ONE LAST JOB
This is a story from Aconite Reef, a Sci-Fi novel about the death of empires. It follows the protagonist, Val Kerek, also known as Prime, as they join up with mercenary Arrin Grem, or Echo, for an arms deal in the bad part of town...
Nabee’s was a dive. It was a dingy, smoky place, with lights that barely worked and a clientele that preferred to deal in darkness anyway – it was a place that was passed over in police raids because the kinds of crime that went on in and around it were too petty to deal with. Nabee’s wasn’t a place for ringleaders.
Arrin Grem sat back and considered this as he savoured his third cup of bish, a bitter liquid made of fermented runoff from Powdertown’s factories. Everyone sold different bish, based on what industrial waste they paid for – Nabee’s was one of the better ones, flavoured with spices and with a pleasant kick that woke you up even as the alcohol dulled your senses.
So it was a dive, sure. But it served decent drinks. That difference was what had propelled its publicity-shy owner to a house in the Tea District, rather than still living in the tunnels under the Hub, as most of the organised criminals in Acon did.
Arrin Grem enjoyed Nabee’s bish, but he wasn’t here for it, and a third cup tonight was wasteful indulgence. He knew he’d pay for it later tonight – probably at the barrel of some merc’s gun – but he didn’t care.
Tonight he was just the bagman. And he was waiting for the bag.
It arrived minutes later. The door slid open, the neon glow from outside highlighting the silhouette which hulked in the doorway. And that was the only way to describe Prime: they were tall and broad, with thick, solid leg muscles and arms that could outmatch a dock lifter on good days. One eye gleamed in the half-light of the bar as they scanned the room, alighting on Arrin and pausing before giving a slight now. Arrin nodded back, and they entered.
Prime had the bag in one hand, slung over their back. As they sat they brought it round, depositing it on the floor, and Arrin caught sight of the plastic hook which had held it, melding into an off-white prosthesis which contrasted with Prime’s black skin. Prime caught Arrin staring and uttered a low growl, moving the hook out of sight. Arrin met their eyes and relaxed into an easy grin.
‘Prime!’ he greeted. ‘Glad you could make it – I was starting to think you weren’t gonna come.’
‘Had a problem with the supplier,’ Prime said. ‘He’s… dealt with.’
‘Are we good to go tonight?’ Arrin asked. ‘Look, if you need some more time I understand, we can just-’
‘We’re good,’ Prime said. Their eyes looked over Arrin, then glanced down to the cups on the table. ‘Are you good, Echo?’
Echo. That was a name from a long time ago. So was Prime. But it was better that way – treat it like a mission, it all goes smoother. Had Arrin forgotten that over the years? He was beginning to think so. But he smiled.
‘I’m good,’ he said. ‘One of them was gonna be for you, but you were late, so-’
‘Check the bag.’ Arrin started. But he nodded and pulled the bag over, unzipping it.
Inside, dozens of handguns were neatly stacked, magazines filling the gaps. Under those were two assault rifles. He grinned.
‘This is good stuff,’ he said, zipping the bag up. ‘You do good work, Prime.’
‘What’s the route?’ Prime asked.
‘Down to the Lab, then North-East until we hit Powdertown – we’ll know it by the chemical smell, the water’ll turn yellow. We’re meeting some guys at the Fork.’
‘The Fork?’ Prime glared at Arrin. ‘Why the Hell are we meeting at the Fork?’
‘Because they wouldn’t budge on the location,’ Arrin sighed. ‘I know, it’s less than ideal. But-’
‘It’s a deathtrap!’ Prime hissed. ‘Too many blind corners, too many narrow bridges… we’ll be minced, Echo.’
‘Ah, minced schminced!’ Arrin waved a hand dismissively. ‘I wouldn’t set this up without a plan, would I?’
‘And what is your plan?’ Prime asked.
‘Ah! For that, we’ve gotta go down to the Lab!’ Arrin stood, grabbing the bag and hauling it onto his shoulder. He gestured to Prime to follow. ‘C’mon! You’ll love it.’
Prime did not love it.
‘This isn’t a plan,’ they said. ‘This is… this might be madness, Echo.’
Arrin looked at the closet, eyes gleaming.
‘Are you kidding?’ he cried. ‘Think how badass you’ll be – they won’t see this coming!’
‘They’ll be too busy shooting a million holes in you,’ Prime sighed. ‘This is for me?’
‘Yeah it’s for you!’ Arrin scoffed. ‘I had that gun custom-made, it’s waterproof and corrosion resistant, you can fire that baby in a vat of acid and it’ll still work!’
Indeed there was a gun – a state-of-the-art assault rifle with a suppressor and some impressive bodywork which looked weighty, if not high-tech – Arrin reckoned Prime could bludgeon someone to death with it if they ran out of bullets, but he hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Alongside it was a suit in tactical black, smooth and stretchy, with a full-face covering and a gas mask attached to a hose which connected around the back.
‘That sounds… expensive,’ Prime said. ‘This whole thing must have cost more than this deal’s gonna make.’
‘Nah, it’s easy if you know where to look.’
‘That doesn’t fill me with confidence.’
‘Look, trust me,’ Arrin said, clapping Prime on the shoulder. ‘You’ll be covering me, it’ll be the last thing they expect. And I did kinda tell them I was coming alone, so-’
‘Wait, you’re supposed to be alone?’ Prime clapped a hand over their eyes and groaned. ‘So you knew this whole thing was a trap and… and your plan was to walk in? With me as backup?’
‘Hmmm… yeah, that about sums it up,’ Arrin said. ‘Come on, get changed. Once you’re in your gear, we can get going.’
‘There’s more that you’re not telling me, right?’ Prime asked. ‘Like, this isn’t the whole plan, is it?’
‘Yes, Prime, there’s more that I’m not telling you,’ Arrin sighed. ‘Look, I’m not a complete idiot; we do this military, they’ll just melt in front of us.’
‘And the money?’
‘Well, I’m hoping we can take it off their bodies.’ Arrin shrugged. ‘But let’s try to leave one alive who can give us the cash, eh?’
‘It would make things easier if we could do the deal straight,’ Prime said. ‘Alright, I’ll trust you. But after this, I want you to vet every job you feed me. I’m not your fall guy here.’
‘I wouldn’t ask you to be. This was a stupid job to take – I know it, hands up! That’s on me – but I wouldn’t have taken it if I didn’t think it’d pay up, and pay well. Now get your new suit on and let’s go!’
The Lab was the Labyrinth – a maze of service corridors and ill-kempt tunnels that bristled with steam pipes, trailing wires, and metal grates. It was also the sewage system for Acon, a wide channel carved through the centre of the largest corridors which took waste water and runoff to the treatment plants on the outskirts of the city, then cycled it back in. Lab North East was one of the outgoing tunnels, as the smell advertised.
Nevertheless there were apartments down here – when Acon had run out of space up top, people had simply moved into the old cupboards and staff rooms down here, setting up what passed for beds and showers and even whole dining rooms in tiny areas not fit for one human, let alone the families that usually inhabited them. The folks down here were down-and-outs.
‘You know you could ask for a bigger cut,’ Arrin said as they walked. ‘Get you out of your little Lab hovel, move you up to The Crown or even the Tea’
‘I like my apartment,’ Prime said stoically. They had the mask off around their neck, and the hood pulled down, and they pinched and pulled at the suit around their waist and legs. ‘Geez, this thing hugs tight in weird places! Did you ask them to make it this uncomfortable?’
‘Well if someone would come hang out outside of these deals, I might’ve been able to arrange a proper fitting,’ Arrin sighed. ‘As it is, be glad it fits even that well – I had to guess at some of your measurements.’
‘Speaking of measurements,’ Prime said, ‘you’re too well-dressed for a job in the sewers – what gives?’ Arrin looked down at his suit – a dazzling sequinned jacket that made him look like a game show host, with some navy blue trousers and a silk shirt that was printed with an orientalist design.
‘Hey, I like to look my best. You know people set a lot of store by how you dress; you’d do well to remember that.’
‘You’re the worst, Echo,’ Prime muttered, and Arrin chuckled.
The apartments started deteriorating in quality as they moved further from the centre. Doors flaked of paint, numbers no longer hammered on in metal but crudely painted, or drawn, or missing entirely. They heard shouts and screams from behind doors, crying kids, even a couple of gunshots; Arrin glanced back at Prime every time, seeing them stare at each door that sounded some agony as they passed, as if noting the location to come back later. Some of the doors were even missing, replaced with salvaged metal grating zip-tied to old hinges, or else done away with entirely, so that you could see into the claustrophobic space lit by an industrial wall light, casting jaundiced shadows over tables and folding beds shuttered against walls.
‘You really love your place, Prime?’ Arrin asked curiously. There was silence for a while.
‘It’s bigger than these ones,’ they replied eventually. ‘Besides, I like my neighbours.’
‘Oh, you have neighbours?’ Arrin chuckled. ‘Damn, have I finally cracked that shell of yours, are we getting the deep Prime lore?’
‘You ass!’ Prime chuckled, jabbing him with an elbow. Arrin laughed.
‘Alright, alright!’ he said. ‘But it’s nice to know you’re human underneath all that muscle.’ They walked along in silence for a little longer.
‘I missed you, Val,’ Arrin said quietly. ‘When I heard about the attack, I-’
‘I know,’ Prime interrupted. Soft, quiet. ‘I’m… I can’t think about that time. About who I was before. Who I am now, that’s different.’
‘It’s easier being Arrin Grem than it is being Echo,’ Arrin said. ‘I can chill out, be a person – I’m worried about this one. This might be my last deal for a while. I don’t know if I can get honest work anymore, but… I hope this one sets me up for a few years.’
‘...It’s easier being Prime and Echo sometimes,’ Val said. ‘Just the two of us, on a mission. Like we were before. Makes me think it didn’t all happen, you know?’
Arrin nodded. He stopped, looking around.
‘We’ll talk about it afterwards,’ he said. ‘We’re coming up on it in a few turns – you get into the water here, follow my trace.’
Prime nodded. They pulled the hood over their face, put the mask in place, and dropped into the rancid water with barely a sound. The water rippled gently, marked only by the undulations of the crust of detritus, and then stilled.
Arrin Grem took a deep breath, smoothed down his coat, and closed his eyes.
Echo stepped forward, following the path to the Fork.
There were perhaps a dozen of them waiting. The blind corners and narrow bridges were their advantage, and their contact would be alone – it was almost too easy.
Right on cue, Echo stepped forward, a confident smile and a cheap suit all his armour against the world. He stopped on the corner and looked around. Counted four shadows in his head.
‘Hello?’ he said, as though there were no one there. One of the shadows moved.
‘You got the goods?’ it asked. Echo held up the bag.
‘Sixty poppers and a couple party blowers,’ he said with a smile. ‘You can have a real rave with these.’ He laughed a fake salesman’s laugh.
‘Middle of the bridge,’ the shadow said. ‘Put the bag down there.’
‘You got my cash?’ Echo didn’t move.
‘We got your cash,’ the shadow said. ‘Bring the bag.’
‘Now you know how this works,’ Echo said with a smile. ‘I can’t hand these over until I see the money, okay? You want your party, I gotta see the cash.’
The shadow stepped back. There were urgent whispers, and Arrin rolled his eyes, hands in his pockets. Had they really not brought the money, after all this?
But then someone stepped forward – a different shadow this time, which resolved into a heavy-set man with a shaven head, a submachine gun strapped across his chest, carrying a duffel bag. He unzipped it and opened it out, revealing bundles of gently glittering notes.
‘Looks good, big guy,’ Echo said. He walked out to the centre of the bridge and dropped the bag in front of him. ‘You hand me that bag, you can take mine with you.’
‘Wait!’
This from the shadow. Echo huffed a laugh.
‘What about you? How do we know you’ve brought the right stuff?’
‘Alright, alright, I’ll give you a demonstration.’ Echo crouched down slowly, easily, and unzipped the bag in front of him. He drew out a pistol and magazine, showing the two off.
‘And for my personal guarantee…’ he slotted the magazine into the pistol. The heavy nodded appreciatively at the hardware – ex-military, better than his street gun, Echo knew. In one fluid movement he chambered a round and aimed at the heavy, centre mass, the manic grin still on his face. The heavy stared, frozen, every future move promising imminent death.
Echo pulled the trigger.
And there was a quiet click. Echo straightened up and laughed.
‘Relax, big guy! Safety’s on!’ He chuckled and ejected the clip, removing the bullet from the chamber and slotting back into the magazine. Both returned to the bag, and he zipped it up.
‘That demonstration enough for you?’ he asked, suddenly all business. ‘I’ll be taking my money now.’
The heavy didn’t move. In fact, he relaxed a little, grinning at Echo.
‘You didn’t think we were letting you walk out of here alive, did you?’ the shadow laughed. Echo shrugged.
‘I had hoped,’ he said. ‘I really don’t want to do this the hard way-’
‘Fuck what you want!’ the shadow yelled. A muzzle flash lit up the thug – some kid, barely more than a teenager, Echo noted – and all at once twelve guns opened up on Echo’s position.
The heavy dropped first. As the firing continued, revealing the thugs’ hides, each dropped in succession, the thunder of their guns echoing off the walls and muffling the sounds of the gunshots coming from the water. Prime was a professional – two bullets to a target, centre mass. They would let Echo clean up with the headshots afterwards.
For his part, Echo stood on the bridge patiently, until all twelve guns emptied their clips. And only then did the thugs begin to notice something’s up.
For a start, Echo was still standing.
‘I’m still alive,’ he said pleasantly. ‘Do you want to tell me what the rest of the plan was?’
‘Yo, where’s our boys?’ the shadow shouted. One other still stood, on the opposite bank of the Fork; he shrugged and shook his head.
‘Get the guns!’ the shadow yelled. He scrambled out of the darkness and made for the money bag as the thug dived for the gun bag.
His hand went right through it.
Staring in confusion, he slapped at it a couple of times. The bag flickered, and so did Echo. He looked down.
At his chest was a sphere of some kind. He peered into it, seeing a ring of cameras around the side and, on top, some sort of projector…?
A shot clipped his back, bursting through his shoulder. Sloppy, Echo thought to himself as he stepped from the shadows. Beneath the dazzling jacket and silk print shirt he had a dark tactical top, and with his navy trousers and black shoes he’d blended better than any of the thugs. He held a silenced pistol in both hands, keeping it pointed at the thug with the bullet wound. The projection clicked off as the thug tried to crawl backwards across the bridge, and Echo kicked his gun into the water. He pointed his gun at the shadow, who froze with the money bag in his hand.
‘Drop that,’ he ordered. The shadow made to move and Echo fired a shot that narrowly missed his ear; he dropped the bag and held his hands up. For good measure, Echo decked him as he approached, the shadow falling against the wall.
‘Don’t worry, you’ll still get your guns,’ he said, leaning down to pick up the bag. ‘I’m not a monster. But when I do a deal, I do the damn deal. Remember that for next time.’
He caught the boy’s eye as he straightened up. He wasn’t looking at him.
He turned, but too slow. Another lad, this one who at least had the sense to wear dark clothes. He’d been waiting in the shadows too, he hadn’t fired. Shadow might have been the figurehead, but this one was the ringleader. He fired a shot that caught Echo’s leg and he went down. Before he could fire another, Echo’s gun was on him – two, three shots to the chest. He jerked – for good measure, one to the temple. His head snapped back and he fell, the gun falling into the water.
Too little too late, Echo knew. He was turning his gun, but he heard the quickened footsteps, the click of a revolver – snub-nosed, concealed, this shadow wasn’t entirely stupid either. No, the only stupid one was Arrin Grem, who’d agreed to a meeting he knew was a trap for the hope of a little quick cash.
He stared down the barrel of the young man’s gun.
A gunshot echoed loud around the Forks, and the shadow shuddered sideways. He careened over, the body following the head as it toppled into the turgid water.
Arrin turned. There was Prime, half-out of the water, gun still smoking, trained on the place where the shadow’s head had been moments before. He let out a shaky breath and nodded, and Prime rose from the water and pulled off the hood.
‘Your stupid gun jammed,’ they said. ‘Had to clear it – sorry I missed that other guy. Can’t see a thing under there.’
Arrin collapsed against the bridge, the cold metal feeling good against the back of his neck.
‘You’re fucking crazy!’
He groaned. The thug was still right next to him, the one he’d clipped.
‘You still want the guns?’ Arrin asked. He looked up at the thug – he nodded gormlessly.
‘Prime, go bring the guns, will you? I left them back there.’
‘I got ‘em,’ they said. They paused on the way past, staring at the thug. ‘Don’t do anything stupid, okay?’ The thug could only nod, slack-jawed, his face greying at the barrel of the heavy gun.
Goods delivered, Prime hauled Arrin to his feet. He hobbled back along the walkway, bag slung over his shoulder.
‘Yeah,’ he groaned. ‘I’m retiring. Val, you can take these stupid jobs from now on.’
‘I’m not you, Arrin,’ Val said. ‘I don’t take the stupid jobs.’