>>5826335The manufacturer's mark on the inside of the frame is that this was a Malignax-pattern Ground Truck, which meant it was surprisingly new for the underhive. You suppose that the Abraham-pattern would have likely ceased to function after centuries of continued use regardless of how lovingly they were maintained. Regardless, you resolve to do what you can, and begin pulling apart the engine's internal piping and wiring. Without any augmetics and only the most simple tools you're able to coax out from the rattling box under the seat, you're limited to merely disassembling what you can reach.
...not that you would know how to do much more than that.
When you press the ignition switch and invoke the machine spirit, the engine turns with a clumsy coughing sound. Pressing the accelerator pedal only makes it screech harder.
Still. You know the basic rites of maintenance- and you also have the advantage of actually understanding the size of parts. With it, you're able to refill the appropriate reservoirs of oil and lubricants from bottles, pull electrical wiring from being pulled into gaps in the internals of the engine, and in more than one place swapping sets of pipes so that their diameters actually match the valves they're attached to.
You couldn't identify the issue, in the end - in fact, you're ignorant to what the issue even <span class="mu-i">was</span>... but you're fairly certain that when you turn the ignition, the engine gives off a much louder and healthier roar than it had before.
Cad looks up in surprise from a half-eaten sandwich as you halt the engine, and comes ambling over as you slide yourself out of the seat. “Well, I'll be damned...” He muses. “Guess you know what you're doing, after all. What did you even do?”
“I performed the holy rites of maintenance.” You answer, not untruthfully, but also to avoid admitting you weren't sure, either.
“Proved me wrong, I guess.” He thinks to himself, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Well, if you're willing to take a look at our engines every night, I suppose for the extra insurance and the fact that you got this working, I could cut your fare to... I dunno, forty thrones sound good to you?”
That left you with at least twenty in change. “It does.” You agree.
Cad grins from behind a grime-soaked hand. “What's your name, anyway?"
“I...” You hesitate. Your designation was quite simple, but you were also warned by the Voice to avoid revealing your true nature to those outside your employer's confidence. The reasoning had never been revealed to you, but if it was intended to protect you in the upper hive, it likely applied below it, as well... or, you could pass it off as a name of someone belonging to the tech cults. Or you could <span class="mu-i">lie</span>...
>Your designation: A-414.>Humanize it somehow- A-414... 41... At... yt... Ayta? Ayat?>Take a name you heard earlier.>Make something up based on your surroundings.>[Write-In] 