Chapter 122 The Iron Lord Has Probably Calmed Down

"I'll 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 read 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 nearby galaxies.

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 array 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 it 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 isn't great." After all, who would weaken rather than enhance the propagation of sound in a shipboard monastery? "

Perturabo looked around and saw that there were neither local workers from Invite 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 man who was friendly and wise, and 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 sudden 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 agree with his behavior, I think he does better than me, I get along with him, I am interested in him... that's what it means."

Perturabo admitted that when he saw Morse appear, he expected Morse to stand on the same side of the battle line with him, to fight against and even defeat the defense that Rog Dorn had built with his mouth. However, when he got to the court, he found that Morse immediately sat in the middle of the field as a referee, and he was almost running to the opposite base to shake hands with Dorn.

"Hmm..." Morse looked Perturabo up and down, patting the giant's arm in a friendly manner, "According to your standards, you just showed that you like Rogal Dorn very much."

"What!" Perturabo shouted, and felt a stream of ice water flowing through his bones and filling his whole body, which scared him so much that he almost vomited yesterday's dinner - he hadn't eaten breakfast today, "Morse!"

"Take courage, calm down, and face your memory, respected Lord of Iron. You are a person who is more than three meters, not more than thirty centimeters."

Morse knocked on the bench in the monastery, and the flashing golden light swept away the dust while reinforcing the rotten wood that collapsed at the touch.

"Think back to your conversation. Have you ever had such a smooth negotiation process with anyone?"

After getting a chair, Morse sat down leisurely, with his left leg over his right leg, and looked up at Perturabo who fell into silence.

Morse didn't know what Rogal Dorn and Perturabo had talked about before he came here, so that Perturabo had rarely lost his temper and slapped the iron tabletop, but the part he witnessed was the smooth conversation between the two Primarchs who met for the first time, as if they had known each other for a long time.

At the same square table, any question raised by either party could be answered by the other party within a second. Whether it was technical or management suggestions, the two could fully understand each other's ideas in the middle of a sentence.

Perhaps the Primarchs who stretched their thoughts to the limit in the long negotiation items together did not notice how their gestures and postures gradually converged, and how their ideas merged and merged into the same dry river of thoughts. With similar identities and similar interests, they made each other more perfect in unconscious mutual learning.

In a word, Morse saw a pair of brothers who were mirror images of each other, except that Dorn looked more like a serious stone, while Perturabo was like a piece of iron that was constantly angry.

"So what's your answer, Perturabo?" the black-robed man said softly.

"I don't like Rogal Dorn." Perturabo emphasized unhappily. "What about you?"

"I don't know if I've ever told you that I like stone." Morse shrugged, "Because it's honest, hard, and never changes. So you often see all kinds of stone sculptures in my place."

"But I don't seem to have said that I prefer steel. It's 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 a soul connected to me."

"Would you like to guess why iron is so rare in my place?" Morse smiled.

"Because you're too lazy to light the furnace." Perturabo replied, "You just want to sit at the table and do all the handwork in the world."

"Absolutely correct." Morse praised, "Exactly. So I will only have one finished product - another one will kill me."

The card draw is crooked again...