Through supplements, through potions—there's profit to be made. Vast profit.
Years from now, once my "brothers and sisters" have matured, market dependence will already be built into the system. By then, the wealth I'll be sitting on will be enough to give me influence, status, and power.
And when that day comes, the model will evolve. Apprentices will be able to request the specific knowledge they want. By grouping similar requests together, they can pool their payments—crowdfunding wisdom, one set of gears at a time. Priests will happily spare hours for extra income. I'll stand in the middle, collecting intermediary fees, maintenance fees, even "custodial" fees for good measure.
We'll plan ahead—free public courses for local apprentices, just enough to build our reputation and pull in Priest-instructors who like us. Once they're hooked, they'll be more than willing to join in for profit later on.
Someday, I, Omega the Wise, will be a man with wealth, manpower, and prestige. With one call, I could summon a hundred thousand Priests and a million apprentices. Seizing that old Will's seat of authority? As easy as flipping a switch.
"Hehehe! Hehehe!"
"Wake up! Gamma, for the love of the Omnissiah, wake up!"
Ah… that voice. Adept Leia, the faithful assistant who once helped the Archmagos change his robes. And those three over there—my loyal 'generals' who stripped Will's cloak and placed it on my shoulders so I wouldn't catch cold.
Don't blame me for being ruthless—there's no room in this "new" Forge World for pampered, arrogant officers. For now, I'll keep them close… but they'd better learn to fall in line.
Otherwise…
I kept my smile fixed—confused and dazed just enough to be disarming—and patted Leia's hand. Lifting my glass of juice, I stood.
"I will not enjoy this glory alone!"
Without hesitation, Leia smacked the back of my head.
"Wake. Up."
"I'm awake…"
The future is dazzling. The prospects, magnificent. And Leia—yes, I'll remember that slap. In my new world order, you're going to be in charge of cleaning the sewers.
After a quick debate over whether our drinks had been spiked with hallucinogens, the group looked at my flushed face, clearly waiting for me to continue.
I studied them one by one.
Jacob gave a subtle nod, his eyes saying: You can count on me.
My thoughts: Skilled feet kisser, understands mechanics… but can he design anything worth a damn?
Ed's gaze all but screamed, "Half a lifetime searching for a true lord. If you'll have me, I'll call you daddy.''
My thoughts: Top-ranked cogitator monk—fast, accurate, a perfect fit for processing data. But even with half his face replaced by augmetics, he still somehow had the look of a scheming predator.
(Ed: "Half my head is metal. How can you even tell?")
Louis smiled like a groveling merchant caught in the act of overcharging.
My thoughts: I don't particularly want him. But those sedative formulas of his could turn any enraged servitor—or inconvenient witness—into a docile lamb. Can't throw that away.
Finally, Leia. Proud, confident, flaunting every advantage.
My thoughts: Indispensable. Her genetics expertise could convert Louis's animal-grade drugs into human-safe medicine. And as a second-generation Mechanicus elite, she opens doors—and coffers—that otherwise stay shut.
These four… mine to work with. Omnissiah's will, clear as daylight.
I coughed theatrically and stood. "Everyone, I have an idea…"
The four stayed quiet, watching patiently, pretending they weren't interested.
"Very good. It seems you're curious. But…"
I let the pause hang. The tension rose instantly—competition glittered in their eyes. Tech-Priests: unable to stop infighting even for five seconds.
Quickly dropping the act, I continued, "We need a private meeting place. Somewhere without surveillance. What I have is a plan—a plan that could make every one of you financially free."
"I know a place in the factory that can block the monitors."
"I know one too."
"Same here."
"Same."
All four had their own hideouts in mind. Wonderful. These people complain about gears, yet they've been hoarding prime slacking-off spots.
They led me—still wearing my "I'm so disappointed in you" face—to their secret base. We locked the doors.
"I've found a blue ocean. Untapped. Ours for the taking."
Something in my tone flipped a switch in me. Maybe echoes of my past life's brush with multi-level marketing. Suddenly I was "Mentor Gamma, No One Understands Business Better".
In the first half of the meeting, I guided them through dreams of the past and promises of the future. I had Ed stand up, tell his tragic life story, his hardships, his doubts. By the time he was done, tears were streaming down his lone, unaugmented eye.
I leaned in, voice soft. "If you were still an apprentice and you saw what we're building, what would you give for it?"
Ed didn't hesitate. "Everything."
In the second half, I morphed into "Master of Success Gamma—Fortune Favors the Ruthless".
I laid it out: swift, precise, and merciless execution. This was our one shot at real wealth. Miss it, and I'll do it myself—make the knowledge of the Mechanicus rain like fire from Mars to the rim of the galaxy. And if we can't save struggling apprentices? Then we let the galaxy burn.
When the pitch reached fever pitch, I showed them my real-time wealth.