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A Question of Taste – Extract

A Black Library Publication

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A Question of Taste

Denny Flowers

Tempes Sol smiled as he felt the Motive Force radiate from the factorum’s antiquated machinery. Even after all his years of service to the Mercator Lux it still felt like a minor miracle – the raw power of a distant storm or blazing star harnessed to light a flickering lumen or initiate a chemical processor.

He glanced at the foreman as the factorum shunted into life, seeking recognition in his haggard face. But the older man’s expression was sour, as though he were chewing a spoilt rat-steak.

‘Is that it then?’ he said, the roar of the machines seemingly insufficient evidence of the power tap.

‘Yes,’ Sol replied, keeping his tone neutral. ‘The Foundas contract is complete.’

The older man frowned. ‘You sure? We’ve had outages before.’

‘That was under your previous contract with the Mercator Pyros. Now that your power is provided by the Mercator Lux there will be no further shortages. Providing you pay your bill.’

‘And how do we resupply?’

‘You don’t resupply,’ Sol sighed, irritation creeping into his voice. ‘The factorum is now powered by a solar array. So long as the sun burns, the machines will run.’

The foreman grunted, clearly dissatisfied. He leant against the railing, peering down at the conveyor belt below, where the workers had begun loading the first shipment of slag. Sol found his gaze creeping to the square of the man’s back. It would be so easy to give a gentle push and bring the conversation to a satisfying, if abrupt, conclusion.

The foreman turned, glancing at the guilder from over his shoulder.

‘What happens when the sun is gone?’ he said.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘I know the sun goes away at night,’ the older man continued, a smug smile staining his face. ‘I might not have been outside the hive, but I’ve heard stories. What am I supposed to do when there is no sun?’

‘The sun doesn’t… At night the factorum will run off the spare capacity harnessed during daylight,’ Sol replied, swallowing his frustration.

‘And if it doesn’t come back?’

‘If the sun stays dark?’

‘Exactly.’

Sol sighed. ‘I can only assure you that in the event of the sun disappearing, running this facility will not be your prime concern.’

The foreman grunted something in response, turning away.

Sol stepped forward, resting his weight on the rail, his gaze directed at the conveyor belt below.

‘The Foundas contract has been negotiated and sanctioned,’ he said. ‘If you are at any point dissatisfied with the service provided, I encourage you to direct your concerns to my representatives. But unless you encounter an actual problem, I consider the matter closed.’

‘The Guild of Flame powered this place for a generation,’ the foreman muttered. ‘Every quarter of a cycle we’d be resupplied. We knew the weight of each barrel, how long it could burn, how much could be done. Then it’s all changed. No one talks to us. No one cares about the people running the place.’

Sol turned his head, his gaze meeting the foreman’s. Perhaps something carried in his expression, for the older man took a step back, his hand running nervously through his thinning hair.

‘Look, I don’t mean to disrespect–’ he began, but Sol cut him off with a wave of his hand, the fingers glimmering, slivers of microcircuits embedded beneath the skin.

‘You are unhappy with the new arrangements?’

‘I just don’t understand why–’

‘There is a great deal you do not understand about the arrangements,’ Sol continued. ‘For that you have my sympathy. Like you, I am not privy to the reasoning behind my superiors’ decisions. It can be frustrating. But I have been tasked with finalising this power tap, and I will do what is required to ensure it is a success. If you do not feel you can be a part of that I can only say I admire your dedication to your principles and offer you my hand.’

He extended his right hand, the microcircuits glinting.

The older man stared at it a moment.

‘… No,’ he said. ‘I understand my place. I did not wish to offend.’

‘If only the God-Emperor granted all such wishes,’ Sol replied with a tight smile. ‘With that I must bid you farewell. I have a prior engagement and I am already running late.’

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A Black Library Publication

First published in 2019 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd, Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK.

Produced by Games Workshop in Nottingham.

A Question of Taste © Copyright Games Workshop Limited 2019. A Question of Taste, Necromunda, GW, Games Workshop, Black Library, The Horus Heresy, The Horus Heresy Eye logo, Space Marine, 40K, Warhammer, Warhammer 40,000, the ‘Aquila’ Double-headed Eagle logo, and all associated logos, illustrations, images, names, creatures, races, vehicles, locations, weapons, characters, and the distinctive likenesses thereof, are either ® or TM, and/or © Games Workshop Limited, variably registered around the world.
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ISBN: 978-1-78999-243-4

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