40 Thousand Reasons

Chapter 38: Bed story

My fleet didn't depart as one from Estaban, because there was no reason to and good reasons against it.

The Litany and 4 destroyers were almost in perfect repair, and the same for the Antax-made corvettes, so Finona took that fleet and left for our home in the fringe as soon as possible, with extra servitors and tech-priests supplied by Estaban.

Another squad of 5 destroyers and 200 more corvettes departed once the ground battle ended, filled with weaponry and tanks and a few regiments in better shape.

And once the promised year of medical torture had finished, the Canticle and 200 more corvettes were repaired, supplied and ready to go.

The last batch of destroyers and damaged corvettes stayed behind with my brother Veryon in command, waiting for longer and difficult repairs, as well as a promised Universe_Class_Mass_Conveyor filled with goodies for my empire in the east.

These ships will be also upgraded to the latest Estaban 3 pattern, the one with Volcano Cannons. Yes, the destroyers will receive two of those lance batteries as well, with the extra reactors.

The design of the classic Cobra destroyers only allowed a single lance battery at the prow, beside the torpedoes. Not anymore.

The discovery of a relic King Cobra-pattern destroyer surprised absolutely nobody, and I even managed to fix some design flaws in the ship itself, installing a dozen macrocannons on the sides in two triple barrel batteries per side, the new gravity fed model; then extra armor skirts to the sides for plasma and acid deflection, a few more bulkheads around the reactor and the bridge, slightly better sensors and auguries, and a secondary Gellar field with the Estaban trade mark Blank Machine Spirit Power Shield protecting it from Warp interference by 21 percent.

Add to this the improved anti-fighter defenses with multi-lasers and hunter-killer missiles, and a destroyer could now actually do its job as escort vessel.

Nothing fundamentally different, but once this pattern spread into the Imperium, the Navy destroyers will receive a substantial increase in firepower and some extra resilience.

The Iron Hands selected a few thousands crippled for their Aspirant testing, volunteers only. Curiously, not all those selected by the Iron Hands agreed to become mechanical Astartes.

Gyron has informed that another pair of transport ships will head towards Ryza and Triplex Phall, the final loading procedure and incense blessing to praise the Omnissiah taking place right now.

So, I told him about my own blessing and what Estaban have discovered.

He wasn't all that happy at the news, expecting a whole lot of trouble from the Emperor's worshipers.

My mentor was right, much like always. I now had five former sisters serving on board the Canticle as medics, physicians and spiritual healers for the crew, and Helena, the cute woman with silver hair and blue eyes served in a more private role.

She had no experience with men, but I allowed her some leeway, and did the hard part myself. Helena didn't like Ludvaius standing guard, nor my wives enjoying the show like they sometimes did.

I'd say it was worth it, for a woman in love is a blessing in bed.

"Are you certain you're not corrupting me, Captain?" Helena wondered as she rested on my chest and caressed my sacred left hand.

"Your children could become medics, my dear. And if you teach them, they'll even be good medics, like you are. Plus, I'm a Blank so the Warp cannot touch me. You heard what my mother did, right?" I replied softly and groped her artful body with my special hand.

Helena shivered and melted into my embrace. "What about my sisters? Will you demand they join your little harem as well?" the woman asked in a tiny fit of envy.

"Demand? I have plenty women that beg me for a child. Plus Decima handles the harem thing. You spoke with her, and she interviewed you for this duty. You demanded to stay at my side...even in bed." I replied in a soft snort.

The Canticle lurched and emerged from the Warp at Antax. It was time to start trading again.

The old Lament cruiser that I gave the Mechanicus was nearly ready, armor and engines in place.

A few exotic turrets decorated its hull, possibly archeotech excavated at Anvilus Nine. I wanted some of those myself, and today it was the day everything paid off.

A company of one hundred young men, all Blanks from my lineage, were already undergoing testing and seed dissemination on nearly anime levels.

Each of them had 300 concubines prepared and housed by Forge Antax in their biological research complex, some of them getting impregnated naturally while other via surgery.

I expected Estaban used my genetic samples for the same purpose, trying to obtain as many Blanks as possible for the next growth cycles.

After a few years of constant martial and marital training, my descendants will be received by the Blood Angels for geneseed implants.

By then, the next batch of 100 men will arrive at Antax from Ilevar to begin the cycle again.

I was promised the test Companies will not be decimated in traditional Astartes training. Sure, they would get tougher and faster like that, but every Astartes was so anyway.

What the Blood Angels needed were recruits that wouldn't mutate or go mad from the cursed geneseed.

Their Chapter could and did test (I mean massacre) a million hive criminals to obtain 1000 Aspirants, but my sons were not chattel.

My grandkids and nephews were not target practice for bored vampires.

I even told them so. "I don't care about shitty traditions and whatever codex. They obviously suck, simply by counting how many Blood Angels go mad and berserk. You want beasts, you can have them. Become Tyranids for all I care."

Their Captain wasn't too pleased at my words.

"Our Primarch wrote the Codex for..."

I stopped him by holding my left palm out. "The Codex says space marines should give in to dark urges and massacre civilians or their allied guardsmen? Does it say the trainer should butcher a thousand recruits and bathe in their blood, to obtain a new brother?"

Trying an argument from authority, by referring to your Primarch? I had my own argument right here.

"Well, that is the curse..." Captain Aphael said in a weaker voice.

"Very well. Here is my curse, Blood Angel. For every one of my sons that you murder during training, I will incinerate one of your recruiting worlds. That how I see their worth, compared to your corrupted flesh and souls." I proclaimed calmly and walked away, heading back to the Fabricator General.

I expected they would listen to my warning. I did have a reputation now, for liberally using Exterminatus and vortex warheads on my enemies.

Not that I would murder civilians without some huge reason, but I could be a spiny thorn.

Our next Mechanicus project involved establishing a secure network among the friendlier Forge Worlds in the sector, via instantaneous mind transmission.

It would be a very long process, and I might need to cheat a little and arrange a meeting with Trazyn the Infinite, the somewhat sane, or perhaps too mad Necron Lord from Solemnace.

The Sounding Board still proved nearly impenetrable to scans and attempts at reverse-engineering.

Damn Necrons have forgotten more advanced tech than all the galaxy had discovered in the past 60 million years.

The Necrons from Mandragora still held out strong, despite billions of Tyranids organisms and bioships invading them over the past decade.

Sure, their world were arid deserts without any biomass, which worked in the Necron favor, but at least humanity got some respite.

The Eldar were still bravely fighting the large Tyranid tendril that intersected with their Craftworld, so two advanced enemies where checkmated right now.

The Tau and the Orks were constantly advancing, as expected, but by now every sector fleet had a few hundred corvettes for patrol and intercept, and still big enough fleets to engage large invasions.

With the large fleet at my disposal, my clan had also began scouting and preparing the next expansion phase, and already chasing away or capturing a few pirate ships operating too close to our borders.

Soon enough, our rings of orbital forts would be completed, and we could start sending more colonists, tech-priests and mechanized PDF regiments to new feral worlds.

And once the huge Mass Conveyor arrived, I would begin transforming the dozen kilometer bulk transport into a floating naval base, for a thousand Fury_Interceptors and also ship repair facilities and supply depots, garrison and armor transport and even a huge defense platform to anchor at in safety.

There was enough volume inside the huge spaceship to fit 100 Litanies with room to spare.

Of course, for all that, my Mechanicus priestly friends were my only hope.

I unloaded two dozen more templates with various utility, from agriculture and mining machines to trains and crate lorries. I wouldn't credit myself for inventing the cargo container, but 40k seemed to have forgotten this useful artifact.

Sure, the container was larger and better armored, but the Fabricator General soon understood its usefulness. Standardized containers were a perfect fit for the order obsessed Cult Mechanicus.

I also expected the Imperial Guard would soon adopt them as campaign shelters for their guardsmen,

beside the logical use as weapons and ammunition transport and storage.

I named them Standard Transport Containers, to frustrate all the Farseers and precogs searching for any notion of an S.T.C. among nebulous futures.

It was also hilarious, just waiting to see who will get the heretical abbreviation the soonest.

My Rose just snorted and shook her head in exasperation. "Stop doing foolish things like that, dear Pef. One day there will be an invisible assassin waiting behind your door."

I glanced at the marked corner and drew my weapon. Nothing sprang out, this time.

Then I decided to shoot anyway.

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