vito's stomach in a fury, but Vito punched the punk holding the baton in the face. As the man staggered back, Vito wrested the baton from him.
Vito didn't dodge. He lunged forward and twisted the bald man's arm with his elbow. As the man screamed, he heard his arm break. The bald man still had time to curse before Vito hooked his leg and knocked him down, then slammed the baton into his shiny head.
The bald man hit the ground hard and instantly lost consciousness. The stylishly coiffed punk cursed and threw a punch, but Vito hit him in the jaw even faster. The punk lost his balance and crashed into the wall, then Vito struck him in the back with the baton. A second blow, then a third—Vito kept beating him like a dog.
The third punk stood frozen, too scared to step in, merely watching from the side. The one-sided street brawl finally ended only when his companion begged for mercy at the top of his lungs.
"Enough, enough! Stop!" the punk screamed. Vito did stop, giving him an amused look before tossing the baton aside.
He bent down and pulled the heavy money pouch from the bald man's belt, then waved a hand. His meaning couldn't have been clearer.
The two punks still on their feet immediately hauled their companion up and fled the stall. Vito opened the pouch and tossed a few golden Imperial coins to the old man.
The old man stared uncertainly at the coins in his hand, then looked up at Vito. Vito gave him a radiant smile and clapped his hands. "All right, I have a question, old man. How do I find this Antonio?"
"Is this because of those punks? Are you a new enforcer?" The old man got to his feet and rubbed his back. Vito shrugged. "No, but I don't mind discussing your troubles with him too. I have something else I need to see him about, though. Can you tell me where he is?"
The old man stared at the coins in his hand, then looked up at Vito in surprise. "Why did you help me? You're an outsider." "An outsider who likes to help people. But I do expect something in return for my help. Now it's your turn. Where's Antonio?"
As he spoke, Vito straightened his collar, looking perfectly at ease. The old man looked him up and down, especially at the Bolter, which made him pause.
"He's at the Green Lizard Bar near the settlement. At least, that's where he usually is. But I don't think the Tiger Claw Gang will let you see him." "Don't worry. I have plenty of confidence in my powers of persuasion and personal charm."
Vito waved a hand, then headed toward the end of the street. "Enjoy the rest of your day."
The old man watched Vito walk away, then glanced at the phone beneath his stall. After hesitating for a moment, he sat down and leaned back in his chair. "Let them handle it."
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