"This is the result of my precise calculations, and compared to other possible outcomes, it is the best one."
Vick's voice remained devoid of emotion as he spoke, making Chuck suspect his father was merely using a tone of certainty to soothe him.
But Chuck was far from reassured. On one hand, he did not trust his father, and on the other, his role as an Inquisitor had taught him to be ever suspicious.
"Doubt, anger, hatred, suspicion... Being swayed by these biological emotions leads to mistakes. This is what I've learned," Vick stared at Chuck. "Just like I was, seventy years ago, when I let such emotions sway me, and in a moment of weakness with a female, I made a mistake."
If it weren't for Vick's words, Chuck might not have remembered that he was already over seventy. With all the life-extending technologies and the weight of the Inquisition's work, decades had flown by like mere years, slipping away unnoticed, and even his appearance and temperament had hardly changed.
As for their relationship, Chuck considered the man before him merely a priest of the Mechanicum. They might share some blood, but after over sixty years of estrangement, that bond had long since faded.
Chuck paid little mind to Vick's cold remarks. Instead, he nodded approvingly. "As long as you've thought it through... But I do wonder, what did the Lord of Tyrone offer you? Surely it wasn't an STC?"
As a member of the Inquisition, Chuck had read reports on the Mechanicum. STC templates, those archaeological technological relics, were incredibly precious. If Vick had acquired one, it would grant him immense power and status.
"It's not an STC," Vick responded calmly. "You have no idea what I found on that hive world, nor do you grasp the secrets the Lord of Tyrone carries. These are far more important than any STC, infinitely more."
Chuck's curiosity was piqued. What could be more valuable than an STC? But considering that the old man had even replaced his mouth with a titanium alloy vocalizer, Chuck doubted he'd get any useful information.
"Given the significance I just mentioned," Vick continued as he slowly rose to his feet and turned toward the locked door, "I can assure you, Judge Reina has undoubtedly met with misfortune, and it was certainly the work of someone from the Tyrone system. But it doesn't matter. I'm asking you not only to refrain from reporting this, but also to sabotage your colleagues' efforts in the investigations to come."
Chuck silently nodded, then suddenly asked, "Is this an order from you or from the Mechanicum?"
Standing at the door, Vick didn't answer. Just before pushing the door open, his head turned back to face Chuck and he changed the subject. "There are eight listening devices in your room. I've already erased the recordings. You'll need to fill them with some idle chatter."
With that, Vick's metallic neck swiveled back into place, and with the assistance of the mechanical tendrils connected to his back, he opened the door and left.
Chuck watched his father's departure before immediately starting to search the room.
"That can't be right... I found nine bugs last night. Did I miss one, or has someone planted more?"
...
One week later.
Tyrone System Spaceport.
The spaceport was one of the orbital structures built in the past year and a half. From space, it looked much like a bastion. All ships entering the Tyrone system were required to dock there, undergo inspections, and complete the necessary paperwork before conducting any business.
Each day, more than a dozen ships would emerge from the Mandaville Point, pass through the fortress defenses, and enter the spaceport. But today, a ship materialized directly next to the port.
This ship was unlike any other around it. It lacked the traditional chapel, its structure sharp and angular, and its hull bore a golden lion crest.
Even from afar, the massive turrets bristling on its exterior were visible, though it was unmistakably a merchant vessel.
The merchant ship approached the spaceport, guided by a small escort craft, and docked beneath a holographic display showing the number 37.
Once the ship was secured, ten large transport crafts emerged from the belly of the vessel, descending into the docking bay.
As the transport doors opened, Kline stepped out from the center craft, accompanied by his entourage. He eyed the awaiting guard and the thousand heavily armed soldiers behind him.
"Are you Grey? Or Anred? Or someone else? Surely, you're not Grot?" Kline asked, scrutinizing the guard, unsure of the identity beneath the heavy faceplate.
The guard stepped forward and removed his helmet. "You bastard, you've done well for yourself."
"Grey!" Kline laughed, moving forward to embrace his old comrade.
Grey's gaze drifted over Kline's entourage—a large ogryn clad in custom armor, a group of scarred bodyguards, and one other individual who immediately caught Grey's attention.
Standing at a towering 2.3 meters, the man was strikingly handsome, with long golden hair and a powerful physique. He wore yellow ceramite armor, emblazoned on the chest with the symbol of a red heart and a red blood drop.
It was unmistakable—he was an Astartes.
However, the man's armor bore many signs of damage, and even the heavy shoulder pads were missing. Despite being the object of Grey's scrutiny, the Astartes remained serene, offering only a slight nod.
"This is Foros, an Angel of the Emperor. I don't know the full details, but I found him on a world ravaged by harsh conditions," Kline explained quietly. "I must say, their resilience is remarkable. When I found him, he and his men had survived for a month by consuming poisonous creatures."
Hearing this, Grey realized it wasn't just one Astartes but several. Satisfied that Foros seemed trustworthy, he didn't pry further, knowing Kline still had to meet the Lord of Tyrone.
"I've returned primarily to deliver the cargo the Governor requested," Kline said as they walked towards the other transports.
Each transport door opened, revealing armed mercenaries maintaining order inside.
The vast interiors of the transports resembled plazas, and it was in these "plazas" that the cargo Kline spoke of was kept.
Grey walked with Kline, casually chatting while inspecting the cargo in each transport.
The first was filled with ogryns.
The second, the same.
"It's been months since I was last here. How is the Governor?" Kline asked with a smile.
"He's doing well. Spends most of his days in the research facility, you know, the one beneath the fortress where you used to be stationed."
"Ah, still the same as always…" Kline sighed. "And no sign of a Governor's wife?"
"A few weeks ago, he did spend some time on Tyrone II, visiting a young noblewoman's estate... I even saw them on the beach before my leave ended, so…"
As they spoke, Grey finished inspecting the cargo of the first nine transports, which consisted mostly of ogryns and ratmen, typical fare for merchant ships.
At last, Grey arrived at the final transport. Inside, he saw civilians.
These people were ragged, some sitting, others lying on the floor, gnawing on scraps of food. There were men, women, and children, all of whom had clearly endured hardship. When they spotted Grey in his power armor, they recoiled to the far end of the transport.
Scanning the area, Grey counted over fifty individuals.
Seeing these people filled Grey with a sense of disgust—not out of prejudice, but instinct. Every person in this transport was an Untouchable.
"These poor souls are even worse off than the Jeorn," Kline remarked, recalling the scene when he first found these Untouchables.
"I can see that," Grey nodded.
Kline fell silent for a moment before turning to Foros, then back to Grey. "I need to meet with the Governor. Could you…"
"Of course, I'll take you to him immediately," Grey agreed.