The Osiris Shift (Trinity Sprawl Book 1) Read online

  The Osiris Shift

  Copyright © 2021 by I.J. Gable. All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and should not be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  “To my Mom and Dad, for telling me to finish it. I’m forever grateful.”

  Content

  Case Entry 1

  Case Entry 2

  Case Entry 3

  Case Entry 4

  Case Entry 5

  Case Entry 6

  Case Entry 7

  Case Entry 8

  Case Entry 9

  Case Entry 10

  Case Entry 11

  Case Entry 12

  Case Entry 13

  Case Entry 14

  Case Entry 15

  Case Entry 16

  Case Entry 17

  Case Entry 18

  Case Entry 19

  Case Entry 20

  Case Entry 21

  Case Entry 22

  Case Entry 23

  Case Entry 24

  Case Entry 25

  Case Entry 26

  Case Entry 27

  Case Entry 28

  Case Entry 29

  Case Entry 30

  Case Entry 31

  Case Entry 32

  Case Entry 33

  Case Entry 34

  Case Entry 35

  Case Entry 36

  Case Entry 37

  Case Entry 38

  Case Entry 39

  Case Entry 40

  Case Entry 41

  Case Entry 42

  Case Entry 43

  Case Entry 44

  Case Entry 45

  Case Entry 46

  Case Entry 47

  Case Entry 48

  Case Entry 49

  Case Entry 50

  Case Entry 51

  Case Entry 52

  Case Entry 53

  Case Entry 54

  Case Entry 55

  Case Entry 56

  Case Entry 57

  Case Entry 58

  Case Entry 59

  Case Entry 60

  Case Entry 61

  Case Entry 62

  Case Entry 63

  Case Entry 1

  Have you ever had a day go so bad that it left you feeling numb? I’m talking physically, mentally, and spiritually numb? It’s funny really, your senses seem to give up on you. It’s like all the color has been bleached from the world and your eyes can only perceive in muted tones.

  Every noise comes at a distance making anyone talking to you sound like an adult from that twentieth century classic cartoon series Peanuts. Wah wah wah Wah wah. Don’t know what that is? Do your brain a favor and go search for it in the cloud you heathen. All hail the Great Pumpkin.

  The worst part is the loss of sensation and purpose. You move, you just have to move. Perhaps it’s the subconscious mind’s attempt to move you away from the source of trauma or the physical need to just be anywhere else. Regardless of how or why you simply move with reckless purposeful abandonment.

  Usually, in straight lines, bumping into anything in your way. Like one of those home robotic vacuum cleaners. Soon something hits you and spins you around in a new direction and you continue to move. I was that little robot, getting hit and spun around, simply, desperately, looking for direction.

  With the physical sensation dulled, I could walk onto a knife twenty times before I realized it was there and I was dying from it. This was the state I found myself in. Damn what a fantastically colossal screw up of a day that could spell the end of my professional career. That’s right Breck, no one is going to trust a Fixer that just got his team killed.

  I know as a Fixer it was my responsibility to find the job, vet the job, match a team of Runners to the job, facilitate planning, gather information, as well as provide command and control backup when the Runners hit the field. I know what my job is and I know that sometimes things go wrong. But this went wrong in so many ways I can’t comprehend it. They knew we were coming and that was all it could have been.

  I took another bump to the shoulder. This time hard enough to send me sprawling off to the side and into a wall jarring me back into reality with some profanity. What it lacked in eloquence was made up for in vehemence. I rested there for a moment, shoulder and face braced against the hard plastic concrete wall letting my senses come back to the fore. The last thing I remembered was watching the team’s vid feeds as they died, very badly, to a well planned and executed ambush.

  I sighed heavily, if there is an upside to all of this it would be the trauma induced anosmia, the loss of your sense of smell. Given how the Sprawl normally smells on any given day not having the ability for once is quite the blessing. Provided you can pull your head out of your own ass long enough to appreciate that there is an upside. Which, at this point, I couldn’t.

  I remembered my desire for a drink. I needed something strong. Strong enough to give my bio enhanced liver a run for its money. There was only one place in the five districts I was going to trust, Runner’s Haven. I don’t remember leaving my office but I can only assume my feet knew where they were taking me. Damn, I hope I locked the door. That is all I need now is to get robbed because I was being mental.

  Runner’s Haven is a popular spot for well, Runners. Anyone who will sell their talents and services to do any job no matter the legality. It also just happened to be owned and run by my good friend Harry. Harry and I go way back. We started out as Runners who eventually ended up on the same team. Made a bit of a name for ourselves earning enough to make a break from the dangerous work and move into something more comfy. He opened a bar and I became a Fixer. All of the pay but none of the danger. In that it seems I got my wish those poor bastards.

  Once I had some semblance of self awareness I rolled onto my back. Making sure to keep my legs under me, I just leaned against the wall. I felt cold and noticed for the first time that it was raining and I was soaked. I buried my face into my hands and breathed deeply. The clean smell of the rain awoke my senses setting them on fire. The rush of sensation was overwhelming at first but died down quickly as my body remembered how to process the stream of noise and scents again.

  I ran my hands through what hair I had. The sides and back had been shaven clean and only a long soaking dark mop of hair remained. If properly styled it could be pushed up into a rather impressive mohawk. But really, who had the time for that. I brushed water off the maroon leather biker jacket I was wearing. It was of modern make and cut, very sleek with lots of well placed zippers. The leather was in good condition but my vintage blue jeans, by vintage I mean pre corporate conventions, federalist era vintage, were soaked.

  I let out a stream of half coherent profanity as I tried to ring some of the water out of the denim. They had cost me a ransom in crypto and I only wore them for luck. Looking at them now I was pretty sure any luck they had was long used up. My hand brushed the handle of my Taurus 444 custom in the combat holster strapped to my thigh.

  A revolver you say? Yes a revolver, even in this day and age. I have several reasons for carrying one. The first is that when worn in the open it’s a large and heavy looking piece of gear. It’s far more intimidating than some sleek semi-automatic made of plastic. I think it has to do with the fact that you can see fairly large and menacing bullets staring back at you personally
. It helps deter all the sheep pretending to be wolves. But really, that is more than enough of a reason.

  Satisfied that I had done my best to remove the excess water from my jeans, much to the dismay of my leather biker boots and soaking socks, I finally looked at my surroundings. Stupid of me really, as that should have been the first thing I did, but I really wasn’t in my normal frame of mind.

  As my augmented reality lens came into focus, I watched as holographic ads came alive stepping out from their billboards, vending machines, and even street signs. All around me clothing danced with A.R. illusions. Some of the people passing me didn’t even have real clothing. Full digital clothing was rendered upon them while they wore a simple nude or black bodysuit.

  I was alerted to several new emails awaiting my attention. Most were spam but one was from the client requesting the status of the job that had just gone titts up. I looked at the minimap in the upper right corner of my vision and got my location. It was a short walk to the Haven, only five or so minutes, that was good. From my office, It was an hour walk to Runner’s Haven, which meant I had been wandering the streets of the Sprawl for almost an hour completely out of my mind, that was bad.

  I shook my head once more in a vain attempt to clear the fog out. I followed up this useless gesture with an equally useless attempt to relieve the headache by rubbing my temples. It was pointless just standing here. I still felt the nagging subconscious desire to move, to be anywhere but here. I would go get a drink, I would see an old friend, then I would figure out what to do.

  With a subtle mental command to the bio neural node, a piece of hardware set into the corpus callosum of my brain, the nerve structure that connects both hemispheres, I plotted the most direct route to Harry’s. Seeing the path light up on the minimap I merged back into the flow of bodies. What an absolutely shit day.

  Case Entry 2

  Harry’s bar was nothing special from the outside. Built in the skeleton of what used to be a small warehouse back when Sector B was the Sprawls furthest boundary from the corporate city of Trinity’s two kilometer no go zone. It had somehow managed to escape being absorbed into the surrounding buildings that towered over it and kept the side alleyways open to foot traffic.

  Made from the cheap and recycled plastic concrete the building was the color of dull grey with small gem like flecks of color the only betrayal of the materials original origin. Harry’s only concession to vanity was the sign that hung above the door. He had it lovingly created in full on 20th century neon with the trademark flickering in blue and red. It simply read Runner’s Haven.

  A small smile formed on my lips as the sight of the sign stirred fond feelings of nostalgia and friendship. Harry wanted a place that catered to the community and the community only. The Haven was not a place just anyone could enter. The simple exterior kept the tourists at bay and the hard eyed stare of the paterons scared off any posures. I should mention that every pateron that made it through tended to be heavily armed and not likely to suffer fools. As such the Haven was blissfully free of any trouble beyond a friendly rumble now and again.

  I pushed my way past the door getting a nod of recognition from the bouncer as I entered the bar proper. Having been a warehouse its space was almost cavernous. The bar had been split into two levels with the main floor filled with tables and booths with the bar at the back. The second floor was a suspended catwalk made of mesh and plastic concrete taking up about a quarter of the space and following the edge of the walls like a giant horseshoe. There were several large OLED transparent screens filling the space left open by the second floor catwalk. Each displaying some sporting event, Sprawl news, betting pools, or job postings.

  Through the visual noise generated by the crowds A.R. displays my attention was drawn to the special report notification flashing in my vision with an arrow to look at the closest screen. I blinked it away as I imagined all the other Runners in the bar did but I still looked to the screen. My A.R. lens superimposed the news anchor over a Zero Sum match. I watched as giant robots fought each other in the background while the anchor cut in over my cochlear implant.

  “We’ve just had word of an attempted assassination of the CFO of,” I shook my head at the news. This was the seventh or eighth such assassination in just as many weeks. It wasn’t Onyx’s fault, they caught several of the assassins. According to a source of mine all of them had some tragic story to tell about how the victim had wronged them that never checked out. Assassin and victim had never met before that day.

  “Wilhelm Security Consultants lays the blame on Onyx Securities lack of action in preventing these horrible atrocities from occurring. States that all victims under their protection have been saved by superior training.” I have to hand it to Wilhelm, they know when to kick a horse to death. Onyx Securities has kept the peace in Sector A and B going on for a hundred years on the corporate contract. They’re the only reason Trinity Corp doesn’t come down here and sterilize the place. The brass ones on Wilhelm thinking they could do a better job is just insane.

  The report over, I paused for a moment and continued to watch the match of Zero Sum that had been ongoing in the background. Zero Sum is basically giant mecha combat used to solve unsolvable disputes between Corporations. It turned out to be so popular that the corps lost no time in monetizing it and giving birth to a sporting event.

  I stared in disbelief as it looked like the Trinity home team was staged for a comeback. Leading toward the bottom for the last twenty years it seems the new rookie Hikaru Ichijyo has been performing well, winning several key bouts. This season just might be shaping up to be worth following. My attention was grabbed by the logo flash from another screen. A man and woman were running desperately in brightly colored tracksuits from a guy on a motorbike with chainsaws. I simply shook my head and started to walk to the bar. The Running Man has never been the same since the Ben Richards incident. The new host just doesn’t have the same charisma as Killian.

  The bartop itself was usually sparse. Most Runners liked to sit at a table or booth where they could position themselves to keep an eye line to the entrance. The thing you notice first as you approach the bartop is the large antique mirror that makes up the back wall of the bar. Just like in the days of the saloon it gives anyone sitting there the ability to see behind them. But most runners can’t seem to bring themselves to keep their back to the door. It unsettles them. As I stepped up into the bar area I was automatically connected to the Haven’s PAN, personal area network. A small icon appeared in the lower left of my display. Had I wanted anything I could just select it and it would bring up the full bar menu.

  At birth we’re implanted with the Node. You see it has to grow with you. Sending it small monofilament tethers to connect with the neurons of the brain as it develops. At age twelve you get the A.R. lens and cochlear audio implants. All covered by the Corporate Conglomerates around the world. We all grow up with it. It becomes part of the necessary daily life not just in Trinity Sprawl but around the globe. It makes all the little miracles in life worthwhile.

  I glanced up the length of the mirror taking in the bar behind me. The Mirror’s angle was higher than head height. All of those runners turned to keep an eye on the entrance, well they couldn’t see past each other’s A.R. displays to really see anything. But I could see the whole bar with no blind spots. Some of them will learn in time but for now it meant that I got a nice quiet seat away from the crowd with a great view.

  Stepping up to the bartop I pulled out a stool and plopped myself into it. I spied the bartender at the other end of the top. She was tall for a woman who was about 175 cm and no more than 57 kg. She was a handsome woman with stark masculine features that soften to the feminine making her androgyny exotic. She smiled laughing at some joke from another runner at the bartop causing her long black hair to tossle behind her. She turned and did a double take when she saw me. Her olive complexion imparted an air of health in a sea of pale faces,
mine included. She held my gaze for a long moment before unconsciously trying to smooth out her form fitting jeans. With a deep breath, a weary sigh of resignation, and a playful eye roll she walked to me until she stood leaning cross armed on the bar toward me. “Hello Breck.” She said in a husky contralto. I looked back at her and smiled broadly as I spoke. “Hi ya Harry.”

  Her head dropped spilling strands of long black hair across the bartop and exposing a fair bit of cleavage in the process. She shook her head softly as she rose up and looked down upon me. She wore her “this again” expression and smiled as she played along with my foolishness.

  “How many times do I have to tell you Breck? It’s Harriet or Hatty now.” Her voice carried the wariness of indulging a joke told one to many times. In fairness to her we do go through this almost every time I visit. But it is not like she doesn’t rib me in return. She is my oldest friend after all. “I know you went and got corp crisped but to me you will always be Harry. The guy that was good with a gun and blade but not much else.” She snorted and laughed hard at that but did not raise to the bait. “It has been a while. Did you just come to rile me up?”

  My jovial mood left as fast as she had arrived. “No, I need a drink. The strongest you have.” Her eyes narrowed at my non answer to her question. She nodded and moved to get something off the topshelf. She knew what I liked and I was sure I would not be disappointed.

  When we left to pursue safer work Harry had done so because he wanted to start a family. He had never really been tied to any one sexual preference. When he fell in love with a guy that loved him back but wanted a wife and children, not a husband, it was easy for him to decide to make the swap.

  There are numerous ways to change, though most have not really changed the fundamental issue of mutilating the body. Most are still no better than cosmetic in look despite function. Swap in and out cybernetic parts, full cybernetic body replacement, or biotech grown parts that are surgically implanted. At the top end you have genetic modification through CRISPER and full body swap into a bio engineered gender of your choice.