Subterra Heart

Chapter 1: Connor Rocha

Present day - 52 years later...

It was the third day in a row that Connor had woken to a cold sweat and a pounding headache. It took a moment for him to register what was going on - his head was spinning so bad. Eyes still shut, he groaned and swung his arm over to his bedside table, fumbling blindly for his medpak. He yelped as he nearly stuck his hand into the still-flaming hearth-box.

"Damnit," he hissed, now fully awake. The hearth-box's blue flames were normally gentle on his eyes, but now it burned just to squint at them. He slammed its lid shut, suffocating the fire. A wave of nausea hit him before he could go back to finding his medpak, and he doubled over, holding his breath to try and keep his food down. He needed to stop rationing his meds. It'd kill him someday.

Once his stomach settled, he found the medpak and unzipped it to get his reader. His fingers were shaking, but he managed to slip the reader under his tongue. He waited impatiently as green digital letters swam into view on the reader's side. Rochagor levels in his saliva at one-fifty-two. He checked the medpak for his parlin vial. Only three mils left. Damn.

Connor twisted off the cap for his parlin and downed the whole thing. He was supposed to take two milliliters per fifty units of rochagor, but this would have to do for now. Three hundred units, and he'd be dead. His apartment was as dark as the mines now that the hearth-box was out, but he could still see well enough. If he held the vial just right, he could still make out the remaining parlin droplets that shone red as blood. Well, healthy blood at least. Connor was sick with Rochagorosis – always had been, always would be. His own blood produced rochagor, a toxin that shouldn't show up in any human body. It showed up in his saliva too and turned his blood black if levels got too high. No one had even heard of it until about fifty years back, and without the parlin, he'd die. It was kind of like having a toned-down version of bloodrot that got passed down in families. Not his fault though. That was on his granddad and some shit luck.

It'd take the meds a bit of time to kick in, and he hadn't given himself enough to completely tamp down on the rochagor. Connor grimaced. He'd been holding off for nearly three days now, so he'd need more later. At least he didn't have true Cynwrig's bloodrot. There was no coming back from that. No meds, no nothing. Well, not anymore at least. Connor wiped sweat and ruddy-brown hair from his forehead. Now, he could only wait and hope for this damn headache to calm down enough for him to work today. Didn't even know what time it was yet. He tapped the thick shae band on his right wrist. The thing stored his biometrics, in-use kreds, and of course, time. Its dark surface lit up with green numbers: 0400. Fantastic. He'd gotten nearly zero sleep, and he still had hours to wait before work got started up.

Connor pulled his knees up to his chest and leaned back against his wall. His bed was pressed up against the tiny apartment's only window, and a slatted shade hid the outside world from view. It was still too early for the overhead lights out there to get turned on though. Looking outside shouldn't make his headache any worse, at least. Connor lifted one of the slats. A few lit windows glittered from a distance, but otherwise, he was right. It was still dark.

This was Flores Greens. Not too rich, not too poor, big or small. It was one of the many sub-cities that made up the subterranean mega-city of Heart. Connor had lived here his whole life, and his parents kept an apartment just a few levels above him. Rent was cheap enough, so long as he kept working overtime. And far safer than any other place he could have afforded to live in – namely, mining outposts. Those spots were for criminals, debtors, and anyone desperate enough to risk actual bloodrot. Pretty low life expectancy for those guys.

Not that he really had a choice on where to live. Parlin wasn't available in any other sub-city besides the Greens.

Beyond Connor's window lay the massive cavern that Flores Greens centered around. Apartment windows dotted rock walls that looked dusty blue in the dim, artificial light, and walkways laden with orchids and lianas crisscrossed through the open space. Far below lay a dammed-up body of water – the Reservoir – surrounded by lush forest. The plants were useful for supplementing oxygen levels, and they were the main reason why the lights weren't turned on yet. Twenty-four-hour lighting messed with their growth, apparently. Bit of a residual thing from when they once grew on other worlds – kind of like circadian rhythms for humans. Go figure.

Connor's headache was getting better, but not by much. He rubbed his knuckles against his eyes. Parlin was expensive, and rent was due tomorrow. Dark take his rent. He couldn't keep going like this.

He stumbled out of bed and threw on his grey mechanic's jumpsuit and an undershirt. Strapped on his boots. Grabbed his wallet. Ritty's Pharmacy was just around the corner, and that at least was open at all hours.

As he was about to leave, something on the ground in front of his door caught his eye. An envelope. Connor frowned and picked it up. Heavy, cream-colored paper. Expensive – even as paper went. Most written communications were digital, transferred via hardlines and accessed through datalogs. Connor didn't make enough to get power at his apartment, so he relied on the public datalogs. They were all over the place, so he could easily pick up any messages whenever he wanted. Paper was overkill. He flipped over the envelope to see who the sender was and frowned. Looked like cousin Lenny wanted something from him again. And if he was sending the request in paper, he might even pay... Connor pondered the unopened letter for a long moment, and then screwed up his face. No, Lenny and his harebrained schemes would send Connor to an early grave if he wasn't careful. And rent or no rent, he really wasn't in the mood to deal with his cousin right now. His head still hurt too much. Connor crumpled up the letter and tossed it over his shoulder.