5: Chapter 5 A Situation That Makes Things Worse
The emblem of the Imperium is the double-headed eagle, with one head representing the Adeptus Mechanicus.
Fu Haoran now had a firsthand understanding of this saying.
He pushed open the doors of the Adeptus Mechanicus station in the side wing of the Governors Mansion, coming face-to-face with a pair of cold mechanical bionic eyes.
"Father Karen, please call up all power and resource data for the Hive City." Fu Haoran skipped the pleasantries and went straight to the point.
Father Karen's metallic head emitted a faint servo hum as it turned slightly, and a metal finger rose to tap the light screen in front of him.
A pale blue holographic projection instantly burst forth, spreading the distorted and massive three-dimensional structure of the entire Hive City in the air. The richness of detail gave Fu Haoran a true experience of the power of future human technology.
However, Fu Haoran's gaze was quickly drawn to the content on the holographic map.
The core factories of the Mid-Hive, the promethium refineries, weapon assembly workshops... all were branded with the conspicuous emblems of noble families.
"These fence-sitters turned faster than flipping a page during the coup; turns out they'd been eyeing these territories for a long time." Fu Haoran cursed under his breath.
Fu Haoran really wanted to cut the Gordian knot and scatter these vermin to the winds.
However, as a descendant of Huaxia, he was all too familiar with this script.
A new monarch who has just taken power and has an unstable foundation is easily turned into a figurehead by the civil and military officials below.
Falling out with them now would only result in them joining forces to throw him off the stage, his corpse tossed into a cesspool in the Underhive.
"Endure for now. Settle the scores once I have the strength."
Fu Haoran shifted his gaze toward the Underhive.
At this sight, his headache grew even worse.
If the Mid-Hive was a chessboard carved up by nobles, the Underhive was a chaotic hodgepodge smashed and then haphazardly pieced back together.
Thousands of gang labels densely covered the Underhive region.
The projection zoomed in on a narrow passage; the left side was marked "Red Daggers," the right side "Blue Bones," separated in the middle by a glaringly thick red line.
"What kind of performance art is this?" Fu Haoran pointed at the line.
Wade, who had been silently following behind, glanced at it and explained, "My Lord, that is Bloodline Street."
"The Red Daggers and Blue Bones fought for three years over a water purification station on the street corner. Later, when they couldn't fight anymore, they drew this line. Whoever crosses it, the other side fights them to the death."
"Do they bow and say 'pardon me' before they start a turf war?" Fu Haoran was so angry he laughed.
"Usually they just throw grenades and Molotov cocktails," Wade answered matter-of-factly.
"The Hive City is a grand stage; come if you have a life to spare." Fu Haoran couldn't help but complain, rubbing his aching temples.
This wasn't governance; this was raising venomous insects.
"Wade, don't just watch me. What are your thoughts?"
Wade, this former PDF officer, had climbed his way up from the bottom of the Hive City. He might not understand the convoluted schemes of the Upper Nest nobles, but he truly understood the rules of the Underhive.
Glancing at the dizzying projection, Wade shook his head directly. "My Lord, based on my knowledge, there are over three hundred gangs in the Underhive with recognizable names."
"The actual number of people... it's impossible to count accurately, but there are at least over ten million people."
"The Guard troops we can mobilize number only one hundred and fifty thousand. We are thirty percent short on equipment, and our ammunition reserves are only enough for a few medium-intensity campaigns."
"To clear out these gangs one by one... it would take at least a dozen years, provided we can keep winning and have endless logistical supplies to burn."
Fu Haoran's finger dropped, pointing at a specially highlighted area in the projection—the Promethium Fuel Integrated Plant.
"Can we take this place first?"
Wade's expression grew solemn. "The ones occupying this place are the Iron Claw Gang. They are one of the four major gangs of the Underhive, with over 50,000 core members. They can pull out at least 300,000 armed thugs to fight, and even more peripheral members."
"Additionally, the factory itself is a fortress. The outer walls are reinforced ceramite. Our previous intelligence shows they somehow got hold of two decommissioned Storm Bolters and modified them into fixed turrets mounted on the high ground."
"The terrain is easy to defend and hard to attack. Unless we can perform a precise decapitation strike to take out their leader's nest, a frontal assault would be a bottomless pit filled with lives. We can't afford the attrition."
Fu Haoran nodded.
Promethium is the Imperium's general term for any form of fuel. It can be made into various industrial products, and most crucially, it is the raw material for synthesizing Corpse Starch.
Taking it would be equivalent to controlling energy and food.
"This is a hard bone that must be gnawed on."
"First, we'll pick one or two small gangs that don't know their place and have no big backers to make an example of. We'll train the troops, seize some supplies, and sustain the war through war..."
Fu Haoran was prepared to use the playbook of his senior transmigrator predecessors.
But in the next second, this proposal was rejected by Wade.
"My Lord, there are no isolated small gangs in the Underhive. Behind every small gang, they either pay tribute to a large gang or are simply a large gang's front."
"Attacking one is equivalent to poking a hornet's nest."
"Then expand the army! If one hundred and fifty thousand isn't enough, recruit up to three hundred thousand! Train them strictly!" Fu Haoran, unwilling to give up, proposed.
But Wade shook his head. "My Lord, it can't be done. Recruiting requires enlistment bonuses and equipment."
"We can't even fully provide a basic set of Guard uniforms and Laser Guns right now."
"There are quite a few Laser Guns backlogged in the warehouse, but forty percent are awaiting repair, and the rest lack matching power cells."
"Then have the veterans lead the recruits and train through combat!" Fu Haoran was fuming.
"That won't work either," Wade continued to refuse.
"Our logistical supplies for a single sortie are calculated down to the last penny. If we lose, we lose equipment and morale."
"If we win, the spoils might not even cover the consumption. In fact, the gangs choose to brawl with melee weapons precisely because ammunition supply is a major problem."
Fu Haoran was left speechless.
This wasn't how it was supposed to go!
Why were all the ideas he'd come up with being slapped in the face by reality?
"Dammit, so we're basically begging for food while holding a golden bowl? No, the bowl is even leaking!"
The more Fu Haoran thought about it, the angrier he got. "Let's go, we're raiding the house! Let's see how much the previous Governor left for us!"
The corner of Wade's mouth couldn't help but twitch. Only this new Governor, who didn't play by the rules, could speak of raiding his predecessor's assets so righteously.
...
The vault doors slowly opened amidst the harsh grinding of massive gears.
Fu Haoran stood at the entrance, the slight expectation on his face instantly freezing and then collapsing.
Empty.
The incomparably luxurious vault was actually empty!
The mountains of gold bars, neatly stacked crates of Credits, and rare minerals shimmering with enticing luster he had imagined... none of them were there!
"This..." Wade was also dumbfounded.
Amidst the dead silence, Fu Haoran noticed a small object on the floor with a cold metallic feel.
He bent down to pick it up, identifying the material as soon as his fingertips touched it.
It was a fragment of a micro-gear!
The surface was engraved with a series of fine Gothic numbers, and the edges were still stained with undried special lubricant used only by the Adeptus Mechanicus, leaving a pungent smell of machine oil!
"Father, I need an explanation."
Fu Haoran looked fiercely at the Mechanicus Priest Kalen who had followed them.
A certain Governor who already had no way out was so angry he was ready to bite someone.
If things truly reached a desperate end, Fu Haoran wouldn't mind pulling a ruthless move and then just vanishing!
Whoever wants the Governor's seat can have it!
I'm quitting!