The Failing Frontier 15 - The Quest for El Dorado

Jubal was bored. He sat on a public bench, glancing around for his droid head unconsciously before remembering that he didn't have it anymore. He sighed and resumed scanning the crowd as they filtered through the slowly revolving doors. They came in groups or individually, most were in a hurry, some seemed lost. All of them had big plans. All except for Ari Sarkissian.

Ari walked into the airport without any luggage, wearing a casual outfit and trying to hide his identity with a baseball cap and sunglasses. He stopped as soon at he reached the departures board and stared at it, lifeless and frozen. He was sufficiently engrossed that he didn't notice Jubal walking up behind him, and only turned when Jubal grabbed his upper arm with considerable force.

“I knew you'd turn up here sooner or later,” Jubal whispered.

“What--” he sputtered in surprise. “You? You work for me, don't you?”

“I used to, yes,” Jubal answered quietly as he led Sarkissian to a corner. “But that was just a front, so that I could get close to you to claim the bounty on your head.”

Ari blanched and looked around frantically. “I--I can pay you,” he stammered desperately.

“Oh relax,” Jubal laughed. “I've received a better offer. Do you happen to know of a little junkyard operation called Moe's?”

“Are you joking?” Sarkissian stared at him in confusion and pulled his arm free of Jubal's grasp.

“I'll take that as a no. Well old Moe has certainly heard of you. He has a rather high opinion of you as well. He's putting together a crew for an operation--”

“Sorry, not interested,” Ari interrupted him. “I'm done, I'm just--”

“--to recover a lost horde of gold bars,” Jubal interrupted back.

Sarkissian's jaw dropped open. Jubal watched the confusion and avarice wrestling in Ari's eyes. The avarice won.

“I thought so,” Jubal said with a smile.

He started walking out of the airport without looking back. A few moments later, Sarkissian caught up with him.

“How much is a horde exactly?” he asked.

“Oh, just the entire contents of one of the most successful pre-war bank's vaults,” Jubal answered coyly.

“I see. And why--”

Jubal's phone rang, and he held an index finger to Sarkissian's lips as he answered it.

“The first package has been secured, Moe.”

“Well that's just dandy,” came Moe's friendly voice. “Your droid is coming along nicely, by the way. Oh and you'll never guess who just walked into my shop.”

“Edward Wierczyk, exactly as you predicted,” Jubal answered drily.

“Well, yes,” Moe began patiently, ”but he's brought a new, uh, friend with him. You may remember her from your first visit to my shop.”

“Jane fucking Kelley,” Jubal hissed.

Sarkissian's eyes widened at the name.

“But she was-- I just--” he stammered, his face reddening. Jubal pushed his index finger into Ari's lips again.

“That's a deal breaker, Moe,” Jubal growled into his phone.

Moe chuckled amiably in reply. “Oh son, we both know I'm the one holding all the cards here.”

Jubal ground his teeth together and gave Sarkissian a forced smile.

“I'm sure we'll all get along just fine,” he answered bitterly.

“You'd better,” Moe replied cheerfully, “or else you won't have much of a chance against those Infernals, will ya?”

The Failing Frontier 7 - All Roads Lead to Moe's

“Come in, come in,” Grant Marshall urged.

Jubal walked in casually and took a seat on the couch lining the wall of Grant’s office. He wore a black bodyglove that covered him from neck to toes, tight enough to reveal a wiry musculature and an unusual absence of shape or bulges of any kind. His lips were stained purple and his eyes were obscured behind a pair of sunglasses. His emerald green hair was styled in a faux hawk. He carried only a spherical handbag.

“So how does a two-bit bit bodyguard like you end up with an office bigger than most apartments in New New York?” Jubal asked.

Grant forced a smile and leaned on a cane as he made his way over to a tray of crystal decanters.

“Workin’ for Sarkissian ‘as its perks,” Grant explained as he poured himself a glass of blue liquid. He motioned to Jubal with the decanter, but he shook his head.

“Dulls the senses,” Jenkins replied, then licked his lips. “I prefer the world... raw.”

Grant shrugged and replaced the decanter. He limped forward to stand in front of Jubal as he sipped his drink.

“Alright, here’s the deal,” Grant began. “Sarkissian’s got a job for you to do. You pull this off and they’ll be more jobs. Better paying jobs, if you know what I mean.”

“You’re being literal,” Jubal replied, clearly bored. “A child would know what you mean.”

“Just let me finish, alright?” Grant replied, his patience clearly beginning to fray. He proceeded to lay out the plan in painful detail. Jubal’s attention began to wander after the first five minutes. Ten minutes later, he realized he had stopped paying attention altogether for some time, and yet Grant seemed to be moving slowly enough that he still understood exactly where his plan was going.

“And then,” Grant finished dramatically. “Payday.”

“Right,” Jubal answered. “So it all begins with the junk yard in the East end?”

“Yeah, that’s the ticket, govna,” Grant confirmed.

“Fine,” Jubal replied with a sigh. “I’ll handle it.”

He stood up from the couch and began sauntering over to the door, but paused as it slid open in response to his presence.

“Say, is your boss around, by any chance?” he asked casually, his hand slipping inside his handbag.

“Not at the moment,” Grant replied. “Apparently, he had a bit of an accident earlier tonight. He’s elected to get some rest.”

“An accident? Sounds dreadful,” Jubal commented conversationally. “Was he hurt?”

“No, not at all,” Grant answered. “He has some fancy, expensive tech that saved his arse.”

“Thank goodness,” Jubal continued. “I do hope he gets over the shock of the whole experience. I am so looking forward to seeing him in person.”

“Well, he’ll be racing on Tuesday,” Grant said. “Get this job done right, and I’ll get you into our private box. You can shake his hand after he wins again.”

“Perfect,” Jubal smiled. “I’m looking forward to it already.”

The Failing Frontier 4 - The (Re)birth of Jubal Jenkins

This was supposed to be an easy job. But it looked like Jubal Jenkins had not yet snapped his string of bad luck. He just couldn't get out from under the shadow of the disaster in Hong Kong. God damn Hong Kong.

Jubal sighed. At least Senator Wong would never find him again. Not only were the ruins of Old New York the last place anyone would think to look for James Wuthers, but there was no more James Wuthers. Jubal slipped involuntarily into the memories of his horrendous rebirth.

The Hong Kong job generated so much heat, it became clear that if infamous bounty hunter James Wuthers didn’t immediately disappear forever, he would be promptly shot dead by the first armed government official who spotted him anywhere on the planet. Even the Moon probably had shoot-on-site standing orders. A makeover wasn’t going to cut it, so James took more extreme measures.

Two wrongs may never make a right, but sometimes, cumulated bad luck pays off. The sex change surgery was only partially complete when James’ anesthetic wore off. He woke up screaming in pain just in time to watch his overpriced surgeon get gunned down by a bounty hunter eager to claim her prize.

“You’ll pay for that, Jane Kelly,” Jubal muttered angrily to himself. “Wherever you are now.”

Almost inexplicably, what was left of James Wuthers had escaped the operating room, trailing tubes and sensor wires. Between the botched surgery, incomplete hormone therapy and fresh scars, he had succeeded in becoming unrecognizable. He was certainly no longer a man, but he had failed to become a woman either. He was simply Jubal Jenkins, born bloody and screaming, just like everyone else. Sort of.

For the hundredth time, Jubal told himself it had worked out for the best. He smiled at the thought of someone attempting to describe him to the police. Then frowned as his confusion over his own sexual identity resurfaced.

Shaking his head, Jubal focused again on the scene below him. Ari Sarkissian’s grav-cycle was a flaming wreck in the center of the highway. From his perch atop a skyscraper neighboring the same road, Jubal adjusted his cybernetic eyes with a thought, zooming in on the figure crumpled on the shoulder. It was definitely Sarkissian, but how he had ended up there was a mystery to Jubal. As he watched in astonishment, Sarkissian rose to his feet and casually shook himself clean. After another moment, he sat down calmly.

Jubal reached over to the severed head of a GR-67 droid sitting beside him. Gently tapping a control, he triggered the voice synthesizer, which relayed a message through a dozen randomly selected relays to Sarkissian’s personal communicator.

"Well damn! You're a lucky guy Mr. Sarkissian,” Jubal keyed. “Guess I'll get you next time."

He terminated the transmission and continued watching Sarkissian.

“All bad things must come to an end,” Jubal said to the droid head conversationally. “And Mr. Sarkissian down there is the key to ending my losing streak.”

The GR-67 head beeped noncommittally, then suddenly began emitting an electronic pulsing sound.

Jubal looked at it suspiciously, remembering having heard the same sound before.

"I've got to get you a new body," he said with genuine concern.

Just then, his communicator vibrated gently. Jubal tapped the synthesizer control on the droid head again before answering.

"Grant," Jubal keyed. "How can I help you?"

"Jubal, old chum," Grant Marshall replied. Jubal tried to place his accent, still unable to decide if it was English or Australian. Maybe South African? "I've got a proposition for you."

"I'm listening," Jubal replied.

"My boss needs a few extra hands for a new job," he explained. "I volunteered to vouch for you. Think you might be interested?"

"You work for Sarkissian, right?" Jubal answered, a grin slowing spreading across his painted lips.

"Yeah, that's the ticket."

"Oh I'm definitely interested..."

The Failing Frontier 3 - Ari's Nighttime Stroll

The worst thing you can do to a person is give them everything they ever wanted. Ari had always believed that. To be fair, Ari had never had his knee-cap sliced off by a pissed off bounty hunter. Of course in this day and age they could fix that overnight IF you could pay and Ari paid his people well. Better than the Red Hand in fact. Better than any racer, even the Golden Boy of Grav-Cycle racing, should be able to manage.

Grant Marshall had already had his new knee 3D printed and displacer swapped. The technician said he could leave within the hour. 

"Ain't science grand!" Ari remarked as he looked at the almost imperceivable lines that marked where the new and old tissue met. These days it was possible to fix, or even improve, just about anything part of you.

"Jane's a real bitch, but I did have it coming" Grant ignored his employers musings. "I suppose sneakin' up on her with a bat didn't buy me too many 'professional courtesy' points."

"Well try not to piss her off next time. That knee cost me more than I won last night."

"Like you give a damn", the bodyguard said coyly.

He did have a point. Ari shrugged his shoulders, "Meh... it's the principal of the... blah blah blah" as he waved it off. 

Grant had a good chuckle, "Oi, maybe next time you bring me on the A-team instead of leaving me behind to get slice-and-diced"

Ari's expression soured as his employee mentioned his real source of income in such a public place. He started to feel the blood rise to his face, but he managed to calm himself. 

Grant's wide eyed smile slipped away quickly. "Yiah, sorry boss."

Ari sat at the end of the bed, "No harm done, anyway since the last bit of business I did I need to keep the bounty hunters away 'til everything is done and delivered."

"About that," Grant interrupted, "The Red Hand technically allows its employees to take contracts even when they end up working against other members. They see it as a way to 'let the cream rise to the top' so to speak. Anyway, I know a bloke... well sort of a bloke. Goes by Jubal. He's good and he currently he's quite motivated to contract himself out. Needs the money for lawyers or some nonsense. The Hand's got really shite benefits."

Ari thought a moment, "Alright bring him on. Make sure he knows the ropes, and head back to the hotel after you're released. I'm going to take a ride."

"Thanks boss! You sure you don't wanna wait for me. Jane's not the type to give up after one try."

Ari considered it. He pulled out the surveillance footage from his bike. Looked clear, and he did have a lot of work to do. "I'll be fine."

________________________________________________________________________

Ari's bike pulled itself up to the entrace of the hospital, "Hello Beautiful!" he exclaimed as he approached his favorite possession.

"Hello PRIMARY USER, where are we heading today?" his grav-cycle's AI spoke back through the helmet's speakers.

"Manual mode", Ari hoped on and sped off as fast as he could. As he pulled onto the main expressway he received a call. The display said it was from Grant's phone.

"Auto drive... Answer call... Grant, is it all setup?"

The voice that responded was not Grant's. Although he didn't recognize it. 

"Oh you are definately setup Mr. Sarkissian."

The next moments were a combination and bright lights, loud sounds and pain. Ari came to his senses lying on the side of the road. The first thing he saw that the inferno that used to be his grav-cycle. Traffic had already routed itself neatly around the wreck and the soothing automated voice of the AI was playing on his helm speakers, 

"You have been involved in a traffic accident. Please stay calm. Emergency services are on the way. Thank you for using Hei Long's new DisplacerSafe technology. DisplacerSafe, saving lives since CURRENT YEAR"

Ari calmed his nerves and rose to his feet to look himself over. Scrapes and bruiser but otherwise he seemd fine. He sat back down and took some deep breathes and to watch his favorite grav-cycle burn. At least he wasn't burning with it.

"Well damn!" the same unknown voice came back on over his headset, apparently the call had never disconnected, "you're a lucky guy Mr. Sarkissian. Guess I'll get you next time."