By mid-afternoon, my workshop was filled with the sharp scent of solder and the soft whir of Gizmo's diagnostic cycle. After the chaos at the bazaar this morning, the familiar tinkering of home felt almost serene. Almost.
I sat hunched over my workbench, visor down over my eyes as I meticulously welded a tiny actuator back into place inside Gizmo's shoulder joint. The little mech-cat had earned his battle scars today, and I was determined to patch him up good as new. Gizmo lay patiently on his side, innards exposed, occasionally giving a questioning chirp whenever my soldering iron sparked.
"Hold still, you drama queen," I chided softly, a smirk on my lips. Gizmo responded with an indignant mechanical purr. Chuckling, I snapped the metal plating back over his repaired joint. "There. Better than ever. Next time some gorilla tries to toss you, you'll land on all fours."
As if understanding, Gizmo hopped off the bench and executed a quick leap onto a high shelf, then down to the floor, testing his limb. Satisfied, he scampered back and wound between my boots. I reached down to scratch behind his ear. "Good as gold."
My eyes drifted to the sleek black neural core resting in a padded case on my desk. After returning from the bazaar, I'd locked it away, but curiosity drew me back for another peek. Countless ideas danced in my mind about what I could build with such a prize.
Nyra's warning echoed in my thoughts. With a sigh, I snapped the case shut. This thing was as dangerous as it was exciting. Better to keep it hidden and safe for now.
A sudden knock at the workshop door jolted me out of my thoughts. I wasn't expecting Nyra or any customers today. Instinctively, I shoved the core's case under a pile of scrap schematics and wiped my hands on a rag.
The knock came again, three brisk raps against the metal door. Gizmo trotted over, tail twitching, and emitted a low curious trill.
I pressed myself against the wall beside the door. "Who is it?" I called, one hand hovering near a heavy wrench on my tool rack.
"Name's Ash," came a male voice from the other side. "Heard you can fix just about anything."
The tone was calm, even friendly, definitely not a ticked-off ganger. I frowned. I didn't advertise my services, so how'd this guy find me?
I eased the door open a crack, keeping the chain latch in place. Outside stood a lean man with ash-blond hair and a black armored jacket hanging open. He looked at me with one hazel eye and one cybernetic eye that glowed faintly, an easy grin on his face.
No obvious weapons except a knife at his belt. He seemed relaxed, like this was just a social call.
"Shop's closed," I said flatly. "Come back later."
"Aw, don't be like that." The stranger's grin widened. "Spent all day tracking down the best mechanic in the Reach, that'd be you."
"Flattery doesn't pay my rent," I retorted, but kept the door cracked. Secretly, I was surprised my name made anyone's list of "bests."
Ash shrugged. "Asked around. Your name came up a lot, apparently there's a 'tinkerer girl with a robot cat' who fixes things. Word gets around, huh?"
I silently cursed that little bit of semi-notoriety. Lower Reach gossip at its finest.
Gizmo squeezed against my ankle and stuck his whiskered face out the door crack, eyeing the visitor. Ash's cybernetic eye focused on the cat, and his grin widened. "Well, would you look at that. Did you build him?"
"I did," I answered, pride mixing with caution, because it's Gizmo first day 'Alive'.
Ash nodded appreciatively. "Got something broken that needs that kind of expert touch. Word is you're the genius for the job." Gizmo, deciding the stranger was a threat, but gave a tiny approving beep.
One hand still on the door frame, I met Ash's gaze, one human eye, one faintly lit cybernetic. "You carrying anything heavier than that sticker?" I nodded at the knife.
Ash held his hands up innocently. "Just the knife. Figured I'd leave the big guns at home this time."
I sighed. Probably still dangerous, but… I unlatched the door and opened it enough for him to step through. "Fine. Come in. Briefly."
Ash stepped inside, eyes sweeping over the cluttered space. His gaze lingered for a second on my desk where the schematics (and hidden core) lay, but he said nothing.
He gave a low whistle. "Cozy setup."
"Thanks," I deadpanned, closing the door behind him. I wasn't about to trade decorating tips. "So, what do you need fixed?"
Ash reached into his jacket and set a small quadcopter drone on my bench. Military-grade by the looks of it, one rotor snapped off, black burn streaks marring its casing.
"Looks fried," I remarked, noting the scorch marks.
Ash sighed. "You're not wrong. Last job, the poor thing ate an EMP blast. Fried the controls and maybe more. Hoping you can revive it or at least extract the memory data I need."
I crossed my arms. "EMP mines and military gear... You lead an interesting life. Not a cop, I'm guessing."
Ash barked a short laugh. "Me? No. More like a freelancer who isn't afraid of bending rules." He patted the drone. "Little guy was part of my last contract. If I can get its data back, I get paid. If not, I'm out of luck."
I picked up the drone, examining the damage closely. "I can try. Got any spare parts?"
Ash produced a small pouch of components, a replacement rotor and a couple of matching circuit chips.
"You come prepared," I noted, impressed despite myself.
He flashed another grin. "I try."
I donned my magnifier goggles and got to work. In relative silence, I pried out burnt components and soldered in the spares Ash provided, improvising connections where necessary. Ash watched quietly; I felt his gaze but tuned it out. The drone was high-grade tech, and fixing it was a challenge I relished.
Within fifteen minutes, I'd swapped the fried control chip and rotor. "Moment of truth," I said, setting the drone upright. I hit reset.
For a second, nothing. Then its lights flickered on, and the rotors began to spin. The drone lifted itself shakily off the bench.
"Well, look at that," I said, allowing myself a small smile. I grabbed the drone and powered it back down before the jury-rigged rotor failed. Popping open a side panel, I extracted its data drive and handed it to Ash. "Memory's intact. I'd download that data sooner than later, my fix won't hold forever."
Ash exhaled in relief and gave me an appreciative nod. "You just saved me a lot of trouble."
"Standard fee's 200 credits," I said, removing my goggles.
Ash tapped a few buttons on his wrist holo. My comm pinged, 300 credits transferred.
"Bonus for fast service," he said with a wink.
I pocketed my device. "Pleasure doing business."
Ash carefully tucked the drone back into his jacket. Gizmo wandered over and sniffed at Ash's boots, apparently charmed. Ash crouched, experimentally scratching Gizmo behind a metal ear. Gizmo shamelessly leaned into it.
"So," I said, arms crossed. "That all you needed?"
"Actually," Ash replied, his tone turning more serious, "I've got another job coming up. More complex than a drone fix. Could use someone with your skills. Good pay. Some risks. Interested?"
I raised an eyebrow. A dangerous job with a merc I just met, probably a terrible idea. Yet, tempting. "What exactly do you have in mind?"
Ash flashed a disarming smile. "How about we discuss it over a drink? Neutral ground, public place. Bar a few blocks over, my treat."
I mulled it over. Ash hadn't given me a reason to distrust him, yet, and the mention of good pay piqued my interest. "Give me five minutes. Meet you outside."
"Take your time," Ash said, heading for the door. "I'll be right out here."
The moment he stepped outside, I turned to Gizmo. "What do you think? Potentially crazy?"
Gizmo replied with a soft beep, not exactly a vote, but I chose to take it as encouragement.
I quickly stashed the neural core back in its secret safe and armed the makeshift alarm on the door. After pulling on my jacket and verifying the comforting weight of my pistol, I stepped out, Gizmo trotting at my heel.
Ash waited at the mouth of the alley, leaning against a wall as dusk cast the sky in a dull orange glow. He looked up and smiled. "Ready?"
I locked up behind me. Gizmo padded out, taking up position at my side. "Ready."
Together, we set off down the alley, an unlikely trio. I didn't know if I was walking into trouble or opportunity. Either way, one thing was clear: it sure beat a boring night in the workshop.