Chapter Nineteen - Hardware


    Chapter Nineteen - Hardware


    In the 80s and 90s people kind of assumed that the future would be cyborgs. We have early sci-fi and movies like Robocop to thank for that, I think. Theres something romantic about a person combining their weak flesh and powerful technology.


    Unfortunately, romantic and realistic arent the same.


    --Techtransitionalism, a video essay, 2040


    ***


    I sat on my bike, adjusted my helmet, then finally decided to look at where Id be heading to.


    I had a noon-time appointment with one Peter Silverbloom, a man that Id met in person all of once and yet whom I still kind of just... trusted.


    Peter was a bit of a weirdo, but he wasnt a bad sort. In fact, it was the opposite. He struck me as very nice. Not a saint or anything, but maybe the closest thing to that in a shithole like New Montreal. His service record was basically nothing but volunteer and non-profit work, and not the hyper-corporatized sort that was flashy and self-serving, but actual get-your-hands-dirty work.


    And I had an appointment with him in about half an hour.


    So, where are you, Mister Silverbloom, I muttered.


    Im assuming that was a rhetorical?


    More or less, I said. Did he send his location for this meeting?


    Via email three days ago, then he sent three corrections since.


    Wow, he really cant decide where to meet? Is there a common thread here? Should I be worried about traps or something? I asked. My map app opened up and pins appeared in the locations that I assumed he wanted to meet in. They were all lower city spots, mostly close to the more urban parts of the city, but that was the only common thread that I could see at a glance.


    Every location is a different non-profit. I dug into it out of curiosity, and it mostly seems as though Peter is just a busy man. His attention is constantly being diverted to issues with different groups within the city. He is quite good at putting out metaphorical fires.


    Huh. I guess that makes sense. This guys not gonna live long if hes spending this much time chasing after problems. He wont be able to fix every problem in New Montreal. I turned my bike on and then gently rolled it off the side of the building. My flight drooped for a bit before I started to fly properly and then did a long, slow circle of our home.


    His success rate at solving those problems is quite impressive, and his record suggests someone who is genuinely selfless. Im happy to see you help him as it might help a lot of others.


    As far as I can tell its mostly safe.


    Mostly?


    Theres a drug production facility two floors down that doesnt meet even the loosest of safety standards, there are several dozen armed people on this floor, and hundreds more across the rest of the building, there are addicts and gang-affiliated people spread around you, but for the most part, the local threats are unlikely to be able or willing to harm you.


    Right, so mostly safe, I said.


    The place Peter wanted to meet me at was in the centre of the building. There was an open space where a bunch of corridors came and met in what might have been supposed to be a sort of town square area. There were two automated fast food places, a couple of boarded up stores, a pawn shop, and to one side a place called Death Bread, which was apparently where we were supposed to meet.


    I slipped into the entrance and took a look around. It was a bakery, of sorts. The food looked... actually, kind of decent. Next to all the prices--which were all in the low hundreds of credits, some even in the double-digits--were little plaques with expiration dates. Most of those were a few days ago.


    A young woman came up to me, she had a smile, and no eyes. Her hand reached out to shake, and I realized that it was a skeletal prosthetic, one of those older cyborg arms. You must be Catherine, she said. The upper half of her face was a cavity with plastic skin and a trio of cybernetic eyes.


    Yeah, thats me, I said. You dont look like Peter, unless he had a serious makeover?


    She snorted. Nah, Peters in the back dealing with something. I can tell him to drop it, if you want. Its probably not that important?


    No, its fine, I said. So, youre his... assistant?


    She shook her head a little. Her shirts neckline was just loose enough to reveal that her neck was reinforced. No, Im Laura. Friends call me See-Three. Peter called me over for a consult, of sorts, if you wanna borrow the corpo term. Nice arm, by the way.


    Thanks. A consult, huh?


    Laura nodded. He said you were donating a bunch of prosthetics. Dont know where youre getting them, or what sort they are, but I know my metal bits better than anyone else.


    Howd Peter find you?


    I work for a charity that fixes folks'' cyberware for cheap. Poorly installed gear is a nightmare. Cheap gear is awful. Combine the two and you can make someones life not worth living real fast. Been there myself, so I try to help where I can.


    That sounds like exactly what we need, I said.


    A door further into the bakery opened, and Peter came out. He saw me, then smiled. It was time to get to work, it looked like.


    ***