The next morning, Ensign Rudolson announced that he was going on patrol and told Li Qingyu to find a sentry named Little Joel at the camp gates – he would escort him to the big lift.
Li Qingyu grunted in response and threw four potatoes onto the electric hotplate for breakfast.
"The discipline in the SIT is really terrible," he thought. "Rudolson left me in the commander's tent just because we chatted a bit. What if I were a spy? You'd be finished."
After eating his potatoes, Li Qingyu nonchalantly shoved the electric hotplate into his backpack, stuffing it to the brim – as if the item had always belonged to him.
Leaving the tent, he noticed a young SIT soldier at the post by the gate.
"Little Joel?" Li Qingyu called out.
"Yes, sir!" the soldier barked.
Li Qingyu hastily waved his hands:
"I'm not an officer."
Joel, a complete green recruit, scratched his head in confusion. It didn't compute in his mind: how could a person coming out of the company commander's tent not be an officer?
Li Qingyu didn't bother with explanations.
"Rudolson warned you, didn't he?"
Joel nodded.
"Follow me, sir. I'll escort you to the hive."
He moved forward, showing the way. Li Qingyu was too lazy to correct him again and simply followed him into a railcar.
There were quite a few wounded people on the train, being transported to the city. Li Qingyu looked at the hive spire, soaring high into the atmosphere. No matter how many times you look at this behemoth, it still inspires awe.
People of the 40th millennium can easily build structures tens of kilometers high. What technological power!
And with all this, the Imperium manages to exist in a semi-dead state, tormented by xenos, demons, and other vermin. Absurd, to say the least.
About ten minutes later, the train stopped – they had arrived at the Middle Hive's big lift zone.
There, they had to pass through genetic scanning gates. Ordinary people passed without problems, but as soon as Li Qingyu passed, the device started flashing red and a siren wailed, attracting the attention of security officers with electro-batons.
Little Joel had to intervene each time, show his SIT identification, and explain himself so they could proceed further.
Li Qingyu looked around the Middle Hive with curiosity. Honestly, he was disappointed. He expected to see neon cyberpunk: signs, green streets, advertisements, but nothing of the sort.
Grayness everywhere. Gloomy buildings made of gray ceramite, crowds of factory workers with vacant stares.
Although, if you think about it, it's logical. This is the world of Warhammer 40k. Except for the aristocracy of the Upper Hive, no one can expect a comfortable life.
As Joel led him to the lift, Li Qingyu looked around.
"Joel, is your home here, in the Middle Hive?"
The soldier nodded:
"Yes, in the military sector. SIT families, like mine, are allocated housing. Praise the Planetary Governor."
"And is your income enough to live on?" Li Qingyu asked.
Joel's face darkened.
"My salary is a thousand talons a month. My father works at a chemical plant, earning two thousand one hundred. My mother does needlework at home, that's another hundred and twenty."
He sighed:
"There are four of us: father, mother, me, and my younger brother. Expenses are about two and a half thousand, plus a five hundred tax. We can save at most two hundred."
"But my brother will soon come of age, and we'll have to pay for his education. All our savings will barely be enough for him to get even a basic education and get a job at a factory."
Li Qingyu clicked his tongue. True Warhammer.
To farmers outside, the hive dwellers' income of two thousand seems like paradise, five times their earnings.
But the environment here grinds you down. Every income has its level of expenses: food, water, taxes. As soon as you start saving, it all goes to medical treatment, education, or bribes. Nothing is left.
Middle Hive families live on the edge. One illness, and everything collapses: not enough money, don't pay taxes – lose citizenship, exiled to the Underhive.
That's why there are so many people down there. You could say it's a feature of the 40th millennium. Agri-world 496b is still merciful.
They walked for about twenty minutes and reached the big lift. Platforms went both up – to heaven, and down – to hell. This elevator went down.
Thousands of people were crowded around. Some commuted daily to work in the Underhive zones, others were stripped of their citizenship and shackled. Families cried, begged for mercy, but only heard the blows of batons in response.
These unfortunates are those broken by tax pressure. When a thousand people gather, the lift sends a batch to the bottom.
Tearing his gaze away from the crowd, Li Qingyu noticed a sign on one of the shops – two red intertwined snakes with a cross between them.
He held his companion by the elbow:
"What about that shop there?"
Joel looked:
"That's the School of Two Snakes. A medical shop. They have their own doctor, treats almost everything. They sell everything related to health."
He grimaced:
"But it's expensive. Unbearably expensive..."
Li Qingyu rubbed his chin, looking at the sign. "I wonder if they have parts for upgrading the medbay? I need equipment for chemical purification, a thermostat, and a mixer-settler. I have the first two, but the mixer... Maybe I'll buy it from these 'Snakes'?"
"Sir, the lift has arrived," Joel's voice broke through his thoughts.
"Ah, good. Go back," Li Qingyu nodded.
He slipped two potatoes into the soldier's hand, waved goodbye, and stepped onto the platform.