Warhammer: Striving to Be a Grinding Man

Chapter 105 The Navy's Gaze 940.M41

On the day the Imperial Navy inspector arrived, Wangshu was in the daytime of Garros. Starlight poured in through the armored glass of the portholes, spreading a layer of cold white halo over the adamantine framework of the shipyard cavity.

Imperial Navy service ships are docked at the hull berth of Wangshu.

It was a Sword-class corvette, painted in deep blue naval camouflage, with the insignia of a double-headed eagle on its side bearing the inscription: "Imperial Navy, Lucis Office, Survey Department." The Sword-class design was ancient and classic—it had entered service in the early days of the Empire, and all its components had undergone repeated redesigns and refinements. Its laser-based weapon array far surpassed plasma systems in reliability, and its engines were simple yet powerful, requiring only minimal training for ordinary craftsmen to maintain. As escort ships, Imperial battleships were rarely seen without Sword-class corvettes accompanying them.

The ship is not long, only 1.6 kilometers long, and appears quite slender within the vast space of the Wangshu Shipyard. However, it is fast and maneuverable, making it suitable for independent reconnaissance and liaison missions. The paint is even, the armor plate seams are neat, and the single-mounted turret at the bow reflects a cold light under the shipyard lights.

Ellis stood on the observation platform in the berth area, his hands behind his back. The administrator of the Garros Autonomous Dominion wore a dark gray uniform with a gear and skull insignia pinned to his chest. He had graduated from the Administrative Academy of Lucis and worked for twenty-eight years in the supplies allocation department of the Governor's Palace in Helsard. He knew the Imperial Navy's review process—they looked at the docks, the production lines, and the production capacity; nothing else was within their scope of review.

The government vessel docked. The gangway descended, and the airlock opened.

Four naval security guards came down first and stood at the gangway. Then the inspector came out.

He wore a dark blue naval officer's uniform, with three rows of ribbons on his chest and a silver double-headed eagle badge on his left shoulder. The white hair at his temples and the deep wrinkles around his eyes betrayed his age. A standard naval mechanical prosthetic eye was embedded in his right eye socket, its focus slowly shifting.

"Ellis, Administrator of the Dominion of Galloes. Welcome, Your Excellency."

The inspector stood on the berth platform, glancing up at the dock dome of Wangshu. The metallic frame, gantry cranes, rail-mounted cranes, engineering rigs—his mechanical eyes narrowed slightly.

"Imperial Navy Office in Lucis, Shipyard Audit Section, Donovan Larson. Your men lead the way."

The review process is strictly limited to the shipyard.

Larson, accompanied by two technical sergeants, spent two days touring the Wangshu shipyard and its directly related production areas. The first day was spent exploring the shipyard. Under the searchlights, the shipyard's cavities were as bright as day. Adamantite frameworks grew from the rock strata, creating enormous spaces. Construction of Garros's self-built ships was underway in the shipyard; the keels of one or two Moon-class cruisers were being laid, adamantite trusses extended on the slipway, and welding robotic arms moved between the keels.

Larson stood on the observation platform, looking at the two keelbacks. His prosthetic eye repeatedly adjusted its focus.

"Is this Garros' own ship?" he asked.

"Build our own fleet," Ellis said. "Expansion is necessary."

Larson didn't press the matter. That wasn't within the scope of the Navy's review.

The next day, the production line was inspected. Wangshu's servo production line was running at full speed before the auditors. Engineering servos moved between casting units, orange-red heat waves billowed from the opening and closing of the furnace doors, and hull sections lined up at the end of the assembly line. Larson stood in the observation corridor, watching the sections.

"How's the production capacity?" he asked.

Ellis flipped open the data panel. "The dry dock can accommodate the construction of several moon-class ships simultaneously. The production line can produce a certain number of standard hull sections annually. Specific data is in the report."

Larson took the data panel, glanced at it, and offered no comment on the numbers. He was more concerned with the stability of the production line and the quality management process. The technical sergeants checked the material testing records, welding flaw detection reports, and machine servitor calibration logs, checking off each item on the checklist.

"What about the skilled workers?" Larson asked.

"The servitors handle the vast majority of operations. Key positions are overseen by technicians from the Garros industrial division," Ellis said. "All technicians are trained and certified by the Garros administration, and their records are verifiable."

Larson nodded. The technical sergeants made a note of it on the data panel.

The audit results were released two days later. Larson sat at one end of a long table in the conference room in Wangshu, with a data board and a paper document spread out in front of him—an official document bearing the double-headed eagle insignia of the Imperial Navy.

"The shipbuilding facilities in the Galos Dominion meet the basic standards of the Imperial Navy's external shipyards." Larson's voice was devoid of any emotion. "Dock capacity, production line configuration, and quality management system—all are qualified. Audit approved. The Galos shipyard's organizational structure is officially entered into the Imperial Navy's logistics database. The serial number and identification code will be issued from the Lucis office and are expected to arrive within three months."

Ellis didn't move. He knew there was more to come.

Larson turned to another document. "As an external shipyard, Garros is responsible for naval shipbuilding orders. These are contractual terms, not negotiable."

"What are the conditions?"

"Within ten years, construct five Moon-class cruisers for the Imperial Navy. All will be built to Imperial Navy standard specifications, requiring no modifications or special customization. The Navy will pay 150 million Throne Credits for each ship."

Ellis remained silent. A ten-year, five-point construction period—given Gallo's production capacity, it shouldn't take that long. These were acceptable terms within the governor's authority.

"Can you answer?"

"Okay. Follow the Navy's schedule."

Larson stared at him for a few seconds, then lowered his head and wrote a line on the document. "The Navy will prepay half the cost of each ship, with the remaining balance settled upon delivery." He pushed the document towards him. "Signature, approval approved. No signature, rejection." The meaning was clear: the Navy needed shipyards and production capacity. Large foundry worlds had the capacity, but they would argue and the Navy wouldn't dare push too hard. These smaller industrial worlds, while having limited capacity, were perfectly suited to the Imperial Navy.

Ellis picked up the document and read it through from beginning to end. The terms were clear and there were no traps. He picked up a pen, wrote his name in the signature field, and affixed the administrative seal of the Dominion of Garros.

Larson put away the documents and stood up. "There's one more thing. The Imperial Navy needs to set up a liaison office in Garros. The address will be under your Dome Number One. The office doesn't need to be big, just big enough. The liaison office will be responsible for monitoring the shipbuilding progress and coordinating the allocation of resources."

He paused.

"The head of the liaison office will be appointed by the Navy. I myself will be based in Garros."

Ellis looked at him. It was unusual for a naval admiral to volunteer for a permanent posting in a border autonomous territory. But he didn't ask why.

"The office building under Dome One has already been reserved. You are welcome to move in at any time."

“Okay.” Larson put away the documents. “Within three months, the liaison office personnel and supplies will be shipped from Lucis.” He paused. “My youngest daughter will come with the first group. She just turned seven this year and has always been in poor health. The doctor said she’s not suited to live in the Forgeworld for long. The environment in Garros would be better for her.”

She needs housing and school.

"Of course, there are schools in Garros. Housing will also be arranged." Ellis paused for less than a second, then understood.

Larson glanced at Ellis, then nodded. "That's good."

Larsen did not linger in Wangshu. After the review was completed, he returned to the government ship that same day.

Before returning, he met with Ellis alone in the conference room.

"Your shipyards are fine, your production lines are fine, and your capacity is sufficient," Larson said. "As long as the Navy's orders are delivered on time, that's fine. I won't interfere in Garros's internal affairs."

He stood by the porthole, looking out at the small, armored foundry world.

"I lived in Upper Nest, Lucis, for twenty years. The air there always smelled of rust. My sons all served in the navy, each in their respective positions on the fleet, and I didn't have to worry about them. Only this youngest daughter was frail from a young age. Her mother had always wanted to find a habitable world. Garros is a good place."

As a veteran civil servant, Ellis naturally understood what the other person meant, so he remained silent.

"See you in three months." Larson turned and walked out of the conference room.

The ship's propellers ignited, leaving a long, thin trail of blue flames in the starry sky. Larson stood behind the porthole, watching Wangshu's silhouette shrink in his field of vision.

"Heading set, Mandeville point. Return to Lucis," he told the navigator.

The government ship has entered subspace.

Weeks later, the government ship arrived in Lucis.

Larson returned to his residence in Upper Nest. When he opened the door, his wife was tidying up a pile of clothes in the living room.

My youngest daughter is still in elementary school, seven years old, thin and small, sitting in the corner of the living room flipping through a colorful picture book.

He took off his general's coat and hung it on the coat rack by the door.

"The shipyard in Garros has passed the audit," he said.

His wife paused, looked up at him.

"The liaison office will be established within three months. I will be based in Garros. You and Anna will move there together."

"Garros?" She put down the clothes she was holding. "The one you mentioned before—"

—

“Yes.” Larson sat down on the sofa, the red glow of his prosthetic eye slowly expanding and contracting in the dim light of the room. “There’s sunshine, fresh food, and a school. Anna can study under the dome, without having to smell the rust of the Forged World anymore. The doctor said her lungs need clean air. There it is.”

silence.

The little girl looked up from the picture book, glanced at her father, and then at her mother. She didn't quite understand what the adults were saying, but her father's tone was different from usual.

"Is it really that good there?" His wife's voice was a little softer than before.

“It’s even better than the propaganda,” Larson said. “I saw their spaceports, docks, and defense arrays from orbit. On the surface, I saw domes, schools, and hospitals. Not the stuff in the Imperial propaganda posters, but real things.”

He reached out and touched his youngest daughter's hair.

"Anna will like it there."

Three months later, the Imperial Navy's liaison office will be established under Dome One. Larson will move into the residential building under the dome with his wife and youngest daughter, who will attend school in Garros.

He held that authority. His colleagues, who were vying for power in Lucifer, were eager for him to go far away.

They said, "Garros? That kind of frontier world, go for it."

They didn't know what Larson saw in Wangshu's shipyard—stable production capacity, standardized management, and the ability to deliver on time. He also didn't know Garros' other secrets.

Larson leaned back in his armchair and closed his eyes. The metallic smell of Lucis wafted through the window. But in three months, his home would be under a dome, bathed in sunlight, with clean air. Most importantly, the situation in the Empire was changing; even the Solar System was seeing Greenskins, and he needed his family away from danger.

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