Li Qingyu thoughtfully rubbed his chin.
"Let's say I seize a factory in the underhive and start supplying the hive. Then they'll give me power. But your role in this is minimal. The value is insufficient."
Anthony tapped his fingers again, creating a metallic rhythm.
"The procedure is complex. Bureaucracy is extensive. I will handle the coordination. My connections are valuable. I will resolve administrative issues."
There was logic in that. He could seize it, but what would he produce? Where would he sell it? Where would he get raw materials? Without a roof and administrative support, the factory would shut down in a week.
If Anthony sorted out the paperwork, the deal would work out.
Li felt that the fish was hooked. But he decided to reel it in harder.
"The gangs in the underhive are well-established. They have people and connections. To take someone down, I need support."
Anthony's eye narrowed.
"I do not provide combat servitors. I do not participate in gang wars."
Li smiled predatorily and took a step forward.
"Calm down, holy father. I don't need you to swing an axe. I need a little technical consultation."
He leaned towards the priest's ear augmetic and whispered:
"You'll just help me hack the gen-locks on the lasguns."
Anthony's pupil dilated, his optics flashing an emergency red. He recoiled, his hand convulsively gripping the power axe's handle.
"Heretic! How dare you?! This is blasphemy! Forcibly hacking the gen-code will enrage the Machine Spirit! The Omnissiah will never permit such barbarism!"
Li raised his hands placatingly, his smile unwavering.
"Easy, easy, holy father. If you do it gently, with love... the Machine Spirit won't even notice. And if it gets offended – we'll lubricate it. With oil. We'll lubricate it generously."
"You... you're mad!" Anthony trembled. His servomotors whined with strain.
For the Mechanicus, this was taboo. They treated technology as living beings, capricious and vengeful deities. Hacking their defenses was akin to rape.
But, as they say, if you really want something you shouldn't have, you can have it.
Li stepped towards the priest and put an arm around his metal-clad shoulders in a familiar gesture. Anthony tried to break free, but Li whispered directly into his audio-sensors in the seductive voice of a Slaanesh demon:
"Listen, Anthony. I can make more than just cooking oil. I know the recipe for Substance-101 for engines, for hydraulics, even thick grease."
Anthony froze.
"Imagine..." Li continued, lowering his voice. "Your mechanisms. You fill their tanks with premium fuel. It fills the cylinders. The pistons start moving faster, more powerfully... Explosion! Compression! Power! The Machine Spirits sing with ecstasy!"
"And the lubrication?" Li swept his hand through the air. "It penetrates every gap, coats every gear. Friction disappears. The parts slide smoothly, softly... The sound of the working mechanism becomes music. A symphony of metal! Like a ballet, Anthony. Perfect synchronization."
"Think about it, holy father. Is a little sin worth such bliss for your machines?"
Li stepped back and fell silent, letting the poison work.
Anthony hung in the air. His logical circuits battled temptation. Li's arguments hit his weak spot precisely – his fanatical love for iron.
Besides, calculations showed that for Li to capture the factory and start deliveries, he needed firepower. Lasguns would increase his chances of success. Logic dictated the necessity of sin.
Finally, the priest let out a heavy sigh, like steam being released.
"Two. I'll only remove the locks from two units."
Li laughed. Victory!
A lasgun. Lightweight, only three and a half kilograms with a battery. Two hundred shots without reloading. Its killing power was comparable to a heavy machine gun. A hit on a human was almost a guaranteed death.
A soldier with a lasgun carried a load like an assault trooper but delivered the power of a machine gun crew.
This was humanity's main trump card in a galaxy full of horrors.
Everything went smoothly after that. Li fetched the barrels, bringing back two of the best specimens. Anthony connected a data-probe to them, buzzed for a few seconds – and voilà, the biometric protection was removed.
The irony was that in the Imperial Guard, there were no gen-locks on lasguns. There, a soldier's life was cheaper than dirt. A rifle outlived a dozen owners. In the heat of battle, a recruit simply grabbed a weapon from a fallen comrade and fired.
But the rear-echelon rats of the PDF, they put locks on them. So that, God forbid, the weapon wouldn't fall into the hands of rebels. But now Li had two barrels that fired without question.