area51novel Chapter 12 Negotiation
Chapter 12 Negotiation
The synchronized sound of swallowing saliva on the defensive wall was particularly loud in the silent wasteland.
Roger Castle stared intently at the white starch ball that had fallen to the ground.
Although the thing was cracked and covered in dirt, the exposed white surface was still incredibly tempting.
In the upper-level hive cities, even nobles' pets might not eat this kind of thing; it would be thrown directly into the trash.
But at the bottom of the nest, with Roger and his crew having been without food for three days, this was priceless.
That fall was like a blow to Roger's very heart.
What a waste!
If this were used to make porridge, it could feed at least a dozen people until today!
The massive metal structure below seemed completely unconcerned about such waste.
Andy slung the heavy logging gun over his shoulder, put his other hand on his hip, and looked up at the crowd on the wall.
His electronic eyes gleamed blue in the sunlight, exuding a calm that was subtly unsettling, without any hint of menace.
"Listen up, those upstairs!"
Andy's voice was amplified by the loudspeaker and reached everyone's ears.
"I'm from the neighboring foundry - No. 7 bottom nest shelter."
"I don't like beating around the bush."
"My truck is full of high-yield starch balls, fresh out of the oven and still warm."
"I'd like to discuss a business deal with you."
Discuss business?
Roger's mind was racing.
These days, doing business in the underworld usually means one party pointing a gun at the other's head and then robbing them of everything.
But Andy didn't fire, and he really did bring a truckload of goods.
Roger had never seen anyone in his life bring grain to his door to discuss business.
"Boss, what do we do?" Ben, holding a makeshift laser rifle, his palms sweating, asked. "Shoot? If we take him out, that whole truckload of food is ours!"
This was indeed a very tempting offer for Roger and the Brotherhood.
The other party was only one person. Although the big metal guy looked tough, he was still just one person.
There are over thirty guns on the defensive wall; even if you pile up human lives, you can still kill him.
If we take him, the Rust Brotherhood can survive.
This is the survival rule of the bottom nest: the strong prey on the weak, and no means are too ruthless.
Roger's fingers rubbed against the trigger of the fused pistol, ready to pull it at any moment.
But he hesitated.
His intuition as a technician told him that things weren't that simple.
First of all, the fact that the guy dared to carry so much grain through the city all by himself without being robbed by skinners on the street shows that his fighting ability is definitely not as simple as it seems.
Secondly, that car.
Roger looked again at the perfectly modified half-track truck.
The tuning of that suspension system and the modification ideas for that air intake are definitely not something an ordinary person can do.
This suggests that the other party has a powerful technical team behind them, or possesses some kind of lost advanced technology.
If we kill him, will it invite even more terrible retaliation?
Moreover, the weapon in his hand looked so ferocious that it could only be described as ruthless; he didn't seem like a kind person at all.
more importantly……
Roger looked at the starch ball that had fallen to the ground.
That's grain!
If we can establish a stable trade relationship, will we be able to eat this kind of food every day in the future?
Kill the goose that lays the golden eggs, or take a long-term, sustainable approach?
Roger took a deep breath, suppressing the urge to simply rob the place.
"Don't fire!!"
Roger shouted, stopping his men who were itching to attack.
He straightened up and peeked out from behind the defensive wall.
"I am Roger Custer of the Rust Brotherhood!"
Roger's voice was also amplified by the speaker.
"What kind of business do you want to discuss?"
When Andy saw the figure emerging from the wall, especially Roger's half-mechanical head and red electronic eyes, he roughly knew what was going on. This guy seemed a little more reliable than that idiot Gamma-9 who only knew how to chant scriptures.
At least he knew to ask questions first, instead of immediately firing on some inexplicable belief.
"It's simple, I have food here, but I'm out of power."
Andy patted the truck bed behind him.
"I want to connect your power grid to my shelter."
"One kilowatt-hour of electricity can be exchanged for one pound of starch balls."
"Long-term cooperation, honest and fair dealing with young and old."
One kilowatt-hour of electricity can be exchanged for one kilogram of grain?
When Roger heard the offer, he almost lost his balance and fell off the wall.
This isn't business talk, it's practically charity!
Brother, do you know how much it costs to generate one kilowatt-hour of electricity from a fission power plant?!
Almost zero!
As long as the Brotherhood's fuel rods haven't burned out, electricity will be a continuous source of waste.
On the black market, a pound of starch balls can be exchanged for at least 500 live rounds of any type, or ten standard units of filtered water.
The exchange rate was so outrageous that Roger's first thought was that something was amiss.
If such a thoughtless offer is being made, it means this is definitely a trap.
The other party is either crazy or has ulterior motives.
"Impossible! I don't believe it!" Roger shouted. "There's no such thing as a free lunch! What do you want?"
Andy sighed; communicating with these paranoid patients was really exhausting.
But he could also understand that in the Warhammer universe, what usually falls from the sky is not a pie, but a Cyclone Torpedo or a Tyrannosaurus Spore.
"I want stability."
Andy placed the heavy logging gun on the ground and held the barrel with both hands.
"I just wiped out a squad of the Skinners gang and cleaned up a mine full of mutated plants while I was at it."
"I need a stable energy supply to expand production."
"and……"
Andy paused, his tone becoming somewhat playful.
"I've heard you guys are tech heretics?"
"Perfect match, me too."
"I don't like those oil-slickers who just smear oil and chant mantras. I should have more in common with you guys than with the rest of the shelter."
This statement struck Roger to the core. In Roger's eyes, those technological heretics in the Underhive were all brothers.
Being a technological outcast is more lethal than a cartload of grain.
In this world where the orthodox Mechanics are considered heretics and are expelled like trash, finding a fellow human being is incredibly difficult.
Looking at Andy's unadorned, purely functional metal body, Roger suddenly felt that that was what machines should look like.
Isn't this the minimalism that their Brotherhood of Rusts has always pursued?
"Let me see the goods."
Roger finally admitted it.
"no problem."
Andy was very generous.
He grabbed a bag from the side of the truck bed, which contained a dozen or so chopped starch blocks.
He exerted force with his arm, and the bag flew towards the defensive wall like a cannonball.
"then!"
The bag landed precisely on the stack of stacks in front of Roger.
Roger carefully opened the bag, and a strong fragrance wafted out.
He picked up a piece and examined it. It didn't have the black impurities characteristic of corpse starch, nor did it have that nauseatingly slippery feel.
He took a bite.
It's sweet, even the kind of sugar unique to plants that settles down through photosynthesis.
Roger's eyes were a little moist.
He distributed the rest to Ben and several of his men.
"It's true..." Ben mumbled between gulps of food, "Boss, it's real! A million times better than the old ones!"
There was a sound of chewing on the wall, and some people even started licking the bags.
Roger's defenses crumbled completely upon witnessing this scene.
Even if it's a trap, even if that unknown fighting force might rush up and start a massacre the next second.
As long as his brothers can have a decent meal, it's all worth it.
"Open the door!"
Roger roared.
"Turn off the defense system! Let him in!!"