The place was ready, it was time to move on to installing the equipment.
Li Qingyu understood moonshining. He had a cousin in the village who made moonshine, so the process was familiar: nothing complicated, any man with hands could do it.
For industrial scale, a grinder was needed to mill the grain for better fermentation, and a huge cauldron to boil the grain.
Then a cascade of fermentation vats where the mash would reach the right condition, and finally, a distillation cube with heating.
They started with the hearth. From plasteel (thanks to the readers for the clarification – in 40k they build from plasteel) they constructed a round, deep basin and lined it with iron inside.
Knife brought welders from the "Fertilizers" gang with their own equipment – fifty coins a day.
He sent the rest of the "rats" to the Underhive to look for stainless steel – iron resistant to oxidation. They found it, dragged it, and ripped it off somewhere.
The welders welded these sheets inside the plasteel vat and polished the seams. The result was a giant cauldron capable of processing several tons of grain and water at once.
Heating – electric.
Li Qingyu had a fully charged promethium battery, stolen from a hydro-post. They connected a device resembling a giant immersion heater to it. Throw it into the vat – and you get intense heat.
It looked pathetic, like a student's immersion heater made of two blades, only the size of a log. But 40k technology was amazing in its efficiency: hundreds of liters of water boiled in less than ten minutes.
On the same principle, they assembled a all-metal distiller. Knife and the guys hauled clean planks, knocked together fermentation vats, attached fans from the junkyard – and there, a "Mad Max" style distillery was ready.
Sanitation, of course, was lacking, but the inhabitants of the 41st millennium have cast-iron stomachs – they won't die.
"Knife, did you find the railcar I told you about?" Li Qingyu asked, inspecting his domain. Everything was ready for launch, only logistics remained to be set up.
Knife nodded.
"Found it, boss. The guys dug it out from the junkyard. One locomotive and ten wagons. The wagons are intact, but the tractor was wrecked. I went to boss Nepal – he helped fix it. He even supplied a crate of promethium fuel."
Li Qingyu chuckled.
"I'll remember that gesture. Where's the train? Lead the way."
They went outside the workshop. The train was already there.
It looked like mine carts for hauling ore. Small, barely fitting two standing people in one cart.
The tractor was also compact – smaller than a micro-car from the third millennium.
Li Qingyu walked around the equipment, clicking his tongue.
"What does it run on? Electricity, fuel? What's the speed?"
"Boss Nepal said the engine is omnivorous," Knife explained. "Vegetable oil, animal fat, promethium, alcohol – it'll eat anything that burns. Only the efficiency varies. And it must be filtered, otherwise the engine will seize. If all ten wagons are loaded, it'll go eighty kilometers per hour on promethium, and at least forty on alcohol."
Li Qingyu was satisfied. The surface was no more than forty kilometers away in a straight line. An hour there, an hour back – excellent logistics.
He returned to the hideout, took out two trophy autoguns. He threw one to Knife, and the other he slung over his back.
Then he counted out a thick wad of bills and paid the workers. The people rejoiced at the sight of the money.
"And now listen," Li Qingyu said. "I'm going to ride this thing forward, scout the path. I need volunteers – daredevils, armed. Whoever returns alive will get a hundred talons. Who's with me?"
He needed to check the route to the ventilation shaft. Forty kilometers through the unexplored tunnels of the Underhive – not a walk in the park. Anything could be there.
Mutants, xenos, cultists, genestealers, demons – Li Qingyu wouldn't be surprised by anything.
More than thirty workers exchanged glances, grabbed crowbars and shovels, and jumped into the wagons.
Li Qingyu grinned and jumped into the locomotive with Knife.
Knife pulled the levers, and the train slowly moved.
They drove through the workshop – equipment stood on the sides, not obstructing passage. When the last wagon left the territory, Li Qingyu locked the gates and waved his hand: forward.
They drove slowly, about ten kilometers per hour. They had to watch the rails: if there was a blockage or a breakdown – clear and repair.
The locomotive's spotlight cut through the darkness of the tunnel.
Li Qingyu kept his eyes on the tracks. Sometimes he ordered a stop – people jumped out to clear debris, mostly pieces of collapsed concrete.
They had been driving for over an hour. Sometimes they encountered ascents at a forty-five-degree angle. Each such ascent pleased Li Qingyu – it meant they were closer to the surface.
Fortunately, they hadn't met anyone yet.
Which is logical: they are on the very periphery of the Underhive. In these concrete jungles, survival without resources is impossible. Life bustles around the big lifts, where there is food and water. Normal people don't venture here.
But the laws of Murphy's Law have not been repealed. And neither have the abnormal ones.
"Stop!" Li Qingyu roared.
Knife slammed on the brakes.
Li Qingyu pointed to a broken section of rails about ten meters ahead.
"The rail snapped. Fix it."
The fighters from the rear wagons ran with tools. The repair was simple: add plasteel powder, level, secure. If it was really bad – they had spare rails, taken from other places.
While the guys were busy, Li Qingyu sat on the locomotive and prepared to smoke. He took out his lighter… and froze. His boosted Energy – twenty units – screamed like a siren: someone was ahead!
*Click!* He cocked the rifle bolt.
"Back!" he shouted. "Guests!"
The workers were stunned, but they rushed to the train.
The others jumped out of the wagons, gripping their improvised weapons. Knife raised his autogun, aiming into the darkness next to the boss.
The air tensed like a string. No one saw or heard anything, but if the boss said so, it was bad news. Everyone stared intently into the darkness beyond the circle of light.
The spotlight hit about three hundred meters, beyond that – solid darkness.
But Li Qingyu could see. His senses were sharper.
There, where the light dissolved into darkness, a crowd was shambling towards them. More than a hundred figures.
From a distance, they looked human, but Li Qingyu noticed "extra pixels": growths, limbs, bumps that a human shouldn't have.
The crowd approached. Soon, Knife and the others also spotted the silhouettes. Their hands, gripping the handles of crowbars, grew sweaty.
Li Qingyu squinted. Mutants. And wild, deeply distorted abominations.
Horns, extra arms, tentacles instead of necks, clusters of tumors… A horrifying sight, jarring to the mind. As if the abyss itself had chewed them up and spat them out.
In the Imperium, the classification of humans is simple:
Pure humans – that's us.
Modified – Space Marines, Mechanicus (those who replaced flesh with steel).
Abhumans – stable mutations. If a planet has been plunged into darkness for centuries and humans have grown night vision – normal. If high gravity has produced dull but strong Ogryns – also normal. The main thing is gene stability. The Imperium tolerates them.
But mutants – only fire and sword for them.
This is not evolution, but a mistake. Gene failure due to chemicals, radiation, the warp, or xenos experiments. They are unstable, insane, and often carry corruption.
If the mutation is from radiation – half the trouble. But if it's from the warp or xenos – expect a demon invasion or a star war.
A hundred freaks stopped about fifty meters away. They wore rusty armor made of scrap metal, their weapons – any junk.
They covered their eyes with their hands – the spotlight blinded creatures accustomed to eternal darkness.
One of them, particularly creepy, with two faces, shouted:
"Cursed meat! Turn off the damn light, or I'll cut off your heads and shove them up your asses!!"
"Heh-heh-heh! Cut off… heads… heh-heh-heh… up asses… deep… " echoed a second, small face on his cheek, giggling in a thin voice. It seemed the tumor had its own mind.
Li Qingyu raised his weapon and roared back:
"Listen, freaks, have you seen yourselves in the mirror?! Your species offends my human rights! Your mother, it seems, got high and rode a roller coaster while you were sloshing around in her womb like an omelet in a mixer! And when she gave birth – you got pinched by the door! Why aren't you sitting in the deepest hole, but barging onto the road?! Do you want to prove that the bottom can be broken again?! Get out of sight in the name of love, morality, and the mental health of children, you bastards!"