Ambrose, a cyberpunk tale

Ambrose, A Cyberpunk Tale Part 3

"Gentleman, government contracts typically go to the most affordable bidder, and in this case that would be you two. The board, in their infinite wisdom, has decided that hiring a couple of cheap cell Fixers makes more sense than increasing the budget and just paying a second tier Fixer who could do the job correctly." Mr. Boyd gave both Fixers in front of him a long look that silenced both men's protests.

"You can leave if you don't like the idea of working together. I can find someone to replace you. No takers? Very well. The target is Dr. Fleming, our chief researcher, kidnapped and being held for auction to the highest bidder. Your parameters are simple: rescue Dr. Fleming via whatever means necessary, but do so quietly! As a sanctioned government contract, you will have temporary immunity from the police, but do not let this get out to any news network. It would make us look weak if tomorrow's headline shows that we can't protect our people; and that's not the image we need right now. If this leaks to the news, you will not get paid, and I'll make sure your blacklisted and burned so badly that not even the stimmed out hobos will want to share a cardboard box with you. Am I clear?" Politicians are good at assuming control and looking down their noses at everyone, but Fixers carry their own chips on their shoulders, too. Before Abmrose could cut loose, the Fixer next to him spoke.

"Bruv, you dun wan' dis man-child on a stealth mission. I seen 'im twa hour gone, 'e so off stealth you con 'lieve it. Ims a suicide for dis; take my honor on it." Rusty had a thick lunar accent that Mr. Boyd was clearly having difficulty understanding. Rusty also happened to be the same Fixer at the Auged Leprechaun who had seen the fight with Lex. If he had been impressed then, he didn't show it now. The other Fixer's eyes were auged, covered with red lenses that probably gave him night optic capabilities or perhaps enhanced his vision. He openly wore stim ports on various parts of his body: one for pleasure on his neck, one on the back of his shaved head for mental stims, and a few others for muscle, speed, and reflex stims. His equipment wasn't bad either. He wore a Shield on his forearm in matte black. It was the equivalent of ballistic armor and energy armor all rolled into one; only a Saber could pierce it. Like all Shields though, it had to be activated before use, making it impractical for defense against surprise attacks. Probably why Rusty was currently wearing light ballistic armor. The pair of Saber knives he carried were clearly designed for execution work, not a fight like Ambrose's heavy blade. Rusty also carried a railgun with a couple of suppressor mods. In short, everything about him screamed a Fixer who could only do one thing: sneak.

Fixers had one job they had to be good at, and that was everything. With the advancement of augmetics, stimulants, and Shield and Saber technology, what once took a specifically trained ops team to do could now be accomplished by one man. This is what set Fixers apart from hitmen, assassins, thieves, couriers, bodyguards, kidnappers and every other clandestine job out there. A Fixer, in theory, could do it all. This explained why such a low government contract could afford to pay for someone like Rusty with all his very expensive gear; he clearly wasn't a good Fixer if sneaking was all he was good for. Then again... Ambrose self-consciously glanced at his reflection in Mr. Boyd's family portrait. He had no armor, definitely no Shields, and no fancy guns except for the Goose and the Elmington needler on its way to be delivered. He hoped that gave him a mysterious edge, and not a broke looking edge.

Mr. Boyd was still staring blankly at Rusty who was staring back with equal incredulity. Ambrose sighed and took it upon himself to translate.

"Rusty here thinks I am incapable of successfully executing a stealth mission. I don't mind translating the lunar dialect for you, as my record speaks for itself."

"Mr. Rusty," the Fixer's face screwed up as though he'd bitten into bad fruit at the title given him, "your no doubt warranted criticisms of Mr. 'Brose notwithstanding, the department has elected to move forward with him as a sanctioned agent for this project. Be thankful that you also have been afforded the same grace." It sounded to Ambrose like a little research on Rusty before they began would not be amiss.