Alex silently watched the immigrants huddled in the shadows of the temporary spaceport loading platform. Their rough, simple clothes rustled in the airflow stirred up by the shuttle, and countless shifty eyes tried to avoid the Inquisitor's gaze.
Their awe, even fear, condensed into a visible mist, slowly settling in the air filled with the smell of metal rust. This collective stress response had long been ingrained in the survival instincts of the Imperium of Man's citizens.
After all, he was an Inquisitor, and he represented the Inquisition.
The terrifying nursery rhymes circulating in the lower levels of the Hive City, the real events distorted a million times by the Subspace Storm—the Inquisition's prestige had long etched a reflex-like shiver into the DNA of the Imperium of Man.
Although these citizens of the Imperium of Man might not be able to accurately distinguish between the Pacification Order and the Pursuit Ordo, thanks to his deranged colleagues, the Inquisition's reputation in the Imperium of Man was absolutely comparable to the Big Bad Wolf in the fairy tales Alex heard as a child during the 3k era.
'If you don't behave, the Big Bad Wolf will come and eat you'—this primitive threat found a perfect substitute within the Imperium of Man's borders.
'If you don't behave, the Inquisitor will come and get you'—when this warning sounded, even the fiercest gang leader would instantly turn pale.
In the Imperium of Man, the appearance of an Inquisitor usually meant that a certain ecosystem was about to undergo a complete restructuring. This restructuring was often accompanied by organized population reduction and physical purification operations.
What could alarm an Inquisitor to personally intervene was never a mere neighborhood dispute; behind those red alerts often lurked shadows capable of plunging an entire Sector into chaotic corruption.
However, Alex, standing at Zaporozhye Landing Port 3, was not there to cause slaughter.
This was a mining planet under his management; these immigrants were valuable labor and population. Unless there was a real problem, he would not easily waste them.
Moreover, and most crucially, the Adeptus Mechanicus managing this mining planet would not easily allow him to waste precious human resources.
Yes, Zaporozhye was actually managed by the Adeptus Mechanicus.
This was unavoidable; after all, this planet was a mining planet, and efficient mining required the Adeptus Mechanicus to provide mining equipment. When handed over to these Tech-Priests for management, they would naturally pursue the most efficient management methods.
When these Tech-Priests took over planetary management, all production processes were deconstructed into cold mathematical models.
In the thought circuits of these Tech-Priests, human workers were merely self-repairing mining parts.
Although this might be very… inhumane.
But to speak of humanity in the Imperium of Man?
Oh, by the Emperor, when did the Imperium of Man ever speak of such a thing?
Speaking of humanity in the 40k era, you're rare enough to book a display hall for yourself in Solomnas.
So, although Alex hoped to treat his citizens as well as possible, there wasn't much he could change.
Indeed, an eight-hour workday, providing workers with compensation commensurate with the value of their labor, and offering sufficient labor protection, etc.—these sounded like common sense in the 3k era.
But in the 40k era, doing so usually meant facing two problems: first, a sharp increase in labor costs, which would indirectly lead to you being unable to pay your tithe.
And in the Imperium of Man, only death and tithe are inescapable.
If you can't pay your tithe, don't even think about anything else; first, consider how to deal with the Department of Internal Affairs' punitive fleet.
As for the second problem, a certain blue-feathered bird person in the Warp is laughing happily. Are you sure what you're doing isn't influenced by him?
Even if the blue-feathered bird person isn't causing trouble, are you sure a certain green fat man and purple pervert aren't causing trouble either?
Alex could not answer these questions.
Although it sounded very disheartening, in the 40k era, all he could do was make his citizens' lives a little better within limited means.
For example, he was currently negotiating with the Tech-Priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus, demanding that they not convert all the incoming workers into Servitors and that they provide them with relatively comfortable living conditions.
"Denied. Providing better living conditions for workers will increase labor costs and will not significantly improve labor efficiency. This is a waste." The Tech-Priests were stingy fellows who would fart and suck their fingers; clearly, in their view, improving worker treatment was like throwing money into a fire.
However, Alex shook his head and said to the Tech-Priest in front of him, "This is not a discussion, but an order! I am the Governor and the Lord Inquisitor! This is my planet!
I demand that you provide workers with living conditions that ensure their health, clean drinking water and food, and sufficient medical care services.
Although these things cannot improve their labor efficiency, they can extend their lifespan.
I don't quite understand your calculations, but in my opinion, letting a skilled worker live to sixty and work for another twenty years is much more cost-effective than letting him only live to forty to save a little production cost."
Hearing Alex's words, the Tech-Priest did not get angry, but his bionic eye flickered as he analyzed what Alex said and recalculated the data.
Alex knew they were recalculating variables—treating workers as depreciable assets rather than consumables.
Ultimately, he derived a new data model and conclusion.
"After calculation, reasonably extending the lifespan of workers can, to a certain extent, increase productivity over a long-term scale. Your request can be approved, but we will adjust the level of treatment provided to them according to actual circumstances." The Tech-Priest agreed to Alex's request, albeit only partially.
But for Alex, this was already very satisfying. One must know that when working for the Adeptus Mechanicus, these Tech-Priests would truly ensure workers were well-fed and healthy to maintain labor efficiency.
Although the Tech-Priests were very stingy, if you belonged to a certain Tech-Priest, you would be no different from a slave, but at least they wouldn't work you to death.
Perhaps in the 3k era, this was an outrageous evil, but in the 40k era, working for the Tech-Priests was generally considered a blessing.
After all, they would treat you as an important asset and would not easily wear you down or waste you.
Although they would exploit your maximum surplus value in a way that would make even capitalists blush, at least within the theoretical scope recognized by the Tech-Priests, they would ensure your 'normal use' as much as possible.
Even if your body developed problems, such as organ lesions or limb damage, affecting your labor efficiency, the Tech-Priests would provide prosthetics or artificial organs to ensure your body could still perform the assigned work.
Unless you are too worn out to work, for the Tech-Priests, you are a gear needed for mechanical operation.
This is not a metaphor; if you perform well enough to gain the Tech-Priests' approval, they will truly convert you into a Servitor and then weld you to the production line.
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