boyutpedia Chapter 75 Truth
Chapter 75 Truth
The shuttle waited at its berth. Vera boarded the shuttle and sat in the left seat. The crew in the cockpit had already started the engines, and the blue exhaust plumes from the plasma nozzles burned silently in the vacuum.
"Let's go to the dome," she said.
The shuttle detached from its berth and turned toward the main planet of Garros.
From orbit, Garros appears to have a thin atmosphere, a grayish-yellow surface, no ocean, no clouds, only rolling wastelands and occasional mountain peaks. But there's a different area near the equator. There, a circular shadow, two hundred kilometers in diameter, with neat edges, stands out starkly against the grayish-yellow landscape. That's not a natural feature—it's a dome.
The shuttle slowed down and entered through an airtight passage at the edge of the dome. The dome's transparent armor spread out overhead, and sunlight streamed through the armor plates, casting bright patches of light on the buildings. It wasn't the dim light filtered through industrial fumes like in Lucis; it was real, direct starlight, softened by the armor plates, but still blinding.
Looking down from the shuttle's porthole, the world beneath the dome resembled a jewel set in a gray-yellow wasteland. Sunlight streamed through the transparent armor, bathing the entire city in a cold yet sacred halo. In that moment, she thought of the paradise depicted in Imperial propaganda posters—but she knew it wasn't a lie.
The view beneath the dome made Vera pause for a moment on the armrest.
The streets stretched straight and wide from the central square, paved with gray-white concrete. The lampposts on either side were spaced according to imperial standards. Buildings lined the streets, ranging from three to over ten stories high, with light gray terracotta panels, uniform windows, and clotheslines on the balconies. These were not temporary housing; they were proper, permanent residential buildings. Communication antennas and solar panels adorned the rooftops, reflecting a silvery-white light in the sun.
The agricultural area lies at the edge of the dome, its interconnected greenhouses gleaming silvery-white in the sunlight. Through the transparent walls, rows of planting racks can be seen, automatic drip irrigation lines hanging from above, and tender green seedlings peeking out from the soil. Not the sickly pale of hydroponically grown vegetables, but a healthy, deep green brimming with chlorophyll. Each seedling grows under the Emperor's watchful eye. The soil here doesn't come from Terra, but from the same hands sharing the same faith.
The industrial zone is on the other side of the dome. The factory chimneys aren't emitting smoke—not because production has stopped, but because of clean energy; the waste heat from the plasma reactor is being recovered and reused, eliminating the need for coal burning. Transport vehicles are running on the factory roads, not driven by mechanics, but by human drivers.
The Governor's Palace is located in the very center of the dome.
The building rose abruptly from the ground, its gray-black terracotta steel exterior adorned with neatly arranged Gothic pointed arches. The Emperor's double-headed eagle emblem was etched along the window frames. Above the main entrance was a massive relief combining the Emperor's and the Machinist Order's gear and skull emblems, flanked by angels and mech servants, cast in adamantite and gleaming with a dark golden sheen in the sunlight. The spires aligned along the central axis, with the central tower being the tallest, topped by a statue of the Emperor in battle stance, his longsword pointing to the sky. This was the nominal center of power for the Garros Dominion, the official residence of Governor Cohen Severus.
Vera had the shuttle circle above the Governor's Mansion. She saw the helipad on the roof, and the flag of the Garros Autonomous Dominion hanging on the flagpole beside it—a dark red background with a golden double-headed eagle, its talons bearing a gear and skull. She also saw the garden behind the Governor's Mansion. Not the neatly trimmed geometric flowerbeds of Imperial propaganda posters, but a natural green space where weeds and wildflowers mingled. There were a few trees, not tall, but definitely trees, not metal sculptures.
"Go down," she said.
The shuttle landed on the rooftop helipad of the Governor's Mansion. Vera jumped down and stood at the edge of the helipad, looking down at the city beneath the dome. Sunlight streamed through the transparent armor plate, casting a long shadow. In the distance, the agricultural greenhouses stretched into a silvery-white sea, and people moved about on the rooftops of residential buildings—not servitude, but living people. The first families who had arrived with the Black Pearl had already moved in. She could see people taking in laundry on their balconies, chatting on the streets below, and children chasing and playing in the open space in front of the buildings. Where the children had run, their footprints were left on the hardened earth.
An executive sergeant in a dark gray robe waited beside the helipad, his optical lens flashing data lights, and an electronic voice announced: "Lady Vera Nazari, the Governor is waiting for you in his office. Please follow me."
Vera followed the servant into the governor's mansion. The corridor was bathed in cold, white light, the floor was paved with terracotta steel plates, and the walls were adorned with a map of Garros and the imperial double-headed eagle emblem. The servant stopped before a mithril door, which slid open automatically.
Cohen sat behind his desk, the hood of his deep red fifth-tier sage robe undone, revealing his young and serene face. Several data panels were spread out on the table in front of him, their screens displaying scrolling numbers and charts. He didn't stand up, but merely raised his hand and gestured to the chair opposite him.
"sit."
Vera sat down and looked around the office. It wasn't large, but it was fully functional—a desk, a data terminal, a holographic projector, and a row of filing cabinets. In the corner was a small imperial shrine, the incense in the cauldron still burning. This was a proper administrative office.
"I saw the dome," Vera said. "It's bigger than I imagined."
"There will be more domes." Cohen's voice was low but clear. "Domes two and three are already under construction. Dome one is designed to hold two million people. The first batch of immigrants has been settled, and with the new families arriving, there are now over four hundred thousand people living here, and there's still plenty of space."
Vera nodded.
"How's the reception going with the Aletheia?" Cohen asked.
"Self-inspection in progress. Engine room, weapons, navigation, communications—all running through the process. Identification codes will be installed this afternoon. And one more thing—" She paused, "I didn't see the Guardian Corps' organizational structure in your plan, so I made a decision myself."
Cohen didn't speak, waiting for her to continue.
"I established the 'Machine Soul Cult Combat Guard' on the Truth. Ten thousand men, five companies. Not the Guardians of the Faith, but more suitable for this ship." Vera's tone was calm, as if stating a decision that was already a fait accompli. "The Guardians of the Faith are an organization of the Forged World, under the command of the Temple. The Truth is my ship, and its armed forces must be responsible only to me."
Cohen paused for a moment, then nodded. "Okay. That's your business."
Vera's lips curled up slightly. "I know."
"By the way, the group of people my father found—artillery officers, tactical staff, and shipboard operations commanders—are all on board. More than four thousand people, plus the veterans I brought from the Truth Seeker, the command chain for the Truth has been established. Formation coordination, firepower allocation, damage control scheduling, all can be handled directly."
She paused, tapping her fingers lightly on the edge of the table. "What's lacking is real combat experience. The artillery officer has practiced hundreds of times on the simulator, and his hand has never trembled when he actually pulls the fire button. But—" she smiled slightly, "the foundation is there, he just needs some practice."
Cohen nodded.
"How are the family members being settled?" Vera changed the subject.
Cohen pulled up a data file and projected it onto the holographic platform. "The two hundred thousand new arrivals are being transported down in batches by transport ships. Housing under the dome has been allocated, one unit per family. The first crops in the agricultural area have ripened, and the food factories have begun processing them. Schools open next week. The hospitals are operational."
"What about quarantine?" Vera asked.
Cohen's voice was flat. "The air under the dome is filtered and purified, two orders of magnitude better than in the Lucis Nest. The circulation system can handle the little stuff brought in. Besides, these people are all family members; we know them inside and out."
Vera stared at the data on the holographic platform—occupancy rates, food reserves, medical resources, education plans. The numbers were impressive, far better than she'd expected. Not because her expectations were low, but because the Empire was so terrible. In Lucis, a mid-nest family's living space was just big enough for one person to turn around in; in Garros, a family of four could get a two-bedroom apartment with a balcony. In Lucis, school classrooms were in the pipe mezzanine; here, the school buildings had windows, and sunlight streamed through them.
She remained silent for more than ten seconds.
"Cohen." She looked up. "Elder... may I see him? There are some things I'd like to ask him in person."
Cohen picked up his coffee cup, took a sip, and put it down. His gaze remained calm as he looked at her.
"If the elders don't say anything, then we don't need to worry about it."
His tone was soft, but every word was as clear as if it were nailed to a ceramic plate.
"We'll do our own thing. You only need to be responsible to me."
Vera paused, stunned. She looked into Cohen's eyes, which held no flicker, no hesitation, only a heavy, undeniable certainty.
She suddenly understood. The elders provided the ship, the elders built the dome, the elders did things that mortals could not do—but on this chain of command, in the power structure of the Garros Dominion, the one standing at the top was not the ancient avatar under the hood, but the fifth-order sage who had climbed up from the bottom nest.
The elder never attended any meetings, never signed any documents, and never commented on any executive orders. He was merely a tool, an ancient doppelganger sent to build. The real decision-making power lay with Cohen.
"I understand." Vera nodded. "I'll take responsibility for you."
Cohen did not respond.
A servant brought over two cups of coffee. Vera picked one up and took a sip—it still tasted the same, bitter but fragrant. She only just learned that coffee was developed and spread by Cohen, and now it was being produced on a large scale in many parts of the Empire. It was said that the Star Guardians had already made coffee as an equally important supply as cigarettes.
"Will you come to the cocktail party tonight?" Vera put down her glass.
"Come," Cohen said. "It's inconvenient for the elder to attend. You know, that kind of occasion isn't suitable for him."
Vera nodded. Of course she knew. The elder's existence was a secret, not something to be revered by everyone in a bustling banquet hall. Cohen was enough—he was the governor of Garros, a fifth-order sage, and the leader trusted by over four hundred thousand people.
Vera stood up and smoothed the wrinkles in her robe. "I'm going back now. I need to keep an eye on the identification codes myself, and after everything is installed, we'll have to do a full ship self-inspection. See you tonight."
Cohen nodded.
Vera walked to the door, paused, and didn't turn around. "Cohen. Thank you."
She pushed open the door and went out. Her footsteps echoed in the hallway, the rhythm lighter than when she came in.
Cohen sat behind his desk, picked up his now-cold coffee, and took a sip. The holographic display still showed city data from under the dome, the numbers dancing silently in the cold white light.