radicalducati Chapter 46, District 9
Chapter 46, District 9
At the heart of the Gear Heart Industrial Park stands a 200-meter-tall gear tower.
"You two stay here and wait. I'll be right down."
Sisyphus ordered the two Storm Squad soldiers, who were like gatekeepers, to guard the base of the tower.
He straightened his collar and pushed open a large brass door engraved with exquisite gear patterns.
Although geographically it is undoubtedly the core area, this place is not just a command center; it is also Father Zor's home.
The interior of the tower is extremely luxurious, completely unlike the dirty and messy atmosphere of the factory outside.
The floor was covered with thick sound-absorbing carpet, and the walls were covered with intricate blueprints from various foundry worlds.
Although most of them are decorative replicas...
The air was filled with an expensive incense scent. This fragrance not only masked the smell of engine oil but also soothed restless nerves, earning high praise from engine oil enthusiasts at Zhongshangchao.
Father Zor sat on the Life-Sustaining Throne in the center of the hall.
The old man's body was mostly mechanized, with countless data cables extending from the throne and inserting directly into the back of his head and spinal interfaces.
As before, what was presented to Sisyphus was the daily life of a high priest in the Mid-Chow Chow.
They don't need to leave their homes at all; as long as they connect to a data cable, they can keep track of everything happening in the entire industrial park.
If they wanted to know which lathe was running slowly, which machine operator was slacking off, or even which toilet was clogged, there would be no secrets.
This feeling of "winning battles from afar without leaving home" is indeed very addictive and can easily make people lazy.
Zor didn't even bother to open his eyes; he was surveying his territory through the perspective of those hundreds of servo skulls.
Until Sisyphus slammed that heavy tactical backpack onto the table.
"Splash—"
The backpack zipper was open, and thirty brand-new boxes of "Andy Biochemical No. 1" were scattered on the mahogany table.
Zor's still relatively intact electronic eye suddenly lit up, causing the data cable connected to the throne to tremble twice.
He unplugged a data cable, and the servo arm behind him nimbly reached out, grabbed a box of medicine, and looked delighted.
"Oh, old friend, you always manage to surprise me."
Zoll's voice, processed by the sound unit, has a smooth, metallic quality.
"Recently, all those illegal clinics down there have run out of stock, but your clinic is still getting a steady stream of patients."
Although the Mechanics movement advocates physical suffering and weakness, that is only true for themselves.
For the senior technicians under his command who are not yet qualified to carry out comprehensive transformation, their bodies are still the foundation of their work.
If a skilled machinist were to have a limb amputated due to a malignant disease, it would be a real financial loss for Zor.
Therefore, antibiotics are a necessity for Zor.
Previously, he could only reluctantly buy Helios's expensive medicine, and when he was really desperate, he had to buy Dr. Birdbeak's Green Feather Soup.
The other quack doctors' remedies are even worse and more indescribable than Bird Beak Doctor's!
In the last two months, Dr. Birdbeak has apparently latched onto someone powerful, resulting in a significant upgrade to his equipment.
With Sisyphus as a reliable and affordable supplier, he would have already blacklisted all other suppliers.
Sisyphus pulled up a chair, sat down, and crossed his legs.
He is very confident now because he is the client.
"Father Zor, I've brought you the medicine."
"Same as always, I need you to build something for me."
As Zor fiddled with the medicine box, he asked casually:
"Tell me, what kind of contraband are you going to manufacture this time?"
"The lens assembly of a high-powered laser cannon? Some kind of optical cloak capable of bypassing Imperial surveillance?"
"Anything is negotiable except Titan."
Sisyphus looked at Zor and said in a relaxed tone:
"I want to build an orbital dock."
"..."
The air suddenly became quiet.
The only sound was the humming of the server fans behind the throne.
The medicine box in Zoll's hand fell onto the table with a "thud".
The electronic eye's aperture shrank to its smallest size, staring intently at Sisyphus, as if looking at a madman who had just escaped from a mental hospital.
"What did you say?"
"An orbital dock," Sisyphus repeated, "the kind that can dock starships and perform vacuum repairs and resupply."
Zor took a deep breath and shook his head with amusement:
"Sisyphus, did you take the wrong medicine before you left home today?"
"Or perhaps you've been in the bottom nest for too long, and your brain has been damaged by radiation?"
Do you know what you're saying?
Zor stood up, his mechanical tentacles waving behind him, clearly agitated.
"Orbital docks are massive projects that only a planetary governor or a casting general could approve."
"Even if we get the permit, we will still need millions of tons of special steel, an anti-gravity generator array, and a vacuum force field shield."
"This isn't a technical problem; it's a resource problem!"
Often, people have a misconception about industrial manufacturing, thinking that as long as the technology is there, anything can be manufactured.
actually not.
With the current technological capabilities of Gearheart, relying on its hundreds of tireless machine servants, tens of thousands of highly skilled technicians, and the advanced technology blueprints in Zol's hands, it is technically entirely feasible to create a small-scale orbital dock.
But the problem is, it's not worth it!
Building that thing requires a huge investment, and the payback period is frighteningly long.
Moreover, the planet Forge-7 has been in a semi-closed state since a subspace storm that nearly disrupted trade routes.
The industrial output here is mainly produced and sold locally; only the local gentry can transport it out via the few remaining smuggling ships.
In this situation, spending tens of billions to build a shipyard would be a complete waste of money.
More importantly, this thing is too conspicuous.
You can run a shady factory underground, fine, but why the hell do you hang a shipyard in the sky?
What kind of interstellar joke is this?
The next day, the court will have to come down in a shuttle to check your accounts and ask what you're trying to do!
Are you planning a rebellion? Are you planning to run away?!
Zor isn't stupid enough to engage in such a brainless business deal.
"I'm not joking," Sisyphus said without changing his expression. "My boss has plenty of resources. All you need to do is provide the technology and the manpower."
"Your boss?"
Zor sneered and sat back down on the throne.
"Could it be another nouveau riche who popped up out of nowhere?"
"Don't be ridiculous. Even if your boss monopolized all the black medicine in Zhongchao, he still couldn't put together the main keel of the orbital dock."
"Besides, I don't take this job."
Zor waved his shiny mechanical hand.
"The risk is too great."
"I'm doing very well now. I sell parts every day, collect rent, and occasionally take on a few small projects. I'm living a very comfortable life."
"Why should I risk being targeted by the court for your project?"
Zor started spouting nonsense.
"Besides, even if I were willing to do it, you wouldn't be able to finish the approval process."
"Those bloodsuckers at the Zhongchao Management Committee could bankrupt your boss just from the stamping fees alone..."
He kept talking about the courtroom, the management committee, the maintenance of the aircraft, and then the wind direction in Shangchao was wrong.
In short: this job is too hot to handle, I wouldn't do it even if I got paid more.
He knew perfectly well what was going on.
Sisyphus's sudden decision to build a shipyard must be because that mysterious boss wants to run away.
Getting involved at this time can easily make you a scapegoat.
Sisyphus listened quietly to Zor's rambling.
He knew, of course, that building a new one was unrealistic, and Andy didn't really expect to build a new one either.
But Sisyphus had plenty of ways.
If you want to open a window in the wall, everyone will definitely disagree.
But if you say you're going to tear the roof off, everyone will agree to let you open the windows!
"Alright, stop with the nonsense."
Sisyphus interrupted Zor's incessant chatter.
"I know it's difficult to build a new one."
"Then let's try a different approach."
Sisyphus leaned forward and lowered his voice, as if he were talking about some unspeakable secret.
"Isn't there one already in District 9?"
Zor's voice stopped abruptly, and the mechanical tentacles that were still waving in the air froze.
"Even though it's an abandoned foundation, the dragon bones are still there, right?"
"And I heard there's something else buried down there..."
Sisyphus stared at Zor's electronic eyes, a fox-like smile spreading across his face.
"Since building a new one isn't an option, could I borrow the old one?"
"Anyway, that place is a restricted area now, nobody cares, and you happen to have connections..."
Zor fell silent.
He was truly embarrassed now.
Because the Ninth District, although nominally an abandoned restricted area, was sealed off by the Mechanicus hundreds of years ago and is now owned by the Zhongchao Management Committee.
But in reality, it is a "private domain" that the Helios Group has been focusing on developing recently.
Even Zor, a high priest, had never seen the true face of District 9.
Having connections is one thing, but whether or not it's implemented is another!
Zor guessed there was a ship down there because Helios had previously rented several heavy excavators from him.
Now Sisyphus has immediately asked for that place; it's not borrowing it at all, it's clearly trying to steal Helios's house!
Zol stretched out his mechanical hand, which was all screwdrivers except for his thumb, and scratched his bald scalp in a very human-like way, making a hissing metallic scraping sound.
"Well..."
Zor's electronic eyes scanned twice, and he stammered:
"That place... the situation is a bit complicated."
"Look, although the land rights there are unclear, some big shots are already working on it."
"I'm just a tech person, and I don't really know how to get involved in this situation."
That's what they say, but Zol was actually weighing the pros and cons.
Most importantly, Zor had long disliked the Helios Group.
In the eyes of the financial giants in Shangchao, these independent factories and technical priests in Zhongchao are nothing more than a group of slightly more sophisticated laborers.
Every time the Helios Group hires them for outsourcing, the drawings they provide are always abridged versions, the production time is squeezed to the limit, and the money they pay is pitifully small. They even withhold a portion of the money as a so-called "quality guarantee deposit".
What angered Zor even more was that Helios, in order to meet the deadline for the tenth-generation factory, forcibly "requisitioned" dozens of heavy engineering sergeants from him, only to return a pile of scrap metal without even paying for the depreciation.
This is a direct insult to the priests of the Mechanicus Church, and even more so, a blasphemy against the Om Messiah!
Now, the mysterious boss behind Sisyphus is clearly targeting Helios.
Zor didn't know what resources that person had behind him.
But if he were to engage in a dogfight with Helios... oh no, I mean, to have a friendly business exchange, regardless of who wins or loses, it would be a sure-fire deal for Zol.
If Helios wins, then it's as if nothing happened, since District 9 was already in their hands anyway.
If Sisyphus's boss wins... then Helios's power in Midnesia will be weakened, and he may even have to give up his monopolized market share. As a traitor, Zol might even get a share of the pie.
Thinking about this, Zor's mental calculations were practically about to explode on Sisyphus's face.
Since there are people willing to risk their lives to mess with Helios, why doesn't he just give them a pointer?
"Sigh, although I can't really get involved..."
Zor suddenly sighed, his tone shifting.
"But as an old friend, I can't bear to see you running around like a headless fly."
The mechanical tentacles behind him retracted with remarkable agility.
A few seconds later, Zor pulled out an old, oil-stained databoard from a pile of clutter on the Throne of Life.
"This is a topographic map that I recently... well, I accidentally intercepted."
"This is a structural diagram of the underground pipe network in District 9. It is currently guarded by Helios's private security forces, as well as a bunch of heavy automatic turrets."
Sisyphus reached for the data pad, but Zol's hand remained pressed against it.
Listen, Sisyphus.
Zor's voice turned serious, even warning.
"I didn't give you this; you picked it up from the trash heap yourself."
"If Helios's men come knocking, or if the court comes to investigate, I will know nothing."
"I'm just an honest priest who sells spare parts. I would never go near a restricted area like District 9."
Sisyphus laughed:
"Father Zor, what are you saying?"
"I found this in the trash myself, okay? Give it back to me right now!"
He forcefully pulled the data panel away and stuffed it into his arms.