The Abysswalker submarine sailed steadily through the pitch-black subterranean river. The low-frequency vibrations from the pump-jet propulsion system conducted through the hull, making the cramped cabin feel somewhat oppressive.
Sisyphron sat in the pilot's seat, his hands gripping the control levers so tightly that his knuckles were white. He was still reeling from the narrow escape. If he had been one step slower, he would be a pile of fertilizer in Nurgle's Garden by now.
Andy sat in the co-pilot's seat, one hand steadying the heavy safe while the other traced the submarine's dashboard. His fingertips brushed over the smooth buttons and the seamless edges of the display screens.
"It really is quite impressive," Andy said, pointing to the pressure-resistant hull above them. "Look at this one-piece titanium alloy keel, and the dynamic balance of these pump-jet blades. This definitely wasn't hammered out in a mud pit like the Underhive."
"Even if it's a Helios prototype, the fact that it maintains such watertight integrity after your modifications proves that the people working for you are the real deal."
Hearing Andy praise his ship, Sisyphron's expression softened slightly. As the biggest smuggler in the region, this ship was his last shred of dignity and currently his only remaining trump card.
"Of course," Sisyphron said, sitting up a bit straighter as he began to list his assets. "When we were refitting it, I had the keel custom-made by 'Iron-Hammer Ale' in the Mid-hive. The propulsion blades were scavenged from scrapped aerospace engine blades at an Upper-hive junkyard, then reground by a black-market factory called 'Gear Heart.' That modification set alone cost me three crates of high-purity antibiotics."
Andy's electronic eyes flickered.
Mid-hive.
That word sounded sweeter to Andy's ears than gold bars or antibiotics. The Underhive was a junkyard, a grave for mutants and the forgotten. Its industrial level was limited to scavenging trash and beating it into something barely functional. Even an Iron Man like Andy, equipped with an STC cheat-code, often felt "bald with stress" due to the lack of basic high-level materials and precision processing equipment.
For example, his rocket launcher project had suffered several backfires simply because the nozzle materials weren't up to standard. But the Mid-hive was different. That was the true industrial zone, the heart of the planet Forge No. 7.
"You mentioned 'Gear Heart,'" Andy said, zeroing in on the key point. "Can they process parts with micron-level precision?"
"Micron-level?" Sisyphron snorted. "If the money is right, they'd even dare to take on nano-level jobs."
Adjusting the course, Sisyphron opened up, partly to prove his value to Andy and partly to ease his own nerves.
"Andy, you might not know the current state of the Mid-hive. Decades ago, as the Imperial administration grew inefficient and legitimate trade ships dwindled, the Mid-hive fell into total chaos. With official orders gone, what were the factory owners supposed to do? They couldn't just let the machines rust. So, everyone started illegal mass production. Everyone started smuggling."
"Countless illegal factory owners are poisoning and assassinating each other to steal orders. Tens of thousands of proletarian workers are fighting in the streets with wrenches just for a single job opening. And most importantly..." Sisyphron lowered his voice, his tone tinged with a hint of awe:
"There are legitimate Tech-Priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus there."
"They are completely different from the types you see in the Underhive. Those priests in the Mid-hive might still worship the Omnissiah and perform all those mystical rituals, but they truly master the technology. For instance, the boss of 'Gear Heart' is a high-ranking Tech-Priest. He maintains hundreds of high-grade Servitors from who-knows-where and even dares to take outsourcing orders from the Helios Group."
Andy nodded, a piece of the puzzle clicking into place. It seemed his previous assessment had been wrong. He had assumed the planet's Mechanicus were all like Gamma-9—half-baked hacks who only knew how to apply oils and chant canticles as if repairing a machine were a religious rite. Someone like Gamma-9 was likely sent to guard the gates of a godforsaken place like the Underhive because his skill level was too low or he had made a grave mistake.
In the Mid-hive, those priests who still controlled core production assets possessed genuine skill. While they were likely superstitious and burned incense before a lathe, they actually knew how to write CNC programs and which grade of coolant to use after the prayers were done. That was the difference. Thinking about it, if the whole planet were at Gamma-9's level, it would have blown up long ago.
"So, you have a lot of influence in the Mid-hive?" Andy turned to look at Sisyphron.
Sisyphron's hand shook slightly. He immediately caught the implication in Andy's words. The Beak Doctors' nest was gone. His subordinates were either dead or fertilizer for Nurgle. Sisyphron was now a commander without an army.
If he couldn't prove his continued utility, then once the submarine docked—given this "Yellow-Skin" tin man's track record—Andy might just rob him and kick him to the curb. In this cruel world, those without utility didn't even qualify to be slaves.
"Andy," Sisyphron took a deep breath, his voice becoming urgent. "Don't just look at me as I am now. My people may be gone, but my network remains. The Beak Doctors' business grew so large not just because I had medicine, but because I had the channels!"
Sisyphron began to frantically showcase his value.
"In the Mid-hive, besides that shipyard, I know the owners of several large chemical plants. They have tons of industrial acids, organic solvents, and even restricted military propellants. As long as you have the goods, they'll sell anything. In the Upper-hive, I have several established sales outlets. Those noble lords look down on Underhive trash on the surface, but in private, they indulge more than anyone. They need the unique hallucinogens of the Underhive, prohibited biological specimens, and even certain 'special pets.' Only I know how to navigate those connections."
"Then there's the Underhive. It's messy, but I have the maps for hundreds of distribution points. Once the supply is restored, I can rebuild the distribution network immediately. And..."
Sisyphron spoke for two minutes straight without stopping for breath. When he finished, he looked at Andy nervously. Andy didn't speak; he just listened quietly. To be fair, this information was... extremely valuable.
While the Vault was currently self-sufficient, it was confined to its small corner of the Underhive. To develop further and climb higher on the tech tree, Andy had to break through regional limitations and stretch his reach into the Mid-hive and even the Upper-hive. Specifically, the channels for precision machining and specialized raw materials were what Andy lacked most right now.
"Very well," Andy finally spoke. "It seems you are still a qualified partner. Once this ship docks, you will return to the Vault with me. I will provide you with a new office and new assistants. You have only one mission: take these broken connections and mend them for me."
Hearing this, the heart that had been hanging in Sisyphron's throat finally settled. He had kept his life, and he had kept his status. As long as he stayed close to a "technical thigh" like Andy, Sisyphron would eventually make a comeback—perhaps even faring better than before.
But Andy's next words nearly caused him to steer the submarine into a trench.
"Since you know the people at the shipyard," Andy looked at the dark waterway ahead, his tone as calm as if he were asking what was for dinner, "do you have any leads on building the kind of ship that can fly out of the atmosphere?"
Screeeech—!!!
Sisyphron slammed his foot onto the reverse thrust pedal. The submarine decelerated violently in the water, emitting a metal groan that set the teeth on edge. Momentum nearly sent the safe in Andy's hands flying through the windshield.
"You... what did you say??" Sisyphron stared at Andy with wide eyes. "Fly out of the atmosphere? Do you mean... a heavy shuttle?"
"No." Andy shook his head. "Shuttles are too small; they can't carry enough. I'm talking about a starship. The kind capable of Warp jumps and crossing star sectors."
Sisyphron's mouth fell open and stayed that way for a long time. He looked at Andy as if he were looking at a lunatic who had just escaped an asylum.
"Andy, have you lost your mind? You want to build a starship? Do you have any idea what that concept entails? Even a light Cobra-class Destroyer requires the entire industrial system of Forge No. 7 to run at full capacity for three years! That requires orbital shipyards, millions of skilled workers, and the personal oversight of a Magos of the Adeptus Mechanicus!"
"We are Underhive scavengers! We are gangsters and smugglers! We can barely scrape together a submarine, and now you're telling me you want to build a starship??"
Sisyphron felt the world had become absurd. He had originally thought Andy was just a somewhat ambitious tech-maniac who wanted to be a warlord in the Underhive or expand business into the Mid-hive. Instead, this guy opens his mouth and speaks of the sea of stars!
Andy ignored Sisyphron's shock. He knew exactly how difficult building a starship was. The STC database held thousands of blueprints for starships, ranging from short-range transports a few hundred meters long to massive battleships spanning dozens of kilometers.
But blueprints were just blueprints. Turning them into reality required astronomical resources.
However, Andy had no choice. He had to build, and he had to build fast. His system clock currently read: M41.940.
To the natives of the Warhammer universe, this was just an ordinary year; life went on, and wars were fought as usual. But to Andy, the transmigrator, this number represented a countdown to death.
Forge No. 7 was located in the Segmentum Obscurus, in the north of the galaxy. Further north lay that famous, ever-leaking hole in reality—the Eye of Terror. That was the nest of the Chaos Space Marines and the starting point for every Black Crusade launched by Abaddon the Despoiler.
At this point in time, Abaddon was already preparing his 13th Black Crusade. It would be a catastrophe that would sweep across the entire sector. The fortress world of Cadia, claimed to be impregnable, would be shattered during this crusade. With the fall of Cadia, a massive warp rift spanning the galaxy—the Great Rift (Cicatrix Maledictum)—would tear open.
When that happened, half the galaxy would be plunged into darkness, and Warp storms would swallow countless planets. Although Forge No. 7 wasn't in the Cadian meat grinder, it was still in the Segmentum Obscurus. Once the Great Rift opened, the Warp routes here would be severed, and demons would run rampant.
And that wasn't even the deadliest part. The deadliest part was the Leviathan Hive Fleet of the Tyranids, opening its maw at the bottom of the galaxy. While their main force was currently deadlocked with the Blood Angels on Baal, the Tyranids had countless splinter fleets. These cosmic locusts that ate everything favored Hive worlds like Forge No. 7—densely populated and rich in biomass.
The incident with the Ascension Mining Union had already proven that staying here led to only two ends: being sacrificed by Chaos demons or being devoured by the Tyranids.
Andy didn't want to die. He had managed to live again; though he was an Iron Man, it was still a life. He didn't want to be some "King of the Underhive" on a planet destined for destruction.
His goal had been clear from the start: build, hoard resources, climb the tech tree, and build a ship. Then, before the end times arrived, take his people and his STC and run. Even running to the Farsight Enclaves to hang out with the Tau was better than waiting here to die.
"I'm not crazy," Andy's voice remained calm. "I'm not saying I want to build a battleship several kilometers long. I only need a small ship capable of Warp jumps—an escort-class vessel, or even a civilian-grade colonial exploration ship. But that requires a shipyard, a keel, a Geller Field generator, and a Warp drive."
Andy looked at Sisyphron. "I know it's difficult, which is why I'm asking you. Since those people in the Mid-hive have extensive channels, do they have a way to get their hands on a discarded starship wreck? Or perhaps a decommissioned small vessel? Even if it's just a shell, as long as the keel isn't broken, I can fix it."
Sisyphron looked into Andy's unblinking electronic eyes. He realized the tin man was serious. He truly wanted to reach the heavens. Sisyphron swallowed hard, trying to settle his nerves, and gripped the control levers again.
"Andy, if you're talking about wrecks..." Sisyphron hesitated, seemingly weighing whether to reveal this information.
"What? You have a lead?" Andy pressed.
"I do..." Sisyphron lowered his voice as if afraid of disturbing the ghosts at the bottom of the river. "In Sector 9 of the Mid-hive, there is a massive, abandoned orbital elevator base. It used to be a freight corridor leading directly to the outer space shipyards. It is said that beneath it lies a ship."
"A ship buried there?" Andy was intrigued.
"Yes," Sisyphron nodded. "About a few hundred years ago, a Rogue Trader's armed transport ship was damaged by orbital defense systems while smuggling contraband. It didn't make it out; it crash-landed in the industrial zone of the Mid-hive. It caused immense destruction at the time, crushing half a district. Later, the Mechanicus went in and cordoned off the area. But strangely, they didn't dismantle and recycle the ship. Instead, they built a massive cover over it and sealed it away."
"Some say the ship's Machine Spirit was too vicious to dismantle. Others say it carried cursed cargo. Regardless, the place has been a forbidden zone ever since. But recently..." Sisyphron paused.
"Recently what?"
"Recently, I heard the boss of 'Gear Heart' bragging while drunk that the Helios Group is secretly transporting things into that forbidden zone. Massive lead plates and heavy engineering machinery. It seems they want to dig that ship out."
As Andy listened, his processors began to run at high speed. A Rogue Trader's armed transport. Now that was a prize!
Rogue Traders were a privileged class of the Imperium. They possessed Warrants of Trade that allowed them to explore, trade, and even deal with xenos freely at the galaxy's edge. Their ships were usually masterpieces of heavy modification—fast, heavily armed, and with vast internal spaces for all sorts of exotic equipment. Most importantly, such ships were typically equipped with high-quality Warp drives and Geller Fields, as they spent years in unknown star sectors where survival gear had to be top-tier.
If there truly was a crashed Rogue Trader ship there, even if it had been sitting for centuries, it would be a ready-made starship chassis for Andy and his STC repair capabilities! This was ten thousand times easier than starting from scratch.
As for Helios Group wanting to dig it up? That was even better! Someone else would do the heavy lifting, clearing the dirt and paving the way. Andy only needed to wait for the right moment to claim the goods. After all, he already had a grudge with Helios. Robbing a factory was one thing; robbing a ship was another. You can't be sued for the same crime twice in the Underhive.
"This intelligence is very useful." Andy patted Sisyphron on the shoulder with a metallic clink. "Once we're back at the Vault, you will immediately begin investigating the exact location of the Sector 9 forbidden zone and Helios's movements. I want to know how far they've dug."
Sisyphron gave a bitter smile. "Andy, you're trying to snatch food from a tiger's mouth. Helios's influence in the Mid-hive is much greater than in the Underhive. That is their home turf."
"I know."