章節 17: Chapter XVI: Level 61

A million simple variables, a million worlds, and hundreds of millions of people who could cause fluctuations in all sorts of goods and materials. In the million worlds that the Imperium of Mankind possessed, there were countless opportunities for those who sought to make a fortune.

For that, one needed to be both clever and daring. Daring enough to have the courage to travel through the very heart of hell and secure riches hundreds of light-years away from home. Clever enough to weave a network of contacts that provided rumours, information, and opportunities to benefit oneself without becoming a pawn of the many power figures controlling the various worlds.

Individuals and families who formed clans over the centuries, entire dynasties founded and maintained by unparalleled figures who commanded respect throughout an entire sector of the Imperium, or even across whole Segmentums.

These figures, with their monumental backgrounds, held riches far beyond the material. So much had been accumulated and secured in vaults and bunkers on their home planets over the long lives of their members, along with fortresses in the very depths of space, that the power of these individuals was measured by the influence they could wield and the number of fates they could decide.

Wars between entire worlds, fought at the behest of these beings, families, and dynasties, were something the Ixaniad Sector knew all too well thousands of years ago. Across the sector, economic and industrial empires rose, forming coalitions and a web of alliances so complex, so convoluted and deep, that today it was impossible to discern clearly where the lines were drawn between one relationship and the next.

The armed peace that hung over Ixaniad was fragile and precarious, for only the Imperium had managed to end the disputes between families that had nearly threatened to consume thousands of planets. The Golden Eagle, along with representatives of the High Lords of Terra and other branches of the Imperium, were what halted a bloodshed that could have drowned entire worlds in oceans of crimson.

Peace came at the cost of a cold war, fought in the shadows and among the lofty spires of hive worlds, as well as in space stations. Egos were measured in all manner of luxuries and obscene excesses, where the only thing squandered was the countless wealth of worlds—gained at the expense of the sweat, blood, tears, and corpses of innumerable lives suffering daily torment.

Flotillas of ships paraded between systems, filling pockets and spreading misery among those who produced the wealth, only to end up as glorified trophies and numbers on the holopad of some accountant belonging to one of the many lords of Ixaniad.

The fortune and fate of worlds were determined by the rules of a game established by all, while under the table, every loophole was exploited for an advantage. Cunning merchants, as sly as old foxes and just as greedy, moved for the slightest margin of profit, hopping from system to system and changing lords without a shred of shame or scruples.

Their loyalty was measured by profits and how tightly their necks were held in the jaws of the great families, for none were willing to bind their fate to the chaotic rise and fall of the nobles of Ixaniad. Just as some families became dynasties spanning millennia, so too were there tales of those like fleeting stars, shining brightly for a brief moment before falling into the depths of ruin, torn apart and consumed by the ravenous teeth of other noble families and corporations.

For this reason, many merchants made their stays on worlds a transient affair, fulfilling their roles in the ever-turning wheel that was the Ixaniad economy. For a few years, they made their fortunes on each world while planning for the future and watching their present keenly, for at the slightest sign discernible to their experience and seasoned instincts, they would choose their next destination.

One such merchant had made Vandalor his current, temporary residence—one who would soon find himself, through great misfortune, entangled in a series of events that would change the entire future of the Ixaniad Sector in a few years.

Khalor Judimer was a man over a hundred and twenty years old. A merchant originally from a simple agri-world, he found his fortune nearly eighty years ago, managing to make a minor name and reputation for himself among the circles of traders and merchants. However, this man would go down in history as the victim and catalyst for an enigmatic and dazzling figure. Khalor Judimer, unbeknownst to himself, was the chosen target of Gino Salerni, the man who would teach him a harsh and savage lesson.

...

Gino's stormy stride, filled with expectation, gradually faded as he was led by Beatrix through the streets and passages of Level 01. On the way there, both had observed and had to shield themselves with protectors for their eyes and ears, as Levels 01 and 02 had been afflicted by an industrial containment accident. Whether due to poor maintenance or a botched repair, toxic gases and liquids had escaped, catching the inhabitants of those levels completely off guard.

For many, misfortune proved lethal, as the unprotected residents, workers, and vagrants had no chance and now lay lifeless around the streets, which had descended into chaos.

Some figures attempted to restore a semblance of order amidst the turmoil, while others worked to clear the streets of the numerous bundles and bodies lying motionless, victims of the toxic chemicals. Some of the bodies appeared swollen, their eyes and other orifices leaking blood, distended beyond normal. Others had most of their skin corroded by contact with certain liquids.

A few particularly unfortunate souls resembled grotesque, scarlet sacks of raw flesh, their faces unrecognisable, as were their limbs.

What was supposed to be a day of joy and celebration for Gino had swiftly turned into one where he struggled to keep from vomiting at the grotesque spectacle Vandalor had offered him.

Beatrix and Gino remained silent throughout the entire journey. The former kept an impassive and steadfast expression, perhaps already seasoned in the horrors the hive city would occasionally present. Meanwhile, the latter tried to mask the horror he felt within as he witnessed such a catastrophe.

The dead piled up by the thousands as the duo made their grim pilgrimage through the infernal scene.

Fortunately for the inhabitants of Levels 01 and 02, the accident only affected part of both levels and did not spread to the rest of the districts. Eventually, reaching the colossal structure in the centre of Vandalor—where lay the foundation of what was once an arcology and was now little more than crumbling ruins, kept barely functional without much expertise—they entered a series of labyrinthine corridors, cautiously watching each step and individual they encountered.

The already unfriendly faces around them held even darker expressions than usual due to the recent events in that level.

The further they ventured, the more hostile and marginal the faces Gino saw became. At one point, Beatrix murmured to him in the metallic tone of her mask, "Be careful who you look at, and avoid accidentally bumping into anyone. Most of those we'll meet from here on belong to gangs and crews with influence in the Underhive."

Gino nodded, moving with far more care until they finally reached what seemed to be yet another shop among the dimly lit, ill-kept galleries of the labyrinth.

Inside, the shop resembled more a store of ancient artefacts and a warehouse simultaneously. They waited several minutes for the vendor to finish with a customer while Gino examined the place in detail.

What looked to his eyes like scrap metal seemed to fill every available space around the main counter, which itself was nothing more than a poorly constructed metal desk with exposed joints. Nuts, gears, metal pieces, glass, and countless other objects filled Gino's view.

His gaze soon rested on something that wasn't as common to him. Something he'd seen occasionally in certain places of status in Vandalor, but which he knew to be a common sight in the Imperium.

Next to the vendor, a man with long black hair and half of his face covered, stood a middle-aged figure with much of his body modified by implants. In his one remaining natural eye, there was no sign of light or any personal spark—it acted as nothing more than a subservient part under the orders of its master.

It was a servitor.

A piece of computational and robotic engineering that used a human brain and biology as its primary components. People who, in Gino's eyes, had been given one of the worst fates—stripped of all will, lobotomised, and subjected to countless surgeries to become living machines.

Casting one last glance at the servitor, Gino was soon attended to by the shop employee while Beatrix explained what they were looking for.

The shop employee simply ordered the servitor to bring the items, to which it responded with a monotonous "Compliance." A minute later, it returned to the counter with a series of masks stacked on a grey metal tray. There, Gino saw the different styles of masks, each with its own history.

From high-class traditional ones to those used in operas and theatres, and even masks allegorical to the Imperial Creed and Vandalorian culture, which was beyond Gino's knowledge.

Gino examined and discarded the masks one by one until he finally found one to his liking—a mask of ivory colour, shaped like a man's face, adorned with engravings that gave it an air of refinement while also hinting at its theatrical use. However, the main reason Gino chose it was simple: it reminded him of a character from Earth who had once captured his interest—Jhin.

"This one, I want this one and this other one," Gino finally decided, picking that mask along with another as a backup, just in case.

The vendor nodded and began preparing the masks. These weren't just for decoration or concealing one's face—they were also vital for surviving in the hostile environment of the Underhive.

Gino and Beatrix watched in silence for several minutes as air filters, circuits, and breathing mechanisms were installed into the two masks. Finally, Gino paid the 85 credits they cost.

Once the vendor received the credits, the duo left the shop, making way for the next customers waiting to be served.

"I'm heading to O'Shalle's bar to check if they're alright. Will you come, or do you have something else to do?" Beatrix asked Gino as they made their way out of the labyrinthine corridors, her eyes firmly on the path ahead, cautious.

Letting out a tense sigh, Gino shook his head. "I can't come today, but I hope you'll tell me tomorrow if everyone's okay. I've got something urgent to take care of tonight, so I won't be able to join you."

Biting her lip in curiosity, Beatrix didn't respond to Gino and instead focused on guiding them out of that dangerous place. Both could feel the tension forming between them—Beatrix trying not to pry into Gino's affairs, while Gino wished to eliminate all possible variables as soon as possible so he could take action.

Once they both emerged from the labyrinth of the central structure of the Arcology, they turned to face each other. One had to strain her neck upwards, while the other almost hunched over to return the intense gaze they shared. They stood at the crossroads—one leading to O'Shalle's, the other leading Gino up to Level 03.

"I'm not going to ask what you're up to, just promise me I'll see you in the cantina tomorrow, alright? May the Emperor protect you." With a warm voice filled with unspoken emotion, Beatrix finally wished Gino luck.

"Don't worry, little squat, we'll have lunch together tomorrow." With a smile hidden behind his mask, Gino patted her shoulder before ruffling Bea's hair. Though his jovial tone helped ease Beatrix's worries somewhat, she simply watched as Gino turned and walked away, disappearing into the dim atmosphere that enveloped Level 01.

'...This feeling... haa, it must be because of everything that happened here. I don't think that idiot's going to do anything dangerous...' Trying to convince herself, Beatrix let out a long and anguished sigh before turning towards O'Shalle's, ignoring the heavy sensation in her chest and the suffocating feeling that plagued her.

Meanwhile, Gino continued with his preparations, this time buying a simple backpack and three sets of clothes that would be discarded and burned once they served their purpose. Wearing Guild attire while stealing materials wasn't a good idea for him.

The outfits were simple and muted, in a colour palette ideal for blending in with the walls and streets of Vandalor—perfect for going unnoticed amidst the crowds.

With everything he needed in hand, Gino finally began his journey to Level 15. There, he would enter the corridors and passages leading to the drainage system, liquid feed pipes, and sewage lines. In the darkness and solitude of that place, he would don his outfit for the heist he was planning. On his way there, Gino reviewed the various escape routes over and over.

In total, he had memorised more than ten different routes, each with up to five variations, all considering different events that could occur after stealing the materials he needed.

'Though it seems I might have overdone it with the number of routes, I still feel like I fell short when it comes to contingency plans. Anything could happen, or maybe nothing at all.' Gino pondered, recognising that he might be overthinking his actions and planning. After all, he was planning a theft, not assassinating a high-profile figure.

However, his instincts told him that it still wasn't enough. That much more could happen and that perhaps something was eluding his current understanding and knowledge.

And while he still had time to think and plan his raid further, Gino was pressed by the fact that every moment in this universe was incredibly valuable. The most important thing was always to stay ahead of whatever could happen at any moment. After all, if Orks decided to invade Aurelian Prime, or if a Warp portal suddenly opened in the middle of the planet, Gino wouldn't have the time or luxury to plan and act later.

'There are several depots, warehouses, and distribution points from Level Forty and up. From what I remember seeing, most of them are heavily guarded...' He reminded himself while making his way through the dark and forgotten passages between the levels. Gino began contemplating what his best course of action would be.

'While I could rob many smaller places in smaller quantities, that would put me at risk—the more places I hit, the more people will be after me, and I'll risk the retributive wrath of those who own them. After all, Bea was pretty emphatic about how dangerous the nobles here in Vandalor are.' The last thing Gino wanted at this point in his life was to have multiple noble houses hunting him down for theft. The chances of escaping alive and intact from their relentless pursuit were almost nonexistent.

'So, the only option left is to find a warehouse or facility with little security and empty it of everything I can carry. Random it is, I suppose.' Having settled on this approach, what remained was for Gino to determine which buildings fit his criteria and to choose among them.

Thus, forcing his mind to relax, steadying his nerves and anxiety while making his way between the levels, Gino gritted his teeth as he walked for several hours—until nearly nightfall in Vandalor—through the dark, damp, and moldy service passageways, finally reaching Level 61.

His eyes, hidden behind his mask, scanned each square meter of the level as he tried to remain unnoticed atop the dome of a building. Crouched beside a gargoyle that watched over the scene, Gino began to select his potential targets, observing as the bustle below diminished but did not entirely cease.

After all, some clients had their ships waiting in orbit for goods to be transported, and neither knew nor cared about Aurelian Prime's timetable.

Thus, Gino chose a location—a warehouse just two kilometres from the entrance to the dark and desolate labyrinth he had come through, which would serve as his escape route. There, among the sparsely trafficked, poorly lit streets devoid of guard patrols, his eyes settled on a storage facility called 'Capricorn's Warehouse'. It had only a modest façade, while most of its supplies were very poorly protected by what seemed to be a simple metal shed with several open gaps.

Although the openings were quite high up—about six metres if Gino had to guess—he reckoned the façade would allow for a quick climb due to its intricate relief and the statues adorning it.

Once he was sure he had a window of time to scale the façade, and ensured there was no one near the building, Gino began his ascent with urgency and caution. The darkness worked in his favour, rendering his movements inconspicuous.

Adrenaline pumped through his veins, his heart pounding, sending oxygen-rich blood to his limbs, making Gino feel an explosive vitality as he climbed up to the roof and crouched to slip through the open gap in the metal structure. There, hearing his own breathing echo in his mask, Gino squinted as he forced his eyes to peer below, taking in what lay beneath.

When he finally saw the prize awaiting him, a smile spread across his face, a glimmer lighting up his eyes as his body began to vibrate with anticipation.

With time pressing, it was finally the moment to secure the resources he needed to build his first ship.