The average survival rate during Integration amongst Harvested Material is forty-three per cent, vastly inferior to the Legion's ninety-one per cent.
It is also a fact that the quality of the Joined produced is also inferior. Material yields eighty-seven per cent single potential on average. The rest are almost all double potential, with triple potentials occurring at best in one in fifty-thousand, and a quad is virtually unheard of.
For comparison, the Legions produce an average potential spread of nine, seventy-three, seventeen-point-nine-eight, and point-zero-two per cent in single, double, triple and quad potential.
Even when the Harvesters wasted the resources for genotyping and Material selection, which has only happened seven times in the entire history of the Harvests, the survival rate never increased above sixty-two per cent. The increase in potential was also, at best, a negligible twenty-seven per cent growth from single to double potential, with almost no increase in triple or quads.
However, abnormalities like G53, I82, L06, and R42 exist.
None received any resources beyond the norm, but each produced at least sixty per cent triple potentials, with at least two per cent quads and less than a per cent single potentials.
A quality not even the best Legion Clusters have ever achieved.
--Integration Anomalies, Legion study during aberrant cycle R42.
***
The blocky skyboat's vastly sleeker and nimbler escorts peeled off as the chunky skyboat approached the Primary Harvester's landing pad.
The heavily armoured transport proved that it was designed to keep its occupants safe and not for anything which could be confused with elegance when the landing skids slammed into the landing pad with a loud metallic clang.
As soon as the wailing of the shock breakers died down, four of the six people wearing the pearly white and grey coloured armour of the Ninety-Second Legion had already unbuckled and moved towards the side hatch.
A moment later, the hatch was open, and they launched themselves from the cabin's door into the billowing exhaust smoke. Even in friendly terrain, they scanned the area looking for threats with polished professionalism.
Defence Commandant Marcus Stein unbuckled himself, and after receiving the all-clear from his personal guard, he exited the skyboat and dispassionately looked over the Harvester's welcoming party.
There were twelve men and women in the brown and grey of Harvester personnel, and the runes they displayed caused the tired soldier to sigh quietly.
Stein dismissed the eight wearing the bulkier guards' armour from his mind and focussed on the other four in lighter armour. A single administrative lieutenant led three administrative sergeants. Their runes and insignia showed none were more gifted than a Magi.
It would have been a blatant insult, but with the mind-boggling amount of Material the Harvesters were ordered to process and the immense strain on personnel this caused, it could be explained as an unfortunate unintentional one.
The Commandant wouldn't have given it another thought, except that Erik DeBoer was in overall command of the Harvester Group. There was no doubt that that prick would have intended the insult.
"Commandant Stein, welcome aboard," the lieutenant saluted with a fist to heart, the entire entourage mirroring her salute, "I am Lieutenant Fatimah Whittle. If you will follow me? I will show you to your quarters, where you can refresh yourself."
"No, you will take me to integration command."
Lieutenant Whittle visibly flinched before evidently concluding that the overall legion commander outranked a captain.
"Or course Commandant. If you will follow me?"
Stein nodded, signalled his guards and assistant to follow, and joined the lieutenant in the bowels of the Harvester.
Harvesters were massive hovercrafts almost three kilometres long, by a kilometre wide, and thirty decks high. Inside was everything needed to Harvest, Integrate, house, and train Material, as well as everything the crew and Harvesting Squads required to work, train, and live.
Stein intellectually knew the Harvesters' work was vital to the Legion's ability to slow the Anathema threat down, but it still sickened him.
The Legion's Cluster Integration Centres veritably crackled with anticipation, hope, and excitement for what was to come. Everyone he had grown up with couldn't wait to reach physical maturity and enter the programme. To become all that they could become and serve their people. It was a place of hopeful beginnings.
As the lieutenant led them through faded grey corridors, each high and wide enough to comfortably have three heavily armoured assault troopers walk side by side, the Commandant decided it was the smell. The place reeked of slaughterhouse mixed with disinfectant, seasoned with despair.
His sentiments never showed on his face, though.
The Harvest were essential, no matter how vile they were.
Plus, Stein was responsible for condemning a million Harvested to these places, and he would not look down on the sacrifices they and the Harvester crews made for the Legions.
The group descended deeper into the Harvester, down seven levels and through dozens of convoluted corridors. Finally, after around half an hour, they entered an area where a dull light brown replaced the faded yellow paint. Another ten minutes in the brown zone and eight different checkpoints guarded by combat-ready legionnaires later, Stein marched into the Harvester's Integration Command Center.
The I.C.C. was a massive dull brown room of almost fifty by fifty meters square, with a raised central area for the captain to overlook dozens of stations which descended in a thirty-degree slope.
Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.
Lightly armoured soldiers diligently worked the data processors in each station to ensure the Harvester completed processing the current material batch.
Above each clustered set of data processing stations hung large viewscreens. Some showed dozens of video images of one of the coloured zones, and others were covered in scrolling runes giving the most pertinent information at a glance.
"Commandant on deck!" Lieutenant Whittle boomed, and every soldier in the room stood, turned to him and saluted with a fist to heart.
Stein returned the salute, released it after five seconds, and said, "As you were."
Captain DeBoer dropped his fist, cocked his head minutely and kept quiet in another stupid powerplay. Stein didn't show his irritation and stood calmly watching the other man, the din of soldiers working rising around them again.
Even after most of the day in the I.C.C., DeBoer was immaculately groomed. Clean shaven, black hair combed neatly back, and bright blue eyes alert. He was also tall. At least two-ten. He didn't have the muscled physique of almost every other legionnaire but projected a sinewy strength instead.
"Commandant Stein," the other man eventually bent to protocol's pressure, "welcome aboard."
"Thank you, captain," Stein wouldn't lower himself to the games Deboer was playing and answered immediately, then focussed on why he was here, "Report on the anomalies you've detected."
"Yes, sir," the captain answered, then indicated a set of viewscreens at the back of the platform, "If you'll follow me?"
The two men and their aides walked towards the screens, and Stein noted with satisfaction that his guards spread out behind him to watch for any threat. They might not know the particulars, but they could see DeBoer disliked Stein, so even surrounded by allied legionnaires, they'd keep their guard up.
With a gesture from DeBoer, the screens started showing runes and video. Stein took in the obvious at a glance.
The upper right held his orders given when he abandoned sector Rho what seemed like years ago.
'Harvest material for a million integrations at speed.
No integration survival requirements.
Material integration and training time reduction to nine days total before deployment.
No training survival requirements.'
The screen below showed that nearly eight hundred thousand Materials had been Harvested. Integration had been started on a little over six hundred and sixty thousand, of which there were a little over three hundred and ninety thousand survivors, far beyond even the most optimistic projections.
Two hundred and forty thousand Harvested Joined had already been deployed, and almost one hundred and ninety thousand were still alive, which was also far beyond the projections.
The third screen showed the downside of the many survivors; Integration beyond minimum viable was at an unprecedented low. Even those harvested right at the start of the Harvest didn't show more than fifty-five per cent integration.
Not saying a word, Stein walked left, skipping over the centre screens, which showed the video of different zones of the Integration process, and started scanning the left ones.
One screen showed a scrolling list of identifying numbers and a summary of a little less than thirty-five thousand Single Potentials - a little less than nine per cent.
Another showed a similar list of two hundred twenty thousand Double Potentials. A little over fifty-six per cent.
The third showed a little over one hundred and sixteen thousand Triple Potentials - a little less than thirty per cent.
The last screen showed twenty thousand four hundred and seventy-two Quad Potentials. Five point two eight per cent. A higher percentage of peak Potentials than had ever been recorded in the entire history of the Legions.
"The numbers are verified?" Stein glanced at DeBoer, who merely nodded.
"What do we know about the cause?"
"Nothing concrete, Sir," DeBoer's aide stepped forward to answer the question, "R-43 seems to produce a highly potent Material that is also significantly slower to Integrate than any other Material harvested."
The Commandant's thoughts raced. Twenty thousand Quads. That'd become thirty at this rate. A much more significant influx of raw power than they'd ever expected. And if they were able to reach their potential, this Cycle might not be over yet.
Except they wouldn't be able to reach it. The math didn't hold up. There weren't enough Single Potentials to support the Doubles, let alone the Triples or Quads.
"What a waste," the Commandant muttered.
"Commandant Stein," DeBoer finally spoke up, and Stein gave the man his attention, "Inquest has requested ten thousand research subjects of each potential to study the phenomenon."
And there it was. Inquest would be frothing at the mouth to get Material to run their tests. Whoever they got their hands on would be used up and utterly useless on the battlefield, even if they survived. But this had never been seen before. If this phenomenon could be duplicated for the Legions...
Stein wanted to sigh in disgust, but he was in overall command, and there was only one decision he could make here.
"The current batch being integrated is approximately one hundred and forty thousand large?"
"Yes, Sir." DeBoer's aide answered again.
"Take two thousand Singles, six thousand Doubles, four thousand Triples and one thousand Quads from the survivors of that batch and give them to Inquest. Make sure that they are the least useful expressions. No other Material is to be sent to Inquest. Make sure they understand that that's all they're getting. "
DeBoer's expression darkened for a moment, and that was so uncharacteristic that it sparked something in Stein. He might not be able to supply Insight with everything they'd wanted, but there was no way they could actually have expected those Material amounts to dissect, right?
"What's wrong, Captain?"
DeBoer started to deny anything was wrong, but the Commandant's look was enough to pull the truth from him.
"Commandant, one of the Tine Materials broke free and ego-shred the Pacifier keeping it docile. I hoped to send it to Insight to find out how that was possible."
For a moment, Stein hesitated. Any other Captain he'd grant this request. Ego-shredding was a vicious way to technically kill somebody but leave their body alive. Even if the legionnaire physically recovered, his mind wouldn't. He'd be another person.
Except he'd just condemned another thirteen thousand Material at DeBoer's request.
"Show me the report," the Commandant waved at the centre screens.
A moment later, all six screens displayed different aspects of the report. The familiar A01 service number headed the left side screens and showed the service record of Corporal Huub Driesen. He'd been a Magi with a standard Tine-Bine combination. Nothing made the corporal stand out from the tens of thousands who were also Pacifiers.
Still, a loss was a loss, and Stein took the time to exhibit his regard for the loss by reading through the entire unremarkable file and observing the video of Huub savagely assaulting other Pacifiers after he had been ego-shred with what looks like anger or rage.
Then he turned to the right three screens headed with the R43 rune.
The female Material was physically underwhelming, but she was possibly a Quad, definitely a Tripple potential. Stein searched for the reason for the imprecise reading and quickly found the answer in the twelve per cent beyond minimum viable Integration.
"It ego-shred an unseen Pacifier with only twelve per cent Integration?"
"No, Sir," the aide answered again, "it was at eleven per cent beyond minimum viable when it attacked."
The Commandant quietly hummed in thought at that.
"No, Captain, this one will be far more useful fighting the Anathema than being cut apart by Insight. It'll repay the loss of Corporal Driesen by saving other legionnaire lives. When is the next deployment?"
"In seven hours, Sir."
"Excellent," Commandant Stein acknowledged the aide with a quick nod, then focused on DeBoer.
"Captain, I'll be staying for the next deployment. I want that Material in the deployment. Please make sure it doesn't harm any other Pacifiers before we deploy it. Also, ensure that two Singles are deployed close to a Quad whenever possible. We might not be able to support them all with what they need, but we can help out the ones with the most potential. If the survival rate of either Singles or Quads changes, adjust accordingly."
"Yes, Sir," the captain and his aide acknowledged. Stein even ignored the irritation in the captain's tone while he observed the woman crumpled in one of the garment rooms and memorized its identification number.
He'd check in on it from time to time.