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After getting Cullen sorted with an Ogryn identity docunt, Kaelen turned his attention to the next problem: enlisting in the Astra Militarum.
"System, filter out the hard currency that mid- and low-level Munitorum bureaucrats find hardest to refuse. Rarer the better."
Inside the shelter, Kaelen sat cross-legged on a heap of discarded cables, two fingers swiping rapidly across a virtual panel no one else could see.
Points were sothing you saved when you could and spent without hesitation when you had to. The journey to Cadia was long. If he tried to stuff two three-ter-plus superhumans into the cramped lower decks of a troopship as ordinary recruits, they'd be blown in three days flat.
A box of handcrafted premium cigars from Scarus. Two bottles of Androda Amber Wine, golden liquid sealed inside. 1,500 points, gone.
Kaelen carried the items out of the small room. Light refracting off the wine bottles flickered past Cullen, who was mid-conversation with Horus.
"You're going to bribe mortal officers with those?"
The veteran had clocked what Kaelen was holding. His tone made his feelings clear. The honor of the First Legion left him with zero tolerance for this kind of scheming.
"When on this world, do as this world does, old knight." Kaelen shrugged, then tossed each of them an oversized heavy-duty industrial dust suit. "This is how the Imperium runs now. Without pulling a few strings, how exactly do we get off this planet?"
Kaelen stuffed the wine and cigars into a worn-out backpack, clapped his hands, and stood.
"Listen up. I'm going over the script once. From the mont we step out of this shelter, you are: premium Ogryn abhumans who spent 30 years digging in the subsurface mines of Rhis. Vocal cords destroyed by toxic gas. Completely mute."
He pointed at his own throat.
"Low intelligence. Short-tempered. But extrely obedient. Anyone gets too close, you glare at them and look like you're about to throw a punch. You do not speak a single word. Understood?"
Cullen stared at the greasy canvas coveralls in his hands. They reeked of machine oil. His back teeth ground together audibly.
Making him, a veteran Astartes, play a ntally deficient mutant. This was worse than killing him.
"If you swagger out in that iconic power armor of yours, want to bet your Legion's Unforgiven won't co sniffing around?"
Kaelen tossed the words out lightly and kept walking.
The veteran's jaw muscles flexed twice. He swallowed every curse back down, then roughly yanked the coveralls over himself.
Horus, by contrast, adapted with startling speed. A few swift motions and he was wrapped up tight, the wide dust mask snapped over his face, nothing showing but his eyes.
"Let's go." The Lupercal kept his voice low in his throat. "Ti to et the Imperium's bureaucrats."
---
3 hours later. Mid-level zone of Rhis. Back alley behind the Third Astra Militarum Recruitnt Station.
The Munitorum overseer responsible for supply allocation and troop formation was a greasy middle-aged man: beer belly, shoddy chanical ocular implant in his left eye, and the general air of soone who had been inconvenienced by his own existence.
He'd been blocking Kaelen at the back door with considerable impatience, until Kaelen unzipped the backpack and pushed over the box of Scarus cigars and a bottle of Androda Amber Wine. The overseer's remaining flesh-eye lit up brighter than a searchlight.
"Good stuff." He breathed it out. "Very good stuff."
His rough fingers traced the gold-embossed patterns on the cigar box. His greedy swallow was audible.
"I'll keep it short, sir." Kaelen lowered his voice. "I want to enlist. Next troopship heading straight for Cadia — I need 3 slots. A private sealed cargo hold. A quota for 2 standard cargo containers; we have personal mining equipnt to store. Supply standard: top-tier."
The overseer dragged his gaze off the wine bottle and looked Kaelen up and down. A cold snort.
"Big appetite. Sure, the Cadia front is short on bodies, but why should you get a private sealed hold? You think this is a pleasure cruise—"
Kaelen stepped half a pace to the side.
In the shadows of the back alley, two massive figures stood in silence. Each easily over 3 ters tall. Both wrapped head to toe in heavy industrial canvas. Old dust masks covered their faces, and their breathing filtered through the respirators in a low, heavy rhythm, like two engines on the verge of blowing.
Kaelen didn't say a word.
He didn't need to.
Two living, fully-limbed "Ogryns." Physiques even more strong than the average Ogryn.
The overseer's breathing went unsteady. A premium heavy assault unit like this, the kind that could tear through enemy defense lines under a hail of fire, was a hot commodity across the entire sector. Whoever delivered troop assets like these to the front would not go without comndations. Promotions, either.
And this man clearly understood how things worked.
The overseer snatched the backpack into his arms. The greasy flesh of his face folded into a wide grin.
"Easy, easy! These two servants of yours — first-rate warriors of the Emperor, plain as day. Don't worry about the registration files. I'll handle everything. Follow . Special channel."
The efficiency of gift-driven business was remarkable in any era.
With the overseer personally leading the way, the three of them swept straight through the recruitnt station's side entrance. The thousands of gaunt, hollow-faced hive civilians cramd together in the front plaza, waiting, waiting, always waiting, inhabited a completely different world.
---
First checkpoint: identity verification.
The overseer had a set of blank docunts ready, all stamped with the Munitorum seal. He handed a temporary identity chip to the clerk. The machine beeped once. Nobody questioned Kaelen's history as a scavenger. Nobody even checked whether his na was real.
Second checkpoint: dical examination and psychic screening.
Several half-asleep Ecclesiarchy priests and dicae sat slumped in the hall. The overseer walked over and, without any fuss, pressed a high-purity industrial silver ingot into the lead priest's palm.
The priest squeezed it. Gauged the weight. Raised his eyes to the two tower-like figures standing at the doorway.
"No need to check." He pulled the screening forms over, flipped through the identity files of the two "Ogryns," and stamped them with a bright red APPROVED.
Everyone understood, in these tis. Ogryn abhumans were famously dim, and their psychic resistance was absurdly high. Running a full psychic scan on them was a waste of electricity, plain and simple.
Third checkpoint: recruit obedience test. The only stage that required a face-to-face appearance before a recruitnt officer.
In the spacious indoor training ground, a handful of mortals press-ganged into service were grunting and hauling sandbags. The recruitnt officer was an ashen-faced retired veteran, mid-tirade over a roster. The overseer stepped up and murmured a few words in his ear.
The officer looked Horus and Cullen over, both wrapped up like rice dumplings, suspicion plain on his face.
"Mute? Can they still follow orders?" He tapped the table with his data-slate. "If they run wild on the front, they're worse than cannon fodder. Go on then, bring that one-ton ammo crate by the door."
Kaelen turned and pointed at the long, rusted iron crate.
"Lift it."
No other words. Horus and Cullen walked over.
A 2-ter and a 3.5-ter superhuman, side by side. The pressure radiating off them was bone-deep. The mortal recruits nearby didn't think about it, they just moved, clearing a path without knowing why.
Cullen bent down. He'd intended to take one end with both hands.
Then he glanced at Horus.
The Lupercal simply extended his right hand. Five thick fingers found the groove along the crate's edge. A flick of the wrist.
The half-ton ammo crate, weighted base and all, ca off the ground in one hand.
No grunt of effort. No trembling in the legs. The motion was as easy as picking up an empty lunchbox.
Cullen saw it. He grabbed the other end with one hand and lifted.
The two of them walked back to the platform at a steady pace, each holding their end of a one-ton crate with a single hand.
The crate hit the floor.
BOOM.
Every tile on the floor shuddered.
The recruitnt officer stood frozen, his data-slate nearly slipping from his fingers.
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