Gene Prospect

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Preface: part three of the 'Gene Sequence'. As always please feedback on how I can improve. Recommended to read Gene Warrior and Gene Lord first. Once more, I tried for some different feel to the writing with some more lighthearted stuff (a bit). Please criticise my writing

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Agrunta - Runty, to her friends (and some enemies) whooped with joy as the generator sparked and began to whir, whining in pain as it pumped power to the building above. After appraising her work for a moment, and flinching as the generator let off a flurry of sparks before settling into a more regular rhythm, Runty shrugged and began to crawl out of the cavity, pushing her little toolbox ahead. Space was a premium on Suth-Kasa, especially in Underworld, so there was no grand generator room here with its own doorway. Runty sighed, daydreaming of buildings that had doors to their generators instead of hatches, though were she living in such an environment she would find her competition much more challenging. Runty was perhaps the smallest engineer in Underworld, her short and slim stature being the obvious source of her nickname, and so making her the perfect candidate for jobs like this, crawling through labyrinthian vents to fix up technology almost forgotten by the people making use of it.

 

Emerging from the vent covered in grime, Runty offered her employer a smile and a nod. “Job’s done. Should be sorted now for a while, but if things go down again just give me a shout right?” After half a dozen visits in as many months, it was highly likely she would be here again soon. Credits had to be made somehow, and she knew the inhabitants of the building could not afford the replacement parts, much less the new generator that would be needed to truly resolve the problem.

 

“Thank you Agrunta. Hopefully this will last a few months, at least...and here.” The old Suthari handed her a cloth pouch, within which she felt the familiar shapes of the currency of the Underworld. Each triangular coin was a Slice, literally sliced from any scrap metal which had no other use. Six Slices make a Pie, while ten Pies make a Stack. The system had been invented many years ago by a coalition of gangs, cartels and cartas in the Underworld, and though the coalition had fallen apart within months their system survived and grew to be used by the entire society. Progressing from a barter system where ammo, food and fuel were king, now the citizens of the Underworld had something resembling a modern economy. Though it was ruled by criminals, it worked most of the time.

 

Hefting the pouch, Agrunta frowned. “Doc...we agreed on six pies. This feels like a stack. Are you sure you can afford it?” The older Suthari was a Doctor, to the extent such a thing could exist in the Underworld, though he was almost entirely self taught. At almost a hundred, he was one of the oldest living inhabitants of the Underworld, and his body showed it. Tattered clothes crisscrossed with decades of stitching hide a form skinnier than Agrunta, with wrists so thin you might snap them between your fingers. The Doctor’s skin was pale, as with all inhabitants of the Underworld, revealing ancient veins and arteries that he often joked were filled with a century of Underworld dust, no blood any longer. The heavily sagging skin of his face scarred from skinrot as a child, though it was said as a young man he was handsome despite the marks, and despite his age his eyes remain sharp, focused, intelligent. Two silvery green orbs that peer out from underneath white brows, and atop his head a spindly wisp of ghostlike hair. Every time she saw the old man, Agrunty despaired what her own old age might eventually reduce her to. At the moment despite her size she was strong, her arms and legs wiry and well used. Her dark brown hair was...acceptable. Cut short and washed once in a blue moon, perhaps with some time and care it might look like she didn’t live in a hole in the ground. Unnatural neon orange eyes, a relic of some ancestor undergoing gene modification - a blessing she would never be subjected to - and her newest overalls, while once a similar neon orange, had faded over the last five cycles to leave a dull rustlike tint to the outfit, similar to the Doctor’s in the present of patchwork and stitching. Especially with padding on the knees and elbows, and a few secret pockets.

 

The Doctor patted Agrunta on the shoulder with a reassuring smile, revealing gums littered with lonely teeth. There was no dental care in the Underworld, and the environment lends itself to decay. So far Agrunta had kept all of her teeth, though if she lived another seventy or so cycles she expected hers would be about as bad as the Doctor’s.

 

“I can. And you need the money. Business is booming, with the Scavs and Bioboys at war again.” While the Doctor cared for the regular folk of the Underworld best he could, most of his paying business came from the gang warfare that raged on and off, resulting in a vast array of injuries. From cuts and bruises from beatings or duels, to missing limbs of burns from explosions, all the way to helping deal with the itch on their crotch or the pain in their bones. The Scavs - Scavengers - had control of a good chunk of the Underworld, though their hegemony in this area was being challenged by an up and coming gang known as the Bioboys. Made up of back alley genejobs and genespire rejects, the Bioboys had quickly established themselves as the local freakshow, led by a former genecrafter from the planet above. The wounds applied by their members were particularly difficult for the Doctor, often involving bite and claw wounds, and in some cases avid, venom, or other foreign bodies lodged in various painful locations. No Bioboys came to the Doctor for treatment, most likely being treated by one of the disgraced scientists in their midst.

 

Agrunta nodded, and embraced the old man in a careful hug for a moment. “Thank you for looking out for me. I’ll see if I can get you some parts for next time.” After detaching her, and making a comment about patients, the Doctor ushered her out of the building. It had served as his makeshift hospital for as long as she could remember, though there was little to indicate it’s function aside from the large white flag they hung from one of the windows, some kind of indicator that they were separate to the gang conflicts outside. Stashing the pouch within one of the hidden pockets of her overalls, Agrunta descended back into the Underworld.

 

It was said that hundreds of years ago when the Suthari first came to Suth-Kasa, the Underworld had been home to monstrous creatures, making use of their biology to shelter within the earth away from the predators on the surface. While they had been...distinctly Un-Suthari, they did have a level of architectural prowess such that the colonists decided to make use of the caverns left behind. After purging the inhabitants, of course. Their corpses were donated in the millions for study and food production. Hints of their makeup can still be identified in the geneworks produced out of Suth-Kasa today as pets, work beasts, or weapons of war.

 

What remained was mile upon mile of caverns perfect for habitation, most especially useful as land above ground would begin to be claimed by one party or another. What the colonists did not expect, though should have predicted, was that the dark and dank spaces of the Underworld would be most attractive to those in possession of dark natures or histories, and so drew to them many kinds of outcast. Thieves on the run, political refugees, murderers, gangs, disgraced soldiers and scientists, and all manner of others came to the Underworld from across Suth-Kasa, establishing a society distinct from the one they dwelt below, though still reliant on it in so many ways. Tunnels allowed the Underworlders to move around undetected as they plied their trades - siphoning fuel here, ‘borrowing’ some tools there. Scavenging and dumpster diving had become a regular way of life for inhabitants who didn’t have the knowledge or training for a job like Agrunta or the Doctor, and didn’t have the temperament to work for the gangs.

 

Emerging into the street, Agrunta blinked a few times. Coming from the pale white of the hospital into the dark streets was always odd for her, though she had no problem seeing in the dark. The orange irises were not just aesthetic, casting the shadows in shades of orange that made all the difference in a sunless underground. Faint bulbs hang far above, a handful lit with a pale glow, though many others nothing but drab decoration, long since ceasing to function for whatever reason. In the distance, rising from a far off area of the Underworld, a more vibrant light can be seen, flashing blues and reds, yellows and greens. To someone such as Runty, that particular location would be a death sentence. Controlled by the Red Reapers, it is the only district of the Underworld which thrives in terms of energy, thanks to an arcane generator dating back to the first inhabitants of the caverns. Hooked up to a thermal vent in the earth it produces boundless energy which could fuel the entire Underworld if rationed properly, and yet they squander it on lights, charging stack after stack to those who want access, precisely why the Doctor’s generator was so important. Runty, being responsible for his continued energy independence, would likely be punished by the Reapers if they got their hands on her.

 

Instead, she turned to head in the other direction, further into the darkness of the caves, swinging her little toolbox as she trotted along. The outer edges of the Underworld were made up of temporary shelters, shacks, cave dwellings, much at odds with the more built up areas where simple constructions of concrete and stone, and in some cases materials taken from above. The extremely well off might even have got hold of a prefab somewhere down the line. But it was to the outer edge that Agrunta made her way, through pathways too narrow and untamed to be called roads by civilised folk, passing by Underworlders homeless or mad, and ignoring the calls of a group of Scavs trying to get her attention. She knew what they wanted, it was why she had spent half a cycle saving up to buy the kinetic autopistol concealed within her overalls, and had kept it on her person at almost all times since she was a teenager. Best to ignore them though, unless they got in her way - ammo was precious, not to be spent unless absolutely necessary.

 

It took a short while for Agrunta to make it to her home in the Underworld. Half cave, half shack, the little house - if it could be called that - contained her entire life. At least that which was not carried on her body.

 

An old chain and padlock served as security, though if someone was really interested in getting into her home it would not be a great task to simply knock the door off its hinges. The shack itself was a mix of stone, metal and plastic, cobbled together and expanded upon as she grew up and needed more space, the door a simple sheet of plastic she had attached with nylon rope. Within, a thin mattress acquired for a stack to replace the one she had far outgrown, some mementos, and pieces of furniture stolen or purchased. It was not much by the standards of the above, but it was home, and it was far more than many of the Underworlders had.

 

Further in from the outer wall, Agrunta’s home retreated into the wall of the Underworld itself. A stone hole carved out centuries ago by Suthari and nature alike, only maintained by the young woman and her chisel when needed. There was no light in her abode, unlike some others who made use of candles in the absence of electricity, though her unnatural eyes were all the guidance she needed to locate her stash of savings, hidden in a crack in the cave wall, to which she added most of the payment from the Doctor. Counting the pies and stacks, she could not help but smile to herself in the dark. Ten stacks, full and ready. Enough to pay Bluetooth and a number of months until the end of the cycle to make some spare pies. Bluetooth, perhaps the oldest inhabitant of Underworld aside from the Doctor and it’s most mysterious, had so far stayed true to their deal, which entailed him providing Agrunta reading materials from the surface in exchange for stacks every year. Of course the manuals and books she requested were on engineering, and though she had asked where and how he obtained them, he never answered. One volume had a name she did not recognise within the front cover, and a few dried drops of blood on the back. She had not asked about their origin again.

 

But this year was special. Bluetooth had agreed that for ten stacks, he would take her to the surface, away from the Underworld, to meet a proper engineer. One who had studied at the Universities of Suth-Kasa and graduated with a qualification that marked them far more capable than an Underworld girl who had learned half from trial and error, and half from a cripple who was also self taught.

 

There was no time down in the Underworld, but she was tired. In the morning she could tell Bluetooth she had the money, and he could arrange for her to meet this engineer of his. Perhaps with training from a real engineer, Red the Reaper would employ her to look after his generator? She would be set for life, relaxing in the lap of luxury….

 

She hid her savings back within their hole, and began to prepare for bed, a foolish smile still upon her face. Stripping away the overalls and baseclothes to lay them upon a rock, a cupfull of water and some rags were put to good use scrubbing away as much dirt and muck as possible. No matter what she did with her meagre supplies, there was dirt so well established under her nails that they may as well be part of her. Another reason to get employed by Red, who apparently made sure his gang bathed properly every day.

 

Settling onto her mattress, with a ragged sheet to keep her warm, Agrunta relaxed. First it had been a decade of being ridiculed by inhabitants of the Underworld, who could not believe the tiny teenage woman before them could fix the various issues plaguing them, whether it was a faulty generator or a structural repair. Then claims that she was merely lucky, or was being told what to do by others. Growing into adulthood had put a stop to most of those beliefs, as Agrunta had become well known across the Underworld as someone who could fix nearly any issue, and for a reasonable price too. Perhaps the next ten years would see her being praised as the best fixer in Underworld - perhaps she might even work her way out of the Underworld, to live above ground and take payment in proper credits. Though before then she should make sure the Doctor didnt have to worry about power. So many opportunities…

 

Sleep came quickly. With it came dreams of a silver throne, a blinding figure of light sat upon it. All tinted in orange.