Chapter 136 Great Lack of Virtue

"All residents have been evacuated. Roger Dorn said.

Looking down at the icy planet from the Phalanx, some tiny black dots are scattered like scattered black pearls, symbolizing the laying of construction bases and temporary settlements. With the last team of transport trucks parked at the resettlement site, all obstacles to construction except natural conditions have been eliminated.

Construction equipment from the Imperial Fists and Iron Warriors were ready in the pits, and some were already underway if they were progressing quickly enough. The second step they will undertake is to demolish some of the old buildings that are no longer suitable for this era.

As for the first step that has been completed, it is to relocate residents from their residences to temporary housing on the ground using various methods ranging from comfort and adequate compensation to the bottom line of discretion.

"The habit of building settlements around energy towers does not need to change," Perturabo said, placing a general concept diagram in one of the Phalanx's urgently repaired rooms. “This feature will be preserved.”

The Iron Warriors were unwilling to let the Primarch sit in a dilapidated room without even a chandelier, so the edge of the ceiling of this circular room was lined with a whole ring of fluorescent lights. The huge dome was filled with gold-rimmed square pieces, and in the middle Use the always-on screen to simulate the blue sky, like a palace where all gods live.

The newly made tabletop is covered with a transparent plate on top of the relief. The relief content is a top-down view of a gorgeous circular palace supported by twenty Corinthian columns, creating the impression that the mortal palace is less than half the height of the Primarch. , the visual effects and grand significance being observed and controlled by the Primarchs.

"Is it true that no one wants to listen to my suggestion of building a maze of concentric circles?" Morse shook his head and leaned on the armrest of his floating seat. "pity."

"We can consider it when Inwit has the resources to build an ice and snow park." Roger Dorn looked at Morse seriously and said, inadvertently cutting off Perturabo who was about to refuse.

The latter glared at Donne unhappily, and Donne successfully noticed his look this time: "Is there a problem, my brother?"

"No," said Perturabo, "but the Iron Warriors will not be involved in the construction of the maze."

"I'll make a note of that," Dorn said. "Perturabo, do you think the construction progress of the Imperial Fists is satisfactory to you? I still cannot estimate from my limited experience the reasonable working speed of the Astartes warriors."

"Satisfied?" Perturabo snorted. "It's just crazy. You'd better tell them to slow down."

"Using my personal work routine as a reference," Dorn said, "requiring four hours of rest every twenty hours will satisfy their cycle of physiological needs."

"Why do my warriors report to me that they only rest every forty-two hours?" Perturabo asked. "In order to match or even reserve work progress, my descendants now work continuously for nearly forty-five hours."

"Only a few bases reported to me that they continued to work longer than thirty hours, and in their reports, my warriors said they needed to work extra hard to catch up to Cousin's superior progress." Dorn replied. "I will not stop my team. Taking the initiative to increase work intensity within physiological limits is a reflection of a good mental state. "

"I hope you are not suggesting that my heir is lying to me."

"That's not what I meant. I think there's a calculation error. Is Inwit's hour the same as your usual timing?"

"The same, no doubt." Perturabo's face showed no expression. "When we first discovered that a large amount of data was scrapped due to small deviations in the measurement units, I confirmed the unity of the remaining measurement units."

I don’t know whether it was the loss of data caused by spending the old night, or the deformation of materials caused by the extremely cold temperature, because some of Witte’s unit scales have a thousandth of a percent error compared to Terra’s standard unit scales, so the two almost quarreled again. got up.

At that time, Dorn decisively chose to shut up, and then the two of them turned their backs and took out the data stick and inserted it into the data board. They described the situation in purely logical terms and transmitted it to each other. They successfully resolved the misunderstanding efficiently before an unnecessary quarrel broke out, and by the way Using the opportunity to rework a large amount of data, we tested the computing power of the large cogitator that had just been repaired on the mountain formation and the two primarchs.

Morse relies on the micro-runes on his fingertips to vibrate the air. In a sense, the snapping sound he makes is indeed made by his two fingers wrapped in black cloth.

"How often do you two receive reports?" Morse asked.

"Every four days," said Perturabo.

"Every seven days," Dorn replied. "Did you choose four days because your Legion is numbered four, my brother?"

"No, it's because I heard that Gutera worked four days a week," Perturabo said. "It seems that the continuous working hours of our respective descendants are increasing every day."

"Exactly, Primarchs." Morse shrugged. "I suspect that the continuous working hours they reported were calculated from the last break to the time they reported to you. At least I can confirm that the tower crane on the construction site has exceeded eighty hours. No more stops.”

Rogal Dorn's light eyes were filled with thoughts: "So this is the working attitude of the Imperial Army? I understand, Inwit will move closer to the Empire."

"No, it's definitely because Wit has influenced them," Perturabo called his war blacksmith with a gesture, "Let each team leader immediately report on the work status, including progress, difficulties, the internal atmosphere of the team, and average daily working hours. "

Dorn's bodyguards are still currently served by local mortals from Inwit. Considering the combat effectiveness gap between the original body and mortals, his mortal bodyguards are more like a group of busy clerks.

"Wright," he called an older woman, "ask the person in charge of each base to report the situation, including progress, difficulties, the atmosphere of the legion, and working hours, and adjust the reporting cycle to once every four days."

Then Dorn added to Perturabo: "I like your choice of words, which can reflect your serious and accurate character."

Perturabo touched his teeth with his tongue, and ignored Dorn's additional explanation without changing his expression.

"They are competing with each other." The Lord of Iron said. "My offspring, and your offspring."

"Competition is the whetstone for survival." The giant who grew up in the ice and snow replied.

"This is an unnecessary competition." Perturabo said as calmly as possible. "Will it lead to conflict?"

"No," Dorn's expression was as focused as a rock, and it never changed. "This is the Imperial Fists' way of repaying the Iron Warriors. We can't let you waste your strength in Invit for a long time. I support them to catch up within their capabilities."

"Reward? We are just doing what we need to do under the Emperor's flag," Perturabo shook his head, and his black hair, which had been trimmed short for convenience, no longer swayed with his movements. "Don't measure our will by rewards."

"I don't think milkshakes, cookies and nuts are required by duty." Dorn's unchanging tone will show different effects in different situations. For example, now, his calmness will be interpreted as sincerity. "This is an extra gift."

"The favor of a few cookies and the overtime of a legion," Morse teased, "This is an equal exchange. I support it."

"Only your moral level will support it, Morse." Perturabo said, "I'd better go on a field trip. Is there anyone to accompany me?"

Dorn stood up. "Okay."