"I'm going to make sure my engineers don't take offense," said Roger Dorn.
A stubborn strand of hair tried to peek out from the side of Dorn's neatly trimmed short white-blond hair. His tone was as cold and stern as his expression: "You can have your legion re-collect the Phalanx's data."
"I'm not questioning the capabilities of the Invites," Perturabo said.
The Iron Lord tried to figure out whether there was an invisible warning behind Dorn's attitude that it was inconvenient to speak - this was a completely subconscious dismantling move.
His brain analyzed for him the complex metaphors that a person speaking like this means before his surface thinking, and then his mind yelled at his own brain: Stop thinking about it, this guy is Rogal Dorn .
"I know you're not," Donn said, "You don't need to explain any more."
"Yes, I don't have to." Perturabo's hand under the table began to clasp the edge of his kneecap.
Out of the corner of his eye, Morse tapped the meeting minutes paper at him, reminding Perturabo that his words and deeds would probably be reviewed by the black-robed man who had just psychologically surrendered to Dorne and selflessly filled out the military report. Return to Terra.
"Okay." Donne continued, unaware of Morse's silent little movement.
"In the discussion just now, we have reached a consensus on each other's ability levels. Next, we can talk about specific cooperation projects," he thought for a moment and added a phrase, "Is that okay?"
"I divided the matter into three parts." Perturabo put his hand on the table. "The first is the maintenance of the Phalanx; the second is the construction of living facilities in Invit and neighboring systems; the third is the construction of Invit and neighboring systems. Defense Measures for Neighboring Systems."
Donne first nodded in approval of Perturabo's way of dividing the blocks, and then added: "The urgency of these matters can also be ranked according to the one to three you mentioned. I think the help I need mainly focuses on the first item, that is, The mountain formation is under maintenance.”
"Limited by the local natural environment conditions, the construction of Invite's cluster living area has reached a relatively complete level, and there is no rush to continue to improve it in the short term. The defense system can be left to be improved by my army in the future."
Finally, he added: "You are a kind man, my brother."
"I can understand that you are praising me in your heart." Perturabo's expression was not so much calm as it was a kind of trance-like numbness. "So you don't have to say it."
"If I don't speak out, how can I let others know what I think?" Donne didn't care, "Do you agree with me?"
"I agree with the first of the several points you just made, that is, the maintenance of the Phalanx is relatively important." Anyway, I don't agree with the last one, Pertura thought, "Leave the defense system to your own construction, don't stop my fleet You can take off and land normally during your stay in Inwit. As for the living facilities, I need to see them with my own eyes before making a decision."
"I agree." Dorn said, "The Phalanx does not yet support long-distance communication with the earth. Invite will send a space shuttle to pick me up and return to the surface in thirty hours. At that time, I will take you to check Invite's specific situation. "
"I believe that the Iron Blood will arrive here within thirty hours." Perturabo said, "At that time, I will show you my best engineering achievements so far. Even if it is only insignificant compared to the brilliance of the Phalanx Fluorescence is still my best effort.”
"I'll wait." Dawn nodded calmly in agreement. "I am looking forward."
——
"I don't understand why you think-"
"Keep your voice down, Primarch," Mors interrupted. "The soundproofing here is not very good. After all, who in a shipboard monastery would weaken rather than enhance the propagation of sound?"
Perturabo looked around and saw that there were neither local workers from Inwit nor the heirs he had ordered dispersed to the Phalanx to check the situation.
He lowered his voice anyway: "I don't understand why you think Dorne is easy to communicate with, Morse!"
"Well," Morse scraped his fingers across the wall, erasing a layer of floating dust that had appeared on the Phalanx due to frequent traffic in recent years. The once bright murals are now pale and faded, perhaps caused by the long-term direct sunlight of stars. "Let's do some comparisons."
"Suppose there is a person here," he drew a stick figure in the dust on the wall, "who always smiles and is friendly, but if you ask him a hundred words, he will only answer you one question."
Then, he drew another stick figure next to him, with a round head and a downward-turned mouth, "Here is another person who never pretends that he is easy to communicate with, but you ask him a question and he answers everything truthfully. "
Morse put down his hand and pretended to blow the dust off his fingertips: "Who do you think is better?"
Perturabo drew a third stick figure above the two: "a friendly and wise man who could answer questions."
"Does such a person exist?"
On the top of the third stick figure's head, Perturabo added rays representing reflected light.
"Horus Luperkar," said Perturabo.
A gust of wind blew past the wall, and all three stick figures disappeared.
"It was Horus's kindness that made his actions seem less deliberate." Morse briefly criticized Horus a little.
"Perhaps," Perturabo muttered, sounding weak. "So, you like Rogal Dorn?"
“Define your vocabulary.”
"I approve of his behavior, think he does better than me, get along well with him, and be interested in him...that's what it means."
Perturabo admitted that when he saw Mors appear, he expected Mors to be on the same side of the battle with him, to fight with him and even defeat the defense line established by Rogal Dorn with that mouth. However, after arriving on the court, he discovered that Morse immediately sat at midfield as the referee, and almost ran to the opposite base to shake hands with Donn.
"Well..." Morse looked at Perturabo up and down, and patted the giant's arm in a friendly manner, "According to your standards, you just seemed to like Rogal Dorn very much."
"What!" Perturabo shouted, feeling a stream of ice water flowing down his bones and filling his whole body. He was so frightened that he almost vomited out yesterday's dinner - he hadn't had breakfast today. " Morse!”
"Have courage, calm down, and face your memory, respected Lord of Iron. You are a person who is more than three meters tall, not thirty centimeters tall."
Morse knocked on the bench in the monastery. The flickering golden light swept away the dust and strengthened the rotten wood that collapsed at the touch of a touch.
"Think back on your conversation. Have you ever had such a smooth deliberations with anyone?"
After getting a seat, Morse sat down calmly, crossed his left leg above his right leg, and looked up at Perturabo, who fell into silence.
Morse didn't know what Rogal Dorn and Perturabo were talking about before he came here, so much so that Perturabo made a rare gaffe and made a hole in the iron table, but that part he witnessed with his own eyes , it was the conversation process between two Primarchs who met for the first time and it was as smooth as if they had known each other for a long time.
At the same square table, questions raised by either party can be answered by the other party within one second. Whether it is technical or management suggestions, both people can fully understand each other's ideas in the middle of a sentence.
Perhaps the Primarchs, who jointly let their thoughts stretch to the limit in the long negotiations, never noticed how their gestures and postures gradually converged, and how their thoughts merged and merged into the same dry river of thoughts. With similar identities and similar interests, they make each other better by unconsciously learning from each other.
In a nutshell, Morse saw a pair of brothers who were mirror images of each other, except that Dorne looked more like a stern stone and Perturabo looked like a piece of iron that was constantly angry.
"So what's your answer, Perturabo?" the man in black robe said softly.
"I don't like Rogal Dorn," Perturabo emphasized unhappily. "And you?"
"I wonder if I have told you that I like stone." Morse shrugged, "Because it is honest, hard, and never changes. So you often see various stone sculptures at my place."
"But I don't seem to have said that I prefer steel. It is hot, bright, tough, accepts changes and becomes indestructible after cooling. I like to change something, change the state and structure from the inside out, to shape and My connected soul.”
"Would you like to guess why there are so few iron tools in my place?" Morse smiled.
"Because you are too lazy to light the stove," answered Perturabo. "You just want to sit at the table and do all the work in the world."
"Exactly," Morse said approvingly, "exactly. So I will only have one finished product - another one will kill me."
The card drawing is crooked again...
(End of chapter)
