Reyno burst out laughing. Indeed, ten kilometers underground – how much more "indigenous" could you get?
He downed the contents of his glass. After the very first sip, his eyes widened. Delicious! Damn delicious!
Even though he had a collection of aged wines stored in his mansion in the atmospheric layers of the Upper Hive, this drink was definitely the most unusual he had ever tasted.
"Good! Excellent drink! Simply magnificent!"
Reyno showered it with praise and took a second sip. The sensations were not as vivid, but it didn't bother him.
He knew there were such drinks: the first sip hits the soul directly, and subsequent ones don't evoke the same delight.
You have to wait a day or two for the aftertaste to completely disappear, and then a new sip will again bring that same feeling.
Reyno decided that Li Qingyu's moonshine belonged to this category of "first impression" – not suspecting that it wasn't about the bouquet at all, but that his soul had just been lightly "washed."
Of course, after some time, the soul would be covered in dirt again, and then another sip would bring euphoria. Technically, it really worked like a "first-sip wine."
When the drinks and snacks had done their job and everyone was slightly tipsy, Li Qingyu asked:
"Old friend Ray, judging by your manners, you're also from the nobility?"
Reyno, chewing a piece of meat, waved his hand dismissively:
"Just a minor nobleman from the outskirts of the Upper Hive. I won't be allowed at the table with the real nobility, so it's not worth mentioning."
Li Qingyu patted the bottle on the table:
"What do you think, if I send this swill upstairs, will it go over well?"
Reyno pondered, then became serious and replied:
"Your drink has character. There will be gentlemen who appreciate it. But potato moonshine is not it. And the production site is a letdown. The aristocrats of the Upper Hive won't drink something made in the Underhive. It's a matter of status."
Li Qingyu was eager to earn money from the Celestials, so he asked for advice.
"First, the production must be located in the Middle Hive, and all documents must be in order. Only then will you have the right to sell alcohol to the Houses. Second, you need decent packaging. Bottling it in random jugs like now is a failure. And last: aristocrats prefer sweet drinks – wine, brandy, rum."
Li Qingyu considered the options. He had grapes – he had seen them among the rebels' plants.
During the deal with Ded Bay, he was given a lot of fruit, and among the exotic fruits was perfectly earthly grapes.
But he hadn't encountered sugar cane. He wondered if cane had migrated into space along with humanity.
In principle, with connections to the rebels, Li Qingyu could start producing wine and break into the nobility market.
He asked:
"Listen, Ray, how do I open a distillery in the Middle Hive? And how do I get Upper Hive citizenship?"
By this point, Reyno was quite drunk – he had single-handedly finished almost half a bottle. His tongue was slurring:
"Opening production in the Middle Hive is as easy as pie. You can buy a bankrupt distillery: everything is ready – equipment, premises, workers. Our Guild has a dozen such workshops – there's no grain, after all. I can sell it for a million. Then you need a nominal noble owner, a guarantor. He will help with the license, taxes, and law enforcement. I can arrange everything, but it will cost eight hundred thousand: three hundred for me, half a million for bribes."
He hiccuped and continued:
"As for the status of an Upper Hive resident, there are three paths. The first is service in the Public Safety Service. If you rise to the rank of battalion commander, citizenship is in your pocket. Or prove yourself so cool that they take you into the Imperial Guard – the status is the same."
Li Qingyu pondered. The Imperial Guard – the Emperor's hammer, trillions of soldiers, humanity's living shield. Regiments are formed from the best fighters of various worlds' Public Safety Services, and each planet must supply a portion of recruits.
The Imperium takes the elite of local forces, trains them, and sends them to the other end of the galaxy. Guardsmen are like dandelion seeds – they fly away and don't return.
Li Qingyu had no intention of joining the Guard. He valued freedom too much and wanted to determine his own destiny.
To get in meant rattling around in the hold of a starship, not knowing where you'd be deployed, and fighting enemies at the commander's command. And if you got into an Apocalypse-level mess – there wouldn't be a drop left.
Having found himself in the world of Warhammer 40k, Li Qingyu didn't even think about working for the system.
"You mentioned three ways," he reminded him. "What are the other two?"
Reyno took a sip and speared a piece of grox meat with his fork.
"The second is marriage to an aristocrat. Forget it. You're not handsome enough for noble ladies to fall head over heels at the sight of you and drag you to the altar."
Li Qingyu's eye twitched.
"Thanks for the compliment, that's very kind."
Drunk Reyno patted him on the shoulder:
"I'm a realist. You're no gigolo: your teeth are too strong – you can't chew porridge. You'll have to gnaw on hardtack and toil."
Li Qingyu sighed:
"Alright. And the third way?"
"The third is the most realistic. Become influential enough that a Noble House takes notice and deigns to invite you as a vassal. For example, if the distillery brings in a hundred million a month – you'll be offered status. You pay them a percentage from ten to thirty, and you get a legal position."
Li Qingyu frowned:
"And then what?"
"What do you mean 'what'?" Reyno didn't understand.
"I pay them money. And what in return? Protection? Privileges?"
Reyno laughed and poked him with his fork:
"I told you, you're not cut out for an easy life! 'Vassal' sounds nice, but in reality, you're a chained dog. An aristocrat gives you the opportunity to lick his boot and stand in the hallway – that's all the reward."
Li Qingyu snorted and buried his face in his plate.
Reyno smirked:
"My ancestor was a commoner from the Middle Hive. He went into service for an aristocrat, and in a couple of hundred years, the family rose to minor nobility. No title, but a lineage."
Li Qingyu, chewing meat, grumbled:
"I want to earn money without bending my back."
Reyno pondered. This guy brought back the infopad, survived among rats, resurrected from the dead, and built a distillery from scratch. A capable fellow. Reyno decided to give advice:
"You want to earn standing up? You can, if you become strong. So strong that even the Celestials think three times before touching you."
Li Qingyu's eyes lit up.
"Tell me!"
Reyno raised a finger and wagged it in front of his interlocutor:
"No mysticism. You need an army – at least a regiment. And not rabble with trash in their hands, but fighters of Public Safety Service level. If you have a regiment, you can dictate terms. A squad – they'll eat you alive. A platoon – law enforcement will crush you. A company – private security firms will destroy you. A battalion – the Public Safety Service will overwhelm you. But a regiment… Destroying you will be too expensive. It's easier to buy you. It's more profitable for them to give you a title and incorporate the regiment into their forces. Then you will gain status and money, standing tall."
Li Qingyu fell into thought. Warlordism and feudal fragmentation – classic Warhammer. The Imperium is a space Middle Ages.
The path of a field commander, who is then "amnestied," could lead him to high society.
"Have there been precedents?"
He was used to trusting historical experience.
"There have been, and recently. About ten years ago, a powerful rebel gang broke through the Public Safety Service defenses and blockaded a hive. The governor personally negotiated with their leader. In the end, he was amnestied, given the title of baron, and allowed to found a House. Now he's an important figure, and his rebels became the nine hundred and ninety-sixth regiment of the Public Safety Service."
"And he wasn't repressed later?"
"I don't think so. Except maybe they work him non-stop. But otherwise – they live happily ever after."
Li Qingyu nodded. It seemed this was his path.
His goal is to acquire a spaceship. Not necessarily to leave immediately, but there must be an escape route. If Tyranids or Chaos descend on the planet, he must have the opportunity to escape. In this insane universe, it's the only chance to survive.
But a rat from the Underhive won't get a ship. To get to the technology, he needs to break through to the top, become part of the elite.
These are future plans. For now, he needs to solve simple problems: how to increase alcohol production.
The main limitations are water and electricity.
Electricity is currently from promethium batteries – a finite resource. Water is filtered from sewage, slowly.
Li Qingyu, sipping wine, shared his problems. Drunk Reyno waved his hand:
"I can't help with electricity, but water… I'm from the Water Guild! If you deal with the mutants by the pipe, I'll run a personal pipeline for you. It will be unlimited."
Li Qingyu's hand with the glass froze.
"Damn it, are you serious?!"
Reyno finished the rest, mumbled:
"Of-of course… I was a ranger… I kept my word…"
He buried his face in the remnants on the table and passed out.
The guards reached for their boss, but Li Qingyu stopped them:
"Let him sleep it off. Dragging him now is just tormenting him. You guys rest too. When he wakes up, you'll eat and leave."
The soldiers, who had been on a corpse diet for a while, licked their lips at the thought of seconds and agreed.
After putting Reyno to bed, Li Qingyu gathered his men.
He gave Big and Little Joel, Little Knife, and Silence an autogun each and six magazines.
He himself donned armor, took a shotgun, two "drums," a scattering of cartridges, gas grenades, and detonators. The team loaded onto a railcar and set off towards the mutant camp.
On the way, Li Qingyu handed out flashlights and wire to everyone.
"The task is to wipe out all the mutants. There are many of them, but they don't have firearms. Besides, they are blinded by light. Don't get off the railcar! Shine lights in their faces, shoot, throw grenades!"
The guys started attaching lanterns to the trunks. Only Silence distinguished himself: he attached the lantern to a pipe. It looked comical, but there were hundreds of steel balls in the pipe, and the psyker could shoot them like from a shotgun, using telekinesis.
Li Qingyu put his arm around Silence's shoulder:
"I don't ask much of you. The main thing is to cover Joel and Knife."
"And you?" Silence asked. "Don't you need covering?"
Li Qingyu raised his monstrous shotgun, worked the bolt with a clatter:
"My brain has already switched to shooter mode: hold 'W' and the left mouse button! Don't worry about me, just enjoy the meat grinder!"