Hot Carbon: Tales of a Cyberpunk Futa Girl: [Run 1.0: The Bimbo Chip] by Amanda Clover

Author:Amanda Clover [Clover, Amanda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-12-27T05:00:00+00:00

Splice

“No,” said Winona “Splice” Sterling. “I’m not helping you again, Mags.”

Splice wore grease-stained coveralls over her petite frame. Her ghostly pale skin contrasted with her boyishly short black hair. She had a pair of augmented goggles pushed up on her forehead. She was cute, young-seeming, but had hardness in her dark brown eyes that told me she wasn’t going to put up with any bullshit. Splice could break down, rig up, or refurbish any tech on the planet, from a pair of nail clippers to a fusion reactor.

Her shop, built out of an old storage locker, was proof of Splice’s ingenuity and her packrat nature. It was jammed full of tech she had restored or was in the process of restoring, along with bins, baskets, and shelves full of spare parts. Her work space was a table no bigger than an office desk that was strewn with tools, ring lights, magnifiers, and a manipulator arm to help that was not too different from the robotic surgeon back at Bronze’s. Judging by the components covering the table, Splice had been working on fixing up some sort of laser device when I had barged in on her.

“Come on, Splice,” I said. “This isn’t for me. This is like…a humanitarian thing. You’re getting bad chips off the street. I just need to find out who is making these things.”

“Right and I end up on the endangered species list because I pissed off Big K,” she said and flipped the goggles back down over her eyes. She leaned over the laser she was working on and resumed soldering. “No thanks, Mags. Keep me out of your drama.”

I ignored her and took the box of chips out of my bag. I dumped it on her work table and plastic blister packs containing individual chips spilled across her tools and what she was trying to work on.

“The chip is real,” I said. “I looked that much up online. The Magritte is a professional grade reflex chip made by Shinzan. Sells for almost 5,000 Euros a piece and I have fifteen of them right here. Maybe you can, I don’t know, scrub the bad data off of them and sell them on the black market. That should cover your expenses, right? Make a nice profit for us both.”

Winona snapped off her micro-soldering iron. She gave me an annoyed sigh and picked up one of the packaged chips.

“Shinzan has manufacturing facilities in Iron Beach,” she said. “I’m guessing these disappeared off a pallet in their warehouse and ended up at your chop doc.”

“Yeah, but who put that bad code in there?”

“You’re the girl with the interface port,” she said. “You should be able to figure it out better than me.”

“I’m not going near that thing with my brain,” I said. “Not if I don’t have to. That’s why I came to you first. To see if something ‘aftermarket’ has been added.”

She hesitated for a moment and then popped open one of the plastic blister packs. She caught the tiny chip between her thumb and index finger and held it up to the lenses of her goggles.

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