“Born of Lead”
The dark tobacco of Jon’s cigar crackled as it burned. Jon puffed at the end lightly, before letting the blow out his nostrils, resembling a black dragon. Something out of an old folk tale - the mysterious guardian of a fantastical realm. In this case, Clarissa’s office. Jon preferred real smokes to mechanical ones. You couldn’t get nicotine on Centrallica. Not legally, anyways. But that didn’t curb the interest people had in smoking. The easiest way to get a puff was to grab a ChemStick off the black market. That came with some nasty drawbacks, though. Street chemists mix their formulas differently whenever they get a hair up their ass. A little benzo here, a little morphine there. They mix it up so that the buzz feels divine. Soon it isn’t enough - and then you’re moving from the street chemists to the corner boys. Enough time goes by, and you ain’t shit but a husk. A shell. A zombie. Thankfully, the ChemStick hadn’t quite gotten Jon the way it had gotten others.
But that was why, when he had the chance, he preferred real tobacco. The only problem was that it was expensive as fuck. Over the years, Jon had stockpiled as much real tobacco as he could, just for the sake of collecting. He always thought he’d save them for special occasions. But with this plan - working with Shakk…
There might not be a future of special occasions if things go south.
So many things ran through his mind. How do you cripple a system so colossal? Can a group of nobodies from a shithole star system even do it? What would Clarissa say if she saw me with my feet on her desk, smoking five feet from the “no smoking” sign? He looked at the warning and giggled to himself. Classic. Then his mind drifted again. He thought of his father, the man who gave him the last name Tekla - and nothing else. He also thought of his mother. She’d struggled all her life, and broke her back, to make sure the system couldn’t break him. He pushed the thought from his mind. Such sentimentalities are a breeding ground for weakness. Weakness causes mistakes - the one expense they couldn’t spare for this scheme. Under any circumstances.
Jon took a moment to pilfer through Ricos' bag. He knew what he was looking for. He pulled a small grey cylinder out and opened it, taking the holobuds from them and putting them in his ears. Then he pulled his holo from his pocket and went looking for his playlist. He hit play and after a few moments of silence, the Synth base hit. It sent chills down his spine. As the beat pulsed he closed his eyes and threw his hands in the air. He moved in a circle, turning his feet left to right, picturing his father’s neck beneath his boot. He stomped on the image until he could hear the faint sound of a breaking windpipe somewhere deep in his imagination. It was a glorious feeling. He danced for a little bit more until he heard the door start to open. Shit, Clarissa. He ashed his cigar and waved his hand to clear the smoke. He felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned and pulled the buds from his ears.
“Are you high?” Rico asked.
Jon laughed.
“Naw man - I just feel alive for the first time, in a long, long time.”
Rico reached into his pocket and fished around for a moment until his hand emerged with a tiny blue pill. He popped it and sat down.
“Jon… What did you mean by ‘Retribution’?” Rico asked nervously.
Jon looked out the window at the gravel and the graffiti on the underpass where the vet office was situated.
“Have you ever felt that the terms of our citizenship are unfair, Rico? I feel it daily. Every time I see those sparkling towers on the upper side - and every time I see this underpass. My life will mean something to someone,” he said as sat next to his friend.
“But for us to accomplish that we need your help. I need you to come with us.”
Rico looked at his friend. On one hand, Jon was one of the most brilliant people he knew, and he had plenty of reasons to trust him. On the other hand, he had also just caught him dancing by himself with holobuds he hadn’t asked to borrow, all while smoking in a veterinary office like it was a nightclub. And not to mention that a small, niggling part of Rico felt that Jon’s dancing bore a strange resemblance to somebody stomping on a windpipe.
Rico pushed the thoughts from his mind.
“Can we at least eat before we go? I’m fucking starving.”
“Maybe we can grab a-”
The door turned again. Clarissa. She walked in with purpose but stopped mid-stride, scrunching up her face and looking from Jon to Rico, then back again.
“Was somebody smoking in here?” Jon and Rico watched each other from the corners of their eyes. The old “who can’t keep a straight face” game.
“It was Case,” Rico blurted. Jon rolled his eyes in exasperation as Clarissa put her hands on her hips.
“Case doesn’t fucking smoke, Rico. Can’t believe you guys. Whatever, not why I’m here. I want nothing more to do with this, Jon. This is as far as I go.”
“I know,” Jon said as he stood. He gave Rico a firm slap on the back of the neck. Not for the sin of lying, so much as the sin of lying poorly.
“Come on, Rico. We have a lot to discuss with our new friend.”
Shakk woke up choking on his own breath. His clothes clung to him, soaked from the rivers of sweat his dreams had brought out from him. He bolted upright, eyes wide, and held his head as he tried to catch his breath. He saw a glint in the dark - it was coming from his chest. A bolt of fear went through him, and then his brain caught up to him, and he remembered. My tags… they’re just my tags.
He ran his finger over the frigid steel out of instinct. He looked up at the mirror on the wall. Same Shakk that had stared back at him when he first got to this sewer of a planet. Just… wearier. A little more bruised. He stood to grab his boots and his stomach erupted in pain. He fell back on his ass grabbing his midsection. It wasn’t bleeding, and the blood that had been there before was gone. Clarissa, she must have done it. Shakk smiled for a moment. He took a breather to recover and then, slowly and cautiously, began to dress himself. Once he was clothed he went for the doorknob. Then he paused for a moment and took his dog tags off. He slid them down the back of his boot. Just in case…
The door knob turned and Shakk’s head snapped to attention. Light filled the room - along with the smell of antiseptics and ChemStick fumes. Nat moved in quietly and shut the door behind him, letting it shut with a thunk. The two sized each other up. Nat nodded, and Shakk nodded.
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“Where are my guns at,” Shakk asked. He raised up - straightening his back and clasping his hands in front of him as he stared down at Nat.
“Why you need ‘em?”
“Fuck that, where my guns at. It don’t matter why I need them, they’re my motherfuckin’ guns.” Nat put his hands up in a gesture of peace.
“Follow me, then.”
Shakk followed Nat into a sleek room with a round table in the center. On it were maps, notes, electronics, and drones. Shakk knew what this was on an instinctive level. Knew the smell of it. A job. A real one - not no half-assed shit.
Nat took his place on the other side of the table, leaning against his wall with his arms crossed. Shakk did an inventory of all the faces of all in attendance and saw a new one. He glared at the stranger. And, frankly, at the others. They might not have been mercenaries growing up - but common sense should surely dictate that bringing strangers to a contract pitch was bad form.
“Relax, this is Rico. He’s a friend - half mascot, half IT whiz,” Nat said.
Shakk relaxed when Nat spoke, for a reason he couldn’t quite put a finger on. Maybe it was the sing-song way that folks from rural stars tend to speak. Slow, like everything in their world is just a cool breeze, man. Shakk heard someone clear their throat and his serenity faded. Jon stood at the end of the table, wading through paper after paper. He, like most folks from Urban Star Systems, spoke like nothing was cool, or ever had been cool, or ever will be cool. Jon lifted his gaze and the two men eyed each other. He’s young, Shakk thought, trying to keep his face professional. Like a boy prince in Daddy’s war room.
“Now that we’re here, I can lay out the plan of action. First, we need to get off planet. As soon as humanly possible. I doubt whoever sold out Shakk gives up easily, and by now, our faces are all over the underworld for any scumfucker looking for a quick job.” Jon kicked his feet on the table and crossed his hands.
“You still haven’t told me what you want from me.”
“Oh, just a small favor….. I just need you to become my general, when we wage war against the nobility.
Shakk raised an eyebrow. He must have misheard him - there was no way a sane human being would suggest this. Shakk looked across and saw his comrade grinning.
“Man, I wouldn’t have agreed to this shit if I’d known y’all motherfuckers got a death wish.”
“On the contrary, Shakk of Vizslas - it's very possible that with our powers combined, and a little bit of luck, our chances of pulling this off increase from zero to a fractional non-zero chance.” Jon reached under the table and hit a small button. A holomap appeared in front of the group, depicting the galaxy.
“I’ve marked four planets that are key to holding the nobility's leash on the populace. If we take them, we can force an economic chokehold.”
“If that's the goal then why do you need me? You could do the same thing by pooling money and clogging up the GalaMarket. Why do it… this way?” Case asked, side-eyeing Shakk. Shakk glared back at him.
“I think you're misunderstanding something fundamental, here. Controlling stocks isn't the same as controlling the means of production. The factories, the mines, the ammo pits, etcetera etcetera. And in order for us to control said means of production, they must be occupied through force. Thus, we need an expert.”
“So you need me to wage war while you do - what, exactly? Go from nightclub to nightclub hoping to save enough hired guns to fill an officer corps?” Shakk asked.
“On the contrary -I have the most dangerous job of all. I am going to become the primary target of nobility hatred. The face of a rebellion. I'm a gifted speaker - not a fighter.”
“Fair enough,” Shakk said. “So where do we start?”
“We need to steal a star cruiser and get out of Centralica,” Nat said from the corner.
“And we do that by…?”
Rico walked over to Jon and set his terminal down. He tapped at the keys for a moment before spinning it.
“There's one with just enough gear to get us where we need to go. And, low enough security that we can get onto it. Vala Shipdocks. I have the schematics on how to get in from the ventilation ducts. Relatively unseen.”
“Relatively?”
Relatively.”
Rico sat down quietly.
“See, I told you - IT guy,” Nat whispered. He and Case chuckled to themselves.
“When we get off-planet - how are we supposed to raise an army? Mercenaries cost - and if you had the bread for an army already, you could hire somebody a lot more high-profile than me. John The Baptist, HellScreamer, any of those guys.”
“Case, how much do your parents offload weapon inventory for?”
“Depending on the market… it could go anywhere from 20.3 to 30.6 million galla per division.”
“Jon, how many soldiers are we gonna need to pull this off?” Rico asked. Nat shushed him.
“A few battalions. If the war is swift and the soldiers well trained.” Jon said, crossing his hands.
“I might have 30 million,” Rico said. Nat shushed him again.
“No, seriously.”
Rico reached down and pulled his bag out from underneath the table. He dumped it, and a tidal wave of credit chits spilled out. Everyone stood in silence.
“Where…. Where did you get this, Rico?” Case shut his mouth, opened it, then shut it again. He couldn’t verbalize any of the other millions of questions thundering through his brain at the moment.
“I have two conditions for this money. You must protect my mother and me if anyone comes after us - and you cannot ask me where it came from. Or who it came from,” Rico said shyly. Nobody answered him. Most of them had never seen that much money in one place at the same time. Now it was there at their disposal. Their mouths were watering. Greed washed over them, infecting them like the flu. Still, no one moved. Finally, Jon slammed his hand on the table to cut the tension.
“
“I’ll agree to that Rico. On my name, Jon Tekla, you have my word. We have our money - now let's get our cruiser.”
The five men exchanged glances around the room and nodded their heads. Shakk was about to head back to his quarters when Nat approached him. He extended his hand - Shakk grinned when he saw what he had. Freshly cleaned, not a scratch on it. His pistol. Shakk grabbed it and holstered it inside his jacket. When he was younger he kept it in his waistband - but no more. He was a professional now. Clients get nervous if they feel like they hired a po’ boy when they meant to hire an assassin.
Someone knocked at the door. Then a voice drifted in.
“Are you guys done? I have, like, an actual job to do n’ shit,” Clarissa said, jiggling the nob. Nat laughed.
“Heading out soon.”
“You guys better come back to clean up this mess you made.”
The room filled with laughter - Then they heard the crack.
The door exploded. One, two, then three shots. Everyone but Shakk dove for cover. The world went into slow motion - Clarissa began to scream, and then her screaming distorted as Shakk’s head raced. He drew his gun and squeezed the trigger. It didn’t go off.
Fuck! Shakk thought. They ain’t re-rack the slide!
Shakk pulled the slide of his pistol back and started letting off shots. Instinct took over - he was a machine, the higher and more elegant functions of his brain suppressed for the sake of the mission. He and the unknown shooter exchanged fire. Chunks of the door blowing away with each round. Soon, there was silence. A cold and empty silence. The gunsmoke cleared, revealing a sizable hole where the door used to be. He looked around the room.
“Everyone okay?” A series of meek responses answered him. Everyone except -
“Clarissa!” Shakk rushed to the and took a position at the hole. The shooter fired too preemptively - Shakk saw the round whiz by and heard it ricochet somewhere to his right. He turned and fired with lethal precision. The gun exploded, a man cried out, and a body dropped with a heavy thud.
“WE NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE - WE’RE SITTING DUCKS!” Case screamed.
Shakk looked down at his feet. Blood was trickling in from the other side of the door. Shakk pulled it towards him. Clarissa fell forward from where she was slumped against the door, her blood pooling under her. She was breathing - but barely.
“We can’t just leave her!”
“If we move her she’ll die,” Jon said. The color was draining from Rissa fast.
Shakk looked over at her face.
“Go. I’ll take care of Rissa,” Nat said.
Another round whizzed by them, and Shakk slammed the door shut as Nat dragged Clarissa into the room. Her blood left a smeared trail on the floor - it made Nat sick to look at, so he kept his eyes trained on her face, or the ceiling. Shakk posted up at the hole - it was all the cover he had. The fire was getting more and more intense, they were running out of time. Soon there wouldn’t be anything left between them and the shooters. Shakk let off rounds.
“I’ll cover us - run to the back door!” Case and Rico were the first to split after they’d gathered the credits and their terminals.
Rico packed so fast that he almost forgot Spider.
Jon began to run, and then he stopped. He did his best to dodge the bullets ripping into the room from the hall and tapped Nat on the shoulder.
“Stay alive, brother.”
“I’ll be in touch,” Nat said with a smile.
The other three made their way out the back. A bullet hit the neon exit sign right as Jon got out the door. Shakk looked at Nat and handed him a grenade.
“Cowards die slower,” warned Shakk. He sprinted to the exit.
Nat stroked Rissa’s cheek - tears rolled down his own. He cradled her head pushing his cheek against hers a tear rolled down his cheek, and falling onto her forehead he gripped her tightly. He spoke softly to her, kissing her forehead as her breaths became shorter, her breaths getting shorter by the second until none followed. He pulled her close to his chest, gripping her supple skin under his fingers. “In another life,” he whispered.
In another life..