New State, Core Bridge.
"Hmmm..."
With a low-frequency shudder from the Warp engines, the New State completed its second short-range jump since leaving Port Landing.
Starlight from realspace filled the viewports once again. They were already at the edge of the region the star map labelled [The Heathen Stars].
"Switch to standard sub-light propulsion."
Andy issued the order from the bridge.
"Six, run a wide-area scan. Find every habitable zone within a few light-years."
"Understood."
Six's voice sounded noticeably cheerful. Apparently, having shed those electronic poltergeists had put her in a consistently good mood.
While the ship cruised on autopilot, Andy called in Gamma-9 and Sisyphron to take stock of everything they'd gained from the Port Landing run.
Say what you like about Sisyphron being a profiteer — his efficiency was undeniable.
The rows of crates in the cargo hold that had once contained "Andy's Bio-Formula No. 1" — his high-purity antibiotics — were now ninety percent empty. In their place was a mountain of strange boxes of every description.
Refrigeration units still venting cold mist, containing glands harvested from some large organism. Fractured mechanical components sealed inside stasis fields, looking like antiques from several thousand years ago. Various xenos artefacts of indeterminate purpose. Stone tablets covered in runes.
It looked like chaos. But to Andy, who had access to the STC database, every item was a tech tree node waiting to be unlocked.
"What about the weapons?" Andy asked, flipping through the inventory list.
"Sold well."
Sisyphron wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead and reported: "As instructed, we moved thirty-six of the CBS-12 high-explosive crossbows in total."
"Buyers were mostly independent Rogue Traders and small mercenary outfits."
"But —" Sisyphron paused. "Andy, why aren't we selling the explosive bolts? I noticed the buyers were very interested in our one-shot soul delivery rounds. If we sold the explosive ammunition, we could probably triple or quadruple the price."
Andy gave him a sideways look.
"I wouldn't sell them for ten times the price."
Andy picked up a silver-white crossbow bolt — the memory-alloy solid-tip rounds he'd specifically instructed Sisyphron to stock for sale.
"The number one rule in the arms trade is never sell weapons that could threaten you to potential enemies."
"These solid bolts have strong penetration, they're recoverable, a quick pass with a blowtorch straightens them back out — practical and durable for buyers who can't afford much. Good value."
"But they have no area-of-effect capability. Fine against light infantry. Against our heavy exoskeletons or the New State's armour plating? They'd be scratching an itch."
"As for the explosive bolts packed with tertiary explosive compound —"
Andy gave a cold smile.
"One of those can blow a crater in this ship's hull. If we sell them, sooner or later one of them ends up flying back at our own heads."
This was Arms Dealing 101. Core technology stays in your hands. Whatever you sell to others is always the downgraded version.
Sisyphron nodded repeatedly, wearing the expression of a man who had just received enlightenment.
There was one regret from the trip, though.
"Electronic components?" Andy pointed to a conspicuously large blank section of the inventory list. "Why is there so little?"
"Boss, there genuinely wasn't any!"
Roger said, looking pained.
"You saw Port Landing yourself. The place is basically a black market built on top of an oversized rubbish heap. Those people can manage biological modifications and mechanical cobbling well enough, but when it comes to precision chips and high-grade sensors — the kind that need extreme-accuracy lithography equipment — they simply cannot produce them."
"Everything in circulation is stripped from corpses. Used parts. Worse performance than what we make ourselves."
Andy sighed, though it was hardly a surprise.
The Warhammer universe's tech tree was severely lopsided — macro-scale machinery was extraordinarily advanced, but micro-electronics had stagnated due to a deep-seated fear of AI and the loss of STC templates. Even the Mechanicus had only limited understanding of it. The moment you got into optoelectronics or high-density interconnects, even Tech-Priests were lost.
The chip shortage would have to be resolved the slow way — crawling up the tech tree himself and digging through ruins in the deeper reaches of the expanse.
The inventory review wrapped up, and the group was about to disperse.
Then Gamma-9 let out a deliberate cough. His expression turned unusually grave.
He straightened his Commissar's greatcoat, adjusted his peaked cap until it sat perfectly level, and actually produced a small notebook.
"Wise One, and esteemed colleagues," Gamma-9 said with great solemnity. "I have a matter of significant importance to raise."
"Significant importance?" Andy blinked. "Is someone planning a mutiny?"
"No. It is a matter of identity."
Gamma-9 pointed at Sisyphron , then at Roger.
"Just now at Port Landing, Sisyphron introduced himself as some representative of the Nebulous Stellar Trade Zone."
"When Roger introduced himself to someone, he said he was with the Iron Rust Engineering Crew."
"And even I, at times, have been addressed by ignorant civilians as that fellow in the black coat."
"This is chaos! It is unprofessional! It conveys absolutely no authority whatsoever!"
Gamma-9 waved his arms with agitation.
"We are now an independent interstellar faction with a starship and heavy firepower!"
"We cannot keep operating like a wandering band of brigands with no unified banner!"
"If we encounter another faction in the future, are we going to introduce ourselves as Andy the Wise One and His Friends?!"
Andy rubbed his chin.
...That was actually a fair point.
Whether you were making your way in the wider galaxy or conducting future diplomacy, not having a proper name to go with was going to be a problem.
"So what do you suggest?" Andy asked.
"I believe —"
Gamma-9 had clearly prepared for this moment. His eyes gleamed with fervent intensity.
"We should be called the Holy Cogwheel Expeditionary Force!"
"Or the Angels of Expansion Battle Brotherhood!"
"At the very least, the Order of Steel Truth would do!"
"Alright, stop right there."
Andy cut him off immediately.
"That's way too much flavour. We're here to build and develop, not to evangelise. Walking around with names like that, people will think the Mechanicus launched another crusade. That's asking to be shot at."
"How about — Wings of Freedom?" Sisyphron offered tentatively.
"Too corny. Sounds like pirates." Roger vetoed it.
"Stellar Pioneers?" Father Zor chimed in. "Or — the Pioneer Mechanicus Covenant?"
"That's even worse!!"
Andy sat back in his chair. A phrase suddenly surfaced in his mind.
The Fourth Calamity.
Now that was a name with presence. Fitting. Almost tailor-made for a builder-style player like himself.
He immediately stamped it out.
Calling yourself a "Calamity" in the Warhammer universe was basically sending a formal invitation for an Inquisitorial Exterminatus, and a personal RSVP to all four Chaos Gods simultaneously.
Farming required keeping a low profile. Names had to be practical.
Just then, Six's voice came through the bridge's main speakers: "My Lord Andy, after extensive data retrieval, this unit has identified an excellent candidate."
"Oh? Let's hear it."
"The Enlightenment Guild."
There was a faint note of satisfaction in Six's voice.
"The name conveys that we bring the light of knowledge — enlightening the ignorant masses. And the word guild sounds neutral, suitable for commerce, and appropriate for colonisation."
Andy's expression twitched.
Enlightenment. Guild.
Why did that sound so familiar?
Combined with Six's usual tone of cool, detached rationality —
That's the exact aesthetic of the Tau and their whole "Greater Good" pitch — the ones who go around telling everyone it's for your own benefit!
In the human Imperium, any association with the Tau was textbook heresy. You'd be executed as a collaborator before you could explain yourself.
"Absolutely not," Andy rejected it immediately. "That name sounds like some alien cult. Guaranteed to cause misunderstandings."
"This one won't do, that one won't do." Six sounded slightly put out. "Then you come up with something."
That actually stumped him.
Andy thought for a moment. "Let's go with — Deep Space Industries."
He made the call.
"Deep Space represents our operational range. Industries represents our core competitive advantage."
"It sounds like a legitimate major corporation, but it also carries a certain I'm just a mining outfit, nothing threatening here low-profile quality."
"Most importantly, it's hard-edged and pragmatic. It fits who we are."
Everyone exchanged glances.
Deep Space Industries?
It did, somehow... work.
No religious fervour. No pirate swagger. Just a cold, mechanical scent of capital and steel.
"But why not Deep Space Mechanicus?"
Gamma-9 and Zor, both dedicated Tech-Priest types, were still a little disappointed.
"Mechanicus is the truth of all things!"
"Because Industries contains Mechanicus, but Mechanicus doesn't cover everything."
Andy waved a hand and exercised his veto.
"That's final. From here on, we are Deep Space Industries."
"...Understood."
Gamma-9 was a little sorry to lose the religious connotations, but the Wise One had spoken. It would be executed.
And so the great naming convention came to a close — decided by majority vote, which in practice meant Andy's unilateral word.
Deep Space Industries. The name that would one day shake the entire galaxy, sending humans, xenos, and daemons alike into a cold sweat, was born aboard this ship.
With the name settled, everyone relaxed a little.
Sisyphron even produced a bottle of red wine he'd been hiding, intending to toast the founding of Deep Space Industries.
Then.
Before the wine even reached the glass.
"Zzzt."
An unnatural crackle of static cut through the comms channel.
Then Six's voice came through.
Not the light, playful tone she'd had during the naming discussion. Not her usual cool, flat delivery either.
Her voice carried something unexpected.
A trace of... guilt.
And a poorly concealed thread of tension.
"That is — My Lord Andy."
"This unit believes it is necessary, at this moment, to inform you of some bad news."
Andy's hand froze, glass halfway to his lips. His brow furrowed.
"What happened? Did we drift off course? Don't tell me the reactor is leaking again?"
As long as the ship hadn't exploded, Andy figured he could handle it. Though a reactor that kept leaking coolant was genuinely annoying to deal with —
"No. Not those minor issues."
Six paused, as though choosing her words carefully.
"Just now. Approximately three seconds ago."
"This unit detected an extremely faint, extremely well-concealed active radar beam."
"The beam is highly sophisticated. Its frequency is constantly shifting, attempting to disguise itself as cosmic background radiation."
"If this unit were not a Warp-space sextant, with an innate sensitivity to this type of detection signal, it would likely have gone completely unnoticed."
"So?" Andy had a very bad feeling.
"Well —" Six's voice dropped lower still. "It appears we may have been... locked onto."