Profile: Trevor Goodman / Mr. Fixer

[Mímir]

NAME: TREVOR GOODMAN
ALIAS: MR. FIXER
GENDER: MALE
YEAR OF BIRTH: 775 A.S.
AFFILIATION: THE LANE HACKERS
JOBS: *

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INTRODUCTION:

823 A.S.:

The sun was setting and Trevor was sitting on the back porch of his two-story waterfront house, catching the last few rays of the sun while watching his daughter play outside. When he bought the plot of land on a small island on Curacao eight years ago, he had hired an architect to design his dream house. While not exactly modest, it wasn't an overly luxurious house either. Constructed completely out of wood, cut stone and organic materials, it blended into the surrounding nature perfectly, and was right at the edge of the coastline. He took a sip of his ice-cold Liberty Ale and closed his eyes for a minute and dozed off while feeling the heat against his rugged skin.

"Honey, it's for you. It's your boss," Marie yelled, and Trevor was abruptly pulled out of his nap. They both knew what this meant, he had told her when he married her that he would be away for extended periods. He was a highly specialized fusion power plant technician, and those were always in high demand in a nuclear-powered Sirius. She didn't worry though, he had been called in for work on short notice before and been gone for long, and he always came back the same.

Watching him as he got up from his lounging chair, she studied his face. Wrinkled and scarred it wasn't a pretty face by any standard, but she had come to appreciate it. A horrific accident at a plant he had worked at before she met him had forced him to receive facial reconstructive surgery, and the extensive work and implants were noticeable. Still, he had given her the perfect house, a beautiful daughter and everything she could ever wish for, and she truly did love him, just as he loved her.

"Baby, I'm sorry..." Trevor started before his wife cut him off: "I know, I know. The bills don't pay themselves, you don't have explain." She leaned against the doorframe and gave him that slightly disappointed look she always gave him when he had to leave. She couldn't help worrying a little. "I will take you to the Starport myself and make sure you get on your shuttle. Besides, your daughter has been begging me to take her to see the spaceships anyway," she said with a gentle smile.

They had kissed goodbye hours earlier while his daughter was still too distracted by the shiny spaceships to notice her father was leaving, and now he was sitting in the lush seats of the shuttle taking him to his destination. He always got bored during travel so when a promotional holo-vid started playing on one of the large screens in the shuttle compartment it caught his attention:

"Here at L&S Executive we offer the best and most luxurious shuttle service in all of Sirius. Our extravagantly styled low-noise shuttles ensures that you have all the comforts of your own home and feel fully rested when you reach your destination, because you deserve it. L&S Executive - the choice of CEO's and the political elite."

Yeah, CEO's, the political elite and specialists, Trevor thought to himself. He had worked for his employer for 20 years, and whether the assignment was of a technical or hands-on nature didn't matter much to him. He enjoyed his job, he was good at it, and his employers enjoyed his diligence. He never thought about venturing down another career path, and he knew his work had a real purpose and ultimately benefited all of Sirius, he never doubted that once. He had a good life, the life he always wanted.

"We're approaching the station, Sir. I must remind you to put on your breathing mask if you don't want to expose yourself to any environmental hazards while docked." The sound of the shuttle pilot's voice on the intercom pierced the air in the otherwise completely silent passenger compartment. Trevor put on his mask and double-checked that it worked. Moments later he could hear the loud metallic clank of the shuttle docking, and the heavy seals on the space station opening. As he made his way through the airlock a host of different scanning devices lit up, monitoring and recording every thinkable characteristic of the visitor. To most people the security would seem excessive. By all means it was excessive, but they just couldn't afford to take any risks.

At the end of the narrow airlock there was another large closed seal and a terminal. He punched in his credentials, once again checked his breathing mask, and watched as the seal slowly opened and the silhouette of a man with combed hair immaculately dressed in a tailored suit gradually became visible through a feint orange mist.

"Greetings, Mr. Fixer. It is a pleasure to see you. But oh... That ghastly mask, it had almost slipped my mind!" The man cocked his head ever so slightly to one side, visibly dissatisfied, before continuing: "Once again I must point out that you have the mundane appearance of a humdrum Freelancer, and not that of a proud Lane Hacker. You are only denying yourself of your true potential by not receiving the gift of Cardamine, my friend. I trust that you know that the illusive doors of the Inner Circle will stay forever shut to subjects unable and unwilling to elevate themselves?" The man kept his eyes fixed on Trevor and let his words linger just long enough for Trevor to feel slighty uncomfortable, before the hazy figure relaxed his posture and his face lit up in a devious grin: "Ah, well, we have been over this many times before... Your Vindicator is here at Mactan, prepped for launch already. There is no rest for the wicked, Mr. Fixer!"

Trevor knew it was true, there was no denying neither the sheer brilliance of the Inner Circle nor the super-human reflexes of the deadly Assassins, but not having a Cardamine dependency had allowed him to travel Sirius freely, coming and going as he pleased without anyone ever taking notice of him. It allowed him to have a family, and live the life of Trevor Goodman, fusion power plant technician and home-owner on Planet Curacao. A perfect life built on decades of deceit.

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