The doors of the huge cargo lift parted, and Li Qingyu stepped into the Middle Hive. This time, he trod its floors as a full citizen, with enough time and access rights to move freely between sectors. He intended to look around thoroughly.
He didn't have a specific goal yet. Glancing at the street, he noticed a remarkable red sign: "School of the Two Snakes."
This was a local chain of private medical facilities. It was said that each of them had a doctor on duty, certified by the "Two Snakes," capable of dealing with most ailments plaguing the residents of the living block.
The Warhammer 40k universe is a strange mix of advanced technology and grim archaism. There were many peculiar medical orders here, and the most famous of them were perhaps the Rejuvenators.
The trick of their teaching was that they could indeed restore youth and prolong life. For them, three to four hundred years was a warm-up, and a thousand or two was a perfectly achievable goal for the elite.
The level of medicine in the 41st millennium was beyond the comprehension of people from the third millennium. And even such an inconspicuous establishment as the "School of the Two Snakes," not mentioned in official chronicles, possessed technologies that were worth considering.
Li Qingyu knew that it was at the "Two Snakes" clinic that Lieutenant Rudoson had received his mechanical arm prosthesis, paid for entirely by army insurance.
Those who were not lucky enough to serve had a much harder time. For example, little Joel, whose spine had been broken, could have been helped here simply by replacing the damaged bone with augmentics.
But Joel was just a private, and the army gave him no guarantees.
Such wounded individuals, unable to pay the "Two Snakes'" bills, were simply handed over to the enforcers. The entire family lost their Middle Hive citizenship and were exiled to the Underhive. Another proof that the Warhammer universe is a huge cesspool.
Intrigued, Li Qingyu headed for the clinic doors.
But as he approached, he froze before the information board at the entrance. The text on it made his hair stand on end.
"ATTENTION! By entering into a 'doctor-patient' relationship with representatives of the School, you agree that in case of non-payment for services, the debtor will be deprived of citizenship and exiled to the Underhive by law enforcement."
"Debt obligations are inherited by the family. In case of insolvency of relatives, they are also subject to exile and deprivation of citizenship."
This is a hospital, and it explicitly states debt slavery and collective responsibility on the door! In what other universe is this normal?
Curiosity only grew, and Li Qingyu pushed the door.
As soon as he crossed the threshold, he recoiled. Inside was a cramped cubicle about thirty square meters, with shelves along the walls packed with various medicines.
All the free space was occupied by a chaotic pile of diagnostic equipment, and in the center – an operating table. There were bloodstains on the floor, and a pile of instruments with rusty brown spots lay nearby. It seemed no one had cleaned up here after the last operation.
Opposite the table stood a desk, behind which a man in a greasy robe sat, sprawled in a chair.
His legs were on the tabletop, a cigarette in his teeth, and his hazy gaze lazily scanned the newspaper lines.
Li Qingyu involuntarily winced at the prevailing unsanitary conditions. If not for the sign, he would have thought he had stumbled into a slaughterhouse.
The doctor finally looked up, indifferently sized up the guest, and returned to his reading.
"Did you bring money? What are we complaining about?"
Money first. Li Qingyu rolled his eyes.
He pointed to a device the size of a slow cooker standing in the corner:
"How much for that hunk of metal over there?"
The doctor glanced at the equipment and, without changing his posture, drawled, "Did you come here to chat? Get out before I call the enforcers."
Li Qingyu remained calm. He took a pack of convenience bonds issued by Reno from his trouser pocket – ten thousand. He waved them in the air and inhaled the scent of fresh ink.
"Mmm, the aroma of victory and profit."
The doctor's eyes immediately lit up. All the bills were hundreds, the highest denomination. There was at least ten thousand in the "wad."
His face immediately broke into a sticky smile. He jumped up, moved the chair opposite him, and invited the guest:
"Oh-oh, I see we have a substantial client! Please, sit down! May I ask what you need a precipitation mixer for?"
Li Qingyu sat down, casting a contemptuous glance.
"What's it to you? I asked – are you selling it or not?"
The doctor rubbed his hands, his eyes darting around, calculating the profit. In their school, they liked to say, "If the price is right, you can sell anything, even your own life."
He looked at Li Qingyu's clothes, figured he wasn't a pauper, and decided to take a risk:
"It can be sold. But I want two hundred thousand bonds!"
Li Qingyu stood up silently and headed for the exit. Yes, this mixer was the last part needed to upgrade the medstation, but he wasn't going to be an idiot.
The doctor panicked, jumped up, and rushed after him.
"Wait! We can discuss it!"
"One hundred and ninety thousand! Hey, wait! Well, at least one hundred and eighty! ... One hundred and seventy is my limit!"
"One hundred and sixty! I won't go lower! Wait!"
Li Qingyu, ignoring the shouts, went outside. He intended to find his way to the Ecclesiarchy cathedral to deliver a letter to Joel's sister. And the annoying hawker was still trailing behind him.
This guy was clearly a greedy rat. Li Qingyu wasn't going to waste time on him. Now, having citizenship, he could access many zones and would surely find another mixer.
The device didn't look rare – it was lying around in such a dump. He could get to the factory and buy a new one at list price.
His intuition didn't fail him. This thing was a common civilian item, produced by the Mechanicus in the Hive's factories. It cost a little over ninety thousand – with taxes.
And this quack thought he was dealing with a naive tourist.
When the doctor continued to chase him for two blocks, Li Qingyu's patience snapped. He stopped abruptly and turned around:
"Who do you think you are, you freak? What the hell is one hundred and sixty thousand? Do you think I don't know the prices?"
"I walked into your dump, which even dogs shy away from, because I saw a piece of metal gathering dust in the corner! I wanted to get cheap used stuff – and you double the price? Do you take me for an idiot? Go to hell!"
Li Qingyu roughly brushed off the outstretched hand.
The doctor winced, rubbing his bruised forearm, but didn't back down:
"Alright... then name your price!"
The mixer had been dead stock for two years. For the poor district, the device was useless: locals came for cheap pills, and the medicines synthesized by the machine were beyond their means.
Li Qingyu showed three fingers.
"Thirty thousand. The ceiling."
"What?! Thirty?! No, at least eighty!"
The sharp drop in price made it clear he had hit the mark. After a short but fierce negotiation, they settled on seventy thousand.
Returning to the clinic, the doctor, gritting his teeth, pulled the device out of the pile of junk and placed it on the table.
"Esteemed client, please add a little more..."
"This thing ruined me! I've used it at most a dozen times, not a single patient could afford the necessary medications!"
Li Qingyu ignored the complaints, counted out the money, and took the purchase.
After inspecting the device and making sure it was intact, he hid it in his backpack. Finally, he gathered everything for the upgrade and exhaled with relief.
"What else are you selling?"
The doctor, busy counting the bills, waved his hand towards the shelves without even looking:
"Look there. Prices are under the items."
Li Qingyu approached. The shelves were overflowing with medications, but the price tags were mercilessly high.
Small medkit – 300 bonds. Tourniquet – 150. Antiseptic – 50. Vitamins...
With such prices, an illness could bankrupt an entire family on an average salary of two thousand.
As he examined the assortment, a system notification pinged in his head.
"Ding! Contact unlocked: Doctor 'Two Serpents'. Relationship – Neutral (Level 0). Available items:
Hemostatic bandage (150), Small medkit (300), Painkiller (300), Large surgical kit (1500), Antidote (800).
Low-level synthesis materials (50), high-level (500)."
"Ding! Quest available: the war on the planet has caused a food crisis, a rationing system has been introduced. Alcohol has become scarce, and medical alcohol supplies are running out.
If you deliver Medical Alcohol (500 ml) x10, the doctor will become your ally and pay you 500 bonds."
Li Qingyu rejoiced inwardly but remained outwardly impassive.
He nodded at the half-empty bottle: "They say they've introduced rations in the Hive, breweries are shut down. Do you have any alcohol left?"
The doctor looked at the bottle and sighed:
"The last one. The poor can't afford medicine, they ask to at least treat wounds with alcohol. Cheap and cheerful."
"But now even alcohol has become a luxury. I'll raise the price – forty coins for treatment!"
Li Qingyu leaned down and lowered his voice:
"If... I get medical alcohol, will you take it?"
The doctor's eyes flashed.
"I'll take it! Of course! If it's medical grade, fifty bonds per half-liter! Bring as much as you want – I'll take it all!"
Li Qingyu looked doubtfully at the tiny office.
" 'As much as you want'? What if I bring you fifty tons?"
The doctor slammed the table:
"Don't underestimate my practice! This is a harbor of healing!"
Then he lowered his voice and added:
"I can't handle it alone, true. But the School of Two Serpents has branches all over the Hive. Whether it's five hundred or five thousand tons – we'll accept it all!"
Li Qingyu whistled inwardly. Is the demand for alcohol in the Middle Hive really that high?
He didn't yet know how serious the food crisis caused by the farmers' rebellion was. The Planetary Governor had already ordered the Mechanicus to convert factories for the production of corpse starch to feed billions.
The inhabitants' diet would soon change beyond recognition. Natural food was disappearing. What about brewing?
All distilleries had shut down – the flow of alcohol had ceased.
Even if the doctor exaggerated, a deficit of fifty tons per month seemed realistic.
The thought of moonshine sounded particularly tempting. If even medical alcohol was in short supply, then booze would bring fabulous profits!
Telling the doctor he'd be back later and finding out the way to the temple, Li Qingyu left the clinic, lost in thought.
He walked down the street, blending into the flow of workers, and soon reached the vast square in front of the Ecclesiarchy cathedral.
The Imperial Cult – one of the most powerful military-political structures of the Imperium. Their temples towered over millions of worlds.
Here they worshipped the God-Emperor, the Master of Mankind, the eternal beacon in the darkness of the galaxy.
For ordinary believers, he was a myth, but those who knew history understood: the Emperor was real. A powerful psyker, an Eternal, ruling humanity for tens of thousands of years.
If not for the Great Heresy, which nailed him to the Golden Throne on Terra, humanity's fate might have been different.
The square buzzed with crowds of worshipers. They held candles and censers, whispering prayers.
In the center stood a forty-meter statue of the Emperor – in shining armor, with a power claw in one hand and a flaming sword in the other. He looked like an invincible warrior.
Looking at the monument, Li Qingyu formed his fingers into an inverted heart and muttered:
"Glory to the Cosmic King!"