Captain Huck's expression froze.
He suspected that water had gotten into this yellow-robed freak's head.
"How much?!"
Huck picked at his ear, his voice jumping an octave higher: "Twenty-three hundred tons?!"
"Brother, do you even know what Adamantite is?"
Huck glared, his spit flying everywhere: "On the official Imperial market, Adamantite is sold by the gram!"
"Fifty grams of Adamantite can trade for an entire crate of standard bolt shells."
"Twenty-three hundred tons? Even if I sold my Minotaur, and then sold myself and my entire crew to the Dark Eldar as slaves, it wouldn't even cover the loose change of that number, alright?!"
Huck felt that this guy named Andy was simply a madman, a complete and total lunatic.
Adamantite was the cornerstone of the Imperial war machine, the core material for Terminator power armor, and the bore lining for Emperor-class battleship macrocannons.
Even on the Mechanicus forge worlds, annual Adamantite production was strictly rationed.
To open his mouth and ask for twenty-three hundred tons?
Why didn't you just go tear down the gates of the Imperial Palace on Holy Terra?!
Andy looked at the agitated Huck expressionlessly.
He naturally knew Adamantite was expensive, but he genuinely needed that much.
Without enough Adamantite, the structural strength of the new ship's main keel would fall short.
If it couldn't withstand the tearing forces of a Warp storm, then the constructed vessel would be nothing more than an oversized iron coffin.
"Then how much do you have?" Andy settled for the next best thing. "Don't tell me you came empty-handed; a Rogue Trader's ballast in the hold is usually filled with good stuff."
Huck took a deep breath, calming his composure.
"I only have twenty tons."
Huck held up two fingers, a look of immense pain on his face.
"This is the fortune I accumulated after digging on that dead world for half a year. Originally, I planned to ship it back to the forge worlds of Segmentum Obscurus to exchange for a lance main battery."
"Twenty tons, not a single bit more."
Andy nodded.
Twenty tons—though a world away from the goal of twenty-three hundred tons, he would take as much as he could get.
The rest could wait until later.
"I'll take the twenty tons," Andy said. "As for the remaining gap, do you know where to find more?"
"On this planet, or in nearby star systems, are there veins rich in Adamantite, or... wrecks?"
Huck looked at Andy with the gaze reserved for an idiot: "The planet under our feet, Zais, is a giant graveyard."
"If you're asking where Adamantite is, it's only in the hands of that monster to the south."
Huck pointed south, a trace of dread in his tone.
"Fort Odin—its main body is a crashed Overlord-class battlecruiser."
"Even though it crawls on the ground now, it hasn't been dismantled much over all these years. Its main keel is intact."
"An Overlord-class keel likely contains well over two thousand tons of Adamantite."
"If you've got the capability, go snatch it."
"Though I advise you not to go throw your life away. The lances on that thing are pretty fierce; a single shot could level this crappy base of yours."
Andy's electronic eye flickered.
Fort Odin—that name again...
"Fine, this intelligence is valuable."
Andy was already aware of what the man mentioned, so there was no need to dwell on this topic further.
"Now, let's talk about the trade."
"Your twenty tons of Adamantite, plus those 'Tears of the Void'—I want all of it."
"In exchange, I can provide a full vessel repair and overhaul service, plus sell you five hundred CBS-12 high-explosive crossbows and ten thousand matching memory-alloy bolts."
"As for the high-end exoskeletons, you'll see a sample next time you come."
Huck didn't take Andy's words about the exoskeletons seriously, instead looking at him suspiciously: "Overhaul? Are you serious?"
Huck looked around, taking in the desolate alkali flatlands and the distant city steeped in a wasteland atmosphere.
"Right here? Do you have the equipment? Do you have the personnel?"
"My ship is a cruiser-class vessel. It uses ancient parts from thousands of years ago—ordinary tech-priests can't even read the schematics."
"Besides, I'm on a tight schedule and don't want to stay in this godforsaken place for months."
In Huck's mind, ship repair was an extremely tedious, time-consuming process laden with religious ritual.
In Imperial shipyards, patching a single armor plate required three steps:
First, pray for three days to soothe the injured machine spirit.
Second, apply oils, burn incense, and chant hymns.
Third, a group of servitors would finally step up with blowtorches to get to work.
Going through this whole routine couldn't be wrapped up in less than a month.
"It won't take months."
Andy turned around, walking toward the nearby cargo elevator.
"Follow me."
"Let me show you what true industrial efficiency is."
Ten minutes later.
Fort Horizon, Underground Core Industrial Zone.
When Huck stood inside the brightly lit, colossal workshop, his heart—despite having witnessed countlessly grand scenes—still skipped a beat.
There were no candles here, no incense, no suffocating religious atmosphere.
Only bright industrial lighting and the rhythmic roar of operating machinery.
Before him, dozens of automated production lines were running at full capacity.
Massive mechanical arms danced with agility, cutting, polishing, and assembling raw metal ingots into precision components.
No chanting priests, no servitors kowtowing frantically—only cold, efficient, nerve-numbing assembly line operations.
"What... what kind of freakish setup is this?"
Huck pointed at a high-speed CNC machine tool.
The cutting head was moving so fast it was almost invisible, metal shavings spraying like a fountain.
"A precision machining center," Andy introduced offhandedly. "Machining precision reaches micrometer levels, with a current daily output of five hundred and ninety-eight standard components."
"Those non-standard parts broken on your ship—just bring the scrap over for a scan, and I can customize a brand new one for you in ten minutes."
Huck swallowed hard.
As an old captain running trade routes daily, he knew all too well what this implied.
It implied these people didn't need to hunt for parts on the black market at all, nor did they need to read the Mechanicus's expressions.
They could handle custom manufacturing themselves!
"Look at that over there." Andy pointed to a row of drones undergoing assembly in a corner: "Heavy engineering drones, equipped with anti-gravity engines and multi-purpose welding arms."
"Repairing your ship doesn't require thousands of workers climbing up and down. Just deploy these things and input the task parameters."
"It will only take roughly twenty-some hours to make that beat-up vessel of yours look brand new from bow to stern."
Andy turned his head, looking at the thoroughly dazed Huck.
"Now, do you think I'm qualified to repair your ship?"
Huck took a deep breath, his gaze completely transforming.
Earlier, he had viewed Andy as nothing more than a local warlord who got lucky and picked up some relic technology.
Now, he realized he was dead wrong.
This wasn't a warlord at all.
This was a monster possessing a complete industrial framework and mastering lost technology.
In a universe where technology was severely lacking and production capacity was abysmal, productivity at this level was the hardest currency around—far harder than Adamantite!
"Deal." Huck finalized it directly without hesitation. "Twenty tons of Adamantite, plus a container of Tears of the Void—all yours."
"Besides the ship repairs, the crossbows, and the upcoming high-end exoskeletons, I want to add one more condition."
Huck stared into Andy's electronic eye.
"I want priority purchasing rights here."
"In the future, no matter what good stuff you make, as long as you're willing to sell, I, Huck, must be the first to buy!"
Andy smiled.
This was precisely his purpose in bringing Huck on a tour.
Exhibiting his own industrial might—wasn't it all to open sales channels in the end?
Although Deep Space Industries had strong production capacity, it still needed a stable external blood-transfusion channel.
A Rogue Trader like Huck could legally traverse between Imperial domain and unknown sectors, his cargo hold filled with rare treasures scavenged from hundreds of different planets. To Andy, they were undoubtedly the most perfect trade partners.
Furthermore, by showcasing his industrial power, if the effect was ideal, it would plant an unshakable concept in Huck's mind.
Namely, Deep Space Industries was irreplaceable.
In a universe where overhauling a ship often took months or even years and was astronomically expensive, the wait-and-get efficient repair service Andy offered was undeniably sought after.
Once Huck got a taste of this sweetness—experiencing the satisfaction of repairing his ship without reading the Mechanicus's expressions or waiting for months—he would never be able to go back.
When that time came, Huck would no longer be just a passing buyer; he would become one of Deep Space Industries' loyal customers.
Once the corresponding demand arose, in order to enjoy this repair service with priority, Huck would repeatedly come to Zais to find Andy. Through this back-and-forth, sales channels would naturally be established.
"No problem."
Six hours after the deal was struck.
The alkali flatlands north of Fort Horizon.
Around the previously lifeless Minotaur, it was now bustling with activity.
Hundreds of engineering drones of various sizes soared up and down around the massive cruiser like a swarm of busy bees.
Dazzling welding arcs rose and fell, illuminating the dim wasteland.
Andy kept his word.
He mobilized all the engineering forces in the base to execute a comprehensive, aggressive overhaul on the Rogue Trader's vessel.
Damaged armor plates were cut away directly, replaced with high-strength alloy plates pulled from the Restructure Unit.
Leaking pipes were sealed tight, and burned circuit boards were replaced.
Even that signature bull ram was repolished, becoming sharper and more menacing.
Huck stood below, staring up with his head tilted back, forgetting to light the cigar in his mouth.
"This speed... this efficiency..." he muttered to himself.
"Even in the largest naval dockyards of Segmentum Obscurus, repairing a frigate takes a three-month queue."
"These guys... patched up the hull in just six hours?"
Insane.
This was a blatant mockery of the Mechanicus's tedious rituals.
But he loved it!
He bloody loved it!
"Captain! Captain!"
The first mate ran down the ship's lift, his face brimming with excitement.
"Readings on the propulsion system are back to normal!"
"They even helped us recalibrate the angle of the engine nozzles—current thrust is forty-five percent higher than before!"
"Good! Fantastic!"
Huck laughed loudly, slapping his thigh hard: "This trip wasn't made in vain!"