Chapter 72: Truly Underground
Leaving the Cathedral, Kian Voss found a high-end specialty seasoning shop. He spent nearly 2,000 scrips—a small fortune—filling his backpack with various spices, salts, and flavor-catalysts.
As he walked away, Kian hissed through his teeth, cursing the "vulture merchants" of the Mid-Hive. Two thousand scrips for a bag of salt and dried herbs? It was madness. But it told him something vital: the Mid-Hive economy was on the brink of collapse. These basic seasonings were being priced as luxury goods. If things were this bad, who could afford to eat anymore?
Then, a spark of commercial inspiration struck. Wait... a seasoning business?
He had seen the rebels growing massive amounts of soybeans on the surface. He could manufacture soy sauce. He could make Legion-Paste (miso/fermented bean paste). There was an old joke from his world: "A man with a jar of fermented bean paste can eat the entire highway greenbelt."
In a Hive where everyone was now being forced to eat flavorless, grey corpse-starch, a dollop of "Voss-Pattern Savory Paste" would be worth its weight in throne-coins. The mental image of billions of citizens dipping recycled human meat into his secret sauce was both grotesque and highly profitable.
He took the Grand Lift back down to the Sump.
Before returning to the brewery, Kian detoured to the Water Guild precinct. He wanted to see if Overseer Reno had any new "Daily Quests" for him.
The queue for the pumps still stretched into the darkness of the pipe-warrens. Kian offered a Lho-stick to the guard at the gate. The enforcer recognized him now, giving a respectful nod as he stepped aside.
Kian found Reno in his inner office, buried under a mountain of digital manifests and paper scrolls. The Overseer looked up and grinned.
"The Logistics Data-Slate you brought back was a masterstroke, Voss. My superiors were impressed beyond words. My promotion is all but guaranteed."
Kian congratulated him with a professional smirk. "Glad to hear the gears are turning. About that brewery... the first batch is out. I'll bring you a few bottles to sample soon."
Reno's eyes lit up with genuine curiosity. "Please do. I'm still baffled as to why my own attempts always taste like battery acid. No matter the equipment, my spirit always turns sour."
"Probably a stray Warp-taint in your vats," Kian suggested casually. "Or maybe your Machine Spirits just don't like you."
Reno laughed, then slapped his desk. "Tell you what. I want to see this operation of yours. Is it ready for visitors?"
Kian hesitated. "It's deep in the pipes. Mutants, gangs, toxic runoff... it's not exactly a Spire-garden."
Reno stood up and kicked open a heavy iron locker. He pulled out a suit of custom-tailored Carapace Armor, a reinforced helmet, and a heavy-duty drum-fed shotgun. "Don't worry about the rats, Voss. They won't dare touch a Guild official, and I'm bringing my own security detail."
The rear bay of the Water Guild precinct opened, and three small vehicles rolled out.
They were Survey Crawlers—compact, rugged scouts no bigger than an ancient golf cart, designed to seat four. They featured high-travel suspension and oversized tires capable of navigating the jagged debris and vertical inclines of the Underhive.
Reno, Kian, and ten shotgun-wielding Guild enforcers roared out of the Safe Zone, their high-intensity floodlights turning the dark tunnels into noon-day suns.
Kian watched the little buggy bounce over a pile of rubble with ease. He was jealous. "How much for one of these? I need a way to move through the sectors that isn't 'sprinting until my lungs bleed'."
Reno looked at the crawler, then at Kian. A calculating look crossed his face. "Tell you what. You do me one more favor, and I'll gift you a fully fueled Survey Crawler from our surplus."
Kian's HUD pinged. [MISSION TRIGGERED]
"The Guild doesn't just provide water," Reno explained as they sped through the pipes. "We manage the Effluent Disposal. Our refineries turn chemical waste into a thick, black sludge that we pump into the planet's mantle to be incinerated.
"However, about one hundred and fifty years ago, our seismic sensors noted a pressure drop in Nether-Conduit 12-B. A leak. My predecessors ignored it, but the data says the leak has now reached critical levels. I sent two repair teams last month to find the breach. Neither of them voxed back."
Kian scratched his head. "Wait. You said the leak was noted one hundred and fifty years ago? And you're just now looking for it?"
Reno looked a bit embarrassed. "The request was filed in the wrong sub-ledger. The Administratum only cleared the work-order last week."
Kian gave a thumbs up. "Efficiency. Truly, the Imperium is a well-oiled machine."
"Anyway," Reno continued, "if you can find out what happened to those teams and locate the breach, the crawler is yours."
"I can finish that quest right now," Kian said. "I've already seen it. There's a tribe of mutants—the Blackwater Cult—living right on that conduit. They intentionally breached the pipe to drink the effluent. They call it 'Holy Water.' Your repair teams didn't get lost; they became the main course at a mutant banquet."
Kian provided the exact coordinates and a detailed description of the cult's warren. It matched Reno's mapping data perfectly.
Reno went quiet for a moment, then patted the side of the buggy. "Done. A contract is a contract. This vehicle is yours to keep once we reach your base."
The convoy reached the brewery bulkheads. Kian cycled the locks and led Reno inside, showing off the steaming vats and the rhythmic whir of the new distillation units.
Reno was like a child in a toy shop. He moved from vat to vat, checking the temperatures and the smell of the fermenting mash. Shiv and the Joels were busy peeling a fresh mountain of rebel potatoes, their movements efficient and practiced.
Kian handed the bag of Mid-Hive seasonings to Sansa. "Mrs. Joel, we have guests. Use the good salts. I want a meal that smells like the Spire."
Within the hour, the industrial conduit was filled with the mouth-watering scent of roasted fowl and spiced vegetables. It was a smell that hadn't existed in this sector for centuries.
"By the Throne," Reno gasped, sitting at a crude wooden table. "The food... it smells better than the officers' mess in the Spire!"
Kian invited the Guild guards to eat at the secondary tables, then sat with Reno. He pulled out a bottle of Voss Reserve—the version diluted with a drop of Holy Spirits—and poured two glasses.
"Don't look down on us Sump-rats, Reno," Kian said, raising his glass. "In this Hive, we're the only ones living the life of a 'True Hiver'."
Reno took a sip, his eyes rolling back as the "Soul-Wash" effect of the beer hit him. He looked at Kian, bewildered. "Why do you say that? Why are you the only 'True Hivers'?"
Kian clinked his glass against Reno's and downed the spirits in one go. He slammed the glass on the table with a grin.
"Because we're the only ones who are truly grounded."
☆☆☆
-> 20 Advanced chapters Now Available on Patreon!!
-> https://www.pat-reon.co-m/c/Inkshaper
(Just remove the hyphen (-) to access patreon normally)
If you like this novel please consider leaving a review that's help the story a lot Thank you