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22.12.910.M38
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POV of Agent Vector(Ghost)
"Are we secure?" I asked, looking at my brother-in-arms standing in front of me.
"Yes. There are no cameras or active sensors here. I made sure no one was nearby. It's safe for us to talk," he replied.
"How are you holding up, Remember?" I asked, meeting his eyes.
"Fine. Perfectly fine," he answered calmly. "I was assigned a simple mission. The subject barely had any contacts; he was just entering the market, though he already had a reputation as someone promising. It was easy to study the environment and move within it. I closed some incredibly lucrative deals."
He continued without changing his tone.
"You should try this trade route. You sell supplies for adamantium production to a forge world, then buy part of their output and resell it on the same mining planet, with margins ten times higher. I already have forty ships under my name and I'm in the process of bidding on another seventy. A merchant went bankrupt recently; the governor is auctioning everything off. I have one of my people there bidding. If it works out, I could assemble a considerable fleet to hand over to Hendrik."
Then he looked at me closely.
"And you, Vector? How are you holding up?"
"Bad," I replied. "Not the mission itself—that's going well. I've managed to improve my cover's image by using useful pawns, making it look like I'm competent at delegating everything to capable people. The problem is that the original was a hopeless idiot, and I've had to juggle the work of genuinely capable people just to make him look barely functional."
I ran a hand through my hair, annoyed.
"The unbearable part is maintaining the deception. Appeasing a father who now believes I'm secretly a master swordsman. Proving I can handle my responsibilities and manage my wife's fleet. And, of course, the assassination attempts. Twelve poisoning attempts. Seven direct attacks. And one occasion where they tried to pass my death off as the work of pirates."
Remember frowned.
"Assassination attempts? Who's trying to kill you, Vector?" he asked seriously.
"Who else?" I replied with a faint smile. "My stepmother and her family. My father has been far too vocal about restoring my inheritance rights if I keep this up. They already saw themselves as the unquestioned heirs. Now they feel the board shifting beneath them."
I shrugged.
"They've tried to eliminate me by every means possible. The problem is that I'm more resilient—and considerably more lethal—than their assassins, and I notice when food has been tampered with."
My smile widened slightly."I'll admit I felt a certain satisfaction watching the servants who knew exactly what they were doing. Watching them eat the poisoned food. Or watching them beg when I forced them to eat it, fully aware of what would happen afterward."
"Father?" Remember said cautiously. "Vector… you're not confusing your role with your objective, are you?"
"No. Never," I replied without hesitation. "It's just a way of speaking. You got a clean infiltration. I have to operate amid assassinations, constant plots, a deeply dysfunctional family that tries to kill me whenever the opportunity presents itself, and a life that has to remain as stable as possible so no changes are noticed."
"That's true," he conceded. "Just don't lose sight of the mission. A couple of assassination attempts by a group of incompetents shouldn't be hard to prevent."
"It's not just that," I replied. "It's living a married life with a wife obsessed with meeting her father's martial expectations—an Astra Militarum officer. She wants children, but through the Mechanicum, so her body won't be affected. If I provide my DNA, they'll discover I'm not a mutant like they are. That would put us at immediate risk."
I shook my head."I'm under constant pressure. From her. And from my father-in-law, who wants grandchildren so he can enlist them in the Astra Militarum once they grow up. It's been a constant headache."
Remember let out a dry laugh."I definitely got lucky. I can't see myself in a situation like that. Having to bear responsibility for anyone other than the Throne isn't for me. Marriage is a functional trap—it forces you to act out of obligation, honor, and duty, just as our function demands."
"Do you have any plans I should know about?" I asked. "I don't want conflicts of interest."
"If you give me a good discount on the medicines produced by the man you call 'father,' it would help me accelerate my growth considerably," he replied.
"If you agree to operate under my family's banner and pay a reasonable tribute, I can offer you something far more valuable than a simple discount," I said, keeping my voice steady.
"And then I'd have the problem of officially serving a House," Remember replied. "As long as I stay discreet and out of the spotlight, I can do pretty much whatever I want."
"I can offer ten percent below market price," I said. "But you'll have to absorb the entire production."
"That's not much. You can offer more," he said, raising an eyebrow.
I looked at him steadily. "I also need to look competent. I can't give it away. Cost price only if you accept the full proposal."
After a few seconds of silence, Remember nodded."Fine, Vector. Let's do it that way. I'll buy everything and then decide what to do with the medicines. The discount helps; I can't risk getting caught in a war between Houses on this planet."
He paused briefly, considering something else."Hey… could you sell me a couple of military ships from your wife's family? They'd be useful to escort my merchants. Pirates are getting persistent on certain routes, at very specific times… and something tells me they're not simple pirates, but paid privateers deliberately harassing my lines. If I travel with them, any boarding attempt would end in a one-sided massacre. The Royal Guard's men are tough, and on top of that there would be my two Psi-Ops subordinates and me."
I exhaled slowly before answering."Difficult. As I told you, the situation is tense because of the heir issue. Too much time has passed without results, and the very idea of having a child with a mutant…" A chill ran down my spine. "Polluting our genetics isn't something I do with a smile on my face… she may be useful as a womb, but her genetics are corrupted, like everyone else in the Imperium."
"Matters of duty," he replied casually. "If you manage it, let me know. I'll be here for a week while the cargo is loaded. And well… if we endure another decade, reinforcements will arrive. I heard there's been a massive expansion in our program. Stay strong, brother. Soon every second will be worth it."
With that, he stood up and left the room.
Once it was empty, I took a deep breath, mentally reset myself, and resumed the role I had to play. Then I headed back to my family's estates. It was time to report to my father.
"Did you sell all the overproduction?" my father asked, watching me closely from the other side of his desk.
"Yes. With a small discount, but I convinced him to fill all his ships. Father, he'll be here for the week while the cargo is completed, and then he'll be able to continue his work," I replied.
"Hm… a week is a short time to move that volume, but we'll see what we can do. Fortunately, we managed to fix the issue with the ledgers. When I saw that extra zero in the production order, I was truly alarmed—I thought we'd have to sell everything at cost," he said, rubbing his face and wiping the sweat away with a cloth.
"Yes… curious," I remarked with feigned interest. "Who was in charge of the ledgers for a zero to slip into the production figures?"
I knew the answer perfectly well. I had been the one who adjusted the records to back my Ghost brother's purchase of materials.
"I don't know. Everything seemed in order until the information reached the factory overseers, and suddenly everything changed. But we were lucky that merchant showed up willing to buy it all. Otherwise, you would've had to roam half the sector trying to offload the surplus," my father said.
"Indeed, Father. Well, if you'll excuse me, now that I've fulfilled this duty I'll return to my quarters to prepare the route for the next sale and coordinate with the Navigators on where we'll make our stops," I said, giving a slight bow.
"Gideon… one more thing before you go," he added, watching me closely. "I've been speaking with Tania and her father about your refusal to give me a grandchild. It seems you have reservations about delegating the process to the Mechanicum."
"Of course I do. I don't want those… freaks messing with my seed," I replied bluntly. "I prefer the natural method."
"Tania doesn't have time to be pregnant," my father countered. "She's an Astra Militarum officer. She can't afford months out of service; it would damage her career."
"There's little I can do about that, Father. I abhor the Mechanicum, and I hope you understand that I won't yield on this," I said, holding his gaze.
"Eh… very well. I'll see what I can do, but keep it in mind, son," he replied at last.
"With your permission," I said before leaving.
When I reached my room, a massive figure wrapped me in a crushing embrace and covered my face with kisses. It was Longshanks. She had prepared the meal and stayed at my side the entire time, kneeling to remain at roughly my height, bombarding me with questions about my day while smiling with genuine enthusiasm.
The scene ended when my two Ghost operatives entered the room. We needed to discuss the route we would take.
Longshanks withdrew without protest, leaving us alone.
One of the Ghosts inspected the room, checking the ventilation ducts and the air system. The other looked out through the windows. I checked for any hidden listening devices. We found nothing suspicious, so we began.
"The ideal course is to sell everything not specified in the contracts first, to extract the highest possible profits. Then we gradually move toward planets closer to Dominion space. Once everything is liquidated, we use the surplus to purchase raw materials, and when we reach Dominion territory, deliver the war materiel and request that our ships be refitted with Dominion warp engines. That would eliminate the temporal variable, recover lost time, fulfill the contracts, and allow us to establish stable routes for steady income and surplus transport to the Dominion. With that, we could deliver thousands of tons of adamantium and keep the flow steady," I explained.
"I agree," one of the Ghosts replied. "I've been analyzing trade routes that could maximize profits. We know there's a critical shortage of specialized machinery in this region. If we pass through that Mechanicum world to acquire—"
All three of us looked up at the same time when we heard a faint vibration in the ventilation ducts.
"And did you see the tits on that servant?" I said suddenly, completely derailing the conversation. "They were like… massive milk containers. Maybe I'll bring her to my room tonight and see what I can get out of them."
"Oh… yeah," one of the Ghosts replied without missing a beat. "The size of my head. I just wanted to shove my face in there and do this… brrrrr," he added, shaking his head violently between his hands.
"Hah, hah… hey, Gideon," the second chimed in. "When are you getting another one of those very special shipments, huh?"
"Soon," I replied calmly.
While we kept talking like complete, lust-driven idiots, the three of us watched out of the corner of our eyes. Something—or several somethings—was moving inside the ventilation ducts.
The grate blew outward violently.
Three figures dropped from above with unnatural grace and, the instant they hit the floor, hurled themselves at us with inhuman speed, armed with blades and stilettos.
In the blink of an eye I had one of them by the throat. I completely shattered the hand holding the blade and hurled her into the wall with enough force to break bone. Turning my head, I saw one of my subordinates with his arm buried in the chest of another assassin, punching straight through her torso and destroying her heart. On the other side, the third collapsed to her knees, her head twisted at a 180-degree angle from where it should be, blood pouring from her mouth.
My gaze returned to the assassin I had just slammed into the wall.
I appeared behind her.
A single, brutal blow to her back finished snapping her spine.
"Who ordered my death?" I asked, staring at her.
I read her mind. The Imperial Death Cult had received a contract for my head. She didn't know who had commissioned it—only that I had to die. They had planned to wait days for the perfect moment, but someone had decided that this moment was sufficient.
"Stay alert. If a psyker shows up, I've already read their mind," I said without emotion. "You—once night falls and all the staff clears out of the kitchen, we'll use the nutrient processor to dispose of the evidence."
I turned to my subordinates. "And clean the blood. What is this—killing with this much mess? you're trained assassins. Be cleaner."
They had been fast. I, on the other hand, hadn't spilled a single drop.
One went to make sure no one would be near the kitchen that night. The other began cleaning the assassins' blood.
When night fell, I took the assassin who was still alive—unable to move—and, with my subordinates, carried the bodies of the other two to the kitchen. We found the nutrient processor without difficulty.
We stripped the bodies.
"Tsk… look at these bodies," one of my subordinates commented. "Perfect curves, toned muscle…"
We all stared at him.
"What?" he shrugged, tossing one of the bodies into the processor. "I like them curvy."
"How can you like a—" I began, then stopped. "You know what? Forget it."
I watched him throw the second body into the blades before turning my attention to the third assassin.
"Head first so it's quick, or feet first so it hurts?" I asked calmly, holding her by the ankle. She was gagged. She didn't answer. She kept her silence until the end.
"I don't care," I said, and tossed her into the processor.
The blades began their work, grinding flesh and bone into a uniform paste—destined to feed others who would never know its origin.
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If there are spelling mistakes, please let me know.
Leave a comment; support is always appreciated.
I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see.
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