Chapter 37: Family and Imperium

By the time Darrius began digging tunnels and establishing his farming operations, the first wave of the human crusade force on Oronia III, a total of three hundred thousand troops, was finally assembled.

While recruiting and training soldiers had been swift, manufacturing heavy equipment and retrofitting commercial vessels into troop transports had severely dragged out the timeline. Such were the harsh realities of a newly colonized world; its industrial infrastructure was simply too fragile.

Across the vast expanses of the landing platforms, the planetary defense forces stood in monolithic, perfectly squared formations. They marched in lockstep into the blocky, brick-like hulls of the waiting mass conveyors.

From the high vantage point of the command spire, the sheer scale of the three-hundred-thousand-strong army exerted a crushing psychological weight. Realizing this vast host was entirely under his purview, Governor Cornwatt felt a sudden, intoxicating surge of martial pride well up within his chest.

"Why are there only three hundred thousand? I distinctly demanded one million!" Pex barked, turning a fierce, reprimanding glare upon the staff officer beside him. "Striking the Orks requires absolute speed, precision, and overwhelming brutality. We must deliver a single, crushing blow to eradicate this threat entirely while it is still in its infancy!"

"But… Commander Pex, your original requisition was for two hundred thousand," the aide stammered, trying to maintain composure. "Then you raised it to five hundred thousand, and now you demand a million. With all due respect, though Oronia III boasts a population of two billion, the vast majority are early-generation pioneers; farmers, laborers, and educators."

The aide took a sharp breath, desperate to make his point. "For the longest time, this world has maintained a standing garrison of fewer than one million militia, equipped almost exclusively with light PDF gear. To mobilize, arm, and prepare three hundred thousand troops for an interstellar crusade in this timeframe is already a logistical miracle."

Finally, gritting his teeth, the aide dared to voice his raw assessment. "Your… your demands are utterly disconnected from reality. It is a fortress built on sand, a textbook strategy with no foundation."

"I am the supreme military commander of this star system, and my decrees will be executed," Pex snarled, showing no quarter. "Since your manifest incompetence renders you incapable of fulfilling my orders, you are unfit to stand in my command sanctum. Get out. You are relieved of duty!"

With a violent wrench, Pex tore the rank insignia straight from the aide's shoulders.

The aide's face flushed a deep, furious crimson. He had served the defense forces and the Imperium with absolute, unyielding devotion, only for a newly arrived, high-born commander to casually strip him of his rank on a whim. He belonged to a powerful, deeply entrenched local noble house; if not for his loyalty to the Departmento Munitorum and the Lex Imperialis, he would have drawn his blade then and there.

"Oh, dear, dear. Pex, why must you always find yourself in an argument?" Cornwatt sighed, his viewing of the grand army interrupted by the shouting. He wasn't genuinely displeased, however; the worse Pex's relations with the local staff were, the more secure his own gubernatorial authority remained.

"It is nothing, nothing at all. Our commander is merely vexed by the pressures of war," Cornwatt smoothly intervened, practicing the soft, muddy diplomacy of an experienced bureaucrat. "Dismissed, all of you. Leave us, so that I may speak with him privately."

Once the chamber cleared, Cornwatt walked with slow, measured steps toward Pex. "Do not let them provoke you. They have genuinely exerted themselves to the limit. If you alienate every official on this world, how do you expect to get anything done? Do you intend to personally oversee every minor detail yourself?"

"Oronia III alone has two billion souls; a century from now, it could reach eight billion. Do you truly believe you can micromanage a populace of that scale?" Cornwatt asked, his voice dripping with grandfatherly gravity.

"A century?!" Pex gasped, genuine panic bleeding into his tone. "Absolutely not! A century from now, all will be lost! If the crusade force could have launched within three months, three hundred thousand would have sufficed."

Pex gripped the railing, his knuckles whitening. "But more than five months have slipped away. Right now, the greenskin xenos are entering a critical population explosion. A million soldiers is already a conservative estimate."

Shaking his head with a faint, patronizing smile, Cornwatt gave a wry chuckle. "I understand Cybrisse is with child? Splendid news. As a man, are you prepared to offer her a proper marriage and a stable household?"

"…This… this is entirely separate from the matter at hand," Pex stammered, entirely thrown off by the Governor's sudden pivot. "The xenos threat is imminent and catastrophic."

Cornwatt turned away, his back to Pex as he gazed out at two massive transport ships lifting off into the smoggy sky.

"The history of the Imperium of Man is written across millennia," Cornwatt murmured softly. "Throughout those long ages, humanity has stared into the abyss of absolute extinction time and again. The Cybernetic Revolt, the War of the Beast, the relentless onslaught of the Tyranid Hive Fleets, and… that great, catastrophic rebellion that forced the Emperor upon His Golden Throne."

Cornwatt deliberately avoided uttering the name of the Horus Heresy, masking it in vague, reverent euphemisms.

"Yet, despite all of those horrors, has the Imperium fallen? No. It endures, and it shall likely continue to endure. We are not like the dregs of the lower hives, Pex. We are the nobility. We hold the reins of Imperial order, and it is our existence that maintains the structure of the state."

He turned back around, the lazy warmth in his eyes suddenly replaced by a sharp, piercing brilliance. "Total devotion to the Imperium is a noble trait, yes, but moderation is where true wisdom lies. The survival and longevity of the bloodline are what truly matter. You are young and full of martial fire, so my words may sound hollow now. But once your child draws their first breath, your perspective will shift."

"Lanpaster is a name steeped in honor," Cornwatt said, stepping closer. "But you are merely a branch member of that house; another will inherit the title of patriarch. You must secure your own future and carve out your own dynasty."

"The Adeptus Terra's classified missive to you was copied to my desk as well. In order to accelerate the transformation of the Oronia system into an Adeptus Mechanicus Forge World, a massive, unending stream of resources is about to be diverted here."

Cornwatt's voice sank to a conspiratorial whisper. "If we utilize this influx correctly, we can forge our own fiefdom. Glorious days lie ahead. Even if the Oronia system ultimately falls to the xenos, what of it? So long as our foundational wealth and lineage remain intact, there will always be new worlds waiting to be conquered in the wider galaxy."

Cornwatt spoke at length, his rhetoric entirely centered around the preservation of family, legacy, and inheritance. To men of his station, the survival of the wider Imperium was important, but ensuring that one's own noble house endured for ten thousand years was paramount.

Had Pex been the man he once was, he would have been deeply moved by Cornwatt's calculated wisdom. However, the current Pex cared nothing for aristocratic dynasties. He merely feigned a look of sudden, profound realization, bowing his head to apologize for his earlier hotheadedness.

"Young blood, do not fret. We have plenty of time to accumulate experience and master the craft," Cornwatt said, patting Pex's shoulder with patronizing encouragement. "Politics is a filthy business, but it is an undeniably effective weapon."

The heavy, metallic thud of frantic footsteps suddenly echoed up the spiral stairs of the command tower. Cornwatt's brow furrowed in immediate irritation; he had cleared the room specifically to secure his future nephew-in-law's allegiance, and someone was foolish enough to interrupt them.

"Your Excellency!" the breathless staff officer burst through the doors, his face pale with terror. "The hives in the southern hemisphere are under coordinated assault! It's the greenskins! A massive host of xenos has breached the urban perimeters. Throne bless us, no one knows how they bypassed our orbital sensors!"

The sudden intelligence struck the two most powerful men in the star system like a thunderbolt.

"Are you certain of this data?!" Cornwatt demanded, his aristocratic composure shattering instantly. "The Orks are supposed to be contained on Oronia IV! How could they possibly be here?!"

The aide frantically activated a dataslate, projecting a grainy hololith before the Governor.

The pict-feeds captured a nightmare scene. Out from the depths of the dense, untamed rainforests, a roaring, endless tide of green-skinned monsters wielding crude, heavy blades poured into a completely undefended, peaceful civilian sector.

As Governor Cornwatt stared at the unfolding slaughter in sheer, unadulterated horror, Pex's eyes narrowed into slits, a cold, calculating malice brewing within his gaze.