Chapter 144 The advantage is mine
"Assuming this is the average strength of the green-skinned orcs, they will not pose a threat to Inwit." Rogal Dorn said, the battle reported from the two light cruisers The video reflected in his irises.
The White-haired Primarch calmly completed the second half of the sentence: "Excluding the Imperial Astartes troops, Invite's existing defense system is sufficient to deal with them."
"Deep I feel the same way," Morse said, walking around the empty strategy room and looking at the half-carved reliefs on the walls. "In addition, combined with the battle videos of the two teams, I want to know whether attacking fortifications is a characteristic of the Seventh Legion, the predecessor of the Imperial Fists. Malcador decided to keep a certain degree of secrets for each legion."
"Chapter The Seven Legions are proficient in both offense and defense," Dorn stated calmly, "In this small battle, I also saw the potential of the Imperial Fist and the Iron Warriors."
"Can you understand other people's cues when it comes to military affairs?" Morse twitched the corner of his mouth, stopped and looked back at Dorn, "Then I won't ask any more questions. You can talk to Perturabo later. Talk."
"Okay." Dorn made the decision in half a blink of an eye, "But is Perturabo still in the analysis room?"
"He's going to get out. Entering the orc's technology, he became as stiff as a four-meter-tall heavy statue within a minute after the battle video was delivered. He should still be studying it now."
"Is the draft paper enough?" En asked a very basic question. "Do you need other experimental materials?"
"His brain can handle all this." Morse said, "After the prisoners are delivered and the memories are extracted, I will continue to go back and watch him to prevent him from destroying the mountain." The laboratory on the Array exploded.”
"Does this happen often?"
"He was experimenting with muskets in my room when he was a child," Morse shook his head, "and blew up my sundial. In recent years, as soon as he started to pay attention to experimental safety, Encountered Magnus, who was having accidents every day. "
"I know." Roger Dorn did not show shock, although he might still prefer it if Perturabo was here. Dorn could be surprised for a few seconds that someone as rational and calm as him would blow up the laboratory.
The Primarch lowered his head and glanced at the information scrolling on the data board, and said: "They are about to ascend from the warp and return to the front deck of the Phalanx. After cleaning the armor, Azak Ahriman, Is Kus and Kaidomo Frix will escort the alien prisoners to this place."
"Have they cleaned up the orc ship?"
"There was a small boat that escaped alone and was inconvenient to hunt. I thought this would help kill the entire orc team, so I ordered the team to return directly."
Morse nodded. "I will not shake hands with you. This is the job of the Lord of the Legion, Perturabo. But I look forward to the victory of the next cooperation."
"Similarly." Dorn said, still extending his hand: "In addition , In a personal capacity, I thank you for your help to Perturabo, Iron Warriors, Inwit, and Imperial Fist."
"Oh," Morse raised his eyebrows, "How do you want me to deal with you. Do you want to shake hands? Hold one of your fingers?"
He reached out and patted Donne's palm: "That's it, Roger Donne."
A few minutes later, a rickety and misshapen gadget was brought indoors by Ahriman, who rarely showed obvious disgust. Iskus, half of his face made of metal, was accompanied by Frix, who was silent and serious as always.
Morse confirmed that the red-armored scholar must have urgently practiced how to use psychic powers to block the odor in the past period.
The gadget's slender limbs trembled weakly after being broken, its face had ugly wrinkles, its eyes were filled with turbid malice, and a sharp and hateful giggle came from its throat. Any qualified Space Marine or even mortal Auxiliary can kill one of these things with his bare hands, but no one would want to touch it with bare hands.
"The prisoners have been brought, my lord," Ahriman said, sounding like he was holding his breath tiredly.
Mors waved the little thing to his hand, and Dorn showed his tolerance in letting Ahriman, who had used all his psychic powers, and the two captains who had just killed a ship leave to rest. .
Morse attached golden light to the black cloth that formed the palm of his hand, clasped its head, found its pitifully small brain and read its memory.
For a moment, he let go of his hand, and the golden light turned into flames, burning the gadget into complete ashes. The black cloth strip on his hand was also burned and reconstructed.
"A fart," Morse said, using his newfound language to describe the thing's name.
"It doesn't know much - I won't reveal its perspective alone, which is good for your appetite. This orc army, composed of stragglers from outside the various tribes, robbed one of your After a transport ship, its leader learned about your Phalanx from the video you used for propaganda and took a liking to it. They also looted and occupied several small worlds belonging to Invite. I recommend using it directly. Artillery cleaning."
"Cleaning the small world?" Roger Dorn was a little confused. "No need to organize rescue activities?"
"It's not necessary." Morse said, "First of all, people are dead, and secondly, their reproductive ability is as strong as mushrooms or weeds, and the ground must be completely cleared, such as orbital bombing. In addition, they show a strange evolution in combat effectiveness. Ability, the leader has shown some dangerous characteristics - at least it is not shorter than you. I suggest that this group of orcs be strangled in the cradle."
"After confirming the situation, I will organize a cleanup. "
From Dorn's almost non-existent reaction time, it is difficult to judge whether ordering an orbital bombardment of the human world caused him any moral distress. Anyway, his reason decides.
"You have to return to..."
The data pad in Dorn's hand suddenly popped up an emergency call request, and the sender was the Phalanx analysis room.
Roger Dorn immediately connected, and Morse appeared at his hand, levitating so he could see the panel.
Perturabo's uncontrollable surprise came through the current: "Can Morse come? This thing is active!"
At the same time, the camera was aimed at A pile of scrap metal on the table.
I don’t know what the environment was like in the workshop where the orcs built missiles, which caused these materials to be mixed with the dried blood of the orcs, a large amount of mud and unknown organic matter. In short, after staying in an oxygen environment for a long enough time, This pile of scrap metal began its own evolution.
On the surface of the dark mud, there are some extremely tiny dark green spots that can only be seen with an electron microscope or the eyes of the original body. They are difficult to identify in front of an ordinary data board or camera.
Although they could not see the structure of the green spots, both Roger Dorn and Morse could see that the spots were moving.
“At first it was spores that appeared suddenly,” Perturabo’s tone was a little empty, as if he had been knocked down by something conceptual. “After a few minutes, an extremely small ecological chain appeared. , something with slender limbs used iron filings and dirt to build a settlement about three inches in diameter, and then more tiny green aliens were born, currently fighting each other, twisting off each other's heads."
"I'll be right back." Morse disappeared from the strategy room and appeared next to Perturabo a few seconds later. Although he considers himself not human, Morse has actually seen very few genuine aliens in the past few thousand years. This strange race quickly attracted Morse's interest.
It is difficult to say whether the nutrients provided in this small piece of organic matter are too much or too little for the greenskins, so that they can actually build on a palm-sized fragment The prototype of a micro tribe.
However, after a while, this small tribe has formed a complete strange ecology. Mysterious sparks and radiance of energy shot out from the tiny orc's hand, causing Perturabo to murmur in a low voice, "But there is obviously nothing here." energy".
"Maybe it's because they think this will work." Morse whispered, and the two people looked around the small piece of iron from two directions. The tiny orcs soon discovered that there were two huge faces surrounding them. After a few minutes of cheerful quarreling, they began to shout about why Brother Mao had to turn into the color of a human shrimp.
When Perturabo couldn't bear it, when the slightly larger orc offered him the teeth from the boy next to him, he stood up and retreated.
“I’ve had enough,” he said.
“Give up?” Morse also floated away from the iron piece, “Do you want to keep this sample?”
"Can it be guaranteed to control its danger?" Perturabo asked and answered himself, "No, not reserved."
A golden fire burned away the man who was waving a big flaming stick to praise the flesh-colored fuck brother Mao. A micro-settlement is like burning a piece of bacteria to death.
"Excellent choice." Morse commented, "Rather than staring at the existing samples, I suggest you put your research matters on hold."
"Yes, we have more important things. Do."
"No, I mean, until our great scholar of psionic power, Magnus, systematically figures out what psionic power is - perhaps this day will never come. We might as well put it aside and explore the nature of this psychic race," Morse replied, "I smell a strange psychic smell on these green things."
Perturabo's lips tightened and then unclenched. "This needs to be disinfected. Dorn, are you still there?"
Dorn's voice came from the data pad: "Peracetic acid can be released later."
Morse waved With a wave of his hand, fire rose into the sky, sweeping over the entire surface of the analysis room and Perturabo's protective suit, scorching everything it touched.
He left a tight undershirt for Perturabo, and the moment before the other party shouted, he used psychic sound transmission to remind him that the Astartes usually wore it when they did not wear armor. This outfit and a toga were wandering around the ship, allowing Perturabo to maintain an excellent state of stiff expression without showing embarrassment.
"I think this is cleaner." Morse clapped his hands and walked out of the analysis room first, waiting for Perturabo to come out. "Rogal Dorn, what's next? Track the fleet or burn the planet?"
There was a murmur from the dataslate, and then Rogal Dorn's voice came again. Different from his usual calmness, this time Dorn's long silence before speaking seemed to strengthen some ominous omen.
“Confirm once again, do the orcs have extremely strong reproductive capabilities?” asked the white-haired original body.
"You have seen them grow." Perturabo tried to ignore his clothes, telling himself that Dorn couldn't see him as the dataslate was tossed aside. "The remains of a few drops of blood and the right amount of organic matter can grow an entire colony."
"I see." Dorn said, his answer disturbing.
"Wait a minute..." Morse relived what happened before in his mind, ruling out that Ahriman, who had wrapped the Grot with psychic energy throughout the whole process, could bring the orc blood to the Phalanx. There is only one way left.
"You said they would report for duty after cleaning the armor. How do they clean the armor?"
"After the soldiers remove their armor, the armor is cleaned and specially intensively disinfected by the servitor, and the soldiers themselves enter the Phalanx's shower Time to clean yourself.”
Although he was uneasy, Don still explained the process truthfully.
“Theoretically, bad viruses in the alien environment will adhere to the surface of the armor and be disinfected and inactivated. However, Iskus, the captain of the second team of the 45th Commando of my Legion, due to personal circumstances Specially, he did not wear a helmet during this battle."
In an instant, Perturabo already understood what might happen. "The blood on the soldier's head passed directly through the shower drain..."
His throat was choked, and the beating of his two hearts seemed to have stopped.
As the chief engineer who repaired the Phalanx together with Rogal Dorn, Perturabo knew exactly where the sewage was being discharged.
Dorn's voice became distant. It was unclear whether the white-haired Primarch could not help but lower his voice, or whether Perturabo's senses were leaving him.
“…Sewage will be discharged into the water resources recycling and treatment hub. After conventional water purification measures, 90% of the purified sewage will be directed to the Sanzhen’s shipboard bio-agriculture farmland, providing The greenhouse vegetable and microalgae culture room provides water. Seventy percent of the vegetables will be used to make canned food and dietary supplements for long-term storage during the voyage; the remaining ten percent of the purified sewage will be stored in the storage tank. "
"This routine water purification measure..." Morse repeated the extended version of the Gothic word, "What is it?"
"Because it is not domestic water, the purification process only includes adsorption of insoluble impurities, sedimentation separation, filtration, activated carbon adsorption, and chemical disinfection." Dorn said, "However, it remains to be verified whether our ordinary disinfection measures can completely kill the green-skinned orc spores. "
"Oh," Morse sighed in a low voice, "you'd better order all the mortal servants who manage the farmland to find a pool of disinfectant to dive for three minutes."
"For such simple fixed processes, the Phalanx adopts an automated process managed by servitors." Perturabo interrupted the conversation and found his voice, "From planting to cooking and canning, there is no need for a dedicated person to operate. "
"The past week has been the trial period for picking and cooking the first batch of vegetables," Dorn said, "but I have issued an emergency order to stop canning vegetables."
"Some people have started canning. Are you done?" Morse pinched his eyebrows. He didn't think it was a good idea to burn the stomach of an Astartes who had already started eating canned food - perhaps resetting the internal organs with psychic powers and then resetting the memory would be an option.
Perturabo took a deep breath.
"We planted the orcs into the ground with our own hands." He murmured.
(End of this chapter)