"Next topic. Captain Barnabas, what is the status of our frigate?" Atreus asked the ship's captain.
The captain was a Space Marine wearing an MK2 expeditionary helmet, a recruit Atreus had struggled to enlist.
After all, ship pilots were not as common as many believed. They were even considered valuable within the Legion, though not as much as the navigator or the astropath.
"Lord Atreus, it's not great. This warship was built on Mars at the dawn of the Great Crusade. It's a miracle it's still holding together," he said, his voice honest, tinged with sorrow.
"With only a few lance batteries and macro-cannons, it's barely fit for chasing pirates. We don't even have viral bombs or torpedoes for an Exterminatus."
The old Space Marine's tone grew solemn as he continued his explanation:
"To carry out an Exterminatus, we'd need to bombard a planet without a planetary shield for months on end."
This last remark made Atreus frown, underscoring the urgency of the situation.
A frigate is a ship measuring between 1 and 1.5 kilometers, not used as a primary force in space warfare. At best, it serves as a reconnaissance vessel.
Atreus had no grand expectations for this frigate, but it seemed to have reached its limits after their long journey to this point.
'I must establish contact with the Dark Mechanicus quickly,' he concluded after some thought.
Fortunately, he had something in his possession that might pique the interest of that tech-obsessed maniac.
"Regarding the crew, despite lowering requirements and selecting slaves, we're still facing some shortages."
The Space Marine's pale face seemed to deteriorate with each piece of bad news, but he pressed on.
"As for food, we can currently guarantee the crew and Space Marines a supply of corpse-starch. The slaves will always take priority in case of shortages, and they'll be ground into protein blocks for the others. I can only say the quantity remains acceptable," he concluded, explaining the frigate's situation.
Corpse-starch…
It was the primary food source for most of the Imperium's worlds and ships undertaking long Warp voyages.
Made from the bodies of deceased humans, it was used to meet the nutritional needs of a population.
Atreus despised this practice but understood its necessity in this era filled with violence. Every resource was vital to the current Imperium, and he would have to perpetuate this barbaric practice for a human from the 2k era.
'Every resource is precious in this galaxy that knows only war and madness…'he thought, mentally nodding toward the old Astartes captain.
"Captain Barnabas, we won't be able to acquire a new warship in the short term. We'll have to overcome this challenge for a while," he said, hinting at his desire to contact a third party to obtain a new, specialized vessel.
"Yes, Lord of Forged Steel," the old warrior replied.
Atreus then turned his attention to another individual.
"Filon, how's the armory?"
Filon quickly set down his cup after sipping his recaf.
"Boss, aside from the personal weapons we acquired during the war against the Imperial Fists and Ultramarines in the Iron Cage Campaign, there's not much left," he said, frowning.
"For the mortal slaves, we've barely got combat rifles, autoguns, and stubbers. As for aircraft, we're down to one Aquila Lander, two Arvus Lighters, and a Valkyrie under repair. *Sigh* There are no ground vehicles left."
Atreus nodded, maintaining his composure in the face of bad news. The veteran Space Marine had expected this, as he hadn't planned to use the slaves as an army initially.
Yet, he had considered this option due to the limited size of his forces, contrary to the estimates of his body's former owner.
"In the Warband's armory, we have one Land Raider, one Rhino troop transport, and one Storm Eagle. For small arms, we still have forty standard bolter ammunition charges, three bolters, two bolt pistols, seven monomolecular combat knives, three combat shields, two assault shields, one heavy bolter, one meltagun, twenty melta bombs, and four crates of assorted grenades," Filon listed, tapping his head as if he'd forgotten something before mentioning other available weapons.
A slight piece of good news, but it wasn't enough for the plans ahead.
"Do you have any more bad news, aside from this faint glimmer of hope?"
Atreus knew his Space Marine brother's temperament and wanted to ensure he wasn't hiding anything to spare him further stress.
Filon wore a slightly guilty expression, like a thief caught red-handed.
"We don't have many promethium-consuming devices, but…" He adopted a serious expression and continued his report.
"If materials run out, I'll only be able to craft a few sets of carapace armor from low-grade ceramite and modify the combat rifles and lasguns for the brothers to use… We're starting to run low on raw materials and spare parts," he said under Atreus's pressing gaze.
'Indeed, the bad news keeps piling up…'Atreus showed no dissatisfaction as he listened to the situation.
"Then modify those recovered from the Imperial Fists and turn the damaged ones into spare parts for those that are nearly broken," Atreus ordered after a brief pause.
He decided to sacrifice the unusable weapons to ensure the efficiency of those still functional.
It was somewhat wasteful, as Filon could repair them later with enough resources, but Atreus judged that time was short.
The Imperium was still recovering from the Horus Heresy, and the Primarchs had vanished one by one.
The only one remaining was Rogal Dorn, but the Praetorian wasn't the type to leave Terra.
Atreus deemed the Age of the Purge the right time to advance his plans, as the Imperium's hatred was focused on the traitor Primarchs, not on a former minor tactical captain like him.
Filon displayed a doubtful expression after Atreus's order.
"Boss… far be it from me to show insubordination, but we have no recruits, no Gene-seed, no proper modification equipment, and not even an apothecary," he said hesitantly.
Filon's words echoed the hidden doubts in the hearts of the Astartes present, but Atreus didn't panic or take offense.
"The apothecary and equipment are already on their way. As for the Gene-seed, I'll handle it," the former tactical squad captain replied calmly.
Even without the power of Trust, Atreus already had a plan to increase his influence in the 40k universe.
After all, he was a transmigrator and an ambitious man.
Filon quickly showed a degree of understanding after Atreus's words.
"Oh, you're counting on Dioscoride, aren't you? I knew you had a plan, Boss."
Filon's words received a simple nod from Atreus in response.
However, there was one person in the room who seemed ready to explode at any moment.
Anthony.
The Space Marine, seated to Atreus's left, whose left face bore a scar, grabbed his gauntlet and said angrily:
"Captain! We've fought for the Legion for so many years, why? When we wanted to leave, many of our brothers called us cowards. That filth of a Primarch authorized the creation of a warband, but they gave us nothing. If you hadn't been so foresighted…"
The veteran Space Marine tightened his grip on his power gauntlet.
The image of Warp-corrupted Iron Warriors flashed through his mind, making him shudder. They could all have ended up as corrupted beings, or even daemons, if Atreus hadn't decided to slowly distance his squad from Perturabo's influence.
Atreus sighed softly as he looked at Anthony.
This Space Marine was shorter than the average Astartes and stocky, with a face half-disfigured by wars. Though he was the smallest among them, Atreus trusted him the most.
"Anthony, they were never our brothers. Think of our gene-father's iron circles. The Primarch doesn't trust his sons, yet he demands their trust… Isn't that ironic?"
Perturabo's inner guard consisted of fiercely loyal Astartes, whom Atreus compared to machines for their unthinking obedience.
Atreus placed his arm on the small Space Marine's shoulder in an attempt to calm the rising rage in the face of bad news.
The former squad leader knew his friend was worried for him and was venting his anger toward Perturabo to ease the tension and dispel the grim atmosphere.
"In any case, our former Legion's actions are, in my view, exemplary. If the Legion believes our service only warrants this treatment upon our departure, then we owe them nothing more," Atreus declared, not just for Anthony but for all the Space Marines present.
After comforting Anthony, the veteran Space Marine continued issuing orders:
"Anthony, Warnaby, lead the first and second tactical squads, sixteen battle-brothers in total. Prepare within the hour and wait in the hangar. We'll conquer our planet as soon as possible. And Captain Barnabas, you'll lead the three available brothers and stay to oversee the flagship."
Atreus's voice thundered through the frigate's command room.
Seeing he wasn't mentioned, Filon immediately spoke up:
"Boss, what about me? What about me?" he said excitedly.
An aspect of his personality that Atreus never found normal for a Space Marine, especially an Iron Warrior.
He decided to consider Filon one of a kind.
"You want to go down too? But who's going to fix the Valkyrie?"
Filon scratched the back of his head sheepishly and chuckled:
"It's not that I don't want to fix the Valkyrie; it's just missing parts. Plus, I want to see our future chapter planet. I've been cooped up on this ship for too long," he said with an exaggerated gesture.
"Fine, you can come."
With that, Atreus rose from his steel chair, and the other warriors followed suit.
The former servant and son of Perturabo looked at the brothers around him, clenched his right fist, struck his left chest, producing a dull metallic thud, and murmured:
"To the forge!"
Everyone responded by striking their chests:
"All forged like steel!"