The rebels looked at him with a mixture of surprise and hope. Li Qingyu spread his hands:
"Guys, we're business partners now. Without you, where will I get grain for the moonshine? Seriously, if Arum starts acting tough – call me. I'll beat the shit out of him, then shove it back into him, and finally beat him with that same shit!"
The rebels chuckled, but didn't dwell on the topic.
After all, Arum was "one of them," from their own ranks. Discussing with an outsider how to kill their own was not according to their code. But Li had no doubt: if things got tough, they would come running.
Changing the subject, Li remembered his conversation with Reynolds. He had said that the noble lords in the upper hive liked sweet drinks, like wine. This meant they needed grapes.
"By the way, guys, do you grow grapes anywhere around here?"
"Grapes? I think so," one of the leaders replied. "I worked in a fruit orchard before the war. There were vines there, sweet berries, tasty."
Li leaned forward:
"Can you organize mass cultivation? I'm willing to pay well."
The leaders exchanged glances and started calculating.
"The plant is hardy, that's not a problem. We can dig up old vines, transplant them – in a couple of months, there will be a harvest."
"But it eats fertilizer like crazy. More than regular grains. Without feeding, the berries will be small and rotten. And we have a problem with fertilizers, ever since we fell out with the hive."
"I'll take care of the fertilizers!" Li cut in. "I'll get them, I'll bring them, no problem."
The rebels beamed. Agriculture was their livelihood, and with fertilizers, the yield would increase manifold. Li's authority in their eyes grew by a couple more points.
"Mister, don't worry! We'll send people to the orchards in a few days, dig up vines. We're all farmers here, we'll grow such grapes for you – you'll be amazed!"
Pleased with the deal, Li picked some fresh greens and fruits for himself and prepared for the return journey.
Approaching the truck, he noticed someone was missing.
"Where's Little Joel? Where did he disappear to?"
The fighters in the back all pointed their fingers towards the edge of the forest where the wreck of a destroyed "Chimera" loomed.
Li approached the armored personnel carrier. The vehicle was badly burned, soot ingrained in the metal, but the hull looked intact.
Something was rattling inside. Little Joel was climbing around the troop compartment like a monkey.
"Hey!" Li shouted, peering into the hatch. "What are you doing there? We're leaving!"
Joel jumped out, his eyes burning with a feverish gleam:
"Commander! The armor is fine! Only the track is torn and the batteries are completely dead. If we replace the tracks and charge the batteries – it will move!"
Li's heart skipped a beat. His own BMP? It sounded tempting. But he quickly dismissed the thought.
"It won't work. They put ceramic chips in the fuel tank. The engine is ruined, the fuel system is completely clogged."
Joel wouldn't give up. Abandoning such equipment was a crime.
"Commander, maybe we can ask Nie Guojin to take a look? Sergeant knows about 'Chimeras.' If anyone can revive it, it's him."
Li pondered. Indeed, why let good equipment go to waste? It was a ready-made tank, practically.
Besides, Rudolson was now a full combat officer. On this planet, the Public Safety Service was well-equipped, there was a "Chimera" in almost every platoon. Rudolson now had a dozen under his command, which meant mountains of spare parts and a repair base.
"Alright," Li nodded. "We're going home now. When we have time, we'll try to get Nie Guojin for a diagnostic."
He added this task to his mental to-do list and warned Parson to keep an eye on the wreck and not let anyone dismantle it.
Parson assured him that everything would be done perfectly – they didn't have the tools to dismantle it anyway.
Upon returning to base, the team plunged into routine: they brewed moonshine, accumulated capital.
In these days, Xiao Dao brought a new person – the Stray Dog, and with him five homeless children.
The Stray Dog turned out to be a timid, emaciated man who looked at Li like a deity for giving him a roof over his head.
Li checked him: no signs of Chaos, not a Genestealer. Just a worker emaciated to the bone.
The children he brought – four boys and a girl between ten and thirteen years old – also resembled walking skeletons. They were afraid of their own shadows, avoided eye contact, and hid in dark corners at every opportunity.
And on the very first day, their main problem manifested: they stole. They stole and hid food.
Xiao Dao housed them in the outer perimeter of the workshop and assigned them to peel potatoes.
As soon as Xiao Dao turned away, the children started stuffing tubers into their pockets. There were potatoes everywhere in their room: under the mattresses, in the cracks of the floor, behind the baseboards.
Upon discovering the caches, Xiao Dao went to Li with a report.
"It's a hunger reflex," Li shrugged. "They've been starving for so long that their brains force them to hoard. Do this: move them to the canned food storage. Let them sleep right on the crates."
Xiao Dao was surprised – let rats into the granary? – but carried out the order.
After three days, the kleptomania disappeared.
Sleeping embraced by thousands of cans of meat cured their anxiety. When there are mountains of food around, it ceases to be valuable. Why steal what's lying around underfoot?
A couple of days later, Lieutenant Rudolson contacted them: the families of the wounded soldiers were to be evicted, and they needed to be taken away.
Li accepted six families. The population of the distillery sharply increased.
Now the breakdown was as follows:
Severe invalids (light labor only) — 7 people.
Combat-capable men — 15 people.
Women, the elderly, and children (non-combatants, auxiliary work) — 11 people.
Total: thirty-three souls. In just a few months, Li Qingyu had assembled a strong community in the underhive and established production.