"Osiris, it's good to see you return safely," Vox's voice resonated. The formal tone in his voice, a blend of an elder's hoarseness and static, was slightly diminished, revealing a more apparent casualness, like speaking to a familiar subordinate, even carrying a hint of undetectable friendliness: "The wisdom of the Omnissiah always guides us, though the path ahead seems fraught with thorns."
"Archmagos Vox. Following your guidance, I have completed the preliminary exploration," Osiris responded with standard Adeptus Mechanicus etiquette, his crimson optical lenses calmly observing the Archmagos, awaiting further instructions.
After a brief opening, Vox did not engage in excessive pleasantries, cutting straight to the point.
His one remaining natural human eye narrowed slightly, as if recalling something, while he waved a mechanical tentacle, projecting a massive star chart and data reports into the air above his desk.
"Osiris, you've returned at just the right time. The situation... is even less optimistic than when we last communicated," Vox's voice carried a heavy, reminiscent tone, "You saw the unfinished construction in orbit, and you traversed the increasingly stifling factories below.
Recalling the Great Crusade era... those were truly nostalgic years.
The Imperium's borders constantly expanded, the Warmaster's fleets were invincible, and the forges of our Neksum worked day and night, forging indestructible armor for the Emperor's warriors.
At that time, the entire sector could hear the roar of our hammers and feel the glory of the Omnissiah."
His tone gradually shifted from recollection to the gravity of the present, his mechanical eye locking onto a flickering node on the star chart: "But now... the wounds inflicted by Horus' betrayal are far deeper than we initially imagined.
The Imperium is recovering, but the order has changed. Our most stable pillars... are shaking."
Vox's mechanical tentacle swept across the star chart, bringing up another clear data stream.
A thick band of light, labeled "Seventh Legion Imperial Fists," dominated the historical data, its flow so strong it almost obscured all other minor order sources.
"Look here," Vox's voice carried a deliberately factual, troubled tone, as if stating an unavoidable law of physics, "From the moment the first foundation was laid, the coding to serve the Seventh Legion has flowed in the very bloodstream of our Neksum.
The sons of Primarch Dorn, they are our firmest cornerstone, the fundamental reason why our forges were designed as they are. Their needs are our production directives."
The tip of his tentacle lightly tapped the portion of the light band on the chart that had noticeably narrowed and branched in recent decades, emitting a metallic tapping sound: "However, as you've seen, Roboute Guilliman... before his unfortunate demise, he vigorously promoted the 'Second Founding' initiative, which aimed to disband all Legions into independent smaller Chapters."
He paused, his one remaining natural human eye revealing a complex emotion, like regret mixed with the helplessness of facing an established fact: "At the time, Primarch Dorn was adamantly against it. He believed that while the Imperium's scars were still healing, clenching the fist tightly was the correct approach.
But... fate is a cruel mistress. After Primarch Guilliman fell, Primarch Dorn, ironically, became the most steadfast executor of this policy. He believed it was to complete his brother's unfinished work, a necessary price to pay in the fight against Chaos."
"Now, the splitting of the Imperial Fists is unstoppable," the worry in Vox's tone became more concrete, even carrying a hint of calculated complaint, "What does this mean? It means that the massive orders that once came directly to us, feeding our core production lines, will now be cut into dozens, even hundreds, of pieces, scattered across the entire galaxy.
These newly formed Chapters, these little ones, each have their own temperament; some may have already been flirting with Forge Worlds near their homeworlds, while others will seek the 'blessing' of older, more famous Forge Worlds... And here, alas, our order volume has genuinely shrunk by nearly forty percent. To be frank with you, the star-ring expansion project has been completely shelved, and in the factories below, a third of the secondary forges have gone cold.
If this continues, we may even struggle to update the equipment for our existing Skitarii Corps."
On the chart, the once robust data stream had now split into dozens of smaller tributaries, many of which already pointed to the insignias of other Forge Worlds.
"Order volume is projected to plummet by over thirty percent, and that's just the most optimistic estimate," Vox's mechanical tentacle fell limply onto the desk with a clang, "Do you know what this means? It means some of the forge fires will need to be extinguished, it means production line stagnation!
It means Tech-Priests and workers with nothing to do, it means our Neksum's standing and resource allocation within the Adeptus Mechanicus will further decline!"
Vox raised his sole remaining human eye, his gaze a mixture of anticipation and shrewdness, locking firmly onto Osiris.
"So, Osiris, when I received your report and carefully reviewed the data regarding that 'ancient logic core'... I realized this might be a glimmer of hope for our Neksum in this predicament, a potential opportunity to break the deadlock."
His tone became more animated, carrying a pragmatic, even somewhat shrewd meaning: "That 'core,' I entrusted it to an absolutely reliable internal unit for in-depth analysis.
The results... are very interesting.
Yes, it indeed displayed a certain degree of autonomous logical judgment capability, and its data processing model showed significant differences from our common Cogitator systems. Its style... is quite ancient, one might even say somewhat alien."
"But!" he paused deliberately to emphasize his next words, his mechanical tentacle, used to aid expression, made a decisive cutting motion in the air: "We must, and absolutely can, strictly define from a technical standpoint—its intelligence level is far from touching the unforgivable red line of 'Abominable Intelligence.'
It's more like a... a complex, highly efficient automated logic unit, an 'unintelligent' tool.
You understand what I mean; it lacks true 'intent,' and its behavioral patterns are still confined within a preset parameter framework, it's just that this framework is... a little more flexible than the standard template."
Another mechanical tentacle deftly made a twisting motion, as if weighing invisible chips: "The key lies in the subsequent 'packaging' and 'guidance.' We can emphasize its 'archaeological value' and 'historical uniqueness.'
Highlight its exceptional efficiency in processing specific types of complex data, such as environmental sensing, production line optimization, or ballistic trajectory prediction.
At the same time, carefully handle those overly 'non-standard' parts of its logical pathways, interpreting them as a characteristic of some lost technological school.
Ultimately, we can position it as a new type of high-performance specialized Cogitator core, a unique product that can bring technological distinction to our Forge World!"