Warhammer: Striving to Be a Grinding Man

Chapter 152 Civilian Shipyard

As Phyllis stepped down the shuttle's gangway, the air circulating in the spaceport, carrying a mixture of disinfectant and coolant odors, hit her. She paused, buttoning up the collar of her dark gray captain's coat—a dark gold gear-like stripe ran along the inside of the left collar, the insignia of a fourth-tier logician. Then she strode into the berth area's jet bridge.

At the end of the covered bridge, Fasque Lavinius was already waiting. A Tier 3 Communicator Monk, an administrative officer of the Trade and Development Committee, he was one of the key personnel responsible for the daily scheduling and route management of the trade fleet when Phyllis was absent. He nodded slightly when he saw Phyllis emerge.

"Lady Phyllis," he stepped aside to make way, "the transport ship has finished unloading. The adamantite powder and rare alloy ore have been stored and, according to the schedule, will be transferred to the furnace storage area in Wangshu. The alien artifacts are being prepared for sealing in the underground of Garros as usual, and the servants are transporting them to the main elevator platform entrance inside Dome One, awaiting evaluation by the Temple's Technical Evaluation Committee. The newly arrived psionicists are undergoing quarantine and psionic screening in the isolation zone of this spaceport, and the docking department has taken over the arrangements."

Phyllis nodded without stopping. "Where's Castello?"

"At the spaceport dock. A Galaxy-class destroyer was launched today."

"Let's go take a look." Phyllis quickened her pace. "We'll talk on the way."

She had served as logistics director on the Black Pearl, captain on the Valiant, and now she was the de facto head of foreign trade for Garros. These roles had alternated over the years, but she had navigated each step independently within the framework laid out by Cohen. Her rank was that of a fourth-order Logician, a technical priest responsible for planning, analysis, and administration within the Mechanicus system. She wasn't a frontline technical priest; she didn't read reactor readings or personally calibrate turret sights. But she could read blueprints, review technical plans, and knew when to listen to Castro and when to make her own decisions. In the trade department, a Logician was more suitable than a frontline technical priest—technical priests focused on the machines, while Logicians focused on the big picture.

She'd been running the voyage from Wandering Port to Garros for almost two years. Initially, the Valiant made the round trip alone, but later, as the trade route stabilized, the administration assigned a Wanderer-class fleet to accompany her. This particular voyage departed three months ago; the Valiant didn't go. The fleet was led by three Galaxy-class armed cargo ships, fully loaded with goods procured from Wandering Port, plus a group of personnel recruited from the Calissis Sector. The Valiant was a combat transport ship, capable of navigating the most dangerous routes, so now that the Wandering Port route was stable, she had a new idea.

Wandering Harbor is an important distribution center, handling alien artifacts brought from the depths of the Colonus Expansion, adamantite powder and rare alloy ores used as currency by traveling merchants, and other resources that are difficult to obtain legally within the Empire. It also hosts psionicists "diverted" from the Black Ship routes. As an outpost on the outermost edge of the Calithis Sector, Wandering Harbor sees traveling merchants bringing back forgotten psionicists from the depths of the Expansion each year, which are then traded on the port's black market. The Star Tower and Psionic Support Corps of Garros need fresh blood, and Wandering Harbor is the closest and most unconventional source of supply for Garros.

The corridors of the civilian dock area differ from those of the main spaceport. There are no etchings of binary prayers, no reliefs of gears and skulls, but it's not entirely without order—each intersection's wall is inlaid with standard low-Gothic spray-painted signs, the font uniform, with a line of small binary code below. That was the standardization implemented after Father Castello took office.

People came and went in the corridor. A technician in gray overalls walked quickly past Phyllis. Someone was using tools to compare the measured values ​​of a pipeline with the nominal values. Next to him, a young technician was spreading out the nominal values ​​and the results of the machine servants on the data board side by side, swiping his finger across the screen to compare the deviation values. Several service machine servants moved steadily in the corridor, carrying the next component.

Fast walked beside Phyllis, reporting as they went.

"The amount of refined gold ore powder we harvested on this trip to Roaming Harbor is 40% more than last time. Merchants are very interested in Garros's sophisticated weapons, and orders are already booked until next year." He handed over a data panel.

Phyllis took the document and glanced at it without stopping. The inventory had indeed increased—enough to cover about one-tenth of the consumption. Where the other ninety percent came from was a non-issue. Nor could it appear on the books. Concealing it was one of her greatest responsibilities. Everything was for the will of Om Messiah.

She handed the data panel back. "Has the supplier's representative arrived regarding this procurement contract issue?"

"Representatives from the Valancius family arrived in Garros last week and are waiting for you. They said they want to renew the purchase contract for the next batch of refined gold ore, and the price can remain the same as before, but they hope that Garros can give priority to their shipments on the Serflis route."

"Okay. After the next batch of Galaxy-class ships launches, allocate one to Serflis first, and reserve a cargo hold for Valanciunas." Phyllis handed back the data panel. "Also, of the three Galaxy-class ships launched today, one was ordered by Valanciunas. Is Ms. Silver pressing for it?"

"They're pushing really hard." Fask nodded. "Her people started contacting her through interstellar communication months ago to urge her."

Phyllis didn't reply. The Gallos-class ships were all built using standard modular construction, with a construction cycle several times longer than the standard cycle of the casting world. The people of Valancius understood this; their urging was merely a gesture. She paused, turning to look at Fask: "Fask, tell them that Gallos's ships won't become faster just because you urge them. As long as the quality is sound, that's the fastest speed they can go."

Fast quickly jotted down a note on the data panel.

After walking for a while, Phyllis's voice lowered: "I've heard rumors lately. The route between Serflis and Sintira has been turbulent recently—two Imperial Merchant Guild ships have lost contact without even sending a distress signal."

Fask paused for a moment: "The Department of Trade issued a safety notice last week to all captains operating on the Serflis route, requiring them to encrypt navigation beacons and maintain communication silence. So far, no ships from Garros have reported any anomalies."

"That's not enough," Phyllis said. "When you get back, submit a request to the fleet dispatch department in the name of the Trade Department, requesting that one Sword-class frigate be transferred from the standby sequence and assigned to the Serflis section for regular patrols. It doesn't need to be in convoy with merchant ships; keep your distance so that you can provide rapid assistance if any anomalies occur."

Farsk paused for a moment: "Use a sword-class? Lady Phyllis, the operating cost of a single frigate—"

—

"It's cheaper than losing a fully loaded Galaxy-class destroyer and its crew," Phyllis interrupted him. "Request to go through the fleet dispatch process. We're responsible for submitting the resource requests, and they're responsible for assessing the priorities. That's the division of responsibilities within the Forging Temple."

Fast quickly jotted it down on the data panel. "Understood. I'll draft the application when I get back."

After walking for a while, he lowered his voice: "In addition, Star Tower recently advised all merchant ships to check the encryption protocol of their communication arrays before departing. There is external noise interference; the specific reason wasn't mentioned, but the notification has already been sent to all captains."

Phyllis didn't stop walking, but her thumb scratched the edge of the data panel—an old habit of hers when she was thinking. The loss of contact from Serflis's direction and the noise from the Star Tower appeared at the same time; she didn't like coincidences. But the trade department wasn't responsible for the Star Tower's technical affairs, and since the notification had already been issued, she had done what needed to be done.

"When we get to Castello, I need to see the turret configuration for the Galaxy-class destroyers. We'll add them to the next batch if possible."

The two passed through the final airtight door, and the observation platform of the civilian dock came into view. Under the cold white spotlights, the hatches of the three docks opened one after another. The low hiss of hydraulic pushers, filtered through layers of terracotta steel panels, became a near-steady, continuous background pulsation, filtered by the metal frame. Inside the docks, three brand-new Galaxy-class armed cargo ships were emerging from the shadows—each nearly the size of a capital cruiser, their streamlined hulls stretching under the spotlights, the turret bases on their sides already installed, the gun barrels pointing towards deep space in standby mode. The Garros gear and skull insignia gleamed with a dark red sheen on either side of the bow, and the cargo hatches stretched out in a row along the hull, each large enough to swallow an entire line of railcars.

Several assembly machines were performing the final sealing work on the inspection ports on the hull surface, and the sparks from the welding torches flickered in the dim depths of the dock, casting brief orange-red halos on the metal walls.

Phyllis stood at the edge of the observation platform. She looked down at the hulls under construction. A few years ago, there were only four berths here, all occupied by the old, slow-moving, and almost unarmed Rogue-class ships; every departure was a gamble.

The current output efficiency is several times that of that time.

As her thoughts flowed calmly, she looked up into the depths of the dock, where the side of the third Galaxy-class ship was being swept section by section by beams of searchlight. The arcs of welding flickered on the work platform dozens of meters high, and servitors scrambled and moved along the hull like a swarm of metal beetles clinging to the belly of a giant beast. Everything was as it should be—someone was watching, things were running. She watched for a few seconds, then looked away.

Vito Castello stood at the other end of the observation platform, checking the project schedule item by item. A fourth-order technical priest, his crimson robes stained with machine oil at the cuffs and collar, his left arm from the elbow down was entirely mechanical, and the data probes at his fingertips still glowed with a faint blue standby light. Hearing footsteps, he turned, his optical lens pausing briefly on Phyllis.

"Lady Phyllis, you're back?"

"Just got off the ship." Phyllis walked over to him. "How's it going?"

"On time. All three have passed inspection, thruster test run completed, Void Shield calibration run final round, Galler Field,..."

"The subspace engines are all functioning normally." Castello's fingertip traced the edge of the data panel, switching pages without pause. "After launching today, we'll conduct a short-range test run, and then be incorporated into the official service route in a week. The Valancius family's ship has already undergone its own trial voyage; their team arrived the day before yesterday and is ready to take over."

Phyllis nodded. "The third ship made some noise just now, will that affect today's sea trials?"

Castello's optical lens tilted slightly towards the dock: "It's a minor issue. There's a discrepancy between the data readings and the standard values ​​at the sealed inspection port. The assembly crew is already adjusting it. We can catch up."

"That's good."

Phyllis didn't press for details, shifting her gaze from Castro back to the data panel screen. "How's Wangshu's progress? How's the Revenge-class going?"

"That's a military dock, not under our jurisdiction." Castro's optical lens tilted slightly. "But this is a trade order. The main structure is already assembled, and the internal fittings are 70% complete. The power system's energy conduits are all laid, and the reaction tank confinement chamber is installed. The weapon platform base is complete, and the turret is being assembled. It's expected to be launched in four months."

Phyllis nodded: "What feedback has the Trask family given?"

Castello swiped his finger across the data panel, bringing up another page: "Communication with the military shipyard doesn't go through me, and the procurement representative's contact records aren't in my system. However, the progress data is being updated normally—if the client has any complaints, Wangshu should inform us in advance."

"That's good." Phyllis handed the data panel back. "The Trask family's orders are their trademark; just make sure nothing goes wrong. The Valancius family still has a Moon-level one, though."

Castello swiped his finger again, bringing up the schedule: "The contract for the monthly-class precision engineering was signed last year, and the schedule remains the same—it will take at least six months for Wangshu to free up the dock. The schedule is locked in; the keel will be laid in the next construction cycle, and both standard ships will be delivered after the new year."

"Ms. Yin has paid the full amount, so please keep a close eye on things for me. I won't be going to check on Wang Shu's side."

"clear."

Phyllis nodded. "The second batch of Lucis's spare parts order this month has already shipped?"

"It was loaded onto the ships yesterday. Precision gears and drive shafts made in the foundry of the underground industrial zone filled three cargo ships." Castello's optical lens zoomed out. "The shipyard complex over there in Lucis has been urging us on. Their various orders are scheduled for decades in advance. We're doing the adaptation for them, and their feedback and evaluation are very positive. What they lack are high-precision core components."

"Then let's keep this pace," Phyllis said. "The orders from Lucis can't be cut off. Without those contracts, Garros' massive production capacity will spill over into irrelevant areas, and that's one of our most important sources of development funding."

She turned around, her gaze sweeping across the entire civilian shipyard. A dozen or so dry docks stretched across the horizon; some were building wandering-class ships, some were maintaining returning merchant vessels, and some lay empty awaiting the next batch of keels. All the operating machinery, the sparks from welding torches…

The data panel updates, the signatures on delivery slips—this entire process was established in less than a few years. She had once thought she would rise to the rank of first mate on a merchant ship, only to disappear without a trace during a subspace voyage. Now, her signature could determine the life or death of an entire shipping route.

"What about the next batch?" she asked.

"Seven months later," Castello said, "three more were added, the hull sections in place. Turrets were installed as you requested. This wasn't just because the Severis leg was treacherous; armed cargo ships need to be armed."

"Get the turret in place. The Ministry of Trade can't afford the damage to its reputation, nor can it let the captains gamble with their lives."

Castro's optical lens flashed—a confirmation signal. "Understood."

The sea trial ceremony took place on the viewing platform at the edge of the berth area. A ceremonial servant pushed a censer of adamantium to the front, dripping holy oil into the combustion chamber, and bluish-white smoke rose in the cold light of the spotlight. The inaugural prayer of the Mechanic Church poured from the speakers on both sides, the low-frequency pulses of the binary hymn synchronized with the hiss of the hydraulic pushers, drowning out all the noise in the berth area.

Phyllis didn't stand at the front. She stood at the back of the crowd, arms crossed, watching the three Galaxy-class armed cargo ships slowly turn their bows under the guide lights of the berth area.

Captain Balthazar Corneau, the old captain, stood at the front. His hair was gray, and his left eye had been replaced with a mechanical prosthetic. He held his wine glass, stared at the three ships for a while, and then said something to a few familiar captains around him. His voice wasn't loud, but Phyllis heard it.

"Three ships launched in less than a year. I've been sailing all my life, and I've never seen this speed." He downed his beer, the bottom of the glass tapping against the railing. "I heard they've all been fitted with turrets. If we encounter danger, at least we can fire a few shots, instead of just waiting to be slaughtered."

He didn't say anything more. He stood there for a while, holding the empty cup, then turned and walked down from the viewing platform.

"Sea trials begin."

The berth area's guide lights switched from red to green. The thrusters of the three Galaxy-class armed cargo ships ignited simultaneously, their exhaust flames leaving three parallel blue streaks in the vacuum. The ships slowly slid out of the berth and headed outwards along the track.

Phyllis watched as the trailing flames gradually narrowed into points of light, then turned and walked toward her office.

Castello and Fasque followed behind her. The three of them walked down the corridor and pushed open the door to the office. The doorplate—neatly printed in low Gothic script, with a line of binary code below: "Father Vito Castello, Technical Affairs Department of the Temple Trade Department. Fasque Ravinius, Administrative Affairs Department of the Temple Trade Department."

Castello sat down behind his desk, with Fask standing beside Phyllis. Phyllis didn't sit down. She stood by the porthole of the spaceport, looking towards the berth area. Lucis's spare parts order, loaded onto three cargo ships with precision gears and drive shafts, was leaving the spaceport berth, its route leading to the Lucis dock complex.

"Besides the notification about the encryption protocol, is there anything else from Star Tower?" She looked out the window without turning around.

Fast checked his terminal. "That's it. The captains have already signed for that circular."

Phyllis continued to look out the window—the six legs of the service servitor moved slowly through the passageway, the lights of the thrusters flickering in the distance, like the entire spaceport breathing slowly.

"Regarding the Serflis line, keep an eye on the approval process after submitting the application," she said. "If Marcus asks, just say the adamantite ore supply line can't be interrupted."

"Yes."

Phyllis didn't say anything more. She stood by the window for a while longer, then turned and walked towards the door. Fast followed her and closed the office door.

In the corridor, her boots clattered against the metal grille with each step. Garros was becoming a world she could barely traverse on foot. But her duty was to ensure it continued to function. She walked on, without looking back.