Careers
The Broker
"You want something moved, found, acquired, or disappeared? I know a guy. I always know a guy. That's not a boast, that's a job description. I'm the connective tissue of the Verge, the grease that keeps the gears turning, the person you call when the legal options have failed and the illegal ones require an introduction. I don't do the work myself. I make sure the right people are in the right place with the right information at the right time. So, the sooner you comp this, the better: I don't need you, you need me. You, your crew, and your rustbucket."
Fixer Marcus Bienkamp
I can get you a Phase-Rifle. I can get you a fake ID. I can even get you a meeting with the Governor. The question is... what do you have for me?
You are the street-level Face, the Deal. You know that on the Verge, bullets run out, but greed is infinite. You know the smugglers, the fences, and the dirty cops. You can find a buyer for a crate of stolen kidneys or a replacement Shift-coil in a system that doesn't exist on the map. You find the jobs, you fence the stolen goods, and you negotiate the pay. You thrive in the Sump and on the Verge where the Executive has no power.
You are the space between transactions. The invisible hand that guides cargo to buyers, information to interested parties, and problems to people equipped to solve them. You don't have a single skill; you have a network, a reputation, and the ability to connect needs with solutions in ways that leave everyone owing you something.
Your currency isn't credits, though credits are useful. Your currency is relationships. Every job you arrange, every introduction you make, every problem you solve creates a connection, a thread in the web you've spent years weaving. Captains owe you for the cargo you found them. Merchants owe you for the buyers you connected them with. Officials owe you for the problems you made disappear. Criminals owe you for the warnings you provided. The powerful owe you for the secrets you've kept, and the desperate owe you for the chances you gave them when no one else would.
This web is your power, your protection, and your prison. You can't stop spinning it. The moment you stop being useful, the moment the connections stop flowing through you, you become just another person on the Verge. And the Verge eats people who don't have an angle.
You've survived this long because you understand something fundamental about human nature: everyone wants something, and almost everyone is willing to trade for it. Your gift is seeing the trades that others miss. The captain who needs crew but can't pay standard rates, paired with the fugitive who needs passage and can't show identification. The merchant who needs to move cargo quietly, paired with the official who needs that cargo to disappear from the manifest. The colony that needs medicine, paired with the smuggler who needs a destination that won't ask questions.
You see the angles. You make the connections. You take your cut, and you remember everything, because today's satisfied customer is tomorrow's leverage, and the favor you're owed might be worth more than any payment.
