On the Blackrock's lower deck, three crewmen pushed a filthy food cart down the reeking corridor, dumping bucket after bucket of Protein Blocks straight into the feed hoppers in each section. They didn't like the job either. The food was supposed to be transported through pipes, but the pipes had broken last month, and the damage-control department had said they would fix them as soon as possible. They weren't holding their breath. The department had said the same thing four years ago when the drainage system in Sector B2-68 broke, and it still hadn't been fixed. This place might never get repaired either, and what was supposed to be temporary work would become permanent.
Four Sailors wearing Flak Armour and carrying Combat Shotguns puffed on Hark 50s laced with Nicotine Essence and a mild Anesthetic, guarding the front and rear of the group. One of the Sailors at the front noticed that his Hark 50 had burned down to the end. He started to reach into his pocket for another, but remembered his pitiful remaining cigarette ration and decided to tough it out.
When the boss of Sector C3-57, Big Scar, heard a few clatters as food dropped into the trough, he went over to take a look. "Fuck, Protein Blocks again."
Sacks, another gang member standing nearby, grew even more worried at the sight. About a year ago, those of them who were lower-deck slaves had mostly been given Nutrient Porridge of dubious composition, and occasionally even got to eat Corpse Starch. But then they'd started receiving Protein Blocks, and now they got nothing but Protein Blocks.
Others might not understand, but Sacks had served in the Mortal Auxiliary and knew that Protein Blocks were more valuable than Corpse Starch. Corpse Starch was mostly a byproduct of Promethium production, while Protein Blocks required fish, Grox Beasts, and even huge, fat bugs to be fed into a meat grinder. So when the people upstairs couldn't afford to provide Corpse Starch anymore and started handing out Protein Blocks instead, there could only be one reason...
What terrified Sacks even more than the food was the work. He wasn't unhappy with his job; the problem was that he didn't have one. Compared to Big Scar, that former Hive City scum, he understood more clearly just how dangerous their current situation was.
While traveling aboard a Navy Troop Transport, he'd chatted with an old Sailor at the bar and learned a little about Void ships. The people aboard a starship were broadly divided into three tiers: the upper, middle, and lower decks.
First came the upper deck, where the most esteemed people aboard lived. They might be Astartes, the Captain, the First Mate, the Auspex Officer, an Astropath, a Navigator, and so on. They all had one thing in common: their jobs were important and irreplaceable, making them essential to the ship. As a result, they received the best treatment: clean quarters, delicious food, personal servants, private washrooms, and even kitchens.
The middle deck was where the crew and Sailors gathered. The crew maintained the starship's operations through family units, while the Sailors kept order and fought off boarders with their weapons. Whether maintaining the ship's water-purification systems or hauling Macro Cannon shells, they were all indispensable to the starship. Among them, the families who maintained the engines were the most esteemed. They were at least guaranteed dormitories, ample food, and rations of cigarettes and alcohol. They even had the right to have children.
That's right, having children aboard a starship without permission was illegal. It meant one more mouth to feed, and it also kept the mother from performing her duties properly during pregnancy. But the old Sailor had said that the law only really applied to people on the middle deck. After all, neither the upper nor lower decks cared much about it.
On the lower deck, most people's work wasn't urgent or important, and required no special skills. Some weren't even qualified to have a job. When a boarding action took place, the people here could die in droves without attracting any attention from the upper deck. They were easy enough to replace. This place was practically a little Hive City, with everything in utter disarray. Those who had jobs could at least hope the Sailors would keep order. Those without jobs could only pray, "God-Emperor, protect us!" What the starship provided for them depended entirely on the kindness of the lords upstairs. They gave them this much, and how they managed to survive was their own problem.
At the time, Sacks had boasted to the old Sailor who'd told him all this, "Then I'll just aim for the upper half of the starship when I fight." The old Sailor had only laughed cruelly in response. It turned out that the so-called upper, middle, and lower decks weren't physical divisions. The upper deck could just as easily lie below the lower deck. The terms referred more to the status of the people living there.
Generally speaking, the upper deck was located near the starship's core, in its most heavily fortified areas, to protect its important crew and cargo. The lower deck was usually placed along the starship's outer edges or in its weakly defended sections. It was often the first to take a hit, and no one minded if its people and cargo suffered losses.
Of course, there was one group of creatures that stood apart from all three tiers: the Servitors. They weren't even recognized as people, so naturally they had no place in the hierarchy.
It was all easy enough to understand. The more important and irreplaceable your work was, the better you were treated. In other words, people like them, who had no jobs, were liabilities to the ship: burdens that consumed without producing. And burdens like that could be discarded at any moment.
"Ah..."
Sacks couldn't help sighing. Maybe next month he'd be the Protein Block that rolled through the feed hopper and into someone else's trough. He looked at Big Scar, surprised that the man seemed quite satisfied with his life. In his own words, he'd once been a minor nobody in a gang, but now he managed more than a hundred people.
If Sacks had a gun, he'd have pressed it against Big Scar's forehead and cursed him out. "Of course you manage more than a hundred people, you fucker. But we can't even leave this compartment because we don't have jobs." But he had no gun, and he didn't dare fight Big Scar. That Hive City scum might have shit for brains, but he was good in a brawl.
Suddenly, the green indicator light by the entrance came on. With a rumble of machinery, the door opened.
The bright corridor lights spilled in. The hundreds of people in the compartment raised their hands to shield their eyes. It was so dim inside that they couldn't adjust to the sudden glare. Hundreds of men and women in ragged clothes huddled in the corners of the compartment, while a few sturdier men took up most of the space.
Two armed Sailors stood in the doorway. One of them was looking through a Dataslate for something.
"Is Sacks still here? Captain Sacks?"
When no one answered, the Sailor looked at his companion.
"Got eaten?"
"Looks like it."
"Then the next one."
The Sailor was calling his name! Sacks watched as things began to change, uncertain whether he should answer. Maybe he should keep quiet and stay where he was. But just as the Sailor was about to close the door, he decided to seize the opportunity.
"I-I-I'm Sacks!"
Captain Sacks hurried over to the door and said, "I'm Sacks."
At last, the two Sailors got a response. The one who'd spoken first put away the Dataslate, took out a pair of Magnetic Manacles, and snapped them around Sacks's wrists.
The moment the manacles closed, Sacks regretted it.
"Brothers, if I told you I wasn't Sacks, would you believe me?"
A gun butt slammed straight into Sacks's face.
"You little punk, you're asking for it."