Shadowrun, page 1
part #1 of A Shadowrun Novella, #22 Series
SHADOWRUN: UNREPAIRABLE
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A SHADOWRUN NOVELLA, #22
JENNIFER BROZEK
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
About the Author
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Copyright
ONE
“—Now that you have the obsolete battery out, all you need to do is replace it with a functioning one. Don’t forget to dispose of the old battery properly—recycling is best.”
A pair of gloved hands wearing a homemade rigger’s tool kit that included biometric pistons, finger protectors, holding clamps, and a micro-welder, put the old battery to the side then snapped the new battery into the Mitsuhama M3 Music Streamer with a deft turn of the fingers.
“Close it up and remember to seal the case fully, or it will send an error to the corp when you turn it back on. We all know you don’t want that and why.”
The right hand pointed their index finger at the device’s edge. A laser from the fingertip pulsed in several rapid flickers of light. Thin wisps of smoke rose and disappeared as the case was sealed.
“You can buff out the scorch marks or wrap your M3 in stickers, and no one will be the wiser except for you.”
Both hands turned over the Mitsuhama M3 Music Streamer, showing the sealed edge to the viewer in slow movements, allowing those who watched from AR or a flat screen to see the work done.
After putting the music player on the workbench, the hands flourished over it as the modulated voice said:
“I’m the Right2RepairRigger, and that’s all I’ve got for you today. Remember, if you own it, you have the right to repair it. Thank you.”
The workbench with the music player framed by the rigger’s hands faded out, leaving the Right2RepairRigger logo—a gloved hand wearing the rigger toolkit holding a screwdriver—floating there for a couple of seconds before the recording ended.
“Got it.” Landon said as he stopped the recording. “That’s a good one. I’ll have it edited in no time. Thanks for fixing my music streamer.”
The twins worked in what they called “the studio.” It was, in fact, the fourth bedroom on the third floor of the large farmhouse they lived in with their guardians well outside the Omaha sprawl. Once Landon and Liana had shown interest in making content for the Matrix, the ability to do so, and a willingness to work hard on it, their aunt and uncle “gifted” them the room the year before as part of a birthday present. They approved of a “hobby” that both kids liked, did at home, and worked together on.
“It’s what I do. Fix things that need fixing.” Liana pulled her rigger gloves and obfuscation shield off, but left her smartgoggles hanging around her neck. The shield kept her face safe from whatever she worked on while keeping the masses from knowing who the Right2RepairRigger was. That, the gloves, and her brother’s voice modulator, as well as his ability to hide where they uploaded from. Lord knew the identity of the Right2RepairRigger was a hotly debated topic on the forums. Of course, most of the forum members assumed she was a he.
“Who do you think will comment first? And which repair video is going out today?”
Her brother paused to scroll through his internal feed. He always had one eye on the Matrix—literally. One of his eyes had been replaced after the car accident that had changed their lives forever. It wasn’t pretty, but it was handy. She still had to use cyberglasses or, more often these days, smartgoggles. Eventually, she would be able to pay for implants and be old enough to get them without a permission slip.
“Today? The Highstar Entertainment Bracer. Clunky thing, but it’s got that cool retro feel.”
She nodded. “Something about it appeals to the makerspace crowd. It’s the retro future that never was.”
Landon watched his feed as the automatic scheduler sent their latest offering out into the Matrix to various entertainment sites. “As for comments? I don’t know. It’s usually a race between NobodysNobody, Gr4sssnek, and RainbowDark42. Either way, it’ll probably be good.” He turned from his internal view to look at her. “Next week though, comments will be off the charts. People have been asking for a fix for the M3 battery issue for months. ‘Planned obsolescence’ my butt.”
“As long as the nuyen keeps coming in.” Liana put her tools away as she’d been taught by her aunt and uncle. She closed the Right2RepairRigger workbench set up they’d built into the rear of the wardrobe, covered it with the false wall, and shifted the clothing they used as camouflage back into place. While their guardians approved of their “hobby,” that didn’t mean the rest of the world did. Especially the megacorporations who tried their hardest to keep people from repairing what could be fixed instead of buying something new. Some of them had succeeded in making repairs impossible or, in some cases, illegal.
A clean workshop is a workable workshop, she thought as she looked around the studio room, double-checking that everything was in its place except for a couple small tools. The saying didn’t make a lot of sense to her, but she knew what it meant, and it kept their guardians happy.
Speaking of which… She glanced at her watch—an old analog thing with an actual ticking second hand—almost 8 a.m. That meant—
“Landon! Liana! Get a move on!”
“Yes, Aunt Bea,” both called back while neither one hurried their steps. They still had an hour before they were required to login to school, and it wasn’t like they worried about what they wore, other than that it was comfortable. Not to mention it was the last day of the school year, final grades had already gone out, and no one cared what anyone did other than show up.
Liana finished putting her gear away and beat Landon to the bathroom. While she was in there, he watched the comments roll in on the bracer trideo. “The winner is Nobody,” he called then read, “‘I’ve got one of these bracers too. Kept it because it looked good. Maybe I’ll actually fix it now.’”
“Nobody was my guess.” She opened the bathroom door, long brown hair brushed and looking neat enough for now. “He’s a rabbit commentor. Also, he’s always saying he’s going to fix things. I never know if he does. He doesn’t share with me. You gonna comb your hair?”
Landon ran both hands through his short brown locks and grinned as his hair stuck out in all directions. Liana shook her head, then bolted for the stairs. Landon beat her to them. Their thundered steps announced their presence before they entered the kitchen.
It was a small but cozy room. Worn down or “worn in with love,” as Aunt Bea liked to say as she fixed one thing or another. One half was Aunt Bea’s domain, where the cooking and cleaning happened. The other half was the kitchen table, where breakfast always was. It was the one thing their guardians had insisted on: breakfast together every morning. Other meals depended on the day, the schedule, and who was (or wasn’t) cooking.
Used to their antics, Uncle Oscar didn’t bat an eye nor turn from his electronic paper. “Calm…calm. I didn’t order a herd of horses today,” he said. “There’s enough for both of you even if you both eat like horses.”
Aunt Bea put full plates of eggs (from the family hens), tomatoes (from the garden), and soy bacon in front of them. She tapped the ever-present smartgoggles around Liana’s neck. “Off.” As Liana complied with a guilty smile, she asked, “How many days of school left in the year?”
The twins rolled their eyes in sync. As if she didn’t know. “Just today,” Liana answered in a polite tone. “Morning assembly and graduation and stuff. Then we’re out for three months.”
Landon scowled. “I don’t know why they couldn’t just email all that. It’s not like…I don’t know…who cares?”
“Because some of us like to watch ‘that stuff’.” Aunt Bea kissed the top of Landon’s head. He accepted this with reluctant grace.
Uncle Oscar put his e-paper down. “So, school’s just about done.”
The twins nodded and grinned, anticipating what was to come.
“And you’re both fourteen now. Legally allowed to take on a part-time job in the great state of Nebraska.” He eyed them over his reading glasses. “I suppose that means you’ll both be looking for work soon.”
They glanced at each other again. This was something they’d talked about in depth. They each had hobbies that needed more nuyen than the meager allowance they earned each week—especially since their guardians insisted that after they got their allowance, they put some in “savings” for later. Truth be told, they didn’t need the Bank of Uncle Oscar for their “savings” account. They had a real one under a hidden SIN.
Then again…neither of them really wanted their aunt and uncle to understand how much money was coming in through the Right2RepairRigger gig. Not to mention that money was earmarked for the nebulous future: future school, future gear, future home. Both of them had learned far too early that this was a cruel world, and in the end, they needed to take care of each other, because no one else would.
Landon nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Got any ideas about where you want to work?” He addressed the question to both of them, leaning forward.
Liana suppressed a smile, watching her uncle’s eyes twinkle. The way he asked the question made her think that he thought he already knew the answer. She thought Landon might catch him off guard. Not her, though. “I thought I’d see if I could get a job repairing stuff. You know, maybe at Michael’s Makerspace.”
His furry gray eyebrows raised in what seemed like mock surprise. “You did, did you? You talk to Clyst already?”
Her smile faltered, uncertain if he was pleased or not. Sometimes, it was hard to tell. “No sir. But I thought Wells Repair Shop already had a master repair person—you—as well as a couple of part-timers, and didn’t need me.”
“We’ll talk about that in a moment.” He turned his gaze on Landon. “And you, Mr. Hoffman, do you already have a plan?”
Landon leaned back and finished his mouthful before he answered. “I’m going into business for myself. Lots of little places around here really could use a much better Matrix presence. The repair shop for one. Michael’s Makerspace for another. I’m not sure how anyone who isn’t local finds them. I’m sure I could drum up enough business for one summer creating websites, forums, and e-stores. That kind of thing.”
Uncle Oscar nodded. The twinkle in his eyes disappeared as something more serious took its place. “Got it all figured out, do you, eh? Both of you?”
Liana looked away. “Unless the repair shop could use someone to repair all that old tech and other stuff you just bought from the flea market. And…you want me working for you?”
“Well, normally I’d just let y’all go on and make your own mistakes...” their uncle began.
Aunt Bea interrupted with a soft but firm, “Oscar.”
Uncle Oscar cut his eyes to his wife then took a breath. “But that’s not what I’m gonna do this time. You—” he nodded to Liana, “—can work for me anytime. I think you’re excellent at what you do. Standard pay per hour, just like any freelancer, above your normal allowance as long as you get all your chores done. However, if you’d rather try your hand working for someone else first, who am I to stop you?”
“I’d rather work for you—” Liana quieted when he held up a hand.
“I’d rather you work for me, too. But it will be a real job with real responsibilities. We’ll talk formal contract later.” He focused on Landon. “Now you.”
Landon sat up straighter. “Yes, sir?”
Uncle Oscar pursed his lips. “What you want to do has merit, but you gotta realize half the megacorps would rather see people like me in jail and our shops banned. There’s a reason I call it ‘Wells Repair Shop’ and not ‘Wells Repair and Refurbished Parts Shop.’ No one likes the little guy if they think it cuts into the profit margin. And I do cut into their profits. I fix things for people. I turn trash into treasure and resell it. They hate that.” He flicked his gaze to include Liana. “Don’t get me started on how much they hate that little repair show of yours.”
“But—” Landon started then stopped when Oscar shook his head.
“Let me finish, son. I don’t want to stomp on anyone’s dreams and, yeah, some of us smaller shop owners could use a better Matrix presence. Not all of us. We get away with what we do because we aren’t very big and we’re not inside the heart of the Omaha sprawl. We’re not worth the effort. We’re out here in the boonies, where people are very happy keeping to our time-honored tradition of fixing what’s broke and making do before buying new. Most people in the world don’t know what it’s like to live in a home like this.” He gestured to the house’s well-loved interior. “They’re used to living in apartments, on top of each other. We’re the strange ones, living in an actual house. Even if it’s above and behind the shop. We don’t do things the way they do.”
The shop—Wells Repair Shop—wasn’t originally part of the house. It was an addition Oscar’s family had added to the front of the building when the Wells family went into business generations ago. At the time, it had been cheaper to add onto the house than to rent a building and work yard closer to the city.
Oscar tapped the discarded e-paper. “The news is full of ‘little guy gone bad’ stories and how the corps have ‘saved the day.’ They pillory the outsider and the unknown.” He tapped the e-paper again. “Who knows what actually happened when the corps own the media outlets—all of ’em. They control the story.”
Aunt Bea shifted at the kitchen counter, wiping her hands with a towel. “He’s not saying don’t do it, Landon. He’s saying be careful what you do and how you do it. Some of us can’t afford any more attention than we’re already getting—literally and figuratively. Especially right now.”
They all stopped for a moment and thought about the upheaval happening mere kilometers away from them. The UCAS was no more in this area. The Sioux Nation hadn’t moved in just yet, but they were on the way. That meant there really wasn’t much of a government anymore. Yes, there was still the duly elected mayor and city council members of Ralston. But with Omaha to the northeast and Offutt Air Force Base to the southeast, they’d entered into a time of “no-man’s land.” Already the abandoned military base had been gutted. Some of what had been found was hidden in the Wells Repair Shop backyard or storage lot.
That was why the corps were moving in and “taking care” of as much land, buildings, and businesses they could buy, borrow, or steal from those who actually owned them. The corps had to get everything all legal before the next government came in and started looking into things. It was all about precedence.
Landon looked up and saw his uncle watching him, and knew he needed to let the old man know he’d been heard. “Okay, so I can do what I want…try to start up my freelance Matrix hosting business, but I need to be aware that not everyone wants the press, and even if they do, they may not be able to pay for it?”
Uncle Oscar nodded and twirled his fingers for Landon to keep going.
“But, on all accounts, I need to understand that the megacorps don’t want the little guy to succeed. So my business plan needs to give the businesses I approach options that include security and, um, obfuscation?”
“Something like that. Before you go out and approach people, you need to plan out what you’re willing to do and for how long, and price it accordingly. Also, you need to make sure your business paperwork is in order.” Uncle Oscar looked at the two of them. “Working officially means taxes. Who we will be paying ’em to? That’s anyone’s guess next year, but you’ll need paperwork and to save up for your taxes. Both of you. Freelancing is self-employment.”
“But,” Aunt Bea interrupted in a firm voice that told everyone this particular conversation was over, “that’s a thought for next week. After your last login for the year, you’ve got the rest of the week off to go play and be teenagers. Just promise me you won’t get into too much trouble.”
The twins both nodded.
Uncle Oscar raised a finger, “And no salvaging at Offutt. I’m serious. That well’s gone dry and too many desperate people are moving in. It’s “Offutt limits” from now on, you hear me?”
Liana groaned as Landon covered his face with his hands. “That was terrible.”
Aunt Bea beamed at her husband. “I thought it was pretty good, honey.”
Uncle Oscar grinned and winked at her then made shooing motions with his hands. “Off you go. Do school, then go play.”
The teenagers finished the last of their meal with hasty mouthfuls before depositing their dishes in the sink.
TWO
Hours later, Liana and Landon pedaled down the asphalt road on their electric bikes, headed to the Makerspace. The fields on either side of the cracked road were filled with new growth—corn, wheat, soybeans, and sorghum—giving a green tint and a growing smell to the world that usually wasn’t there.
With school done for the year, they were both in high spirits, and didn’t mind the ten-kilometer ride in the mild spring heat. Michael’s Makerspace wasn’t in the Omaha sprawl. It was a good halfway point to it. That made it close enough for both sprawl kids and urban kids to meet there.
