boyutpedia Chapter 39 Enpu
Chapter 39 Enpu
Enp stood in the ship exchange hall of the Lucis Spaceport.
The hall, suspended tens of meters high, was covered by a massive, vein-like scrolling data screen. Ship models, ages, tonnages, and prices flowed across the gray screens like blood. Retired ships from various casting worlds, obsolete goods from merchant and ronin dynasties, and damaged ships towed back from war zones all circulated here. The air was filled with welding fumes, incense smoke, and a deathly scent that had been circulated for ten thousand years.
He wore a dark gray robe, the hood pulled low, obscuring most of his face. He was nearly two meters tall, with broad shoulders and long legs, and his hands, visible from the sleeves, were rough and powerful. It was not Cohen Severo.
In the Imperial administrative system's archives, Enpu is a separate entity—a mid-level technical officer in the planetary defense force of a lower-middle-tier hive world in the Necromonda sector. His family has some local roots, and his lineage is traceable, but they have declined for several generations. His current visit to Lucis is ostensibly for military training and advanced studies for technical officers. The Empire produces such individuals every year; they are simple to identify but also the most difficult to trace. During a "family division," he received a sum of money to apply for the development of a small industrial world. Once the approval is granted, he will become the planetary governor. The millions of Throne Coins in his account perfectly match his story.
As he passed by the ship catalog lookup station, Enpu casually flipped through a few pages.
The words "Resolute" flashed briefly as the scrolling text appeared. The offer was 900,000 Throne Credits—too low for a space transport ship. He recognized the ship. The year he traveled from Armageddon to Lucis, he'd spent several weeks on this ship in the warp, working as a temporary maintenance worker in its engine room, touching every hot pipe and every loose bolt. The assessment report was pushed to his wristband terminal: "This ship has experienced multiple cooling system overloads and air circulation failures during warp travel, requiring a complete technical overhaul. Priority should be given to replacing the auxiliary cooling circuit of the rogue warp engine. The estimated maintenance period is four to six months."
Enp had the dealer contact the ship owner. That afternoon, in the VIP lounge, he met the owner—a balding man in his fifties, dressed in a dark merchant guild suit, a businessman's forced smile plastered on his face. Captain Hawke stood behind him, his hair completely white, old scars still prominent among the wrinkles on his face. He was tall and expressionless. Captains and first officers of these transport ships were mostly retired from the Imperial Navy.
The boat owner asked for 900,000. Enpu did not haggle and transferred the full amount on the spot.
Hawke stood in the center of the reception room, looking at the young face under the hood in front of him, and his lips moved.
Enpu put down his pen.
"Captain Hawke, the Resolute has changed owners, but I have no intention of changing the crew. Your entire crew will remain, with their salaries unchanged. I will determine the route, and you will be fully responsible for daily management; I will not interfere. The crew's wages will be paid directly by me, deposited into your designated account monthly, and you will be responsible for their distribution. Once you sign this, the Resolute will still be your ship, and you will continue to be its captain."
Hawke was taken aback. He had been a shipowner his whole life and had never seen a contract like this before—the shipowner buys the ship, takes no commission, doesn't manage the accounts, and only sets the route and pays wages.
"Sir, you've probably seen the condition of the Resolute. The cooling system won't last many more jumps, and the auxiliary circuit of the subspace engine is on the verge of collapse. The repair costs will be extremely high."
"I'll arrange the ship repairs," Enp said, pushing the contract towards them. The shipowner and Hawke exchanged a glance. Hawke picked up the data board and went through it one by one—Chief Engineer, First Officer, Second Officer, Bosun, Communications Officer—all thirty-seven people, all retained. "After the agreement is signed, the Resolute will have fifteen days of leave, with crew members taking turns resting. The ship will be anchored at Dock-14. They will return to the ship to report for duty in fifteen days."
Hawke gave a somewhat perfunctory salute, then turned and left.
Enp boarded the Resolute alone.
The corridor was dimly lit, and the air was filled with the distinctive smell of an old ship—a mixture of engine oil, years of sweat, and the indescribable sigh of old machinery, as if the entire ship were slowly rotting away. He walked through the hangar, down the stairs, and into the engine room. The area unfolded, a spherical field with a radius of nearly twenty meters instantly engulfing every inch of the cooling pipes' inner walls, every weld joint, and every fatigue crack.
The inner walls of the cooling pipes were peeled and reshaped at the atomic scale, growing a dense layer of ceramic composite material. The lattice of the weld points was rearranged, and the energy conduits of the subspace engine's auxiliary circuit were repaired and joined together atom by atom. The surface of the pipes still retained decades of rust and stains—to the naked eye, nothing had changed.
He then implanted a small Void Shield generator, embedding it into the ship's internal armor plating. Civilian transport ships typically don't come standard with Void Shields; they're incredibly expensive and consume excessive energy. But the one he installed only covered the bridge, cargo hold, and engine room, capable of withstanding most pirate weapons. The Imperial Void Shield's technical principle is to warp spacetime around the point of impact, diverting the attack into the warp—a highly complex ancient technology; even a small device's maintenance alone could bankrupt a civilian shipowner. But this device requires no maintenance. It will also be the most valuable item in the Resolute's cargo hold.
It took me an afternoon.
Over the next few days, Enp sculpted a dedicated space servitude in the cargo hold of the Resolute. He unearthed an old Voss model—the "Voss Space Floating Type II"—from Marcus's data core. Resembling a beetle, it was commonly known as the Beetle Servant. Less than three meters long, it had an oval base with four multi-directional plasma nozzles on its bottom, allowing it to move flexibly in a vacuum. At its center was the wet component core—a human brain retaining only basic neural functions, sealed within a protective cabin made of multiple composite materials and covered with ceramic steel armor. Six foldable robotic arms ended in universal tool interfaces. In the Imperium, servitudes were considered expendable hybrids of wet components and machinery, widely used for dirty, repetitive, or dangerous tasks; the basic structure of these robots was the hybrid grafting of wet components and machinery.
The first batch consisted of thirty units, the second fifty, and the third seventy. A corner of the sculpted cargo bay was gradually filled with these metal beetles, nearly a thousand in number, their robotic arms and nozzles retracted, standing ready like a pile of silent black pebbles. They were there to assemble the spaceport and later be responsible for its expansion. He had already ordered the small spaceport modules from the market—standard prefabricated parts, easily assembled, enough to anchor a small transfer station in Garros orbit.
Fifteen days later, Hawke and his crew returned to Dock-14.
The supplier had delivered the modules to Dock-14 cargo berth. The crew directed the old-model servitors on board the Resolute to stack the modules and the Beetle servitors one by one into the cargo hold. Hawke walked up the gangway and went straight to the engine room. The numbers on the instrument panels were unusually stable for this ship. He gently tapped the outer casing of the cooling pipes with the robotic arm; a deep, clean, resonant sound came from the pipe walls. His expression didn't change, but the damping sound of the robotic arm suddenly rang out.
Enp pulled Hawke aside and whispered, "After you return, go to the dock and find someone to modify the cargo hold into a passenger hold. Carry as many people as possible. Money is not an issue."
Hawke glanced at him, nodded, and didn't ask any further questions.
In the crew lounge, Hawke gathered all the crew members around a long table.
"The Resolute's vacation is over. From now on, this ship's mission is—" He paused, glancing at Enp. Enp nodded.
"First, go to Garros and assemble the spaceport. Then, depart from Garros to Amigidon, load as many refugees and immigrants as possible, and transport them back to Garros to settle down. Only pick up people from Amigidon."
He scanned the room. "Those who don't want to stay, step forward now."
No one moved.
"Return to your cabins and prepare. We will depart early tomorrow morning."
The crew dispersed. As Enp walked through the cargo hold, he explained the activation location of the Void Shield—a button covered by a leather cover on the armrest of the captain's chair. In an emergency, pressing it would cause the shield to surge from deep within the hull, covering critical sections. Hawke clicked his tongue. His shoulders relaxed, and his head tilted slightly back.
Enp will travel with the Perseverance to Garros. Once anchored, he and the crew will assemble the spaceport. Afterward, he will remain in Garros while Perseverance heads to Amigeddon to pick up as many refugees or immigrants as possible and transport them back to Garros for settlement. Only people will be picked up from Amigeddon.
But he needs people. The bottom of Amegiddon is teeming with starving people; all they need is a ticket. Most importantly, the green-skinned warlords on that planet are rising up and will shatter the entire galaxy by 941. He needs to take as many people as possible before the Bonecrushers turn this place into a living hell.
In the Black Pearl's drawing room, the lights were on their brightest setting. The frankincense had burned out, but the ashes in the incense burner hadn't been cleared away. The long table was filled with people—Marcus, Phyllis, Commander Kara, Serra, Hera Worth, and several department heads. This was the most formal meeting since boarding.
Liu En stood beneath the Emperor's statue, a holographic projection platform unfolding before him. A star map of the surrounding star system of Lucis covered the entire tabletop, densely packed with hundreds of points of light.
"The next phase of the Black Pearl's mission has been determined. Two coordinates."
He traced two lines with his finger on the holographic platform. The first coordinate was magnified; it was a gray planet located on the eastern edge of the Extreme Starfield, barely marked on the official star map.
"Dullob Sand. In the mid-M37 period, the Empire launched its first expedition against this world, encountering fierce resistance from unidentified alien creatures. The expeditionary force suffered heavy losses and was forced to evacuate under the cover of purification bombing. The planet's surface was marked as 'conditionally sealed off.'"
Marcus glanced at the coordinates. "This airspace is outside the Imperial Navy's regular patrol area. Captain, where did this information come from?"
"Special channels." Liu En didn't explain further. "These past few days, I've been reviewing relevant expedition records and post-war assessment reports at the Temple's technical archives, cross-checking them line by line, and confirming the reliability of the information. Buried in the ruins of the Expeditionary Force Headquarters is a locked 'Dead Core'—its technological characteristics overlap with the early technological remnants of emerging alien forces on the eastern frontier."
Marcus nodded, not pressing the matter. He wouldn't ask unless the captain specified. Such special channels weren't uncommon in the Mechanicus's overseas missions. Some coordinates came from private transactions by traveling merchants, some from dusty records deep within the Temple archives, and some from closely guarded secrets collected by certain technical priests throughout their lives.
"This 'Dead Core'—the AI prototype of the Tau race?" Marcus asked.
"Suspected. That's what the documents say. Reverse engineering of the underlying protocol is extremely valuable."
Liu En moved to the second coordinate. The star map rolled deeper into the eastern star sector, where a dim point of light flickered at the edge of the asteroid belt.
"Space wreck. No Imperial facilities or navigation warnings nearby. Data annotation: 'Genestealer infection confirmed. Signs of Greenskin spread. Risk manageable.'"
Marcus retrieved the navigation data for that airspace. "This airspace is too remote; even merchant ronin rarely venture here. The scale of the infection inside the wrecked ship has likely undergone multiple iterations over three thousand years. Captain, is this also a special channel?"
Liu En nodded. "Same source. I also verified it. The information's timestamp is over three thousand years ago, but the coordinates and characteristics of the wrecked ship match an early record of a disappearance by the Imperial Navy. After that transport fleet lost contact in a warp storm, the wreckage was pushed to this location by the chaotic tides. No one has touched it for three thousand years."
He paused. "To us, this is a military supply depot that has been sealed for three thousand years. The Greenskins and Genestealers keep each other in check inside, and neither has been able to completely eliminate the other. But those uncontaminated equipment remnants—communication arrays, energy cores, weapons depots—may still retain their original sealed state. We don't need many; a few complete military-grade equipment blueprints will be enough for us to live on for several years."
Marcus's prosthetic eye narrowed slightly. "The documentation says the risks are manageable?"
"Yes. But controllable doesn't mean caution isn't needed." Liu En nodded in confirmation. "We can't land rashly; we need careful observation and assessment before proceeding to the next step." He paused, then looked at Commander Kara. "The garrison regiment should prepare to deal with a medium-sized alien swarm. All the mechs on the Black Pearl will be equipped with armor-piercing ammunition belts. The passageways inside the wrecked ship are narrow; flamethrowers and close-combat modifications for explosive guns should be prioritized."
Marcus interjected, "Mechanical units? When did we get mechanical units on our ship? Then the entire ship needs to have its configuration planned out."
"The Casterland mechs will arrive in a few days," Liu En explained briefly.
Marcus nodded and didn't ask any more questions.
Commander Kara then deployed: "Carlos of the Second Company will lead the team, while the First and Third Companies will remain on board for alert. The power armor's radiation protection and life support systems have already been tested—the environment over there in Dulob Sand is heavily polluted, which is perfect for practical testing."
Phyllis flipped open the data panel. "The supplies list for Dulob Sander has been configured according to the heavy pollution standard. As for the space wreck, I've already started the process for additional procurement of melee equipment."
"Keep a close eye on it; avoid going through inventory turnover approval processes and place orders separately."
"clear."
Liu En turned to Serra. "Regarding the shipping routes."
Sera's fingers danced across the navigation terminal. "The subspace routes at both coordinates are relatively stable. Dulob Sand is close to the supercluster region, and the subspace flow pattern can drift during certain seasons, potentially lengthening the travel period. The airspace around the space wreckage is affected by the gravitational pull of the asteroid belt, so sufficient maneuvering range needs to be allowed at the jump point."
"The window has been widened to plus or minus six hours."
"Do as you say."
Hera Voss's voice came through the communication channel, hoarse but clear: "Captain, the interstellar communication array is on standby. The psionic background noise in the Dulob Sand area is dormant and will not affect daily transmission and reception. My array over the space wreck may have intercepted the low-level psionic radiation signatures of the aliens in advance; ensure the signal is transmitted if necessary."
Liu En glanced around. "First, go to Dulob Sand to handle the technology recovery of the 'Dead Core,' then transfer to the derelict space ship. Two coordinates, one first, one later. During the voyage, the entire ship will be on Level 2 alert; during the recovery operation, Level 1 alert. All departments should go back and compile the supplies list, and all personnel should confirm the equipment status."
Chief Kara requested stress testing of the radiation protection equipment, Sera suggested maintaining electronic silence when entering and leaving Mandeville, Hera confirmed the communications array was ready, and Phyllis checked the procurement progress. Everyone was on their own track.
"Meeting adjourned. I will notify you if there is any new information."
The people on both sides of the long table rose one after another. Marcus was the last to reach the door, pausing for a moment. "Captain, the electromagnetic environment of Dulob Sander might not be adequately scanned by ordinary equipment. Should we bring a few depth analyzers?"
"You decide. Arrange it with Phyllis."
Marcus nodded, closed the door, and left.
The reception room fell silent again. The emperor's statue gleamed with a cold, metallic sheen under the pale white light. Liu En turned off the holographic projector and stood silently before the statue for a moment.
He did not leave immediately. While preparing for this expedition, he kept thinking about one thing—the firepower configuration of the Black Pearl.
The original blueprints for the Black Pearl didn't come from the orthodox Imperial shipyards. They were a version he painstakingly pieced together from the wrecked ships of Lucis, using a field-based approach to deconstruct and analyze the blueprints. While the Gothic-class cruisers in the Imperial Navy had various variants, the orthodox design primarily based on light lances, the blueprints he cobbled together from the Lucis wreckage featured a hybrid configuration of macro cannons and light lances. This sacrificed some long-range attack capability for a denser mid-range firepower. This was his carefully considered choice—on the battlefield, not every engagement could be resolved within the maximum range of the light lances.
The veterans of the garrison regiment were well-equipped, but lacked heavy ground assault units. Ordinary servitude units could only carry supplies and engage in simple combat; in tough battles, they still needed manpower. He needed truly capable fighting machines that could withstand heavy loads and fight effectively.
In the higher dimension, he unearthed the long-forgotten blueprints—the Castellan mech. The most common combat robot model of the Imperial Mechanics, he had obtained the complete set of blueprints by completely disassembling the batch of mechs awaiting repair when he first saw them in Vitellius's warehouse. A heavy torso, rounded shoulder armor, a body as imposing as a giant, thick and heavy armor layers, with robust hydraulic push rods and planetary gear transmission mechanisms exposed at the joints. The shoulders integrated long-range weapons fed by large-capacity magazines, and two powered gauntlets hung at his sides, the massive spikes on the knuckles capable of tearing through powered armor.
The blueprints are there, but what about the numerical control protocol? The core instructions of the Casterland mechs are fixed on a dedicated chip—without the correct initialization data injected from the outside, what is created is just an empty shell of a mech, uncontrollable.
He contacted Vitellius. His old friend on the other end of the line didn't ask many questions, only chuckled, "You're going to do that too? Okay, I'll copy the initialization command data for Casteran for you. The Order won't miss out on that anyway." Vitellius had been in charge of maintaining the mechs in the Temple for many years, so he naturally had complete protocol data—although it wasn't publicly authorized, given his seniority, no one could say anything if he retrieved a technical document from the database for his friend to "study." Soon, a complete set of Lucius Casteran mech protocol data was transmitted.
Over the next few days, Liu En used his spare time to create nearly a hundred Casterland mechs in the public workshop. He created them in batches of five, several batches each day. He stored them in a specially opened weapons bay deep within the ship's hull, the door reinforced with adamantite, accessible only by his biometrics. Each mech's core was programmed with a data control protocol and a confidential channel was set up—in emergencies, he could remotely awaken them at any time through the Thinker array on the bridge to issue combat commands. Normally, these silent iron men stood ready in the darkness, awaiting the moment they were awakened.
Once everything was ready, he withdrew his gaze and switched his focus.
Enpu lay flat in the ordinary cabin of the Resolute, the low-frequency pulses of the engine rhythmically tapping his periosteum through the bulkhead.
Liu En sat down again in his private workshop and pulled up the grafting design that combined the Dark Eldar's stealth field array with the Empire's energy pipeline network. In the higher dimension, the atomic-level blueprint floated, its cross-sections as dense as latitude and longitude.
Liu En's efficiency in a single day, compared to the priests of the Mechanical Order who had toiled in the dark for decades—they might never be able to achieve this level of analysis and deduction in their entire lives. This might truly be a capability possessed only by the Emperor's craftsmen.