Displacer tech is what the professional world calls a 'disruptive technology'. Just like grav-thrusters, AI, quantum computers and the older tech like the internet, nuclear weapons, the personal computer, all the back to agriculture, for whoever had it, it was a game changer, affecting the world in unpredictable ways. It altered the daily lives of everybody totally changing how people thought about transportation, safety, medicine and a thousand other industries. Mega conglomerates had dumped billions into R&D developing it, each making separate progress and breakthroughs. If this was a better world, humanity would have all banded together and figured it out years, maybe even decades earlier. But this was not a better world. That meant that for an enterprising thief, there was profit to be made.
Ari grew up on the streets, begging and stealing to survive. That changed the day he stole his first grav-cycle. From that day forward he was a courier. Maybe the riskiest position to hold in a petty criminal empire, but a good courier would make huge money by the standards of other petty criminals.
At first it was drugs, but as time moved forward the couriers found an even more profitable business, information. In a world of quantum computers and AI encryption breakers transferring trade secrets over the air or wire was practically begging to have it stolen.
Legitimate businesses usually used heavily armoured trucks and former soldiers to guard their precious cargo, but sometimes there were cracks in the security that only a few well placed individuals knew about.
At first, the racing was just a way for Ari to launder the courier money, but it led him to his big break. Sometimes he would end up chatting with his fans. Sometimes talking would lead to drinks. And sometimes, if you found the right person, that was the right kind of drunk and the right kind of pissed off at their bosses... well that's when Ari learned to pay his employees well.
It wasn't stealing and selling the information that made Ari a wealthy man. It made him a nice chunk of change, but all the big players were publicly traded companies. Knowing who to bet on and who to bet against when it came to the tech race made sure Ari came out on top.
That job made Ari a lot of enemies and even lost him a few friends, but Ari would never need to work another day in his life.
But like they say, the worst thing you can do to a person is give them everything they ever wanted. Fortunately, Ari always wanted more.
Tuesday had arrived and Ari had been smuggled into the venue early. The recent attempt of his life had certainly frazzled him, but failing to show up to his public appearance would make some of Ari's customers nervous. Almost as importantly the races were important networking opportunities for him. So with Grant's assurances about the extra man power as well as the venue's security being on high alert Ari had made his way to the track and was warming up on the simulator. By the time he had to make his way to the track Ari was feeling like his old self again. The ritual of the whole thing calmed him. Gearing up, mounting his brand new grav-cycle, courtesy of Hei Long automotive, and rolling up to the starting gate as the announcer called his name and the crowd cheered were all familiar enough to get him into the zone. Beside him Ed Wierczyk looked over at him with a strange, almost cocky look. Ed's bike looking practically cobbled together but something about his demeanour had changed. Ed looked over at him, and to Ari's great surprise, gave him a thumbs up and a coy smile. Ari, knowing the crowd was watching, returned the gesture, but this was certainly off-putting for someone that had been his rival. Was this just a display of good sportsmanship from Ed? Ari found that unlikely. He knew something, or he'd done something.
"Grant!"
"Yiah boss, what's up?" his bodyguard replied.
"They checked out this bike? It's totally clean?"
"Absolutely, triple check by our guys and Hei Long's. All the racers were scanned as they went in too. You're totally safe in there. If racers start dying on the track all the sponsors would back out. You're golden, Boss!"
All the same Ari felt the off. Was Ed involved in the attempt on his life?
"BOSS!", Grant's voice pulled Ari back to reality, "Are you good?"
"I'm fine. Head in the game..."
Saturday, July 14, 2018
The Failing Frontier 8.2 - Photo Finish *or* Ari and the Goblet of Fire
Grant was on top of his game. He had his security team coordinating with at least 3 other teams. A lot of people were watching. Hei Long had been able to cover up his boss' near miss with an assassin. They had even been able to spin it as a successful field test of their new safety feature, with a celebrity's face to sell it. But the more incidents the harder to spin.
Grant put his focus on his boss, who was sitting just off where he should have near the starting line. He was staring at one of his fellow racers.
"BOSS! Are you good?"
"I'm fine. Head in the game..."
The countdown to the race's start appeared over the track. The sounds of grav-thrusters stirred the crowd into a frenzy and Grant allowed himself to relax just a bit. Once the racers were moving the Displacer safeguards made it almost impossible for someone to get hurt.
"Jubal, get down to the exit gate and I'll meet you there."
From his position just outside the exit gate Grant watched the racers aggressively vie for position. As they approached the finish line his boss was in the lead but he saw Wierczyk had actually hooked himself onto his boss' cycle. The two were were leaning into each other and the extra weight actually made the grav-cycles make slight contact with the ground and shower white sparks behind them.
As they rode over the finish line in tandem it looked like both of them tried to get an extra burst of speed to push themselves over the line to claim first place.
As they tore over the line a short familiar flash stole Grant's attention. The grav-cycles spun off and crashed as their riders were no where to be seen.
"Aw, shit!"
The venue quieted down. Other racers crossed the finish line as normal. The pit crews rushed over the two fallen grav-cycles only to arrive there and scratch their heads uselessly.
The excited cheers of the crowd slowly gave way to confused silence.
"Boss! Oi, BOSS! BOSS!!! Can you hear me?" Grant looked around. Jubal looked just as shocked as him and apparently extremely frustrated. Grant issued a single order, "Fucking find him!"
Jubal rushed off with conviction. As soon as he was gone Grant's shoulders slumped as he sighed audibly.
"I'm so fucking fired."
Grant put his focus on his boss, who was sitting just off where he should have near the starting line. He was staring at one of his fellow racers.
"BOSS! Are you good?"
"I'm fine. Head in the game..."
The countdown to the race's start appeared over the track. The sounds of grav-thrusters stirred the crowd into a frenzy and Grant allowed himself to relax just a bit. Once the racers were moving the Displacer safeguards made it almost impossible for someone to get hurt.
"Jubal, get down to the exit gate and I'll meet you there."
From his position just outside the exit gate Grant watched the racers aggressively vie for position. As they approached the finish line his boss was in the lead but he saw Wierczyk had actually hooked himself onto his boss' cycle. The two were were leaning into each other and the extra weight actually made the grav-cycles make slight contact with the ground and shower white sparks behind them.
As they rode over the finish line in tandem it looked like both of them tried to get an extra burst of speed to push themselves over the line to claim first place.
As they tore over the line a short familiar flash stole Grant's attention. The grav-cycles spun off and crashed as their riders were no where to be seen.
"Aw, shit!"
The venue quieted down. Other racers crossed the finish line as normal. The pit crews rushed over the two fallen grav-cycles only to arrive there and scratch their heads uselessly.
The excited cheers of the crowd slowly gave way to confused silence.
"Boss! Oi, BOSS! BOSS!!! Can you hear me?" Grant looked around. Jubal looked just as shocked as him and apparently extremely frustrated. Grant issued a single order, "Fucking find him!"
Jubal rushed off with conviction. As soon as he was gone Grant's shoulders slumped as he sighed audibly.
"I'm so fucking fired."
Friday, July 13, 2018
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?”
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.”
“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.”
Monday, July 9, 2018
The Failing Frontier 6 - Jane, a knife and a piss fetish.
Jane, still tied to the chair, shimmied across the room to the kitchenette. Using her teeth she opened what looked like a cutlery drawer; unfortunately for her it contained only cloths. Looking around the room she spotted another drawer above the sink which would have been eye level if she was standing. She wasn't; it was too high for her to reach.
“Fucking weird,” she thought.
With that she moved, or rather hopped, to the sink. She wrapped her mouth around the handle of a carving knife that was on the drying rack, arranged the blade so the sharp end was facing away from her, bent over as much as she could and spat it out. It fell, bounced off her thigh and dropped on to the floor, landing about a meter away.
“Oh for fu—”
Jane eyed the blade then rocked sideways towards it, she fell, landed on the floor and broke her fall with her arm. With the blade now behind her, she started to root around with her bound hands. After about two minutes she eventually grasped the blade; at which point her bindings had loosened enough for her to slip her hands free.
She stood up and looked around for her shimmer blade, but it was nowhere to be found.
“You little shit,” she thought.
“Fine,” she said and grabbed the carving knife from behind the toppled chair then slipped it in to the scabbard concealed inside her cloak.
About ready to go, but with no clue where she should go she checked her watch: her BPM was running at 170.
“Stress’ll do that to a bitch,” she thought and then she paced out of Edward’s apartment.
Jane burst out of the apartment entrance in to the street. It was four thirty two in the morning and dark. the bustling ruins of New York weren’t so bustling at this time; the streets were mostly lined with the sleeping bodies of the forgotten many: men, women and children who were homeless because getting a job meant having an education, something the majority of people didn’t have nowadays. As she walked she looked at the sleeping faces and realized how lucky she was. She'd had a rough day, but these people: they'd had a rough life. She walked and seemed to have been walking in the direction of her motel, but on her way she noticed a little girl, wide awake, wedged in between her two sleeping parents. She motioned for the little girl to come over to her. The little girl stared at her, unperturbed by her request.
Jane produced a small green disc from her inside pocket and flashed it at the little girl who then jumped to her feet and made her way over. By the time the little girl had arrived in front of Jane her parents were awake and staring wide eyed; waiting to see what Jane had in store for their child.
Jane squatted down and asked, “Did you see a man come past here about this high, carrying a bag?”
The child nodded.
“Okay, did you see which way he went at the end of the road?”
“Left,” said the child. Jane placed the green disc in the child’s hand, her parents smiled and the child returned to them.
Left meant east, so he’d gone to the residential districts. That didn’t help Jane in the slightest; she didn’t know who he'd be going to see on that side of town. If he’d have gone right then she’d have had leads to follow up on. Jane went right anyway.
Jane sat in the waiting room outside Watts Daily’s office. Watts Daily was the assistant to the grav-cycle league event coordinator, so he knew before anyone else when and where the next race was going to be held. That was prized information considering the location of a race was only ever announced to the public six hours before it was scheduled to take place.
Jane had been blackmailing him for weeks because, like any good bounty hunter, she knew that the best way to get someone to talk was to dig up some really embarrassing shit and threaten to reveal it to their nearest and dearest. A few weeks earlier Jane had broken in to Watts' office, hacked his computer and found photographs of beautiful women peeing all over his chest and face. Watts had a piss fetish and luckily for Jane he didn’t want his wife or children to know.
Watts' Secretary answered the phone and then looked over at Jane and said “You can go through now honey.”
Jane burst through the door making Watts flinch.
“Hey Watts, you piss loving ponce. I want the details for the next race. I won't ask twice”
“Oh charming. I do always look forward to your visits,” Watts said.
Jane sat in the chair opposite Watts and put her feet on his desk. “Well I’m a heart beat away from getting real charming with your folks, I’m sure they’d love to see your collection.”
Watts rolled his eyes. “Alright, alright, It’s in Hei Long on Tuesday”
“Oh great, why’d he pick that shit hole?”
“Don’t ask me. You think I want to go there?”
“Eddie got a preference when he’s shopping for grav-cycles?” she said.
“Oh, he’s only going to one place with his bank roll, and that’s the scrap heap over on the east side. I’ve heard the guy over there takes pity on him and fixes him up; sad really,” he said.
“Yea whatever. I’ll be back,” she said.
“I’m sure you will,” he said.
Jane set off on her way to the scrap heap on the east side with two things on her mind: her knife and her bounty.
“Fucking weird,” she thought.
With that she moved, or rather hopped, to the sink. She wrapped her mouth around the handle of a carving knife that was on the drying rack, arranged the blade so the sharp end was facing away from her, bent over as much as she could and spat it out. It fell, bounced off her thigh and dropped on to the floor, landing about a meter away.
“Oh for fu—”
Jane eyed the blade then rocked sideways towards it, she fell, landed on the floor and broke her fall with her arm. With the blade now behind her, she started to root around with her bound hands. After about two minutes she eventually grasped the blade; at which point her bindings had loosened enough for her to slip her hands free.
She stood up and looked around for her shimmer blade, but it was nowhere to be found.
“You little shit,” she thought.
“Fine,” she said and grabbed the carving knife from behind the toppled chair then slipped it in to the scabbard concealed inside her cloak.
About ready to go, but with no clue where she should go she checked her watch: her BPM was running at 170.
“Stress’ll do that to a bitch,” she thought and then she paced out of Edward’s apartment.
Jane burst out of the apartment entrance in to the street. It was four thirty two in the morning and dark. the bustling ruins of New York weren’t so bustling at this time; the streets were mostly lined with the sleeping bodies of the forgotten many: men, women and children who were homeless because getting a job meant having an education, something the majority of people didn’t have nowadays. As she walked she looked at the sleeping faces and realized how lucky she was. She'd had a rough day, but these people: they'd had a rough life. She walked and seemed to have been walking in the direction of her motel, but on her way she noticed a little girl, wide awake, wedged in between her two sleeping parents. She motioned for the little girl to come over to her. The little girl stared at her, unperturbed by her request.
Jane produced a small green disc from her inside pocket and flashed it at the little girl who then jumped to her feet and made her way over. By the time the little girl had arrived in front of Jane her parents were awake and staring wide eyed; waiting to see what Jane had in store for their child.
Jane squatted down and asked, “Did you see a man come past here about this high, carrying a bag?”
The child nodded.
“Okay, did you see which way he went at the end of the road?”
“Left,” said the child. Jane placed the green disc in the child’s hand, her parents smiled and the child returned to them.
Left meant east, so he’d gone to the residential districts. That didn’t help Jane in the slightest; she didn’t know who he'd be going to see on that side of town. If he’d have gone right then she’d have had leads to follow up on. Jane went right anyway.
Jane sat in the waiting room outside Watts Daily’s office. Watts Daily was the assistant to the grav-cycle league event coordinator, so he knew before anyone else when and where the next race was going to be held. That was prized information considering the location of a race was only ever announced to the public six hours before it was scheduled to take place.
Jane had been blackmailing him for weeks because, like any good bounty hunter, she knew that the best way to get someone to talk was to dig up some really embarrassing shit and threaten to reveal it to their nearest and dearest. A few weeks earlier Jane had broken in to Watts' office, hacked his computer and found photographs of beautiful women peeing all over his chest and face. Watts had a piss fetish and luckily for Jane he didn’t want his wife or children to know.
Watts' Secretary answered the phone and then looked over at Jane and said “You can go through now honey.”
Jane burst through the door making Watts flinch.
“Hey Watts, you piss loving ponce. I want the details for the next race. I won't ask twice”
“Oh charming. I do always look forward to your visits,” Watts said.
Jane sat in the chair opposite Watts and put her feet on his desk. “Well I’m a heart beat away from getting real charming with your folks, I’m sure they’d love to see your collection.”
Watts rolled his eyes. “Alright, alright, It’s in Hei Long on Tuesday”
“Oh great, why’d he pick that shit hole?”
“Don’t ask me. You think I want to go there?”
“Eddie got a preference when he’s shopping for grav-cycles?” she said.
“Oh, he’s only going to one place with his bank roll, and that’s the scrap heap over on the east side. I’ve heard the guy over there takes pity on him and fixes him up; sad really,” he said.
“Yea whatever. I’ll be back,” she said.
“I’m sure you will,” he said.
Jane set off on her way to the scrap heap on the east side with two things on her mind: her knife and her bounty.
The Failing Frontier 5 - Edward Comes Down Hard
Edward's mouth was parched and dry, and his stomach was twisted with hunger. He rolled onto his side and opened his eyes. The room was dark. Night time. The clock next to the bed read 03:35.
"Hello Eddie," came a voice from the dark. Edward leapt sideways off the bed and grabbed the nearest thing he could get his hands on, holding out in front of him in a defensive stance. It took a couple of seconds, but he realized that the thing he was holding out was the stuffed octopus toy his mother had bought for him as a child, a stylized version of which he'd had stencilled onto every bike he'd ever owned.
"Who... who's there?"
"Ah, come on Eddie," said the voice. "You know me. Titan? The bar fight?"
"J... Jane?"
"Jane," she replied. Then she burst out of the darkness from the space between the wardrobe and the table, and smashed Edward, over his nightstand, shattering the lamp in the process, and onwards into the wall.
"Ow," said Edward. "Whassat for?"
"You pissed off the wrong guy. Decent money for bringing you down, and I'm gonna claim it. Sorry. Just business," and with that she plunged a blade in to his chest.
Edward woke with a start, and sat bolt upright. His mouth was parched and dry, and his stomach was twisted with hunger. His head was pounding from the Reflect. He rubbed at his eyes. It was dark. Middle of the night. He looked at the clock. 03:35.
"Hello Eddie."
Edward didn't hesitate. He went straight for his desk drawer and grabbed the snub-nosed Yutani pistol from its hiding place, pointed it towards the space between the wardrobe and the table and pulled the trigger. The bolt caught Jane mid-air, the blade shimmering in her hand. It didn't arrest her movement, but she doubled up in the middle and landed slumped over him.
"Wakey wakey," said Edward, dumping a bucket full of mostly melted ice over Jane's head. She gasped into consciousness. "Hello Jane. Nice to see you. How are you doing?" He'd tied her to the chair using the cord from the coffee maker.
"You shot me."
"I stunned you. You're lucky there. I wasn't really thinking in the moment, just pulled the trigger. Didn't have it set to kill, so you're still breathing. How you feeling?"
"Untie me."
"Why?"
"You untie me, I forget this happened."
"I don't think so. I saw you on Titan, so I know what you're capable of. Can't trust you even one-tenth as far as I can throw you. Only way I can get you to back off is to have something I can threaten you with. Who hired you?"
Jane sighed. "You know I can't tell you." Edward smiled at her. He picked the pistol back up from the night stand and pointed it at her.
"Jane, I saw you on Titan, which is why I don't trust you, but you saw me there too, so you can believe me when I tell you that I don't want to kill you, but I will if I have to, and you can also trust me when I tell you that this isn't set to stun anymore." He placed the pistol against Jane's forehead and put his finger on the trigger. Who hired you? Ari?"
"Ha! Ari. No. He's in a lot more trouble than you are."
"Then who?" He pressed the barrel hard against her, pushing her head backwards.
Jane grunted, exasperated. "Oren Spillane. Guy hates you. Said you stole from him. Put an open hit out. Good money. There will be others."
"Well, shit."
"Yeah. Untie me?"
"No. I'll send someone for you once I'm far away. You can wait right here."
"Fair enough." Edward started shoving his things into his bag. He gathered it all together in a few seconds, stood and made for the door. "Wait, I have a question," said Jane. Edward stopped, and turned.
"Go ahead," he said.
"How'd you know where I was. I had a shimmer-field on."
"Trade secret. Anything else?"
"Where are you going?"
"Nice try. You'll have to work that one out the hard way."
"Not worth it," she said. "Bigger fish to fry. Watch out for yourself."
"Need anything before I go?"
"Scratch my nose?"
Edward smiled, walked over an obliged. Once Jane was satisfied, she playfully snapped at his fingers with her teeth. Edward jerked away, and she laughed at him. "See you later Eddie," she said.
Edward turned to leave, and before he closed the door behind him he said "it's Edward."
He stepped onto the elevator, and pressed the button for the parking lot. No way he was walking out of the main entrance. He was likely to catch a bullet that way. Oren Spillane had put the hit out on him for something that had happened years before: something Edward thought he had long since gotten away with. Seems like the old junk trader had found out what Edward had done, and now his chickens were coming home to roost.
There were very, very few options available to Edward. Jane had told him that the hit was an open one, which meant that every hunter in his general vicinity with a weapon and a dream in was gunning for him. The only way to call them off would be to force Oren to call off the hit, or to make it so that one way of the other, Oren couldn't pay, but before he could do either, Edward would have to find him. Luckily, Edward knew exactly who to ask.
"Hello Eddie," came a voice from the dark. Edward leapt sideways off the bed and grabbed the nearest thing he could get his hands on, holding out in front of him in a defensive stance. It took a couple of seconds, but he realized that the thing he was holding out was the stuffed octopus toy his mother had bought for him as a child, a stylized version of which he'd had stencilled onto every bike he'd ever owned.
"Who... who's there?"
"Ah, come on Eddie," said the voice. "You know me. Titan? The bar fight?"
"J... Jane?"
"Jane," she replied. Then she burst out of the darkness from the space between the wardrobe and the table, and smashed Edward, over his nightstand, shattering the lamp in the process, and onwards into the wall.
"Ow," said Edward. "Whassat for?"
"You pissed off the wrong guy. Decent money for bringing you down, and I'm gonna claim it. Sorry. Just business," and with that she plunged a blade in to his chest.
Edward woke with a start, and sat bolt upright. His mouth was parched and dry, and his stomach was twisted with hunger. His head was pounding from the Reflect. He rubbed at his eyes. It was dark. Middle of the night. He looked at the clock. 03:35.
"Hello Eddie."
Edward didn't hesitate. He went straight for his desk drawer and grabbed the snub-nosed Yutani pistol from its hiding place, pointed it towards the space between the wardrobe and the table and pulled the trigger. The bolt caught Jane mid-air, the blade shimmering in her hand. It didn't arrest her movement, but she doubled up in the middle and landed slumped over him.
"Wakey wakey," said Edward, dumping a bucket full of mostly melted ice over Jane's head. She gasped into consciousness. "Hello Jane. Nice to see you. How are you doing?" He'd tied her to the chair using the cord from the coffee maker.
"You shot me."
"I stunned you. You're lucky there. I wasn't really thinking in the moment, just pulled the trigger. Didn't have it set to kill, so you're still breathing. How you feeling?"
"Untie me."
"Why?"
"You untie me, I forget this happened."
"I don't think so. I saw you on Titan, so I know what you're capable of. Can't trust you even one-tenth as far as I can throw you. Only way I can get you to back off is to have something I can threaten you with. Who hired you?"
Jane sighed. "You know I can't tell you." Edward smiled at her. He picked the pistol back up from the night stand and pointed it at her.
"Jane, I saw you on Titan, which is why I don't trust you, but you saw me there too, so you can believe me when I tell you that I don't want to kill you, but I will if I have to, and you can also trust me when I tell you that this isn't set to stun anymore." He placed the pistol against Jane's forehead and put his finger on the trigger. Who hired you? Ari?"
"Ha! Ari. No. He's in a lot more trouble than you are."
"Then who?" He pressed the barrel hard against her, pushing her head backwards.
Jane grunted, exasperated. "Oren Spillane. Guy hates you. Said you stole from him. Put an open hit out. Good money. There will be others."
"Well, shit."
"Yeah. Untie me?"
"No. I'll send someone for you once I'm far away. You can wait right here."
"Fair enough." Edward started shoving his things into his bag. He gathered it all together in a few seconds, stood and made for the door. "Wait, I have a question," said Jane. Edward stopped, and turned.
"Go ahead," he said.
"How'd you know where I was. I had a shimmer-field on."
"Trade secret. Anything else?"
"Where are you going?"
"Nice try. You'll have to work that one out the hard way."
"Not worth it," she said. "Bigger fish to fry. Watch out for yourself."
"Need anything before I go?"
"Scratch my nose?"
Edward smiled, walked over an obliged. Once Jane was satisfied, she playfully snapped at his fingers with her teeth. Edward jerked away, and she laughed at him. "See you later Eddie," she said.
Edward turned to leave, and before he closed the door behind him he said "it's Edward."
He stepped onto the elevator, and pressed the button for the parking lot. No way he was walking out of the main entrance. He was likely to catch a bullet that way. Oren Spillane had put the hit out on him for something that had happened years before: something Edward thought he had long since gotten away with. Seems like the old junk trader had found out what Edward had done, and now his chickens were coming home to roost.
There were very, very few options available to Edward. Jane had told him that the hit was an open one, which meant that every hunter in his general vicinity with a weapon and a dream in was gunning for him. The only way to call them off would be to force Oren to call off the hit, or to make it so that one way of the other, Oren couldn't pay, but before he could do either, Edward would have to find him. Luckily, Edward knew exactly who to ask.
Friday, July 6, 2018
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.
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..."
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..."
Thursday, July 5, 2018
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."
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