Li Qingyu, after winding through the passages, left the Hive City and headed towards the location of Lieutenant Rudolson's company.
At this time, a strict state of martial law was in effect in the Hive: everyone was allowed in, but exit was closed. At the checkpoint, Li Qingyu was stopped by the enforcers.
He had to explain the situation: that Lieutenant Rudolson had asked for help with accommodating the wounded, the job was done, the fighters were settled, and now he needed to personally report to the officer that his men were fine. The duty officer of the Public Safety Service, hearing that it was about caring for injured soldiers, was moved.
The issue of the wounded in the Planetary Defense Forces was extremely acute. The current Planetary Governor was a greedy and callous creature, and he didn't care about the lives of ordinary soldiers from the high spire. No social guarantees, benefits for families of the deceased – a joke.
Officers who retained a shred of conscience and valued brotherhood were doing their best. If a soldier saw that his commander abandoned the wounded to their fate, he would be damned if he would go into an attack for such a person.
In general, private initiatives to save their people were common, so the officer on duty decided to be accommodating. However, to prevent deception, he assigned a soldier to Li Qingyu – to ensure that he was indeed going to Rudolson and not just escaping.
Together they took a train to the lieutenant's area of responsibility. Rudolson met them personally.
Having made sure that Li Qingyu was not a swindler, the escort prepared to return. Li slipped him three hundred credits: a hundred to the soldier personally, two hundred to be given to the officer at the checkpoint. The soldier beamed, promised to remember the generous guy, and departed.
Left alone, Li Qingyu and Rudolson went into the command tent and sat down.
Li waved the envelope clutched in his hand:
"Joel's family is settled, they won't have problems for the time being. He asked me to pass a message to his sister in the Ecclesiarchy, I did everything. Here is her reply."
Rudolson exhaled heavily, with relief:
"That's good. Now my conscience is clear, I have fulfilled my duty to a fellow soldier."
Li Qingyu looked around, making sure no one was eavesdropping outside, and lowered his voice, moving on to the main purpose of his visit:
"Remember I hinted about business? I have some ideas. What do you say? Want in?"
A hint of wariness flickered in the lieutenant's eyes.
"What kind of business? Look, no foolishness!" he warned. "If we stir up trouble quietly, at my level – I'll cover for you. But if you attract the attention of the Arbitrators from the Upper Hive – I'm not your protector, you understand."
Li Qingyu waved his hand dismissively:
"Don't paint such a grim picture, it's a common thing, small-scale – moonshining. Look for yourself: the whole planet, except for the Hive, is under rebel control. Grain isn't coming into the city, and you can't break out."
"Looking at our impotent governor, I doubt he'll regain control of the surface. If a miracle doesn't happen, this siege will drag on for ten to twenty years."
Li Qingyu didn't know exactly when the Governor last paid the imperial tithe, but he understood: as soon as the Administratum noticed the arrears, the Inquisition fleet would arrive to collect the debt. Then this pathetic rebel army, and the Governor himself, would meet a swift and fiery end.
But the Imperium is vast, and its bureaucratic machine is unwieldy. By the time the gears turn, by the time the order is issued... A forecast of a couple of decades was quite realistic.
Twenty years is a whole generation's lifetime. Although the Warhammer 40k universe is teeming with the horrors of Chaos and xenos, for an individual, life often flows routinely. The inhabitants of this agri-world will live out their lives in a sluggish civil war, and the showdown with the imperial fleet will be left to their children.
Li Qingyu continued:
"This pointless struggle will last a long time. Skirmishes with rebels will become routine. Even if you have better equipment, a bullet is a fool, and the war is long. Joel's case won't be the last."
"Where will I put the new cripples? Will you dump them all on me again? I told you, I'm a loner in the Underhive. I had trouble with Joel's family. I can't do charity forever, feeding your wounded for free."
Rudolson began to understand what his interlocutor was getting at:
"Is your business somehow related to this?"
Li Qingyu nodded seriously:
"I've sounded out the ground: there's a shortage of alcohol in the Hive. I'm opening a distillery down in the Depths! Production will expand, and reliable hands are needed. If your guys get shot again, I'll hire them and their relatives first."
"This way, I can mass-place your veterans, and you'll have a reliable rear in the Underhive. If something happens to your career or you have to flee – there will be a place to hide under my protection."
The offer hit the mark. Although it wasn't shouted on street corners, everyone knew: for a discharged cripple, there was only one road – to the Underhive.
Farmers outside envied the inhabitants of the Middle Hive, and they, in turn, dreamed of being in the fields. Life inside the city resembled a giant factory conveyor belt: extreme pressure, no humanity. Stumble, and the mechanism will mercilessly grind you to dust.
A soldier's injury was considered a manufacturing defect. They went into the army as breadwinners, young and strong, and the loss of ability to work doomed the family to ruin. The only way out was to heartlessly throw the cripple out to die, otherwise debts would drag all relatives down.
This is what happened to Joel's family: the old people pitied their son, dragged him to the paid clinic of the School of Two Serpents, couldn't pay, and were arrested by the Arbitrators. The whole family, on the principle of mutual responsibility, lost their citizenship and was sent into exile to the lower levels.
But people remain people even in the dark gloom of the distant future. They seek ways to preserve their conscience in the face of inhuman laws. And Li Qingyu had just offered such a way.
"What do you require of me?" the lieutenant asked.
Li Qingyu peeked out of the tent: the nearest soldiers were playing cards about thirty paces away. He returned, zipped up the flap tightly, and leaned close to Rudolson's ear, lowering his voice to a whisper:
"I want to distill alcohol. I have a place, I'll find equipment, people are ready. The only snag is the raw material. I need grain, tons of grain."
The lieutenant's pupils sharply narrowed:
"You... you don't mean..."
A predatory gleam flashed in Li Qingyu's eyes.
"Exactly. Smuggling from the rebels. You provide transport and fuel for transportation, plus weapons and ammunition for exchange. I'll trade guns for grain."
"When the product comes, you'll help sell it in the garrison. Your good-for-nothings will drink anything, so let them pay me instead. And when one of them gets their legs blown off, I'll make sure their elders and children don't starve to death."